Transferring to Hogwarts in your sixth year hadn’t exactly been part of your plan—but you weren’t one to dwell. You adapted quickly. In fact, you thrived.

You were sorted into Slytherin within moments of the Hat touching your head. No questions asked. You fit the house like a glove: sharp, confident, clever—and unbothered by the whispers that followed your entrance into the Great Hall. People didn’t know much about you, only your last name. But that was enough. Mysterious. Stylish. Powerful. It didn’t take long before you were the talk of the common room.

And the boys? They noticed you right away.

With your striking looks, your dangerously calm presence, and your unwillingness to chase or impress anyone, you stood out without even trying. Half the Slytherin girls were sizing you up. The other half wanted to be your friend—or at least be seen with you. But the ones who watched the closest were the boys. Theodore Nott and Lorenzo Berkshire. And most of all… Mattheo Riddle.

There was something about him that instantly pulled your attention. The messy dark curls. The stormy eyes. The way he always seemed like he knew something no one else did. He was intense. Dangerous in a way that didn’t scare you—but intrigued you. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, it carried weight. People listened. You listened.

⸻

It was Friday morning, and you arrived to Potions just as the bell rang, sliding into your usual seat near the back of the dungeon classroom. The cool air bit at your skin as you pulled your robe tighter around you, setting your bag down and glancing toward the door.

And right on cue, he entered.

Mattheo Riddle. Alongside Theo, and Enzo. All of them walking like they owned the room.

Without a word, Mattheo veered toward you and sat beside you—his bag hitting the floor with a soft thud. Theo claimed the seats in front of you, Enzo sliding in behind.

You arched a brow but didn’t look directly at him. Not yet.

Mattheo leaned slightly in your direction, his voice low and casual as he spoke.

“You always look that composed at eight in the morning?” he asked, eyes flicking toward you with that familiar smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

You finally turned your head, lips tugging into a faint smile.

“Only when I know I’ll be sharing a cauldron with someone who might try to blow up the dungeon.”

Mattheo chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly.

“You wound me, sweetheart.”

But you didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on you just a second longer than necessary. Or the way Theo glanced back with an amused look—like he already knew where this was headed.