Not going anywhere
Summary: A bright, stubborn Hufflepuff refuses to stay away from the cold, guarded Mattheo Riddle.
Slow burn. Tension. Hidden softness.
9.9k words sheesh I don’t know when to stop :’)
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The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chaos, owls swooping low over tables, the clatter of silverware, and the low hum of gossip that never quite died down at Hogwarts.
Sunlight filtered through the enchanted ceiling, casting a soft golden glow over the Hufflepuff table where you sat, though your eyes were already drifting toward the Slytherin side.
Mattheo Riddle was there, as always, lounging in his seat like the hall belonged to him.
Dark curls slightly tousled, uniform tie loose in that deliberate way that screamed I don’t give a fuck, and an expression that could freeze fire.
He hadn’t looked your way once. He never did, not really.
You didn’t care.
Grabbing a fresh apple from the bowl, you wove through the crowd with the easy confidence of someone who had done this a hundred times.
A few Hufflepuffs shot you curious glances, saying “again?” but you just smiled brightly and kept going. You weren’t afraid of him. Never had been. There was something beneath that cold exterior, something sharp and broken and real.
“Morning, Mattheo,” you said cheerfully, sliding into the empty seat beside him without waiting for an invitation. You placed the apple in front of him, perfectly polished. “They had the good ones today. Thought you might want it before Theo hogs them all.”
Mattheo didn’t even glance up from his plate. “Didn’t ask for it, Hufflepuff.”
His voice was low, edged with that familiar bite. Sharp tongued as ever.
Around you, his friends, Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy exchanged looks. Theo smirked into his pumpkin juice.
You shrugged, undeterred, and reached for some toast. “You didn’t have to. You skipped dinner yesterday. Figured you might be hungry.”
He finally looked at you then, dark eyes narrowing. “Stalking my eating habits now? Cute.” The sarcasm dripped like venom, but you just beamed at him, biting into your own toast.
Across the table, Pansy snorted. “Merlin, she’s at it again. Give it a rest, sweetheart. He’s not going to suddenly turn into Prince Charming because you bring him fruit.”
“I’m not expecting charming,” you replied lightly, defending yourself with a small laugh. “Just making sure he doesn’t starve while plotting world domination or whatever it is you lot do before Potions.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. “Bold for a Puff. Most of your house would’ve run by now.”
You met his gaze steadily. “Most of my house doesn’t see the point in running from someone who hasn’t actually done anything to them.” Your eyes flicked back to Mattheo. “Besides, I like sitting here.”
Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He took the apple though after a long pause and bit into it with more force than necessary.
You counted that as a win.
This had become routine. Weeks, maybe months now, of you orbiting him like a persistent moon.
Good mornings in the corridors, even when he responded with nothing but a grunt or a cutting remark about your “annoying cheerfulness.”
Little things: fixing the strap on his bag when it broke during Transfiguration, saving him a seat in the library (which he ignored and sat somewhere else, only for you to move anyway), defending him when some Gryffindor idiot muttered “Death Eater spawn” loud enough for the hall to hear.
His friends had started teasing you mercilessly at first.
“Another lap around the Riddle fan club?” Blaise had drawled one evening in the Slytherin common room after you’d somehow ended up there (Theo had dragged you along, claiming you were “funny” and “harmless”).
“Careful, love,” Pansy had added with a wicked grin. “He bites.”
You’d just shrugged and settled onto the couch like you belonged. “I’m not scared of teeth.”
Over time, the teasing softened. You laughed at their jokes, bantered back, helped Theo with Charms homework, and even managed to get Draco to admit your taste in Quidditch teams wasn’t completely abysmal.
You became part of the group, almost by accident. They got used to your presence. Mattheo… tolerated it.
Or at least, that’s what he showed.
Lunch was more of the same. You slipped into the seat beside him again, ignoring the way Lorenzo Berkshire raised his eyebrows across the table.
“Saved you the last treacle tart,” you whispered, sliding the plate over. “I know they’re your favorite.”
Mattheo exhaled sharply through his nose. “You keeping a bloody list or something?”
“Maybe.” You grinned, unbothered. “Someone has to notice these things.”
Theo kicked Mattheo under the table. “Mate, she’s literally handing you desserts on a silver platter and you’re acting like she hexed you.”
“Shut it, Nott.” Mattheo’s tone was flat, dangerous. But his hand closed around the fork anyway.
You chatted easily with the others, Pansy about the latest fashion disaster in the common room, Blaise about the upcoming match, Draco about some pureblood nonsense you mostly tuned out.
Every so often you’d glance at Mattheo, offering a comment or a small smile. He rarely responded with more than a grunt or a sarcastic jab.
He never spoke to you nicely. Not once.
Yet you kept showing up. After classes, in the corridors “How was Arithmancy?” even when he brushed past you with a muttered “Don’t you have badgers to hug?”
You sat with the Slytherins at dinner, laughing when they roasted each other, fitting in like a bright patch on dark fabric.
His friends noticed.
One evening in the Slytherin dungeons, after you’d left (having fixed a rip in Mattheo’s robes with a quick charm and a cheerful “See you tomorrow!”), Theo finally snapped.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Riddle.”
Mattheo leaned back in his chair by the fire, nursing a glass of firewhisky. “Problem?”
Blaise chuckled. “She does more for you in a day than half the girls throwing themselves at you ever have. Brings you food, defends your sorry arse, actually listens when you’re in one of your moods”
“I don’t have moods,” Mattheo cut in coldly.
Mattheo’s eyes darkened. “She’s just another girl hovering. They all do it eventually. Looking for the thrill of the ‘dark’ prince or whatever bollocks they tell themselves.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “She’s not looking for thrill, you dense git. She likes you. Properly. And she’s not scared off by your award winning personality.”
“She’s a Hufflepuff,” Mattheo said dismissively, though his grip on the glass tightened. “Too soft. Too… good. She’ll get tired of it.”
Theo laughed. “She’s been at it for months. Sat through your worst days. Defended you to McGonagall when you got detention for that stunt with the Gryffindors. And you still treat her like dirt.”
He was possessive by nature, territorial. But admitting she mattered? That was weakness. And Mattheo Riddle didn’t do weakness.
“She’s nothing,” he said finally, voice low and sharp. “Just background noise.”
His friends exchanged glances. They knew better. They saw the way his eyes followed her when she left the room, the subtle shift when she sat beside him. The hidden softness he buried under sarcasm and ice.
You, meanwhile, walked back toward the Hufflepuff basement with a small, satisfied smile. He’d eaten the tart. He’d let you sit there. Progress, in your book.
You weren’t naive. You knew he was cold, conflicted, carrying shadows most people couldn’t imagine. But you saw the good, buried, fighting to surface. You weren’t afraid. And you weren’t going anywhere.
Mattheo could pretend to tolerate you all he wanted.
You’d keep showing up until he couldn’t pretend anymore.
———
It was a rainy Thursday when things shifted, just a little.
You were waiting outside the Potions dungeon after class, two umbrellas tucked under your arm (one borrowed from the Hufflepuff common room because you knew he’d “forgotten” his again).
Students streamed past, giving you odd looks. A group of Ravenclaws whispered behind their hands.
Mattheo emerged last, collar up, expression stormy. His eyes landed on you and narrowed.
“Don’t,” he said before you could speak, brushing past.
You fell into step beside him anyway, unfurling one umbrella and holding it over both of you. “It’s pouring. You’ll catch a cold and then complain about it for a week.”
“I don’t complain.” His voice was clipped. “And I don’t need a bloody babysitter.”
“Too bad. I’m self appointed.” You smiled up at him, rain pattering loudly against the fabric. He didn’t take the umbrella from you, but he also didn’t speed up to leave you behind. Small victories.
Theo and Blaise caught up, grinning like idiots.
“Look at that,” Theo drawled. “Domestic already. Riddle, you gonna let her carry your books next?”
Mattheo shot him a withering glare. “Fuck off.”
You laughed softly. “I already did his Arithmancy notes last week when he was… occupied.” You didn’t mention the detention he’d earned for hexing a seventh year who’d called him a monster in the corridor. You’d simply copied the notes in your neatest handwriting and left them on his usual spot in the library.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “See? She’s useful. Unlike you when you’re brooding.”
Mattheo’s jaw flexed. He said nothing the rest of the walk.
Dinner that evening brought new company.
A tall Gryffindor boy, Cedric’s old friend, Marcus something, had wandered over to the Slytherin table, apparently on some inter house project nonsense. He stopped right beside you, flashing a bright, easy smile.
“Hey, I’ve seen you around. You’re the Hufflepuff who talks to this lot without running. Impressive.” His eyes lingered. “We’re having a study group in the library tomorrow. Potions theory. You seem like you know your stuff. Want to join?”
You felt Mattheo stiffen beside you before you even answered.
“That’s sweet,” you said politely, “but I usually study with these guys. Thanks though.”
Marcus didn’t take the hint immediately. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Less… intense.” He glanced at Mattheo meaningfully.
You opened your mouth to respond, but Mattheo beat you to it.
“She said no.” His voice was low, dangerous, laced with that dark charisma that made people listen. He didn’t even look up from his plate, but the temperature around the table seemed to drop. “Run along, Gryffindor.”
Marcus hesitated, then shrugged with a nervous laugh. “Alright, Riddle. Didn’t mean to step on toes.” He left.
Silence fell for half a second before Pansy cackled. “Territorial much?”
“I’m eating,” Mattheo muttered. “Don’t need distractions.”
You turned to him, heart doing a small flip at the possessiveness he’d just shown, even if it was wrapped in irritation. “You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve handled it.”
“Clearly.” His sarcasm was sharp. “You were about to agree.”
“I wasn’t.” You poked his arm lightly. He didn’t pull away. “I like sitting with you lot. Even when you’re grumpy.”
Draco snorted into his goblet. “Grumpy. That’s one word for it.”
The real crack appeared two days later.
It was late evening in the Slytherin common room. You’d been dragged there again, this time by Pansy, who wanted your opinion on a dress for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.
You ended up staying, curled up on the couch with a book while the boys played a lazy game of Exploding Snap nearby.
Mattheo was in one of his moods. Silent, sharp edged, staring into the fire like it had personally offended him. You knew the signs by now something from his past, or a letter from home, or just the weight of his own name pressing down.
You stood up quietly and disappeared toward the dorms corridor (Pansy had shown you where the spare blankets were kept weeks ago). When you returned, you draped a slightly warmer one over his shoulders without a word.
He tensed. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“You looked cold.” You sat back down beside him, closer than usual. “And you always steal the good blanket when we’re down here.”
“I don’t steal…..” He stopped, exhaling through his nose. For once, he didn’t shrug the blanket off. His fingers curled into the fabric anyway.
Theo watched the exchange with open amusement. Later, when you stepped away to grab drinks for everyone, he leaned toward Mattheo.
“You know she’s in love with you, right? Properly. Not the silly crush shit.”
Mattheo’s eyes flicked toward your retreating figure. “She’s delusional.”
“Or you’re blind,” Blaise added quietly. “She defends you to teachers, to randoms in the hall, even to her own housemates who think she’s lost her mind. Brings you food, fixes your shit, sits with you even when you’re a complete bastard to her. And you still act like she’s nothing.”
“Because she is nothing,” Mattheo snapped, voice low and venomous. But his eyes betrayed him,they followed you as you laughed at something Pansy said across the room.
“She’ll wise up eventually. Get tired of playing saint to the villain.”
Draco shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that, mate. But the way you nearly hexed that Gryffindor for just talking to her? That wasn’t nothing.”
Mattheo didn’t reply. Inside, the conflict raged. You made things easier, yes. Mornings were less bleak with your stupid cheerful “good morning” and perfectly ripe apples. His robes didn’t fall apart. He hadn’t missed meals. And the way you looked at him… like he was worth saving… it terrified him. Because if he let you in, if he admitted how much he’d come to expect your presence, then you became leverage.
A weakness.
And people like him didn’t get to keep soft, bright things without breaking them.
He was possessive. The thought of you smiling at someone else like you smiled at him made magic crackle at his fingertips. Territorial. He wanted you close but he refused to give you anything back. It wasn’t fair. He knew that. He just didn’t care.
Or so he told himself.
The next morning you were there again, sliding into your usual seat with a bright, “Good morning, Mattheo,” and placing a small vial beside his plate.
“Pepperup Potion,” you explained before he could sneer. “Just in case. You sounded a bit off last night.”
He stared at the vial, then at you. Something in his chest twisted uncomfortably, warm, annoying.
“You’re exhausting,” he said flatly. But he took the vial. Tucked it into his robe pocket like it was nothing.
You just grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Across the table, his friends shared knowing looks. They were done watching him self destruct in slow motion.
One of these days, Mattheo Riddle was going to have to face the fact that the persistent Hufflepuff had already wormed her way past every wall he’d built.
And when that happened… well. Even he wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.
———
Slytherin party,
The common room pulsed with music and low green light, the party in full swing after Slytherin’s narrow win over Ravenclaw.
Music thrummed from enchanted speakers, firewhisky flowed freely, and clusters of students laughed too loudly, danced too close, and forgot for one night about OWLs, NEWTs, and the shadows hanging over the wizarding world.
You’d shown up with Pansy, who had insisted on you wearing a simple but flattering black dress she’d “borrowed” from somewhere.
“Blend in for once, Puff,” she’d teased. You’d laughed and gone along with it. By now, no one batted an eye when you appeared in Slytherin territory. You were one of them. Sort of.
Mattheo sat in his usual spot on the large leather couch near the fireplace, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest.
A glass of firewhisky dangled from his fingers. His expression was the same half bored, half dangerous mask he wore most days.
You had claimed the spot beside him earlier, but the crowd had shifted. Now a Slytherin girl, sixth year, long dark hair, sharp cheekbones and sharper ambition had taken your place.
Literally. She was practically in his lap, one hand trailing down his chest, laughing breathily at something he hadn’t even said.
“Mattheo,” she purred, loud enough for you to hear over the music, “you really are the most interesting one here. All that mystery… I bet I could make you smile if you let me try.”
She leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear.
Mattheo didn’t push her away. He also didn’t pull her closer. He simply took a slow sip of his drink, eyes distant, like she was background noise. No smirk, no flirtation, no interest. Just cold tolerance.
You stood a few feet away, watching for a moment. A small sigh escaped you, not dramatic, not heartbroken, just… tired.
You knew this game. Girls threw themselves at him constantly. The dark aura, the dangerous reputation, the undeniable charisma, he attracted them like moths to a cursed flame. And he usually let them hover until they got bored.
You turned away and spotted Theo leaning against a stone pillar, nursing his own drink and watching the scene with clear amusement.
“Hey, Theo,” you said brightly, walking over and bumping his shoulder. “Think we’ll see another Exploding Snap disaster tonight, or has Lorenzo learned his lesson?”
Theo grinned down at you, glad for the distraction. “Doubt it. He’s already three drinks in and eyeing that pack of cards like an idiot. You good?” His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the couch.
You shrugged, leaning beside him. “I’m fine. She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Think she’ll last longer than the last one who tried?”
Theo chuckled. “Nah. He’s not even pretending tonight. Look at his face, pure ice. Poor girl doesn’t realize she’s talking to a statue.”
You laughed softly, genuine and light. Talking with Theo was easy. He had become a real friend over the past weeks, someone who actually listened when you rambled about Herbology or the latest book you’d read.
“I was going to ask Mattheo if he wanted to dance later, but… maybe not. He looks like he’d rather hex the music.”
Theo raised an eyebrow, studying you. “You’re really not bothered by that?” He nodded toward the girl, who was now tracing patterns on Mattheo’s arm while he stared into the fire.
You took a sip of your butterbeer. “Bothered? A little. But I’m not going to compete by climbing all over him. That’s not me.” Your voice stayed calm, sweet but honest. “He knows I’m here. If he wants me to leave, he can say it. He never does.”
Theo shook his head, half laughing. “You’re something else, you know that? Most girls would be over there hexing her by now. Or crying in the corner.”
You smiled, eyes drifting back to Mattheo despite yourself. “I’m not scared of him, or of this.” You gestured vaguely at the party. “Besides, I like talking to you lot. Even when he’s being… himself.”
Mattheo’s gaze had found you.
Even from across the room, even while the dark-haired girl whispered something in his ear, his eyes locked onto you and Theo. His jaw tightened. The girl’s hand slid higher on his thigh and he shifted away just slightly but didn’t stop her. His fingers flexed around his glass until his knuckles paled.
He didn’t like it.
Not the girl. Her touch felt like nothing, irrelevant, annoying. But you standing there, laughing with Theo, looking perfectly at ease in his common room, in his world… that twisted something ugly and possessive in his chest.
You were supposed to be orbiting him. Not chatting and smiling at Nott like it was the most natural thing.
Yet he said nothing. Did nothing. Just watched, brooding.
Later, the girl finally gave up with a dramatic huff and stalked off to find easier prey. Mattheo didn’t even watch her leave.
You eventually wandered back, sliding onto the couch beside him now that the seat was free. Your shoulder brushed his.
“Enjoying the party?” you asked lightly, offering him a fresh drink you’d grabbed on the way.
Mattheo took it without thanks, setting his empty one aside. “It’s loud,” he said flatly. His eyes flicked to you, scanning your face like he was searching for cracks. “You and Nott seemed cozy.”
There it was the sharp edge. Not quite jealousy admitted, but close.
You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Theo’s funny. We were just talking about how terrible Lorenzo is at cards.” You paused, then added, “You could’ve joined us. Or told that girl to give you space if she was bothering you.”
He scoffed, leaning back. “Didn’t need to. Not interested.” His voice dropped, sarcastic and low. “Unlike some people, I don’t need constant attention to feel important, Hufflepuff.”
You didn’t flinch. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on giving her any competition.” You reached over and straightened his already loose tie with gentle fingers, a small habitual gesture.
“You looked bored. Thought maybe you’d want actual company instead of… whatever that was.”
Mattheo stared at your hands on his tie, then at your face. The conflict raged behind his eyes, wanting to snap at you, push you away, and simultaneously wanting to pull you closer so no one else could even look at you the wrong way. He settled for his usual defense.
“You’re too much,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away from your touch.
———
Weekend ends, and the new week already started badly for Mattheo.
A letter from his father’s old circle had arrived that morning cryptic, demanding, laced with expectations he wanted nothing to do with but couldn’t fully escape. Combined with a brutal detention from Snape and losing a Quidditch strategy argument to Draco, his mood was blacker than the dungeons.
The kind of day where the shadows around him felt heavier, and everyone with sense stayed out of his way.
Everyone except you.
You had noticed immediately during breakfast. His shoulders were tense, jaw locked, eyes darker than usual.
Still, you slid into your usual seat beside him with a gentle smile, placing a steaming cup of his favorite black coffee (extra strong) in front of him.
“Morning, Mattheo,” you said softly. “Rough night? I brought you….”
“Enough.”
His voice cracked like a whip. Louder and sharper than he’d ever been with you. The entire Slytherin table went quiet.
You blinked, hand still hovering near the cup. “I just thought….”
Mattheo turned to you fully, eyes blazing with barely contained fury and exhaustion. “You thought what? That your pathetic little acts of kindness would fix anything? That I want you here every single fucking day breathing down my neck like some lovesick puppy?”
The words cut deep. His friends froze.
“Mattheo…” Theo started quietly.
“No.” Mattheo didn’t even look at him. His gaze stayed locked on you, cold and unrelenting.
“I’m done with this. Done with you hovering, done with the apples and the notes and the stupid blankets and the defending me like I’m some broken charity case. Leave me and my group alone. Go back to your Hufflepuff flowers and mind your own business for once.”
The silence was suffocating.
You stared at him for a long second, heart twisting painfully in your chest. Your eyes stung, but you refused to cry in front of them. Not here. Instead, you swallowed hard and stood up slowly.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, voice small but steady. “I’ll leave.”
You turned and walked away without another word, head high even as your hands trembled at your sides. The Great Hall felt endless. A few people whispered, but you didn’t look back.
Mattheo didn’t watch you go. He gripped his fork until it bent, then shoved his plate away and stormed out. His friends exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing to him. Not yet.
Three days passed.
You kept your word. No more good mornings in the corridor. No more saving seats. No more sitting at the Slytherin table.
You ate with your housemates, smiled politely when people asked what happened, and threw yourself into Herbology and helping in the kitchens, anything to stay busy.
You missed them. You missed him. But you respected his wishes. If he wanted space, you’d give it to him, even if it hurt.
The Slytherin group felt the absence immediately.
Lunch on day one was too quiet. No one to laugh at Lorenzo’s terrible jokes or argue Quidditch with Draco. No soft voice reminding them about upcoming assignments.
By day two, Pansy was scowling at everything. “This is ridiculous. The table feels empty.”
Theo kept glancing toward the Hufflepuff table where you sat, surrounded by your housemates but somehow looking… dimmer. Less bright.
Day three, Blaise finally said it out loud in the common room: “She’s makes this lot tolerable. Can we bring her back”
Mattheo was there, slouched in his usual chair by the fire, pretending not to listen.
He hadn’t spoken much in three days. His mood hadn’t improved, in fact, it had soured further. The little things you used to handle were piling up. His bag strap had broken again. He’d missed dinner once because no one reminded him. The common room felt colder without your occasional presence.
He told himself it was better this way. Cleaner. No weaknesses.
His friends disagreed.
On the evening of the fourth day, the group made their move.
Pansy and Theo cornered you after Charms class, blocking your path to the Hufflepuff basement with determined expressions.
“You’re coming with us,” Pansy declared, linking her arm through yours.
You blinked in surprise. “Pansy, I can’t. He said…”
“He’s an idiot,” Theo cut in. “A miserable idiot. The common room has been dead without you. Draco’s even more unbearable. Lorenzo keeps losing at cards because no one’s betting against him properly. Come on. Just for a bit.”
You hesitated, biting your lip. “I don’t want to make things worse.”
Blaise appeared behind them, smirking. “Too late for that. Mattheo’s been brooding like the Dark Lord himself since you left. We miss you, love. Properly.”
After a few more minutes of gentle insistence (and Pansy threatening to drag you), you gave in. You let them lead you down to the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering the entire way.
And there, in his usual spot by the fireplace, sat Mattheo.
He looked up when the portrait hole opened. His eyes landed on you immediately, widening for half a second before the guarded mask slammed back into place. He said nothing.
The others moved casually, like this was normal. Pansy pulled you toward the couch. Theo dropped into the seat across from Mattheo with a pointed look.
“Look who we found,” Theo announced lightly. “Our favorite Hufflepuff.”
You stood awkwardly for a moment, offering a small, uncertain smile to the group. “Hi.”
Draco nodded at you, almost relieved. “About time. The silence was getting pathetic.”
You sat down carefully, not beside Mattheo this time, but on the opposite end of the large couch, giving him the space he’d demanded. Your hands twisted in your lap. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his stare burning into the side of your face.
The conversation started slowly, Pansy complaining about homework, Blaise teasing Lorenzo, but it gradually warmed up. You laughed softly at one of Theo’s jokes, the sound familiar and bright again. For the first time in days, the common room felt alive.
Mattheo remained silent, watching you from the shadows of his seat. His jaw was tight, fingers drumming restlessly on the armrest. The conflict was clear in his eyes, the same storm you’d always seen, only sharper now. He’d told you to leave. You had. And now that you were back (because of them), the relief mixing with his anger and possessiveness was making his chest feel too tight.
He still didn’t speak to you.
Laughter echoed off the stone walls as Lorenzo dramatically retold his latest failed attempt at asking out a Ravenclaw, complete with sound effects.
Pansy was curled up beside you on the couch, showing you fabric swatches for some upcoming event, while Theo kept sliding in clever quips that made everyone groan or laugh.
You smiled and participated. You really did. You complimented Pansy’s choices, teased Lorenzo right back, and even debated Quidditch tactics with Draco when he dragged you into it. It felt good to be back among them.
They had become real friends, and their obvious relief at having you there eased some of the ache in your chest.
But with Mattheo… it was different now.
You stayed on the far end of the couch. You didn’t slide closer like you used to. You didn’t offer him the fresh drink Blaise had passed around. You didn’t reach over to fix the cuff of his sleeve when it rode up.
Every time your eyes accidentally met his, you gave a small, polite nod and looked away again. Careful. Guarded. Not cold, you couldn’t quite manage that but no longer shining that bright, effortless warmth directly at him.
Mattheo noticed.
He sat in his usual chair, legs stretched out, nursing the same glass of firewhisky he’d barely touched. His dark eyes followed your every movement. The way you laughed freely with Theo. The way you leaned into Pansy’s side comfortably. The way you existed in his space without orbiting him like before.
It irritated him more than he wanted to admit.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Pansy murmured to you at one point, low enough that only you could hear. Her eyes flicked toward Mattheo. “Still sore about what the idiot said?”
You shrugged lightly, tracing a pattern on the couch leather with your finger. “I’m here for you guys. Not… not to push anything. He made it pretty clear he doesn’t want the extra stuff from me. I’m respecting that.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “He’s a dramatic prick. He didn’t mean half of it.”
“Maybe.” You offered her a small smile. “But I’m not risking it again. Not right now.”
Mattheo’s grip tightened on his glass. He’d heard enough.
When Theo stood up to grab more drinks and you naturally followed to help him carry them back, Mattheo’s voice cut through the air sharp, sarcastic, aimed straight at you.
“Careful, Hufflepuff. Wouldn’t want you overexerting yourself playing servant again.”
You paused, holding two glasses steadily. The group quieted a little. You met his gaze evenly this time, no flinch, but no smile either.
“I’m just helping a friend, Mattheo,” you said softly. Calm. Not defensive. “No big gestures. No hovering.”
You set the drinks down and returned to your spot without another word. No apple. No blanket. No gentle check in about his clearly still terrible mood.
The silence stretched for a beat too long.
Theo cleared his throat. “Smooth, mate. Really winning her back with that one.”
“Shut up, Nott.” Mattheo’s tone was flat, but his eyes stayed on you. That possessive streak was flaring hot under his skin. You were here, in his common room, surrounded by his friends, yet you were keeping him at arm’s length. It felt wrong.
The next few days followed the same careful pattern.
You sat with the group at meals again, but not directly beside Mattheo. You chose seats between Pansy and Blaise, or across from Theo.
You still defended the group when outsiders made snide comments, your Hufflepuff loyalty ran deep but you no longer singled Mattheo out.
No more personal good mornings whispered just to him. No more saving his favorite desserts. You were warm with everyone else, bright and kind like always.
With him, you were… polite.
“Pass the salt, please?” you’d asked at dinner the next evening, voice neutral when your eyes met his.
He’d slid it over without a word, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
Later in the common room, when you’d laughed at one of Draco’s rare jokes and bumped knees with Theo accidentally, Mattheo had snapped at Lorenzo over nothing, magic crackling faintly at his fingertips.
His friends saw it all.
“You’re an absolute bellend,” Blaise told him bluntly one night after you’d left for curfew (earlier than usual, another new habit). “She’s giving you exactly what you asked for and you look like you want to burn the castle down.”
Mattheo leaned back, staring at the dying fire. “She’s acting like I’m a stranger.”
Draco snorted. “You told her to leave you alone. Loudly. In front of the entire hall. What did you expect? Eternal devotion on command?”
“I expected….” Mattheo stopped himself, running a hand through his messy curls.
He didn’t know what he expected. He’d wanted space, wanted the annoying persistence gone. But now the absence of her specific light left everything feeling flat. The little comforts he’d pretended not to notice were glaringly missing. And worse, seeing her still smiling, still caring, but redirecting all of it away from him… it stirred something ugly and jealous and needy he refused to name.
He was emotionally conflicted on the best of days. This was torture.
A few nights later, the group was studying (or pretending to) in the common room. You were helping Pansy with her Transfiguration essay, heads bent together, your neat handwriting filling the page. Mattheo sat nearby, book open but unread.
You felt his stare again. Heavy. Burning.
When Pansy got up to fetch another book, leaving the two of you momentarily semi-alone, you glanced up. His eyes didn’t waver.
You offered a small, cautious smile. “Need help with anything? The essay’s brutal this week.”
Mattheo’s response was instinct sharp-tongued and defensive. “Don’t start that again.”
You closed your ink bottle slowly, expression softening but staying reserved. “I’m not starting anything. Just offering as a friend. Like I do for the others.”
The distinction stung more than he cared to admit.
He wanted to snap again. Push harder. But the words caught in his throat when he saw the careful walls behind your eyes the way you were protecting yourself now, even while sitting in his world.
You waited a beat longer, then turned back to your own work when he stayed silent.
Mattheo Riddle watched you, the same storm raging behind his guarded expression. He was possessive. Territorial. And right now, the girl who had always chosen him was choosing distance, even while staying close to everyone else.
It was driving him mad.
The common room was quieter tonight, the fire crackling softly as most students had retreated to dorms or the library for last minute revisions. Only the core group remained scattered across the couches and armchairs, Pansy flipping through a magazine, Theo and Blaise arguing over chess moves, Draco reading with a bored expression, and Lorenzo half asleep.
You had been sitting with Pansy again, but something had shifted in you. You’d watched Mattheo. Really watched him. The way his eyes tracked you when he thought no one noticed.
The tighter set of his jaw whenever you laughed with the others. The restless tapping of his fingers. He was regretting it. You could see it, the conflict, the stubborn pride warring with whatever softer thing lived under all that armor. He wanted you close again. He just didn’t know how to say it.
Time to test the theory.
You stood up casually, stretching, and moved across the room. Instead of your careful distance, you dropped down on the couch right beside Mattheo, close enough that your thigh pressed lightly against his. The same spot you used to claim every night before the blow up.
Mattheo tensed instantly, dark eyes snapping to you.
You didn’t look at him right away. You simply leaned forward, grabbing a spare quill from the low table and twirling it between your fingers like nothing had changed. “Theo, pass me that book on curses? I want to check something for Pansy’s essay.”
Theo raised an eyebrow but tossed it over with a knowing smirk.
As you settled back, your shoulder brushed Mattheo’s. You felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide.
He lasted maybe thirty seconds.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The words came out harsher than he probably intended, laced with that unwilling venom. “Decided to test how much shit I’ll take before I snap again, Hufflepuff?”
You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze. There was no flinch in your eyes, only quiet understanding.
You saw it: the regret flickering behind the ice, the way his hand twitched like he wanted to reach out but refused to let himself.
“I’m just sitting here,” you said softly, voice even and sweet. “Like I used to. You haven’t told me to move.”
Mattheo’s jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. He tried again, the meanness spilling out despite himself, like a defense mechanism he couldn’t turn off.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have to. Thought I made it clear you’re exhausting. Always there, always fixing things no one asked you to fix. Find someone else to play hero for.”
The words stung, but you saw straight through them. His eyes betrayed him, lingering on the way your hair fell over your shoulder, on your hand resting near his leg. He wasn’t pushing you away physically. He wasn’t standing up.
He was just… lashing out, the same way a wounded animal snaps at the hand trying to help.
You smiled. Small. Knowing. “You don’t mean that.”
He scoffed, looking away into the fire. “Don’t tell me what I mean.”
But he still didn’t move.
Emboldened, you shifted even closer, tucking your legs under you so your knee rested against his thigh. You reached over and gently tugged the loose thread on his sleeve that had been bothering you for days, something you would’ve fixed without thinking weeks ago. He froze under your touch but didn’t pull back.
“Mattheo,” you murmured, low enough that the others pretended not to hear, “you can keep saying mean things if it makes you feel better. I’m not leaving this time unless you really want me to. And I don’t think you do.”
His breathing hitched. For a moment, the guarded mask cracked completely. Something raw and conflicted flashed across his face, possessiveness, relief, anger at himself, that hidden softness he buried so deep.
His hand lifted halfway, like he might touch your arm, then dropped back down.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, sharper, still failing at kindness “You’re going to regret sticking around when I inevitably ruin whatever this is.”
You leaned your head lightly against his shoulder for just a second, testing, pushing, offering. “Maybe. But I’m still here.”
He didn’t shrug you off. Didn’t stand up. Didn’t tell the group to kick you out.
Instead, after a long, heavy silence, his body relaxed, just a fraction, against yours. His arm stayed draped along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. Territorial. Close. Accepting.
Pansy caught your eye across the room and hid a triumphant grin behind her magazine. Theo didn’t even bother hiding his smirk as he moved a chess piece.
Mattheo still hadn’t spoken to you nicely. Not really.
But he wasn’t pushing you away anymore.
Your theory had been right. He regretted it. He wanted you back in his orbit closer than before, even if his sharp tongue hadn’t caught up to that truth yet.
You’d rest your head against his shoulder for a moment here, brush his hand while passing a drink there. He tolerated it all with his usual gruff silence and occasional sharp remark, but the tension rolling off him was palpable.
His friends had had enough.
Pansy caught Theo’s eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod. The plan they made that morning was in motion.
“Truth or Dare,” Pansy announced suddenly, clapping her hands. “I’m bored out of my mind and someone needs to entertain me.”
Lorenzo perked up immediately. Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. Blaise smirked like he already knew where this was going.
Mattheo narrowed his eyes but said nothing, he rarely backed down from a challenge, even a stupid one.
You smiled softly. “I’m in.”
The game started innocently enough. Lorenzo admitted to stealing Pansy’s favourite lipstick.
Draco chose dare and had to charm his eyebrows pink for the next ten minutes.
Theo got asked about his latest failed hookup and laughed it off.
Then Pansy turned her sharp gaze on you.
“Truth or Dare, darling?”
You felt the shift in the air. Mattheo’s posture stiffened beside you.
“Dare,” you said, because backing down in front of this group had never been your style.
Pansy’s smile turned wicked. “I dare you to kiss Theo. Proper kiss. Ten seconds.”
The room went still.
Theo raised an eyebrow, clearly in on it, but kept his expression playful. “Only if she wants to. I’m not above being used for a good cause.”
You glanced sideways at Mattheo. His hand had curled into a fist on the armrest, knuckles white. His jaw was locked so tightly it looked painful. Dark eyes burned holes into Theo, then flicked to you, possessive, stormy, conflicted.
Your theory had been right. He was cracking.
You leaned forward slowly, giving Mattheo every chance to say something. He didn’t. He just watched, breathing shallow.
You turned to Theo, cupped his cheek lightly, and pressed your lips to his. It was soft, brief, exactly ten seconds. Theo kissed back gently, more performative than anything, and pulled away with a dramatic sigh.
“Not bad, Puff,” he teased, winking.
You sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, heart racing for an entirely different reason. You didn’t look at Mattheo immediately.
The crack appeared.
Mattheo let out a low, dangerous sound, almost a growl. Magic crackled faintly around him, making the fire flare for a second.
“Enough,” he said sharply, voice dripping with venom. “This game is fucking stupid.”
Pansy feigned innocence. “Jealous, Riddle?”
“I’m not jealous of Nott getting pity kisses,” he snapped, the words unwilling and too quick.
His eyes finally met yours raw, territorial, and something deeper. “She can kiss whoever the hell she wants.”
But he looked like he wanted to hex Theo into next week.
You saw the tiny fracture in his restraint. The way his hand twitched like he wanted to pull you into his lap and erase what just happened. The hidden softness bleeding through the anger. He cared. Deeply. He just wouldn’t admit it yet.
The game continued awkwardly for a few more rounds before dying out.
As people started heading to bed or pretending to study, the group quietly regrouped near the fireplace once you’d stepped away to grab water.
“Close,” Theo muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Did you see his face? He nearly lost it.”
“Not enough,” Draco said. “He’s still too stubborn. One little kiss isn’t cracking that reinforced concrete he calls emotional walls.”
Pansy crossed her arms. “New plan then. We need to push harder. Something that forces him to choose publicly. Maybe Hogsmeade this weekend. We get her to ‘casually’ flirt with someone else. Or we set up a situation where she has to be alone with one of us and see how long it takes before he drags her back.”
Blaise chuckled darkly. “Or we make him think she’s actually moving on. He’s possessive as hell. If he believes he might lose her for real…”
Theo glanced over at Mattheo, who was now staring into the fire like it had personally betrayed him. “He’s already regretting everything. We just need one more push and that restraint of his is dead.”
They all looked toward you as you walked back, none the wiser to their scheming.
Mattheo’s eyes followed you the entire way, dark and intense. The crack was there. Now they just had to widen it until he had no choice but to admit what everyone else already knew.
———
The Hogsmeade weekend arrived under a crisp, clear sky the first proper snow dusting the rooftops like powdered sugar.
Students poured out of the castle gates in excited clusters, scarves wrapped high and pockets jingling with allowance money.
The Slytherin group had claimed their usual spot near the Shrieking Shack path for pre butterbeer strategy, but today their energy was sharper, purposeful.
The new plan was simple and ruthless : push Mattheo until his restraint shattered completely.
Pansy had looped her arm through yours as you all walked down the snowy path. “Stick close to me at first,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “Then ‘accidentally’ wander off with Theo or Blaise when we reach the village. We’ll make it look natural.”
You glanced at her, then at Mattheo walking a few steps ahead, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable. “You’re really doing this?”
Theo fell into step beside you, grinning. “He needs it. The kiss barely made him twitch. Time to light a proper fire under his arse.”
You exhaled, a mix of nerves and reluctant amusement fluttering in your chest.
Part of you still felt the sting from his harsh words days ago, but another part, the one that saw every hidden crack in his armor, wanted him to finally admit what was so obvious to everyone else.
“Just… don’t go too far. I don’t actually want to hurt him.”
“Too late for that,” Blaise murmured from behind. “He’s been hurting himself plenty.”
Mattheo slowed slightly, eyes flicking back toward you. You offered him a small, neutral smile the same careful one you’d been giving him since returning to the group. He didn’t return it, but his gaze lingered.
The village was bustling. Honeydukes was packed, Zonko’s even louder. The group moved as one at first, weaving through the crowd.
You stayed near Mattheo out of habit, your shoulder occasionally brushing his in the narrow street. He didn’t pull away.
Inside the Three Broomsticks, you all claimed a large corner booth. Firewhisky for the boys, butterbeers for everyone. Conversation flowed easily until Pansy executed the first move.
“I need to check out that new robe shop,” she announced, standing up. “Come with me, Draco? I want a second opinion.”
Draco sighed but followed, shooting the rest of you a knowing look. Lorenzo tagged along “for snacks.” That left you, Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise.
You took a slow sip of butterbeer, then turned to Theo with a bright, deliberate smile. “Theo, didn’t you say there’s a new shipment of cursed artifacts at Dervish and Banges? I’ve been wanting to see that silver dagger you mentioned last week.”
Theo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Absolutely. Let’s go before the good stuff disappears.” He stood and offered you his hand.
You took it without hesitation, letting him help you out of the booth. Your fingers lingered in his just a second longer than necessary. “Mattheo, Blaise, we’ll be back soon,” you said casually, like it was nothing.
Mattheo’s entire body went rigid. His glass hit the table harder than needed. “Since when do you give a fuck about cursed artifacts?”
You shrugged, still holding Theo’s hand. “Since Theo told me they’re fascinating. You know I like shiny, dangerous things.” Your tone was light, playful the same sweetness you used to direct only at him.
Theo tugged you gently toward the door. “We won’t be long, mate.”
Blaise stayed behind, nursing his drink and watching Mattheo like a hawk.
The snow crunched under your boots as you and Theo walked down the high street.
You didn’t go straight to Dervish and Banges. Instead, Theo led you on a slow, meandering route stopping at a stall selling enchanted jewelry, laughing loudly at your jokes, standing a little too close when showing you a necklace with a tiny snake charm.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you muttered, cheeks pink from the cold and the performance.
Theo grinned down at you. “It’s for the greater good. Look behind us, don’t turn too obviously.”
You risked a glance. Mattheo was stalking after you both, coat flapping open, expression thunderous. Blaise was a few paces behind him, failing to hide his amusement.
Your heart skipped. The plan was working.
Theo leaned in closer, pretending to examine the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your collarbone. “Smile at me like you mean it,” he whispered.
You did, soft, warm, the kind of smile that used to be reserved for Mattheo’s rare good moments. Theo laughed like you’d said something brilliant.
That was when Mattheo snapped.
“Having fun?” His voice cut through the snowy street like a blade. He stopped right beside you, eyes locked on where Theo’s hand still rested near your shoulder. The possessiveness rolled off him in waves, dark and electric. “Didn’t realize you two were suddenly so fucking cozy.”
Theo raised an innocent eyebrow. “Just showing her the artifacts, like she asked. Problem?”
Mattheo’s jaw worked. He looked at you, really looked.
There was that storm again : jealousy burning hot, restraint fraying at the edges, the unwilling mean streak fighting against something deeper.
“You’re really doing this?” he said to you, voice low and sharp. “Parading around with Nott after everything? Thought you were supposed to be the one who saw ‘good’ in people. Not throwing yourself at the first idiot who smiles at you.”
The words stung, but you saw right through them again. His hands were clenched. He was one breath away from dragging you away from Theo. The crack from the truth or dare game had widened significantly.
You stepped just a little closer to Theo, testing. “I’m not throwing myself at anyone, Mattheo. I’m just… spending time with friends. Like you told me to do. Remember? Stop hovering. Stop fixing things for you.”
Mattheo’s eyes darkened dangerously. For a second you thought he might actually hex Theo. Instead, he grabbed your wrist not painfully, but firm enough to feel possessive.
“We’re going back to the group,” he growled. “Now.”
Theo smirked. “Whatever you say, Riddle.”
You let Mattheo pull you along, his grip staying locked around your wrist the entire walk back to the Three Broomsticks.
He didn’t let go even when you reached the booth. He sat down and tugged you into the seat directly beside him closer than you’d been in weeks. His thigh pressed against yours. His arm draped along the back of the booth, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder like a silent claim.
He was still being an arse, muttering sarcastic comments under his breath and shooting Theo lethal glares, but he wasn’t pushing you away.
The plan had started. And it was already cracking him open.
Pansy and the others returned shortly after, taking in the scene with barely concealed triumph. Mattheo didn’t speak to you nicely. Not yet.
But the territorial hold on your wrist, the way his body angled toward yours like a shield, and the raw, conflicted heat in his eyes said more than his sharp tongue ever could.
The restraint was dying.
The rest of the Hogsmeade afternoon passed in a charged haze.
Mattheo didn’t release your wrist for a long time. Even after you all returned to the Three Broomsticks, his arm stayed slung possessively behind you on the booth, fingers occasionally brushing the back of your neck like a silent warning to everyone else.
He was still sharp tongued, snapping at Lorenzo for talking too loud, throwing barbed comments at Theo, but he kept you glued to his side.
The group wasn’t done yet.
As the sun began to dip and snow started falling heavier, they all gathered outside, Pansy with a calculated sigh “It’s getting late. We should head back, but some of us still need to pick up things from Honeydukes. Theo, you mentioned wanting more of that fizzing whizzbees?”
Theo caught on instantly. “Yeah, and I could use help carrying stuff.” He looked straight at you. “Come with me? You’ve got better taste in sweets than these lot.”
You felt Mattheo’s body coil like a spring beside you.
Before you could answer, you turned to him with that same soft, testing smile you’d been using. “Do you mind? I’ll be quick.”
His dark eyes flashed. The crack was widening dangerously. “Yes, I fucking mind,” he bit out, the words escaping before he could stop them. “You’re not going anywhere with him.”
They went quiet. Even Draco raised an eyebrow.
You tilted your head, pushing just a little more. “Why not? You’ve made it very clear I’m exhausting. That I should stop hovering around you. I’m just hanging out with friends, Mattheo. Like you wanted.”
That struck hard. Mattheo’s hand slid from the to your waist, gripping firmly. Territorial. Needy in a way he’d never allowed himself to show.
“You know that’s not ” He stopped, jaw clenching. The internal war was visible, the mean, guarded part of him fighting the part that had grown addicted to your presence, your care, your unwavering light.
Theo slowly, offering his hand again with an exaggerated grin. “Ready when you are, love.”
Pushing further Theo says “It’s just sweets, mate. Unless you’ve got a problem with that?”
Mattheo’s eyes darkened. He pulled you flush against him in one sharp movement, right there on the snowy street in front of everyone. No grand speech. No soft vulnerability. Just raw, irritated truth wrapped in his usual barbed tone.
“Yeah. I’ve got a fucking problem with it.” He glared at Theo, then looked down at you, jaw tight. “You win, alright? Happy now?”
You tilted your head, staying close but testing him one last time. “Win what?”
Mattheo let out a sharp, sarcastic breath, his breath visible in the cold air.
“This. You. The constant hovering and fixing and defending my sorry arse like I’m worth the effort.” His grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it became more territorial.
“I told you to fuck off because it was easier. Because you make shit… simpler. And I hate how much I’ve gotten used to it.”
He glanced at the group, who were all watching with barely hidden smirks, then back at you. His next words came out gruff, almost annoyed at himself for saying them.
“I don’t want you orbiting anyone else. Not Theo. Not some Gryffindor prick. No one. You’re annoying as hell and far too soft for someone like me, but I want you next to me. Where you’ve been. Stop with the careful polite bullshit you’ve been doing since I snapped at you. Just… be there again. Like before.”
It wasn’t flowery. It wasn’t sweet. It was Mattheo, reluctant, possessive, laced with sarcasm and that dark charisma.
He leaned in closer, voice dropping so only you could hear the rest. “And if Nott tries to hold your hand again, I’ll break his fingers. Clear enough for you, Hufflepuff?”
You smiled softly, reaching up to fix the collar of his coat like you used to. He didn’t stop you.
“Crystal clear,” you murmured.
Mattheo huffed, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he slung his arm firmly over your shoulders and started walking back toward the castle, keeping you tucked tightly against his side. The others fell in behind you, Pansy looking victorious and Theo chuckling quietly.
“Fucking finally,” Blaise muttered.
Mattheo shot them all a sharp look. “Say another word and I’ll hex every single one of you.”
But his hand stayed on your shoulder the entire walk back. No more pushing you away. No more pretending he didn’t care. He still wasn’t nice, not really, but the walls had come down in the only way Mattheo Riddle knew how.
And you were right where he wanted you.
———
The castle was quiet by the time you slipped through the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering against your ribs.
It had been a long evening after Hogsmeade. Mattheo had kept you close the entire way back, but he hadn’t said much more after his gruff admission. The weight of everything still felt new and fragile.
You were nervous. Actually nervous, for the first time in months around him. Your fingers tightened around the rolled up essay you’d finished copying for him (Arithmancy, due tomorrow).
It was a small thing, an old habit, but it gave you an excuse to see him before bed.
You knocked softly on the door to his dorm. Theo and the others were still downstairs, giving the two of you space.
Mattheo opened it in a loose black shirt and trousers, hair messy like he’d already been running his hands through it. His dark eyes softened a fraction when they landed on you.
“Essay,” you mumbled, holding it out. “I know you hate this topic, so I made notes on the side.”
He took it without a word, stepping back to let you in.
The room smelled faintly of him, smoke, cedar, and that sharp edge of magic that always clung to him.
You lingered for half a second too long, then leaned in quickly, pressing a soft, shy kiss to his cheek before immediately turning to leave.
“Sorry, goodnight,” you whispered, cheeks burning as you tried to rush back out.
A flick of his wrist and the door slammed shut, locking with a sharp click.
You froze, back to him. “Mattheo, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to push, I just”
He was on you in two strides.
His hands came up on either side of your head, caging you against the door with his body. The wood was cool behind your back; he was burning hot in front.
That stern, smug look was fixed on his face, dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction, one corner of his mouth curved in that dangerous half smirk.
“Do it again,” he ordered, voice low and rough.
You blinked up at him, still flustered. “I… what?”
“Kiss me again,” he repeated, leaning closer until his breath brushed your lips. “Properly this time. Don’t run.”
Your heart stuttered. The nervousness melted under the intensity of his gaze. You rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek once more, slower this time.
Then, gathering your courage, you turned your head and brushed your lips softly against his.
Mattheo made a low sound in his throat, half satisfaction, half relief. One hand left the door to slide into your hair, tilting your head as he deepened the kiss, claiming your mouth like he’d been waiting weeks to do it. Possessive. Hungry. But there was something almost gentle underneath the fire.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. The smug look had softened into something warmer, more private.
“You’re still an idiot for thinking I’d let you run after that,” he muttered, sharp tongued as ever, but his thumb stroked your cheek. “Told you earlier, you’re mine. That means you don’t get to kiss me and bolt, Hufflepuff.”
You laughed breathlessly, the last of the nerves dissolving. “I was scared you’d regret it tomorrow morning.”
Mattheo huffed, pulling you away from the door and toward his bed. He sat down and tugged you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
“I regret a lot of things,” he admitted gruffly. “But not this. Not you.” He pressed another kiss to your temple, almost absentmindedly. “You make my life easier. Better. Even when I’m a moody bastard. So stay.”
You nestled into his chest, tracing lazy patterns on his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.” His voice dropped, that dark charisma curling around the words. “Because I’m territorial as hell, and I’ve decided you’re stuck with me now.”
From outside the door, you both heard Theo’s muffled voice “Finally! Can we come in yet or are you two still snogging?”
Mattheo didn’t even look up. “Fuck off, Nott!” he called back, but there was no real heat in it.
You giggled against his neck. He squeezed you tighter, a rare, quiet chuckle rumbling through his chest.
For the first time in a long time, Mattheo Riddle looked… content.
Still guarded, still sarcastic, still carrying shadows, but with you curled in his arms, the weight seemed lighter.
You had seen the good in him from the start. Now he was finally letting himself believe it too.
And as the two of you stayed wrapped up together long into the night, talking in low voices between kisses, everything felt exactly right.
