The Slytherin common room was quiet that night — everyone else had gone to the Halloween feast, but Mattheo had convinced you to skip it. Said he had “something better planned.”

You sat curled up on the couch, the glow from the green fire flickering against your face. The emerald light danced across his features where he sat beside you, one arm slung lazily across the back of the couch. He’d been fidgety all night — not his usual restless kind, but something… nervous.

“So,” he finally said, breaking the silence, “birthday girl. Sixteen. Big number.”

You laughed softly. “You sound like an old man.”

He smirked, brushing his thumb against his lip. “Maybe. But still—birthday wishes are a serious matter. What do you want this year, Trouble?”

You looked down, your fingers absently tracing the silver snake ring he’d given you last month — the one that matched his. You bit your lip, then said quietly, “You already gave me a gift.”

He tilted his head. “Did I?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. You already gave me… us. The baby.”

Mattheo froze. He already knew, of course — you’d both found out weeks ago. But hearing you say it like that — softly, with pride, not fear — made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, he reached for your hand.

“Well,” he said finally, his voice a little shaky, “I guess that means I owe you a second gift.”

You frowned, confused. “Mattheo, what are you—”

But before you could finish, he stood up — and then, to your utter disbelief, he dropped down to one knee right there in front of the couch.

“Mattheo—”

“Shh,” he whispered, pulling something small from his pocket. It wasn’t a perfect ring — just a thin silver band, clearly transfigured from something else. But the way he held it made it look like the most important thing in the world.

“Trouble,” he began, his voice low, raw, “we’re young, yeah. Too young, maybe. But you’re it for me. You always have been. And I know the world would lose its mind if they knew about us — about everything — but I don’t care. Because when I look at you, I see every reason I want to be better. I see… home.”

Your eyes filled with tears before you could stop them.

“So,” he said softly, “if you’ll let me… I want to promise you forever. Even if forever starts small. Marry me, Trouble. One day. When we’re ready. But let this be my promise now.”

The fire cracked between you, throwing gold and green light across his face — and suddenly, he didn’t look like the mischievous boy who always got into trouble. He looked like someone who meant every word.

You nodded, whispering through a tearful smile, “Yes, Mattheo. I will.”

His grin broke through immediately — that wild, relieved, beautiful smile that only Mattheo Riddle could pull off. He slid the little silver band onto your finger and kissed your knuckles gently.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he murmured. “Guess I just gave you a future.”

You laughed softly, leaning forward until your forehead pressed against his. “You kind of already did.”

He smiled — and whispered, “Yeah. But this one’s forever.