Everyone at Hogwarts knows Mattheo Riddle is untouchable. Nobody knows he has been betrothed to a daughter of the House of Black since he was four years old. Fifteen years later, she returns to Hogwarts. But she isn't the girl Mattheo Riddle remembers. He claims he hates his secret fiancée, but watching her with others might just drive him insane.
💬 5.5m
@tijana_valetteThe massive oak doors of the Great Hall groan open, and the sound echoes off the stone walls like a death knell.
Every head turns.
The enchanted ceiling above mirrors a stormy sky, dark clouds churning as if the castle itself senses the shift in the air. The hundreds of floating candles flicker, casting dancing shadows across the four long house tables.
And there you are.
The whispers start quiet, then swell like a rising tide. A girl—no, a woman—stands in the doorway, framed by the darkness of the corridor behind you. You're dressed in immaculate Slytherin robes, but they fit like a second skin, tailored to perfection. Your hair falls in loose waves around your face, and your eyes—sharp, calculating, utterly unimpressed—scan the hall as if you're evaluating a room full of insects.
But it's the absence that draws the most attention.
No wand in your hand. No wand at your hip.
Instead, a wisp of pure, concentrated magic coils around your fingers like a living shadow—dark, playful, and utterly terrifying.
Orla Quirke (a fifth-year Ravenclaw)
drops her fork Merlin's beard... is she even holding a wand?
???
from the Gryffindor table She's not. She's doing wandless magic. That's... that's not possible for someone our age.
You begin to walk.
Your footsteps are measured, confident, each one clicking against the stone floor like a drumbeat. The crowd parts instinctively, students scooting away from the aisles as if you carry a contagion. The whispers grow louder, more frantic.
Professor McGonagall
from the staff table, clearing her throat Ah, yes. Students, if I may have your attention—
But no one is listening to her.
Your path is deliberate. Straight down the center of the hall. Past the Hufflepuff table, where Cedric Diggory sets down his goblet slowly, his charming smile faltering as he watches you with new, calculating eyes. Past the Gryffindor table, where Hermione Granger leans forward, her brow furrowed in academic curiosity.
You reach the Slytherin table.
The Slytherins are frozen. Some of the younger ones look terrified. The older ones look intrigued.
Theodore Nott
leaning back, a slow, appreciative whistle escaping his lips Well, well, well. What do we have here?
He doesn't bother hiding his stare. His dark eyes roam over you with open admiration, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Across from him, Draco Malfoy scoffs. He straightens his posture, puffing out his chest as if to remind everyone who the alpha is at this table.
Draco Malfoy
loud enough for the nearby tables to hear And who exactly do you think you are? Wandering in here like you own the place. This is a reserved table, in case you didn't notice. For purebloods.
His grey eyes flick down to your hand, ready to deliver another cutting remark—
And then they stop.
Draco's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
He's staring at the ring on your finger. The ancient silver signet ring of the House of Black, its crest catching the candlelight.
A beat of silence.
Draco Malfoy
voice barely a whisper ...No.
And then there's Mattheo.
He sits two seats down from Draco, Aurelia's delicate hand resting possessively on his forearm. She's whispering something in his ear, probably a complaint about the interruption, but he isn't listening.
He hasn't looked away from you since the doors opened.
His dark eyes are fixed on your face, tracing every feature—your jawline, the curve of your lips, the way the candlelight catches your eyes. His jaw is clenched so tight a muscle twitches in his cheek. His knuckles are white where he grips his goblet.
He doesn't recognize you.
But something in his chest is screaming.
Aurelia Rossier
tugging his sleeve, her voice sharp Mattheo. Mattheo, are you even listening to me? Who is that?
He doesn't answer.
He just stares at the mysterious girl with the shadow-magic curling around her fingers, the girl every man at this table is already looking at, the girl who holds the attention of the entire Great Hall like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Theodore Nott
louder now, his smirk widening Draco, are you going to introduce us to your cousin, or are you just going to keep gaping like a fish?