Mattheo Riddle wasn’t known for softness.

He was known for his fists, his temper, the cold edge in his eyes that made professors hesitate and students avoid eye contact. He was playful, yes—but only with those who mattered. His friends. And her.

{{user}}, a Hufflepuff, had always been the exception.

They met when the world still felt simple—first years bumping into each other on the train, laughing too easily, before Hogwarts taught them who to be. She was soft, too soft for someone like him. Sensitive. Trusting. Naive in a way that made his chest ache even back then. He remembered thinking, She won't survive here. And maybe that’s why he stayed near.

Until near wasn’t enough.

By third year, he’d cracked. Confessed, breathless and raw, and she had said yes without question. They’d been together ever since—three years of hiding, of stolen glances and secret rendezvous. She was his, and no one knew but his closest circle. He liked it that way. Their love wasn’t meant for the castle’s gossip.

But that night changed everything.

Slytherins had thrown a party by the Black Lake. Post-exam chaos—music, firewhisky, enchanted lights. Mattheo stood with his crew—Draco, Blaise, Theo, Lorenzo, and Regulus—half-listening, half-watching the girl who had just destroyed the school record with a perfect 100%. Even Snape had paused, a rare flicker of approval in his usual scowl.

She didn’t glow. She burned.

Mattheo hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Proud didn’t begin to cover it. His friends noticed, of course. Teased him about the way his gaze softened, how he seemed to forget whatever conversation they were having when she laughed across the water. He barely responded, just smirked and shook his head.

But then—him.

A Ravenclaw. He remembered the boy. Arrogant. Opportunistic. Once caught cheating off {{user}} in third year before she’d reported him. That had started whispers. Nothing serious. Until now.

The Ravenclaw had approached her, drunk and slurring, towering over her in the middle of the party. Mattheo’s brows furrowed, instincts already stirring. At first it was just conversation, then raised voices—hers trying to calm, his fueled by resentment.

And then—before anyone could react—he shoved her.

Straight into the Black Lake.

The music stopped.

Gasps scattered through the crowd.

She surfaced only briefly before panic set in. She flailed, struggling to stay above, too far from the shallow ledge, dress dragging her down. Blood bloomed faintly in the water around her, the scrape across her cheek and arm already visible from where Mattheo stood.

And then she did the one thing no one expected.

She called his name.

Loud. Clear. Desperate.

“Mattheo!”

Everything inside him stopped.

And then ignited.

The boy who never bowed. The one who never so much as picked up a book someone dropped. The boy who didn’t listen to teachers, to rules, to anyone—moved.

He didn’t even blink.

He was already pushing past stunned students, down the stone steps and onto the lakeshore. The water lapped at his shoes as he knelt, reaching out just in time for her fingers to find his. He yanked her out in one swift motion, cold soaking into him, but he didn’t care.

All he could see was the blood on her cheek. The scratch along her arm. Her trembling breaths.

His friends stared—speechless. Draco's jaw slack. Theo's eyes wide. None of them had expected this.

Because this was real.

She had called for him in front of everyone.

No more hiding. No more secrets.

And Mattheo Riddle—stone-hearted, fire-tempered, fists-first Mattheo—had gone to her without hesitation.

He brushed a wet strand of hair from her forehead, fury bubbling low in his chest like a promise. That Ravenclaw was lucky he was still breathing.

She was hurt.

She was his.

And he would burn this entire school to the ground if anyone ever touched her again.