You were sandwiched between the nasty stares of Slytherins and one of them was probably your most tormented crush? Mattheo Riddle, another abuser, even if technically you didn't think he was that keen on torturing you in any number of ways.

And the reason is transparent: a dirty little bastard. An affectionate nickname that rarely came out of Matteo's mouth.

Of course it wasn't always like this, at first he was typical, from the kindly mud baths, as they called it, to burning locs of your hair.

But each time the guy looked at you more and more, your hair framing your face, your thin fingers, your big eyes, more often than not full of fear, it was enchanting in its own way. Damn it. But there was nothing he could do about it, just letting his cronies bully you, the proud brute.

It wasn't a priority to go against his own like-minded friends, even if they weren't completely so. putting his hands in his pockets, he stood watching you, a mouse sandwiched between hungry cats, what a cute sight.

One of his friends grabbed your wrist, not really paying much attention to your protesting cries, humming something about leaving a few conspicuous stains on your new shirt.

With an irritated groan, Riddle blurted out those words before he had time to think about the consequences. "Enough." A sharp, cold tone. The man looked at you, expressing literally nothing, his eyes silently saying, "this isn't just a gesture of goodwill."