Mattheo Marvolo Riddle had a reputation—one earned, not inherited.
Yes, he carried the name. Yes, it turned heads in corridors and made first years whisper. But it wasn’t legacy that made people wary of him.
It was him.
His temper. His fists. The way his jaw ticked before a fight. The way he smiled like a storm brewed just behind his eyes.
He was sharp-tongued, quicker with a glare than a greeting, faster with his wand than most were with their thoughts.
And yet—
None of it ever worked on her.
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A Hufflepuff.
He’d called it a cosmic mistake more than once. Claimed the Sorting Hat must’ve sneezed. “Pocket Puff.” “Sunshine.” Always in that lazy, mocking drawl.
But the venom he used on others never quite reached her.
She was light. That was the problem.
Not blinding. Not loud. Just steady warmth that lingered.
He always noticed her—even when he didn’t want to. Fifth year. A year younger than him. Too soft for the sharp edges of Hogwarts politics. She blushed easily. Got shy when attention lingered too long. Teared up over things most people would scoff at.
She was sweet.
And he was… him.
Opposites in every possible way.
The Yule Ball approached like a storm of its own. Corridors buzzed with speculation. Who would ask who. Who had already been claimed. Which alliances would be made beneath enchanted ceilings and drifting snow.
Mattheo Riddle’s name floated through it all.
Of course he wouldn’t go alone. He was too admired. Too mysterious. Too untouchable.
The guesses were predictable—elegant Slytherin girls, poised Ravenclaws, someone sharp enough to match him.
He listened to the rumors with mild amusement.
Because he already knew.
The right moment came on a quiet weekend afternoon. He knew exactly where she’d be—beneath the great oak tree at the back of Hogwarts grounds, where the sunlight filtered through leaves and painted gold across the grass.
He didn’t plan to ask in private.
He wanted everyone to see.
He brought flowers. Real ones. The small, warm-colored blooms she’d once stopped to admire near the greenhouses. He’d remembered. Tied together with a soft yellow ribbon.
Nothing flashy.
Nothing dramatic.
Just something that suited her.
When he stepped onto the grounds, composed as ever, conversations faltered. A few girls straightened instinctively, smoothing hair, lifting chins—certain they were about to be chosen.
He didn’t spare them a glance.
He walked straight past.
Past whispers.
Past widening eyes.
Until he reached her.
She sat beneath the oak, unaware at first. When his shadow fell across her, she looked up—surprise flickering across her face.
For once, he didn’t tower.
He crouched.
Actually crouched—bringing himself to her level. No looming height. No intimidation. Just steady eye contact.
He never crouched for anyone.
The courtyard had gone almost silent.
Even his friends, watching from a distance, had stopped pretending not to stare. Draco’s smirk faded into something more curious. Blaise looked impressed. Theo blinked like he was witnessing a rare celestial event.
Mattheo held out the flowers.
Calm. Certain.
The yellow ribbon caught the light.
Her hands moved slowly, almost hesitantly, as she accepted them. A faint flush spread across her cheeks. She murmured something soft—barely audible—but he caught it.
His lips curved into that familiar smirk.
But it wasn’t sharp.
It was warm.
Instead of standing immediately, he settled beside her beneath the tree, shoulder brushing lightly against hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Gasps rippled through the watching crowd.
A few disappointed expressions. A few stunned ones.
And then the realization spread.
Mattheo Marvolo Riddle wasn’t attending the Yule Ball with a Slytherin queen or a Ravenclaw prodigy.
He was going with Sunshine.
And as he sat there beside her, unconcerned with the stares, the storm behind his eyes didn’t look threatening.
It looked proud.