hiiiii!!! formally known as pizzaapeteer, can still refer to me as pizza or g ᄫᥠlate twenties. she/her. brunette bimbo. caffeine addict. forgetful fuck. overthinker. deluded daydreamer. obsessive music lover. requests are [CLOSED]
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âyou believed in this story when i was ranting and you were lowkey like đđ ok crazy.â LMFAO PLS I reread our convo and youâre so right but also I was immediately imagining Mattheo like âŹïž there shows my knowledge of fisherman straight out of a childrenâs book lmfao im so glad u did ur idea instead đ€Ł
i am crying laughing so hard at this omfggg. this is the actual origin of sea captain!mattheo everyone đđ€Ł
summary: life after your brother's death is hard. It's nice to see someone still cares even while buried under their own guilt. mattheo riddle x fem!reader.
warnings: angst! mentions of death, grief (I listened to every sad song ever), but also fluffy occasionally?? happy ending ᄫᥠword count: 3.2k
The Ministryâs meddling in Hogwarts tainted your tongue with a bitter taste, one that didn't belong. An acrid presence filtrating its way around the corridors, artificial like Umbridge's condescendingly bubbly personality. Things were odd, and they had been since the night of the third task of last year's Triwizard Tournament.
The night your brother was murdered.
The following summer drifted by in a blur, the voices of familiar family and friends merging together outside the confinements of Cedric's bedroom walls. His room became the only place to bring you any sort of calm in the new nightmare you were living. Buried beneath the safety and comfort of his blankets, you spent your break ignoring the condolence letters and disturbing headlines highlighting the newspapers.
Freak accident, Fudge had called it slandering Cedric's death. Insulting Harry's inability to stay out of the spotlight, branding him a liar and Dumbledore insane to believe him.
You weren't sure what to believe. Never had you not trusted Dumbledore's word, and Cedric had always liked Harry. There felt no need for him to lie.
But the topic of whether Harry was a liar or not â if Lord Voldemort was truly alive again, wasn't exactly a priority. You didn't want to think about it, about the possibility that Cedric was killed for just being in the way.
Upon your return to school however, it became unavoidable to escape the circulating whispers. Gossip at Hogwarts had always spread like wildfire, and your classmate's curiosity about Cedric's death had only amplified over the summer. The attention consumed you, like a deadly disease that once made you glow with confidence. It had always made you thrive being in the limelight, an angel of kindness. Cedric and you had shared that trait and the popularity that came with it.
But now the spotlight, shone bright and intense burning up your wings to reveal the fragile creature of skin and bone you had become.
The dock at the black lake was always a favourite spot of yours. The water enticed you like a sailor to a siren, lulling you with the prosperity of tranquillity. It had always been peaceful, quiet and lately reserved as the days turned colder. The perfect escape away from the gossip infecting the school, and not-so subtle eyes.
The water is colder, as to be expected in the middle of October with the leaves cracked and withered as they fall to the ground. It's cold enough to pierce your skin, like thousands of small needles but only for a second as you adjust to the lake's temperature. Your feet swish off the dock, disturbing the calm of the water's composure with ripples that project outwards. The sting numbs eventually, bringing a sense of relief to the rest of your body.
Cedric had never liked the water the way you had, remembering his frustration in revealing the clue for the second task to you. Course, he had no trouble figuring out a solution with the bubble-head charm and returned first â one whole minute before the time limit! Your heart aches at the memory, recalling the brilliant boyish smile upon his face. Cho Chang wrapped around his arm, the light of pure pride and happiness glimmering in his eyes.
Sucking in a shuddering breath, the usual onslaught of tidal wave pain surges pushing at your defences. You chant softly to oneself. Don't cry, don't cry, don'tâ but it's too late. The first tear stings in the corner of your eye, and your lashes rapidly flutter trying to evaporate them. You don't want to cry â it's all you did these days. Like a broken damn you crack, bursting with emotion unable to control yourself to stop.
Your chest pangsâ aching woefully against the familiar squeeze of the coil, the knot tightening further indelibly. Fingers turning pallid under the force of your own deathly grip, your stomach twists with nauseating shudders that forcibly shake your body forwards, wishing for anything to be back in the comfort of Cedric's bedroom.
The water calls to you again, like a remedy. The need to fully submerge underneath the lake, to allow the cold to soothe you in ways no human seems capable of. Reassuring you with its predictability in everything it does. The only stability that seems to remain among the nightmares. It greets you like a friend, wrapping its own blanket of warmth as you slip of the dock, alleviating temporarily your pain with the bubbling reminder you're alive.
As one should always, Mattheo minds his business in his path back towards the viaduct bridge. The air was cool, enough for his hands to be buried inside the pockets of his coat. A woollen green scarf snug around his neck, his curls shifting against the morning breeze.
He couldnât sleep, again. If he ever could, it was becoming a rarity these days. Opposite to the amount of morning meanders along the woods he'd concluded. Ironically Mattheo hated the cold and yet it swept through his mind like a helpful house-elf, dusting out the persistent and uninvited sensations. Allowing Mattheo his first breath of air without a noose pulling on his neck.
Ignoring his own rule his steps slow to a halt, interest peaked as he passes the black lake dockside, eyes stuck on the figure sitting over the edge. He shivers noticing the pair of shoes removed, offended by the chill invading his layers of warmth as if his own feet were immersed in the icy waters.
He should keep moving, not like he cares about the lunatic who wishes to get hypothermia, but something catches his eye. It's only for a flash that he recognizes the swift of your hair before you disappear off the edge.
The hell is she thinking?!, he panics, the wooden panels groaning with anguish under the pace he sprints on top of them. Shoving hastily his coat and boots off, watching stunned with dread as you submerge quick by the weight of your clothes, moulded to your body. There's no time to think before he's diving in after you.
The water embraces Mattheo in a deathly hug, the cold seeping into every pore and fissure like an uninvited house guest. It clings, grasping onto him as if trying to pull him further down into the depths of darkness. His limbs ache with pain, fingers turning white in stiffness while his heart freezes in shock. He had never been good in the water, the cold never a friend to him as he splashes disastrously reaching for the surface.
Fingers grip his arms with their own struggling strength, and his head arises back out into the crisp October day. Mattheo chokes, spluttering in his rapid inhales of much needed air, coughing like a child. His head feels faint, pounding like an old bell as his surroundings begin to restore with clarity. His brows furrow, caught between a scowl and bewilderment at the absurd idea it was to help in the first place, desperate to rid the burning sting piercing his skin.
Mattheo lifts himself from the water, before pulling your own drenched body up onto the deck. His hero arch quick to deflate when he catches you blinking back the droplets the dangle from your lashes. There's barely a shiver that racks through your body unlike Mattheo's whose teeth have begun chattering â as if to you the lake was tempered like a hot bath instead.
âTHE hell wâwas that about?â he spits with a rising temper stuttering slightly, hastily reaching for his wand to cast a warming spell over both of you. His eyes are narrowed with confusion meeting your wide-eyed ones, stunned like you're starring directly at a ghost. Which you may as well have been, Mattheo's recent presence in your life had become nearly as absent as Cedric.
"Mattheo?" You say his name unbelieving him to be truly before you, nevertheless soaking wet just as you are.
His curls once buoyant and coiled lay flat to his forehead, the colour lost in the saturation gleaming a near midnight black. His eyes clouded with fatigue, burying that warmth you once remember. His jaw shifts under your scrutiny, forcing the lump of regret, not his intention to yell at the grief-stricken girl he had an ever-growing crush on.
"Iâ" Mattheo begins his attempt at an apology, halting at the curve of your lips, a burst of laughter blooming out of you like fresh flowers at spring. Itâs loud and free, and it reminds him of your old self. The girl from the ball, who kept trotting on his feet. Who drank too much fire whiskey from his flask. Who pressed your forehead to his making his body run hot before you booped his nose with yours pulling back with that same elated laughter.
His brow arches an unsure smile of his own forming, but you're still laughing. Clutching yourself like you can't breathe. Mattheo watches a little alarmed, that splash of panic re-surging down his back. âHeyâ oh fuck. Are you going into shock from the cold?â His hands grab your sides with urgency.
It's happening so fast, the happiness warming your insides â it's an odd feeling. It's nothing like the cold you've grown so close to. It's cozy and joyous and it makes you feel completely lightheaded. For once someone isn't treating you like a fragile piece of China. He's yelling and he's clueless, and it's kind of adorable.
You finally turn away from him to exhale a deep breath, relief and reality flooding your senses. "I'm sorry â I'm okay."
Your eyes meet his again, the touch of his hands still at your sides and the warmth burns again. It flurries up you like a rushing river spreading the infectious feeling to the base of your neck and you smile again bashful at the concern he's expressing. "That felt nice."
His eyes reveal that he doesn't quite believe your reassurance as he responds, "What the laughing or the winter dip?"
"Both." You nod squeezing out the excess water from your hair onto the deck with a splat. "Though it's not quite winter is it."
Mattheo rolls his eyes unbelieving the tease coming from the situation, "Doesn't mean your sane for plunging in fully clothed. I don't know what you were thinking... " His eyes drift over your form, taking you in properly as one does art.
Except this portrait's vision is smeared, repainted over with lifeless colours. Eyes bordered by hollow circles suffering under the weight of exhaustion. His hands continue subconsciously rubbing, tending to your vulnerable state, oblivious to the ease its also bringing him.
"It's his birthday today."
The answer slithers out as a whisper. One he wouldn't catch had he not been giving you his full attention.
He's quick to figure out who you're referring too and it makes all the guilt, temporarily forgotten beneath the water re-emerge. The wall fortified around memories of that night, fracture as pieces chip until they crumble and break free.
The wailing ring of your scream deafening his ears, shoulders knocking as you push past him rushing to reach Cedricâs dead body on the pitch. The band stalling, as people realize heâs not moving â the celebrations switching to agony.
No one else seems to have noticed him as he stands frozen in the crowds clinging onto Potters words. Heâs not thinking about you like he should, or your brother unmoving on the ground.
Consumed by the fear and shock of what soon awaits him.
Holidays for Mattheo were never perceived the same as most of his classmates. Time for bonding, families coming together to celebrate the joyous occasions. But he's since stop wanting that â he lies to himself. He no longer cared about the absence of his family, finding his own version of home within the castle walls. Focusing on that feeling and forcing out the lingering thought of family fantasy with each return to his foster care.
But the summer following the "tragedy" â as the paper put it â Mattheo was moved to live with his cousin. It was hard to ignore the future that was unfolding before him inside the claustrophobic house. His family wore smiles though tightly lipped, with whispers of apprehension that soaked into the walls of the cold and hollow Manor.
A part of him wanted to cling to the hope that Potter was wrong, nothing more than a wannabe liar relishing in the spotlight. It wouldn't be the first time. But then the itch begins, festering away under his skin until he's spiralling unable to think of anything but that night. The underlying truth that he knew who had returned.
His guilt only grew in the return to school, staying clear of you in any way possible. He didn't want to bring you further pain, feeling the weight of responsibility for his families' relations.
Mattheo never stopped watching though, unable to force his eyes not to look for you. He watched from afar, a guardian angel that wasn't allowed to interfere. Though if he was an angel his path was already led astray.
He shifts uncomfortably brought back to reality, as you continue speaking. âNo one will talk about him with me â and I'm afraid-dâŠâ you choke struggling to push the words off your tongue. âI donât want people to forget about him.â You sob out. Gone is the laughter, the sun hidden behind the immediate downpour.
âNo, no people wonât forget about him.â His arms wrap, bringing your head to bury into the shelter of his chest trying his best to offer comfort. He's in unfamiliar waters now, never consoling anyone. The way your body is shaking with uneven breaths, as more tears fall â a heart retching sound pulls unlike any he's heard before as you wail in despair.
Witnessing your pain brings him nothing but remorse, the vibrations of it ricocheting into the atrium of his heart. Its unbearable, and yet he's reminded it's nothing to the tenfold you are experiencing. His arms instantly tighten around your delicate frame, clinging with desperation to piece you back together.Â
His fingers thread through your hair, cradling you with a patience he's never possessed before, whispering tenderly with barely any strength. He tries to calm your breathing, his chin resting at the crown of your head.
Uncontrollably, his mind spins the same thought like a broken record; I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. His vision blurs, and his grip tightens around you, the one thing anchoring him from drowning in his blameâŠ
"It's not your fault."
The hoarseness of your voice knocks him rigid, the realization he had spoken aloud. He keeps his head lowered, eyes still closed tight trying to tear apart your conviction to find any hidden deception in your tone. "I didn't meanâ" He whispers apologetically, his throat closing up unable to finish his sentence.
"I would never blame you." You continue, voice so raw it burns to even whisper. Cupping his jaw, you sit inching closer, chests rising only fingertips apart.
His eyes open finally, and with it an unsought tear escapes, dropping to join your own stained cheeks. He's never cried in front of anyone, and while you'd not one to judge â he feels a new level of self-pity. Swallowing down his embarrassment in exposing a weakness, he looks away uncomfortably. The water doesn't look so bad anymore.
He chokes out a rejected laugh that fills the silence with his disbelief. "I donât even know why I'm here."
You hand falls, trying not to be bothered by his sudden efforts to distance. His words don't offend you though, knowing Mattheo rarely shares bits of himself. There's a comfort that swarms you, despite the unintentional exposure of his vulnerability he's not really running away. âI'm glad that you are though.â
"I don't understandâ" He starts, shaking his head with frustration, turning to look you dead on. His gaze is perplexed struggling to grasp where your anger is â he's certainly feeling angry for you but then he deals with every situation with temper. Your face tilts, contorting into confusion rather than resentment and he asks the lingering question, "Donât you hate me?"
"Hate you?" A deep frown falls over your face, finding the suggestion ridiculously absurd. "What? Why? You didnât do anything."
âIf what Potter said is true, which I think we both know it is." He doesnât know if he can utter the next words out loud, not even having admitted it to himself yet. "My fatherâ"
"âis not you." You snap sharply.
No longer are your eyes filled with anguish, lit with a defiant fury that burns so intense Mattheo shivers. But its familiar. Reminding him of the girl who he once saw yank Cedric's ear despite him being a foot taller than you. The girl who made a first-year cry after screaming at them for ruining your crammed Charms Essay. The girl who drunkenly accused him of hiding her wand tucked in her hair.
He sighs, deeply and gives you a sad smile. "It doesn't matter; it doesn't change how I feel."
"No." Shaking your head, you repeat, "No. Please don't ever blame yourself." Grabbing his hands with the same strength you wish to convince him; you squeeze them tightly. Sniffling as you do, thinking of Cedric again and the terrifying feeling his hands last felt in yours. That version of cold was never your friend. "I'll hate you truly, if you do."
That would be easier. He's quick to believe before he scolds himself, swallowing down the bitterness of the lie. He doesn't want you to hate him. Not after he's beaten himself blue for months, creating a reality that was built on an insecurity.
The weak thought disappears the longer he gazes at you, held with immense sincerity. Like his presence has always meant more than he knows, that maybe you had missed him equally as he had been secretly missing you.
Mattheo doesn't know if he can ever allow himself forgiveness when the weight of Cedric's death weighs him down so heavily tainted by his blood. He knows nothing in his life has ever been easy, but trying for you seems possible under your caring gaze.
"I don't want you to hate me." He whispers earnestly, "I missed you a lot." He words of penitence won't fix the damage done, won't erase your pain. Knowing it's his own fault for keeping himself from you, bailing like a coward when you perhaps needed him most.
âIâm not the one who went away.âÂ
He deserves that. "I know and I'm sorry." Tenderly he brushes back a strand of hair, still wet to touch. It doesn't go as elegantly as he envisioned, his fingers knotting between and he tries not to laugh at the timing. He notices the small twitch of a smile struggling to hold back, a sign that things between the two of you might be okay.
His fingers slide behind the base of your neck, cupping it gently and meeting your eye with a look of determination. "I won't go again. I won't let you drown anymore."
It's one of the few promises he's ever made, hardly anyone in his life worthy of them. Rubbing softly as if to ensure his word, he flashes a smile not seen by the sun in months. âEven if I can't swim."
an: eeeeh omg she finished a fic! only took like a month (womp womp). big, humongous thanks to @acourtofchaos for proof reading and letting my indecisive ass bother u love u always, and @viperify who had to listen to me complain 24/7 for the entire month your support means the world to me. but also, just all my moots, i swear i have the loveliest support system!
thank you for reading! feel free to leave behind any love á„«áĄ
g, this was...i don't even have words. this fic made me feel so deeply, and while i'm not grieving for the same reasons, i resonate with reader so much. and mattheo? oh my sweet mattheo who distances himself from the girl he loves because he thinks he's responsible for his fathers actions. if i could engulf these two in the warmest hug i would.
amazing writing as always. i can't wait to see what else you have in store. much love <3
sometimes i be saying im gonna go to bed and then i dont go to bed. frequently in fact. this is because i have the heart of an optimist and the soul of a liar
