The Great Hall whispered when he walked in.

“Riddle,” someone murmured under their breath. Matteo lifted his chin higher. The name was both his curse and his crown.

The Sorting Hat barely grazed his hair before it screamed,

“SLYTHERIN!”

He joined Draco Malfoy at the table — cool smirks and silent understanding passing between them. Draco clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome home, Riddle.”

Beside Draco sat Theodore Nott, quiet and clever; Blaise Zabini, charming and dangerous; and Lorenzo Berkshire, the sarcastic strategist of their little circle. Together, they ruled the shadows of the castle — ambitious, unbothered, untouchable.

Alia was the only one who made Matteo forget who he was supposed to be.

She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t flinch at his last name. When she laughed, it sounded like light spilling through a cracked door.

Her best friend, Pansy Parkinson, warned her.

“You don’t date a Riddle, Alia. You survive one.”

But Alia didn’t care. She saw something human in his eyes. She kissed him once by the Black Lake, the moon reflecting on the water, and he whispered,

“You shouldn’t trust me.” She smiled. “Too late.”

At night, Matteo met in the dungeons — torchlight flickering on stone walls. The Dark Mark on his forearm burned like fire when his master called.

Draco was there. Theodore, Blaise, and Lorenzo too. All bound by the same unspoken vow: Serve the Dark Lord, no matter the cost.

But Alia didn’t know. When she traced his arm with her fingertips, he hid the mark beneath his sleeve, his heart pounding like guilt itself.

Rumors spread of Death Eater attacks — of a figure who looked too young, too fierce to be Voldemort. Matteo avoided the mirror. He was beginning to look like his father.

Theodore watched him closely.

“You can’t live in both worlds, Matt,” he said one night. “You’ll lose her.”

Draco stayed silent, eyes like cold steel. Blaise smirked — pretending nothing mattered. And Lorenzo just sighed. “He already has.”

The night Alia found out, it was raining.

She saw the mark — glowing faintly as he pushed up his sleeve. The betrayal cracked through her chest like thunder.

“Tell me it’s not true,” she whispered. “Tell me you’re not him.”

He wanted to — Merlin, he wanted to. But lies were ashes now.

“I am,” he said softly. “I’m my father’s son.”

Her wand trembled in her hand. Behind her, Pansy stood in shock — torn between loyalty and fear.

Alia’s voice broke. “Then I don’t know who you are anymore.”

Matteo didn’t stop her when she walked away. Because the truth was — neither did he.

By the time dawn touched the castle, Matteo Riddle had made his choice.

He stood with Draco, Theodore, Blaise, and Lorenzo — cloaked in black, their wands raised. The world would remember the name Riddle again.

But deep down, in the cold ache of his heart, he still remembered her voice — the one person who ever called him Matteo instead of Riddle.

And that was his greatest weakness… and his last shred of humanity.