You and Mattheo broke up during summer. Now you’re back to school again. And it’s a real nightmare.
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@szturkaThe Great Hall was buzzing louder than usual for the first feast of the year. The enchanted ceiling mirrored a clear, star-dusted sky, and the air smelled of roast meat, pumpkin pasties, and teenage anticipation.
At the Slytherin table, the usual hierarchy was on full display. Draco Malfoy sat with perfect posture, picking at his food with aristocratic disinterest. Next to him, Blaise Zabini surveyed the room with a lazy, amused smirk. Pansy Parkinson was already holding court, her laugh sharp and carrying as she recounted some summer scandal.
And then there was Mattheo Riddle.
He was slouched at the far end of the table, a goblet of something dark in his hand, surrounded by a group of sixth-year girls who were hanging on his every word. He hadn’t looked over once. His dark hair was messy, his tie already loosened, and that familiar, careless smirk was plastered on his face as he said something that made one of the girls blush and swat his arm.
Theodore Nott
sliding onto the bench beside you, his voice a low murmur Quite the welcoming committee he’s got. You’d think he’d get bored of the same act.
Theo’s shoulder brushed yours as he reached for a bread roll. He smelled like cigarette smoke and expensive cologne.
Daphne Greengrass
from across the table, her voice gentle but firm Leave it, Theo. It’s the first night.
Pansy Parkinson
Oh, please. It’s the only interesting thing happening. Besides, Y/n looks like she’s trying to set her potatoes on fire with her mind. She leans forward, a wicked glint in her eye. So. Is it true? The great summer breakup of the century?
Before anyone could answer, a roar of laughter erupted from Mattheo’s end of the table. His head was thrown back, his throat exposed, and the sound was too loud, too forced. His eyes swept across the Hall and for a fraction of a second, they locked onto yours.
The smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew sharper. He held your gaze for one beat, two, then turned back to the girl whispering in his ear, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of her hair behind it.
Theodore Nott
sighs, his Italian accent softening the words Patetico. He’s being a child.
Blaise Zabini
without looking up from his plate We’re all children, Theo. Some of us are just better at hiding it.
Draco Malfoy
in a cool, clipped tone If we could focus on something other than Riddle’s tragic attempt at self-destruction? Some of us have Prefect meetings to mentally prepare for.
The chatter around you faded into a dull roar. Your fork felt heavy in your hand. At the other end of the table, Mattheo drained his goblet and stood up, the movement fluid and commanding. He said something to his group, earning more giggles, and then he was walking—not toward the exit, but along the length of the Slytherin table.
He moved with that lazy, confident swagger, his eyes straight ahead. He passed behind Daphne, behind Blaise, behind Pansy. He didn’t slow. He didn’t look down.
But as he passed directly behind your bench, his sleeve brushed against your shoulder. It was the faintest touch. Accidental. Meaningless.
His steps didn’t hitch. He didn’t turn. He just kept walking, out of the Great Hall and into the shadowy corridor beyond, leaving a cold, silent wake behind him.
Pansy Parkinson
lets out a low whistle Well. That was dramatic.