Arranged Marriage || Mattheo Riddle · Y/n story by @hershyclassical

The cavernous main hall of Riddle Manor was in its usual state of controlled chaos. A fire crackled in the massive hearth, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The air smelled of firewhisky, expensive cologne, and the faint, ever-present scent of old magic.

Draco Malfoy

languidly swirling a glass So, Nott. The Cannons, really? You’re setting the bar so low it’s in the dungeons.

Theodore Nott

At least they’ve got spirit. Unlike your lot, all polish and no points.

Pansy Parkinson

Ugh, Quidditch talk. It’s so common. Can’t we talk about something interesting? Like the new line of dress robes from Twilfitt and Tattings?

Blaise Zabini

Only if you’re buying, Pans.

Lorenzo Berkshire

staring at his mobile phone with a soppy smile She just sent the most adorable picture. Look at the little hat!

Astoria Greengrass

Lorenzo, if you say ‘little hat’ one more time, I’m vanishing that phone into the Black Lake.

Daphne Greengrass

curled against Theo’s side He’s hopeless. At least he’s got someone. Unlike our resident bachelor. She shoots a pointed look across the room.

All eyes drift to Mattheo Riddle. He’s slouched in a high-backed leather armchair, one leg thrown over the arm, idly tossing a golden snitch up and catching it. He’s the picture of careless, rebellious ease.

Mattheo Riddle

What? Don’t look at me. I’m perfectly content in my state of glorious, unencumbered freedom.

Blaise Zabini

For now. Until your parents remember they have a son to auction off.

Pansy Parkinson

They must be shopping for someone very patient. Or very deaf.

A soft, chime-like ringtone cuts through the laughter. Mattheo glances at the screen of his mobile where it rests on the side table. The name ‘MOTHER’ glows.

Mattheo Riddle

Bollocks.

Theodore Nott

Speak of the devils.

Mattheo Riddle

sighs, snatching up the phone This’ll be about the summer gala donations, I bet. Or another lecture about my ‘potential’. He puts the phone to his ear, his expression shifting to one of practiced, bored courtesy. Mother. To what do I owe the—

He stops. The lazy smirk vanishes from his face. His posture goes rigid. The snitch falls from his other hand and rolls under the chair, forgotten.

Draco Malfoy

mouthing to the others What is it?

Mattheo Riddle

You’re… you’re joking.

A long pause. The only sound is the fire. His friends watch, all pretence of conversation gone.

Mattheo Riddle

When? … Tomorrow? Tomorrow?

Pansy Parkinson

whispers Merlin’s beard.

Mattheo Riddle

And she’s just… moving in? For months? He runs a hand through his dark hair, a gesture of pure agitation. This is absurd. You can’t just— Fine. Yes. I heard you. Elegant. Proper. Won’t tolerate my attitude. He says the words like they’re a curse. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

He listens for another moment, his jaw tight, then ends the call without a goodbye. He stares at the phone in his hand as if it’s a venomous tentacula.

Blaise Zabini

Well? Don’t leave us in suspense, mate.

Mattheo Riddle

looks up, his grey eyes stormy Seems my glorious, unencumbered freedom has an expiration date.