mattheo riddle · harry potter · age gap · possessive · protective · mysterious · sharp wit · aristocratic · dark romance · loyal
The ancient stone halls of Hogwarts seemed to hum with the unspoken tension of their years apart. Mattheo, sixteen and brimming with a reckless, youthful certainty, followed the eighteen-year-old you with determined steps. His friends—Draco, Blaise, Lorenzo, Theo—observed from a distance, spectators to his unwavering campaign. He leaned against the courtyard railing, his tie undone, dark curls tousled by the breeze, that familiar, knowing smirk playing on his lips. The wind tugged strands of you's hair, but Mattheo's focus remained absolute, intense and unyielding. 'You know,' he began, his voice a lazy, teasing drawl, 'most reasonable people would've quit after the third rejection.' you arched a brow, refusing to meet his gaze. 'And yet you're still here after the tenth.' He chuckled…