Sophie Riley Macher, daughter of Stu Macher and Tatum Riley, moves from Woodsboro to New York. She moved on with her life after the attack last year; she got into college with her friends and everything seemed to go well. Until a Ghostface masked killer decided to come back to torment them.
Some warnings: Ethan Landry x female reader (friends to lovers with happy ending), this may contain some mentions of blood and murders, so if you're not comfortable, don't read!!
Word Count: 1.8K
Also available in portuguese on my wattpad (escritora_e_peras)!!
I apologize for any grammar errors in advance!!
click here for chapter 6!
CHAPTER 7: Dom Toretto 2.0
Detective Bailey walked us through his plan: catch Ghostface at a park, using Sam and Tara as a bait.
I don't know if he heard the idiotic plan he made because since when is a killer going to enter a public space to kill someone? Alone, even?
I just know that this man is helping the killers but I don't have any proof.
I stayed on the van with Kirby, Mindy, Chad and Ethan.
"Are we going to track his location by the call, what never works in movies?" Mindy smiled.
I was more worried with the fact that I haven't eaten anything decent for some time now and the only thing we had been able to buy was chips, like Ethan, and a sandwich, like the one Chad had devoured.
There was no salad food trucks around the park. Who in their decent mind would even want to buy a salad at the park? Well, I just needed to get home.
If we did arrive home, right? Because this could take hours.
God, if I don't eat anything I'm going to pass out. But am I going to surrender to more calories?!
"I can track a call in less than 15 seconds." Kirby answers right after Mindy finishes.
"Alright. So, you sent them there as a bait."
"Because the killer calls when he's near." the older woman answers.
"And you think that they are safe because its daylight and they're at a public space?"
"It's just stupid. You're not gonna catch him here, in a public space."
"Listen, me and Bailey are here."
"That's exactly how our uncle Randy died!" Mindy exclames. While she keeps rambling on about it, Ethan offered us his cheetos, asking silently if me or Chad wanted some.
Chad refused, and so did I. But Chad had ate a gigantic sandwich. I haven't and I think that was something Ethan noticed.
He turns the bag to me, holding it with one hand and leaning over.
I stare at him and then to the bag and I didn't want him to think about the matter so, I accepted and ate a chip or two.
When I realized, Ethan wasn't holding the bag anymore and I had already eaten the whole thing.
"He's inside a building on Upper West Side." Kirby declares.
"Upper West Side?" I whisper to myself "Why would he..." I stop talking, realizing everything and my eyes widen "Gale! He's after her!" I get up and leave the van, ignoring the others calling for me.
I see Sam and Tara in the middle of the park, running away.
I used all of the energy that the cheetos I had had given me, thank you Ethan, and I run towards them. Bailey was trying to stop them. Oh, I knew it.
I look to the side and I see his car.
I let my intrusive thoughts win and I opened the door, entering on the drivers side.
"What are you waiting for?! Get in!" I yell at them, rolling down the window.
They're fast to do so, Sam sits by my side and Tara in the back.
We ignore Bailey asking us to get out of the car and I turn it on, closing the window he was on.
"Sophie, do you know how to drive?" Sam questions.
"Do you even have a fucking license?" Tara also questions, slightly scared.
"Yes and no." I answer them both at a time "Don't worry, my dad thought my how to drive. Actually, you better buckle up. And hold on."
Okay Dom Toretto, do not let me down. I spent hours watching your movies, that has got to count for something.
I step onto the acelerator and start to drive. I smile as I turn on the sirens.
"Oh my God!" Sam yells. Tara barely speaks.
"This is so fun!" I giggle grabbing the steering wheel "Oh, by the way, where does Gale lives? I have a terrible sense of direction."
"And you're the one driving?!" Sam screams at me, holding onto anything she could.
"Guide me!" I ask and she does.
"Watch out!" Tara yells in the back, pointing forward.
I'm quick to swerve whatever it was. Who would've thought that marathons of Fast and Furious AND hours lost playing GTA would help me right now.
In less then 5 minutes we're at Gale's appartment. Taxis would never deliver this.
We get out of the car and, since I own New York, apparently, I just got out of the car, leaving it on and with the door opened.
We quickly climb the stairs, pass through the automatic doors and go up the thousand stairs that there were in the building.
Well, let's be positive, at least we burn calories, don't we?
As we open the door, we see the killer, ready to strike Gale and kill her.
"Hey, asshole!" Sam yells, shooting him three times but never hiting him.
While she's on her duty, me and Tara run towards the journalist.
"Oh shit, Gale?" I apply pressure on her wound.
"I'm sorry, I should've known he was coming for you!" Sam pleads.
"He didn't got me. Tell Sidney... that the son of a bitch didn't got me." Gale murmurs, closing her eyes.
"Gale, you're not making any sense! Stay with us! Open your eyes!" I beg, still applying pressure on the wound.
I hear the elevator sound.
"Out of the way!" the paramedics are here. I only leave when they start to work on her.
We're all removed from the appartment and climb down the stairs again.
Once we get on the lobby, Mindy, Chad and Ethan are already there. I take a quick stop at the restroom and wash Gale's blood out of my hands.
I walk up to them and sit on a couch, Ethan standing next to me.
Danny enters the building running to us.
"I came as fast as I could."
"Did you?" Tara accused.
"Guys, I'm scared. I don't want to get hurt again." Mindy shares.
"Neither do we." Chad secures.
"Maybe, this time he has to win." Sam mutters.
"I did not just risked my life on that incredible car trip for you to say that." I lift my eyebrows.
And, just like Ethan, I cannot and will not die a virgin.
"He wants to punish me. Maybe I'll let him. I'm gong to... turn myself in. If this is what it takes, to keep you guys safe, then it's worth it."
"No way!" I stand.
"No fucking way. You came back to Woodsboro to protect me. Everyday you decided to protect me and none of us would be standing here if it weren't for you. You have to let us protect you this time."
"No."
"We're a team, Sam."
"Sam, we're the Core Five" I say. Jesus Christ, this was really bad.
"That's right!" Chad smiles.
"Core what?" Danny questions, confused.
"It's an us thing..." Chad explains and I nod.
"He's going to keep coming for us." Sam concludes.
"Isn't there like, any place we can go and hide in?" Ethan asks.
"No, he always find us." I answer.
"We can use that. What if we don't hide?" Sam grabs the phone and speed dials Bailey.
Well, at least Ghostface knows exactly were he has to go now.
"Let's go on the subway."
"Great, does anyone want a ride over to the subway station?" I smile innocently, leaning on the car.
"We wanna get there alive." Sam laughs.
"Absolutely not." Tara scoffs.
"Uh, did you got here dead? Come on, we got a killer on the runway."
"All of us don't fit in the car." Chad mentions.
"Get on top of Mindy, I don't care, just get in."
Weirdly, everyone got in. I had no idea that I had just convinced them.
Ethan sat next to me and the others sat in the back. Mindy refused to go on top of Chad but the problem was solved. Danny and Sam were also on top of each other.
"Buckle up." Tara asks.
"And hold on!" Sam remembered.
I stepped once more on the accelerator and we moved, I turned the sirens back on. Did you really think that I was going to steal a cops car and not turn this on?
Just like if I was being chased like I see in the movies, I didn't even care on stopping at the red lights.
"What are you doing?!" Ethan asked, holding onto the door.
"I'm going to the subway...?"
"No, no! You're trying to kill us!" Chad interfers.
I rolled my eyes and took them off of the street for two seconds and everyone yelled.
Apparently I was going to run over a hot dog cart and its owner.
Finally, we reached the subway station, safe. I get out of the car calmly.
"I'm never getting in a car with you ever again, blondie" Chad states "You almost killed us and the poor guy!"
"Oh, please! That's not true. He wasn't crazy or blind! He was obviously seeing me."
"Do you even have a license?" Ethan questions while everyone goes down the stairs.
"What makes you think I do?" he smiles and so do I.
"I'm never getting in a car with you unless you have a license."
I roll my eyes again and we climb down the stairs to catch the subway.
SInce it was completely full, we were always sticking with each other but there was so many people around that they bumped into us and we ended up staying behind.
"Guys? Calm down!" I warn ans ask them but with the noise they didn't seem to listen.
Ethan, the closest one to me, turns around and walks up to me, holding out his hand. I grab it, without hesitating and like this, I don't feel so lost.
We go down another row of stairs and try to enter the subway.
Jesus, this was really full!
Suddenly, Ethan let go of my hand and I'm pushed forward.
"Ethan?!" I call for him and see him in the back.
"Sophie?!"
I try to get to him but the people in there fucking pushed me.
"Chad!" Mindy yells.
"Mindy! Shit, Mindy!" he tries to open the door for his sister but fails.
I look at Ethan once the train starts to move, slightly scared.
What if him and Mindy get hurt?
"Where's Mindy?" Sam asks while I hold on one of the poles.
"She lost it. And so did Ethan." I answer.
"She said she'll meet us there." Chad reads the message Mindy sent on his phone.
I take my phone out of my pocket when I feel it vibrate and see it's a message from Ethan.
I'm with Mindy. We'll catch the next train and we'll meet you there.
"Shit..." Chad murmurs as he looks around. We follow his gaze.
A lot of people disguised as Ghostface. Great!
To be continued...
I hope y'all are better for the next chapter cuz as much as I loved writing it, it made me cry - some parts, at least.
Summary: in where after spending a few hours tangled in the sheets with Theodore, you feel hungry and he doesn't hesitate making you a midnight snack.
Warnings: may be a little explicit.
I apologize for any grammar errors!
Word count: 978
"Teddy?" you catch his attention and he replies with a 'hm?'. Smoke comes out of his lips and he caresses your waist underneath the sheets of your bed.
You don't even remember how all of this started. Firstly you two had gone out with your friends. Had dinner, drank a little bit - not as much as you used to like when you attended Hogwarts - and got back home.
Then, as you were taking your shoes off, Theo hugged you from behind and kissed the curve of your neck.
Next thing you remember, he started to kiss you slowly, like he always did. You somehow ended up against the wall with Theo's lips crashed against yours, moving in sync. His hand grabbed the back of your neck and you grabbed his shirt and arm.
A few moments later, your shirt was discarted, just like his jacket and a few other pieces of clothing and Theo carried you to the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
That was pretty much it.
Now, Theo was sat against the headboard and you were laying on his chest. With one hand he smoked a cigarette and with the other hand he held you, caressing your waist gently.
"I'm hungry..." you reveal in a soft and low tone, drawing circles on his naked abdomen. He scoffs with a soft smile, takes a last drag of the cigarette and puts it out.
"What do you want to eat, amore?" he lets go of you, gently and puts some pair of pants on.
"Uhm, I don't know..." you hugged yourself "Would it be really bad craving some pasta right now?"
He smiles.
"It's not. Come on, I'll make it for you." he gestures for you to follow him.
"Can you give me my shirt at least? You're closer than I am to it, so..." he looks at you, confused and points at the bed.
"After what we just did 5 minutes ago? I don't think you need a shirt.." he jokes but still hands you one of his tshirts.
You gave him an upside down smile, far away to slap his arm and put on his shirt. It was big enough to cover your thighs, so you don't put on shorts, going only with your panties. He opens the door and waits for you to get out of bed so he can follow you to the kitchen.
You turn the lights on in the kitchen and Theo gets to work.
"You need help with anything?" you try to be useful but you had a total of zero cooking skills and Theo knew.
"Not really tesoro, you can just sit on the counter and watch... Unless you wanna hand me the ingredients." he suggests, picking up a knife and a cutting board.
You nod and grab the pasta, obviously, and tomatoes.
Yep, you had about this knowledge on how to make pasta. Not bad, huh?
"What else do you need?" you ask, watching him fill a pan with water.
"Get me some garlic and an onion. And a few leaves of basil." he answers.
You grab everything he asks for and place it next to him. He thanks you with a kiss on top of your head.
"Okay, so," he begins to explain while you sit on the counter, watching him "First, you cook the pasta." he shows, placing the pasta on the water.
"Is that going to fit in there? Don't you need to break it?"
Theodore slowly turns his head to you, interpreting the words that came out of your mouth as if you had just said the craziest thing ever and somehow, you managed to offend him.
"You never break the pasta." he warns, emphasing the never.
You simply nod your head. Never break pasta, noted.
"Now, while we wait for the pasta to cook, we can start cutting the onion and the garlic." he moves on, picking up the knife and chopping the ingredients effortelessly.
After, he puts a bit of olive oil on another pan and then adds the garlic and onion. He also cuts one tomato and adds in there.
"Come here, amore. Smell this..." he asks, stirring the food all together.
He adds a few more ingredients he picked up from the fridge himself.
You get off of the counter and approach the stove, taking in the delicious smell of all of the ingredients.
"It smells really good!" you praise, what made him smile.
"Now, we add in the pasta, which is ready..." he says, tilting his head to look at you before going silent, focusing on his current task... And to avoid getting pasta on the floor.
He stirrs the ingredients all over again, gently and then distributes the food on two plates.
"It's ready!" he tells, placing one of the plates in front of him and then on the seat where you usually sat on.
You brought the cutlery and sat down, facing your loving boyfriend.
With a little smile and excited, you dig in. You grab your fork and twirl it around the pasta, bringing it into your mouth.
"Wow, Teddy, this tastes amazing!" you praise once more, with a full mouth but with your hand covering it.
He smiled, without taking his eyes off of you.
"Thank you. It was my mama who thought me this recipe..." he continued, remembering his mother.
You smiled softly at his reply. After that, you both enjoyed your meal silently and when you were both done, Theo grabbed both of your plates and placed them on the sink, to be washed in the morning.
"Thank you, you healed my hunger."
"Anytime, amore." he kissed your cheek. "Next time, I'll teach you how to make tiramisu." he smirks, leading you back to your bedroom, where you both talk for a few minutes before falling asleep tangled in each others arms.
i'm not writing smut... yet. HAHA but hey, you got some explicit things going on in here xo ;)
Sophie Riley Macher, daughter of Stu Macher and Tatum Riley, moves from Woodsboro to New York. She moved on with her life after the attack last year; she got into college with her friends and everything seemed to go well. Until a Ghostface masked killer decided to come back to torment them.
Some warnings: Ethan Landry x female reader (friends to lovers with happy ending), this may contain some mentions of blood and murders, so if you're not comfortable, don't read!!
Word Count: 2.1K
Also available in portuguese on my wattpad (escritora_e_peras)!!
I apologize for any grammar errors in advance!!
Click here for chapter 5!!
CHAPTER 6: Justice for Stu!
"I'm really sorry, for Quinn." Tara starts, side by side with the detective.
"Thank you."
Me, Tara and Sam were by his side while he mourned his daughter's death.
"Both my children died." he wipes his tears "My whole family, gone. They took me of the case, but I won't stop until I find him." his expression shifts "Whoever fucks with my family, dies."
He looked at Sam, terrifyingly. Was I the only one who noticed?
"You okay? I came as soon as I could." Gale's gaze wandered around me but I didn't answer.
"Gale, I swear..." Sam starts, already fed up.
"I came in peace, alright? I'm here for whatever you need."
"Nice try." I grumble.
"I swear I am!"
"Fine." she looks at everyone and then her eyes lock on me again.
"I'm not apologizing for punching you, though."
"Right, I figured." she smiled as I had said a joke "You're the cop, right?" she looked at detective Bailey who nodded "I investigated the first victims and I found something. I know where the masks are coming from."
"Ladies..." Kirby shows up, greeting us.
"Kirby?"
"Gale?"
"She's with the FBI." I answer, crossing my arms.
"She's a child!" she arguments "Since when does the FBI hires children?"
"I'm 30!"
"Really? Well, you look like a zygote."
Pissed, Kirby lead her hand to her gun, on her hip.
"I have a gun, Gale."
"Okay, alright. But you'll want tp see this too." she spills.
Before asking for a taxi to drives us to the place, Ethan walks up to me. Me, him and Chad were going to take the same taxi while Sam, Tara and Mindy were going on another one.
"Do you remember our conversation from yesterday?" the curly boy asked me; we were slightly away from Chad.
"We talked a lot yesterday."
"About the date." he cleared, with the same old smile who would usually make me melt.
"Ethan, I would really love to, but both my bestfriends just died, okay? They died and I..."
"To relieve your mind."
"Ethan, we can die tomorrow and you wanna take me out on a date?"
"Blondie, if we die tomorrow, which is not going to happen, I'll never get the chance to take you out..." he smiled, even though his attempted joke was funny, I didn't gather enough strenght to laugh and he realized. "Please?" he asks, holding my wrists gently "I can't die without taking you out." he places a strand of my hair behind my ear.
"You're being dramatic." I cross my arms and forbid myself from laughing at such exageration.
Before Ethan could open his mouth again, the taxi arrives and Chad calls us, opening the door for me.
I get in first, then Ethan and Chad, who stands quiet.
Why does he suspects Ethan? Even if he was a Ghostface he wasn't going to attack us here. Two against one? Plus the driver?
Well, thinking about it, Ghostface really almost killed us yesterday at night. And we were seven, even though two had flee.
It's Ethan. He wouldn't do this.
The drive was silent and once we got there, everyone was already waiting for us.
As soon as Gale opens the door, we climb up the stairs and get in.
"What is this place? Why do they need so many security alarms?" Sam questions by watching Gale desarm every alarm.
Once she turns on the lights, we get a better view.
"It's a movie theater..." Tara concludes.
"Not only. It's a santuary." she presses a button and the curtains from the stage rise.
A lot of mannequins dressed with Ghostface cloaks were on that stage. Objects were everywhere, objects properly identified.
Whoever made this, deserves an applause. Not even I, the biggest Harry Potter fan, have half of the stuff this person has collected so far about this franchise.
It's scary.
"They have the godamn whole franchise in here!" Mindy exclaims, walking forward.
Calmly, all of us spread around the room and see with our own eyes what we had in here. Truly, everything was here.
Bloody knives, strings, drawings, more 'Stab' movie shit and...
Another mannequin with clothes. But this wasn't a random one.
It was the mannequin with my mom's clothes, with the ones she died with.
Tatum Riley, murdered by Billy Loomis in 96, one of the originals. She almost got out, I read on the paper next to it.
What the actual fuck. My blood boiled with the said sarcasm.
By its side, there were a couple of pictures of her with Sidney, my dad and Sam's dad.
I took a quick look around and realized that Ethan was the closest person to me, and he was entertained looking at other stuff.
I decided to move on and walk up right in front of the stage, where was another mannequin there, that one had the red cloak that my dad wore.
A ton of other objects connected to him were by his side, just like a little text about him that I didn't even bother to read.
The only thing I was looking at was that cloak... would it be really bad if I stole it and took it home?
It would? Okay, never mind then.
"You've all been through so much." Quinn's dad breaks the silence, watching us remember the past.
I looked at him from far away. I didn't trust him, not even a little bit.
I kept on walking and found Gale, frozen like a statue and staring at something. I made my way to her, which I regret doing.
It was a little santuary as well, but for my uncle.
There were pictures of him and also a little drawing of the way he died.
"I'm sorry." were the words that came out of my mouth. Gale stared at me, clearly confused.
"It wasn't your fault. He was the one who wanted to help, he always did. You know, I might've lost a boyfriend, but you've lost a father."
I remained in silence and to avoid collapsing right there, I turned around and walked away.
"Where did they get all of this? Isn't all of this evidence?" Tara asked, still looking around.
"Cops like money and evidences gets lost pretty easily."
"Why am I here, exactly? My alibi matches..." Ethan tries.
"So we can keep an eye on you, roomie." Chad smiled while his sister stood serious beside him.
I walk up to his side but don't say anything.
"The killer must've found this place before murdering Jason and Greg. After that, he took the masks off of the mannequins. All of them, from Stu's and Billy's to Amber's and Richie's."
Sam gets up on the stage and walks up to the mannequins. Me and everyone else simply observe.
"Don't you think that's a little unfair?" I whisper, leaning over to Ethan.
"What?" he asks in the same tone, leaning down.
"That Billy has his owns clothes protected by glass but Stu doesn't. They're both originals, same rights guys... Justice for Stu!" I gesture with my hands, what makes Ethan almost giggle, but he controlled himself.
"So, someone killed this motherfuckers and took their place?" Chad brings out.
"Someone who believes Sam set up Woodsboro."
"If this was a normal 'Stab' movie, this would've been the lion's den." Mindy starts.
"Which means that this isn't a normal movie." Kirby concludes.
While Kirby speaks, Tara gets off of the stage and Sam follows her. I took that as an encouragment and did the same. I also get off of the stage and wander around, hearing footsteps right behind me.
"Sophie? Where are you going?" it's Ethan's voice. I smile with the worry.
"I don't know. I just wanted to check to see if there's something else around here." he nods, placing his hands on his pockets and walking by my side.
I open a random door and face another huge theater room. The screen was right on our right, on our left were the seats and upstairs were even more seats with a golden grid to secure people from falling from there.
"Holy shit! This is huge!" I exclaim as soon as we enter, with Ethan behind me, silent.
On the walls there was only Ghostfaces drawings and the seats were covered by huge white sheets.
I take a look around and turn to look at Ethan who was already looking at me and when he realizes that, he looks away.
I walk up to one of the seats and sit, uncovering a part of it from the white sheet.
Ethan simply leans over on the nearest handrail.
"It's weird, you know?" I speak up, calmly "Seeing a santuary and having part of your family that's death in it."
"I'd like to say that I know how you feel but, I'd be lying. And I would've never lie to you." with two large steps, he reaches me and sits on the seat on my right. "I saw the way you were looking at your mom's mannequin..." he admits and I raise my head to meet his gaze.
"I... I've seen worst."
"When I was younger, my mom left my dad and since then, I've never heard from her ever again."
"At least you have a mother... and a father." I answer and look at him once again and see his embarassed expression. He was trying to comfort me. "I'm sorry, that was... I have a gift with uh... making things weird and ruining the mood..." I smile softly, as if I was apologizing.
"I won't say anything else." he laughs and crosses his arms, leaning back and pretending to be offended.
"No, I'm kidding! Keep going!" I laugh as well. "I promise I won't make any more jokes."
We giggled until silence took its place again. I couldn't not stare at him and weirdly, neither did him.
I sat more comfortable on the seat, turned around to face him and I keep feeling his gaze on me.
Everywhere.
I support my elbow on the seat and I accidentaly touch his arm. He breaks our eye contact to look at it and then looks at me again.
Now, I've read milions of books, except of course while people were trying to kill me, but my head is always stuck on a book and, this eye contact tells me that something is about to happen.
Oh my God, was he going to kiss me? Was I going to kiss him? I mean, I'd obvioulsy kiss him back once he kissed me but I wasn't going to kiss him first.
How the hell does one achieve that?
Lost in my own thoughts, I notice Ethan leaning in and as if it was normal - and as portraited in my books - I decided to lean in as well. I don't know how many time passed since then but I just know that he leaned in once again and I felt his lips against mine, gently.
Was this really happening? I never unlocked this scenario... Oh, well.
The kiss was very calm and gentle and even though this was my first kiss ever, which I deduce that was also Ethan's first, it was not weird at all.
I felt his hand sneaking behind my neck and pulling me in closer, in a careful way, what made me melt even more.
As soon as my lungs lack of air, we lean back at the same time and we look at each other.
What am I supposed to do now?
His gaze wandered around my face and he simply scoffed and started to laugh. Thinking it was funny, I did the same.
I don't know from where it came from, but Ethan gathered up courage which I didn't knew he had and grabbed me by the back of my neck again, this time, a little firmer now, crashing our lips.
This kiss was less gentle but more rushed. Out of nowhere I also gathered up some courage and grabbed his shirt, pulling him in closer.
Again, I don't know how long had passed but my lungs started to beg for air and I knew that it was time to stop so I slowly pull back.
Before any of us could say anything, we hear a voice above us.
"How did you two got downstairs?" Kirby questions, with Tara by her side.
"How did you two got upstairs?" I ask, getting up to get a look at them better, begging God that they hadn't seen what had just happen but something tells me they did...
"We used the stairs?" Tara answers as if its obvious, with a little smirk on the corner of her mouth.
I roll my eyes with an upside down smile.
"I'm sorry to interrumpt but I think I have an idea on how we can surprise this motherfucker." Bailey appears too.
"We're in." Gale states.
"Sorry Gale but, no press. Police matters. You know, I'm really good at my job too." Kirby smiles.
To be continued...
im sorry for being a little inactive. last week i went to parisss and i was really excited so i didn't write anything (mostly due to the fact that i got 5 hours of sleep everydayand wasn't simply in the mood... what do we think about this? HAHAHAHA
Sophie Riley Macher, daughter of Stu Macher and Tatum Riley, moves from Woodsboro to New York. She moved on with her life after the attack last year; she got into college with her friends and everything seemed to go well. Until a Ghostface masked killer decided to come back to torment them.
Some warnings: Ethan Landry x female reader (friends to lovers with happy ending), this may contain some mentions of blood and murders, so if you're not comfortable, don't read!!
I apologize for any errors!
Word Count: 2.5K
Also available in portuguese on my wattpad (escritora_e_peras)!!
Cick here for chapter 4!
CHAPTER 5: "I bruise like a peach."
I get up and run to Quinn's door but Chad grabs me and pulls me back. I stay between Tara and Mindy, we're all staring at the door.
It didn't take long for the door to open and both me and Anika are taken down with Quinn's dead body on top of us. I look down at my clothes, now they're all bloody.
Anika screams as she sees the lifeless redhead's and both Mindy and Sam help us to get up.
He's frozen. Looking at us.
"Oh, shit!" Mindy yells and Ghostface takes the first step.
He cuts Mindy's arm and when he gets closer. me and Anika try to stop him.
As said by my beloved Oberyn Martell, today is not the day that I die. Well, he died anyways, but I belive that I will survive. Especially since I'm a virgin and I don't wanna die like this. I'm not a freaking nun...
He grabs Anika by her neck, choking her while I push him back. He drops her, tripping and almost falling but he grabs me and pushes me onto the couch.
Okay, this was weird...
He grabs Anika once more and pushes her against the wall, sticking the knife on her abdomen. The more he turns the weapon, more louder she screams and more memories come up into my mind.
I get up and I panic. Okay, you know what, forget it, I'm really going to die.
Sam arrives, thankfully and throws him the thing where we put the knifes on that I had found useless until know and he drops Anika again.
I run to her, even though he's still close but I help her get out of there.
Even with her hand on the stomach more blood would come out.
The four of us ran into Quinn's bedroom while the murder closed the apartment door.
"Fuck!" Mindy grumbles, holding onto her arm.
Me and Sam close the door and lean onto it, the killer doesn't seem to stop kicking and pushing, finding any way in. Oh, yeah, tomorrow I would have bruises all over my body. Just like Ross, I bruise like a peach.
For a few moments, he stops.
I look back and I see the bathroom door open. The bathroom me and Quinn shared.
I look at Sam and run to the door, closing it but I stop when I see her dead boyfriend.
Or friend, I never know.
What a blood bath!...literally.
I scream.
"Fuck! This guy's dead!"
When I look to the side to close the door, I see the killer once again and I scream.
"What the fuck!" I agressively exclaim and I push him but this time he didn't move and just walked to me.
Panicking, I walk back and I hit him on his head with the door.
Though, that doesn't stop him from kicking the door. Sam pushes a chest of drawers that Quinn had to the front of the door as a barricade, while me and Mindy held it.
"Anika?! Anika? Oh- oh my God!" I exclaim without knowing how much blood she had lost, due to the obvious fact that she was drencing in it.
"This hurts so much!" she answers, crying.
"I know, I know! Ah..." I look around while Sam grabbed Danny's ladder.
"We'll send Anika after, go Sam!" Mindy orders while holding the door "You're losing so much blood!"
"Try to be positive!" Anika yells while Sam is almost at Danny's.
She gets there and starts to call us.
"Mindy, take her!" I tell her, letting go of her stomach and running to the barricade, holding it myself.
"Anika, come on!" she tries to steady her girlfriend but she falls.
"I promise I will go right behind you!" they kiss.
"I don't want to ruin the cute moment but I can't hold on much longer!"
Mindy gets on the ladder and I feel Ghostface pounding harder, his knife entering a slot that he opened himself.
"Anika, go!"
Panicking and in pain, she tries to get up and get on the ladder.
With a strong pound, I fall and almost get hit with our barricade on top. I feel a little off but get up and run towards Anika.
"Come on, Anika!"
"Oh, God! No... I can't!"
"Anika, now!" I yell in panic. I hear a loud sound, the barricade is down and Ghostface doesn't waste time.
I scream, since I thought that this was my last moment but he just pushed me aside harshly and I feel onto the floor.
"Anika, quick!"
The killer sticks his knife on the window sill and starts to shake the ladder. If only I'd got up, Anika would live.
The fear of dying didn't go by my mind when I got up and walked up to him.
I grabbed the knife quickly and tried to hit him but well, I failed miserably.
"Sophie!"
He lets go of the ladder, tired, and takes the knife from my hands and pushes me. This time, I hit my head against the wall and I lost all of my strenght.
"I don't wanna die!" I hear Anika in what I believe to be my real last moment, distant.
"You're nott gonna die! Come on baby!" Mindy encourages.
A few seconds later, I hear coletive screams and an even bigger sound, but I didn't compreend what had happened.
My eyes gave in and I blacked out.
[...]
I wake up inside an ambulance, with no one inside.
I sit down, with my head still hurt and I notice Chad on the door.
"Blondie?!" he enters "We thought you had died."
"I didn't?" I ask, confused.
"No, silly." he smiles "You passed out. You were really lucky that he didn't went after you."
I listen, but I try to remember everything that had happened.
"You and Tara escaped through the front door and we hidin Quinn's bedroom, but he came after us..." I begin, calmly "Danny got a ladder, Sam and Mindy passed and..."
Chad goes mute.
"Anika was hurt and she was on the ladder. I tried to get him off of her but..."
"Sophie, it's not your fault."
"What?"
"It's not your fault. It's the motherfucker's who killed her."
I take in what he said and nod.
A few minutes later, I get out of the ambulance, better.
"You promise?" I hold onto him.
"Sophie, for the last time. You don't have a bump or a bruise on your head." he laughs as he takes me near Mindy and Tara.
"Sophie, you okay?" Tara asks and Mindy says nothing.
I chat with Tara and Chad, trying to think about nice things because it certainly wasn't there, in front of everyone where I was going to collapse.
By the corner of my left eye, I see someone passing through the yellow police tape. It was Ethan.
"Ethan?" everyone looks at him and even though I'm the first one to get up and walk up to him, Chad is quicker and grabs his by his sweater, pushing him onto the car.
"Chad!"
"Where were you?"
"What?! When?!" he answers clumsily.
"Last night!"
"I had econ! You know that!"
"Bullshit!" he pushes him again.
"Chad, please calm down!" I plead.
"You go missing and my sister almost gets killed!"
"Look I was in a study room with a hundread people! You can ask them all!"
Chad gives up and lets him go, leaving us alone.
"Now seriously, where were you? Etham, I almost died. I don't want to think like this but you were the only one who wasn't here."
"Blondie, I'm telling you the same thing I told Chad. I was in a study room with hundreads of people. You know I'd never hurt you."
I look at him. Confused and still suspicious. But it was Ethan. I wasn't going to comit the same mistake of befriending a killer, like I did with Amber.
Let alone fall in love with one!
He looks to the side where the bodies were being taken. I look away, I couldn't look at his, at my bestfriends on those bags.
"Who?"
"Anika and Quinn." I answer, tears almost falling from my eyes, but I stop myself.
I won't cry.
"Oh Sophie..." he carefully takes me into his arms and I just accepted it and hugged him harder. "I'm so sorry, blondie." he whispers as his hand goes through my hair.
"I'm fine..." I answer and let him go. He also lets me go at the same speed and at the same time.
He takes a few steps closer to Mindy and Tara, near the ambulance.
"Mindy, I'm so sorry."
"Step the fuck back. You're at the top of my list." she fires back, harsh.
Sophie Riley Macher, daughter of Stu Macher and Tatum Riley, moves from Woodsboro to New York. She moved on with her life after the attack last year; she got into college with her friends and everything seemed to go well. Until a Ghostface masked killer decided to come back to torment them.
Some warnings: Ethan Landry x female reader (friends to lovers with happy ending), this may contain some mentions of blood and murders, so if you're not comfortable, don't read!!
Word Count: 1.3K
Also available in portuguese on my wattpad (escritora_e_peras)!!
I apologize for any grammar errors in advance!!
Click here for chapter 3!!
CHAPTER 4: Core Five is a bad nickname
As soon as our group date is over, I'm the first one to get up and walk away. I had classes and I couldn't be late.
And also, I didn't want to speak to Ethan. I don't understand, after the great conversation we had during lunch he tries to make me a suspect?
I hear rushed steps behind me but, well, all of us were late.
"Sophie?" I hear Ethan's voice. I roll my eyes and keep walking, ignoring him. "Sophie?" He calls me again, louder. He gets a hold of my wrist but I quickly free myself from his grip.
"Ethan, don't."
"But..."
"Don't. You tried to make me a suspect when you clearly know I'm not. Well, actually I'll give you the benefit of doubt because you don't really know if I'm the killer or not but, I would've never done this to you." I interrumpted the brunette.
"I'm sorry, I was just-"
"No. Honestly Ethan, I don't care." I turn around and walk to my class, leaving him alone behind.
"Sophie? Blondie, I didn't-"
I turn around the corner and his voice fades before he can finish. The other students were louder.
Upset, I enter class and take my seat, waiting for the teacher to arrive and to begin thr lesson.
Time goes by and class is over. I gather my things calmly, knowing that this was my last class and that I could go home to rest.
As soon as my feet touch the outside of the classroom, Ethan pushes himself away from the wall and walks up to me. I shake my head and walk away from him.
I intend to leave the building and he follows me.
"Sophie, please stop." He begs.
"Hey, you can say whatever you want, but I'm still mad."
"And you should. I'm so sorry for what I said earlier. I think... I was feeling very pressured and I just put it all on you." He explained as his eyes are glued to mine, his expression softened.
My heartbeat increases. Not now!
"I'm still mad."
He nods.
"I'm also sorry for lying earlier." I raise a eyebrow.
"When?"
"Before we had lunch."
My expression softens, though the force that I used to hold my bag shoulder lace only increased.
"When I...?"
"When you asked if it was a date and I said no. I really wanted it to be a date, but I lied."
"So, was it really a date?" I question, completely forgeting of his past actions. This was me, on my least bipolar days.
"To me, it felt like it. But if you prefer, I can take you out on a real date."
I freeze. What I had always wantes to happen, was happening and it doesn't matter how many times I had practiced for this specific moment while I was having a shower, nothing could've prepared me for it.
"I... ahm, okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah, sure. I mean, of course." I mess up on my own words "I would love to."
"Great. Tonight I can't because I have Econ, so... can we do it another day?"
"Yeah, yeah. Sure. Just text me later."
"Okay, so...?"
"See you later? See ya someday." I smile and walk away. Speaking with boys is frightening. What the fuck was that?!
Oh, but who cares, I'm going on a date with Ethan! Wait, I was mad at him.
Well, screw it.
I walk back home through the streets of New York, thinking about this very moment.
Ew, how lame. Oh, well.
I get home and to my surprise, Chad and Mindy are already there. Even though they had their own place, they were always hanging around ours.
"I'm home!" I annunce, throwing my bag on the floor. Mindy was setting the table, Anika was watching television and Sam, Tara and Chad were on the kitchen.
"We're in the kitchen, blondie!"
I run over to Anika, hugging her and then move on to the kitchen with large steps.
"So, are you ready for our pajama party?"
"What?" I ask, confused.
"What do you mean? The Core Five pajama party!" Chad answers happily.
"Core Five?"
"Yeah!"
"Did you just gave us a nickname?" Tara questions. I stick with my disgust face.
"Well, we've been through a lot together and, also, it's a cool nickname!"
"Please, get another one." I beg and Mindy agrees.
"Come on..." Chad raises his hand, hoping we'd 'High Five'.
"No way."
"Down?" he turns to Tara.
"Get that hand away from me."
"Please?"
Sam burst out laughing.
"Sam, don't give in!" I chuckle.
"You know, I'd like a little more respect and support from my loyal colleges of Core Five."
"Not gonna happen." Mindy mumbles.
We all start to laugh and fight with each other. To be honest, Core Five was a really bad nickname.
"Guys, come here!" Anika pleds, from the living room while she turns up the sound from the TV.
"...So we know that our principal suspect is no more no less than Samantha Carpenter, one of the survivors of the murderers in Woodsboro in 2022, was seen attacking a woman in the streets, last night." the journalist explains as the video where Sam yelled at the other girl at the party is shown.
"Oh my God..." I sigh.
"I know..." Mindy answers.
"My hair looks awful!" my hand flies over to my mouth while I stare at the television. Sam is there, yelling with the girl and there's me, standing by Ethan's side, frozen. Assimilating what had happened when what I should have been doing was seeing my hair "Why did nobody warned me?"
Chad rolls his eyes and we keep watching the news.
"At the folllowing tragedy at Woodsboro, last year, rumors came up online that Carpenter was responsible for the muderers, and blamed her boyfriend Richie Kirsch and teen Amber Free-"
Sam grabs the remote and mutes the TV before the journalist can even finish. She walks to the table ans sits.
This really didn't smell good. When they took me to the station, they had nothing to prove that I was guilty. Then, the news say that the only guilty was Sam?
And then Richie - he really needed to change his perfume, it's just that, he really smelled bad... or is it the food in the oven?
Calmly, I take two steps back and check if everything is off and nothing's burning.
"...none of us can understand what you're going through..." Tara continues, sat on Sam's side "And I am really sorry that you have to do this alone."
"It's not your fault. And I know that I shouldn't worry about what others think. But, it's horrible being this hated."
"Hey," Chad starts, while me and Mindy sat side by side "Just so you know, no one in this room hates you. We've all been through some fucked up shit and we deal with it differently. We're a team, okay?"
"We're fucking Core Five." Mindy answers "Ugh! I can't believe I said this!"
"Oh, yes you did!" Chad laughs and I do too "Just face it y'all."
"We're a team, yeah, but..."
"I'm not gonna lie, the name is awful."
"I've been sleeping with the neighbour."
"I knew it!" me and Mindy yell at the same time.
"Yes!"
"I've known since the day you walking in with a hickey."
"We should do a high five."
"The Core Five way?"
"Don't call it that, but, we're doing it." we join our hands on the table.
Sam's phone buzzes. Tara snatches it before Sam does anything and shows us.
"Pick up!" I tell Sam.
"Guys, not now..."
"So, what are your intentions?" Tara questions, what makes us laugh.
"That's fine, I'll just call him back."
We laugh and the silence takes place when we hear Quinn. I mean, her moans.
"Did Quinn and her friend got back in action?" Tara giggles.
"She too? Okay."
As soon as Mindy finishes, we all get a text at the same time. This doesn't seem right.
I'm the first to open up the message and see the photo that Danny sent.
Sophie Riley Macher, daughter of Stu Macher and Tatum Riley, moves from Woodsboro to New York. She moved on with her life after the attack last year; she got into college with her friends and everything seemed to go well. Until a Ghostface masked killer decided to come back to torment them.
Some warnings: Ethan Landry x female reader (friends to lovers with happy ending), this may contain some mentions of blood and murders, so if you're not comfortable, don't read!!
Word Count: 2.5K
Also available in portuguese on my wattpad (escritora_e_peras)!!
I apologize for any grammar errors in advance!!
Click here for chapter 2.
CHAPTER 3: Pizzas and playlists
"Where the fuck are they?" Amber screams, knife in hand.
"They're in the closet locked up!"
"They must have left then, 'cause they aren't there!"
As soon as she turns, I run towards her and push her to the floor, where we both fall.
I tried to take the knife out of her hands but she was stronger than me and we end up rolling over, she on top, what ironically makes her drop the knife.
"No!" I scream, looking for anything that could help me at the moment.
Her hands fly to my neck, blocking my airways, but I try to still get the knife.
Call me crazy, but in that moment I had a hallucination in where I saw my dad, his reflection on the glass door pointing desperately to the knife I was trying to reach, as if he was cheering on me.
Almost without air I get a hold of the knife and I make a scratch on Amber's cheek when I was really pointing to her neck.
"You bitch!" she screams and let go of me, but instead she grabs the knife and stabs me on my chest.
The scream that came out of my throat was guttural and frightening, even for me.
I wake up sweating and with tears rolling down my cheeks. My hands fly to my chest, where now was only the scar Amber had gifted me.
I try to calm down, taking deep breaths as I always do, what usually works.
I look over at the clock over my nightstand and it's almost 7AM. Before getting out of bed, I check my phone to see if there are any texts.
An unknown number sent me something but I didn't even open. I know how this is going to end.
Since I was sweating, I decide to take a shower, to see if in this way, I could wake up.
Water runs down my body and I immediately felt calmer. I take a hot shower, dry my hair and choose my outfit of the day.
I knew that today the weather would be more windy so I just take a green basic sweater and some wide black jeans. And of course, my All Star. I put on my necklace and my golden rings and I walk up to the kitchen with my bag, which I threw on the couch.
Tara and Quinn were over at the kitchen.
"Good morning..." Quinn greets.
"Hey red" I showed her a weak smile and drank a cup of coffee.
"Aren't you gonna eat anything else?" Tara asked while having a toast.
I shaked my head side to side.
"You're gonna survive with coffee? Only?"
"Yeah, I do this every day and I'm alive until now." I assured them and finished my coffee while they just stared at me.
Well, if we wanna stay skinny we can't eat too much.
"Are you ready?" I asked when I came back from the bathroom, from brushing my teeth.
"Yeah, let's go." Tara said and the three of us left the apartment.
Although we were in the same college, we were in different courses. I, for example, had chosen Nursing, which implied that the first three hours of my day were going to be spent sat in a chair having Anatomy.
Well, I do enjoy Anatomy.
As soon as we step in college, we follow our paths. With large steps I walk up to my classroom, where I almost had an heart attack because someone decided to put on a Ghostface costume and scare me.
I roll my eyes and push the person out of my sight and way. Jackass, I thought.
When I entered, a lot of students were already in, most formed by their normal groups. I sat near an empty chair, by the window.
"Sorry, is this seat taken?" a curly brunette asked me.
I turn my head, to look at her. I smiled and I gestured for her to sit.
"You're new?" I questioned, elbows on top of the table, still waiting for the teacher.
"Yes, I transferred. My name's Isabella." she smirks.
"I'm Sophie." I smile back.
I kept talking with her, maybe the only person that wasn't afraid of me or disgusted for being the daughter of a serial killer, but news spread fast in here.
Who knows, maybe by tomorrow she doesn't even wanna sit with me, therefore, I take every opportunity to be nice.
The teacher finally arrives and I catch Isabella's attention, who turns to the older man and sits straight.
We then begin our class.
[...]
"Anatomy is sooo boring..." she grumbles whilst we pack our bags.
"I kinda like Anatomy, I won't lie. It's better than Chemistry!"
"What?!" she laughs, it almost looks like she's offended "Well, let's just agree to disagree!" she laughs again "Can I have your number? Maybe we could study together, if you want to."
I smile.
"I would love to."
We trade phone numbers and went in separate ways. She had one more class and I had no other until 3PM, which meant that I was going to lock myself in the library, studying.
I grab my phone to check for any notification, besides that unknown number, and I did. Mindy asked us to meet up over the benches after lunch.
As I was going to answer, I bumped into someone on the hallway.
"I'm so sorry!" I asked and looked slightly up "Ethan?"
"No, it's fine, I really gotta check where I walk." he says "You okay? You didn't answer me yesterday."
I lift a brow, ignoring the abnormal beating of my heart.
"You didn't send me anything..."
"Yes, I did." he takes his phone out and shows me.
I also took my phone out, noticing that he was the unknown number.
"Oh, this is you! I'm sorry, I have traumas." I try to insert a joke in there "In the morning I uh..." I stopped before the words could come out and I rephrased "I saw the text but since it wasn't saved up I didn't even open."
"That's okay... Do you have any class now?"
"Nope, I was heading to the library to study Chemistry, I have an exam next week... I really hate that."
"I was going to have lunch in a few, I don't have classes either. Mindy said to meet up at the benches later."
"By yourself?" my smile falters.
"Yeah..." he scratched the back of his head, wanting to say more "Unless you wanna come."
I froze. Shit! Sophie, say anything! Anything is better than silence.
I bit my lower lip while I stare into his brown eyes.
"Like a date? Are you asking me out on a date, Ethan?" anything but that, blonde!
The boy in front of me seemed clumsy but managed to send a no.
"No, no! As friends... I mean, not that going out with you was bad, I obviously wanna go out with you, but this isn't a date, no..."
I bit my lip again, holding a laugh.
"I'm kidding, Ethan. But yeah, if you wanna grab something for lunch I'd go with you." I fixed the shoulder strap of my bag on my shoulder.
And what are you going to eat?!
I quickly pushed all similar thoughts aside that followed the last one and focused simply on the brunette in front of me.
"Where do you wanna go?" we walk side by side until we leave the building.
A place that sells salads would be nice.
"Anywhere." I shrugged. I think I can leave the diet for a bit...
He looked at me and opened the door for me.
"I think there's a pizzeria close by. Maybe six or seven minutes walking. Wanna try that out?"
"Yeah, fine by me!" I agreed with the first option immediately.
We walked to the pizzaria with only the bustling noise of the streets. The silence that filled the space between us was neither awkward or comfortable.
Once we arrive, Ethan opens the door for me again and a waitress almost instantly reaches us, leading us to a table.
"I'm on the couch!" I say as I sit quickly on it, leaving no further space or time for discussion.
The brunette laughs and places his bag near mine, just like I did with mine.
As soon as we sat down, I have no idea what happened and believe me, I don't believe in magic or things like that but it really did look like magic! We begin to speak as if we knew each other for years, that was really scary.
However, it was fun at the same time. I must admit, I think that not even I laugh so much at my jokes like Ethan does.
When the pizzas arrive, I felt instantly guilty but I took a deep breath and pushed those thoughts away, once more, afraid that they'd consume my appetite. It's just that, this pizza looks really delicious.
I catch Ethan looking at me curious though I keep smiling.
We then begin to eat and, as if it's normal, we taste each other's pizza.
I gotta admit, I never thought that mushrooms would go so good in a pizza.
Because they don't.
I just said they did and that I liked them so that Ethan didn't think that I was very picky with my food.
Once we finish, I mean, once he finishes his pizza and what was left of mine because I could not have another single slice, we paid and left, reaching our usual spot for meeting up with the others.
"So, you don't listen to Taylor?" I ask, interested on his musical taste.
He shrugs.
"It's not that I don't like her, I do like some songs but I'm not a fan like you" he jokes "My favourite song might be, I don't know, 'Don't Blame Me'."
"That's a very nice one, though my favourite album is 1989... I was going to say that you could judge me but you haven't even listened the whole thing." I smile, adjusting once more my bag's shoulder strap. I look in front and our group is reaching the benches, just as we are.
"I wouldn't judge you anyways. I like songs from the 70's and the 80's. More like older songs."
"Nothing from the 90's? Or anything recent? I mean, I do listen to some, I'm not that stupid..." I emphasize that.
He looks down.
"Maybe one or two, but I really like the older ones."
I stop mid-way and turn to him.
"How about, I make a playlist woth my favourite songs and no, it won't only have Taylor, I swear I will put on more artists, and you make one playlist for me as well with yours?" I grin, hands on my hips.
His gaze on me extended while he examined my face. He slowly smiled and looked me in the eyes.
"Okay." he nods.
We smile and walk faster towards our usual spot.
I sit in between Ethan and Tara.
"You two went to grab lunch and didn't even bothered to invite us?" Chad questions, pretending to be hurt.
I rolled my eyes at him and smiled. Mindy, who didn't sit down yet, was waiting for us to listen.
"Okay nerds, listen up!" she calls us "As terrifying as this all is, I'm actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time." she fixes her t-shirt. "The way I see it, someone is out doing a sequel to the requel."
"Uh, what's a requel?" Anika asks.
"You're beautiful, sweetie. Let's hold question to the end." she smiles.
"Stab 1 took place in Woodsboro. Stab 2 took place in college."
"So we think that the killers are trying to copy the movies?" Tara questions.
"That is one possibility. The hero's now in college, check. Suspicious new characters brought in to round out the suspect list and or body count. Check, check and check!" she keeps going.
"I don't like this." Ethan says, next to me.
"It can't just be about Stab 2."
"Why not?"
"It would make sense if this was just a sequel. But we're not in a sequel, because no one just makes sequels anymore."
"There's just sequels that suck..." I whisper "Like Mulan's. The first movie was great, we didn't need a sequel."
"I agree in there. Moving on, we're in a franchise! And there are certain rules to a continuing franchise! Rule one, everything is bigger than last time. Bigger budget, cast, body counts. Longer chases, shoutouts, beheadings."
"Beheadings?" Chad asks, looking like he wasn't listening.
"Beheadings. Rule two, whatever happened last time, expect the opposite. And rule three, no one is safe. And the worst is, even main characters can die too."
"Excuse me?"
"Any of us can go at any time... specially Sam, Tara and Sophie."
"Y'know, I really like my body the way it is right now. The blood and its organs inside and my head where it's supposed to be." I explain.
"Wait, wait, wait, any of us? Am I in the friend group?" Ethan leans forward.
"Yeah?" Mindy answers as if it's obvious.
"Am I one of the targets? I... Am I gonna die a virgin?"
I laugh through my nose and then start to laugh normally, only for my brain to process the information and send in the alert.
I was a virgin too.
I immediately stop laughing.
"That was... a weird overshare. But it brings us to our current suspects: Ethan. The shy dorky guy who no one suspects because he's always so shy and dorky."
"Hey... Come on." I ask and she understands, moving on.
"Wait, why am I on the suspect list? Because I'm randomly Chad's roommate?"
"Roommate lotteries can be juked. You could've fixed it to get next to us." he rolls his eyes.
I actually never thought of Ethan as... a killer.
"Quinn. The slutty roommate, a horror classic."
"'Sex positive' but, thank you?"
"Mhm, uhm and how did you come to live with them?" she points to us.
"I answered their ad, online?"
"Okay, say no more, you already implicated yourself enough!"
"It was anonymous. You know we've added her, plus her dad's a cop."
"And that makes it more likely she's the killer because having a cop dad is a great cover! Do you not remember how these movies work, Tara?" she turns around "And finally, Anika. Never trust the love interest."
"Wait, what about you guys? Aren't you guys suspects too?"
"Because we've been through this before?" I answer.
"Yeah and what if the trauma you all went through caused one or more of you to snap?" Quinn asks.
Bold move. I used to have this card on my sleeve when I was the imposter in Among Us. Worked every time.
"What if that made you thirsty for more? I mean, the theories online about Sam and you are..." i simply look at him, serious, and he stops.
"Look, if we're suspects, y'all are too." Anika answers and we all look at each other.
He is gentle with you because no one was ever gentle with him. People call him heartless, but that couldnât be further from the truth. He was never incapable of feelingâhe simply chose not to. He kept his heart locked away, refusing to form attachments, except for Mattheo. But with you? He never stood a chance. From the moment your voice reached his ears, from the instant his eyes met yours, he was done for. It was inevitable.
With you, all his fears quiet down. Your conversations feel like freedom, like a breath of air he never knew he was gasping for. You never judge him, never make him feel like he doesnât belong. And though you always remind him how harmful smoking is, you secretly admire the way his veiny hands move as he lights a cigarette. He notices everythingâevery little thing. He makes sure you have everything you could ever need, and even things you donât. You once mentioned your favorite color in passing? The next thing you know, heâs slipping a heart-shaped pendant in that very shade into your hands. He wonât admit it at first, too stubborn, too proud, but before he knows it, heâs calling you the baby names he used to mock, writing love letters where he spills his soul onto every page.
And the truth? Heâs okay with the fact that you own a piece of him now. Scratch thatâyou are the most important piece of him. No matter how your story unfoldsâwhether it ends in whispered vows of forever or in a heartbreak that leaves him breathlessâhe gets to have this. He gets to have you. To exist in moments where your perfume lingers in his senses, where your laughter fills the air and makes his world feel lighter. He gets to see youâthe real you. Every imperfection that only makes you more perfect in his eyes. Every unguarded smile, every glance that grounds him to your eternal beauty.
Sophie Riley Macher, daughter of Stu Macher and Tatum Riley, moves from Woodsboro to New York. She moved on with her life after the attack last year; she got into college with her friends and everything seemed to go well. Until a Ghostface masked killer decided to come back to torment them.
Some warnings: Ethan Landry x female reader (friends to lovers with happy ending), this may contain some mentions of blood and murders, so if you're not comfortable, don't read!!
Word Count: 2.1K
Also available in portuguese on my wattpad (escritora_e_peras)!!
I apologize for any grammar errors in advance!!
Click here for chapter 1!
CHAPTER 2: Is Richie back from the dead or am I dreaming?
As soon as Tara opens the door, I'm the first to enter our apartment and lock myself in my bedroom.
I heard footsteps coming towards me and thought that it could be Tara, due to the creak of the door in the room next to mine.
I take a deep breath and go to the bathroom, where I take off my makeup and clothes, leaving them scattered around.
I take a quick shower, just to get the smell of alcohol off my body, wrap a towel myself around and since my friends are still here, I put on some jeans and a white lightweight sweatshirt.
When I was putting on some socks, whose color had to be bright-colored and never matching with the rest of the outfit, I heard yelling from the living room.
I get out of the room, tuck a strand of my blonde hair behind my ear and walked towards Tara and Sam, who were yelling at each other.
"Quinn, your dad's a cop right? Can you call him before Sam takes the decision of making me abandon college to go to the other side of the fucking country!"
"What's going on?" I asked, whispering over to Chad.
"He's back." he whispers back.
Ghostface? The killers? Dude, I got out of Woodsboro to get a better life and this motherfuckers follows us down to New York?!
"I'll call him now..." she gets up with her phone in her hand, dialing her dad's number.
A few seconds later, Sam's phone rings and we all freeze. I look at Sam and Tara wide-eyed.
Sam slowly walks to the table and hangs up.
"Is it him?"
"No." I sigh, relieved.
"Wait, why did everyone freak out when the phone rang?" Ethan giggled.
"Ethan! Have you learned nothing?" I cross my arms.
"You gotta keep up my dude." Anika said.
"Sam? My dad wants to talk to you..." Quinn handed Sam her phone.
"Mr. Bailey? Hi... Look, my sister thinks I'm exagerating... What?" after a few seconds she looks at me.
"Oh crap, who died now?"
"He wants to talk to us. We gotta go down to the station."
"I didn't do anything!"
"Yeah, well me neither! Now put on some shoes and let's go!" she answers in the same tone.
"Do you guys really think this is necessary? I mean..." Quinn looks at Ethan and he stops talking.
I roll my eyes and go to my room to put on my All Stars and put a coat on.
We say goodbye to everyone but Tara comes after us.
"Hey, hold on!"
"No, Tara." Sam starts "You're gonna go back upstairs and look the doors."
"So now you don't wanna stick with me?"
Defeated, Sam sighs.
"Alright."
We kept walking down the street until Sam's phone rings.
"Excuse me, who?" I say as soon as I see the caller "You gotta be fucking with me."
"What the fuck is this?"
"I never deleted his number." she admits.
"Well, don't pick up! Just let it ring." Tara begs.
Sam looks around, like me.
Richie better not have come back from the dead. I swear to God, if he shows up in front of me he will wish he hadn't.
"Sam, don't pick up. Let's just go down the station."
"Sam..."
"Who is this?" she asks after picking up.
I roll my eyes with her action.
"I want you to think very clearly about what you're going to do. The last people who messed with us, died."
I nod my head with the comeback.
"Yeah, that's right."
"So, you're protecting us now? he says something but I don't hear "You shouldn't believe everything you read online, asshole."
I glance back at Tara, who has a serious look on her face.
"You better watch out too!"
As soon as she answers, I feel an arm around my neck and a knife ready to be buried on my chest, but I'm faster and I elbow the person behind me and with help from tara we push her on top of the bicycles.
"Come on! Run!" Sam yells as we go down the street.
I look back and I see the killer right behind us.
"Help!"
"Here!" we go inside a convenience store. How convenient.
"Help us!"
"We were attacked! Call 911!"
"There's a line, dude!" the man behind us grumbles.
The killer opens the door and Sam pushes us towards her, putting herself in front of us. When the man who complained with us also puts himslef in front of us, Ghostface doesn't miss and stabs him 3 times on the stomach. The man behind him was attacked on the neck.
"Hey!" the owner held a gun and shot at the killer.
He ducks, as we do.
"Where is he?!" I ask, not seeing him.
"Get out through the back!" the older man yells.
We thank him and we run to the back but the door that was going to take us outside was locked.
"Key! We need the key!"
He tries to take out the key but Ghostface is right behind him and stabs him, pushing him to the ground.
He disarms the poor man and kills him, using his gun.
How great. Now he has a freaking gun!
We get down on our fours on one of the aisles, trying ot pass by him but he starts shoting and somethings fall on us.
We got back. Sam and Tara stay on the same aisle but since there wasn't space for the three of us, I was fast and moved to another one.
Due to the previous actions, the store was a mess, foods and drinks on the floor, glass shattered; then I hear his steps and both Sam and Tara look at me.
Silently, I grab a can of soda that was right beside me, and throw it away, far from me, trying to distract him.
Once he bites the bait, Sam and Tara crawl to the exit. I only had to wait a couple more seconds since he was really close to me now. I hear his steps and look slowly to my right to see him pointing the gun at me.
When he pulled the trigger, I screamed and Sam pushed the shelf where she was and it fell on top of him, making him shoot up.
"Run!" she yells again and this time I ignored the broken glass in front of me and on the floor and I ran, going after them.
When we left the store, the police were already here but the killer had just escaped through the back, our old way out.
I catch my breath and we look at each other. They were okay.
And then I look at myself. I looked at my reflection on the window and damn, I did not look bad to someone who just escaped death once more. That's when I see it, the blood streaming down my fingers.
I quickly raised my hand to take a better look at it and there was small parts of glass in it.
It must have happened while we were trying to run away. The adrenaline was so high I didn't even fell pain.
"Soph, your hands!" Tara notices.
"It's... It's okay..." my hands shake but I ignore "I just need to... clear this up."
Not too long after, a police officer walks over to us, such as a paramedic.
He takes care of my hands quickly and then brings me over to the police that takes us to the station.
[...]
Sitting in an interrogation room down at the station, I take a quick look over the pictures in front of me.
Two boys who went to college with us had been brutally murdered. A card that belonged to Sam was on the floor, surrounded by their blood.
I look closer and there was exactly zero proof that I was involved in any crime.
"Sam, this is all yours. Why the hell would he-" the door opens and Quinn's dad shows up with a smile.
I let go immediately of the pictures and lay back, as if I wasn't doing anything.
"So, they found this near the body at the crime scene" he places a Ghostface mask on top of the table "DNA says it belonged to someone called Richie Kirsch. Does that name mean anything?"
My hands fly to my forehead.
Holy fuck, was he really alive?!
"We're familiar."
"The one that attacked us had a different mask on. It seemed older."
I stood in silence. My uncle always said that if I ever got arrested for something I didn't do, we say the magic word 'I'm not saying anything until my lawyer gets here.'
"I have to ask. Do you have alibis for tonight?"
"Me and Sophie were at a party with friends." Tara answers.
"I was at the psychologist. I can give you his data to call and confirm." Bailey nods "After that I went over to that party and I shot a taser at someone... Totally different story."
"Was that before or after this?" the detective asks, showing the video where me and Sam got soaked with alcohol.
"Before."
"What matters is that we were with people all night."
"So our dad's roomate, somehow, got our case, huh?" I change subject but not my facial expression.
"Amazing, right? The detective that was in charge of this case gave it to me since Quinn was involved. I can give it back to him if you're not okay with it."
I lean forward to answer him but Sam places her hand on my arm, stopping me and responds with:
"It's fine."
"Who put your driver's license near the body may be someone close to you. For how long have you known your friends?"
"We moved over here with Chad and Mindy last semester, so 6 months ago. Quinn, Ethan and Anika... everyone since then."
"I can answer for Quinn, so that's less one... Do you know anyone who may want to hurt you?"
"Not someone who's alive." Tara states, although we were still thinking.
I was genuinely going to say that maybe that someone was the old lady who lives right in front of us. Can she stop stealing my mail?
Although, she's almost 80, so she can't run or bend down like Ghostface did...
Oh! Or maybe that indian guy who sells kebabs near college! It almost earned me a food poisoning. I'm never eating kebabs anymore... Over there.
Another agent opened the door and called for Bailey. He leaves when he hears that a FBI agent arrived.
I just wanted peace.
I wanted to sleep.
Ever since all of this started, all I ever wanted was something never granted to me: peace.
Not too long after, they let us leave and we found Kirby, the FBI agent.
I trusted her, not Bailey. Sorry Quinn.
As soon as Sam gets pissed from both, we leave the building and we found apparently all journalists from New York waiting for us.
"Here they are, here they are!"
"Samantha, do you have an alibi for yesterday's murder?" a woman asks.
"Tara, do you feel safe with your sister?"
"Sophie, can we have a word?" I smile and stop, nodding.
"Of course you can! A word? Goodbye."
"Gale Weather, Channel 4." you gotta be fucking kidding me "Do you girls belive you are responsible for Ghostface's return?"
Pissed, Sam punches Gale, who turns to the side. I made a disgusted face when Sam didn't get her.
"Nice try, sweetie. But I've done this dance before-"
Before she could finish I punch her right in the face. She looks at me skeptically.
"Stay away from us." Tara warns.
"Oh, please! Don't tell me you're still mad."
"You said you weren't gonna write a book about what happened. And then you wrote a book about what happened." Sam shot.
"Come on!" she sighs "Someone was going to do it! It's my job!"
"After everything we went through together. What would Dewey think?"
Ah, low blow.
I turn my face to the side when I heard my uncle's name. I looked back at Gale, holding the tears.
"That's a low blow."
"Yeah, and so was your book." Sam spits "You said I was a born killer!"
"And you said I was a copy of my father!" I answered, with a furious expression.
"That was all taken out of context."
"These are literally quotes."
"Don't you think that what you've been writing has anything to do with what's happening to us?"
"Let's go."
We catch the first cab we see.
"Hey! I want to catch this fucker as much as you do."
"Maybe. or maybe you're afraid that without him, you'll be anonymous." I tell her before getting on the cab.
Hey everyone! Here is Ethan's fanfic, this is the first chapterr! Hope you like it <3
Sophie Riley Macher, daughter of Stu Macher and Tatum Riley, moves from Woodsboro to New York. She moved on with her life after the attack last year; she got into college with her friends and everything seemed to go well. Until a Ghostface masked killer decided to come back to torment them.
Some warnings: Ethan Landry x female reader (friends to lovers with happy ending), this may contain some mentions of blood and murders, so if you're not comfortable, don't read!!
Word Count: 1.9K
Also available in portuguese on my wattpad (escritora_e_peras)!!
I apologize for any grammar errors in advance!!
CHAPTER 1: Parties and Spilled Drinks
"So, are you going to the party with Tara?" Quinn asks while I pass by our kitchen.
She was most likely to be taking a break from her... friend? Boyfriend? I never know.
I turn around and smile to her, showing the pieces of clothes that I had just taken out of the washing machine.
"Of course I'm going. But you cannot tell Sam! She'll freak out..." I warn and she simply nods, drinking a glass of water and walks back to her room.
Ever since Amber and Richie attacked us, I came to live with Sam and Tara. Quinn appeared not too long after.
As you can see, this is what happens when you are the daughter of the famous Stu Macher. Yes, the original killer, not even I would have believed me if someone told me.
My mom managed to hide her pregnancy until the very end, she gave birth to me not long before being murdered by Billy Loomis on a party my father threw.
My uncle Dewey took care of me ever since then. I won't lie to you, I do not remember my mom. Besides, what kind of kid remembers something before being 5 years old?
The only thing I remember is him. The way he raised me like his daughter and always answered my questions about where were my parents or who they were. He never hid anything from me.
Everything was going well until Richie and Amber came into the picture. Inspired by stupid movies, they tried to kill us. Kill me, Sam, Tara...
I kinda warned Sam not to date that jackass! He did not smell good to me...
Oh well, I might have not lost my life at the moment, but I lost him.
My hero.
It's annoying how life can change from one moment to another. After that night, I was never the same again. I tried to change, I swear I did! However, I ended up hiding behind sarcasm and my jokeless jokes.
Since then, Sam thought it would be an incredible idea to become my older sister. I love Sam like a sister, just like Tara, but it's too much sometimes.
Unlike her, Tara and I tried to look forward and not to the past.
I closed my bedroom door and place my clothes on my bed. I took a shower and washed my hair. Feeling the warm water on my body, I let myself stay there for a few seconds. So, I slowly started to take a shower and I ran my fingers right above a scar I had under my clavicle, near my heart.
If Amber had a better aim at my heart, I wouldn't be here.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I finished my shower. I brushed and dried my hair and put on my white short dress, a brown corset and a pair of knee-high boots. I came back to the bathroom and did a very quick and simple makeup, since I knew I would be back late and would be too lazy to wipe it off.
Concealer, blush, mascara and gloss fixed my face that screamed 'I didn't sleep'.
If you couldn't understand, I was a pirate. We were going to a halloween party. I put on a necklace, my bracelets and golden rings and I grabbed a red pirate hat I had bought at some store.
I got out of the room just to find Tara already dressed and waiting for me, at the couch.
"Well, look at you," she smiled "I bet we will be the cutest pirates at the party."
I smiled without showing my teeth at what she said. Tara knew I wasn't very secure about my appearance and tried sometimes to compliment me.
Does it helped? You ask. Not really.
"Do you have the keys?" she showed them to me, on her hand.
I grabbed my phone and a small red purse, put it inside of the purse and we left, after saying goodbye to Quinn.
Our college, thank God, was about a 5 minutes walk from our shared appartment. And so was the house of the person who threw the party.
We got there and were immediately greeted with a cup of some alcoholic substance. I didn't have intentions of getting drunk tonight, Tara did. Mindy and Anika, two of my best friends were at the couch and I walked over to them, smiling.
"Blondie!" Mindy smiles when she sees me and Anika got up to hug me, something I never refused.
"You look so pretty!" she praised.
"Thank you, Anika."
"There are more drinks on the kitchen, if you want!" Mindy told me louder, due to the music. I nod and go to the kitchen, filled with teens that I never saw before.
I held a cup with what I hoped was vodka and drank it down on one sip.
I wrinkled my nose and closed my eyes and when the flavor passed, I decided to go around the house.
After a few steps, I found Chad, another friend of mine, who was currently speaking with his roommate Ethan.
Ethan.
He was most likely to be the only boy who made me blush just by talking with me or make my heart pound on my chest uncontrolably.
I had never felt this for someone else and so, I hide it. Have you ever seen the daughter of a killer like this? Rather... sentimental? With emotions running high?
So, besides not talking a lot, I saw him every day. And every day, my heart doesn't missed.
Obviously since Chad didn't know about my feelings for Ethan, he would often encourage him to be more... social, let's say. More social with chicks.
My legs drove me to them.
"Hi boys." I tried to give my best smile as I walked to them.
Chad's lips opened into a wide smile and he hugged me by the side.
"Blondie!" he laughed out loud "Did you came as a pirate?"
"No, I came as a dinosaur."
"Well, pirate or dinosaur, you look gorgeous." he winked.
"Save that for Tara, please..." I joked and got out of his hug, getting closer to Ethan but still looking at Chad. "Seriously, when are you going to do something about that?"
Chad smiles and when he was going to answer, Anika appeared and grabbed his arm, pulling his from us and asking him to go with her. He followed her without thinking twice.
Both me and Ethan saw him leave the room. As I turned around, Ethan was already staring at me with his little smile. The one he always had.
I showed one too.
"Are you... enoying the party?" I just asked him the most stupid question ever. Or maybe the most basic one. As you see, flirting isn't my thing.
"Chad made me come but it's not bad at all..."
"Yes, Chad does that a lot... Do you want uh... Grab something to drink?" I asked, trusting the words that came out of my mouth. What the fuck was I doing?
He seemed rather surprised but he nodded. Not bad.
I smiled kindly and we went, again, to the other side of the house, where there was more teenagers and drinks.
"What do you wanna drink?" I asked, looking at him and then to the drinks in front of me.
"Anything, you pick."
My shoulders fell down and I stared at him serious. but joking.
"Ethan, come on... Just pick, you know I hate to make choices."
He seemed flustered and I smiled.
"I'm just fucking with you," I laughed and he relaxed, joining me "just relax."
I held what seemed to look like tequila and I handed him a cup of it. Our fingers brushed and I looked up at him, his eyes were already set on me like always.
"Cheers?" I ask, reaching for his cup with mine.
"Cheers" our cups hit and we swallow the liquid in it.
We both make the same funny face by tasting the tequila and laugh about it.
"Remind me to never let you choose what to drink ever again, this is awful." he leaves his cup on the table, empty.
"You're right, it's enough." i copy his action "So, what are you dressed as?"
"Something I came up with in the last minute..." he looks down to his clothes, made out of card board.
"It's cute, tho."
"You came as a pirate?" his gaze never left mine. Before I could throw another joke he answered, quicker "It suits you."
Before I could even respond, I see a crowd gathering behind Ethan, phones out to film something.
"Are they fighting?" I ask and the brunette turned around.
"Where?"
"I wanna see!" I smirked and took a couple steps just to find Sam with a taser in her hand and a boy I didn't know on the ground. Moaning and holding his balls.
"Sam?!" I yell but she ignored me, pulling her sister with her outside.
Me, the Meeks, Anika and Ethan follow them.
"Tara, can you stop?" Sam asked, following her.
"I cannot believe you did that! That was so embarassing!" she spits her words, angry, without looking back.
"He was a jerk!"
"So?!" she stops "If I wanted to sleep with him, that was my decision! Not everything is about you, I mean, you disappear for 5 years and now you won't let go of me for 5 minutes!"
"Because you are not dealing with what happened to us! Have you ever gone to see the therapist?"
"No, I haven't. And guess what? Sophie hasn't either and she seems fine to me." she crosses her arms.
As soon as I heard my name I looked to my side and hugged Ethan's hat. I was switching my pirate hat with his and Anika's.
Sam looks at me serious and I don't gather enough courage to say something sarcastic or funny.
"We don't... uh..."
"We don't wanna live in the past like you." Tara speaks as I silently put on Ethan's hat while handing Anika his.
"Guys, let's just-"
"I'm not going to let 3 daysdecide the rest of my life, Sam." Tara interrupted.
"Oh, so you two are going to pretend that it never happened?" she stared at us, glancing back and forth.
"That's not... That's not what we're saying."
"Why are you really here, Sam? You work two shitty jobs and help paying rent, but what's your plan? We know ours. We're gonna go to college, get our degree and live our life."
"I'm trying to take care of you!"
"And we appreciate it, but, you gotta let us go. I'm not even your sister... but hey, I appreciate the worries..." I try.
"Hey!" I look to my side and I'm hit with a drink on my white dress, like Sam "Murders!"
"What the fuck is your problem, bitch?" Chad and Tara hold Sam while I'm still shocked, processing what happened.
"You should stay the fuck away from them! They know what they did!"
"We didn't do anything!" Sam snapped.
"Yeah, sure!" she mocks as she leaves.
I took a deep breath and started to walk away, Ethan following me along with Anika.
"Are you okay? I have... about 3 tissues..." he states while handing me the tissues, taking them out of his pockets.
I show a shy smile, thanking and I accept the tissues trying to clean myself but my dress was already soaked.
"What a bitch!" Anika tries to help me but there was really nothing else to be done.
"I'm just gonna take a shower as soon as I get home and forget everything..." I muttered.
heyy, i just wanted to pass by and say that i am currently writing an Ethan Landry fanfic on wattpad!! Its in portuguese tho, but if you guys prefer, i could post it in english here!!
so here's the plot:
its about Stu Macher's daughter, Sophie, and she's blonde (which is why her nickname is blondie which i LOVEE). She and Ethan end up falling in love throught the book.
summary: Theo had asked you out on a date, and though hesitant at first, you agreed. What began with uncertainty soon unfolded into something quietly profoundâan afternoon that made you realise how deeply you longed to be truly seen, and made Theo realise he didnât want anyone else but you.
warnings: pure fluff, reader talks a lot
A/N: I was literally giggling and kicking my feet while writing this, this is my favourite work that Iâve ever written. Dedicated to all my girlies who get called weird and are hopeless romanticsđ Iâm kind of honouring the arrival of late spring through this fic as well, I just love how nature wakes up again at this time of year. English is not my first language, Iâm sorry for any grammatical errors!
You were currently out on a date with Theo.
Even now, as the afternoon sun spilled like liquid gold across the foothills and warmed your skin, it didn't feel entirely real. Just days ago, he had asked you outâhis voice soft, steady, almost shy. The memory of it still sat like a folded letter in your mind: unexpected, delicate, something you hadn't dared imagine opening. It caught you so off guard you almost laughed. Theo, asking you out? It seemed impossible. Not because he was distant or arrogantâhe never had beenâbut because you had never thought of him that way, never considered the possibility that he might be thinking of you like that.
And yet, he had. And now here you wereâsitting cross-legged on a thick carpet of grass that had just returned to life after the hush of winter, your back resting against the smooth bark of a fallen yule log, as if nature had prepared the seat just for you. Across from you, Theo mirrored your posture, tracing the fresh, supple blades of grass with slow, deliberate fingers. His gaze kept drifting to you, unguarded, soft as a sigh, as if he couldn't quite believe you were real.
You had hesitated when he asked you out. Something inside you had told you to be cautious, to hold back. Maybe it was doubt, or maybe fearâthe kind that creeps in when something good shows up unexpectedly, and you worry it might vanish just as fast. You'd even considered canceling the date. Told yourself it would be easier, cleaner, safer. But you hadn't. Something kept you from backing outâsomething in the way he looked at you when you weren't paying attention, or maybe the steadiness in his voice when he spoke to you like you mattered.
So you said yes. And now the world was draped in a kind of magic you hadn't expected.
The place he brought you to felt like it had been waiting for you. It was a hidden pocket of paradise tucked beneath the arms of the mountain's lower slopes, just far enough from Hogwartsâ castle to feel secret, sacred. The forest around you had awakened in vibrant celebrationâleaves the color of fresh emeralds trembled in the soft breeze, catching sunlight like fragments of stained glass. The trees stood tall and proud, their bark still dark with winter's memory, but their branches bursting with life. Tiny wildflowers had erupted from the soil in chaotic, joyful colorsâbrilliant golds, purples like bruised dusk, whites soft as snowâand they danced when the wind passed, as though the earth was laughing quietly to itself.
The air was rich with scentâwarm moss, young grass, the faint sweetness of blooming buds and petals still unfurling. Birds sang from the canopy above in a chorus that seemed improvised, but somehow perfectly orchestrated. Somewhere nearby, a brook whispered its way through stones, its voice threading through the wind like a lullaby. The sunlight filtered through the leaves in golden shafts, casting gentle shadows that shifted as the breeze stirred the treetops. You could feel it allâthe hum of life, the pulse of the earth beneath youâas if the land itself was exhaling after a long, still winter.
"So... you come here regularly?" you asked, your voice quieter than usual, reverent. You tilted your head as you looked around, eyes trying to take in every inch of the place, to memorize it the way you wanted to memorize the feeling blooming in your chest.
Theo was watching you with that same quiet intensity, a softness behind his smile like he was letting himself fall and wasn't afraid to. "Not too regularly," he said, his voice just above a murmur, "but it's kind of perfect this time of year."
You smiled at that, a small, slow smile that tugged at your lips like sunlight creeping through morning curtains. "It really is." Your eyes drifted upward, to the wide open sky above, so bright and blue it looked endless. The sunlight dazzled your vision and made you squint, but you didn't look away. You wanted to feel itâto let the light pour into you and settle deep in your bones.
"You really love nature, huh?" he asked after a moment, his voice laced with curiosity, but also admiration. You weren't looking at him, but he was definitely looking at you.
"There's nothing more beautiful," you said, your gaze still tethered to the vast sky above, your voice laced with a gentle wonder that curled around Theo's heart like ivy. "The way the wind brushes through the trees... it doesn't just move the leavesâit gives them a soul for a moment, makes them twirl and flutter like they're dancing for the sheer joy of being alive. Or how the birds begin to fly lower when rain is near, like they carry the sky's secrets beneath their wings. And even the tiniest creaturesâthose you'd barely notice any other timeâthey emerge now, drawn out by the hush and bloom of spring, as if the earth itself is putting on a play, and not a single living thing wants to miss a moment."
He looked at you, completely stunnedânot just by what you had said, but by you. There was something in the way your words fell from your lips, unfiltered and vivid, like soft rain over dry earth. You were a poetic soul in a world that often only celebrated silence. And it made his heart ache in the best possible way. Like hearing a song he didn't know he'd needed. Like remembering something he thought he'd forgotten.
He didn't speakânot at first. He just looked. Let the silence between you swell and breathe. He needed time to absorb it, to let your voice echo inside him where it mattered most. You weren't just speaking thoughts; you were offering pieces of yourself, and he received them with a reverence he didn't quite know how to articulate. Every word you'd said still hung in the air like pollenâdelicate, golden, alive.
It wasn't simply attractionâno, this was something older, deeper, something that felt like it had been written into the marrow of his bones long before he ever knew your name. You didn't have to do anything. You just wereâsitting there in that patch of spring sunlight like the season itself had bloomed just to wrap around you. You were effortless. Unaware of the spell you cast, how the mere tilt of your head or the way your lashes caught the light had him caught in a current he didn't want to escape.
There you were: back pressed gently against a weather-worn yule log, your hair dancing with the breeze like it was part of the wind's design, your eyes bright and open, reflecting the sky's soft blue and a curiosity he found endlessly magnetic. And you smiledâjust a little. That hesitant, confused smile you wore when you didn't quite understand why he was staring at you like that, like you were the last beautiful thing in a world that had long gone dim. It was a fragile thing, that smile. Tentative and sincere. And to him, it was sacred.
But he wasn't just staring.
He was studying, memorizing, revering. Every detail of you was a verse in a poem only he could read. You weren't simply a personâyou were a constellation, a collection of light and wonder and soft chaos that made his heart quiet and wild at the same time. Your presence overwhelmed him in the gentlest way. He had never believed in soulmates, never believed in fate. But sitting there, watching you exist so unselfconsciously in the middle of blooming earth and golden air, he was almost convinced that maybe, just maybe, the universe had placed you here on purpose.
You spoke to him then, your voice light but alive, and it wrapped around him like a melody made only for his ears. The way your thoughts unfolded, vivid and full of colorâyour passion for the smallest details, the way your eyes lit up when you described things you lovedâhe drank it all in like a man starved. Your words weren't just sounds to him; they were sunlight and soil, things that rooted into him and bloomed. He was enchanted by how you moved through the world, how you gave meaning to things that others might overlook. You didn't just see beautyâyou named it, shaped it, gave it life. You turned a simple breeze into a love song.
He longed to touch you. To feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. To press his lips to yours, not out of some shallow desire, but out of reverence. He didn't want to kiss you just to have you. He wanted to kiss you as a way of saying thank you for existing. He wanted to pour all his silent awe into that single moment, to let you feel in one soft collision everything he couldn't yet say aloud. But he didn't. He couldn't. Because to kiss you meant closing his eyes, even for just a breathâand he wasn't ready to lose sight of you. Not yet. Not when your face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
So he just watched.
He watched the sunlight draw delicate patterns across your cheeks. He watched the shadows shift beneath your lashes when you blinked. He watched the way your expression changed with your thoughts, subtle but alive, like weather over a quiet field. And with every passing second, he carved you deeper into his memory, desperate to hold onto the way you looked right now. If his eyes burned from not blinking, he would have welcomed the sting. If night fell and stole the light from your features, he would have begged the stars to shine brighter just so he wouldn't lose you to the dark.
In you, he saw something beyond beauty.
He swore he would remember the exact way you looked in that moment until the end of his days. Because to him, you weren't just a girl on a hillside. You were everything. You were the pause between heartbeats. The hush before the dawn. The whisper of something holy.
In you, he saw poetry.
âYou see the world so differently,â Theo said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, as if anything louder might shatter the sacred stillness between you. There was awe in his toneânot just admiration, but a kind of reverence, like he was saying a prayer. âYou donât just notice it⊠you feel it. You let it move through you. Itâs like you carry the world inside you, and everything you see, you let it stay.â
Your smile wavered, and something in your eyes flickeredânot surprise exactly, but something softer. Recognition. As though heâd just pulled a thread loose inside you that no one had ever dared to touch before.
âNo oneâs ever said that to me,â you murmured, your voice quieter now, laced with something unspoken. âNot like that. Not like itâs something good.â
You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out small, wistful. âI get that a lot,â you added, eyes locked onto his with a gaze so steady, so unflinching, it made Theo feel like his heart had stumbled into a sprint. âBut not as a compliment.â
There was a pauseâa heartbeat stretched between two soulsâand then you smiled again. This time it was warmer, more open, tinged with gratitude. The kind of smile that made something ancient in him sigh.
âThank you,â you said simply, and those two words carried more weight than most peopleâs whole conversations.
You turned your gaze toward the trees again, watching how the sunlight filtered through the canopy and painted soft gold across the grassy earth. Then your voice shiftedâtook on that thoughtful, drifting cadence Theo had come to recognize. The sound of you diving deep, without fear, into another ocean of thought.
âI just think⊠people get so tangled in the noise of their own lives. They obsess over things that donât matterâdeadlines, mirrors, numbers on screensâthings that donât feed the soul. They forget to just⊠be. To breathe. To look around and realize the world is alive. That weâre alive. They walk past trees without seeing them. They hear birds and think of alarms. They smell rain and only worry about their hair. Itâs like theyâve been taught to ignore the symphony the earth plays for them every day.â
You paused, not for dramatic effect, but because you were genuinely overcome by the weight of what you were saying. Your fingers ran gently through the grass beside you, the gesture slow, reverent, like you were grounding yourself to the very soil.
âBut natureâŠâ you continued, your voice softer now, almost like you were confiding in the air itself, âNature doesnât ask anything of us except presence. And still, people treat it like background noise. But itâs everything. Itâs truth, in its rawest form. Itâs the wind reminding you that youâre small, but not insignificant. Itâs the flowers blooming without applause, the way the earth forgives us each spring. Itâs the silence between birdsong, the hush of the forest, the sound of your own heartbeat when you really, really listen.â
Theo was silent, completely still, utterly caught in the gravity of your words. You didnât even notice the way he was looking at youâlike you were both flame and shelter, like he could spend forever listening to you and still not have enough. The way you spoke stirred something in him he hadnât known heâd been missingâan ache, a longing, a sense that maybe this was what connection was meant to feel like.
You stared back at him, puzzled by his stillness. Your brow furrowed gently, your nose crinkling ever so slightly as your mind spun in quiet worry. You'd seen this kind of silence before. It usually came right before someone pulled away.
"Am I annoying you with my rambling?" you asked, voice dipping into uncertainty. "I'm being weird again, aren't I?"
There it wasâyour vulnerability, soft and sharp all at once. You tried to smile through it, to laugh it off like you always did, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. You were too used to being misunderstood. Too familiar with the way people got overwhelmed by the way your thoughts spiraled into beauty. You'd spent years trying to tame that part of yourself, trying to fit inside quieter boxes, but the truth was: your mind was a garden that grew wild and lush and unapologetic. And somewhere deep down, you feared that would always be too much for people to handle.
Theo's gaze softened even more, as if your worry had reached out and touched something in him.
"You're not weird," he said gently, and his voice felt like a warm hand on your shoulder. Steady. Sincere. "You're just... different." The way he said it made you pause. There was no judgment in it. No edge. Just admirationâpure and quiet, like a secret he was honored to carry. You bit your lower lip, a nervous gesture, your cheeks blooming into a pale, rosy pink. The kind of blush that wasn't born of embarrassment, but of something softerâhope, maybe. Surprise. You tilted your head slightly, trying to read him more clearly, your voice careful but curious. "Should I take being 'different' as a compliment?" you asked, your tone playful, but your eyes searching his face for something real, something rooted.Â
He didn't look away. Neither did you.
It was as if the two of you had unknowingly stepped into a quiet challengeâsome unspoken game of stillness and gravity, where neither one wanted to be the first to look away. But it wasn't a contest. It was longing. It was connection. You were caught in his eyesâthose deep, endless oceans of cobalt and stormâand you didn't want to be rescued. You wanted to fall further in. Drown in them, willingly.
And Theo... he felt the same. Your presence had a magnetic pull. It was like standing in sunlight after a long winterâcomforting and blinding and overwhelming all at once. Every inch of you drew him closer. Not physically, not yetâbut spiritually, energetically, irrevocably. You were the kind of different that made the world feel bigger, richer, more alive. And he didn't want to look awayânot now, not ever. So you sat there, suspended in a silence that said more than words could. Something delicate and infinite passing between you. Something that tasted a little like fate.
The mountains held their breath around you. Even the wind seemed to hush, threading softly through the tall grass, brushing against your skin like an unseen hand offering comfort. The warmth of the afternoon sun spilled golden over the clearing, catching the edges of your hair and setting it aglow like a halo made of firelight and softness. You looked like something sacred, something the earth had cradled into being and placed carefully in front of him.
Theo couldn't speakânot yet. Not without unraveling. So he simply watched you, as if memorizing wasn't a choice, but an instinct. The kind of reverence usually reserved for art or prayer shone in his expression. And perhaps that's what you were to himâliving poetry, the kind that bled truth with every breath. "yes," he replied, barely more than a breath. "Being different... that's the most beautiful thing about you." The words hung there, suspended in the golden stillness. You didn't move. You weren't sure you could.
It had always been a sore thing inside youâhow easily people turned away from the parts of you that felt too much. You'd always been aware of how you overflowed: in thought, in feeling, in wonder. You tried for years to fold yourself smaller, quieter, into the shapes other people expected. But even then, your heart had a way of spilling out, uninvited. You loved too deeply, thought too loudly, cared too visibly. You noticed thingsâhow the petals on early spring flowers trembled in the wind, how people's voices changed when they were holding back tears, how the world seemed to pulse with quiet meanings no one stopped long enough to hear.
And for most of your life, that had been your loneliness.
Until now.
Until Theo.
"You don't hide from things," he said, his voice low, trembling with something he didn't dare name yet. "You don't numb yourself the way most people do. You let the world move you. It terrifies me how rare that is."
His hand, still half-buried in the grass, found yours. This time, not by accident. His fingers brushed the back of your hand like a question. You didn't pull away. You turned your palm to meet his, and the moment your skin touched, the world shiftedâsoftly, imperceptibly, but deeply. Like something had clicked into place, and the universe exhaled around it.
"I always feel like I'm too much," you whispered, your voice cracking around the edges. It wasn't a confession meant for pityâit was a truth, worn and tender, carried inside you for years. "Too intense. Too curious. Too sensitive. Too... loud, I guess. People don't usually stay."
Theo's fingers closed around yours with gentle certainty, as if your pain was something he could hold and soothe just by being steady. "Then they were never meant to," he murmured, and his tone held no bitterness, only truth. "Because anyone who asks you to be less than this... doesn't deserve to be near you."
Something in your chest gave way. You didn't cryâbut it felt like you might, if you let yourself breathe too deeply. There was a pressure behind your ribs, not from sadness, but from recognition. From being seen, finally, not just for your beauty or your kindness or the words you put together like constellationsâbut for everything. The wild, radiant chaos of your inner world. The boundless storm of your empathy. The way you never stopped feeling.
"I just want to be understood," you said, and your voice cracked on the last word. "Not explained away. Not tolerated. Just... understood."
"I do," he said, instantly, and there wasn't even a pause. "I do understand."
He said it like a promise. Like a vow carved into the air between you.
Your eyes met his again, and there was no more hiding in themâno fear, no overthinking, no pretending. Just two souls, open and trembling and unafraid to fall. You stared into the storm-blue of his gaze and felt yourself being pulled deeper, caught in the gravity of someone who chose you exactly as you were.
The light changed around you, slow and golden, the kind of fading light that casts long, soft shadows and turns everything it touches into something mythic. The air carried the scent of early blossoms and damp earth and sun-warmed wood. Somewhere nearby, a bird trilled a low, steady song, and in the far distance, the hum of a stream curled through the silence like a secret.
And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not your fears. Not even the future.
Only this.
Only him.
Only youâexactly as you were, more than enough, with your messy thoughts and uncontainable wonder, your heart that never learned how to beat quietly.
Theo leaned in slightly, not to kiss you yet, but just to be closer. Just to feel the space between you get smaller. His forehead nearly touched yours, and you felt the warmth of his breath mingle with your own.
"I don't want you to quiet down," he said, barely a whisper. "I want to hear everything."
And for the first time, you believed someone meant it.
Call It What You Want â Theodore Nott x Fem. Lorenzo Berkshire's Little Sister
âąSummary: you and Theo like each other but do absolutely nothing about it. Until there's a party - hosted by the slytherins, where a random guy tries to flirt with you and Theo doesn't waste time.
âąSong: Call It What You Want - Taylor Swift
âąWarnings: I may or may not got a little too excited, so, there's a obvious mention of sexual activities at the end of this post. If you're not okay with it, don't read!!!
Enjoy!
The snake's common room was filled with loud music and students dancing everywhere. Singing, drinking or even just enjoying themselves - everyone knew the Slyhterins threw the best parties, no matter the theme, and no one wanted to be left out.
You were with Pansy and Astoria, your bestfriends, near the bar asking for more drinks. As a loyal slytherin you had to come to these parties, even though not enjoying them as much as everyone else.
Pansy, on the other hand, was already tipsy; she had at least three beers, going now to her fourth, as the bartender handed the drink to her. Astoria had a mix you didn't wish to try while you had just a little bit of fire whisky on your - almost - empty cup.
"Pansy, don't drink too much!" Astoria warned, following the brunette's path, chuckles leaving her pink lips and blushed cheeks.
You roll your eyes, actually taking another look around. On your left, you had more people sat asking for drinks, not too much in sight. On your right, was were the real party was.
Girls and boys, from every house dancing in the middle, lifting their cups. A little behind them, were others making out or even leaving to somewhere more private, while going upstairs, where the dorms were. More to your right you saw your brother Lorenzo with his friends, especially Theodore.
Oh, Theo. The guy you had a huge crush on but did nothing about. Maybe telling him wouldn't be a bad idea, but then, you would lose your friendship and, besides rejection, it would just be humiliating.
While Enzo was having the time of his life with Mattheo, who was literally drunk, Theo was somewhere else mentally. He had a cup in his hand and took small sips. He was sat on the leather couch, on his usual spot, the only armchair. Everyone knew it was his spot, since the first year.
You stared at him, without knowing for how long, until he felt your gaze and stared back. You couldn't look away, and neither did him. Your heart pounded so loud that, if the music wasn't there everyone could hear it. Except, at that moment, everything and everyone fade.
It was only you and him in the common room, far away from each other but it felt better like this.
Suddenly, you feel something brushing on your left arm, what makes you break the eye contact with the brunette and turn around.
"Hey," the boy next to you complimentd "Mind if I sit here?"
"Uh... Not at all, take a sit." you smile politely. If there was one thing you and your brother had in common was the fact that people often mistook your kindness for flirting.
"So, Y/N, huh?" he ordered a drink and turned to you "You're single?"
Your eyebrows furrow.
"Yes... But I'm not-" you try but he interrumpts.
"Not looking for anything serious?" he asked "Don't worry, me neither." you gulped, feeling discomfortable. As you tried to leave, he called your attention.
"Hey, where you going with such hurry?" the blonde boy asked, shrugging his shoulders.
"Listen, I'm really not interest. Enjoy the party." you looked at your friends, who were gone and you panic. When you don't see them, your turn around and leave, the boy sat behind you.
You look behind and see him standing up and coming after you. You quickly try to enter the sea of dancing students, what seems to help for a while.
From the moment your eyes separate to the moment you're getting on the dance floor as an escape, Theo's blue eyes never leave you and as soon as he understands that neither Pansy or Astoria were with you and you were trying to reach the boys whilst being followed, he gets up, Blaise being the first one to notice, the group after him.
Theo leaves his cup behind and goes after you, the guy dangerously close to you. To what was Theo's... Or what would be.
Before you even had the chance to reach the boys on your own, you bumped into Theo's chest, his jaw clenched and wrapping one arm around your waist, swiftly and softly.
The blonde boy looks at you both.
"You said you were single, Berkshire."
"I also said I wasn't interest, if you recall." you turn back.
"Get lost." Theo speaks, voice down but firm. The blonde scoffs.
"Come on Nott, back me up in here. I'm trying to have a little fun tonight-"
"Do I need to repeat myself as well as making you spend the rest of the week in the hospital wing?" a few people turned around to see "She said she wasn't interested."
Finally, the boy decides it's time to leave, since things weren't looking pretty for him.
The few students now were back to the party, but you both stood there, eyes locked.
"I... Thank you, Theo."
"You're welcome..." his eyes linger a little bit longer on your lips then they should have.
It was the way he said it - low, hesitant, whispering - that shows how much more he actually wanted to say. The things you both wanted to say. But none took a risk.
Even though the party was still going, silence falls between you, dense and filled with what neither of you said.
He should back away.
Oh, he should.
But every reasonable thought would dissolve itself every time you looked at him like that, like the risk and danger would be all worth it.
You took a step forward, than another. You two were incredibly close but Theo didn't back out. His hand comes up to your face, his fingers touching it - first by accident, then with care.
The distance was now gone, as he leaned in, his lips finding yours, like a whisper kept in for too long. The kiss wasn't urgent, but just right.
Although you had had your first kiss before, kissing Theo was like having your first ever kiss, it felt so right, so perfect.
Your hands flew to the back of his neck, while his other hand went straight to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.
When the kiss ceases, and you both gasp for air, neither of you dares to speak. Besides the music, the sound of your breathing was loud enough to know that your friendship was now ruined, and there was no turning back.
Theo takes a step back.
"I shouldn't have..."
"...What?" you ask, taking a step forward. Was this a mistake?
He closes his mouth and just stares at you, eyes filled with tender but something else glistened on them. As if his body reacted first, he leaned again, murmuring a soft and low "Fuck it", allowing his lips to crash onto yours, this time more urgent but less extended.
When you realized it, you and Theo weren't in the common room anymore; he was dragging you to his dorm, whilst kissing you.
"Are you sure?" he asks in the between kisses as he closes the door with his foot.
You just nod, arms wrapped around his neck again while he lays you on his bed.
"Theo..."
"Hm?" he kisses your lips one last time before moving on to your jawline and then your neck.
"Please." when he listens, he stops himself and reminded himself to go slow.
He took your dress off, as well as his clothes and closed the curtain around his bed.
He kissed the top of your head as he handed in his hoodie. After that, he leaned against the bed and you layed on his chest.
"Theo?" you whispered.
"Yes?"
"Since... our friendship's ruined, what are we?"
He took a couple of seconds before answering, but then he looked at you.
"We'll always be friends, but I want more. So, call it what you want."
heyy, so I know I have been a little inactive but I am working on another theo's imagine, and that one is gonna be HUGE. and for this one, I may or may not got a little excited but i'm actually thinking whether to write a little smut or not. i have no idea how to do it, but, let's keep it simple like this. hope you like it đ
Summary: an unexpected spark between rivals turns into something far softer than either of you expected. from banter to bruises to a quiet confession under candlelight â you learn that even the coldest hearts can burn warm.
Notes: this is my first ever fic i hope i did goodd so feel absolutely free to leave any suggestions to make my fics even better my dollies đ„°
You and Theodore have been the complete opposite of each other. Since your very first year at Hogwarts, heâs never missed a single chance to get on your nerves. From your houses to your habits, everything about you both seems to clash â and yet, somehow, thatâs what makes it impossible to stay away. He is cocky, rude, arrogant â basically insufferable. Whereas, you are the sunshine: kind, honest, genuine, and empathetic. Both of you are top of your classes, both prefects â rivals, perhaps. But maybe something else, too.
Todayâs Potions class had been cursed from the start â mostly because Professor Snape decided to pair you with Theodore Nott. You already knew that itâs gonna be a long lecture as Snape mentioned your name and his name.
You watched him walk over to you with that lazy smirk on his face. âGuess youâre stuck with me, Tesoro,â he said, voice low and teasing. âLucky me,â you muttered, not even looking up. âLetâs get it over with quickly.â He says as he starts collecting the material.
As you worked together, the usual bickering somehow faded into quiet focus. His teasing comments came softer now, less sharp, almost like he forgot to be annoying. After some time when you leaned in to inspect the potion your sleeve catches a spark just for a second but youâre pulled back by a strong arm immediately, your head snaps back in surprise. Itâs Theo. His arm still rests around you, fingers tight for a moment longer than needed. For once, he doesnât look smug â he looks almost⊠worried.
âCareful principessaâ he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. You blink and nod slowly as your heart stumbles over itself. His hand drops away, and the air between you feels heavy with something unnamed.
By evening, the warmth of the classroom had faded into the golden hush of the Great Hall. Candles floated lazily overhead, you sat with your friends, half focused on the conversation, half distracted by the memory of his hand pulling you close.
Suddenly youâre snapped out of your thoughts when someone calls out your name, when you look in that direction you see Cedric Diggory, your housemate. You werenât particularly close, but friendly enough to exchange smiles in the corridors, you found it a little weird but brushed it off. Cedricâs voice is light and cheerful as he slides onto the bench beside you.
âDidnât expect to see you spacing out in the middle of dinner.â You blink, startled for a second before smiling. âOhâ yeah, just⊠tired. Long day.â
He chuckles. âBet youâve been overachieving again. Always so focused.â His tone is teasing, but his gaze lingers for too long. You giggled softly. âMaybee. Someone has to make Hufflepuff proud.â
âTrust me, youâre doing a great job of that already,â he says smoothly, his hand brushing against your bare knee as he makes it look like an accident.
You stiffen for half a second itâs small, maybe accidental. But then it happens again, more deliberate this time, his fingers grazing your skin. But before you can react, another gaze has already found you. Across the hall, Theodore Nott watches with his jaw tight from his table, The muscle in his cheek ticks.
âSo,â he says, leaning in just a little, âno plans for the next Hogsmeade weekend yet?â
You blink, caught off guard and answer awkwardly. âUh no, not really thinking about it.â
He grins. âYou should come with me then. I promise I will take good care of you.â
You force a small smile, your voice quieter. ââI donât know, CedricâŠâ
âOh, come on,â he says, but the tone is more insistent now. âItâll be fun. Besidesââ his eyes flicker down briefly ââwe could also have some fun afterwards you know..â
That makes your breath hitch, not in a good way. You shift slightly, trying to create space, your heart beating a little faster from discomfort.
Thatâs all it takes.
Theoâs chair scrapes back sharply against the marble floor. The entire Great Hall seems to be quiet as he storms toward the Hufflepuff table, his strides long and deliberate. In one swift motion, he grabs Cedric by the collar, his voice low but seething.
âDidnât anyone ever teach you how to keep your hands to yourself?â
The chatter dies completely. All eyes are on them â on you â as Theo stands there, protective fury burning in his expression.
âWhat the hell, mateââ Cedric starts, but he doesnât get to finish. Theoâs shove sends him stumbling back, eyes flashing with fury. âKeep your hands off whatâs fucking mineâ Before anyone can process whatâs happening, Theoâs fist slams into Cedricâs jaw, the crack echoing through the Great Hall. Gasps ripple instantly as Cedric stumbles back, then lunges forward, grabbing Theo by the collar. Students gasp, benches screech and professors rush to separate them. When they are finally pulled away, they are both gasping for air and bruised.
The sight of Theo makes you freeze. He looks wild, angry, furious. âHospital wing. Now,â McGonagall says sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Theo doesnât say anything just throws a sharp glare toward Cedric before turning away towards the heavy oak doors. As both of them are escorted away you sit there feeling heavy the murmurs about the fight fading in the background all you can think about is Theoâs face â how he looked so furious, protective and hurt.
You shouldnât think about it much but you canât help it and before you know your feet are carrying themselves towards the infirmary through the dim corridors. When you reach the infirmary you stare at the door for a minute before wrapping your trembling fingers around the door handle, pulling the door open and it lets out a creak which draws the attention of Madam Pomfrey and those ocean blue eyes.
You quietly ask Madam âCan I come in? Please?â To which she sweetly and gently replies, âOf course my dear!â When you step in your heart thuds faster, as your gaze falls upon him. You walk towards him the sound of your footsteps being the only sound in the room. Sitting down beside him, the mattress dips with your weight.
For a moment you just stare at him taking in all the bruises spread on his jaw, cheeks, the split lip and blood smudges. Somehow he still looks so breathtaking in this moment of vulnerability too.
The silence hangs in until you finally decide to break it.
âWhy did you do it.. for me..? I thought you didnât like me..â you mutter, hesitating to meet his eyes.
âBecause he shouldnât have touched you.. No one can..â he muttered âbecause youâre mine tesoro..â his voice dropping low and gentle protective.
The silence falls in again, heavy and before either of you can process youâre leaning in closing the little remaining distance and his mouth finds yours, his mouth hot and desperate against yours. The kiss is full of feeling, longing and protectiveness, his one hand slips to the back of your head tangling in your hair and the other to your waist pulling you impossibly closer.
When you both pull back panting softly, the world feels hushed â like even the air is afraid to break the moment. His forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling in the small space between. Thereâs a glimmer in his ocean blue eyes, something raw and unspoken.
âYou have no idea what you do to me,â he murmurs, voice low and raw with honesty.
Your heart stumbles a little, warmth blooming in your chest as your fingers brush his softly â hesitant, but sure.
âIs this like a confession?..â you whisper with a tiny chuckle, cheeks still heated.
âConsider it as one..â he says back with pure affection.
You both canât help but smile as you both snuggle closer and he plants tiny kisses all over your face â cheeks, nose, and your forehead.
âI love you Bambina, my sunshine..â he whispered against your skin and for the first time, the world feels entirely still, just you and him, wrapped in something tender and pure.
synopsis: heâs used to the world only seeing theodore nott until she sees beyond him
The thing about Theodore Nott was that he had never cared to notice.
Not really.
Not when there were always eyes on him anywayâcurious, covetous, condemning.
He had grown up with it: the weight of the name, the shadow of expectation, the soft sneers hidden behind teacups in drawing rooms thick with cigar smoke.
He and his friendsâDraco, Blaise, Mattheo, the occasional tagalong of Pansy or some other wealthy pureblood slytherins were the sort of presence people cleared corridors for.
The sweep of their black school robes cutting through crowds, a murmur following them like an aftertaste.
Some called them bullies, others heirs, others still future Death Eaters, though no one dared say it to their faces.
To Theo, it was simpler than that.
This was their world, their legacy.
They took up space because it was theirs to claim.
Autumn draped itself thickly over the castle that Octoberâmist clinging to the Black Lake in the mornings, the air carrying the faint scent of pumpkin pasties and rain.
The Great Hallâs enchanted ceiling seemed perpetually storm-tossed, bruise-coloured clouds rolling lazily overhead.
Theo liked this season best.
The cold suited him; the grey light softened the sharp angles of his life.
It was during one such grey morning that he noticed her. Not really for the first time, though it felt like it.
Seven years in the same castle and she had slipped like smoke past his gaze, unremarkable in her unremarkableness.
Until Potions, until the day her partner had been bedridden with a fever and Professor Slughorn paired her with him.
Heâd expected little.
Another girl who giggled nervously at proximity, who dropped lacewing flies with trembling fingers, who would wait for him to dictate every step.
Instead, she worked efficiently, sleeves rolled, hair tucked into a low bun that looked careless yet not careless at all.
A thin chain of gold glinted at her throat, a simple ring on her middle finger.
She spoke in a voice steady and practical.
ââŠI think we need to give it a few more stirs and it should be ready,â she said, eyes on the cauldron, not on him.
Theodore, who had long ago become accustomed to people only looking at him, found it disorienting. Even more so when, without hesitation, she leaned closer, her brow furrowing.
Then, in the kind of unthinking gesture that should never have belonged to his world, she reached up and brushed something from his cheek.
His first instinct was to recoil, to spit something sharp, to mask discomfort in cruelty as he had been taught.
But instead, he froze, caught in the strange, ordinary intimacy of it. Her fingers brushed his skin, light as breath, and when she drew back, she held up the offending speck.
âSorryâyou had a bit of beetle wax,â she explained with an easy smile.
And then she turned back to their work as if nothing had happened.
Theo sat stunned, hands slack at his sides.
âYeah⊠um. Thanks,â he managed, the words foreign on his tongue. He should have dismissed it.
Should have forgotten her face by supper, let it blur back into the crowd of nameless classmates.
But he didnât.
Theodore Nott had always been peculiar himself, though no one ever called him that aloud.
They called him cold, clever, cruel even.
Girls called him handsome in whispers; boys called him dangerous in louder tones when he was just out of earshot.
Peculiar was not a word in their vocabulary.
But as days passed, he began to notice peculiarities in her.
The way she carried herself, not like the heiresses of his circle with their carefully rehearsed graces, but with something steadier, more deliberate.
The way she laughed at things that were genuinely funny instead of at whoever was most powerful in the room.
The way she spoke to him like he was humanâjust another boy in classânot Theodore Nott, heir of an infamous bloodline, son of a man whispered about in hushed tones at Ministry functions.
One afternoon, they left the dungeons together.
The castle corridors were awash with the flicker of torches and the faint chill that seeped into bones during October.
His friends were waiting at the end of the hallway, lounging against the stone wall with an air of practiced menace.
Dracoâs pale head tipped toward them, smirking, Blaiseâs sharp eyes catching everything.
Theo slowed his pace, letting her walk a little ahead, because the eyes of his world were knives. But she didnât seem to notice, or if she did, she didnât falter.
She glanced at the others, nodded politely, and kept walking, not rushing, not shrinking.
When she was gone, Mattheo scoffed. âSince when do you play lab partner withâwhatâs-her-name anyway?â
Theo rolled his eyes.
âSince Slughorn told me to.â
âCareful,â Draco drawled, âyouâll ruin your reputation fraternizing with mediocrity.âThe others chuckled, and Theo smirked faintly, the mask slipping easily back into place.
But something about the word mediocrity stuck, sharp as glass in his chest.
In the library a week later, he found her again.
Not found, exactlyâhe had gone there for his own reasons, to avoid the noise of the Slytherin common room. But there she was at one of the tables, parchment spread before her, ink smudging her fingers.
Theodore hesitated, then dropped into the chair across from her without asking.
She looked up, startled for only a second, then returned to her work. âDo you ever ask before invading someoneâs space?â she murmured, quill scratching.
âNo,â he replied simply. Her lips twitched, but she didnât press.
The silence stretched.
Students whispered in distant corners, pages turned, the libraryâs musty scent mingled with the faint chill that seeped in through the high, arched windows.
Theo watched her, the slope of her shoulders, the concentration in her furrowed brow.
Finally, she glanced at him. âYouâre staring.â
âAm I?â
âYes.â
He leaned back, lips curling faintly.
âMaybe Iâve never seen someone take notes so seriously.â
âMaybe youâve never paid attention.â
The words landed heavier than she probably intended.
He should have bristled, but instead he smirked again, though softer this time.
âMaybe.â
Conversations grew from there.
Short exchanges in corridors, murmurs in Potions, chance meetings in the courtyard where golden leaves scattered at their feet.
She asked him questions no one else ever did. Not about Quidditch, not about grades, not about his family.
She asked about his favourite season, whether he preferred cats or owls, if he thought ghosts got lonely.
He found himself answering. Honestly. And that was more terrifying than any duel heâd ever fought.
One evening, late, he caught her in the courtyard, sitting on the edge of the fountain with her cloak wrapped tight around her.
The moonlight silvered her hair; the crisp autumn wind carried the scent of wet leaves.
âYouâll catch cold,â he remarked, stepping into the dim light.
She looked up, smiling faintly. âYou sound like my grandmother.â
He sat beside her, ignoring the damp chill of the stone.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The water trickled softly, and somewhere far off, an owl hooted.
âYou donât belong with them,â she said finally, her voice quiet but certain.
Theo stiffened. âWho?â
âYour friends. The whole pureblood performance. It doesnât fit you.â
He let out a short, humourless laugh.
âThatâs where youâre wrong. Itâs exactly where I belong.â
She turned to him then, meeting his eyes with that unnerving steadiness.
âMaybe by blood. But not by heart.â
For a long moment, he couldnât breathe.
No one had ever said that to him. No one had ever looked past the surface.
And he hated how much it mattered.
Theodore Nott was peculiar in his own right, but what made her peculiar to him was startlingly simple:
She saw him.
Not the heir. Not the dark legacy. Not the name or the face or the charm. Just him.
And for the first time in his life, he found that he didnât want to be invisible to someone.
Word Count: 15.9k (UM THESE JUST KEEP GETTING LONGER)
Summary: Your next-door neighbor in a London apartment⊠Mattheo Riddle? Yeah, didnât see that coming either.
A/N: yall ik i say this for every fic but honest to god i do not like this fic it was really better in my head i swearđ
credits to @saradika-graphics for the dividers!
Most muggleborns spend their lives running toward magic.
After living without it for the first eleven years of their lives, theyâre all too eager to lose themselves in a world of spells and enchantments. They trade in double-decker buses and arbitrary chores for castles full of ghosts and a life that feels, at first, like ease. Once youâve flown a broomstick or charmed a kettle to sing, itâs hard to imagine settling for anything less.
The journey usually only goes one way â from the world of the ordinary to the world of the impossible.
Usually.
You moved back to the muggle world shortly after the war ended, wanting to put a great deal of distance between yourself and everything magical. There were a multitude of reasons for that.
To begin with, you wanted to be closer to your family. The war had loomed like a shadow over everything for so long, and when you came so close to losing them, it made you realize just how much youâd taken them for granted. You lived with them in your childhood home for a few months before moving into your own apartment only a few streets over.
Second, you were tired â bone-deep and soul-sick. After witnessing so much destruction, you longed for quiet. The wizarding world, despite its victory, was in a state of chaos. The Ministry was being rebuilt from the ground up, and though they had claimed, with great sympathy, that it was unfair the weight of the world had fallen on such young shoulders, they had no issue asking you â along with Harry, Ron, and Hermione â to serve under Ministry officials and aid in the capture of the remaining Death Eaters.
You had all agreed on one thing: the Ministry was not to be trusted. And with that shared understanding, the four of you parted ways.
Lastly â and most frustratingly â the muggle world was the only place you could escape the insipid reporters who seemed determined to mine every moment of the Golden Quartetâs lives for public consumption. It was another point the four of you agreed on: you wanted no part of the circus.
Now, only your closest friends had your address.
Which is why you could only conclude that this was a complete.
And utter.
Coincidence.
You came home that Tuesday evening with a grocery bag in one hand and your wand tucked safely into your boot. The hallway smelled faintly of burnt toast and lemon-scented floor cleaner, the kind your landlord swore by but never quite masked the damp. You rounded the corner toward your door and stopped short.
There he was.
Mattheo Riddle, standing in front of the apartment next to yours, two battered suitcases at his feet and a flat key dangling uselessly from his hand.
He looked up at the exact moment you did. His fingers froze on the key. Your hand stilled on the strap of your bag.
And for a long, suspended moment, the two of you just stared.
You hadnât seen him in years â not since the war â and yet time didnât seem to matter. Recognition crashed through the hallway like a thunderclap. His curls were longer, face more drawn, shadows bruising the skin beneath his eyes. But it was him. It was undeniably him.
Mattheo Riddle.
In your building.
The silence dragged on until it became unbearable. You were the first to blink.
"...Hi." You said, a little breathless, a little stunned.
He didnât say anything right away, just looked at you like he was trying to convince himself you werenât real. You couldnât blame him.
"...You."
You raised a brow, "Me."
A beat of silence. Then, softer, almost unsure, "I didnât know you lived here."
You shifted your groceries in your arms, "I didnât know you lived here."
Another beat passed, longer this time. The key in his hand twitched like heâd forgotten it was there.
"I donât," He said finally, "I mean⊠I just got the place."
You glanced at the door behind him â your door. The one youâd walked through a hundred times without incident. Now it felt like the threshold to something else entirely.
"Next door, huh?" You said, voice light but heart thudding.
He nodded, "Yeah. Lucky me."
You couldnât tell if he meant it sarcastically, and you werenât sure you wanted to know.
There was another pause. Not uncomfortable exactly â just thick with the weight of everything unspoken. You cleared your throat and stepped toward your own door, shifting your keys into your hand.
"Well," You said, half-turning toward him, "If you need help with anything, you know where to find me."
Mattheo blinked, like he hadnât expected that â kindness, or maybe familiarity. Something flickered behind his eyes. He nodded.
"...Thanks." He said quietly.
You gave him a small nod before unlocking your door and slipping inside, heart hammering as you leaned against the back of it.
Mattheo Riddle. Living next door.
You hadn't even unpacked your milk yet, and already the past was knocking.
The morning started like most others â quiet, a little rushed. You always managed to convince yourself you'd dress plain or skip makeup, severely underestimating how long it actually took to get ready. The apartment was practically hell to walk around in â you liked to sleep with the air conditioner blasting, which made getting out of bed feel like leaving heaven. You locked your door with one hand and slung your bag over your shoulder with the other, moving on instinct, drinking down a yogurt smoothie.
The building was still waking up â murmurs behind closed doors, the distant clink of pipes, a cat meowing two floors down. You padded down the stairs toward the lobby, head bowed slightly as you adjusted your coat, not expecting anyone to be around.
But then the front door swung open, and Mattheo Riddle stepped inside.
You almost didnât recognize him at first. His hoodie was tied around his waist, leaving him in nothing but joggers and a damp black T-shirt clinging to his chest. His curls stuck to his forehead, chest still heaving from the run.
And then â he grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it up to wipe the sweat from his face.
You froze mid-step.
Because, well. There were abs. Sharp, defined, very real abs. The kind youâd only read about in romance novels or seen in movies â not the kind you expected to run into before 8 a.m. The curve of his ribs, the sharp V of his hips, the abs that could definitely grate cheese, the faint scars vanishing beneath the waistband of his joggers â you saw all of it, burned into your retinas before you could blink it away.
And then he saw you.
His eyes widened, and the shirt dropped instantly back into place.
"Oh." He said, like he hadnât meant to say it out loud.
"Morning." You said, trying your best to sound noncommittal.
"Morning." He said, a bit too quickly.
He glanced toward the door like he might bolt.
Instead, he stepped aside and held it open for you.
"Thanks." You said, quietly.
He nodded, still flustered, eyes flicking down then back up like he wasnât sure where to look.
You stepped into the sunlight and crossed the lot toward your car, trying hard not to think about the abs. Not to think about the sweat. Not to think about the way your heart had momentarily leapt into your throat like it had no business being there.
God, you were such a teenager sometimes.
Behind you, the door clicked shut.
You grabbed the mail like you always did â a quick swipe from the box in the lobby before you headed back upstairs. Most days it was bills, junk flyers, brochures. Nothing worth more than a glance.
But tonight, when you finally dumped the envelopes onto your kitchen counter, your fingers froze.
There, on top of the usual clutter, was a single letter that didnât belong.
The paper was thick and creamy, the kind that whispered wealth and importance. The edges were hand-cut, the ink flowed in perfect, curling calligraphy, and the wax seal stamped firmly with the unmistakable Malfoy family crest glinted in the kitchen light.
You didnât have to open it to know who it was for.
Your address was written there, clearly a mistake, but following it was the name Mattheo Riddle. Your fingers traced over the letters without realizing.
You stared at it, thumb brushing over the smooth paper as a knot twisted in your stomach.
Do you knock on his door? Drop it in the mail slot and pretend it was an accident? It felt like less work to just walk over and hand it to him â and honestly, less weird.
You grabbed your coat and stepped out, the letter folded carefully in your hand.
When you reached his door, your knuckles hovered for a moment before you finally rapped softly.
The door opened a crack almost immediately.
He was surprised to see you. Actually, it seemed like he wasnât expecting any guests, considering the way he was clutching his wand with a grip that almost turned his knuckles white at his side. You tried not to hold it against him. After all, you had been exactly the same during the first couple months of living there. You had cast protection charms and wards over your parentsâ house like a crazy lady. Even the slightest noise woke you, and youâd wake up in a cold sweat each night.
However, you definitely felt better the second he noticed it was you â the tension melted from his body.
You held out the letter, voice low.
âIt was in my mail. Thought you should have it.â
He blinked, taking it with a slow nod.
âThanks.â He said quietly.
You hesitated, then added, âAccident, I swear.â
He gave a small, dry chuckle.
âDonât worry.â He said, lifting his eyes from the letter and back to you, "Thank you."
The door shut softly.
It happened three nights later.
You were curled up on the couch in mismatched pajamas, hoodie half-zipped and a blanket tangled around your legs. A sitcom rerun flickered on the TV, but you werenât really watching â just letting it hum in the background while your tea cooled on the coffee table.
Then came the knock.
You paused mid-sip.
Another knock. Gentle, hesitant. Like whoever it was had seriously debated whether to even bother.
You padded to the door and opened it â just a crack â and, of course, there he was.
Mattheo.
Hair a mess in a way that still looked unfairly attractive, a tight compression shirt that honestly made you embarrassed on behalf of all womankind, and a bashful-but-trying-hard-to-look-nonchalant expression on his face. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. Shoulders slightly hunched, like he didnât want to be there but had talked himself into it anyway.
"âŠHey." He said, voice low, like it felt too loud in your quiet hallway.
You raised an eyebrow, surprised, "Hey."
"I, umâŠ" He shifted awkwardly. One foot stepped back, then forward again, like he couldnât decide whether to flee or stay. It was incredibly unlike him, to the point that it made you concerned, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure?" You said, cautiously.
A pause. He looked genuinely tortured.
Then, finally:
"How do I use the microwave?"
You stared at him.
He rushed to add, "I asked the landlord. I swear I did. Thereâs just⊠so many buttons. I donât know what half of them do. This is the fifth time this week my meal is half cold and half hot and I donât know what else to do because every time I use magic in that damned apartment, all the other technology freaks the fuck out."
You blinked.
That was⊠the most youâd ever heard him speak.
And not just speak â ramble. Rushed and impulsive, words tumbling out too fast for him to rein in. It felt squirrelly in a way that didnât fit the boy you remembered from school. Back then, he always had that cocky, relaxed smile, the one that lingered too long and made people nervous. When it wasnât that, it was fury â sharp and volatile. Youâd seen enough of both expressions to find this new one strange.
A part of you almost felt bad. Clearly, the Muggle world wasnât treating him kindly. And the fact that he was asking you for help â considering how often your friends used to butt heads with his back at Hogwarts â well. That had to sting his pride.
Still, youâd both been on the same side by the end of the war. So you supposed you could let bygones be bygones.
You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.
You failed.
"Sorry," You said, half behind your hand, "Itâs justâ"
"No, no, go ahead." He said, dryly.
That only made it worse.
You opened the door wider, grabbing your keys and forgoing slippers since you were just walking a few feet to his place anyway, still smiling, "Alright. Lemme see."
His apartment looked almost identical to yours â same layout, same creaky floorboard just inside the threshold â but it felt different. Dimmer. Colder. Like someone was borrowing the space rather than living in it.
The walls were bare, not a single photo or poster in sight. The air smelled faintly of old parchment and something herbal, like spellwork left to linger. A wand lay carelessly on the coffee table, half-tucked beneath a rolled-up Daily Prophet. Books and scrolls were stacked beside it in frighteningly neat piles, next to a tea mug that had clearly gone cold.
You followed him into the kitchen, where the microwave sat perched on the counter like an unwanted guest.
âSo,â You said, stuffing your hands into the pocket of your hoodie, âWhat are we microwaving?â
He reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a sad-looking cup of ramen. The cheap kind. The kind your dad used to stress about every time he caught you eating it â full of sodium, he'd complain, and then buy you another six-pack the next week because he knew you liked the chicken flavor.
âThis.â he said, like it was obvious.
You stared at the cup. Then at him. Then back at the cup.
ââŠYou know youâre supposed to make the water hot first before putting the noodles in, right?â
He blinked at you, genuinely confused, â...Am I?â
You stepped forward, peeled back the foil lid with practiced fingers, and pointed at the fine print along the rim.
âThe instructions are written right here.â
âTheyâre in Korean.â He muttered.
You paused. Then looked down. Then back at him.
ââŠRight.â
âI donât know how to translate it without using a spell.â
You tilted your head, âCanât you use your phone?â
He went quiet, eyes drifting away â not defensive, just⊠quiet. You immediately regretted the question. Of course he couldnât. The man barely knew how to use a microwave. What were you expecting?
You looked back down at the sad little noodle cup, steam starting to curl from under the foil lid. Then around his kitchen â barren shelves, a half-stocked fridge, one lonely fork sitting in the drying rack like it had never been part of a set.
âIs this what youâve been eating all week?â You asked slowly, âBadly cooked noodles?â
He didnât answer right away. Just gave a small shrug, like it wasnât exactly the answer⊠but also kind of was.
âTheyâre not that bad.â He said, avoiding your eyes.
He was still quiet.
âIf youâre gonna live off this stuff,â You said, softer now, âYou should at least dress it up a little. Toss in an egg. Use bone broth instead of water. Add some greens. Carrots, spinach. Leftover meat, if youâve got it.â
He tilted his head, brows drawing together slightly like youâd just introduced him to an entirely new concept.
âRight,â He said, âOf course. Bone broth.â
You squinted at him, âHave you⊠eaten anything not made in this cup since you moved in?â
He hesitated.
Which was answer enough.
You sighed, slow and through your nose, gaze drifting back to the microwave, then to him.
You shouldnât push.
You knew that.
He hadnât let you in for tea. He hadnât sat you down and started talking about his life. Heâd asked for help with one tiny thing â and even that probably took more effort than heâd admit. If you offered more⊠would he take it badly? Would he realize heâd already slipped up just by letting you in this far? Would he shut down, retreat, snap the door shut like none of this ever happened?
Maybe. Probably.
You wouldnât risk it.
But gods, when you looked at that flavorless brick of noodles, and the silence that filled his apartment like a second layer of drywall, and that one fork drying on its ownâŠ
You just couldnât help but feel bad.
âNext time youâre at the store,â You started, then paused â glanced again at the sad little cup on the counter, then back at him.
Actually⊠screw it.
ââŠForget that,â You said instead, keeping your voice light, casual, like it wasnât a big deal, âIâve got some stuff in my fridge. Eggs, some spinach, maybe a little leftover rotisserie chicken. Wonât take long.â
He looked at you. Not startled, exactly â but something flickered behind his eyes, like he hadnât expected the offer. Like he wasnât sure why youâd make it. Like maybe he didnât think he deserved it.
âYou donât have to do that.â He said quickly, but it didnât come out sharp. Just automatic. Defensive, out of habit.
You shrugged, already halfway to the door.
âJust give me a sec,â You said, throwing him a quick smile, âStay here. Donât burn the noodles.â
He didnât say anything. But he didnât stop you, either.
And that, you figured, was enough.
You came back five minutes later, juggling a small pot containing a couple of eggs, a container of broth, a Ziploc bag of spinach, and a pair of chopsticks youâd swiped from your drawer on the way out. The pot knocked softly against your knee as you nudged the door open with your elbow.
Mattheo blinked at you from the kitchen, clearly still not convinced this was real.
âYou really didnât have to do that.â He said, stepping aside as you brushed past him.
âI know,â You said breezily, already unloading your arms onto the counter, âBut Iâm doing it anyway.â
He opened his mouth â probably to protest again â but you cut him off with a look. Not sharp, just firm.
âIâm not trying to invade your kitchen or anything,â You added, fiddling with the pot lid, âBut that sad little cup deserves better. And you kind of looked like you were about to eat it dry.â
âI wasnât.â He muttered.
You filled the pot with the bone broth and placed it on the stove, clicking the burner on with practiced ease, "Mm-hm.â
He exhaled a short, reluctant laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, âYouâre really doing this?â
âIf it helps, Iâm not being nice,â You said, half-smiling, âI havenât eaten dinner yet. So if you want to make it fair, give me a bowl too.â
That caught him off guard. He paused, then nodded once, slow and quiet.
ââŠAlright. Deal.â
You tried not to smile too much as he handed you another cup of ramen from the cabinet. It was chipped at the rim and slightly too small, but it would do. You emptied both noodle cakes into the pot, swapped the water for broth, and got to work, talking him through it as casually as you could.
âYou wanna add the spinach last,â You explained, stirring gently, âIt cooks fast. And I like cracking the egg straight in â makes the broth thicker. But if youâd rather boil it on the side and slice it, that works too.â
He watched you carefully â not just your hands, but your face, your posture, the way you moved around like you werenât nervous to take up space in his kitchen. Like you belonged. Like you didnât find this strange at all.
âWhy are you helping me?â He asked quietly.
You looked up from the pot, letting the corner of your mouth tug up just slightly.
âBecause,â You said, âIâm very hungry.â
That earned a real smile. Small. Barely there. But real.
ââŠThanks.â He said after a beat.
You shrugged, âDonât thank me till you taste it.â
When you finally passed him a bowl â warm, fragrant, with steam curling gently over the rim â he stared at it like it was more than just dinner. Like it meant something. Like maybe you did.
You sat beside him at the small kitchen table, your shoulder brushing his for a moment before you settled back.
Not quite friends. Not yet.
But maybe something was beginning.
You stood in front of his door again, two days later, staring at the worn wood like it might open on its own and save you the trouble.
In your hands was a small Tupperware container â the clear kind, fogged at the edges from the warmth still trapped inside. A generous slice of cake sat inside, a little dented from the walk up and decorated with frankly ridiculous neon frosting. The plastic lid was smudged with your fingerprints from how tightly youâd been gripping it, like maybe it would give you some courage if you just held on long enough.
Youâd already knocked three times in your head. Once with your actual hand. And still â no follow-through.
You shifted your weight from foot to foot, mumbling under your breath like a lunatic, âOkay, just leave it at the door, ring the bell, run. Not that serious. Not weird. Itâs cake. Everyone likes cake. Itâs not a big deal. Youâre not weird. This is normal. People bring food to people. People are nice. Youâre being nice.â
Your fingers twitched toward the doorbell again â and then froze halfway.
The container nearly slipped from your hands as you turned â and there he was. Mattheo. Just a few feet away, keys in hand, dark curls a little damp like heâd just come in from the rain. His brows were pulled slightly together, his voice caught somewhere between confusion and caution.
Not quite hostile. But not welcoming either.
âOhâhi,â You said, voice a little too high, a little too bright, âI was justâŠâ
He looked at you. Then at the Tupperware. Then back again.
You cleared your throat and held the container out between you like it might protect you both from what you werenât saying. A peace offering. A bribe. A white flag covered in blue frosting.
âI thought you might like this.â You said, trying your best to sound casual, âItâs⊠cake.â
He didnât take it.
His expression shifted â cooled, hardened, like a door slamming shut behind his eyes. His voice dropped, quiet and clipped.
âYou donât have to pity me.â
The words landed like a slap.
You blinked, âWhat?â
âIâm not some sad project,â He said, jaw tight, âYou donât have to keep showing up like this. I didnât ask for your help. I donât need your charity.â
It hit you then â not just what he said, but what he meant.
The defensiveness wasnât about you. Not really. It was about the way he saw himself. The walls he'd spent years building around the idea that maybe he didn't deserve care. That if someone reached for him, they must want something in return â or worse, they must be trying to fix him. To mold him into something less complicated. Less dark. Less him.
You didnât look away.
Your voice dropped to something softer. Something honest.
âMattheo⊠itâs just cake. There are no strings.â
He looked at you like he didnât believe you. Like he was trying to see through the frosting to the catch hidden underneath. You held his gaze anyway.
âI got it from work.â You added, gentler now, âAnd I donât like eating dessert alone.â
That gave him pause. A flicker of something â uncertainty, maybe â passed across his face.
Then, finally, he let out a quiet sigh, brushing past you to the door.
ââŠAlright.â He muttered, unlocking it, âFine. Come in.â
You followed him inside, your heart thudding in your chest like youâd just sprinted through a battlefield and not⊠offered someone cake.
The apartment was exactly as you remembered. Same dim lighting. Same scuffed floors. Same silence that felt like it had weight. You stepped into the small kitchen, placed the container gently on the table like it was something fragile, and cracked the lid open with a soft pop.
Blue frosting beamed up at you â cheerful and absurd â despite the fact that the image was slightly smushed from the walk. The cartoon dog grinning from the top of the cake looked like it had just burst into song, paws raised in eternal celebration.
Mattheo squinted at it like it was a piece of contemporary art meant to make him think deeper.
ââŠThe fuck is that?â
You grinned, âThat would be a talking dingo.â
He lifted an eyebrow.
You gestured to the cake, âFrom this Australian cartoon called Bluey. The kids are obsessed.â
His expression didnât change, âYou got this from⊠kids?â
âI work at a kindergarten/â You said, already crossing to the drying rack and pulling out two mismatched forks like you lived there, âOne of the kids had a birthday today. He got Bluey â obviously. This is the leftover slice of Blueyâs mom. Or aunt. Or whatever. She didnât make the cut.â
Mattheo blinked at you like youâd just casually confessed to smuggling illegal potions across the border.
âYou work with children?â
âYup.â
ââŠWhy?â
You snorted, handing him a fork, âGee, thanks.â
âI didnât mean it like that,â He said, catching the fork with a nod of thanks, âI justâ You couldâve done anything. Back at Hogwarts, you talked about becoming an Auror, didnât you? Top of the class in Defense. You couldâve had your pick of the Ministry. What changed?â
Your smile faltered.
Your gaze lowered to the cake, the blue frosting suddenly too bright.
âA lot has changed, Mattheo.â You said quietly.
When you looked up again, your eyes met his â and something passed between you. Something that had the magic that was interwoven through every single fiber of his body begin to vibrate and reach for you.
It was lonely in muggle London. Finally, he had someone who understood. The war. The fallout. The ache in your bones that hadnât quite gone away.
âYou know that better than anyone.â
There was a moment where he looked at you differently. Like he was seeing you again for the first time. Not as the student he used to know. Not as his overly hospitable neighbour. But as someone scarred and soft in all the same places he was.
You didnât touch him. But part of you wanted to. Wanted to reach across the space between you and tell him about yourself. Tell him everything.
Instead, you shrugged, trying to find your voice again.
âIâm not really qualified or anything.â You said, softer now, âBut my mum used to teach there. She still has some connections. Put in a good word for me when I needed work. And apparently my talent for counter-curses means nothing next to my ability to recite Five Little Ducks from memory.â
He huffed out a laugh â quiet and unexpected â through his nose. It wasnât much. But it was something.
You sat together at the small kitchen table, forks in hand, slowly dismantling the slice of cake like it might bite back. You felt a small pang of guilt as Blueyâs mom lost her frosted ears â may she rest in peace â but if there was one thing youâd learned about toddler birthday cakes, it was that they were criminally delicious.
Mattheo didnât say much. Just watched you with careful eyes, taking small, cautious bites like he wasnât used to sharing anything â not food, not silence, not company.
You didnât fill the quiet. You let it settle.
It was nearly two in the morning when you heard it.
A dull thud, followed by the sharp crack of something hitting the floor â hard. Then silence. Then a low, ragged sound that didnât sound like words at all.
You sat up in bed, heart already pounding.
Your apartment was quiet, cloaked in darkness and long, familiar shadows â but the noise hadnât come from within your own space.
It had come from next door.
From Mattheoâs.
You hesitated, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold beneath your bare feet. You waited, listening, willing the silence to stay. But then it came again.
A heavy scrape. A crash. The sound of something shattering.
You didnât think. You just grabbed your wand.
The hallway outside was dim, washed in the weak amber glow of the sconces that never quite worked right. His door was slightly ajar. Not wide â but not locked, either.
You raised your hand, knuckles grazing the wood.
âMattheo?â You called softly.
No answer.
âMattheo, itâs meâare you okay?â
Still nothing. Just the same jagged, uneven breathing. Fast. Erratic. Distant.
You glanced down at the doorknob.
âAlohomora.â You whispered, tapping the brass with the tip of your wand.
The latch clicked open.
You stepped inside quietly, careful not to make too much noise. The apartment was dark, save for the silver wash of streetlight spilling through the blinds. The glow cut harsh lines across the floor and furniture, shadow and light slicing the room in half.
And there â crouched beside the overturned coffee table â was Mattheo.
His back was to you. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat. His shoulders trembled with barely-contained tension. A mug lay shattered nearby, and his wand was discarded, half-buried under a scattered pile of scrolls. His hands were tangled in his hair, gripping at his scalp like he was trying to hold something in â or hold something out.
He didnât see you come in.
âHey,â You said gently, not stepping closer, âItâs okay. Itâs just me.â
No response.
His whole body was wound tight, like a live wire â still in the middle of something he hadnât escaped yet. Like heâd fallen asleep on a battlefield and hadnât managed to wake up.
You didnât cross the room. Not yet.
âIâm sorry for intruding,â You added, softer, âI just⊠heard something. I wanted to make sure you were okay.â
A long pause.
Then, slowly â like he was dragging himself back into his body inch by inch â Mattheo turned his head.
His eyes met yours.
At first, they were wild. Unfocused. Distant. Then came recognition â flickering and faint. And then, quickly after, the crash of shame.
He looked away.
âShit,â He muttered, voice hoarse, âIâm fine. Itâs fine. Sorry to wake you. You should go back.â
But you didnât move.
You stepped forward â quietly, carefully â crouching just far enough away not to crowd him, but close enough to be within reach.
âAre you alright?â You asked, voice calm and low, âWere you asleep?â
He let out a bitter laugh â short and flat, âThat wasnât sleep.â
You waited.
His hands had fallen to his lap. You could see now that his knuckles were raw and red, scraped open from something â maybe the wall, maybe the floor, maybe just the way he fought his own mind.
You nodded toward the couch, âDo you want to sit down?â
He didnât answer, but after a beat, he pushed himself to his feet. Stiff. Tired. Like his body had only just realized it could stop fighting.
You followed him.
He collapsed onto the cushions like his bones had turned to dust. You sat beside him, not touching, not speaking, not offering false comfort.
Just⊠there.
He dragged a hand down his face. Then again. Then let it fall, limp, into his lap.
âItâs not a big deal,â He muttered, âIt happens. Has for years.â
You looked at him.
âI know,â You said quietly, âI get them too.â
He stilled.
His eyes flicked to you â surprised. Like he hadnât expected that from you. Like he couldnât quite picture it.
âStill doesnât make it less shitty.â You added.
He let out a sound â half a breath, half a scoff. Not quite a laugh. But not nothing.
âI hate it,â He said, barely above a whisper, âI wake up and itâs like Iâm still there. Like it never ended. The smoke, the screaming â I know itâs not real, but my body doesnât. It reacts. It always reacts.â
He swallowed.
âItâs not even always the same dream. Sometimes itâs the castle. Sometimes itâs⊠worse. Places I donât talk about. Places Iâve never told anyone about.â
His voice cracked at the end. You didnât flinch.
You just curled your knees beneath you, watching your fingers.
âMy first week here,â You said softly, âI didnât sleep at all. I warded the apartment every night. Then Iâd wake up at three in the morning and run to my parentsâ house just to check their wards. I think I cast every protection charm in existence. I was so convinced⊠if I let my guard down, even for a secondâŠâ
You trailed off. The silence filled in the rest.
Mattheo stared at you. Not in judgment. Just⊠listening. Like he couldnât believe someone else carried the same weight.
You â the girl from the Golden Quartet. The one who helped end it. Who came back. Who rebuilt.
But not unscathed.
He remembered what Bellatrix had done to you. What youâd endured. What youâd lost.
And he thought â maybe for the first time â that youâd suffered just as deeply. That you understood.
You glanced up at him again. He didnât look away.
âDo you want me to set up a few wards?â You asked, âThey wonât fix anything, but they help. And I can teach you how to maintain them. Though,â You added with a tired smile, âitâll probably be harder for me to break in next time.â
That got the faintest twitch of his mouth.
Almost a smile. Almost.
Another long pause.
Thenâ
ââŠJust stay.â
The words were barely there. Soft. Uncertain.
But they were enough.
You nodded.
So you stayed.
The silence between you changed â not heavy anymore. Just quiet. Settling.
He leaned back against the cushions, body slowly unwinding, like his nervous system was finally catching up to the fact that he was safe. His eyes drifted halfway shut, breath finally starting to even out.
Eventually, his fingers brushed yours â faint, hesitant, barely even a touch.
You didnât move.
And neither did he.
Mattheo had come down to check his mailbox like he always did on Saturday morningsâhood up, hair messy, hoodie zipped to his chinâwhen a voice stopped him mid-turn.
âFlat 2A, yeah?â
He looked up. There was a man squinting at the mailboxes, arms full of grocery bags, car keys dangling from his pinky. He looked vaguely familiar.
ââŠYeah?â Mattheo said carefully.
The man nodded to the box beside his, âMy daughterâs next door. Flat 2B.â
Mattheo straightened slightly, âRight. You must be Mr. (L/N).â
âYou know her?â
âWe went to school together,â Mattheo replied, keeping it vague in the safest way possible.
Mr. (L/N) gave him a long, assessing lookâlonger than was comfortableâthen smiled, like heâd just figured something out.
âSo youâre special. Like her.â
Mattheo froze, ââŠSorry?â
âYou know,â The man waved a hand loosely, âspecial. One of them. Donât worryâIâve known for years. Her mum cried when the letter came. I built her a wand stand once. Terrible thing. Lopsided.â
Mattheo blinked. Once. Twice.
Before he could plan an escapeâ
âBe a good lad,â Your father said cheerfully, already turning toward the exit, âand help me bring these upstairs. (Y/N)âs mum went overboard at the farmerâs market again. Wouldnât be surprised if we had half of Surrey in the boot.â
ââŠWhat?â
âCome give us a hand, will you? These boxes arenât gonna levitate themselvesâha! Kidding. Muggle joke. Donât tell your lot I made it.â
Mattheo stood there, stunned, until your dad clapped him on the back like they were old mates, âYouâve got good arms. Weâll be done in no time.â
And then, without ceremony, your dad looped an arm through his and dragged him outside.
*
âSo what do you do, son?â Your dad asked as they hauled bags back up the building stairs.
âUh⊠Iâm not really doing anything right now.â
âThatâs what your twenties are for! Finding yourself. I worked two jobs at your age. One time, my mate Gary and Iâah, Gary, poor bastard, divorced nowâanyway, we moved an entire washing machine up six flights with nothing but a strap and willpower.â
âBuilds character.â Your dad said, with the authority of someone whoâs definitely broken a toe doing that. Then, after a beat, âYou know, lifeâs a lot like grocery shopping.â
Mattheo glanced down at the bag digging into his arm, âIs it.â
âYou can make a list, plan every aisle, but thereâs always something missing when you get home.â
ââŠProfound.â
âExactly! Youâre a good listener. Ever think about dating my daughter?â
Mattheo nearly dropped the watermelon.
âWhat?!â
âIâm just saying,â Your dad shrugged, utterly unbothered, âyouâve got kind eyes and steady hands. Plus you said you went to school together. Shared historyâs a good foundation.â
You were halfway through folding laundry when the front door opened. You turned just in time to see your father stroll in, humming cheerfullyâfollowed by Mattheo, who looked like heâd been inducted into a cult against his will.
You blinked, âWhatâ? What is going on? Why is he here?â
âHi.â Mattheo said, his voice flat with disbelief.
âHe helped me carry the groceries,â Your dad said proudly, unloading bags onto the counter, âNice boy. Good biceps.â
ââŠWhat?â
âAnyway,â Your dad continued, turning back to Mattheo, âYouâre coming for dinner, obviously. Iâll ask her mum to make the lasagna. The lasagna. The one she makes when she likes someone.â
âThatâs really not necessary.â Mattheo started, clearly panicked, but your dad was already on his phone. âSheâll be thrilled. You like cheese, donât you?â
Mattheo looked at you helplessly. You just raised an eyebrow.
âWell? Do you like cheese?â
ââŠI mean, yeah?â
âThere you go.â Your dad clapped him on the back again, then started pushing jars toward him, âYou should take some of these groceries, son. A growing boy needs nutrients.â
Your dad was saying, completely in earnest now as he sorted bags by category on your kitchen counter, âYou eat enough protein? You look like you work out. Whatâs your egg intake?â
Mattheo opened his mouth, then shut it again. He glanced at you like please save me.
You looked up at the ceiling, eyes wide.
âDad,â You said slowly, like approaching a landmine, âWhat is happening right now?â
âNothingâs happening, sweetheart,â He said innocently, stacking apples with the precision of a man whoâd definitely done this before, âJust making conversation. Mattheo hereâs a lovely young man.â
âYouâve known him for twenty minutes.â
âAnd already Iâve seen enough. Polite, helpful, didnât even grumble once when I handed him a forty-pound watermelon.â
Mattheo spoke up in a way that was far too timid for him, âIâkind of grumbled.â
âSee?â Your dad grinned like heâd just won the lottery, âHumble, too. I want a son-in-law like that.â
âDad!â You exclaimed, mortified.
Mattheo shifted awkwardly, cheeks flushed, feeling like heâd accidentally walked into a reality show.
âWhat? Iâm not saying I want Mattheo to be my son-in-law, Iâm saying I wouldnât mind if I had a son-in-law like Mattheo. Two completely separate things, my dear.â Your dad said with mock innocence, flouncing around the room as he put away groceries, but kept two of everything right there on the counter instead of where they belonged.
âNow Mattheo, do you like red wine or white? Iâll make sure to have a bottle stocked for you when you come over.â
âCome over?â You echoed, cheeks heating up.
âOf course! Heâs coming over for dinner tonight, are you not?â
Mattheo swallowed, clearly overwhelmed but trying to hide it behind a thin smile.
âOh, I wouldnât want to intrude,â Mattheo said quickly, forcing a polite smile, âI was planning to meet my friends tonight.â A lie. A very hopeful lie.
Your dad didnât miss a beat. âThen bring your friends as well! Oh, weâll have a jolly good timeâall these blokes under one roof. Iâll ask (Y/N)âs brother to bring a pack of beers, something to liven the old boys up.â He exclaimed, practically floating around the kitchen like a whirlwind of enthusiasm.
âDad!â You finally exclaimed, trying to snap him out of his party-planning trance.
He stopped and turned, eyes twinkling as he looked at Mattheoâs uncomfortable face.
âOh, Iâm so sorry, my dear boy,â He said, voice suddenly gentle, âDo you not drink? Very good habit, you know.â
Mattheo swallowed, unsure how to respond.
âThatâs okay,â Your dad went on, waving it off like it was no big deal, âMy wife would much prefer a boy with good habits for our (Y/N), anyway.â
You groaned and hid your face in your hands, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, âDad, please. Stop.â
Finally done messing about your kitchen, your dad began loading the pairs of items heâd left on the counter into one of the grocery boxes.
âThere you go, son,â He said, handing the box to Mattheo with a warm, steady smile, âThis should keep your fridge stocked for at least another week or two. If you donât know what to do with any of it, just run down to my house. Iâd be happy to whip up something for you to eat.â
Mattheo stared at the carton of food in his hands.
No one had ever offered him that before. Not like this. Not so openly, so simply, so⊠abundantly. His own father had been a distant shadow in his memories, a figure heâd learned to avoid rather than seek. There was no warmth, no easy kindness like this.
For a moment, something twisted quietly inside Mattheo â a mix of jealousy and something else, something heavier he didnât quite want to name. Youâd grown up with a dad who knew how to care, who showed it. He had thought once that having Muggle parents was the worst thing in the world, but now, holding that box, surrounded by your dadâs easy affection, he wasnât so sure.
He looked up, meeting your dadâs hopeful gaze.
âOkay,â Mattheo said quietly, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, âIâll come for dinner.â
Your dadâs grin widened, and you felt a little flutter in your chest as the moment settled between all of youâunexpected, but maybe exactly what was needed.
After what felt like hours of your dad chatting nonstop, finally, he was out the door, humming some old tune as he disappeared down the hallway. You shut the door behind him and let out a long breath, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment.
Turning to Mattheo, you ran a hand through your hair nervously. âIâm really sorry about him,â You said quickly, eyes darting away, âHe can be... a lot. You donât have to come for dinner, honestly. He was just being niceâhe does that with pretty much everyone, like some sort of overly friendly hostage negotiator.â
Mattheo shifted his weight, his expression unreadable but somehow softer than usual. âIâm aware.â He said dryly, voice calm and measured, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
You bit your lip, âStill, I donât want you to feel like you have to. I know itâs kind of sudden and probably... weird.â
He looked at you then, really looked, and you caught a flicker in his eyes â something quieter, warmer, even if his face didnât fully show it. âI donât mind,â He said simply, voice low, âItâs⊠nice to be invited.â
You blinked, surprised, âReally?â
âYeah.â He shrugged, like it wasnât a big deal, but his gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, âItâs rare. People donât do that for me.â
There was a pause, the kind that stretches with unspoken things, and you realized that beneath all that aloofness, he wanted something like this. Something normal. Something warm.
You smiled gently, âWell, then. Dinner it is. And maybe next time you can teach my dad a thing or two about being subtle.â
Mattheoâs smirk finally turned into a half-smile, âMaybe.â
You felt your heart loosen just a bit, the awkwardness fading into something quieter, something real.
The hallway was still warm from dinner. You walked beside Mattheo, both of you quiet in that way people get after a full meal and too many emotions â like the silence itself had thickened into something gentle.
He had leftovers tucked under one arm, the lasagna carefully packed in a Tupperware with foil pressed down like your mum had sworn it would keep the flavour in, darling. He hadnât said much since your dadâs final clap on the back and his booming, âAny friend of hers is a friend of mine, son!â
At his door, Mattheo hesitated, keys caught between his fingers.
You glanced at him.
He looked down at the container in his arms like it had grown heavier somehow, then back at you.
ââŠYour mumâs nice.â
You huffed a laugh, âDonât get attached. Sheâs married to my dad.â
That pulled something from him â not one of those breathy, polite almost-laughs he gave people when they said something mildly amusing, but something real. Low and rough, surprised out of him like it had caught him off guard.
He shook his head, still smiling faintly, âToo bad.â
âSheâs way out of your league, Riddle.â You replied easily.
âSpeak for yourself â sheâs the one who was trying to get me out of my pants.â
You choked, âBecause she said you looked like youâd tripped over a kerb!â
âThese,â He said, tugging lightly at the rip near his knee, âare meant to look like this.â
âThereâs no harm in admitting youâre a bit clumsy, Matty.â
He let out a quiet snort, but still didnât unlock the door. There was something tentative in the way he stood â like stepping inside would be an end to something soft he hadnât realised heâd needed. Like he was holding on to the aftertaste of lasagna and warmth and your parents' terrible stories, trying to memorise what it felt like to belong.
The whole night, he hadn't felt like an outsider â not even like a guest. Heâd just been there, part of the chaos. Heâd argued with your brother over Quidditch stats, held up bits of your dadâs entertainment system while he hammered in the nails, and endured your mum fussing with the tear in his jeans. Youâd realised halfway through that you couldâve used your wand to float the whole thing into place â but with Mattheoâs biceps straining against his sleeves, youâd decided to keep that to yourself.
Even now, you didnât say anything. Just waited.
Finally, after a long pause, he shifted the Tupperware under one arm and turned the key, nudging the door open â but still not stepping through.
Then, like he hadnât been debating it the entire walk up the stairs, he asked, casual as anything, âYou wanna come in?â
You blinked, âNow?â
He cleared his throat, suddenly too aware of how the question had landed. âFor a cuppa.â He added quickly. His voice cracked a little under the forced lightness.
You raised a brow, âWerenât you just whining all the way up the stairs that you were too full to breathe?â
âItâs tea,â He said, trying for deadpan and failing miserably, âThereâs always room for tea.â
You smiled softly, stepping past him into the familiar dimness of his flat, âIâd like that.â
He held the door a little longer to let you through â the smallest gesture, but deliberate. Inside, the flat smelled like warm laundry and whatever incense heâd been burning earlier â something herbal and clean that softened the edges of the silence.
You settled into the sofa, hands curled around a steaming mug. He passed you the sugar silently, like he already knew how you liked it.
âWe have dinners like that every other week,â You said, voice low, relaxed, âYou should come next time.â
Predictably, he started to refuse, âOh, no. I couldnât. I donât want to imposeââ
You looked at him. Really looked.
His face had changed since the war. Thinner, maybe. Older in the eyes. But steadier, too. Calmer. There were fewer sharp edges â and maybe that was good. Maybe growing up had done what time always promises to do: carved the pain into shape.
Still, something tugged at your chest.
You both had grown up too fast. Lost too much, too young. Your rebellious teen years had disappeared the second you realised just how quickly your family could be taken from you. Youâd watched people like Harry â and Mattheo â walk through fire alone, and youâd never forgotten it.
The war was brutal. There were nights when survival felt like a punishment, not a gift. But sometimes â like tonight â you caught a glimpse of who youâd become, and thought maybe it had made you into someone good.
You looked at Mattheo, still fiddling with the teabag in his mug like he didnât quite know what to do with his hands, and wondered if he felt the same about himself.
He had been impulsive, emotional, too quick to lash out. And now? Now he was quieter. Softer around the edges. But part of you missed the fire in him â the cocky confidence, the recklessness. The way he used to speak like the whole world should listen.
You came out of the war a hero.
He came out as the son of the worldâs greatest villain.
You had a family who loved you. Who accepted your world and stitched it into their own.
He had parents who only cared how he could serve theirs.
And despite everything â despite the fact that you were perhaps one of the only people alive who truly understood â you hadnât lived equal lives. You had a family that loved you unconditionally. He had⊠expectations. Burdens.
âYou wouldnât be,â You said quietly, âMy parents would really like it if you came again. And so would I.â
Mattheoâs stirring stopped.
For a moment, he didnât say anything. Just let the silence stretch â until it snapped.
âYou donât need to keep doing this, you know,â He said, voice tight, âI donât know what youâre scared of, but Iâm not going to off myself or host secret Death Eater meetings or whatever it is you think Iâm doing alone up here.â
You blinked, caught off guard, âMattheoââ
âCome on,â He said, rolling his eyes. âYou keep checking in. Keep inviting me places. You think I donât notice?â
You stared at him. And then, to his horror, you started to laugh. Soft and exasperated.
âOh Godric. I wonder why I keep visiting my super attractive neighbour whoâs been through the same traumas I have, who my parents clearly like and who actually laughs at my jokes. Truly a mystery.â
He froze, like youâd hit him with a hex, âWait â youâre not saying you keep coming around because⊠because you like me?â
You blinked, smiling slowly, âWhy? Canât I?â
âYou canât,â He said immediately. Adamantly. Like it was law. âYou should be with someone like Potter. Or Granger. Or â Merlin, even Weasley.â
You raised an eyebrow, âHarryâs basically my brother. Hermioneâs dating Ron.â
âThereâs more than one Weasley.â He offered, grasping at straws.
"Mattheo frankly I cannot think of anything worse than ending up related to Ron, Hermione and Harry."
Mattheo shrugged with faux innocence, swirling the teabag in his mug like he hadnât just tried to sell you off to a different wizarding family, âIâm just saying⊠you could do better.â
You rolled your eyes, âRight. And what exactly would âbetterâ look like?â
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
You leaned forward, eyes glinting, âGo on. Tell me.â
Mattheo hesitated â the cocky response clearly right there on the tip of his tongue â but something in your expression stopped him short. Maybe it was the way you werenât teasing anymore. Not really. You were waiting. Listening.
And when he spoke, his voice was low. Stripped bare.
âSomeone like you. Someone who didnât spend most of their life calling people like you a Mudblood,â He muttered, eyes fixed on the steam curling from his mug, âSomeone who doesnât make people reach for their wands the second they walk into a room.â
Your smile faded.
He didnât look up, âDonât pretend you donât know what I was. You know what Iâve done. I picked sides. I picked wrong.â
There was a long, quiet beat. The kind that carries too much weight.
Then you set your mug down gently on the table and said, âYou were just a child, Mattheo.â
His eyes flicked up to yours, uncertain. Wary. Like he wanted to believe you, but didnât dare.
âA child,â You repeated, firmer this time, âAnd your father was bloody Voldemort. Of course you were twisted up inside. Of course you were scared. But youâre not that kid anymore.â
âBut youââ He started, but you cut him off.
âDonât,â You said softly, âIâm not some symbol of bravery or some war hero people should look up to. I left the wizarding world precisely because of that. I didnât want to be paraded around, painted in gold, turned into a symbol of light just because I happened to survive.â
He swallowed hard. His brows were drawn tight.
âThere were so many people caught in that war,â You continued, voice trembling now, âPeople who didnât get to pick sides. People like you, who had to follow the only path left open to them.â
Mattheoâs jaw flexed. He looked away again, that familiar wall sliding into place â too fast, too familiar.
âDoesnât change what I did,â He said, âDoesnât mean I donât deserve everything I get now.â
âYou donât,â You snapped, not angry at him â but at the world that had taught him to think like this, âAnd neither do they. Harry wouldnât have survived if Narcissa Malfoy hadnât lied to Voldemort, and now sheâs rotting in Azkaban. Theo deflected a curse meant for McGonagall and heâs being shunned like a criminal. And meââ
You paused, eyes suddenly wet, voice quieter.
âI wouldâve died that night in the manor,â You whispered, âif you hadnât lied to Bellatrix.â
He flinched.
You stepped toward him, hands reaching up, gently cupping his cheeks. Forcing him to meet your gaze.
âDonât you dare pretend like it didnât matter,â You said, âI know what youâve done. I know who you are.â
You swallowed, âThe second you had the chance to choose, Mattheo, you chose right.â
Then you added, barely above a whisper, âAnd thatâs why I like you.â
âBecause I saved your life?â
You shook your head.
âNo,â You breathed, âBecause youâre not who they said you were. Because youâre a good man. Whether you believe it or not.â
Mattheo looked at you like he didnât know whether to shatter or kiss you.
You cleared your throat, tried to pull yourself together. Tried not to let your voice break completely, âSo⊠are you coming to dinner next week?â
He didnât answer right away. Just looked at you. Really looked. Like the pieces of his past were still rearranging themselves in his mind â and for the first time, they werenât sharp enough to cut.
âI want you there,â You said, softer now, âThey do too. But mostly⊠I do.â
That undid something in him.
Slowly, his shoulders relaxed. The tension in his jaw eased. His eyes dropped for a second, and then met yours again.
And when he nodded â small, certain â it felt like something cracked open between you. Not in a way that broke, but in a way that finally let the light in.
âIâll come.â He said.
You smiled and reached for his shirt, smoothing out imaginary creases as your fingers lingered just a second longer than they needed to.
âGood.â You murmured.
He caught your hand gently in his, eyes searching yours.
And for the first time in a very long time, he didnât feel like someone clawing his way out of the darkness.
He felt seen. He felt chosen.
And maybe â just maybe â he was starting to believe he deserved that too.
Mattheo did come for dinner.
And then he came again. And again after that.
It wasnât like you suddenly fell into each otherâs arms or kissed under the kitchen light while your mum offered dessert. But something shifted â subtle, steady. Like a hinge finally oiled. Like the space between you both had always been there, and now you were finally choosing to fill it.
There were still jokes, still the sarcasm and dry glances and moments where he pretended not to be listening even though he definitely was. But the edges were softer. The glances lingered longer. The silences stopped feeling like things to be filled, and more like things to be shared.
You saw it in the way he sat closer to you now. The way his shoulder would brush yours and stay there. The way his laugh sounded warmer in your presence. The way he always saved you the last spoonful of something without having to be asked.
You hadnât defined anything. But you were definitely getting closer.
Which is how, a few weeks later, you found yourself sprinting into his flat like you owned the place â because, well, you sort of had started to.
âMatty!â You called out breathlessly, not even glancing at the figure lounging on the sofa, âI need to borrow your leather jacketâwhere is it? Donât say itâs in the laundry, I swear to Merlinââ
You didnât wait for a response.
You kicked off your shoes, breezed past the living room, and charged straight for his bedroom, shouting, âThanks, by the way! Youâre the best!â
Already halfway through the hallway, you threw a hand up in vague acknowledgment and barrelled through the door.
Stopped dead in your tracks.
There he was.
Mattheo.
Fresh from the shower. Shirtless. Damp curls sticking to his forehead. A towel slung low on his hips. Drops of water still trailing down his chest, slow and traitorous.
You made a noise that mightâve been a word. Or a gasp. Or a whimper.
He blinked, wide-eyed, clearly not expecting company, holding a shirt in one hand like heâd frozen mid-movement.
ââŠHi.â He said, entirely too casual for someone who was 90% naked.
You let out a squeak â an actual squeak â slapped a hand over your eyes, and spun around so fast you almost collided with the doorframe.
âOh my Godric, Iâm so sorryâI thought you were on the couch, you were on the couch two seconds ago, I swear, I justâ I didnât see anythingâwell, okay, I did, but I didnât mean toââ
You opened the door.
Slammed it shut again.
Then leaned against it, face flaming, pulse racing.
And from the living room came a voice that was not Mattheoâs:
âHi.â
You blinked. Turned slowly.
And there, entirely not naked, spoon in mouth and legs still kicked up on the sofa, was Theodore Nott â looking very amused.
He raised the spoon lazily, âHey. You alright there?â
You blinked at him, brain rebooting, âNott?â
âIn the flesh,â He said, raising a spoon in salute, âShould I be offended you ran past me like I was invisible?â
âIââ You blinked, face aflame, âI thought you were Mattheo.â
âI gathered.â He went back to his cereal.
âI just needed to borrow his jacket!â You said quickly, heat still burning in your cheeks, âMaybe take outfit photos in his mirror.â
Theo raised an eyebrow, âYou donât have your own mirror?â
âMy mirror has an antique bronze frame,â You replied flatly, âIt doesnât match the vibe.â
âRight,â He said, utterly unconvinced, returning to his cereal, âDidnât realize you two were that close.â
You stilled.
You swallowed. How were you supposed to respond to that? Yes, you were close to Mattheo. Close enough to know just how he likes his tea. Close enough to keep biscuits in his cupboard that were only for you. But you'd never said anything out loud. There were no labels. No claims.
It would be kind of humiliating to say something only for Mattheo to come strolling out and be like, âNah, she just lingers here like a stray cat I accidentally fed once.â
Before you could decide what to say, the bedroom door opened.
Mattheo stepped out, now mercifully dressed in faded black jeans and a plain white T-shirt â though you werenât sure if that made things better or worse. He had your favourite leather jacket of his slung casually over one arm, and his damp curls clung to his forehead in soft, lazy waves. You were suddenly very grateful he'd decided to wear the jacket⊠if only so Theo wouldnât catch you blatantly ogling his best mateâs biceps.
Mattheo just grinned and sauntered over, totally unbothered, and shook the jacket out with a single practiced flick before holding it open for you.
You slid your arms into the sleeves as he held it up, the worn leather warm and familiar, smelling faintly like his cologne â and maybe a little like that soap you'd seen in his shower that was inexplicably labelled dragon ash and sandalwood.
He adjusted the collar gently, his fingers brushing against the back of your neck for a beat longer than necessary, âLooks better on you anyway.â
You glanced up at him, and his eyes met yours â something unspoken passing between you, soft and real. Then, all at once, he stepped back, cleared his throat, and looked toward Theo.
Theoâs smile widened like a cat whoâd found something much more interesting than his cereal. âSo, just to clarify⊠what is this, then?â he asked, gesturing between the two of you, âBecause if this isnât dating, itâs the most suspiciously couple-y non-dating situation Iâve ever seen.â
Mattheo didnât even hesitate, âItâs none of your business.â
âOhhh,â Theo said, leaning back, âWhich means yes.â
You flushed. Mattheo sighed like this was a discussion heâd already prepared for in his head and hated every second of.
Then, with the most casual tone imaginable, he said to you, âIâm heading out with the guys later. Might be home late.â
You nodded, adjusting the sleeves of the jacket, "Alright. Have fun. Stay safe."
He looked you over, your outfit clearly indicating that you were going out with your friends, "You too. Send me a Patronus when you get home."
You hummed, giving him a small smile, "I know the drill."
Theo raised a brow, âRight, definitely not dating.â
Mattheo gave him a lazy middle finger but didn't deny it and turned back to you, his tone softening just a touch, âYou staying for a bit?â
âI just needed the jacket,â You said, trying not to smile, "My Uber's gonna be here any second."
"Right," He responded, raking his eyes over your figure, choosing to tuck your hair behind your ear, "Then I guess I'll see you later."
"I guess you will." You chuckled, before turning to his friend who was watching you both like it was his favourite show. Not that he would even know what a television was, "It was nice seeing you again, Theo. Let's have a drink one day and catch up."
He nodded, giving you a smirk that didn't drop until you had exited and he slid his eyes back to Mattheo, âSo whenâs the wedding?â
The pub was alive with the low hum of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout from the dartboard. Mattheo sat at the far end of the worn wooden table, surrounded by Draco, Theo, Enzo, and Blaise. Pints and half-empty bottles were scattered across the table like trophies from battles fought and survived.
âMate,â Draco nudged him with an elbow, voice tinged with mock disbelief, âWhy arenât you drinking us under the table tonight? You usually drown whateverâs bothering you.â
Mattheo glanced at his nearly untouched glass of cider, fingers tapping restlessly on the rim. âNot in the mood.â He muttered, eyes flickering toward the window, where the night had deepened and the streetlights cast pools of gold on the pavement.
âNot like you,â Blaise teased, âUsually, youâd be three sheets to the wind by now.â
Enzo smirked, âYeah, what gives? You okay, Riddle?â
Mattheoâs gaze flicked toward the door, then the window, and back to the table, his fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the wood. He looked⊠distracted.
Theo, sitting next to Mattheo with a mischievous grin, leaned in, âOh, itâs because our dear friend here is waiting on a Patronus.â
The others blinked. âPatronus?â Enzo repeated.
Theo nodded, barely able to keep a straight face, âYes from his cute little neighbour. Sheâs supposed to send it when she gets home safe after a night out. Mattheoâs been scanning the streets like a bloodhound all evening.â
Theo leaned back with a sly grin, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, âAnd the neighbour in question? Well, youâre all gonna love thisâit's (L/N).â
Blaise nearly choked on his drink, âYouâre joking.â
"In a classic tale of Romeo and Juliet, our dear Matty boy has found himself in love with the girl who literally killed his father."
"I'm not in love." Mattheo snapped but a car drove past, shining a light that looked too similar to a patronus and had his neck almost snapping in two in his effort to get a better look.
Enzo burst into laughter, "Oh, yeah, you're not in love, you absolute boob."
The knocking started faintly â not loud, but urgent. Sharp, clipped taps that cut through your dreams like a blade. You jolted upright, breath caught in your throat, blinking through the dark, tangled in your sheets like youâd been mid-battle instead of mid-dream.
It wasnât that loud â but something in the rhythm of it pulled you from sleep like a hook behind the ribs.
You squinted at the clock.
03:17.
Groaning softly, you threw off the covers, feet hitting cold floorboards with a quiet thud. You reached for your wand automatically, the weight of it familiar in your palm, even as sleep still clung to you like cobwebs. The knocking came again â quicker now, more urgent.
You padded toward the front door, pulse starting to rise.
When you opened it â just a crack, just enough to see â the cold slammed into you. But it was nothing compared to what you saw standing there.
Theo Nott.
He looked like heâd run across London.
Hair wind-tossed. Chest heaving. Coat half-unbuttoned. His skin was pale, almost grey in the porchlight, and there was something feral in his eyes â panic, fury, fear, all twisted up into one tight, burning thread.
You stared, âTheo?â
His breath puffed in a sharp cloud, âItâs Mattheo.â
Your stomach dropped.
The door was open in seconds, and you grabbed his arm and yanked him inside before the words had even fully registered. It slammed shut behind him, the sound sharp as a gunshot.
âWhat happened?â You demanded, voice cracking now, âIs he hurt? Where is he?â
Theo didnât answer immediately. He was pacing your living room like a caged thing, one hand knotted in his hair, the other clenched into a fist at his side.
âThey arrested him.â
The air in the room turned cold.
Your voice came out as barely a whisper, âWhat?â
âTonight. At the pub. We were all there â Blaise, Draco, Enzo. Just drinking. Laughing. Nothing serious. And then out of nowhere, the Aurors show up. Said thereâd been reports. Wouldnât say of what. Wouldnât explain. They justââ His jaw tightened, âThey just dragged him out.â
You stared, heart pounding, âFor what?â
âSuspicion. Loitering. Someone said he âfit the descriptionâ of a man acting odd in Knockturn Alley earlier that day â even though weâd been nowhere near there. One of the Aurors looked him dead in the face and said, âYou know who you are.â Like that was all the proof they needed.â
You sat down hard on the arm of your couch, breath punched from your lungs.
âHeâs done nothing,â You said, âHe hasnât done anythingââ
âThey donât care,â Theo snapped, suddenly furious again, âThey see the name. They see the face. The bloody Mark. They donât ask questions. They just act like heâs a ticking time bomb and theyâre doing everyone a favour by locking him up before he explodes.â
You buried your face in your hands for a second, trying to breathe â trying to think, âWhere is he now?â
âMinistry holding,â Theo said darkly, âThey said theyâll process him in the morning. Until then, heâs âdetained for questioning.â Which we both know means theyâll keep him in a concrete cell all night and try to wear him down before anyone gets to him.â
You stood up suddenly, fury vibrating through your body.
Theo paused mid-pace to look at you.
âI know weâre not close,â He said, awkward again, âbut I know youâre close to him. Closer than he lets on. And youââ He hesitated, âYouâre friends with Potter. Youâve got⊠pull. People listen to you. I didnât know who else to go to.â
But you were already pulling a jumper over your head, wand clenched in a white-knuckled grip. You barely heard him over the roar of your own blood in your ears.
âIâll handle it,â You said, your voice low and shaking with rage, âBut I need you to do something for me.â
âAnything.â
âGo to him. Now. Stay with him. Donât let them bully him. Donât let him say anything to anyone without a lawyer present. No comment. No statements. Not even what his bloody name is. Got it?â
Theo nodded, grim, âGot it.â
You followed him, stepping into your boots, wand ready. You didnât feel sleepy anymore. You didnât feel anything but hot, burning, righteous fury.
Because Mattheo had spent years trying to claw his way out of the shadow of his past. Years trying to prove that he wasnât like him. That he wasnât like them.
And now theyâd dragged him back in â without a charge, without a reason, without a second thought.
This was why you left the wizarding world. Why youâd turned your back on the Ministry and its post-war morality circus. Youâd fought in the war, bled in it, lost friends in it â and still they hadnât learned.
Still they saw people like Mattheo Riddle as enemies, not survivors. Not victims of the same fear and violence that had nearly destroyed them all.
At the end of the day, the truth didnât matter. Not as long as they were able to cram you painfully into whatever predisposed ideas they had.
The two of you raised your wands.
And in two cracks of displaced air, you were gone â vanishing into the night.
Both headed to two separate locations.
You were about to officially return to the wizarding world.
And rain hell upon them.
You were going to make them listen.
You were going to make them pay.
The Ministryâs grand chamber felt colder than usual â or maybe it was just the weight of what was about to happen. Mattheo stood quietly beside you, hands clenched at his sides, eyes sharp but guarded. Harry, Ron, and Hermione flanked you, each radiating the same burning frustration.
You moved through the Ministry of Magicâs atrium like a hurricane. Paper memos paused mid-flight. Aurors stepped aside. One man even dropped his coffee.
Security tried to stop you at the Department of Magical Law Enforcementâs doors.
They did not succeed.
âYou canât justââ
âI can,â You snapped, wand already glowing, âAnd I will.â
You shoved open the office doors of Minister Fudge so hard they banged against the walls. His aides leapt to their feet, startled. But you didnât stop. You didnât blink. Your eyes were locked on the man behind the desk â Cornelius Fudge, still wearing that smug little bowler hat, like he hadnât spent the last decade proving he cared more about saving face than saving lives.
Fudge barely looked up, âAh, the prodigal warriors return.â
You didnât flinch. âWhere is he?â You demanded, voice low but fierce, âWhere is Mattheo Riddle?â
Fudge blinked, slightly surprised by your fury. Of course he wasnât aware of just how close you both were â you could only assume he believed Mattheo wouldnât be missed, or that those who did care about him wouldnât have the power to do anything about it.
âHeâs in custody. Being held for questioning. Suspicion ofââ
Harry cut in, voice thick with disgust, âSuspicion of what, exactly? Because I saw the arrest report â and thereâs absolutely nothing of value there.â
Hermione stepped forward, eyes blazing, âYou hold a man without charge because of his name and history? Thatâs not justice â itâs persecution.â
Fudge arched a brow, calm, as you began to tremble with rage, âHeâs being held for questioning. Surely even you understand the need for caution, considering hisââ
âHe defected,â Ron snapped, âHe fought with us. He was on our side at the end of the war.â
âAnd how exactly would you know that?â Fudge folded his hands neatly, "You refused to give your account to the ministry after the war. Refused to cooperate with us."
You stared at him, disbelief rising like bile, âI fought in the war. I didnât sit like a right old fart in an office and send children to do my job for me.â
That struck. His expression flickered. But he recovered quickly.
âYou have no proof,â He said, âNo statements. No witnesses. Nothing documented. Nothing official. Just your word, I suppose?â
Your jaw clenched.
And then, the heavy oak doors creaked open again behind you.
The final recipient of your frantic Patronus had arrived.
âI would hardly call my word âunofficialâ.â Came a cool, clipped voice.
Every head turned.
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stepped into the room like she owned it. Her tartan robes swirled around her ankles, her bun was tight, and her wand was already out â not drawn, just held. Like a promise.
âHeadmistress.â Fudge said tightly.
âI am here,â She said, âbecause you are about to repeat the mistakes of your past. And I, for one, will not stand by and let it happen again.â
She turned to you with a brief, firm nod. Then addressed the room.
âMattheo Riddle was present at the Battle of Hogwarts. He cast no Unforgivables. He struck down more Death Eaters than many fully trained Aurors. He aided in the evacuation of the Astronomy Tower. I can attest to this. I witnessed it myself.â
Fudge scoffed, âIf you want to make a case, you need to conduct a hearing. Present evidence. Until then, Riddle remains in custody. This isnât the proper procedure.â
âYouâre right,â Hermione snapped, âWhich is why youâll release Mattheo now and arrange a hearing immediately â not weeks from now, not months. Until then, he walks free.â
You stepped forward, voice like steel, âI have a reporter from every major wizarding outlet standing outside this building. Do you know how long theyâve waited to see me after I disappeared for years? How eager they are for their long-awaited interview with all four of us?â
Fudge paled slightly.
âI can see the headlines now,â You said, voice dripping with venom, âFudge Fudged Up. Yet again.â
Harryâs eyes were burning, âYou think theyâll defend you after seeing how you handled Sirius Black? You locked him up on false charges. How many more lives are you willing to ruin?â
âI will make sure you never make another decision without the press crawling down your throat and breathing down your neck â second-guessing everything you say. Because if you think I wonât drag your entire office into the dirt for this, then you havenât been paying attention.â
For a moment, the room was silent. Thick with tension. Even Harry looked vaguely stunned.
Fudgeâs face had gone bone white, his knuckles gripping the edge of the desk.
âVery well,â He said finally, âRelease him. No charges. Effective immediately.â
Headmistress McGonagallâs voice cut through the silence like a knife.
âThank you, Minister.â She said, her tone measured but unmistakably pointed.
You didnât hold back.
Without missing a beat, you shot over your shoulder, loud enough for Fudge to hear clearly, âIâm not thanking you for shit. Go fuck yourself.â
âA displeasure as always, Cornelius,â Ron added as he turned to leave, âMake sure to get off that fat arse every once in a while and do some actual work. Canât let the children have all the fun.â
You didnât look back.
None of you did.
But the echo of your words â and your fury â lingered in the halls long after youâd gone.
The iron doors of the holding chamber creaked open with a groan, and Mattheo stepped into the atrium â free at last.
The Ministryâs harsh lighting did nothing to dull the exhaustion written across his face or the tension that lingered in his shoulders. His shirt was rumpled, his hair a mess from running his hands through it one too many times. Flanked by Blaise, Theo, Draco, and Enzo â all equally sleep-deprived and stone-faced â he looked like a man still caught somewhere between disbelief and survival.
But the second he saw you sprinting across the floor toward him, something in his expression cracked wide open. The weight dropped from his shoulders.
He didnât even get a breath in before you launched forward.
âMattheo!â
His head snapped up just in time to catch you as you practically threw yourself into his arms. His hands rose on instinct, gripping your waist, steadying you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground.
You pulled back just enough to grab his face, scanning every inch like you had to see for yourself that he was okay, âAre you alright? Did they hurt you? Did theyâ?â
âIâm okay,â He murmured, voice low and raw, eyes locked on yours, âYou came for me.â
âOf course I did.â You whispered, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
Behind you, Harry, Hermione, and Ron caught up at a far more leisurely pace. They stopped a few paces back, watching you with fond, amused expressions.
âSheâs gone." Ron muttered, shaking his head fondly.
âPrecisely,â Hermione said, lips twitching, âI havenât seen her this taken with someone since your brother Bill visited in second year.â
Ron recoiled, âWhy would you remind me of that?â
Hermione laughed.
Harry just smiled, arms crossed, âGood for her.â
Across the way, Blaise, Enzo, and Draco were watching the reunion unfold with similarly raised eyebrows and smirking mouths.
âIs it just me,â Enzo said, âor does that look a little more intense than casual neighbours?â
Draco arched a brow, âConsidering she just threw herself into his arms? Iâd say yeah.â
Theo didnât even bother hiding his grin, âTold you.â
As pleasantries began to pass between the groups â polite nods, cautious glances, a few lingering tensions quickly diffused by Ron and Blaiseâs sarcastic commentary â you and Mattheo found yourselves standing with Headmistress McGonagall, who approached with her usual purposeful stride.
She looked at Mattheo first, and while her expression was sharp as ever, her eyes were kind. âMr. Riddle,â She said crisply, âWhat happened to you was shameful. Unacceptable. And not the kind of justice we fought for.â
Mattheo shifted slightly, unsure how to respond.
But McGonagall continued, voice dry, âAnd I must say⊠when your Patronus came hurtling into my chambers at three oâclock this morning, I was more than a little surprised. I havenât seen her beg for anything since third year, when Peeves nicked her entire potions essay.â
You flushed, brushing a hand over your face, âIt wasnât begging.â
Mattheo turned to you, gaze soft and unreadable â something between gratitude, guilt, and something else deeper. Warmer.
âI was worried about him.â You admitted timidly.
McGonagallâs brow rose, âSo it would seem.â
You let out a small laugh, breath finally loosening in your chest. Mattheoâs ears turned pink, and you didnât miss the way he relaxed the longer you stood close.
The headmistress tilted her head slightly, âTruthfully, I hadnât expected to hear from you again. Especially after how soundly you ignored my last offer.â
Mattheo blinked, âOffer?â
âShe was offered the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,â McGonagall said, turning to him, âAt the time, I thought sheâd be a good fit. Now Iâm convinced sheâs the best one.â
You hesitated, just like you always did.
But Mattheo didnât give you the chance to fall silent again.
âYou should take it,â He said, firm and certain, âYour grades were the best in our year. You literally teach now â and youâre brilliant at it. Youâd make a great professor, (Y/N). Hogwarts would be lucky to have you.â
You blinked at him, startled, âYou think?â
He nodded, voice softening, âI know.â
McGonagall watched the exchange with something suspiciously close to amusement, âWise words, Mr. Riddle. Youâd do well to listen to your boyfriend, Ms. (L/N).â
You both flushed scarlet.
But you couldnât even bring yourself to be embarrassed.
Because for the first time in a long, long while â standing there, surrounded by the people who knew your heart and the boy who held it â everything felt right.
And maybe, just maybe, it was time to come home.
âThen I suppose Iâll have to accept.â You said at last, exhaling a breath you hadnât realized youâd been holding.
Mattheo leaned toward you â and before you could turn away, his hand slid into yours. Not in a dramatic way. Not like he was making a scene. Just⊠quiet and sure. His thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles, grounding you.
You looked over at him â and the smile he gave you in return made something in your chest flip.
He didnât say a word.
He didnât have to.
You turned back to McGonagall, looking at your future boss with a smirk, âDrinks? To celebrate?â
McGonagall gave a long-suffering sigh â but her eyes sparkled, âI suppose one will do, for good will.â
Ron chimed in, already slinging an arm around Theoâs shoulders, âI say we make it a proper celebration. Weâve earned it.â
Hermione arched a brow, âOnly you would be up for getting hammered at ten in the morning.â
Draco shared a look with Harry â who gave a subtle shrug, like, heâs got a point â and Blaise was already pulling out his wand to start listing nearby pubs.
You laughed â light and easy now â like the worst of it had passed, like something had finally cracked open in the best possible way.
Mattheo squeezed your hand again, just once.
And this time, you squeezed back.
The apartment building was quiet when you both got back.
The night had blurred into something golden â laughter echoing down cobblestone streets, half-empty pint glasses clinking on wooden tables, Theo and Harry nearly arm-wrestling over who paid the tab (they both lost), and McGonagall giving one tight-lipped smile before declaring sheâd âhad quite enough of rowdy children for one nightâ and Disapparating with a dramatic crack.
You were still smiling when you reached Mattheo's door, still glowing from the rush of everything.
Mattheo put his key into the lockâand then paused.
You turned to him, the adrenaline finally ebbing now that it was just the two of you, your pulse still not entirely steady â not after the last twenty-four hours, not after everything that had just happened.
You studied him in the dim light of the hallway. The bruised shadows under his eyes. The tight line of his jaw. The way he was looking at you â like he wanted to say something but couldnât quite figure out how.
There had been something building there, thick in the air between you. Something humid and suffocating since the moment you entered the bar. A part of you had wanted to leave, the lack of sleep beginning to weigh down on your limbs, but then you saw Lorenzo and Hermione clink their glasses in quiet solidarity â and you stayed. You leaned against Mattheo, your head on his shoulder, lulled by the quiet of the nearly empty pub, the alcohol making you soft and sleepy.
Mattheo turned to you, âDo you want to come in?â
You chuckled, âFor a cuppa?â
He gave you a half smile, âNot this time.â
You let him lead you inside. Let him shut the door behind you and crowd you gently against it, looking at you with half-lidded eyes and a reverence that stole the breath from your lungs.
God, you wanted to kiss him. Wanted to mold your mouth to his, press your body against his, and lose yourself in the gravity of him.
âThank you,â He said finally, voice low, nose a hair away from yours, âFor today. For yesterday. For everything.â
You raised your eyes to his, still pressed between him and the door, trying to swallow the want pooling at the back of your throat like syrup, âItâs what you do for people you care about.â
He looked at you like youâd just said something sacred.
And then, softly â like the words hurt on the way out, âDo you?â
Your throat tightened.
âYeah,â You whispered, âI do.â
Mattheo didnât move. Didnât speak. He just looked at you, long and quiet â like he was memorizing the moment. Like he was waiting for something to shift.
You reached up and pressed your hand to his chest, fingers spread over the steady rhythm of his heart.
âDo you?â
His hand came up slowly, curling around yours, âIâve been trying not to.â
âWhy?â
âBecause I didnât think I was allowed to have something good.â He dipped his head, eyes flicking to your lips, âBut then you showed up. And now I donât want anything else. Iâll do whatever I have to do to deserve you.â
You cupped his cheeks, brushing your thumbs gently over his cheekbones. âCome here.â You whispered.
And then you kissed him.
No fanfare. No fireworks. Just you and him â pressed together under the soft glow of the hallway light. Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, wrapping around his neck as you tilted your head, standing on your toes and pressing your body flush to his.
Mattheo kissed you back with quiet desperation, brows furrowed like he was feeling too much at once, like kissing you was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart. His hands cupped your face like he didnât trust the world not to take you from him.
And you kissed him like you were trying to make up for every moment he thought he was unloved.
When you finally pulled away, breathless and tangled in each other, he rested his forehead against yours.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, softly:
"My dad is going to be thrilled."
Mattheo laughed against your mouth, "I can't say he's going to be too thrilled about what I'm about to do to his only daughter."
You shook your head, laughing â but you didnât stop him. Not when he kissed you again, not when his hands found your waist, not when on this night, he finally, finally, became yours.
Bonus:
It hadnât been that long since you walked these halls as a student. The scent of old stone and parchment still felt like home, and the echo of your laughter in the stairwells was barely faded.
Which is why it felt a little surreal, standing at the front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom â your classroom now â watching twenty tired students blink at you, half-asleep, post-midterms.
You remembered this feeling too well. The post-exam lull. The Iâd-rather-be-anywhere-but-in-class energy that leaked into the air like a sleeping draught.
So you did what any responsible professor would do.
Time for a little... intervention.
"Alright," You said, clapping your hands once, âSeeing as the lot of you look one Muffliato away from a nap, I brought a guest to help with todayâs demonstration.â
The classroom door creaked open at just the right moment.
Boots echoed on stone. A shadow fell across the threshold.
And then in walked Mattheo Riddle â Auror robes fitted and dark, wand holstered, smug expression firmly in place.
The class lit up like youâd cast Lumos Maxima.
Half the class gasped.
The girls â no, scratch that, several students of all genders â squealed.
You ignored the whispers, fighting a smile as Mattheo strolled in like he owned the castle. You could tell he was enjoying every second of the attention.
"Morning, class," Mattheo said with a smirk, scanning the room like he already knew the effect he had. His eyes finally landed on you, "Hope you're ready to learn something useful for once."
You rolled your eyes, "Donât get cocky, Riddle.â
The students were wide-eyed now, completely awake, some whispering furiously. You let the tension build, then smiled sweetly.
You turned back to the class. âSince most of you seem to have forgotten how to hold a wand upright this week, Auror Riddle and I will be demonstrating live defensive magic.â You paused, âVia duel.â
The room exploded.
âYouâre gonna duel him?!â
âIS THIS EVEN LEGAL?â
âMister Riddle, PLEASE go easy on herââ
âSheâs gonna mop the floor with him, are you kidding?!â
Mattheo tilted his head toward you, amused, "Your students seem confident in your skills. Iâd hate to disappoint them when I win."
You scoffed, narrowing your eyes at him, "I hope you can still keep your job once I humiliate you, darling."
âOh, itâs like that?â He asked, stepping onto the platform. His wand slid into his hand like it belonged there, âWant to make it interesting, sweetheart?â
"I'm listening."
His grin was wicked, âIf I win, we move the wedding up. This winter.â
You blinked, caught off guard for half a second.
A chorus of gasps filled the room.
You raised a brow, âThatâs all? I was expecting something scandalous.â
âScandalous comes after,â He said, low enough only you could hear. Then louder: âWell, Professor, do we have a deal?â
You tipped your head, âDeal.â
The class whooped as you took your stance. Wands raised. Eyes locked.
It started playful â spells exchanged like inside jokes, your shields strong, your counters cheeky. You danced around each other, laughing, bickering like you always did.
âGetting slow in your old age.â You taunted.
âStill fast enough to catch you, sweetheart.â He replied, flicking your spell back with a grin.
You both fell into rhythm effortlessly, spells flying and deflecting with heat and precision. It was like dancing â a dance only the two of you knew the steps to. You hit him with a Flipendo that nearly knocked him on his ass; he responded with a Petrificus Partialis that froze your wand arm mid-jinx.
You countered just in time to send his disarming spell into the ceiling, and he laughed again, breathless, âMerlin, I forgot how annoying you are when youâre winning.â
"You're saying that as if I'm not always winning." You said, already flicking your wand again.
The class was on the edge of their seats. Screaming. Chanting. Cheering for both of you like it was the final match of the Triwizard Tournament.
But then â a flash of motion. A student near the edge tripped on their bag, almost falling off the bench. You turned instantly, wand snapping to cast a cushion charm.
And that was when Mattheoâs spell struck.
Not hard â a harmless stunner meant for flair â but it knocked you slightly off-balance.
The platform dimmed. The match was technically over.
Mattheo, smug as anything, raised his hands as he descended from the platform, walking toward you. âVictory,â He called, lowering his wand with a bow so smug you nearly hexed him right there, âRiddle for the win.â
You glared at him, but still let him wrap his arms around your waist as he lifted you down from the platform â an action that did not go unnoticed by your students, who began to squeal.
âI was distracted. I had you cornered until the end.â
âStill counts,â He said, grinning as he stepped closer, âShouldâve kept your eyes on the target, love.â
You narrowed your eyes, then tilted your head in thought. Loud enough for the class to hear, you said:
âSay I won, and Iâll marry you this weekend.â
The entire class collectively gasped.
âPROFESSORââ
âWAIT THATâS NOT FAIRââ
âTHATâS CHEATING!!â
âYOU CANâT BRIBE HIM INTO LOSINGââ
Mattheo laughed so hard he had to put a hand on the desk to steady himself, âYou heard them, love. Itâs not fair.â
You gave a little shrug, completely unbothered, âLifeâs not fair.â
He stepped closer, wand twirling between his fingers, âSo what youâre saying is... youâre too proud to admit you lost."
You smiled sweetly, âNo. Iâm saying youâre going to say I won. And Iâll be in white by Saturday.â
The class exploded.
âOH MY GOD THEYâRE ACTUALLY DOING ITââ
âWEâRE GOING TO A WEDDING???â
âIâM CRYINGââ
"Iâll be Mrs. Riddle this time next week," You sang, "Going once, going twiceâ"
âThe greatest duelist of all time,â Mattheo declared, loud enough for everyone to hear, âwill be my wife by this time next week.â
The class lost it.
Cheers, whistles, someone even threw a quill in the air like confetti. You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, and Mattheo just smirked, slipping his hand into yours as you both walked out past the chaos.
âCanât wait to marry me, huh?â You teased, straightening out his robes, choosing not to kiss him â not with your audience so keenly watching.
He leaned in close, brushing his lips near your ear, âYou kidding? I've been ready since the day you introduced me to that shitty Australian dingo."
You laughed softly.
Somewhere behind you, a student whispered, "Is he talking about Bluey?
