Fighting Fate // Mattheo Riddle ♣️

Chapter Twelve - The Fourth Champion

Word Count: 3,364. 

Warnings: None. 

The excitement of the students hadn't drained a week later and it seemed to only become stronger as everyone made their way to the Great Hall.

"What are we going for again?" Theo asked as we pushed through the students that had begun gathering around the corridor.

I rolled my eyes sarcastically. "They're picking the champions for the tournament," I told him.

"Looks like it's some excitement for you then. I know how you were lacking in it."

He was right. Since the beginning of the day, I had shared in the excitement of the other students. The prospect of having something entertaining that wasn't Voldemort trying to kill Harry was quite appealing to me.

Despite this, I couldn't help but still feel a knot in the pit of my stomach. Something felt off, but I just didn't know what it was yet.

Sitting down at the Slytherin table, without a second thought, Blaise started to dig into the food that lay on our table.

"Hungry Blaise?" I asked as he bit off the end of a chicken drumstick. He only grunted in response.

"How did the date go?" Pansy interrupted, leaning forward onto the table.

"It went quite well, I believe. They had a goodbye kiss. It was so very sweet," a sneering voice sounded behind me. Mattheo appeared at our table.

Taking a deep breath, I sent a quick glance towards Draco, who's figure had become tense as his eyes locked on the cylindrical shape between us and Dumbledore.

"That's right Mattheo. It was a great date. How was yours?"

Riddle sat in the empty seat beside me. "It was," he paused, "satisfactory."

I faked a look of surprise. "I thought it would have been more than that since the only thing you did was make out with the girl. Little conversation makes it hard to dislike something about them."

Riddle expression turned playful. "She was an amazing kisser. Best I've had. But there wasn't much up there I'm afraid." Mattheo put a finger to his temple, tilting his head. "Bit of a mindless body."

I curled my hands into fists, keeping my face calm. "Glad you had a bad date then. We wouldn't want you happy now, would we?"

Mattheo opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it when his gaze moved across my tightening hands. The Slytherin dropped his strict demeanour. "It was alright in the end."

Turning to the table, Mattheo faced our group. "Sorry I've been so distant lately, I've been working through some shit."

Pansy, Blaise and Draco looked at us with a knowing expression, one that told me that they didn't quite know what to say.

Theo was obliviously spooning soup into his mouth, distracted by something behind us. My assumption was the Gryffindor boy.

My hands were suddenly relieved when a pair of hands encompassed them. My head shot to Mattheo as his gaze stayed on the table, but his fingers slowly uncurled my fists.

I sat tense, facing away from him, but I didn't pull them away. He brushed a soft hand over my palm causing me to hiss. I watched him flinch as I did.

"So, what's this feast about?" he asked.

"They're picking the champions for the tournament." Blaise told him, reaching over Draco to pick up a Yorkshire Pudding.

"Otherwise known as the three idiots that are going to get themselves killed for eternal glory." Draco muttered, pushing Blaise's arms away. "Right Lyra?"