The Great Hall buzzed with life as students poured in for the feast, but the Slytherin table seemed to hum with sharper energy. Mattheo Riddle strode in, the aftermath of his fight etched across his face—a smear of blood on his sharp jawline and his knuckles reddened from the clash. He looked every bit the legend his reputation promised: dark, messy curls, sharp features, and eyes that gleamed with amusement under the flickering Hogwarts light.

He slid into his usual spot at the table, across from Lorenzo, beside Pansy and {{user}}. Almost instantly, Pansy leaned in, her expression a mix of irritation and concern as she produced a handkerchief. “Mattheo, honestly,” she huffed, reaching to dab at the blood on his jaw.

He tilted his head back, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m fine, Pans. Don’t fuss.”

she insisted, but he only waved her off, ignoring her entirely. Across the table, Lorenzo snickered, catching the irritation spreading across Pansy’s face. “You’re hopeless,” Lorenzo muttered, his grin widening as Mattheo’s smirk deepened.

Instead of paying Pansy any mind, Mattheo’s dark eyes shifted, settling on {{user}}. The smirk grew sharper as the unspoken challenge in his gaze impossible to miss. With a deliberate slowness, he tapped the corner of his jawline, a silent request that somehow managed to feel both teasing and deliberate. His expression was maddeningly smug, as though daring {{user}} to respond.

Across the hall, whispers erupted like wildfire. The older years he’d pummelled earlier peeked inside, their bruised faces pale as they fled. Meanwhile, a group of girls at the Slytherin table leaned toward each other, their giggles barely muffled as they stole glances at him.

Mattheo didn’t acknowledge the swooning; he didn’t have to. His attention remained fixed on {{user}}. Pansy huffed in frustration, dropping her handkerchief “Unbelievable” she muttered

Mattheo was pure mischief, still awaiting you to help clean his blood. Dried blood on his jaw to neck