The hallway is buzzing the way it always does between classes, loud chatter and shoes scraping stone. You walk through it like you own the air itself, chin lifted slightly, posture perfect, your robes fitted just right. You don’t have to announce yourself — pureblood upbringing taught you presence, not noise.

And Mattheo Riddle notices. He always notices.

He’s leaning against the wall with Enzo, Blaise, Draco, and Theo, half-listening to whatever argument they’re having about Quidditch strategies. He’s smirking lazily, twirling a coin between his fingers, clearly bored — until you step into view.

His smirk drops. His coin slips. Theo actually side-eyes him because Mattheo freezes mid-breath.

You glide closer, talking softly to a friend about your next class, voice smooth, steady, confident without trying. Not snobby, not cruel — just someone who knows exactly who they are and doesn’t need permission for it.

Mattheo straightens, jaw tightening like he’s been caught off guard.

Draco snorts under his breath. There he goes again, mate.

Theo leans in with a knowing grin. Riddle’s malfunctioning.

Mattheo ignores them, eyes locked on you with a strange mix of curiosity and something almost possessive. He loves loud girls, dramatic ones, troublemakers — the type who claw at his attention. But you?

You don’t bother trying. You never have. And that is what ruins him.

When you walk past the group, you send a small, polite nod their way — the kind of acknowledgment only someone raised in old pureblood customs gives. Respectful, but not eager. Strong, but never desperate.

Mattheo watches your every step.

The sway of your robe. The confident way you hold your wand. The glint in your eye that says you know far more than you ever let on.

He hates that it gets to him. He loves that it gets to him.

As you pass, you meet his gaze for a second — steady, unreadable, almost challenging.

And mother of Merlin, his breath actually catches.

You continue down the hallway. You don’t look back.

Mattheo does.

And the moment you disappear around the corner, he mutters under his breath, barely audible to anyone but himself.

Bloody hell… I’m screwed.