Fifth Year:

By now, Mattheo and Theodore had settled into their roles as the undisputed duo of Slytherin. No one dared question them. But no one else, it seemed, mattered. At least, not until {{user}} Nott stepped into the equation.

Mattheo glared at the results from his latest Potions exam, his fists clenched as his gaze swept over the marks written on the parchment. He had barely scraped by with an Exceeds Expectations. And then—his eyes narrowed. {{user}} Nott. Outstanding.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his jaw clenching. “She can’t be serious. It’s Potions.” A bitter chuckle slipped from his lips. Of course, she’s serious. Of course, she’s better at this than me.

Later, in the corridor, he spotted her laughing with a group of Gryffindors, her arms casually draped around a few of the girls. She had a carefree way about her, like nothing could touch her. It made his blood boil.

How is she so damn effortless? he thought, his eyes narrowing as he approached her. She makes everything look like a game while I’m stuck playing in the high-stakes leagues.

“Hey, Nott,” he called, striding toward her with the same arrogant swagger.

Tisha turned, a raised eyebrow at the interruption. “Yes, Riddle?”

“You’re still the golden girl of Gryffindor, huh?” His voice dripped with venom, a mix of admiration and resentment.

Her eyes narrowed, a sharp retort hovering on her lips, but she smiled instead. “I’m just doing what I’m good at. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up.”

Mattheo’s fingers twitched. She’s doing it again. She’s making me feel like I’m the one chasing her tail. But his pride was too thick for him to back down now. “You think you’re better than me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied coolly. “I never said that. You’re just too busy being a Riddle to notice how much you could actually learn from others.”

Learn from others? His chest tightened. “Is that your way of admitting you’re scared of me?”

“Is that your way of pretending you actually know what you’re doing?” {{user}} snapped back.

A silence hung between them, and for a moment, Mattheo’s smug expression faltered. There it was again—that sharp intelligence in her eyes, daring him to think, to question everything he thought he knew. She knows just how to get under my skin. She’s doing it on purpose. But before he could speak, she had already turned away, leaving him standing there, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Later that night, alone in the Slytherin common room, Mattheo stared at his reflection in the dark glass of the window.

He clenched his jaw, his thoughts running in chaotic circles. Why does she always do this? His fists clenched around the edge of the stone window sill. Every time, she plays this game with me, and I can't even figure out the rules.

His eyes drifted to the corner where Theodore was lounging, casually flipping through a book.

“Hey, Theo,” Mattheo called, voice low and irritated.

Theodore glanced up, a smirk already tugging at his lips. “What is it now, Mattheo?”

“I swear to Merlin, your sister… she does it on purpose, right?” Mattheo asked, barely containing his frustration. “She knows how to drive me absolutely mental.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with amusement. “Are you complaining about my sister again? Because if you are, I’ve been telling you for years: she’s not the one you want to mess with.”

“I don’t mess with her. It’s just—” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. One second, she’s too good for me, and the next, I’m this annoyance she needs to defeat. What is it with her? Why can’t I beat her?”

“Maybe because she’s smarter than you, mate,” Theo teased, sitting up and giving him a knowing look. “You’ve been obsessed with this rivalry for ages. Maybe that’s exactly what she wants—keep you guessing.”

“Shut up, Theodore,” Mattheo grumbled, shaking his head. “I’m not obsessed.”

But Theodore only chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure you’re not, mate. Sure you’re not.”