Noticed.

Pansy Parkinson was the fakest girl you knew.

You just didn’t realize it… until that day.

She was your “best friend.” Or at least, that’s what she called herself. In reality, she was always pushing you into situations that somehow ended with you being laughed at. Embarrassed.

And as if that wasn’t enough, you already had an enemy to deal with.

Mattheo Riddle.

You and Mattheo had hated each other since first year. When you were kids, it was childish teasing—pulling hair, stealing quills, whispered insults. As you grew older, it turned sharper. Glares across the Great Hall. Shoves in crowded corridors.

Yet sometimes—rarely—you were almost… decent to one another.

And that was exactly why Pansy hated you.

She was jealous.

⸻

Currently.

The Slug Club was hosting one of its formal dinners, and nearly everyone who mattered had been invited. Including you. Including Pansy.

And unfortunately—Mattheo.

You stood in front of your open wardrobe, arms crossed tightly over your chest, staring at rows of clothes that suddenly felt wrong. You preferred modesty. You always had. Long sleeves. High necklines. Things that felt like you.

Tonight made it harder.

“Come on, {{user}},” Pansy scoffed from your bed. “You’re taking forever.”

She sat there effortlessly, already dressed, legs crossed as she admired herself. She wore a black mini dress—extra mini. Pansy never cared about dress codes. She never had to.

You sighed, fingers gripping the fabric of a folded dress in your hands.

“I don’t know what to wear.”

Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically and stood, walking to her own wardrobe. She dug around for a moment before tossing something at you.

You caught it.

Your stomach dropped.

The dress was tiny. Barely enough fabric to be considered one.

“I can’t wear this,” you said quietly, frowning.

Pansy scoffed, already reaching for her heels.

“Live a little, {{user}}. You won’t die,” she said dismissively. “I’ll be in the carriage.”

And with that, she left.

No room for argument.

On purpose.

You stared at the dress for a long moment before sighing. Against your better judgment, you slipped it on.

A black v-neck mini dress.

It hugged every inch of you. Revealed far more than you were used to. Too much.

When you finally looked in the mirror, you barely recognized yourself. The dress clung to you in a way you weren’t used to, the neckline dipping lower than anything you’d ever worn, but… it didn’t look bad. For a brief, dangerous moment, confidence bloomed in your chest—quiet and unfamiliar, but real. Maybe Pansy was right, you told yourself. Maybe stepping outside your comfort zone wasn’t such a terrible thing. So you took a breath, smoothed the fabric down, and decided to wear it—trusting her judgment over your own.

⸻

The moment you arrived at the dinner, you knew something was wrong.

Everyone else was dressed formal. Elegant. Proper.

And then there was you.

For Pansy, being out of code was expected.

For you?

Heads turned. Whispers followed. You felt eyes on you from every corner of the room. Some boys smirked. Others whistled under their breath.

Your confidence vanished.

Heat flooded your face as realization set in.

Pansy had tricked you.

And of course—someone noticed.

Mattheo Riddle had always been observant.

Too observant.

He knew this wasn’t you. He knew you wouldn’t dress like this—not by choice.

It didn’t take him long to understand what had happened.

⸻

Timeskip.

You sat on an abandoned staircase, knees pulled to your chest, shoulders shaking as quiet sobs slipped out. The stone beneath you was cold, but you didn’t care.

You felt stupid. Hurt. Blinded by someone you trusted. And you hated yourself for it.

Then suddenly, footsteps echoed softly down the corridor.

You barely had time to wipe your face before someone stopped in front of you.

You looked up through teary eyes.

Mattheo.

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t comment. Didn’t look at your body or dress.

He looked at your face.

Silently, he shrugged off his blazer and held it out to you—an unspoken understanding in his eyes.