"Hell yeah!" Mattheo screamed as Enzo dashed across the Quidditch pitch with the Quaffle in hand, flanked by Nora and Adrian Pucey.
"And that's another goal for Slytherin, which makes this game 130-60."
Mattheo and the other beater, Vincent Crabbe, high-fived from their position high above the field. While the two Gryffindor beaters were off chasing the bludgers—the sorriest Weasley twin replacements that he'd ever seen—they were watching the action from afar. Plus, Mattheo had to admit: he was sticking a little closer to Nora than he normally did. The idea of a blunger getting anywhere near her pretty head made his blood boil. As long as he was sitting on his broom, nothing would come near her.
Nora stole the ball from Gryffindor's chaser and Mattheo watched as she dashed across the field. She's bloody brilliant. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a Chaser with her kind of skill. The way she was able to dip and dive between the opponents while remaining steady was a mystery. If she had a better broom, she would be miles ahead of everyone else. Probably even their captain.
His chest swelled with pride as he watched her. "Atta baby!" he cried out when she threw the ball with such grace into the hoops before hitting a bludger out toward the Black Lake.
Mattheo whooped and clapped for her, drawing her attention from the other side of the pitch. Her eyebrows furrowed with confusion, almost as if she wasn't expecting him to be supportive of her. Honestly, before very recently, he wouldn't have expected it either. But now, it felt so natural that he couldn't imagine not being her number-one supporter.
Nora blushed when she saw that he was being genuine before darting off to the other side of the field, flanking Enzo in the traditional Slytherin way while the three Chasers passed the Quaffle back and forth.
A shiny gold object momentarily stole Mattheo's attention away from the action. He looked up to find the golden snitch dancing not too far away from him, almost as if it were taunting him with its blinding presence.
"Malfoy!" He called out to the blond boy, pointing in the general direction of where he last saw the little ball. Draco's eyes seemed to have zeroed in on his target before he darted off in pursuit.
Mattheo grinned, knowing that the game would be over soon and turned back to the Chasers. But his grin soon dropped when he looked over and watched Nora carrying the Quaffle. One of Gryffindor's useless Chasers barreled toward her at full speed. Mattheo took off toward them but he was too late. The bright jersey slammed into her, knocking her and her broom toward the ground while the Quaffle fell back into free play.
The roaring cheer of the crowd soon sounded as the announcer signaled the end of the game, Draco Malfoy with the snitch in hand. But Mattheo's ears felt like they were underwater as they looked at Nora lying on the ground. He sped down to her and knelt by her.
"Nora! Nora, baby, are you okay?" His eyes raked over her figure and noticed the way her leg was clearly bent at an odd angle. Fucking hell. He was thankful she was conscious and not bleeding but that didn't look like an injury that Madam Pomfrey could heal in a day.
She groaned in pain before sitting up and grabbing her leg, screaming when she saw the damage. "No, no, no!" She cried out. Nora didn't seem to even notice that he was there, her mind seemingly zeroed in on her broken leg.
Mattheo brushed his hand down her long ponytail, noticing how smooth it was even after an exciting Quidditch match. "Don't worry, princess. Madam Pomfrey can fix it and you can be up and at em in no time."
As if the clouds had lifted and her trance had broken, Nora turned to look at him with an odd look in her eyes. Almost a mixture of panic, pain, and anger. "I'm not your fucking princess! Get away!"
She's upset. She's taking it out on you. It's nothing you did, he told himself but he wasn't quite sure if he believed it. He'd seen many looks on Nora Rosier's face. Annoyance, lust, sarcasm, lust, disgust, lust. But this was pure, unbridled fury. And it was all directed toward him.
"Just go away, Riddle. Don't talk to me ever again. This little thing was a mistake." She cradled her broken leg while everyone seemed to be celebrating around them. A rivalry game proved to be quite a distraction from the fighting couple. Mattheo wasn't sure anyone even knew she was down here.
"It wasn't a mistake and you know it—"
"Oh please. You and I both know that our little broom closet makeout sessions were only for revenge and that neither of us even really wanted it." He could see the blatant lie on her face but he could also see that she wasn't thinking clearly. A tunnel had been placed around Nora's eyes. She could only see two things: a debilitating injury and him. And right now, he didn't have faith she could separate the two.
Mattheo had always been good at reading people. Of course, his brother was excellent at reading people—his skills in legilimency being somewhat of nightmare fuel for young wizards, among the many other things—but Evelyn had always insisted that Mattheo was different.
"Both of you have your strengths, Matty. People is one of yours."
At the time, he rolled his eyes. "Enzo is the one that's good with people."
"He is," she'd said with a nod, "but so are you, just in a different way. Enzo makes people feel comfortable and accepted. He could be put in a room with a hundred strangers and come out with a hundred new friends. But you? You know how to make someone feel seen. You know what someone needs to hear when they need to hear it. You can sit with someone at the side of the lake in total silence because you know that's what they need. You know how to be what they need. It's a gift, Mattheo, one that I think holds its own magic."
Mattheo had never fully believed his sister-in-law/cousin until that very moment when he looked at Nora and knew. He could see everything written plainly on her face. Her pain radiating from her knee and shin bones, flaring outward to the rest of her body. Her fear that she'd finally become good at Quidditch and just threw it all away over a penalty that wasn't even ignored. Her anger that she couldn't do anything to fix it or herself. Even the small little insecurities she'd had that she wouldn't be enough anymore now that she was "lacking" in one area of her life. And there, written in a small spot in the corner of her eye, was her conflicting feelings over him and the way that his presence had overwhelmed her past the point of no return.
She felt like a wounded animal backed into a corner, biting at the first hand who offered her help. And as much as he wanted to be that hand for her, he couldn't. Not until she stepped away from that corner and out into the open where she could feel safe again.
He rocked back on his heels while still looking at her. When Mattheo spoke again, his voice was steady and calm. "I'm going to go grab a professor who can bring you to Madam Pomfrey. I'll inform Enzo who can check up on you once you've begun to heal. You should be fine to attend your classes and there aren't any practices you'd miss until Tuesday. If you spend this weekend resting, you might be able to participate in them." He sighed. "And I'll leave you alone until you don't want to be that way anymore. Alright?"
Nora looked up at him with wide eyes. He could practically feel her vulnerability radiating through them. Mattheo's chest ached just at the sight but he forced himself to remain calm and give her the space she needed.
Her hazel eyes glistened for just a moment. The colors of the Quidditch pitch reflected clearly in them. The browns of the stands, the green of the grass, the gold of the snitch. This was the first time that Mattheo thought she truly looked beautiful, as she lay on the ground with her leg snapped in two, her hair a little more untamed than normal and her lip wobbling with tears she wouldn't shed until he left. Not sexy, not hot. Just beautiful.
Everything truly clicked into place at that moment. Nora wasn't a goddess or a queen, wasn't a bitch or a nuisance. She was just a girl who was scared of the world and not finding her place in it.
Perhaps Evelyn was right. Perhaps his skills really were magic.
Something stirred inside Mattheo at that moment, something he couldn't quite explain. Something he wouldn't be able to recognize until a long time from them. Something unfamiliar. Or perhaps unfamiliar wasn't the right word but something new being rediscovered for the first time since he was eleven.
"Alright," Nora said in a voice that was probably supposed to sound hard and tough but really just sounded like she was about to cry.
With a heaviness he didn't understand, Mattheo left her and did exactly as he promised. He directed Professor Snape to her location and also informed Madam Pomfrey, who he didn't realize was watching the match from nearby. Mattheo spoke with Enzo, who assured him that he would speak to Nora and wouldn't do anything until he heard from Madam Pomfrey directly about when/if Nora could play again.
There was just one more thing he needed to do. One thing he pointedly left off his list before.
Mattheo waited outside the Gryffindor locker room, his large arms crossed across his chest while his jaw was set into a hard scowl. Every Gryffindor that left the locker room scurried away quickly when they saw him. Even Harry Potter didn't want to try and get in the way of whatever Mattheo Riddle was about to do.
In his many years at Hogwarts, Mattheo had developed somewhat of a reputation. All of the Riddles had, really.
There was Evelyn, the traumatized girl soul bonded to the Dark Lord. She was quiet, intelligent, and beautiful but she was not to be underestimated. She might not have been Tom Riddle but she was his wife for a reason. The Dark Lady had sent many (guilty, of course) people to their deaths. Mattheo should know. He had to bury the bodies.
Then there was Tom Riddle, the current Dark Lord who was, in a way, worse than their father. Tom, though, was smarter. He cared little about Muggles or Muggle-borns. He only cared about power. As long as he held it, he was satisfied in not seeking more. Wizards feared Tom for good reason, knowing that the moment they even thought about crossing him would be their last. Mattheo was pretty sure that Tom was who the devil wanted to be when he grew up. Tom was the literal boogeyman, though he was much smarter than their father. He didn't give authorities a reason to arrest him even though everyone knew that his heart was straight up black for anyone who wasn't his immediate family.
And then there was Mattheo. The goofy, partying, Quidditch-loving Riddle brother who seemed like a teddy bear at first glance. Until they noticed the way his nose never sat quite straight, like it had been fixed several times over the years. They'd probably notice splattered blood from time to time, whether it was from his fight victims or his brother's that he buried. They all heard whispers of the knife he kept on him at all times, the same knife his mother used to use on her victims, the same knife Mattheo occasionally used on his when he felt like having a little more fun. And, of course, they knew who his father was. Just because the younger Riddle brother had a deep-dimpled smile he flashed off and threw the occasional rager didn't mean that he was one to mess with. Mattheo was known for his temper, a temper that often had students landing in the hospital wing if they (stupidly) dared to cross him.
A temper that was currently set on the man walking out of the locker room.
In a flash, Mattheo's fist landed on the Gryffindor Chaser, each punch landing harder than the last. Blood flew onto his face and yet he didn't care because he was already seeing red.
"You… fucking… hurt… my… girl," he seethed in between each hit. "She is mine and you dared to touch her."
The boy groaned, a few of his teeth already gone. He never stood a chance. "I swear I didn't know she was yours, mate. If I did, I wouldn't have gone near her."
That was probably true. It wasn't like he'd ever had a girlfriend but if his older brother was anything to go off of, everyone would leave her alone when he eventually did. The last boy who touched Evelyn at Hogwarts was found mauled almost beyond recognition by "werewolves". Mattheo was currently debating doing far worse to the boy lying beneath him.
"You broke her fucking leg!" He hissed as he landed another punch to her jaw.
Finally, he grabbed the boy by his shirt collar, pulling him up until they were seeing eye to eye. The Gryffindor whimpered.
"Spread the word," Mattheo growled. "If you or anyone else dares to touch Nora Rosier, say anything against her, or even think about her in the wrong way, I will make my mother look like Mother fucking Teresa. Got it?"
"Got it," he replied, his head shaking vehemently with fear. "Whatever you say, Mattheo."
"Good lad." He went to stand and heard the man sigh in relief. It was too bad he didn't see the smirk on Mattheo's face. "Oh, and one more thing."
"Yeah, mate?"
"Thanks to you, I won't be getting off anytime in the near future. So here's a little something for that."
With a swift kick to the head, the boy was knocked unconscious. When he woke up, he wouldn't remember the beating he took in front of the locker room, only the lesson he learned from it.
Nora Rosier now belonged to Mattheo Riddle. Whether she knew it or not.
What was going to be a fluffy little filler Quidditch chapter somehow turned into a lot more but I'm not mad bc I really ended up liking it! I hope you all did too. :)