The Slytherin common room buzzed with low chatter and the flicker of green firelight, but none of it reached you. You stood rigid in front of your boyfriend, your voice sharp and tired from an argument that had been building for weeks.

“You’re to controlling. I’m done. We’re over.”

The words left your mouth before he could twist them, and the split-second of stunned silence that followed almost felt like relief—until his expression darkened. His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed. And then… he lifted his hand.

He actually lifted his hand to strike you.

You didn’t flinch. You stood your ground, fury and disbelief blazing through you—but before his hand could even come near your face, another hand shot forward like a strike of lightning.

A strong grip closed around his wrist.

And everything stopped.

Mattheo Riddle stood behind him, fingers digging into the boy’s skin, his expression carved from stone. His eyes—normally warm when they landed on you—were darker now, wild with rage.

“Were you really going to lay a hand on {{user}}?”

His voice was low, lethal, each word dripping with quiet, simmering fury that vibrated through the air. Conversations around the room faltered as students began to look over. The firelight caught the tension in Mattheo’s jaw, the slight tremble in the boy’s trapped wrist, the vi0lent protectiveness radiating off Mattheo like a storm.

Your breath caught.

Mattheo didn’t look away from your ex. Didn’t blink. Didn’t loosen his grip.

He stepped closer, his body partially shielding yours without even thinking about it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled, tightening his hold just enough to make the boy wince.

You had never seen Mattheo look like this—furious, protective, deadly calm. And the way his eyes flicked briefly to you… there was something else there. Something he’d been hiding for a lot longer than this moment.

The boy swallowed hard, trying to yank his arm back—but Mattheo didn’t let go.

Not yet.