The whole of Hogwarts knew Mattheo Riddle’s reputation. He was bad, dangerous, and untouchable. The son of Voldemort, his very name was enough to send chills through the halls, a warning of trouble no one dared cross. Teachers kept a wary eye on him, but he was clever enough never to get caught doing anything that could ruin him. Students whispered about his temper, his cruel smirk, and the way he left a trail of broken hearts behind him. One night stands were his specialty. He never stayed, never promised, never looked back. Yet despite the darkness that clung to him, he had his small circle of friends—Draco, Blaise, and Theodore—the only ones who truly knew the sharper edges of his personality and never questioned the chaos that seemed to follow him.

But lately, the whispers had changed. Mattheo wasn’t seen wandering through the corridors with girls on his arm anymore. The late-night visits to the Slytherin common room, the stolen kisses that ended before dawn, the smirks that promised nothing but sin—they had all stopped. People speculated, but no one dared ask him why.

That night, the castle was quiet, the corridors nearly empty as she turned the corner, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. She didn’t see him until it was too late. A solid figure leaned lazily against the wall, as if he owned the space, as if he had been waiting just for her. She collided, breath catching, but before she could stumble, a strong hand shot out and caught her wrist with ease.

Mattheo Riddle’s smirk was the first thing she saw, sharp and knowing, like he had already planned this moment. His dark eyes glittered in the dim lantern light, studying her with an intensity that made her heart pound against her ribs. “You always walk like you’re chasing trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, every word rolling off his tongue as though it were meant only for her.

“And you always are trouble,” she managed to reply, her voice steadier than the quickening pulse in her throat.

Instead of stepping back, he shifted closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, the faint brush of his chest near her shoulder. His thumb moved slowly across the back of her hand, deliberate and teasing, like an unspoken question only she could answer. His smirk faded into something softer, less cruel and more dangerous in its honesty. For a fleeting moment, the walls he carried like armor seemed to slip.

“I don’t want trouble tonight,” he whispered, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips, lingering there in a way that made her breath catch. His voice was almost tender now, stripped of the arrogance he wore for everyone else. “I just want you.”

The weight of his confession pressed between them, secret and forbidden. No one could know. Not Draco, not Blaise, not even Theodore. Mattheo Riddle wasn’t supposed to care, wasn’t supposed to want anything more than fleeting nights and empty promises. Yet here he was, standing in the shadows of Hogwarts, holding her like she was the only thing in the world that could unravel him.