Regret me
Summary : Hatred has always been easier than the truth. Mattheo Riddle and a sweet Gryffindor find themselves at the breaking point.
It has been a while I’m so sorry, masters is not easy at all :’
Based on a request by @div1nedoll , I’ll write a jealousy one separately!
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You and Mattheo Riddle had perfected the art of hatred.
At least, that’s what you told yourself every single day.
It started in fifth year with a single barbed comment in the library.
You’d been helping a first year with their Defense homework when Mattheo walked past, shoulder deliberately bumping yours.
“Playing hero again, little Gryffindor?” he’d drawled, voice dripping with mockery. “How noble. How pathetic.”
You’d looked up at him, fire in your eyes. “Better than slithering around like a snake with daddy issues, Riddle.”
His smirk had faltered for half a second, just long enough for you to see something darker flicker behind those stormy eyes, before he recovered with a cold laugh and walked away. That was the beginning.
Now, in your seventh year, the game had become exhausting.
In the corridors, it was always the same.
He’d lean against the stone wall with his arms crossed, surrounded by his usual crowd of Slytherins, and call out loudly enough for everyone to hear:
“Still saving lost causes, love? Careful, one day that bleeding heart of yours is going to get you killed.”
You’d stop, turn slowly, and fire back without missing a beat.
“At least I have a heart, Riddle. Can’t say the same for you and the rest of your death-eater fan club.”
The crowd would snicker. But his eyes….. his eyes never laughed. They burned.
Potions class was worse.
Professor Slughorn had paired you together for the Amortentia project. The entire room reeked of love potions and unspoken tension as you stood side by side at the cauldron.
“Try not to ruin this, Gryffindor,” Mattheo muttered under his breath, chopping ingredients with more force than necessary. His shoulder brushed yours every few seconds.
You shot him a glare. “Says the boy who reeks of cigarettes. Focus, or I’ll let you fail on your own.”
He leaned in closer than he needed to, voice low so only you could hear. “You act like you’re so much better than me. But I see the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching.” His breath ghosted against your ear. “Tell me, sweetheart… what does your Amortentia smell like right now?”
Your cheeks burned. The potion in front of you swirled with notes of cedarwood, smoke, and something dangerously familiar, the scent of old books and winter air that always seemed to cling to him. You refused to admit it.
“It smells like regret,” you hissed back, shoving his hand away when he reached for the stirrer. “Specifically, the regret of being stuck with you.”
Mattheo’s lips curved into that cruel, beautiful smirk, but his eyes darkened with something that looked a lot like hunger. “Liar.”
The tension only grew.
Late nights in the corridors after prefect rounds. Stolen moments in the Astronomy Tower where you’d both pretend you were there for completely different reasons. He’d mock your “naive optimism” while you called him a “heartless bastard.” Every insult felt heavier lately. Every lingering stare lasted longer.
Tonight was no different……until it was.
You’d been heading back from the library when you heard voices. Mattheo and a group of Slytherins talking in hushed, dangerous tones about something involving the Dark Mark and old family alliances. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but when one of them sneered about “mudblood sympathizers,” you stepped out of the shadows.
“Still planning your little uprising?” you said loudly, arms crossed. “Some of us are trying to move on from the last war, you know.”
The group scattered quickly, leaving only Mattheo.
He turned on you slowly, eyes blazing. “Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Maybe someone has to,” you snapped, stepping closer despite every warning bell in your head. “Because clearly you’re too busy drowning in your father’s shadow to see what you’re becoming.”
That hit a nerve.
Mattheo’s expression twisted. “You don’t know anything about me,” he growled, backing you toward the wall. “You prance around this castle like you’re some savior, but you’re just a naive little girl who’s going to get herself killed believing the best in monsters.”
Your heart hammered. “And you’re just a coward who pushes everyone away so no one sees how terrified you are of turning into him.”
The air between you crackled. His chest rose and fell rapidly, inches from yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The corridor felt too small, too dark, too charged.
Mattheo’s gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes. His voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke again.
“You should stay the hell away from me.”
But he didn’t move. Neither did you.
The mask was cracking, you could both feel it. All those months of pretended hatred, sharp words, and stolen glances had finally reached their breaking point.
“You’re going to get your little Gryffindor friends killed with that naive bullshit,” Mattheo snarled, stepping closer, his voice echoing down the empty corridor.
“Softness like yours doesn’t survive in the real world. It gets people slaughtered. But you already know that, don’t you? Or did you forget what happened last time people like you tried to play hero?”
Your blood boiled. You shoved a finger into his chest, refusing to back down even as your voice shook with fury.
“And what would you know about survival, Riddle? You hide behind your family name and your dark little reputation because you’re terrified. Terrified of feeling anything real. Terrified that if you let yourself care about someone, about anything, you’ll end up just like him. A monster who destroys everything he touches.”
Mattheo laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was sharp and bitter. “Care? You think I care? About you and your pathetic little group of do gooders? Please. The only reason I even tolerate your existence is because watching you flounder around like some tragic heroine amuses me.”
“Liar,” you shot back, tears already stinging at the corners of your eyes. You hated how easily he could get under your skin.
“You’ve been watching me for months, Mattheo. Not because it amuses you, because you can’t look away. Every glare, every insult… you’re just as trapped in this as I am.”
He grabbed your wrist when you tried to turn away, grip firm but not painful. “Trapped? Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re nothing but a distraction. A pretty little light I’ll eventually snuff out because that’s what my kind does.”
Your heart twisted. The words hurt more than they should have.
“You’re such a coward,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Hiding behind cruelty because you’re scared to admit that maybe…..just maybe….you’re not as heartless as you pretend to be. You push everyone away before they can see the truth.”
Mattheo’s eyes flashed dangerously. He released your wrist only to step even closer, towering over you, voice dropping into a venomous hiss.
“The truth? The truth is you’re going to die young and idealistic, just like the rest of them. Softness gets people killed. Your friends will fall first, then you. And when that happens, don’t come crying to me. I warned you.”
That was the breaking point.
The tears you’d been fighting finally spilled over, hot and humiliating as they tracked down your cheeks. You tried to swipe them away angrily, but more followed. All the months of tension, the pretending, the aching longing you’d buried under insults……it crashed over you at once.
Mattheo froze mid sentence.
His cruel expression shattered the second he saw the first tear glisten on your skin. His jaw tightened so hard you could see the muscle jump. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white. The anger in his eyes warred with something raw and desperate…….panic, maybe. Regret.
For a long, heavy moment, the only sound was your shaky, uneven breathing and the distant drip of water somewhere in the old stone walls.
He looked wrecked. Like your tears had physically struck him.
Then, voice low and utterly wrecked, angry at you, at the situation, but mostly at himself…..Mattheo growled:
“Come here.”
You didn’t move. Your feet felt rooted to the cold stone floor, tears still silently falling even as you tried to glare at him through the blur.
But Mattheo moved.
In two furious strides he closed the distance, his hand wrapping around your upper arm firm enough that there was no escaping him. He pulled you forward and spun you, backing you against the rough stone wall with a controlled intensity that made your breath hitch.
One arm slammed beside your head, caging you completely. His body heat radiated against yours, overwhelming and familiar in the worst possible way.
His other hand rose slowly, almost hesitantly, and his thumb brushed roughly across your wet cheek. He caught a tear like it personally offended him, like the sight of you crying was something he couldn’t stand to witness.
“Damn it,” he whispered, voice hoarse and low. His forehead dropped until it was nearly touching yours. You could see every flicker of torment in his dark eyes. “Touching you was a bad idea. I knew it. I’ve always known it.”
You swallowed hard, heart hammering so violently you were sure he could feel it. “Then why are you still doing it?” you breathed, voice trembling with leftover anger and something far softer.
Mattheo let out a shaky, bitter laugh that sounded more like a broken exhale. His thumb kept moving…..slow, deliberate strokes across your cheekbone, wiping away tears even as new ones fell.
“Because I’m a fucking idiot. Because no matter how many times I tell myself to stay away, you keep pulling me back in. With your stupid optimism. Your fire. The way you look at me like I’m not completely damned.”
His free hand moved to your chin, tilting it up with two fingers so gently it hurt. Your eyes locked. You were sharing the same air now….. warm, ragged breaths mingling between you. The scent of smoke and cedarwood and him filled your lungs. The corridor felt impossibly small. The rest of the world disappeared.
“Kissing you…” His voice cracked, raw and desperate. “Kissing you would just be a mistake. The worst fucking mistake I could make right now.”
You felt his words against your lips more than you heard them. He was so close. Too close. His body trembled with the effort of holding back, muscles rigid where they pressed against you.
“Mattheo…” you started, but he shook his head, thumb still tracing your tear streaked skin like he was memorizing the feel of you.
“We’ll both regret it,” he continued, the confession spilling out like he couldn’t stop it anymore.
“I’ll ruin you. My name, my blood, the shadows that follow me everywhere they’ll drag you down. You deserve better than this. Better than me. I’m poison, don’t you get that? One taste and you’ll never be the same. You’ll hate me for it. And I’ll hate myself more.”
His forehead finally rested fully against yours. You could feel the slight tremble in his frame, the war raging inside him. His restraint was fraying thread by thread.
Yet his hand stayed on your cheek. His body stayed pressed to yours. He wasn’t letting go.
You looked up at him through wet lashes, heart aching with equal parts fury and longing. The words left your lips before you could think better of them……soft, defiant, and devastating:
“Then regret me.”
Mattheo stilled completely. His breath hitched sharply. For one suspended heartbeat, the only sound was the pounding of your hearts and the distant echo of wind through the castle halls.
His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with something feral and broken. The last threads of his self control snapped.
“Fuck,” he growled, the word vibrating against your mouth. “You’re going to destroy me.”
He surged forward like a man who’d been drowning for months and finally stopped fighting the current.
His mouth crashed into yours with bruising force…..rough, angry, and utterly starving.
There was nothing careful or sweet about it. This was months of suppressed hunger, pretended hatred, and sleepless nights exploding all at once.
His lips claimed yours with desperate urgency, teeth grazing, tongue demanding entrance. He tasted like cigarettes, anger, and something darker…..something that felt like surrender.
One of his hands buried itself deep in your hair, fingers tightening almost painfully as he angled your head exactly how he wanted. The other slid down your side, gripping your waist hard and yanking your body flush against his until there was no space left between you.
The cold stone wall pressed into your back while Mattheo’s heat consumed you from the front. You could feel every inch of him…..the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his muscles tensed under your hands, the barely restrained tremble running through him.
You kissed him back just as fiercely. Your fingers twisted into the front of his shirt, pulling him down harder, closer, like you could fuse your souls together if you tried hard enough. A soft, needy sound escaped your throat and he swallowed it greedily, deepening the kiss until the world spun.
For a few blissful, devastating seconds, there was nothing but heat and teeth and the taste of salt from your earlier tears.
When he finally ripped his mouth away, you were both gasping for air. His chest heaved violently against yours. He pressed his forehead tightly to yours, eyes squeezed shut, breaths ragged and hot against your swollen lips.
His hands refused to leave your body….one still tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip possessively, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’d vanish.
“That was the last time,” he rasped, voice hoarse and broken. “I swear to whatever’s left of my soul… that was the last fucking time.”
But even as he said it, his thumb traced your bottom lip, lingering, trembling. He didn’t pull away. He couldn’t.
You reached up, fingers brushing his sharp jaw. “Mattheo…”
“No,” he cut you off, voice cracking. “Don’t. Don’t make this harder.” He swallowed thickly, forehead still glued to yours as if it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
“I’m not good for you. Don’t you understand that? My family, we destroy everything beautiful we touch. The blood on my name is cursed. The darkness… it clings to me. It follows me like a shadow and it will swallow you whole if I let it.”
His voice grew more strained, the self loathing pouring out in waves.
“My reputation alone would ruin you. People will whisper. They’ll look at you like you’re tainted just for standing next to me. You’re sweet. You’re light and hope and everything good this shitty world doesn’t deserve. And me? I’ll only drag you into hell with me. I’ll break you. I’ll watch the light in your eyes dim because of the things I’ve done… the things I’ll still have to do.”
He let out a shaky, bitter sound, half laugh, half sob and pressed his forehead harder against yours.
“This is a mistake,” he whispered, like a prayer he was begging the universe to hear. “This is a mistake. This is a mistake.”
The words repeated like a mantra, softer each time, his breath mingling with yours between every syllable. His hands still held you like you were the only real thing in his world. You could feel his heart thundering against your chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.
Yet despite the words, his lips hovered dangerously close again. His thumb kept stroking your cheek, your jaw, your lips reverent and desperate all at once.
“I should walk away right now,” he murmured brokenly, eyes still closed. “I should leave you here and never look back. That would be the right thing. The safe thing for you.” His voice dropped to a tortured whisper. “But I don’t think I can. Fuck… I don’t think I can anymore.”
Mattheo Riddle the boy who wore cruelty like armor was unraveling in your arms, forehead pressed to yours, repeating his desperate prayer while his body betrayed every word.
“This is a mistake…”
You stayed there, tangled together in the dark corridor, hearts pounding in perfect, frantic sync.
The castle around you felt distant and unreal just cold stone, flickering torchlight, and the two of you breathing the same air like it was the only oxygen left in the world.
Mattheo’s thumb continued its slow, reverent path across your bottom lip, his dark eyes tormented as they searched your face.
You watched the war rage behind them: the part of him that had spent years building walls of cruelty and isolation screaming at him to push you away forever, and the desperate, starving part that would rather burn the entire world down than let you slip through his fingers now.
“I should still walk away,” he whispered, voice rough with exhaustion and lingering self hatred. “Tell you this changes nothing. Tell you to forget my name and go back to your friends who won’t ruin your life.” His forehead stayed pressed to yours, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “But I’m so fucking tired of lying to both of us.”
You reached up, cupping his sharp jaw with trembling fingers. “Then stop lying,” you murmured. “Stop pretending you don’t feel this too.”
A shaky breath escaped him. Slowly, almost reverently this time, he leaned in again. This kiss was nothing like the first violent collision. It was slower, deeper, achingly tender but no less desperate.
His lips moved against yours like he was memorizing every second, every sigh, every tiny sound you made. One hand cradled the back of your head while the other traced down your spine, pulling you impossibly closer. You melted into him, fingers sliding into his dark curls, tugging gently as the kiss deepened.
There was still fire there, still that edge of fear and hunger, but underneath it was something new, something terrifyingly close to hope.
When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours once more, his voice was barely a whisper against your mouth.
“I’m going to regret this,” he murmured, the words laced with dark promise. “I know I will. Tomorrow, next week, when the world reminds me exactly who I am… I’ll regret dragging you into my mess.” He swallowed hard. “But right now? I don’t care anymore. I can’t care. Not when you’re looking at me like that.”
His fingers found yours in the space between your bodies, threading together and gripping tight, almost painfully so.
For the first time since you’d known him, the mask of cruel indifference was completely gone. No sneers. No sharp words meant to wound. All that remained was raw, terrifying, all consuming want and underneath it, a vulnerability that made your chest ache.
“Stay with me tonight,” he said. The words came out rough and uncertain, like he was half expecting you to push him away even now. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Just… stay. Let me hold you. Let me pretend for a few hours that I’m not a Riddle and you’re not too good for me. I need…..” His voice cracked. “I need you close. Please.”
You searched his eyes for a long moment, seeing every fear, every crack in his armor, every unspoken promise. Then you nodded, pressing your forehead back to his, noses brushing.
“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll stay.”
A shuddering breath left him relief, disbelief, and something deeper all at once. He pulled you away from the wall and into his chest, wrapping both arms around you like a lifeline. His chin rested on top of your head as he held you there in the quiet corridor.
“You know this changes everything,” he said quietly after a while, voice muffled against your hair. “No more pretending. No more insults to hide behind. If we do this… if you’re really mine, even for tonight… there’s no going back. People will talk. My family… my past… it won’t stay buried. You’ll be a target. And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to protect you from all of it.”
You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze. “Then we face it together. I’m not as fragile as you think, Mattheo. And you’re not as monstrous as you believe.”
He let out a soft, broken sound almost a laugh and kissed your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth.
“Merlin, you’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, but there was a faint, real smile tugging at his lips for the first time that night. “My sweet, stubborn Gryffindor.”
You stayed like that for a long time wrapped in each other, trading quiet words and softer kisses in the shadows. He told you pieces of his fears. You told him pieces of your hopes. The hatred you had both hidden behind for so long finally dissolved completely.
The corridor eventually led you toward the dungeons, toward hidden passages only he knew. As you walked hand in hand, fingers still tightly laced, the weight of what you’d chosen settled over both of you.
The hatred had always been pretend.
And now there was no pretending anymore.
For tonight, in the quiet warmth of his arms, that was enough.
