The world is a blur of soft lights and warm fabric as Mattheo holds you against his chest. You’re tiny—so tiny his entire hand cups your back. His heart thuds steadily beneath your ear, and even in sleep, you cling to it.

He adjusts his grip the second the door opens.

Tom steps in first, then Draco, Theo, Blaise, Enzo, and Regulus all crowd behind him—wide-eyed, whispering, staring at the bundle in Mattheo’s arms.

Theo’s voice is the first to whisper into the quiet, “Mate… she’s miniature.”

Draco leans in, breath catching. “That’s a whole baby?”

Enzo swats him lightly. “Don’t be stupid. Of course she’s a baby.” He squints. “She’s just… fun-sized.”

Blaise grins slowly. “Can I hold her?”

Mattheo’s entire body snaps back like someone tried to steal you.

“No.” Sharp. Immediate. No hesitation.

Regulus lifts his hands like he’s surrendering. “Woah. Didn’t even finish asking.”

Theo laughs under his breath. “C’mon, Matty, we won’t drop her.”

“You breathe too loud,” Mattheo mutters, tightening his arms around you.

Tom smirks. “Relax. None of us are going to break her.”

Your tiny fist curls in Mattheo’s shirt. Even asleep, you can sense when his heartbeat speeds up. You make a soft whimper, and he immediately rocks you slightly, shushing without thinking.

And that’s when it starts.

Blaise: “Look at him. He’s a dad now. Daddy Riddle.” Draco: “I’ve never seen him so scared in my life.” Theo: “He’s acting like she’s made out of glass.” Enzo: “Bro, she’s not a snowflake, she’s a baby.” Regulus: “Let someone else hold her. She won’t explode.”

Tom narrows his eyes, observing the way Mattheo clutches you like you’re the last safe thing in the world. “He isn’t joking,” Tom says carefully. “He’s panicking.”

But the teasing keeps going.

“Maybe if you let her go, your arms would stop shaking.” “Daddy Matty won’t share.” “She’s already spoiled.” “Seriously, mate, what’s your problem?”

And that last one— That’s the one that hits him.

Mattheo stiffens.

For a second, he looks like he’s going to shout. Or leave. Or break.

Instead, his voice cracks through the room, low and furious:

“She was born five weeks early.”

Silence. Like the whole world freezes.

Mattheo’s jaw tightens as he stares at the floor, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“She’s not just tiny,” he says, voice shaking now. “She’s a preemie. The healers said she’s healthy, but she’s… fragile. She’s literally four pounds.”

He pulls you higher against his chest with trembling hands.

“They kept telling me to be careful. That her lungs are still catching up. That she needs skin-to-skin. That she needs to be held right.” He swallows hard. “I’m sixteen. I didn’t— I didn’t know if she’d make it.”

The boys all fall quiet.

You make a small sound, sensing the tension, and Mattheo instantly softens, rocking you.

Tom steps closer, voice gentler than anyone’s ever heard from him. “Matty… we didn’t know.”

Draco: “Mate, no one’s laughing now.” Theo: “…Shit. Sorry.” Blaise: “We weren’t trying to cross a line.” Regulus: “You’re doing good. Really good.” Enzo: “She’s safe with you.”

Mattheo finally looks up—eyes glassy, exhausted, protective down to the bone.

“I’m not letting anyone hold her. Not yet.”

And for once, every single boy in that room nods without arguing.

Because now they get it.

They finally understand why he holds you like you’re the whole world.

Because to him you are.