✧[Summary]✧ You have an enormous crush on Mattheo Riddle. Although, you're way too busy pushing your nose into books and being an angel for such a popular guy to look your way. That never stopped you though, your little 'harmless' ways to stalk him around hogwarts has gotten way more ridiculous than ever, as if your eyes lingering on him for way too long wasn't enough. But as time passes by, you slowly notice his figure disappearing within your sight. That's when you realize.. With how frequent you observe his presence in front of you, you never acknowledged watching behind you.
✧[Content]✧ Mature Content, nerd!reader, stalker!reader, fem!reader, stalker!mattheo, obsessive!mattheo, jealous!mattheo, pervert!mattheo, size difference, masturbation, oral sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, praising, swearing, teasing, smut with plot, no use of y/n, mattheo loves to tease you because you're always such a goody two shoes, but little does he know what he's about to find out..
✧[A/N]✧ Y'all need to speak up my inbox feeling real lonely 😔 Anyways, my second fic with a different guest, I hope it hits all the right buttons in your complicated brains. Luvlubs, cherubs!
✧[WC]✧ 4.4k
"He looks so ethereal." A random girl practically moaned out 'whispering' to her friends in the quiet library while pointing a long manicured nail at Mattheo Riddle leaning at a bookshelf laughing with his friends. Fuck these girls, why is he so damn popular?
Not that you don't agree with them. Ethereal? Hell yeah he is. He was carved by the finest sculptor of all time, it seems. His effect being on level with the past, present, and future. The image of him lingering with failed restraint and the presence of his name fluttering your heart, but the thoughts of Riddle scattering the inner walls of your brain was expertly masked by a sharp minded perfectionist every academic achiever fears.
Ironed uniform, ends of the white button up neatly tucked underneath your dark pleated skirt, tie securely wrapped below the collar, black robes folded somewhere in your dorm—the summer heat really got to every student, including him, seeing as you weren't the only one without it. Riddle had his black robes off long before he strode in the library—the fabric hanging on his shoulder. His tie loose, top few buttons were undone, shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, both hands in his pockets, looking fine as ever.
You didn't bother to lower your shameless stare as you sat a few tables before him, books stacked left and right, a couple laid opened in front. To be fair, you were actually studying, but that was until he had to disturb your peaceful study session and decided to walk in. Why is he here anyway? Especially around this hour when he just chatters and jokes around with his group of friends. The hallways are dead silent, why not be there like he always does?
Whatever—you study at this specific table daily right after classes, surely it's fine if you finish a little early and take a break. And when you mean break, you mean staring a little more. You know his whole week schedule like the back of your hand, as if it was yours, but lately he's been missing a few classes, rarely shows up at the great hall to eat, and doesn't go on little smoking trips at night that much anymore. You hate how you notice—it's ridiculous. Your eyes trail as he takes a look at the expensive watch wrapped around his wrist and exits the room—perfect. The clock near the doorway signals that it was time for his quidditch practice (and when your study session ends).
When you arrive at the quidditch stands, there's no greater thing to have than a good guy friend that plays quidditch in the same team as Riddle—Graham Montague, whom you were partnered with once in class. Which also meant you get to watch them especially Riddle every single practice at fridays. It was known by everyone that Graham obviously had interest in you, but being too much of a 'goody two shoes', you were too oblivious to see and ended up pushing him into friend zone more than a couple of times. He was a known heart breaker anyways, he doesn't have any right to deserve you in any way, but you were always too nice to everybody, unknowingly spiked his hopes up with your kindness.
You sat with a book and two water bottles beside you—one for you and one for Graham. He always insists you bring it to him after the practice, but you bring it during just in case anyway. Being the good friend that you are, you occasionally give the sweetest smile man has seen and wave your hands at Graham every time you make eye contact—missing the way Riddle's stare flickering between you and your little friend who is smiling back a little too happily for his liking. His glare was firm, yet behind it, he couldn't hide the jealous storm rumbling within.
"Montague!" He yelled out from a distance, broom flying closer—your eyes switch from Graham's to his. "I chose you to be on this team to play, not to magnet attention. Back on track, c'mon." He patted Graham's back, leaving behind slightly before flashing you a grin with teeth before trailing back to the team. Your heart stuttered violently, thankfully you were sitting down because your knees weakened, as if coordination itself abandoned you.
It went on for couple minutes, and while sipping on your water, you couldn't help but glance more than just a few times at Riddle's focused face as they practice. His brows slightly furrowed, sweat slicked skin, and messy hair. You also noticed him being a little rougher when it comes to giving Montague directions.
Right after the last whistle at sunset—which indicates that their time on the pitch was done, you stood up and rushed down the creaky stairs to give Graham his water that was still ice cold (thanks to magic).
"Thanks, I really owe you one." Graham smiles while panting before he chugs his water down in seconds, some dripping on the sides of his mouth to his neck. You respond with a small smile back, "It's no problem really—"
"May I?" Riddle signals to your bottle that's half full, breathing heavily. Your eyes widened slightly, eyebrows lifting. "Uh—sure!" You squeeked out, blood rushing to your face—he thinks it's absolutely adorable.
"Thank you, sweetheart." He grins at your reaction at the nickname—thighs visibly clenched together. He takes it and twists off the bottle cap, the veins in his hands slightly flexing. You gulp as you quietly observe him tilting his head back, adam's apple bobbing as he drinks the given water, your bottle seeming a lot smaller squeezed in his large hand. After he was done, he licked his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, handing you back the empty bottle—fingers brushing a little longer than intended.
To be honest, your neck ached a little looking up at him, but anything for that eye contact. His gaze moving up and down to your small frame. "Hey beautiful," Graham jumped in, causing you to take one tiny step backwards. You hummed in response, completely different to how Riddle reacted—his demeanor seemed like he wanted to rip the guy in half—kind of scary, oh well. "Come with me." Graham continued before capturing your wrist and dragging you with him to the changing rooms.
You struggled to keep up with his long strides and was in the process of protesting before you two came to a sudden stop. "Wait for me, okay?" He pants, sitting you down on one of the benches right outside the showers before entering in one of the shower stalls. Oh. It's this again. Dragging you all the way here just to make you wait for him to shower. He only did this once before when Riddle was in detention and couldn't monitor, now twice. You had no clue why, but considering you weren't familiar with his infatuation with you, it was no wonder you keep up with this shit.
He does it so you can see his bare torso, with just a towel wrapped around his waist. It honestly isn't even worth it. It takes him about an hour to shower, probably doing everything but taking a proper shower. Fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and ignoring a few other teammates other than Riddle roaming around, half an hour passed—only Graham's shower stall still running water. You hear a snicker and looked up, seeing Riddle leaning against the doorway. Shirtless. He only had a pair of grey sweatpants on, hanging low right where his v line ends, hair still damp from showering. Muscles flexed as his arms were crossed. Your cheeks burned at the way his eyes playfully narrowed at you as he caught your eyes wandering a little too low—he didn't mind at all.
He stepped closer, leaning down until you could feel his minty breath on your face. You tried to scoot backwards in your seat—heart beating faster when your back meets the wall and his face gets even more closer. Just when he's only centimeters away is when he stays still—eyes forcefully burning into yours, down all the way to your thighs that are clenched shut, then back to your flushed face, to which you can see that his pupils had dilated.
"What's a such good girl like you doing in the men's changing rooms, hm?" He spoke lowly, but clear enough so you could hear. You parted your lips to respond, but he cut you off, "Or maybe you're troublesome unlike what everyone portrays you to be." He teases, smirking.
"I'm just waiting for Graham." You huff, voice betraying strength. "Well, Graham can wait for himself." He knew Montague's tricks all too well—it wasn't the first time he's used it on someone. He softly grabbed your wrist, bringing you outside.
As soon as your face hit fresh night air, you sighed, relieved. "See what I mean?" He chuckles softly, "Montague isn't worth your time."
You give him a cheeky smile—cute. Moments of comfortable silence and occasional jokes and giggles passed before you both hear Montague's distant voice.
"Guys?"
⏤͟͟͞͞☆
After you both separated at the dorms, offering each other goodnights and doing your before sleep routine, your mind went crazy and your heart threatened to jump out of your chest as soon as your back hit the bed. Although your brain is absolutely about to burst out of excitement, your body can't help but slump against the bed as it's exhausted. It's Friday, understandable. You flutter your eyes closed, sending you to dream world where all dreams happen.
Next thing you know it's morning. Despite it being summer, you've been met with the very cold morning breeze. Rubbing your eyes, it regains focus specifically on a window that's ajar. So that's where the cold wind came from. You stretch for a good second before standing up to shut the window properly—your owl out of sight, it probably escaped, wasn't the first time that happened. Checking the small clock on your nightstand, you should probably dress for—
Oh.
It's Saturday. Damn it. Whatever, you always go to hogsmeade on Saturdays anyway. Whether its to buy clothes, food, read books on a really cold or really hot metal bench, or just walk around, it's basically a part of your weekly shit.
Rummaging through your clothes, you couldn't find single pair of one of your favorite underwear. You swear the number of it is decreasing by day. Finally deciding on a good pair with decent clothes, you took a quick shower, brushed your teeth, changed, and went out for breakfast.
As you passed by the great hall doors, you took some steps back for a sneak peek to check if Riddle was at breakfast.
Dang it—he's not there.
You wonder where he might be during his times of disappearing. Actually, you didn't have to as you walk in a straight line to smash your face right against his chest—thump!
You almost fell, but the image of embarrassing yourself this early in the morning makes you mentally retort and immediately take small steps backwards to balance.
"Looking for someone?" Riddle smirks down at you, "You should at least know by now that Montague sleeps in at Saturday breakfast, no?" His smirk fades away, blinking when he realized that you were probably checking up on your friend after leaving him unresponded yesterday.
"I wasn't—" You closed your lips shut, if you had said that you were totally not peeking through to check up on Graham, all your efforts of being 'sneaky' down the drain. "Mhm, yeah right." Riddle mutters and walks right past you like he never said a word.
What's his problem?
One minute he's taking long heavy strides down the halls, then leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette. He stills for a bit, thinking, you were on your way to hogsmeade by now. Maybe if he runs fast enough he could catch up like he always failed to do.
He shakes his head as if saying no to the voices in his mind. He thinks it's ridiculous, but really he shouldn't be saying anything when he stole a handful of underwear right next to your sleeping self and shoved it down his pockets last night. He shuts his eyes at the thought. He should really give those back, but he didn't—actually he found doing that pathetic, you're not getting those back.
He couldn't care less as he jerked himself off with it. He was absolutely fond of the idea of your underwear covering your cunt all day, the way the fabric fits in all the right places. His dirty fantasies doesn't stop there. Just a glimpse of your big curious eyes looking up at him has him crazily aroused. Oh and that smart mouth of yours has him wondering what other stuff it can do other than speak about complicated potion recipes, how warm your soft lips probably feels when it wraps around his—okay maybe he should stop there. He snaps himself awake from his little imaginations and walks straight to his dorm before he gets caught red handed with a boner.
Later that evening you had a hard time sleeping than usual. Just flipping and tossing around in your bed, eventually giving up and laying limp with your eyes focused on the ceiling. Tomorrow's Sunday, then after that it's Monday, then Tues—ugh—time flies fast. Since sleep neglected you now, you reach out deep into your thoughts looking for something that might help the boredom.
Ah, perfect—Mattheo Riddle.
You remember the way he stared in a specific way at you in potions, the way you made eye contact with him during his practices, the way his veiny hands were buckling his belt when you were peeking in his window while he was getting ready for school, the way his face was so close to yours yesterday at the shower rooms—what if you just leaned in?
His soft lips against yours, that would've felt heavenly. You sigh, this wasn't really the worst thing you've done, so why not? You decide as your hand reaches down to your clothed heat and pressing down on the sensitive area.
You push off your shorts and panties in one go, fingers dragging the dripping arousal right on your little bundle of nerves. Hair disheveled, eyes closed, lips parted as soft moans and whimpers escape, your fingers deliberately circling on your clit. Despite your perverse doings, you looked like a fucking angel.
That's exactly what Riddle thinks—as he shamelessly watches you masturbate and occasionally whisper moan his name through that same window he came in and out of last night.
Fucking hell—his mouth literally waters at the sight. He never knew such a sweetheart like you could ever be touching herself to someone that he thought you had no interest in.
Such a naughty girl, fuck—the way you squirm under your own touch. Such a cute little pussy too, just like how he imagined. Who knew his night could turn around like this just because he wanted to return your stolen underwear while you were—what he thought was sleeping.
As much as how badly he wanted to climb in and help, knowing he's exactly your target, it was wrong of him to do so. That doesn't mean it won't happen, now that he found this little secret of yours, it won't be the last time he gets to see you like this.
While your eyes were shut, desperate to chase that coiling feeling at the pit of your core, Riddle took a ripped piece of paper from your desk with the use of magic and burnt it with the tip of his wand to write on it. With a precise flick of his wand, the stolen relic was returned, neatly placed on your bedside drawer along with the paper.
Although his initial task was done, he didn't leave. From all the way over here, he could tell you were close. He also wishes you would call him Mattheo more often. Maybe then he'll remember this valuable piece of memory as if he would ever forget about it.
Staring intently into your fingers that had graduately sped up, he keeps on watching until at you reach your high and at the brink of gaining consciousness, he's already walking outside like he never passed by.
Fluttering your eyes open and breathing heavily, you cleaned yourself up in the bathroom and came back with a lingering sense that something changed.
Gaze darting across the room until it lands sharply on the bedside drawer. Isn't that your underwear?
How considerate—Riddle had the courage to give you one of the four panties that he stole.
"Where have you been hiding, hm?" You inspect the garment, it seems clean. As you picked it up, something slipped from the drawer and onto the floor. A paper. You picked it up.
Troublesome and naughty too? Who would've thought..? Other than me ;)
Oh fuck.
You read it for about a hundred times before throwing it across the room. You lay slump on your bed, palms covering your eyes. You just wanna fucking sleep, but how can you do that when you know there was definitely someone that saw you masturbating to someone you definitely shouldn't have been masturbating to?
Whatever this shit was, it was a dream. Yeah, a dream.
...
Please fucking wake up right now.
You didn't wake up.
Fuck fuckity fuck.
You curled up in a ball and hid under the covers. Eventually you did fell asleep, but not without having to stress yourself to death. Whoever saw you did what you did, you'll deal with it tomorrow.
Minutes later.. You found yourself wide awake under the moon. Staring at the ceiling. Troublesome? Sounds quite familiar, no? There was only one person who could've gave you that paper—and the missing underwear.
Mattheo fuckass Riddle.
What in the actual fuck was he doing in your room? And more importantly, why the fuck did he steal your stuff? Your heart thumping, you soon realized that you eventually have to confront him, now that he knows it's his name you're moaning when you touch yourself.
But at the same time, it kind of excites you. He literally stole your undergarment(s). What else did he do with them?
Only one way to find out.
After getting ready and changing into appropriate (or not) clothes, you hesitantly went down to the corridor leading straight into an ongoing party, if there was one thing to know about Riddle, it's that he never misses one.
Music blaring in your ears as you enter, glancing from person to person right until one of those eyes were staring right back at you. He gets closer till he was standing in front of you, ears blurred out the music, filling it with the quickening beat of your heart.
"That was you?" Your voice confronting, yet weak as he stepped even closer. He narrows at you, "Knew you're a smart girl, wasn't expecting you to figure it out so easily, huh?" He thinks for a bit, "Don't you think you shouldn't be the only one doing the confronting?" He smirks.
"Riddle." You gulp while looking up at him.
"It's Mattheo." He counters.
"Mattheo." You respond, the name tastes familiar on your tongue, but you never used it to actually address him.
His vision lowered down to your attire. You didn't think much of it as it was rushed, but clearly it made him think a lot more than just a short dress that barely covers anything. You never wore it out before, oh but it hugged your figure perfectly, showing the flesh of your thighs and cleavage that you swore to cover. He audibly groaned at the sight, hands finding the curve of your waist.
Even with all the bright party lights in his eyes, you knew in that moment, whatever he wanted, his eyes told you it was real.
And then it happened. Before any thought could resurface, before restrained unleashed, his lips found yours.
Raw, aching, and claiming. Both hearts thundered, a kiss that burned and drowned in chaos. It took strength to pull away, even to breathe. And once you did, it left you gasping.
His glare was harmless, but it meant something—desperate. His heavy grip, unfaltering, not ready to let go just yet. But then, he loosened his hold.
Instead, his fingers wrapped around your wrist in one swift move and leads you straight to his dorm. Except, he halted right at the door.
"I want you to tell me you need this as much as I do." He breathes, gaze softening.
"I want you." You didn't hesitate one bit.
His palms slide under your thighs and carries you into his dorm as his lips captures yours once more. You gasp into his mouth in surprise when he closes his door by pinning your back onto it.
Fingers grasping and curling against his scalp earns you a groan into your mouth that sends jolts to your core. His lips fierce, but his fingers were gently as it's securely under your thighs supporting your whole weight. He can feel warmth radiating from your body.
Still deep into the kiss, he walks you over to the bed and sits you on his lap. Removing his shirt, it cuts off the kiss. While your at it, you kneeled down on the ground in level to the unmistakable tent in his pants.
His eyes widened, "Darling, you don't have to—" You cut him off with a peck.
"I want to taste you, please..?" You beg and give your best puppy eyes, though you didn't have to, you on your knees for him was already more enough.
"Fuck, baby.." How could he ever resist you?
You watch him unbuckle his belt in full view, in all honesty, it just makes you pool even more. You impatiently pull down his pants and boxers at the same time.
He chuckles while you gawk at his size before reaching down to the ends of your dress and pulls it off as well, leaving you bare with just in a bra and panties. Slowly, your hand reaches to wrap around his length.
My goodness.
Your thumb does not reach the rest of your fingers around him. You mentally prepare your jaw before spitting to lubricate, then wrapping your warm soft lips around it. He groans, perfect.
You lower at least halfway in and do the rest of the job with your both of your hands.
"So good f'me." He rasps.
He slightly jolts in pleasure and whimpers as you swirl your tongue around his tip before bobbing your head up and down again.
You look up at him while he tilts his head back, eyes shut. He's undeniably close, but he hasn't even fucked you yet. Once you pull away to breathe, he takes his chance and throws you onto the bed.
While kissing and trailing hickeys on your neck, he slides a hand under and unclips your bra. A whine escapes past your lips as he latches a nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking and doing the same to the other.
He gradually moves down while the tip of his nose is firmly dragging tingling sensations all over your lower half. He halts right above your pulsating cunt and takes off the final piece of undergarment.
Your breath hitches as his tongue goes contact to your entrance and drags up to your clit, wasting no time. It was his dirtiest fantasy coming to life. His cock throbbing to replace his tongue, a competition, a test to Mattheo's resistance. Although his greediness won over in an instant, as he already planned out to do both.
The pulsating bud begging for air under his tongue makes him no less hungry. "Mmgh—Mattheo!" Your voice struggling to keep up with how much he's lapping you up.
One last lick before his warm lips suck on your clit. "Oh—shit..!!" You tremble as a tight rope inside you just snapped. Warmth gushing your lower half, Mattheo never stopped.
Your mind burns into flames as your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Hands gripped onto his hair, not knowing whether to pull him closer or push him away. Vision blurring, he eventually stops.
He claims your lips in a kiss and positions his tip right to your soaked entrance, collecting arousal. His head drops to your shoulder, placing light kisses as he sinks in. The stretch burning so satisfyingly.
"So perfect 'round me.." He holds your head to his chest when he bottoms out, groaning.
"Yeah—please, mhhm." You choke out eagerly, your pussy swallowing him whole.
"I know, baby.." He groans, holding his high so he can make you feel good first. The first few thrusts had you moaning so heavenly for him. He wasn't quiet either—moans so pornographic it should be illegal.
Speeding up, his cock flush deep inside, skin slapping. He supports his weight on one arm above your head, the other had a soothing thumb grinding deliciously right on your sensitive clit.
Tears brimmed, you looked at him with all your might. His eyes glued at the way his dick slides in and out of your greedy pussy that's securely around him, then up to your teary eyes.
"Yeah that's it, baby. You're doing so good." He forces his words out of his throat. You cry out his name, his steady pace getting harder each thrust.
The tight rope that broke earlier had tied itself, tighter and tighter, until it snapped, hard. Your walls rippled around him, clenching while your legs quivered.
His thrusts finally had it's moment and stutters. He groans and splutters his warm cum inside you, filling you up to the brim. Panting, he pulls out. In awe of his cum dripping out of your pussy.
"No one else ever gets to see you like this ever again." He was tired, but his words were sharp and sure.
"What does that even mean?" You pout, unsure if he's gonna keep you in the dark to have you to himself or well, nothing else.
"You'll find out."
What have you put yourself into?
Although you can't really hide that a part of you doesn't give a flying shit as long as you're in his hands.
I wonder how Graham would feel after finding out his captain fucked his girl(in reservation) 😛
Work written by me. Some dividers aren't mine and credits go to those who owns them. Please do not copy, translate, or feed my work to AI.
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.
FUCK YOU to everyone who's posted memes under the harry potter x reader tag. all there is in the top section of the tag are memes. bitch fuck outta my face i wanna read fanfic not your horrible attempt at being funny
Mattheo stared at his girlfriend who was currently screaming at some random man who happened to get on your nerves; a smile spread across his face at the sight. "She's having fun, I think I'll leave her be."
"The poor bloke isn't havin any fun." Blaise commented with a small smile of his own before looking back at mattheo.
"She's quite beautiful when she's mad, no?" Theodore asked with a side smile.
"Believe me, nobody loves my vindictive bitch more than I do." Mattheo grinned ear to ear as you tormented the poor man.
His hot headed girlfriend.
Once you had finally returned to him, he placed a kiss on your cheek before moving it to your lips. "What happened?"
"What happened? I'll tell you what happened!" As you had begun to tell your story, Mattheos friend swore he had hearts for eyes.
His hand was caressing your own, staring deeply at your face with a small - subconscious smile on his own. "I love you." He blurted out whilst you were mid-rant making you falter almost instantly.
You smiled softly. "I love you too, but don't ever interrupt me again."
"Of course, my apologies baby." He placed a kiss on your forehead, his arm now wrapped around your shoulder possessively.
You had started once again complaining about whatever the man had done earlier causing Mattheos lovestruck look to return once more - not that it ever really wore off.
He was simply too in love to have any self respect when it came to you.
summary: you know what they say about newlyweds, the honeymoon phase. but there was no one quite as obsessed with their wife than the newly married dark lord's heir, mattheo riddle.
warnings: voldemort wins au (although not focused on), mattheo being obsessed with reader, SMUT, pet names, praise, p in v, unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving) in front of someone else. (mattheo so obsessed he does not GAF). light choking, cockwarming ig (?)
authors notes: is it proofread? of course not. but it's my accounts 6th birthday so happy birthday guys!!!
word count: 3.8k
masterlist
the ball was in full swing by the time you got there. grand chandeliers glittered above your head, the ceiling enchanted to look like the night sky. the room was packed with powerful, rich pureblood men and their wives, standing beside them, smiling politely, waiting to be spoken to.
this was what life was now, after the war. lord voldemort, mattheo's father, had ruthlessly crushed the wizarding world, moulding it into exactly what he had always dreamed of. society's elite stood in front of you, participating in their little events. balls, galas, charity events, dinners. all stuff you had never cared for.
"you say the word and we're leaving," mattheo murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as you stepped into the room beside him with a nod. his hand tightened on your waist as every eye turned to you two.
it was quite the spectacle: mattheo, the dark lord's heir, and his new, blushing, perfect pureblood wife. you had married a month and a week ago today, and mattheo had done everything in his power to keep you away from the spotlight. but there was only so much privacy you could have when you married the heir of the dark lord, really.
you remembered the newspapers erupting with the news that mattheo had finally taken his wife. he had been the last of his friends to take a wife, some believing he may never take one. after all, he was incredibly busy with all his ministry work.
he had done his best to hide you, especially given you had been together since before the war. that was six years ago.
"that's her, his wife-"
"-she's a pureblood, of course."
"-very pretty, lord riddle has always had good taste-"
mattheo moved you through the crowd, giving brief introductions and hellos, curt nods as he weaved you through, his hand never leaving your back. he hated these events with every ounce of his being, you knew that.
after all, he had done nothing but complain the last two days, face buried in the side of your neck, groaning about how boring they are, and how he hates everyone that goes. about how he wanted nothing more than to board up the manor with you and never leave.
"we haven't left in over a month, matt," you had said softly, laying down on the bed with him, brushing a curl away from his forehead as he pulled back to look at your face.
"not long enough."
but eventually, he did have to make his return to society. his job and responsibilities required it. he was now basically royalty in the wizarding world, for better or for worse, and the people wanted to see their new princess. you.
you knew he didn't like these galas, but as you looked at his face, he seemed unbothered, calm. you, on the other hand, were not. you could feel every stare, every whisper prickled against the hair on the nape of your neck.
their gazes traced every aspect of you, your hair, your face, your dress. your hands curled into his sleeve imperceptibly. you let out a shaky breath, doing the only thing that made sense for you. the one thing you knew this society desired: you bowed your head, eyes trailing to the ground as you stood by mattheo.
it was graceful, perfect. like a proper pureblood wife.
his eyes flickered to you immediately, noting your position. he hated it, you hated it, but it was the only thing that felt acceptable under the weight of their gazes. from your peripheral vision, you saw the way his jaw ticked, the way his mouth opened as he was about to tell you to stop.
but he didn't get the chance. it wasn't long before you were intercepted, as expected.
"lord riddle." mattheo's gaze snapped from you to the woman who stood in front of him now, giving a practiced curtsy only years of experience in this society could give, "what a pleasure. you've been sorely missed."
she stood from her curtsy, head still bowed slightly as she awaited mattheo's response. she held a sharp smile on her face, one that mattheo did not return, "have i?"
his tone was mild, in a way that made it clear he was completely uninterested and did not wish for an answer. the woman's eyes were quick to flicker to you, assessing, calculating. her gaze wasn't warm, but wasn't necessarily cold, either. just that signature detached look all powerful purebloods seemed to have.
"you must be the bride."
"a pleasure."
"yes," mattheo spoke, his hand that had lay gently on the small of your back tightening, "my wife."
he didn't introduce you the way he was supposed to: yes, this is my wife, or allow me to introduce-. just, my wife. final. he was lucky he could get away with that, his power allowing him to bypass some pleasantries he did not wish to give.
the woman noted it, immediately. her smile didn't falter, but something in her posture shifted, her gaze flickering back over to mattheo, "well, we were beginning to think you'd abandoned us, lord riddle. such a long...honeymoon."
this time, a smile broke out onto mattheo's face. a real flicker of amusement, something normally saved for your private moments, or with his friend. his gaze flickered down to you as he spoke, "some things are more important than balls."
your breath caught. a faint blush creeped up your neck as you bowed your head again, trying to hold the smile that begged to break out onto your lips at his words.
the woman excused herself not long after, but you weren't granted much respite. it turns out, that when someone as prominent a figure as mattheo drops off the face of the earth for a month, suddenly when he returns there is much to discuss.
lords, ladies, ministry officials. all smiles and pleasantries and carefully chosen words, assessing glances trying to figure out the union between him and his new bride, the power shift it represented. that it represented that he would eventually sire an heir and the riddle line would continue.
mattheo endured it. barely. his responses were clipped, efficient, clearly laced with a perfected mixture of disinterest and calculation that reminded everyone exactly who held power in that room, even when he had been gone.
every so often, his fingers would brush your arm, his hand would tighten at your waist, his gaze would soften when it landed on you on the few seconds you got between people who seemed to be lining up to be introduced to you.
the night passed somehow both agonisingly slow and incredibly fast, a weird warp of time, until music started to build for the final waltz. the last dance of the night.
his body went rigid beside you as he watched all couples begin to gravitate towards the dancefloor. his gaze flickered down to you, a small shake of his head, "we don't have to."
you gave him a soft smile back. because yes, technically you did not have to. but it was expected. you should do it. you knew that, he knew that. your voice was soft, "it's just a dance, matt."
his posture shifted just slightly, eyes warming once more as he took a small step forward, turning around. then, he offered his hand out to you, brown eyes catching yours as his lips quirked into a small, private smile.
you put your hand into his as he led you to the dance floor, letting out a soft breath as he turned around to face you, hand settling on your back, eyes focused on you.
the music began to play, and you moved in a practiced, flawless, fluid movement. the second the music started and you began moving, all the other noise faded, the feeling of their burning gazes, the whispers, all you could focus on was the way his eyes, your husband's eyes, warmed when he looked at you.
"stop looking at the floor," he said, and you knew he wasn't talking about now, not when you two had been staring at each other like the other had hung the moon. he meant before, when he was talking to those other lords and ladies.
"i thought that's what a good pureblood wife did," you responded softly, teasingly, as he spun you, before his hand settled back onto your back.
"i didn't marry a proper pureblood wife, i married you," he said, eyes never leaving yours as his hold on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, "and i want them all to see your face, see the beautiful face of my bride."
the music swelled and came to an end, murmurs filling the room as women curtsied to their partners. you held mattheo's gaze for a second more before a smile pulled onto your features, leading down to curtsy.
mattheo was quick to lead you off the dancefloor. the gazes and whispers returned, but this time, neither of you noticed. you were too busy focused on each other.
he leaned in, mouth brushing against your ear, voice low as his arm snaked around to the small of your back again, "come on, time to go."
the second the doors to his study shut behind you, the outside world ceased to exist once more. there were no whispers, no watching eyes, no expectations.
just him.
mattheo didn't even bother with decorum, he took his suit jacket off, throwing it on a heap on the floor and his hands were on you immediately, firm at your waist as he guided you backwards a step, then another until he found his desk chair, sitting down.
"merlin," he breathed, his eyes never leaving yours, "i thought that night would never end."
you barely had time to laugh before he pulled you onto him, your hands instinctively coming to his shoulders as you climbed onto his lap without a second thought, like it was second nature. because it was.
"well i think you handled yourself perfectly, lord riddle." the name was a tease, a joke, a breathless giggle escaping your lips.
he groaned at that, head tipping back dramatically against the chair.
"don't start," he muttered softly, though there was no heat to it, only exhaustion laced with relief. his hands slid down from your shoulders to your waist, to the small of your back, "i've heard enough of that title to last a lifetime."
"mm," you hummed with a smile, fingers brushing through the curls at the nape of his neck, "the ministry seem quite fond of it."
"the ministry," he started flatly, "can survive without me for the night."
your laughter bubbled out again, and this time he smiled, a real, proper smile, eyes softening as he looked up at you.
he looked so different like this. not the heir, the feared name whispered across the country. just your husband. your incredibly handsome husband.
his thumb traced absent circles against your side, gaze drifting over your face like he was memorising it all over again. his eyes were impossibly soft as he soaked in your every move, your small, even breaths, the way your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, "they wouldn't stop looking at you."
you tilted your head, "that's kind of the point, isn't it?"
his jaw ticked as he looked away for a fleeting second, before his gaze shot back to you, like he couldn't stand not having you in the centre of his sight, "i don't like it."
there was no teasing in his voice now. no edge, just something low and possessive; honest.
"jealous, are we?"
"violently."
that earned a giggle from you as he leaned down and captured your lips, kiss hungry as if the few hours he hadn't been able to had starved him. a rough hand came up to cradle the back of your head, not caring about messing up your flawlessly styled hair. his other hand stayed firm against your waist, your own hands coming up to trace the curve of his jaw.
"my beautiful wife," he murmured against your lips, saying his favourite words.
he captured your lips once more, this time softer, more gentle, like he was savouring the sensation. his hand moved to your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek gently as he pulled back, brown eyes serious as he looked at you.
"we aren't going to the next one."
"mattheo-"
"i mean it," he said against your lips again, stealing a kiss before he leaned his forehead on yours, "i didn't wait this long to have you just to have to share you with those people."
his lips met yours once more, his hands roaming, exploring your body. the kiss deepened, you leaning back, pulling his lips with you as your hands traced the way down to his trousers, lightly pulling at his belt.
mattheo pulled away, brown eyes flickering to yours as he spoke, "on your knees, baby."
you do as he commanded without a word, dropping to your knees softly, your dress' skirt pooling around you on the floor. with a soft clink, he opened his belt, unlooping it and unzipping his trousers, letting his cock spring free.
you took him in your hand, his hand reaching for your cheek, his head leaning back against his desk chair as he closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of your hands, warm, wrapped around him. he let out a breath, giving your head a gentle tug forward, letting you know what he wanted.
you didn't hesitate, your tongue poked from between your lips, licking a strip at his tip, the salty taste of his precum against your tongue. you pulled away, your breath fanning over him as you leaned down, your tongue licking from the base to his tip in an agonisingly slow movement.
his breath shuddered, his head moving back to heave a breath before looking back down at you, a breathless chuckle escaping him, "you drive me crazy, angel."
your tongue circled his head once more, taking your time, eyes focused on his face as you used one hand to pump his length and the other to steady yourself against his thigh. then, you took him in your mouth, sinking onto him as you curled your toes, taking him as deep as you could go.
"so good, so fucking good f'me, baby," he praised, hand in your hair as his thumb caressed your cheek.
you worked on him, sucking, swirling, your movements changing from fast to slow, lifting off him for air, circling his tip with your tongue before sinking back down, taking him all in your mouth. he praised you, words falling off his lips as he let out a light groan.
then, a sharp knock sounded against the door.
you halted your movements, looking up at mattheo. he looked down at you, then back at the door, before he shuffled the chair forward, forcing you into the space under his desk. you crouched your head down further, pulling your skirt to hide.
"come in," his voice morphed immediately, totally changed from how he'd spoken to you moments ago. colder, commanding, a voice that would send chills down anyone's spine, no doubt paired with that cold, dead stare that had people's knees shaking.
you couldn't see who it was, after all there was a wooden barrier hiding you from view, and you had your back to the door, mouth still wrapped around mattheo's cock.
"speak."
you tried to move back, to lift your mouth off mattheo's cock as the man who had entered, a worker of mattheo's no doubt, began to speak. mattheo did not say a word to you, did not look down, kerping his dead stare focused on the man in front of him.
but his hand, which had been in your hair, tensed as you pulled away, and it came down to immediately push you back on. you tried to swallow the gag that begged to echo through the room
"my lord, there's been some unrest in the wizengamot."
you stilled your mouth against mattheo, not moving. you couldn't, mattheo's hand was still at the back of your head, not moving either, not wanting to make any noise.
"the wizengamot?" mattheo repeated.
"yes, my lord. they're requesting authorisation to-"
mattheo's hand underneath the table pulled you further, your nose brushing against his pelvic bone as you tried not to gag around his entire length being pushed down your throat, taking him entirely. you heard the silent command: keep going.
mattheo did not let the man finish speaking, "handle it."
"han- handle it how, my lord?"
your tongue swirled around him as you sucked again, starting slower. at the sensation, mattheo's thumb stroked your cheek again, a silent praise of you continuing. your stomach clenched at the thought of your predicament: you hiding under the desk, secretly sucking your husband off as he handled business.
it was exhilarating.
"do you seriously need to ask me that?" mattheo asked from above the table, eyes narrowing. you quickened your movements, moving forwards and backwards again, tongue swirling, sucking. he didn't miss a beat, voice serious, void of the breathless it had held a mere minute ago, "make an example if you have to. what exactly is going on?"
"there is a few sympathisers-"
mattheo's thighs tensed around your shoulders, and you knew what that meant: he was close. you quickened your pace.
"there will be no sympathisers," mattheo cut him off again, "see to it."
"of course, my lord."
there was a brief silence between the two men, mattheo taking a short pause as he let out a breath. your mouth filled with his warmth, taking it all in your mouth as you swallowed, continuing to swirl your tongue up the underside of his dick.
"is that all?" mattheo asked.
"yes, my lord."
"go."
the man was quick to leave as he always was, shutting the door behind him. the second he was gone, mattheo pulled back, rolling his chair back and coming down to put large hands either side of your waist, pulling you up.
you stood in front of him, slightly out of breath as he leaned down, littering nipping kisses down the channel of your neck before turning you around.
"bend over," he commanded, and you were quick to listen to him. your cheek met the cold wood of his desk as you turned your head to the side. it was the perfect height for you to bend over, a design you were sure was not sheer luck.
his hands made quick work of trailing up your leg, bunching up the silk of your dress as his fingers pulled your panties off in a swift movement, fingers pressing against your folds.
"filthy girl all wet sucking me off secretely, hm?" mattheo spoke lowly, his fingers circling as you clenched in anticipation, thighs tensing as he moved his hand away.
you could hear him let out a breath, and then you felt his tip, hard again, ridiculously slow, pressing against your folds. he held it there, watching you bent over for him, the way you tried to back into him. a smirk rose to his face.
"matt, please-" you spoke breathlessly, hands curling against the wood.
he loved this, you knew he did. watching you writhe as he teased your entrance with his tip. the way your back arched subtly, the breathy sounds of your begs. it excited him, it thrilled him.
"only if you ask nicely, angel."
his voice held a tint of amusement, as it always did, as he pressed his tip in, then took it back out, going back to brushing it against your folds. your voice was shaky, breathless, "please, matt, i need you."
"mm," he hummed, watching you with a half-smirk, half-smile. he leaned down, pressing a kiss against your bare shoulder, voice low, "anything for my beautiful wife."
then, he thrusted in. he was not gentle, he didn't ease in by inch, no. he let you feel every bit of him, long, thick, stretching your walls. he didn't let you get used to his size either, no. he thrusted, setting a brutal pace, his hands on your hips as he drove into you.
your back arched against the desk, stomach still covered in the silk of your dress, pressing firmly into the wood. your nails scratched against the desk as you let out a moan. mattheo grunted from behind you, his fingers digging into your hips, making bruises you knew he'd kiss and caress tomorrow morning.
"my filthy girl," he groaned, hands moving to your stomach to pull you up slightly, pace still brutal, your back arching away from him. one hand stayed firm against your stomach, holding you in place, not giving you any escape from his brutal pace. the other made it's way up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and settled on your throat.
he squeezed it, peering around to look at the sight of his wedding ring, cool against the soft skin of your neck. it glinted faintly off the moonlight, the sight of the gold placed firmly around your neck riling him up more, his pace becoming more brutal.
because that ring, wrapped around your neck, was a sign of what you were. his wife. his.
"mine," he said, "all mine."
his pace faltered a little as your back arched more, both of you reaching your climaxes. he quickly pulled out, you whining at the removal, but he was swift in his movements, turning you around and driving back in.
he liked to look at your face when he made you cum.
and he did. even though his own climax, his eyes remained open, soaking in the sight of your face, lips slightly apart as you moaned, coming down from your high. pleasure he had gave you.
he slowed his movements to a halt after you both came, panting heavily. brown eyes followed your face, the way your chest heaved, and then to where he was still buried inside you, holding his cum inside of you.
with a swift movement, he lifted you up, keeping himself firmly buried inside and sat himself down on his desk chair, you on his lap.
your head came down to rest against his shoulder, eyes shut as you caught your breath. his touch was gentle as he pushed a piece of hair out your face, soaking in the sight of you like this.
in which — the notorious slytherin group of hogwarts—consisting of draco malfoy, blaise zabini, mattheo riddle, theodore nott, enzo berkshire, and pansy parkinson—take it upon themselves to recruit a new member into their elite group. when their eyes catch on you, an introverted slytherin who wants nothing to do with their antics, they’ll stop at nothing to entice you..
contains — five lovestruck boys, pansy as a girls girl (kind of), introverted!reader, slytherin!reader, a frog attack, hexing, slight profanity and flirting, some italian terms of endearment, a phrase of latin, brief cameo from fred & george and peeves
word count — 2.6k
“Would-you-shove-OFF?” Pansy rasped out through shoves at the five boys surrounding her, their laughter ringing throughout the empty common room at her dramatics.
“Come on, Panse, we’re just teasing,” Theo defended, as Mattheo put his hands up in mock surrender. The sound of Enzo and Blaise struggling to contain their laughs only infuriated the girl more, as Draco scoffed at them through a grin.
“It’s not teasing, it’s plain rude,” she huffed out. The boys had spent the past half-hour engaging in a competitive match of Exploding Snap in the common room, while Pansy had furiously worked on her Potions homework in a neighbouring room of the dimly-lit dungeon. When the sound of an aggressive knock caught her attention, she was greeted with five boys crowding over her, a card thrown directly on top of her finished parchment—exploding and lighting her work on fire.
“You got half of the answers wrong, anyways,” Draco tutted from where he held the crisped parchment up. Pansy snatched it from his grasp.
“You guys are impossible,” she groaned, a frown larger than the one she usually wore crowding over her face.
“Calm down, we’re usually pretty tolerable,” Mattheo said, throwing an arm over the girl’s shoulder. She pushed it off, earning a chorus of mockery from the other boys.
“I can’t—we need another girl friend,” Pansy stated.
“Not a problem,” Theo said, earning him a slap over the head from Enzo. He winced, reaching for the back of his head, rubbing the area that Enzo’s palm had collided with. “She meant all of us, and not a girlfriend,” he said.
It was at that moment that the door to the dungeon creaked open, six heads turning towards the perched stone wall at the sound. In walked a girl in their year, her head down as she held an open book in her hands, oblivious to the group’s stares as she made her way towards the dormitories.
“Her,” Pansy said, her eyes locked on the girl’s figure as she left. She smirked, making her way towards the dormitories, five boys at her heels.
She stopped in front of the door, causing the boys to stop in their tracks. “What are you doing?” she asked indignantly, as she pulled the heavy wooden door open, stepping through. “This is the girl’s dormitories,” she slammed the door shut, leaving the bewildered faces of the boys behind.
The group was quick to realize that recruiting you wouldn’t be as simple as they had anticipated. You had somehow ignored Pansy’s incessant attempts at persuading you the night before, much to her dismay. Now, with six pairs of eyes suddenly searching for you in every place—the entrance hall, the classrooms, the corridors, even every time the common room door swung open—they soon noted that your values contradicted with those of a traditional Slytherin in many ways.
“Bloody hell,” Enzo mumbled halfway through a mouthful of toast, his eyes landing on you down the table. Confused, the others turned to face you. The sight made Mattheo choke on his pumpkin juice, Blaise patting him on the back through his heaves.
You had made your way over to the Gryffindor table, handing Neville Longbottom his Remembrall, which had rolled across the room to under your house table. The boy was obviously startled by the sight of your green robes in front of him, but took the ball from your hand gratefully, a shaky “T-thanks,” leaving his lips. You shot him a small smile, before making your way back to the end of your table—murmurs of astonishment echoing throughout from the Gryffindor table. “She’s in my Herbology class—she once helped me with my Mandrake when the blessed thing bit me,” they overheard a nearby Hufflepuff telling the huddled group around her.
“Great, now everyone thinks we’ve gone soft,” Theo dramatized, as they watched you take your seat back at the Slytherin table, helping a First Year to place an enchantment on their knife and fork to cut their sausages for them.
Almost as quick as they were to realize your compassion, they were reminded why you had been sorted into Slytherin. “Five points will be taken from Slytherin,” Snape said lowly, much to the delightment of the Gryffindors in the class. “She had it coming,” you mumbled curtly, your wand still clenched tightly in your hand, as another Slytherin student escorted a sobbing Millicent Bulstrode to Madam Pomfrey’s.
Your momentary outburst was hurried, yet they had caught it. Your Potions partner, Millicent Bulstrode, had launched her haughty self against you in an attempt of stirring her own potion first, knocking you off your feet. “You bitch,” you shrieked, before green sparks illuminated from the tip of your wand. Suddenly, Bulstrode let out a loud shout as her potion exploded in her face, boils quickly forming over her thick skin.
The attention of the entire class had been caught from her scream, yet the six students of your own house had already been staring at you, watching the moment unfold. Their jaws stayed dropped—Draco sniggering alongside Blaise, Mattheo’s eyes dilating heavily, Theo looking as if he were to court you right then and there. Pansy looked over at them, rolling her eyes. “You guys are so thick,” she said, as she turned her attention back to her potion, Enzo accidentally adding one too many drops of Sopophorous Bean juice from his own distraction.
“I don’t know about this, guys,” Enzo said solemnly.
“Stop worrying,” Mattheo said, clasping a hand on the worried boy’s backside. “Once we ask her, she’ll almost certainly be enamoured.”
The group stared at the enchanted box of chocolate frogs they’d purchased at Hogsmeade on the weekend. After Mattheo casted a simple enchantment on the purple box, the chocolate delicacy inside roared to life—transfiguring into a real frog, brandishing a note in its mouth.
“Get that-that thing away from me,” Blaise muttered, disgusted.
“Oh, come on. It’s cute,” Mattheo cooed, picking up the slimy creature from where it sat perched in the chocolate box.
Suddenly, the amphibian fell from Mattheo’s grip like a bar of soap, falling to the floor of the Entrance Hall.
A yell echoed throughout the halls.
The group stood there, watching as the frog scurried through the halls, leaping onto the hem of a Second Year Gryffindor’s robes, teeth digging into the flesh of her calve where her robe ended.
“Reparifage!” you shouted from where you’d emerged at the sound of the chaos, wand pointed at the frog dangling from the girl’s robe. The frog fell limp, plummeting to the floor and shattering into thousands of brown pieces—it had turned back into chocolate.
You saw the crumpled note laying beneath the crumbs.
“Oh, no,” Enzo said, quickly turning away to avoid facing your reaction.
You bent down, picking up the paper from its corner, dusting off the chocolate crumbs.
Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo
You recognized the Latin Slytherin motto that the whole house had familiarized themselves with—“If I cannot bend the heavens above, I will move Hell.”
You looked up to face across the hall, spotting the group of Slytherins looking incredibly guilty, staring right back at you as smugly as they possibly could given the circumstances.
You scoffed, rolling your eyes, before crumpling the note in your hand—throwing it back onto the floor as you escorted the trembling Gryffindor student to the hospital wing.
“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” Mattheo spoke too early, as another one of the frog’s from the pack of chocolates launched itself at Enzo, latching onto his nose.
You walked through the corridors sluggishly, the feeling of eyes boring into your from every which way overwhelming—whether it was due to the news of your outburst in Potions earlier that had spread throughout the school like wildfire, or the fact that it seemed like six faces seemed to be following you at all times.
With your books clutched tightly against your chest, you made your way towards your next class, before colliding with someone’s chest, books toppling to the ground.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there, bella,” a familiar voice called out. You looked up from where you had crouched to retrieve your textbooks, spotting the familiar boy. “Theo,” you sighed in acknowledgement, as he lended you a hand up. “So, you do know me?” he said, flattered. “Of course I do. We’re in the same house, remember?” you asked flatly, before turning away from the boy, who now stood perplexed at your words. “Wait, wait,” he jogged to catch up, his long legs taking him a lot quicker than yours.
“Then, wouldn’t you want some more friends from our house? We’re kind of the most popular of the Slytherins,” he persuaded.
“Not for good reason,” you said, continuing down the corridor speedily.
Theo stared after you, watching as your robes swished behind you as you left once more.
“Did you speak to her?” Mattheo asked eagerly the following morning. As Theo recalled his brief interaction with you to the rest, they had convinced Pansy to attempt to talk to you, too—before you could pretend to be dead asleep, as you had the first night, Pansy recalled bitterly.
The boys huddled around Pansy as she departed from the girl’s dormitories. “She said she ‘isn’t interested in our lot,’” she recited, finger quoting as she spoke.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mattheo asked.
“She probably saw you fall off your broomstick into the stands the other day,” Draco reminded, the others sniggering.
“Where is she?” Enzo cut off Mattheo before he could retaliate, craning his neck in hopes of a girl opening the dormitory doors just wide enough.
“Already left, said something about needing to read over a Latin book in the library,” Pancy said.
“So, she’s smart, beautiful, and a Slytherin?” Theo wondered aloud.
“Yeah, and she’s not your future first wife,” Pansy remarked.
Incredulously mouthing “first?”, Theo was cut off by Draco. “Brilliant,” he said.
“What?” Mattheo asked.
“Theo, you know Italian, and that’s basically the same thing,” Draco said.
“It’s not-,” he began.
“Oh, who cares? Let’s just go,” Pansy said, already making her way out of the common room to head towards the library.
The five boys stared after her, her determined demeanour unmissable. “Are we sure we want another girl in our group?” Mattheo asked after her.
Every section of the library felt as if a world of eyes lingered on you for far too long. Every corner you turned, every shelf you tiptoed to reach, every window you passed, felt as if your presence was being surveyed.
You had realized why that was when you spotted none other than Mattheo Riddle sitting at one of the wooden desks of the lot, his eyes not-so inconspicuously boring into you over a book he held in front of his face. It was far too easy to recognize his curled hair, you thought bitterly.
Quickly turning away from his line-of-sight, you passed by a student who towered over you, standing in the middle of a row of books, holding one open in his hands, spine cracked down the middle. You did a double-take, noticing Theodore Nott. You quickly clutched the books you held closer to your frame, speeding away once more.
“Why the rush, darling?” a voice called from behind you. You turned, spotting a boy with familiar blonde hair, Pansy Parkinson at his side.
“Shove off, Malfoy,” you said, pushing your way through the wooden doors of the library, leaving before any other words had to be exchanged with the group.
“Well, that one has quite the attitude,” Blaise said, making his way around the corner with Enzo.
“I know,” Theo, Mattheo, and Draco said simultaneously, a shared look of infatuation mirrored in their eyes.
Winter rolled around faster than anyone could’ve expected, the school grounds limned in snow and ice glands.
“Wow, mate, she got you good,” Blaise admitted as he stared at the sight of purple forming on Enzo’s nose. He clutched the tip of his nose, red crimson dripping down onto the white snow from the hex you’d casted at him.
“In my defence, I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” Mattheo said, hunching over to catch his breath through his hysterics at what had happened.
You had been walking through the school grounds, the hood of your robe covering the top of your head to ward against the falling snow overheard. As you walked, the group watched you from their comfort under the cement roof of the castle. “Five galleons if you offer your scarf to her,” Mattheo told Enzo, throwing a few Sickles into the air with a cupped palm. “I don’t know..” he said. “Come on, don’t be a wuss,” Mattheo said, him and Blaise pushing him towards the grounds.
Enzo stumbled, before reluctantly taking his scarf off from around his neck, walking hurriedly behind you to catch up. The sound of Draco sniggering echoed behind him, but his eyes stayed locked on you. As he neared you, directly behind you now, he raised his arms over your head, attempting to place the scarf on your neck. You, who hadn’t seen him from the hood you wore, shrieked, pulling the soft material off of you, immediately drawing your wand and blasting him in the middle of his face—his nose taking the brunt of the impact.
“Oh, shove OFF,” Enzo shivered out, as Mattheo had reached for a fistful of snow, rubbing it against the boy’s bleeding nose to clean off his face.
Mattheo, Draco, Blaise, and Pansy joined in a chorus of laughter. Theo smirked, before striding determinedly across the snowy lawn—following your snow-pathed footsteps.
The four sped to catch up with him, incredulous. “Now what?” Pansy asked. The six of them attracted many lingering stares from other students they passed as they entered the warm castle—the group notorious for mischief, and, judging by their determined strides, they looked to be up to no good.
The six weaved through groups that crowded the corridors—receiving a mischievously encouraging tune from Peeves, and a holler of “Snobby Slytherins on the loose!” from Fred and George Weasley.
They watched as you made your way down towards the dungeons, catching up to you on the steps. Theo threw his arm around you. “You alright there, signorina?” he asked, as Mattheo extended an arm around your other shoulder. “Quite the ordeal you’ve been putting us through, love,” he said. “Very reluctant, yet oddly.. entertaining,” Malfoy admitted from behind the two boys. Pansy ran in front of you, walking backwards as the two boys walked you towards the dungeons—Blaise and Enzo standing to either side of them.
You hunched your shoulders, finally caving. “What do you want?” you asked.
Pansy—ever the self-proclaimed spokesperson of the group, took offence. “We can be quite interesting, you know. We’re not all that bad,” she said.
“You yourself should know how misconstrued these presumptions about our house students are,” Theo chimed in. “I’ve heard the rumour about me hexing four Third-Years in McGonagall’s class. They got it all wrong, through—it was only two, and I didn’t hex them, I turned them into badgers—ever-fitting for their ludicrous house,” he clarified.
“Come on, you’re gonna have to get used to us—we’ve already been bugging you for weeks on-end,” Draco said. “
“You can be our amica—our heiress, if you will”, Theo said, removing his arm from around your shoulder—Mattheo doing the same, bowing in front of you to offer his hand.
“Heiress?” you scoffed. “You guys are ridiculous,” you said, fighting back a grin.
Yet, as they followed you into the common room—Mattheo guiding you through the entrance with his extended hand, the feeling of someone holding onto the small of your back, and Pancy talking your ear off about how you had to join them on their next Hogsmeade visit—you knew they’d won you over.
notes ⋆. 𐙚 ₊˚ guys help me i’m like eighty percent sure there’s already a fanfic with an ending similar to this one — if you know which one, please let me know so i can give credits to the author and make sure that all’s good !!
When you and Draco get into some small argument, Narcissa decides to knock some sense into her son. What? Did you really think she'd take anyone's side but yours?
CW! small couple fight, coarse language, Draco overcomes ego. Let me know if I missed anything!
This is a short one, but I love any fics with great Narcissa-reader relationships.
Masterlist
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
Narcissa Malfoy loves routines.
She loves pre-set tea-times and punctual gatherings. She loves the certainty it brings to such an uncertain existence. And she simply does not care if the snobbish pureblood ladies call her a rigid scheming bitch for it.
It’s just who she is.
So forgive her for the overwhelming concern that collects in her neck when you don’t show up that weekend. It’s practically a ritual–ever since you started dating Draco. Saturdays mean a day full of shopping and a luxurious evening dinner. Over the years, as you developed from the nervous girl Draco brought home, to his confident fiancée, she’d grown attached to it. In her mind so had you.
It must be serious if you missed it.
So, she storms into her son’s study, voice low as she says, “What did you do?”
“Mother,” Draco startles. But Narcissa is unfazed, her arms crossing over her chest.
“Why isn’t she here yet?”
He remains silent for a long moment. Then he sighs, long and full of suffering. Sounds like an argument. Narcissa is unsure whether to feel bad for her poor son, or hex him for fighting with you.
“We got into a small…disagreement,” Draco says finally. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes averting to his desk.
“A disagreement about what?”
“It’s very petty. I don’t know why she’s gotten into such a toss about it.”
“Now, Draco.” Narcissa loves her son very much. She would die for him, it’s common knowledge. But there are some things she considers unacceptable. Which is disrespecting women, you especially.
“Have I taught you nothing?”
Draco sighs again. Narcissa softens a little. She gently rubs his shoulder, “What happened?”
“I forgot to say ‘I love you’ before leaving the apartment last Friday.”
Narcissa barely stifles a gasp. Draco casts her a look, before sinking into a wing chair.
“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”
“Mother.”
“You better go apologize to the girl right now.”
“What? It wasn’t that ser-”
“I don’t want any of that ego, Draco.” Her tone rarely hardens around him. He scowls, but it falls flat immediately. Narcissa knows this must be hard on him. For all that pride he’s inherited, there’s only so long he can stay away from you. Only so long until his steel and porcelain crack.
She sighs this time, settling beside him.
“Verbal acknowledgements of love are very gratifying, Draco.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t take long to say three words.”
“I know.”
“And it’s obvious to anyone with…any senses, truly, that you love her.”
“I-I do.”
“And I want my best friend back.”
Draco finally meets his mother’s gaze. She sees the baffling combination of emotions ravaging through his head. She reaches over to smooth the hair on his forehead. He leans into the age-old comfort, nodding slowly.
“I’ll go talk to her.”
A beat of silence.
Then he jumps up to his feet, pulling his coat off his hanger, “I’ll go right now.”
Narcissa can’t help but smile. He can’t stay away from you for long, but sometimes, everyone needs a little guiding nudge.
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
The last thing you expected to see when you opened the door was a very rain soaked Draco Malfoy.
His platinum hair drips all over the fancy wooden floors of the building. His coat is sopping, and despite the very recent argument, you are terrified your Victorian child of a fiancé will catch a cold. You tug him into the warmth of your apartment.
But you are mad at him.
So no welcome. And certainly no kiss.
“Darling.”
You don’t respond, disappearing within the depths of the house to fetch warm clothes. You hear his footsteps behind you.
What does he think? He can show up drenched in rain and just expect you to talk to him. You take your goodbyes very seriously.
You don’t know why he didn’t apparate into the building straightaway. There’s no protective spells about it. Or why he didn’t just use your fireplace. He has done so multiple times before, of course. But then again, he’s always been dramatic.
“Y/N.” He catches hold of your wrist. The cold makes you shudder.
“Look at me.”
You turn slowly. You’re surprised he’s overcome his pride at all.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, are you?”
You free yourself from his grasp. He doesn’t resist. He runs a hand through his hair. A trait you’re so familiar with. He’s frustrated, maybe tired. You huff, annoyed.
“I didn’t think I’d have to force you to say ‘I love you’.”
“I do say it!”
“Yeah,” you scoff, “Not everytime.”
“Merlin’s sake,” He curses, and you roll your eyes, “You and my mother have dangerously similar ideals.”
“Oh, so she put you up to this? That makes sense.”
“No, wait. Please let me-”
“Get changed, Draco.” You all but toss the clothes at him. A shirt that you had stolen from him a few weeks ago. He catches it, tossing it to the side.
Before you can react, he grabs hold of your waist, spinning you around. You let out a small yelp, but he’s down on his knees, his wet hair pressing against your abdomen. His thumbs rub slow circles over your hips. A shaky breath escapes his lips.
“I love you, Y/N.” His voice makes a shiver run down your spine. It’s soft and low, like the sound of rustling velvet. You love it so, so much. But you force your hands to stay stiff by your side.
“I love you every moment of the day, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you last week. It is utterly my fault, and it is again my fault that it took my mother for me to realise that." His head lifts to meet your gaze, “Do you understand?”
You think you might cry. Your voice trembles when you say, “Yeah. Yeah, I love you too.”
He takes your hand to press a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist, “Good. Because I do think my mother would kill me if I let you miss another weekend with her.”
You laugh at that, finally ruffling his hair like you’ve been dying to do. He scowls, but it’s playful.
“I don’t think I could live without another weekend with her,” You answer.
He lets out some sound of relief, and you giggle again, “Let’s go then.”
You grin, wild and unrestricted.
Narcissa might just be the bestest friend a girl could ask for.
