The Slytherin table buzzed with energy, as it always did when the house’s most notorious crowd gathered. Mattheo Riddle, tie undone and collar stained with dried blood, leaned back in his seat like he owned the place.

“Riddle, do you ever not look like a disaster?” Draco drawled, lazily picking at his plate.

Mattheo smirked, running a hand through his curls. “Can’t help it if trouble likes me, Malfoy.”

Nearby, a group of girls giggled behind their hands, casting obvious glances at Mattheo. “He’s so reckless,” one whispered. “And that smirk—deadly.”

“Fan club’s loud today,” Blaise muttered, sipping his drink.

But Mattheo ignored them, his dark eyes landing squarely on you. Sitting across from him, you were engrossed in a scroll, the Slytherin prefect badge gleaming on your robes. Unbothered by the noise, you calmly read through your work.

“Oi, prefect,” Mattheo called out, his voice cutting through the chatter. “You ignoring me, or do I need to break a rule to get your attention?”

The table fell silent before erupting into laughter.

“Don’t be a prat, Riddle,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes.

“Do you want detention?” Blaise asked, amused.

Mattheo grinned, leaning forward, chin in hand, eyes locked on you. “Depends,” he said, voice thick with mischief. “Will you be there to lecture me, love?”

Pansy’s jaw dropped. “He’s lost it,” she muttered.

The girls at the far end of the table gawked, their whispers turning into shocked silence.

Draco smirked, clearly entertained. “Shameless as ever, Riddle. You’ll get yourself killed one of these days.”

Mattheo’s grin only widened, clearly unbothered. “What’s life without a little danger?” he quipped, still watching you, the chaos he caused fueling his ego