Spirals || Mattheo Riddle

꩜ Chapter 9 ꩜

TW: Mentions of abuse

Mattheo didn't come to classes on Monday, or Tuesday. Not that I cared.

Potions classes were spent antagonising Snape as much as possible. Charms was spent harmlessly flirting with Theo while Draco gave us disgusted looks. Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures was a time for gossiping with Pansy or Daphne, and Divination was making jokes about the teacher with Blaise. In all honesty she was lovely and I did enjoy the subject.

In Astronomy I would normally catch up on work, sometimes using the telescope or just spacing out. I didn't like doing the latter however, my thoughts were too often plagued with repeated memories, like my brain was stuck on replay.

Afternoons in the common room were one of my favourite things. We would often all sit around the fireplace or in the boys room and hangout, sometimes smoking in the dorm. I had noticed Draco getting more and more anxious, skipping his classes too when he could get away with it. I was worried for him but he refused to talk to any of us about it, not even Blaise.

It was late in the week now, not long till the weekend. The group had talked about going to Hogsmeade on Saturday, telling me they would show me around as I had never been. I had owled my father back telling him about the school and my classes. I had found myself loving this place more over time, loving my friends and even the classes. I missed little about home now.

I thought about that as I got ready, how this had became my home so quickly. After some speedy breakfast by myself, I headed to Astronomy. The others all had earlier classes on Thursdays whereas mine didn't start until 10.

The  teacher began the lesson talking about constellations and how their showing time frames fit into repetitive global events. It was quite interesting the way stars influenced our history, coincidence or not.

After three days of missed classes, Mattheo showed up to the class. The professor paid him almost no attention, she was the kind of teacher who didn't care what you spent your time doing, as long as you passed.

There was no award winning smirk on his face or even smug energy about him. He walked over to the back corner, behind me and didn't give me a second glance. I was confused. The boy always had some smart remark, even a roll of his eyes across the room at me. But today there was just nothing, he just looked tired.

I was shocked at my own emotions as concern came flooding into my body. I was not a naturally caring person. I stuck up for those who were close to me and no one else. So why did I find myself worrying over the dark shadows under Mattheo's eyes or the way his hair hung flat, as if he hadn't bothered to wash it in the last few days? 

Why should I give a shit about the son of a murderer? Who constantly treated me and others like shit. But my eye line kept falling back to him, cataloguing the way the dark bags under his eyes highlighted the chocolate brown of his iris's and the chapped skin of his lips. He looked pale, as if he hadn't eaten in the past few days.  

I was so mesmerised by thoughts of his appearance and habits that I hardly noticed him bringing his hand down on the table and looking up to look directly at me. I didn't break eye contact or look away shamefully. I kept analysing him, even if he was watching me do it.

I saw the way his nails had been bitten down and the skin broken, the way his tie was halfheartedly done and shoulders dropped forward like he didn't have the energy to keep them up.

He was still glaring at me, not removing his eyes either but keeping them in one place. So much of me wanted to ask what was wrong, why the boy was so down at this particular moment. But he wasn't the kind of person I was supposed to give a shit about.