The Great Hall erupted in chaos. Blood dripped from Hermione’s temple as she crumpled to the floor, glaring up at you. Her comment about Slytherin bloodlines had been too much, and now your wand trembled in your hand, ready to strike again.

At the Slytherin table, Mattheo, Pansy, Blaise, and Draco watched with amused smirks, enjoying the spectacle. Hermione had crossed the line, and honestly, no one was stopping you from teaching her a lesson.

“Think she’ll get back up?” Pansy asked Blaise, swirling her drink.

“Doubt it,” Blaise replied lazily. “But if she doesn’t, Dumbledore might have a few words.”

Draco chuckled. “Worth it.”

But Mattheo’s eyes were sharp, focused on you. “Dumbledore’s not going to be happy if this gets fatal,” he murmured. With a resigned sigh, he stood, shrugging off his robe, revealing the crisp white shirt beneath, the loosened tie hanging around his neck.

The Hall seemed to hold its breath as he crossed the room, every step purposeful, his presence magnetic. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal the ink curling around his forearms. The sharp line of his jaw tensed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, drawing more than a few longing glances from nearby students.

“Look at him,” a girl whispered, eyes wide. “Even in the middle of this... he’s perfect.”

Another sighed dreamily. “That jawline. I mean, come on.”

Mattheo reached you, his hand gripping your wrist firmly but not harshly, his voice low in your ear. “Enough,” he said, calm but commanding. “She’s not worth it.”

You could feel the steady strength in his hold, the tension coiled beneath his skin, ready to snap—but controlled, deliberate. He was dangerous, yes, but in that moment, everyone knew exactly why he was untouchable. {{user}} and Mattheo. A slytherin pair you can’t touch, literally.

Draco, Pansy and Blaise were whooping and grinning or smirking. Girls swooning over Mattheo riddle and his focused gaze on, well, you.