The Great Hall was too loud.

Mattheo didn’t remember walking out of it— just the sound of benches scraping against stone and someone calling his name. He ignored it.

By the time he reached the courtyard, the night air had turned sharp and cold. The castle towers of Hogwarts loomed above him, tall and indifferent, like they’d seen a thousand heartbreaks before and wouldn’t care about one more.

He stopped near the fountain.

It was stupid, really. He hadn’t shouted. He hadn’t begged. He hadn’t even tried to argue when you said it was “too much.” That loving him felt like standing too close to something that might explode.

He just nodded.

Instead, he’d watched you walk away.

Mattheo dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once, twice, as if motion could outrun the ache settling under his ribs. His chest felt tight— not dramatic, not cinematic. Just heavy.

He told himself he was fine.

He was always fine.

A group of Ravenclaws passed through the archway, laughing about something trivial. He turned his back to them immediately, jaw clenched. He wouldn’t let anyone see it. Not the crack in his composure. Not the way his breathing hitched slightly when he thought about how easily you had let go.

“You don’t let anyone close,” You said.

But he had.

That was the worst part.

He’d let you see the parts no one else did — the quiet moments, the insecurity, the way he hated his own last name. He’d trusted you with that. And now it felt like he’d handed over something fragile only to have it placed back in his palms like it was too inconvenient to keep.

He leaned against the cold stone wall, staring at the dark sky.

Maybe you were right.

Maybe loving him was exhausting.

His reflection shimmered faintly in the fountain water — distorted, broken by ripples. For a second, he looked younger. Not the intimidating, composed version everyone else saw. Just a boy who didn’t know how to stop caring once he started.

His hand hovered over his wand.

He could go back inside. Pretend nothing happened. Smirk at someone. Make a sarcastic comment. Rebuild the armour.

Instead, he let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on the stone, head tilted back, eyes closed.

He didn’t cry.

He just sat there, breathing in the cold night air, letting it numb everything until the ache dulled into something manageable.

In the distance, the castle bells chimed the hour.

And for the first time in a long while, Mattheo Riddle felt completely alone.