You’re leaning against the cold stone wall of the charms corridor, arms crossed, pretending not to notice him approaching. But of course, he notices. He always notices. Mattheo Riddle moves like he owns the space around him - graceful, deliberate, dangerous - and the moment he steps into the room, the air seems to thrum with it.

“There you are,” he says, voice low, smooth, a little predatory. He stops a few feet away, tilting his head, eyes tracing you like he’s memorizing every line, every detail. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You try to keep your expression neutral, but the heat in your chest betrays you. “And here I am,” you reply evenly, though your fingers twitch slightly, betraying your nerves.

He steps closer, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne, rich and sharp. “I don’t like other people… looking at you,” he murmurs, and it’s possessive in a way that makes your stomach flutter, your pulse race. “Not when you’re mine.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine, part fear, part thrill. “Mine?” you repeat, teasing despite yourself. “That’s a bold claim.”

Mattheo smirks, dark and confident, eyes gleaming with a dangerous edge. “I don’t make claims I can’t back up,” he says. He closes the distance between you, so close now you can feel the heat of him, the way his presence seems to press against your skin. His hand hovers near yours, almost brushing, testing. “No one else gets to have you. You belong here… with me.”

Your heart hammers, and even though part of you knows this is reckless, irresistible, you lean into him, letting the tension coil tight between you. “And what if I don’t belong to anyone?” you ask, voice soft, teasing, daring him.

He laughs softly, a sound that sends shivers down your spine, and his hand finally rests against your waist, firm, claiming. “You already do,” he says, voice low, intimate, like it’s meant for no one else but you. “You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

You tilt your head, daring him to push further, and he does, leaning down so that his lips brush yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It’s demanding, confident, the kind that leaves your knees weak and your mind spinning. You respond, not out of surrender, but because you want to, because every nerve in your body screams for it.

When he pulls back slightly, just enough to stare into your eyes, the intensity of his gaze makes you catch your breath. “I’ll make sure everyone knows,” he whispers, hand still firm at your hip. “You’re mine. And everyone else… just stays away.”