Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
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Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x female!Slytherin
Summary: Hiding the one thing you truly loved, the one person you trusted most was a horrible way to live. But if it was the only way to be with him, you would do anything. And he would do the same.
Warning: lots of angst, mention of abuse
Mattheo sat in the dim light of a study upstairs at the Malfoy Manor, staring at his trembling hands. He had scrubbed them raw, as if he could wash away what he had done. But the memory lingered—the sound of Y/N’s screams, the weight of his own cowardice pressing down on his chest.
A quiet voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You have to fight back.”
His head snapped up. Draco stood at the entrance, his face bruised, his eyes filled with something Mattheo hadn’t seen before—not just pain, but determination. “You think this will be the last time?” Draco continued. “You think he won’t keep using you to hurt the people you love?”
Mattheo flinched. Love. He wasn’t sure he deserved to feel that. Not after what he had done.
“I’m not strong enough,” Mattheo admitted, voice hoarse.
“That’s bullshit,” Draco spat quietly. “You think you broke tonight? That nothing worse will come? Then stay put. Do nothing.”
Mattheo wanted to argue, wanted to scream that he wasn’t brave like Potter, that he wasn’t good like Y/N. But then he thought about Y/N whispering, ‘It’s okay’—even after everything, she had still tried to comfort him. And he thought about Bellatrix’s laugh, about Voldemort’s cold amusement. His own father.
He thought about the way he had hesitated.
He had never felt so powerless in his life. Seeing her before him on the floor, already broken and tormented.
The fire crackled low in the hearth, the only sound in the room besides his ragged breathing. He barely noticed Draco slipping into the chair across from him, until the blonde spoke, voice quiet, measured.
"You’re going to get yourself killed like this."
Mattheo’s head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes meeting Draco’s. "I don’t care."
Draco exhaled sharply, leaning forward, so their conversation remained between them. "Yes, you do." His voice was quiet but firm. "You care enough to be sitting here stewing instead of running off and getting caught. You care enough to be thinking. So, tell me—what’s the plan? Because if you don’t have one, you’re just another one of his pawns, waiting to be moved."
Mattheo’s jaw tightened. He hated that Draco was right. Hated that he was speaking in that calm, composed tone while Mattheo was coming apart at the seams. "I have to get them out," he said, voice hoarse. "I have to get Y/N out. I can’t—I won’t leave them to rot."
Draco nodded, as if he had already known that would be the answer. "Then we do it properly. Not by charging in like some reckless idiot, but by thinking. By planning."
Mattheo let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Planning? They have them locked away in places we can’t reach, Malfoy. Places only your kind of people have access to. Unless you’re suddenly willing to betray your own family—"
Draco’s expression darkened. "You think I don’t know what’s at stake?" he hissed. "You think I want to be part of this? I don’t have the luxury of impulsive emotions, Riddle. I have to be smart about this. And if you intend to get them out, you do too."
Mattheo swallowed thickly, his anger simmering into something closer to desperation. "Then help me." His voice almost a whimper, "please."
Draco hesitated, glancing toward the closed door as if expecting someone to be listening. Then, in a hushed whisper, he said, "We don’t just break them out. We disappear. You, me, Theo, Y/N—we run. Because if we do this, there's no coming back."
Mattheo’s heart pounded. "I don’t care about me. I just need them safe."
Draco sighed, rubbing his temples, but there was a decision in his eyes now. "Then we start now. No mistakes. No second chances. If we do this, we win. And if we don’t—"
"We die trying," Mattheo finished, voice steady now.
Draco nodded grimly. "Then let’s do it right."
The stone walls felt closer every day. Or maybe it was just me—shrinking, collapsing in on myself like the damp air is swallowing me whole.
Theo hadn’t spoken much since I was thrown back into this pit. Two hours? Three? The time bled together in the darkness. The only light came from a single torch flickering at the end of the corridor, its glow weak and dying, like us.
He had been pacing, muttering under his breath, fingers twitching like they ached to wrap around something, someone. He looked feral, like he’s unraveling thread by thread. I should have said something. Try to bring him back. But I didn't know how. I can barely hold myself together.
“I heard him,” Theo suddenly said, his voice sharp and guttural, cutting through the silence like a blade.
I blinked, pushing myself up on shaking arms. “What?”
Theo stopped pacing, his fists clenched. “Mattheo. I heard him upstairs, before they threw you back down here.” His head tilts slightly, shadows stretching across his face. “I heard him cast the Cruciatus Curse on you.”
The words didn't register at first. Or maybe I didn't want them to.
He scoffed, a bitter, humorless sound. “He fucking did it, Y/N.” His voice rises, raw with something close to fury. “He used Crucio on you. I heard you scream. And then he just—he just stopped—like he could pretend it never happened.”
A cold numbness spread through my chest. “No, he—”
“Don’t,” Theo cuts me off, his eyes dark and seething. “Don’t defend him. You don’t know what I heard. What I felt.” He ran a trembling hand through his hair, his breath uneven. “And you still love him, don’t you?”
I flinched. It wasn’t a question, and we both knew the answer.
Theo lets out a bitter laugh. “You’re fucking brainwashed, Y/N.” He turned away, his shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breathing. “He’s a coward.”
I press my palms into the cold floor. “They forced him.”
“They forced him?” Theo whirls back around, eyes wild. “Or did he just not fight hard enough?”
I swallow back the lump in my throat. Because deep down, in the part of me I don’t want to acknowledge, I wonder the same thing.
The weight of their situation pressed heavily on Mattheo’s chest. Every moment felt like it could be his last, every choice fraught with unbearable consequences. As he and Draco continued to scramble for any solution, for a way out of the darkness that was closing in around them, Mattheo couldn’t help but think of Y/N—how she must be suffering, trapped in the dungeon with Theo. I have to get them out, he thought. But every plan seemed destined to fail.
The manor felt like a prison. They couldn’t leave through the front door, and the rest of the house was under constant watch. Every escape attempt, every whisper of a plan, was always met with failure or suspicion.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Mattheo muttered, frustration thick in his voice. He glanced at Draco, who was poring over the papers they’d gathered, trying to make sense of their options.
“We can’t reach out to the others,” Draco said, barely above a whisper. “Not yet. They don’t know the full truth, and even if they did—if we don’t get out of here now, the Dark Lord’s going to notice. We need to be careful.”
Mattheo nodded, his mind racing. He knew Draco was right. But there had to be another way.
Before either of them could speak again, the door creaked open. Mattheo’s heart leapt into his throat, but he quickly masked his reaction. They weren’t supposed to be seen in here, not with what they were planning. But when he saw who it was, his breath caught in his chest.
The boys quickly tried to hide any trace of planning, any parchment and ink ready to be sent to their friends. But the intruder entered.
For a moment, Mattheo could hardly breathe. The Potions Master stepped inside without a word, his dark eyes flicking briefly to the table where they had hastily tried to hide their planning papers. His expression was unreadable, and the silence in the room was deafening.
Snape closed the door behind him with a quiet click and raised his wand without a sound. Before either boy could react, the air in the room seemed to thicken, and Snape’s low mutter cut through the silence.
An invisible pressure seemed to crush the room, and Mattheo suddenly felt more isolated than ever. No sound could escape the room. Nothing could be heard from outside, nothing could interfere with whatever was about to happen here.
Draco and Mattheo exchanged wary glances. There was something unsettling about Snape’s presence, but neither of them made a move. They knew better than to act rashly in the face of someone like him.
Snape’s gaze was calculating, but there was something in his eyes that didn’t quite match the cold indifference he usually wore. He spoke, his voice low, though not cruel.
“Careful,” Snape murmured. “The walls have ears, and you know what happens when certain people overhear things they shouldn’t.”
Mattheo’s breath quickened. Was Snape here to expose them? To end their rebellion before it had even started? But Snape didn’t seem hostile. Not yet. His posture was rigid, his tone calm, but Mattheo couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
Draco looked up, trying to read Snape’s expression. “What are you doing here, Snape?” His voice was guarded, eyes narrowing slightly. “We’re not exactly in a position to have casual chats.”
Snape’s lips quirked slightly, though there was no humor in it. “I’m not here for casual conversation, Draco. I’m here because I have to be.”
Mattheo blinked confused. He wasn’t sure what Snape meant, but there was a weight to the words that made him uneasy.
Snape took a step closer, his expression softening ever so slightly. “I promised Dumbledore I would keep you safe, Mattheo. And that means I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you’re hidden away—if the time comes. You and your friends.”
Draco tensed, but Mattheo didn’t speak. Dumbledore? What was Snape saying?
“You think I’m here to betray you, don’t you?” Snape’s voice was laced with quiet bitterness, but it wasn’t directed at them. It was more like a frustration with the entire situation, with their growing fear and mistrust. “You think I’m here to report you to the Dark Lord, to let you die for some misguided sense of loyalty.” He took another step closer, his eyes darkening. “I am not here to watch you fall. I am here because the time has come for you to be protected.”
Mattheo’s chest tightened. Was this some kind of sick joke? Snape was working for Dumbledore? But why? Why now?
“Why should we trust you?” Mattheo finally managed, his voice hoarse with the weight of everything he had been holding back. His anger flared. “You’ve never given us any reason to think you care about us. About anyone. All we’ve ever known is the side you’ve chosen.”
Snape’s face darkened, and for the first time, Mattheo saw something else—a deep, weary sadness in the Potions Master’s gaze. “I don’t care what you think of me, Riddle,” Snape said, his voice low and cold. “But I do care about your safety. I do care about making sure you’re not thrown into this mess. Dumbledore is trying to protect you. I’m trying to protect you.”
Draco was quiet for a long moment, the weight of Snape’s words sinking in. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. “So, what, you’re here to take us to Dumbledore?”
Snape gave a sharp nod. “When the time is right. Not yet. But soon.”
Mattheo’s mind raced. He couldn’t understand it—Snape working for Dumbledore? But at that moment, something about Snape’s demeanor made him feel like there was truth in it. There was no deception in the way Snape spoke; he was dead serious.
“I don’t care about me,” Mattheo said suddenly, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “I don’t care what happens to me. I care about Y/N. About Theo. They need to be safe. I don’t care if I’m safe, but I will not let anyone hurt them.”
Snape’s gaze softened, and for a brief moment, Mattheo saw the faintest hint of understanding in his eyes. “I know,” Snape murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “And that is why I’m here. I won’t let them touch you, Riddle. Not while I can help it.”
Mattheo swallowed hard. He didn’t know if he could trust Snape fully—not yet. But right now, in this moment, Snape was the only one who was offering them a way out.
“Then get us out of here,” Mattheo demanded. His words were desperate. “Now.”
Snape studied them both for a long moment, his dark eyes calculating. “You will do nothing,” he said, his tone firm. “You will wait. I will handle the rest. Dumbledore has already made arrangements. When the time comes, you will get away from here—quietly, safely.”
The weight of his words hung heavy in the room. “But we can’t just sit here,” Draco said, his voice tinged with frustration. “We can’t afford to wait. Every minute counts. Y/N—Theo—they’re still in danger.”
“Patience,” Snape snapped, his voice harsher now. “You think I don’t know that? But you are not in a position to act recklessly. If you make one wrong move, the entire plan collapses. You’re not as invisible as you think.”
Mattheo opened his mouth to argue, but Snape’s cold gaze silenced him. The Potions Master gave him a sharp look, as if reading his mind. “You are young, Riddle. This is not the time for bravado. You will listen to me, or you will risk everything. Your friends' lives. Your own.”
Mattheo clenched his fists, but this time, it wasn’t anger that filled him. It was desperation. He had to keep Y/N safe. He had to protect them all. The thought of her—trapped—made his chest ache. She didn’t deserve any of this.
“What’s the plan, then?” Mattheo asked through gritted teeth, forcing himself to focus.
Snape’s expression softened ever so slightly, but there was still something guarded in his eyes. “You will wait. But I will see to it that you are prepared. But for now, you remain here.” He took a deep breath, his gaze flicking to the door before turning back to them. “You will know when the time is right.”
Mattheo didn’t trust the silence that lingered in the room after that. He wanted to shout, to argue, to tear through every wall that separated him from Y/N. But Snape was right—if they acted too soon, everything would be ruined.
There was only one thing that mattered now. Keeping his head down. Waiting. And when the time came, fighting.
“I want to see Y/N,” Mattheo said suddenly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His voice wavered with barely contained desperation.
Snape’s expression flickered, but he didn’t look surprised. “You will see her when the time is right,” he said, his voice heavy with an authority that Mattheo couldn’t ignore. “I’m not here to give you false hope, Riddle. You’re not getting out of here today. You’ll be patient and follow through. When it’s time, she’ll be safe.”
Mattheo felt his heart sink. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. There was nothing to say. Snape was right.
“I’ll keep her safe, Mattheo,” Snape added quietly, almost as if reading his mind. “I promise you.”
The words didn’t bring him peace. They only left him with a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“please,” Mattheo muttered, his voice barely audible.
Once Snape left, Draco's eyes were glued to Mattheo, "so everyone was right then? You're more than just friends."
Mattheo didn't answer straight away, hoping he could avoid this conversation altogether. But he knew better than to ignore his friend right now.
He nodded and his eyes drift up to meet Draco's. The blonde sighed, shaking his head.
"How reckless. And you had to—" He holds back from repeating what happenend only hours ago. "I'm sorry, Mattheo." He muttered, understanding a bit of the turmoil brewing in the dark lords son.
"It doesn't matter now. The only thing that does is Y/N being safe. And Snape is our only option."
Mattheo’s heart pounded in his chest as he and Draco moved swiftly through the corridors of the manor, the weight of the plan heavy on both their shoulders. Every step felt like it might be their last, each echoing through the stone halls as they made their way toward the dungeons.
A portkey in Draco's hand. An old book, looking too normal to work, Mattheo thought. But he had to trust Snape. There was no other option.
The shadows around them seemed to stretch longer, colder, and Mattheo’s mind was filled with the image of Y/N—fragile, broken—locked away down there. He hated that he had to leave her there, hated that she had to suffer because of his mistakes. But he couldn’t afford to waste any more time.
“We need to hurry,” Draco muttered, his face set with determination but his eyes betraying a hint of anxiety. “If anyone hears us…”
“I know,” Mattheo cut in, his voice low but edged with urgency. “We can’t let them find us. We need to get out before anyone knows.”
They reached the entrance to the dungeons, the cold, oppressive air from below seeping through the cracks in the stone door. Mattheo’s breath hitched as he placed his hand on the door, every nerve in his body screaming at him to act fast, to get Y/N and Theo out before everything fell apart.
Draco's jaw clenched. “Let's move quick, we don't have a lot of time.”
He cast one final glance around the hall before they descended into the darkness together, their footsteps soft as they moved deeper into the bowels of the manor.
I couldn’t feel anything anymore. The stone floor beneath me was cold and unyielding, but I was numb to it all. The events of the past days had broken something inside me, and now, I was hollow.
The flickering torchlight from the corridor beyond the cell cast long shadows on the walls, but even that failed to capture my attention. My eyes flickered over to Theo, still silent, still broken. His face was pinched in pain, eyes distant, as though he too had resigned himself to whatever fate Voldemort had in store for us.
A rush of air—cool and familiar—made me glance up.
Mattheo was standing there, his silhouette framed in the doorway. His eyes were locked on mine, filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher, a mixture of guilt, relief, and something darker I couldn’t place.
Then came Draco, standing just behind him, watchful, alert, as if any sound could be their last.
My breath caught in my throat as I struggled to push myself up. I wanted to reach out, to run to him, but I couldn't.
But Theo—Theo was already on his feet, anger bubbling up from deep inside him. His face twisted with fury as he strode forward, his hands pushing Mattheo back with force, though Mattheo hardly moved.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Theo’s voice cracked, raw with emotion, “y-you tortured her—”
Mattheo didn’t respond immediately. His eyes locked on mine, searching, pleading, but the words stuck in his throat. He looked broken—more than I had ever seen him. It was as if everything he had been carrying had collapsed in on him, and he could no longer hold it together.
“I’m sorry,” Mattheo finally whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so-sorry.”
Theo scoffed, his hands trembling with anger. “Sorry?” he spat. “Sorry for what, Mattheo? You’re the reason we’re here in the first place!”
Mattheo opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked at me then, his eyes welling with something I couldn’t name. He took a hesitant step toward me, his hand trembling as if reaching out, but Theo was quick to block his path. He stepped in front of me protectively, his arm wrapped around me as if trying to shield me from Mattheo’s presence.
“Don’t you dare,” Theo growled.
The room fell silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Mattheo stood still, his gaze never leaving me, as if he was trying to put words to the weight of his guilt. But nothing came. He only stood there, broken.
Then, Draco’s voice cut through the silence, his voice low but urgent. “We need to go. Now. We don't have time to argue.”
Theo’s eyes snapped to Draco, his expression dark but filled with reluctant understanding. He knew Draco was right.
Mattheo stepped closer again, his hand still outstretched, but Theo immediately pulled me into his side, positioning himself between us. His fingers brushed mine as he placed them on the portkey—an old, worn book that seemed to pulse with an unfamiliar power. Theo’s other hand held the edge of the book tightly, his breathing shallow as he glanced up at Mattheo one last time, his face a mixture of fury and pain.
“Let’s go,” Theo whispered, his voice hoarse.
And with that, the world seemed to shift.
The portkey pulled us, and in an instant, the cold stone of the dungeon disappeared, replaced by the violent rush of wind and the sensation of being pulled through time and space.
The pull of the portkey was unlike anything I had ever experienced. My whole body felt like it was being torn apart, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell which way was up or down. The book I clutched was the only thing holding me together, my fingers tangled with Theo’s as he held on tightly. His grip was strong, but I could feel the tension in his body, not knowing where we were headed.
Finally, the world snapped back into focus. The cold air was gone, replaced by warmth, but everything around me felt dizzying. My feet hit the ground hard, and I stumbled forward, but Theo’s arm was instantly around me, steadying me. My stomach felt twisted, and I fought to not empty it across the wooden floor.
I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the new surroundings. The room we had landed in was dimly lit, and there were adult figures standing around, watching us closely.
Theo’s hand stayed firmly in mine, his body shielding me from the others, but there was a coldness in his touch that hadn’t been there before. I could feel his anger and his frustration pulsing through him, especially as he glanced at the curly, brown haired boy standing beside Draco.
“We’re not your enemies,” Draco said quickly, his voice sharp but trying to reassure the strangers around us.
But the woman who had stepped forward, with dark eyes and a tight expression, didn’t seem convinced. “Who are you? What is going on here?” she demanded, raising her wand, as others in the room followed suit. Curious but defensive eyes studying us all.
I instinctively pressed closer to Theo, who was already pulling me into his side, as though trying to protect me from everything. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked at Mattheo, whose face was pale and tense. Worn out.
“We’re not—” Theo began, but was quickly interrupted by a voice from the back.
“Who the bloody hell let them in? They're death eaters.” The man’s voice was gruff, his eyes narrowed with anger. Muttering something about recognizing Draco's white hair to be a Malfoy trait.
"You're you-know-who's son, aren't you?" I could see the guilt and pain in Mattheo's eyes, the man looked ready to burst, hesitating only a moment, maybe because we were still young, maybe because we didn't have anything to defend ourselves with.
“This wasn’t part of the plan,” Mattheo muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.
Then, just as things were getting too tense, another figure stepped into the room. She was older, her face kind but weathered, and she exuded a sense of authority that seemed to quiet everyone in the room.
The woman raised her wand, but her expression softened as she surveyed us, lowering her weapon and coming closer. “I’m Molly Weasley,” she introduced herself. “You’re not in danger here, Dumbledore informed us you would come,” she said, her voice calm and soothing. “Welcome to Grimmauld Place.”
The moment the words left her lips, I felt something break inside of me. All the fear, the anxiety, the weight of everything that had happened—it all came crashing down. I couldn’t hold it together any longer.
I felt the tears flood my eyes as I broke down in Theo’s arms. Unable to stop the sobs that wracked my body.
Theo didn’t let go. He was still angry, still holding on to that frustration, but for a moment, he softened, his hand gently rubbing my back, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern that somehow calmed me.
The woman who had spoken, Molly Weasley, moved closer. Her ginger hair framed her face as she crouched down beside me, a warmth in her voice as she spoke. “It’s all right, dear. You’re safe now. We’ll take care of you.”
I couldn’t find the strength to speak, only nodding weakly as she rested a hand on my shoulder, her touch surprisingly soothing.
“Breathe, love,” she said, her voice soft and comforting. “It’s over now. You’re not alone.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to believe it.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
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