Promise Me… · Y/n story by @chloe19

The cold bites through my Quidditch robes, seeping into my bones as the thick November mist swirls around the pitch. I can barely see the players overhead—just flashes of crimson and gold cutting through the grey.

Mattheo Riddle

You're shivering. his arm slides around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest

His breath ghosts over my ear, warm against the chill. I tilt my head back to look at him—dark curls falling across his forehead, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. Three years, and he still makes my stomach flip.

Y/n - Narrated from POV

I lean into him, letting his warmth chase away the cold. Someone had to look good on the sidelines.

Mattheo Riddle

laughs lowly, his hand squeezing my hip You always look good. his voice drops Especially later. In my dorm.

A sharp crack splits the air. Distant at first, then growing.

Mattheo Riddle

his voice breaks, distant and desperate No, no, no—

My vision blurs. Dark spots swim at the edges.

Mattheo Riddle

Don't you dare do this to me... his hands are on me, cradling my face

The last thing I see before the darkness swallows me is his face—tear-streaked, terrified, beautiful.