It happened in the Great Hall, just after lunch. You were walking past a table of upperclassmen when one of them snickered at you, loud enough for nearby students to hear.

“Oh, look at you, Gryffindor. Think you belong here?” the boy jeered, smirking cruelly.

You clenched your fists, ready to ignore him, but before you could even take another step, you felt a sudden shift in the air. A bright flash of light hit the boy’s robes, knocking him backward with a surprised yelp.

You whipped around—and there was Mattheo Riddle, wand still pointed subtly in the direction of the offender, expression perfectly calm. No one around seemed sure what had happened, except for the boy, who was frantically brushing off the charred edges of his sleeve.

“I—I didn’t—” he stammered, eyes wide.

Mattheo smirked, lowering his wand as if nothing unusual had occurred. “Careful with your words,” he said smoothly. “You might start a fire you can’t control.”

The boy’s jaw dropped, clearly thinking the hex had been entirely accidental—or at least not targeted at you.

You glanced at Mattheo, heart hammering. “That… was for me, wasn’t it?” you whispered, almost afraid to speak it aloud.

He tilted his head, eyes unreadable, voice calm and teasing. “Of course not. I only hexed him because… he looked like he needed a lesson in etiquette.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

His smirk deepened. “I would never target someone for… anyone else,” he said lightly, letting the words hang just long enough to make your chest tighten.