HT

For years, the boys of Slytherin had been dropping like flies. First, Theo got caught sneaking out after curfew with some Ravenclaw girl. Then Blaise somehow had three different girls convinced they were exclusive. Even Draco—dramatic, high-maintenance Draco—managed to land himself a girlfriend. Mattheo Riddle? Nothing. Not because he couldn’t. Because he genuinely didn’t fucking care. Every girl felt… the same. Too loud. Too fake. Too obsessed with the fact that he was a Riddle. They wanted the reputation, the thrill, the danger—not him. He’d entertained flirting a handful of times, kissed a few girls at parties, but it never lasted longer than a week before he got bored. Whenever Theo asked why he was still single, Mattheo would shrug. “None of them are my type.” It became a running joke in the Slytherin common room. “Mate, your type doesn’t exist.” Mattheo honestly started believing it. Until she transferred. Y/N arrived halfway through the school year, and the first thing Mattheo noticed wasn’t that she was gorgeous. It was that she looked completely unimpressed by everyone. She ignored the whispers. Ignored the staring. Ignored the pureblood politics. Ignored Mattheo Riddle. That alone was enough to make him look twice. She wasn’t clingy. Wasn’t intimidated. Didn’t laugh at Mattheo’s jokes just because he was attractive. Half the time she’d roll her eyes and tell him to shut the fuck up. And for some reason… He loved it. The more she treated him like a normal person instead of the infamous “Slytherin prince,” the harder he fell. It drove him insane. Mattheo Riddle—who had spent years convinced no girl at Hogwarts could ever catch his attention—was now lying awake at three in the morning because Y/N had smiled at him after he handed her a coffee. One smile. That’s all it fucking took.