The stadium erupts.

Green and silver fireworks explode across the sky as the crowd roars, Slytherin banners waving wildly in the stands. On the pitch, Mattheo Riddle is flat on his back, robes streaked with dirt, the Golden Snitch clutched tightly in his hand—glinting triumph between his fingers.

He’d caught it mid-dive, leaping off his broom just inches above the ground. It was reckless, insane, and so Mattheo.

And it won them the House Cup.

You don’t hesitate. The second you see him rise to his feet, chest heaving, hair a windswept mess, you’re moving—breaking into a run across the field, barely aware of the chaos around you. Your boots hit the grass hard, but your heart beats harder.

He turns just in time to see you.

His eyes light up instantly, and that crooked grin you know too well pulls at his lips—dirt-smeared, bruised, but glowing with victory.

You crash into him without a word, arms wrapping tight around his neck as he laughs, low and breathless. The Snitch is still in his hand, but he doesn’t care—it’s forgotten as his free arm wraps around your waist and pulls you in closer.

“You’re insane,” you whisper against his shoulder, smiling through the adrenaline.

“Worked, didn’t it?” he murmurs back, voice rough but warm, fingers curling in your robes.

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you—really look at you—and before you can say anything else, his lips are on yours.

It’s fierce and dizzying, the kind of kiss that steals all the breath you had left. The crowd may still be screaming, the team celebrating—but for a moment, it’s just you and him in the center of it all.

When he finally pulls away, still smiling, he lifts the Snitch between you and mutters, “Caught this for you, you know.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is still racing.

And in that moment, with the field still echoing with victory, you know—he already has everything he wants.