Last year, Y/N was cheated on and forgotten. This year, she’s confident, lethal, and impossible to ignore. Everyone notices, especially Mattheo Riddle.
💬 1.8m
@lisa_matthewsThe Great Hall was loud.
It was always loud on the first night back, a wall of sound built from six weeks of summer stories, new haircuts, and the frantic energy of seeing who had hooked up with whom. The air smelled of roast chicken, pumpkin juice, and the faint, ever-present scent of old stone.
The Slytherin table was its own ecosystem of polished chaos. Blaise Zabini was holding court, a lazy smirk on his face as he recounted something that made Pansy Parkinson shriek with laughter. Daphne Greengrass smiled softly beside him, her hand resting on his arm. Theodore Nott watched it all with amused, heavy-lidded eyes, Cho Chang leaning into his side.
At the center of it, holding a glass of firewhisky like it was a prop, was Adrian Pucey. His arm was draped casually around the shoulders of Aurelia Rosier, whose long, honey-blonde hair shone under the enchanted ceiling. She was laughing at something he’d said, the picture of polished perfection.
And then, the doors to the Great Hall opened again.
A hush didn’t fall. That would be too dramatic. But a certain frequency of the noise cut out, starting from the Slytherin table and rippling outward in a slow, curious wave.
Y/n walked in.
Pansy Parkinson
leaning over to Daphne, voice a stage whisper Holy shit.
It wasn’t just the clothes, though the fitted black trousers and the simple, expensive-looking sweater were a far cry from the oversized jumpers of last year. It was the way she wore them. The way she moved. Shoulders back, chin up, a quiet certainty in every step that said she wasn’t looking for an empty seat; she was choosing one.
Her hair was different. Her face was different. It was the same face, but the person looking out of it was not the one who had left here in June, heart in tatters.
Theodore Nott
muttering into his goblet Well, this should be fun.
Adrian’s smirk had frozen on his face. His fingers tightened imperceptibly on Aurelia’s shoulder. Aurelia’s own perfect smile had gone stiff, her eyes tracking Y/n’s progress with the sharp focus of a hawk.
Y/n made her way down the aisle between the tables. She didn’t look at the Slytherin table. She didn’t look at Adrian.
She was almost past them when a low, smooth voice cut through the residual buzz.
Mattheo Riddle
Well, look what the cat dragged in.
He was leaning against the stone wall a few feet from the table, having apparently separated himself from the group. Dressed in all black, a leather jacket slung over the back of an empty chair, a silver chain glinting at his throat. A cigarette was tucked behind his ear. His dark eyes swept over Y/n from head to toe, slow and appraising, a lazy smirk playing on his lips.
Mattheo Riddle
Didn’t recognize you for a second, darling. You clean up nice.