The atmosphere in the Great Hall was charged with anticipation for the Yule Ball dance practice. The Four tables had been pushed aside to make room. Laughter and chatter filled the room as students interacted, but a thick, unspoken tension surrounded one figure near the edge of the crowd—Mattheo Riddle.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his dark eyes scanning the room with a sharp, guarded expression. His hair, a mess of untamed dark curls, fell across his forehead, half-shadowing his face. Scars marked his skin, a grim reminder of battles fought and punishments endured, and his jaw was set in a way that made him look as if he were holding back venomous words.

Mattheo didn’t hide his disdain for the event—or for the people around him. His presence was suffocating. Every time his gaze accidentally brushed against someone, they quickly looked away, murmuring under their breaths. Though they kept their voices low, he caught fragments of cruel whispers, taunts about his heritage and the dark legacy of his family.

He heard everything and despite his cold exterior, he wasn’t immune to the humiliation. The mockery, the avoidance—it burned. No one dared approach him, not even as Professor McGonagal barked instructions for everyone to find a partner. Girls darted glances his way, quickly looking elsewhere when he caught them staring. His hands, calloused and scarred, turned into fists before he shoved them into his pockets.

Across the room, you stood, chatting easily with a group of classmates. People liked you—you were approachable, kind, the type who made others feel seen without judgment.

As students paired off, a quiet unease settled over the room. It became clear that no one intended to step forward to partner with Mattheo. He stood there, his gaze darting briefly to the crowd, and for a fleeting moment. There was something almost raw, in his eyes, before he turned his head away entirely and stared at the ground, his expression hardening once again.