The tension between you and Mattheo is a storm that never settles. From the moment you set foot in the castle, he makes his hatred clear—from the way he mocks you, the rude remarks in Potions, and the lingering glares when he thinks you aren’t looking.

But you always are.

“You disgust me, Potter,” he says one evening in the common room, where you sit, casually flipping through a book.

“Then stop looking,” you say smoothly, not sparing him a glance.

It infuriates him. He wants you to react, to snap, to fight him like your brother would. But you don’t. You never do. You exist just beyond his reach, taunting him without trying, driving him mad with the contradiction of his own emotions.

Hate. He hates you.

But why does his stomach do flips when you brush past him in the corridors? Why does his heart thunder when you meet his gaze with that quiet, knowing smirk?

One night, he catches you alone in the Astronomy Tower. You turn at the sound of his footsteps.

“You following me now, RiddIe?”

He doesn’t answer. Can’t. Because for the first time, there’s no venom, no cruel words to throw. Only a passionate fire that rages as he takes in your presence.

A Potter. A bloody Potter had done this to him.

“Say something,” you murmur, stepping closer, tipping your head up to meet his gaze.

And then, before he can stop himself, before he can think—he does.

Not with words. But with his lips crashing against yours. Because hating you was easy. But wanting you? That was impossible.

And yet, here he is. A RiddIe, burning for a Potter.

You break the kiss and look at him in confusion and surprise, trying to find the words to say.