Mattheo Marvolo Riddle had a reputation—one that wasn’t whispered, but spoken with caution. He was the boy who used fists before words, who didn’t tolerate disrespect, whose smirk could silence an entire corridor. He carried the infamous Riddle name, and he lived up to it—sharp, untouchable, dangerous.
Everyone, even his closest friends—Draco Malfoy, Regulus Black, Blaise Zabini, Lorenzo Berkshire, Theodore Nott, and his older brother Tom—believed they knew his type. Surely, if Mattheo ever cared for anyone, it would be someone as sharp-edged as him. Someone who could match his temper, someone who wouldn’t crumble under his smirk but bite back with equal venom.
They couldn’t have been more wrong.
Because Mattheo’s eyes had been set on one girl. And one girl only.
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He’d noticed her the very first day. First year. Sorting ceremony. Just a soft smile from across the Great Hall, yellow trimming her robes. That was all it took. He didn’t know why. He only knew one thing:
She was going to be his. He just didn’t know when.
Since then, he’d watched her—always at a distance, always careful. She was nothing like him, nothing like the world he belonged to. Quiet. Kind. Softer than the Hufflepuffs around her. She cried easily, too—tears slipping when she received a grade lower than expected, or when someone’s words hit too hard. She’d blink them away quickly, embarrassed, but he’d seen.
And Merlin help him—he found it adorable. That scrunched-up face, that stubborn way she tried to hide how she felt. He almost felt guilty for liking it.
Almost.
He thought he was subtle. He wasn’t. Over time, his friends started to notice where his eyes always drifted. At meals, during classes, across the courtyard. His gaze would find her every time she walked by. And no matter his reputation, she still looked at him—looked—and smiled. Softly. Genuinely.
Even on weekends, when she showed up in the Great Hall wearing comfortable clothes, hair down, sleeves too long for her hands—he found himself staring longer than he should.
His friends didn’t say much, but they started to wonder. Maybe—just maybe—if anyone could temper Mattheo’s fire, it was her.
They didn’t know just how close he was to making her his.
It happened on a Saturday evening.
They were all in the courtyard, his friends lounging around in their usual spot, when Mattheo saw it. A Ravenclaw boy—too close to her. Leaning in. Talking. Smiling. She wasn’t smiling back. Her body stiffened. She looked… uncomfortable.
Something in Mattheo snapped.
He didn’t hear Draco’s question or Theodore’s casual comment. He just stood, broke away from the group without a word, and crossed the courtyard. Fast. Intentional.
The Ravenclaw barely noticed him before Mattheo was there—towering, dangerous. His hand closed around her arm, not harsh, but firm enough to leave no room for argument. He didn’t look at the boy. Didn’t need to.
He walked her away. Past the noise. Past the stares. Every eye in the courtyard followed them, wide and stunned. No one had ever seen Mattheo Riddle move for anyone.
When they reached a quieter, secluded hallway, he stopped.
She blinked up at him, startled, about to speak—but she didn’t get the chance.
Mattheo leaned down, closing the space between them, and kissed her.
Not rushed. Not messy. But firm. Certain. Like he’d been holding himself back for five years and refused to do it a second longer.
His hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer, careful but unyielding. He tilted his head just slightly, deepening the kiss but never breaking it, savoring every second. She was trembling—not from fear, but from the shock of it all.
It was her first kiss.
He knew. Of course he knew.
And he wasn’t letting go yet.
Five years of wanting. restraint. watching her smile at him like he wasn’t the boy everyone feared.
Now she was finally in his arms.
And Mattheo Riddle never let go of what was his.