It was raining again. Hogwarts always seemed to breathe differently when it rained, the stone walls darker, the air heavier, the world smaller. You sat by one of the tall windows in the Charms corridor, tracing patterns in the condensation while students hurried past, robes damp and laughter echoing down the hall.

You hadn’t meant to skip class. It just happened. The noise, the whispers, the endless talk about Harry and what he might be this time — it had all become too much.

“Detention’s not enough for you, is it?”

The voice came from behind you — smooth, teasing, unmistakable.

Mattheo Riddle leaned against the doorway, sleeves rolled up, wand lazily spinning between his fingers. His hair was damp from the rain, droplets glistening along his jaw. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a storm and carried it with him.

You didn’t turn, not at first. He seemed to enjoy that, the way you made him wait.

“What are you doing here?” you asked finally, voice quiet, still watching the rain.

He shrugged. “Was bored. Thought I’d see what Hogwarts’ most mysterious Potter is up to.”

There was a flicker of a smile on your lips, though you tried to hide it. He noticed, of course. He always did.

He walked closer, his reflection appearing beside yours in the window — taller, sharper, darker.

“Does it ever get exhausting?” he asked, almost gently. You looked at him, confused.

“Being his sibling.”

The words hung in the air between you, not cruel, not mocking. Just honest.

“I think,” he said softly, eyes lingering on yours, “you deserve to be seen for yourself.”

He stepped back before you could react, his usual smirk returning as if he hadn’t just said something that would echo in your chest for the rest of the day.