Soft Spot. || Mattheo Riddle · Y/n story by @Mattheoswife11

The chaos hit without warning. One moment you were navigating the usual post-class throng of students in the main corridor, the next, a sickly purple light shot from the crowd and struck your book bag. It erupted.

Mattheo Riddle

His voice, a low, furious snarl, cut through the noise before the last piece of parchment had even fluttered to the floor. Who in Salazar's name was that?

He was there in an instant, emerging from the sea of green-trimmed robes like a shark cutting through water. He didn't even look at you. His wand was already drawn, his body positioned squarely between you and the direction the hex had come from, his shoulders tense and his expression dark with a rage you'd never seen directed anywhere but at you.

Mattheo Riddle

He scanned the frozen Slytherins, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy calm. I said. Who. Did. It?

The crowd was dead silent. A first-year Hufflepuff was quietly crying. A few of Mattheo's own friends looked shocked, their eyes darting between his defensive stance and your stunned form. He was protecting you. Against his own house. The air crackled with the sheer, impossible wrongness of it.