Riddle Me - Mattheo x Reader

Mattheo's Secret

It had been almost a week since the Delilah debacle, things haven't been too well with Mattheo. He has completely shut us all out, and as the days go by Draco is getting more and more worried Mattheo might spill something to his father and get our father in trouble. To be honest, I was too.

I noticed how Mattheo rarely came to the same classes as me anymore and went to any extent necessary to avoid me, Blaise, Draco, and Pansy. His normally cheery disposition was now stone cold and very much like the young Tom Riddle. Every time I tried to approach him he would come up with some shitty excuse like the one he used on me merely two hours ago, 'I need to go to bed, I'm so tired." at 1 in the afternoon.

I kept trying to approach him but nothing seemed to work he always seemed to slither out of the conversation (no pun intended). What I thought could've been a fruitful friendship, had turned distant and nonexistent.

I was up late at night roaming the corridors nonchalantly as I usually did. The risk of getting in trouble never really bothered me too much; if luck was on my side, I may end up in the same detention as Mattheo. Walking past the second-floor corridor, I heard something that struck my heart with a jolt of excitement - Mattheo's cool voice. It was kind of odd too, what was he doing up so late at night? I s'pose I could ask myself the same thing I thought to myself. He was engaged in a heated conversation with someone; someone with an unmistakably Irish voice, an accent I never heard at Hogwarts...

'You aren't supposed to be out of bed at night now Mattheo.' the man said oddly fervently.

'Don't get ahead of yourself Crouch. I've just come to check up on the supply. Steady?' Mattheo questioned. 'Good.' he said after a pause.

'Your father set you up to this?' the man spoke again this time in a more mature manner, though his voice sounded mousier and slightly crazed.

'That is none of your business. Adieu Crouch.' Mattheo said calmly, the sharp clacking of shoes proceeded towards the door where I stood crouched (no pun intended)against the doorway listening intently to the conversation. But, before I could register the noise the door had creaked open and I fell to floor. I winced slightly as the smooth sandstone pricked at my bare skin. 'Y/N?' Mattheo said bewildered.

I laughed awkwardly, 'Mattheo! What a surprise.' What a surprise?! What are you saying!

'Indeed.' Mattheo chuckled, helping me up. 'I was just having a chat with Professor Moody, I had late night detention. He's quite relentless.' he said, shutting the large door behind him.

'Mattheo, out of all the thing you're good at, lying is not one.' I said, walking along the deserted corridor. Mattheo sighed deeply and continued,

'I'm sorry...I haven't been very nice. I shouldn't have blocked you guys out, it's just...' I could practically see the cogs in his mind working. 'I have been very busy. Things haven't been very easy recently.'

'Who was the person you were talking to? Lord knows it wasn't Professor Moody, who was in the office?' I questioned suspiciously. Mattheo sighed again.

'Sorry, again. I can't tell you that.' he apologised.

'And why is that?'

'Unless you want me dead, I can't tell you.' he scoffed.

'Your own father would kill you?' I said, rather taken aback. I knew Voldemort was a homicidal maniac but would he go to the extent of murdering his own son? Ruining any chances of his lineage continuing?

'He's a psychopath, he obviously would. I think. I honestly dunno how his mind works sometimes. He did kill his father and grandparents...'

The rest of the walk back to the common room was spent in comfortable silence, examining the sleeping portraits and catching glimpses of the full moon outside. I imagined that somewhere Professor Lupin was cutting, scratching, and tearing at his own skin. Suffering unimaginable pain, and he would wake up tomorrow, sick and weak, I only hope he has someone with him to help.

I sometimes wondered what life would be like in Mattheo's shoes; son of the Dark Lord, being portrayed as someone you're not...it seemed difficult, worse than being seen as the snobby, rich kid. Maybe it gave him a sense of power, maybe he hated it, maybe he didn't care, or maybe he was just like his father; merely influential and manipulative - allowing people to see only what he wants them to see.