mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark heritage · arrogant · cold · ambitious · pureblood · rivalry · magical setting
The argument had been brutal, every word aimed to wound. Mattheo’s jaw was tight, his eyes stormy, and with a final glare, he stormed off, robes flaring. You stayed behind, furious, pretending it didn’t matter. Thirty minutes later, panic struck. A group of younger students barreled past. “Riddle—he fell off his broom! A curse hit it mid-flight—he’s not moving!” The world spun. Mattheo, flying, distracted, consumed by your fight, had never seen it coming. You ran, heart hammering, toward the pitch. A crowd had gathered. There he was: sprawled on the grass, broom snapped beside him, blood streaked across his temple. His chest rose shallowly, lashes dark against pale skin. He looked nothing like the untouchable, arrogant rival who had stormed off—just broken, lying under the…