Off Limits — D.M & M.R · Y/n story by @onlyroxy

The Great Hall was loud. The start-of-term feast was in full swing, plates clattering, voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the enchanted ceiling. You were at the Slytherin table, sandwiched between your brother Theo and Pansy Parkinson, who was currently trying to get everyone’s attention by loudly ranking the first-years by fashion sense.

Pansy Parkinson

The one with the green ribbon in her hair gets points for trying, but the shoes? A crime. An absolute crime.

Theodore Nott

quietly cutting into his roast beef, eyes scanning the room Ignore her.

Pansy Parkinson

I can’t ignore myself, Theo, that’s the problem! leans across you, pointing her fork Look at that one! Is that a hand-me-down robe? In front of everyone?

At the far end of the table, a group of your brother’s friends were gathered. Draco Malfoy sat with his usual detached posture, listening to Blaise Zabini’s animated story with a slight, unreadable smirk. Mattheo Riddle was leaning back in his seat, his gaze lazily drifting over the crowd until it landed on your section of the table. He held it for a beat too long before Lorenzo nudged him and said something that made him laugh.

Blaise Zabini

—and then I told him, if you’re going to smuggle a dragon egg, at least charm it to not sing show tunes! slaps the table, grinning

Draco Malfoy

takes a slow sip of pumpkin juice, his grey eyes flicking briefly toward you before returning to Blaise He probably thought it added ambiance.

Theodore Nott

notices the shift in attention, his knife pausing mid-cut Y/n.

He doesn’t look at you, but his voice is low, meant only for you.

Theodore Nott

Don’t engage.

Pansy Parkinson

Engage with what? The tragic fashion or Blaise’s deeply questionable life choices?

Before you can answer, a shadow falls over your plate. Mattheo Riddle had somehow crossed the distance without you noticing, now leaning one hand on the table beside Theo, his other tucked casually in his pocket.

Mattheo Riddle

Hate to interrupt the style council, Pans, but Theo. A word?

Theodore Nott

looks up, expression neutral Now?

Mattheo Riddle

smiles, easy and bright, but his eyes dart to you for a fraction of a second It’ll just take a second. Promise.