It was only day two when Mattheo felt like he was going out of his bloody mind. His dick had strained in his pants at the sight of a Hufflepuff's ass in a short skirt when he knew that he was most likely not ending the month with forty galleons in his pocket. You can do this, he told himself as he forced himself to walk away from the girl and onto the Quidditch pitch. There, he spent an hour hitting bludgers back and forth until he no longer thought about her ass and only thought about the beater's club instead. On the bright side, Mattheo thought, I will definitely get this co-captain position with how much extra time I'll be putting in.

His friends hadn't taken to torturing and teasing him—yet. The month was still very early and he had no doubt that Malfoy was coming up with something. The little ferret always had something up his sleeve, usually aimed toward Potter but soon coming toward him. If one of his friends did something as stupid as agreeing to go a month without sex, he'd be right there hoarding it over him too.

Mattheo's only saving grace was that his friends seemed to be just as sexually frustrated as him. The difference was they weren't going to end up with forty galleons in their pocket. Theo—who had always been almost as much as a man-whore as Mattheo—seemed to swear off women for some odd reason Mattheo couldn't name. Draco didn't sleep around as often but ever since his engagement to Daphne Greengrass was announced, he hadn't seemed too interested in anything other than spending time with her and her younger sister. And Enzo—the only one of the friend group who probably cared about anything other than a good time with a girl—may have hidden it well but Mattheo knew that he was just as desperate at the rest of them.

They were a sorry lot, those Slytherin boys, but they were brothers at heart. So if Mattheo was engaged in celibacy, it was ironic that it was at a time when they (unknowingly) were too.

"Dude, if I could somehow find a way to fuck a girl without breaking the bet, we would be golden," Mattheo remarked to Theodore as the two split a cigarette on their way to class. This was a daily ritual for the two of them. A cigarette and a mostly one-sided conversation (usually about women) before potions class. Sometimes, it was Mattheo's favorite part of the day. He knew that he could count on his roommate to be there for him every morning and vice versa. There was something special about their brotherhood. Forged at a young age and only growing stronger with time.

Theo rolled his eyes. "Se mio nonno avesse tre palle sarebbe un flipper."

Mattheo scowled and hit his friend on the back of the head. "You know I don't fucking speak pasta."

Theo chuckled before repeating, "If my grandfather had three balls, he would be a pinball machine. It means that there is no point in thinking about hypotheticals because they will never come to be."

"Oh, so now you're a gelato boy and a philosopher, is that it?" Mattheo frowned as Theo laughed again. Between the two of them, they probably had about a total of three brain cells that hadn't been fried but drugs, alcohol, or just pure teenage boy stupidity. The third one tended to bounce around a lot. Today, it would seem that it was in Theo.

"Calmati, my friend. Calm down." Mattheo couldn't decide whether he liked or hated it when his friend spoke Italian to him. Theodore's deceased mother was Italian so he had spent most of his life in the Nott family villa in Italy. The result was a little git who was a smartass in two languages instead of just one. "Thirty days isn't that long and soon you'll have a pocketful of gold and a chick in your bed. It won't be so bad."

"Unless I can find a way to get off and keep the bet." Yes, that would be ideal. But how? Mattheo considered himself somewhat of a sexpert. He had been called a "god" many times during his fucking career. But even he couldn't think of a loophole through this.

Theo coughed out ashen-smelling smoke. "You can't use your wand to jack off, mate. There isn't a smell for that and I'm appalled you would use it if there was."

"Shut up."

His friend smirked. "Maybe you can speak to it and it will obey. Like a dog."

This time, when Mattheo hit Theo, it was a lot harder. "Go fuck yourself."

Theo's smug grin only widened. "Yeah, I can go fuck myself. But you can't."

It was then that the two boys reached the potions classroom, which was probably good considering Mattheo was just about to debate the merits of punching the shit out of his best friend. Out of all the Slytherin boys, he was easily the most violent. You could blame it on the influence of his father and older brother—who were both more than a little evil—or you could say it was due to his insane mother who had an affinity for knives or you could say it was because of his massive pride and even larger temper. No matter the reason, Mattheo Riddle had an unexplainable violence lingering under his skin. Like a volcano whose lava was always simmering while it waited for the right time to explode.

Mattheo had always liked potions class—there was something about the way that Snape was an absolute cunt that cracked him up—but today it dragged on. Perhaps it was because he was a week into this bloody bet, the longest week of his life. Maybe I'll write Evelyn, he thought. She'll give me advice.

Ever since he had met his cousin in his third year, Mattheo had grown rather close to her. It was sometimes odd to describe their relationship to others. Officially, she was his cousin and sister-in-law. But honestly, she felt more like a real sister to him and (sometimes) even a mother. She looked out for him in a way that no one ever had. Her home was always open, her smiles always gentle, and her ears always listening before she would give him the best advice he had never heard. She just had a way of making him feel warm and light, which was ironic considering her husband and soulmate was the epitome of cold and dark. And she was one of the few people in the world he knew he could truly count on. Mattheo had never really had that, not before her. He had Tom, of course, but there was always the voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that Tom couldn't ever be fully counted on. Not because Tom wouldn't be there for him—Mattheo knew his older brother would do anything for him—but because the devil's apprentice probably had the highest chance in the world of making it into Azkaban. And he had Theo, too, but Theo had his own issues and Mattheo didn't want to burden him with them. Same with Draco, Enzo, and Blaise. So really, with the "deep stuff", he just had Evelyn.

At the end of class, Mattheo grumbled out a goodbye to Theo before making his way to the owlery. There was a spare bit of crumpled parchment in one hand—Evelyn wouldn't expect anything less from him—and a quill in the other. As he made his way up to the tallest tower in Hogwarts, Mattheo wrote.

My dearest Evie,

He grinned already. His brother hated it when he was affectionate with Evelyn, which was ridiculous because she was his cousin. Sometimes, to piss Tom off, Mattheo would make a gripe or two. He would never even think of meaning them but it was fun to get under his brother's skin. Even little things like calling her "dearest" would bring a scowl to the unpleasant bloke's face.

My dearest Evie,

How are you? How is Dracula—sorry, Tom? I hope your holiday to Iceland went well. I know you two were eager to get rid of me so you could finally see the waterfalls. You'll have to show me any pictures you took when I am back for Christmas.

I wanted to ask you about something. I'm not really sure how to word this but there's this girl. I hate her but I can't stop thinking about her. Long story short, I can't get with anyone else either for a month because of a bet from Theo. So I'm just stuck with my thoughts and it's driving me nuts. Could really use your advice. Don't tell Tom. He'd probably obliviate the memory of her from me and for some reason, I don't really want that.

Anyway. Tell Tom to try and limit his murder because I'll be busier with Quidditch and can't bury bodies as often as last year. And feel free to send me some of that fudge you make. No offense but it's the only thing you don't ruin.

Sincerely,

Your Most Handsome and Loveliest Mattheo

He smiled at his handiwork. Mattheo wasn't exactly the most eloquent of boys so it wasn't like this was going to be a work of Shakespeare. Letter writing wasn't really his forte. Still, he thought it was rather nice. He clipped the letter to his owl and sent it off with a pat before making his way back down.

Evelyn's reply came just a few short days later, over a week and a half since the bet had begun.

My darling Matty,

Iceland was wonderful, thank you. I think it might have been Tom's favorite destination, though I must admit that I preferred Alaska. I must convince him to take me somewhere warmer soon. Riddle Manor is already cold enough.

Is this girl who I think it is? If so, I would suggest finally getting your head out of your ass and talking to her. If it's not, then I'll be eager to hear all about her this Christmaswhich reminds me. I want to have a true family Christmas this year. We haven't had one since the year we met. It would be nice to do the large feast and presents again instead of just having a quiet night at home like we normally do. Perhaps you can invite one of your friends—Theo, maybe?

As for your odd predicament (and I am begging you to spare the details of that), I think you would do well to remember that a month isn't long. Perhaps you can spend this time forming a relationship with the girl based on trust and respect, not on sex. That is what true love consists of, though I will admit the sex is a nice little perk. So talk to her. Woo her. Think of it like a marathon—more challenging but more rewarding.

Please write more often. I miss you.

Love,

Mrs. Riddle

Mattheo smiled as he clutched the letter, though he did grimace when he read her raving over her sex life with her brother. He hastily wrote a quick reply.

Evie,

I will most certainly be there for Christmas. Don't worry. I'll drag Theo's ass too. Just have cigarettes and he'll be happy.

As for your advice, I'll consider it. I can't promise anything more because she's... awful. But I will consider it just because you asked me to.

Yours,

Mattheo

Talking to Nora? For years, she had been the bane of his existence. That was putting it lightly. Talking to her had seemed like hell. But Evelyn was almost always right, especially about matters of the heart.

Postmarking the letter, he hurriedly ran down the owlery stairs, not noticing how distracted he was about Nora Rosier and her stupid fucking tits until he ran straight into her. "Ow! Do you have eyes still, Riddle, or are they too busy googling fifth years for you to watch where you're going?" A snarky familiar voice asked.

Great. Just who I wanted to see. He was too tired, too damn horny to deal with her. This week had been long enough without having to deal with her. "Sorry, Rosier. I didn't see you."

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, half of her face filled with concern and the other with confusion and apprehension. "Are you alright? You don't look so good."

Mattheo scrunched his face before placing a fist on his forehead. "You don't have to pretend to care. Just go send your bloody letters."

"I don't pretend—" She scoffed, rolled her eyes, and straightened her shoulders, now looking down at him with an upturned chin and annoyance in her eyes. "You know what: I don't care. Do whatever the fuck you want and watch where you're going."

And then she was stalking up the stairs, her tight little ass swishing in the short Hogwarts skirt. Fuck me, he groaned mentally. Lusting over her was getting old already. "Rosier," he called out, wishing to put some sort of distance between them. The concern on her face was... uncomfortable. They weren't supposed to feel anything for each other, anything other than hatred, at least. All other feelings were vanquished on that day. "Fuck you."

When she turned and closed those few stairs between them, he noticed her nostrils flared in the way that they always did when she wasn't expecting an insult to come from him. He imagined her blood boiling inside of her body as all of her thoughts were focused on him, even if she didn't want them to. "That's it," he purred. "Get angry."

Mattheo stepped closer to her, pinning her against the wall of the tall tower. "I can see you thinking about me, princess. I can see it in those little eyes that can't decide whether they are hazel or green."

Confusion filled her face while her lips parted. And though her body was stiff and her nostrils still flared with annoyance, she wasn't pushing him away. "Am I on your mind, Nora Rosier?" he whispered, pushing a piece of her straight, dark blonde hair behind her ear. "Because you've certainly been on mine."

"G-get away from me," she breathed. He could still see the anger simmering beneath her veins but he could also see the rising desire, too.

Mattheo smirked. "Are you sure that's what you want? Your breath is stuttering almost as much as your voice. I imagine your heart is pounding inside your chest. I wonder what would happen if I moved closer..."

And when he stepped into her, smelling the intoxicating mixture of amber and coffee that lingered on her skin, she stiffened. Whatever small amount of lust that was in her eyes before had vanished in an instant.

Nora took her forearm and used it to shove him backward, almost sending him flying across the rail. "Fuck you, Riddle. Don't ever come near me again."

And then she was gone, leaving him alone with his raging hard-on and thoughts he couldn't quite understand. All he knew was that they were all about Nora and all unbearable.

The tensionnnnnn omg. It's killing me. I just want them to bang already and I'm the damn writer. Hope your week is going well so far! I tried matcha for the first time today (I can be kind of a baby about trying new things lmao so this is big for me) and I finished a book. Here's to the rest of a good week :)