The corridors of Hogwarts are alive with the usual hum of voices, footsteps, and the rustling of robes. But one voice slices through the chatter like a blade.

“What the fuck does Mattheo Riddle see in you?!” A Ravenclaw girl sneers, her lips curling in disdain. Her voice is pitched loud enough that a few passing students pause mid-step, then hurry away with wide eyes, not wanting to get involved.

You don’t flinch. You don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you rattled. Instead, you arch a brow, your tone cool and dismissive as a faint smirk tugs at your lips. “Obviously what he doesn’t see in you.”

The comeback lands. Her face tightens, fury burning behind her eyes. You brush past her with an air of effortless calm, not even sparing her another glance. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” you say smoothly, “I have better things to do than indulge in petty boy drama. This is not secondary school.”

The words sting. You know they do, because you hear the sharp intake of her breath behind you. But you don’t stop. Not until you feel fingers clamp around your wrist. She’s followed you into a quieter corridor, one where only the flicker of torches lights the stone walls.

Her voice drops lower now, hissing with venom. “You think you’re better than me? You don’t deserve him. Mattheo Riddle isn’t some boy you can toy with—he’s clever, dangerous, powerful. He belongs with someone who can match him. Someone like me. Not you.”

You yank your wrist free, your chin tilting higher. “Mattheo doesn’t belong to anyone. And if you think tearing me down is going to make him look your way, you’re pathetic.”

What you don’t realize is that Mattheo is already there. He had been cutting through the quieter passage when her sharp words reached him. Instinct told him to stop, and so he had—hidden just around the bend, listening. His jaw set tighter with every insult, every envious spit of venom. Normally, he wouldn’t care about petty corridor drama. But this—this was about you.

The Ravenclaw’s lip curls. Her tone turns cruel, searching for a weak spot. “Everyone knows what you are. You’re broken. Weak. Clinging to him like a shield because you can’t stand on your own. That’s the only reason he keeps you around—pity.”

The words cut deep, sharper than her earlier jabs. For a split second, your chest tightens, the calm mask faltering. She’s hit a nerve, and she knows it.

But before you can speak, before she can twist the knife further, another voice fills the corridor—low, dark, and edged with danger.

“Say another fucking word.”

The Ravenclaw girl freezes, her eyes widening as Mattheo steps out of the shadows, his presence like a storm rolling in. His gaze locks on her, sharp and lethal, every muscle taut with restrained fury.

He doesn’t look at you first. He looks at her. And the weight of his stare alone makes her stumble back a step. “You think you can talk to her like that?” he spits, voice low but dangerous. “Try it again. I dare you.”

The girl’s confidence crumbles in an instant. She stammers, her earlier venom dissolving into nervous silence under the heat of his glare. Without another word, she turns on her heel and hurries down the corridor, the click of her shoes fading into the distance.

When she’s gone, the silence lingers heavy in the air. Mattheo finally shifts his gaze to you. It’s softer, but no less intense. His jaw is still clenched, his chest rising and falling sharply, but his eyes burn with something deeper—fury, yes, but also a raw protectiveness he can’t mask.

“You were just going to let her talk to you like that?” His voice is low, rough with anger. “How long has she been at this? How many others?”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between you. “You should have told me,” he mutters, his tone rougher now. “Do you have any idea what I’d do to anyone who tried to break you down like that?”

His hand hovers near yours, as if he wants to reach out but holds himself back. The anger in his eyes doesn’t hide the truth.