Boundless | Mattheo Riddle

𝐓𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥 (𝟒)

Mattheo Riddle

Dinner was a blur of questions and laughter, but none of it got close to the raw knot twisting in my gut like something alive.

After Dumbledore brushed off my "extended leave for family stuff" with that cold, distant look, the Great Hall burst back into life. My friends wasted no time pulling me back into their world. Forks clanged. Cups spilled. For a few blessed minutes, it felt like no time had passed.

Theo barely let me catch a breath, rattling off stories about Quidditch matches I'd missed, teachers who came and went, fights, detentions, and some romances that had set the school buzzing. Blaise kept elbowing me, snickering while filling me in on all the bets he'd won and lost while I was gone. Even Draco, usually so cool and collected, cracked a few rare smiles—like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

And Ollie? She didn't say a word. She just watched and listened. Her mouth pulled into these half-smirks when Theo said something dumb, but her eyes... her eyes never smiled.

Man, she was like a ghost threading needles through my ribs every time I looked at her.

When dinner finally ended and everyone started heading out to their common rooms, Theo threw his arm around my shoulders so casually it almost hid how desperate the move was.

"Come on, Riddle," he said. "We've got a party to get ready for."

"A party?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Theo grinned like a kid who knew exactly what kind of trouble he was dragging me into. "Welcome-back bash. Slytherin's orders."

I let him drag me away, too wiped out to argue, and too glad to feel like I belonged again.

— 

Back in our dorm, everything felt... both wrong and right.

Same stone walls. The same greenish light filtered through the underground windows. Same battered trunks and spell books scattered everywhere. But I wasn't the same. Not even close.

Theo was digging through his trunk like a whirlwind, tossing shirts and bottles all over the place.

"You're not wearing that funeral black you showed up in," he said, giving my dark robes a disgusted look. "Tonight, you're one of us again. No more mopey ghost act."

I snorted, yanking off my robes and grabbing a clean shirt, black, tight, and simple. That familiar feeling sunk into my bones, loosening something stiff and broken inside my chest.

Maybe I could be normal again. At least for one night.

Theo popped the cork on a bottle of Firewhisky with his teeth, grinning like a devil. "First order of business: shots."

Before I could say no, he shoved a glass in my hand and poured way too much, some spilling on the floor.

"To surviving whatever hell you crawled out of," he said, raising his glass.

I clinked mine with his and knocked it back, grimacing as the fire burned down my throat.

No time to catch my breath before he poured another.

Shot after shot. Every time I tried to pause or set the glass down, Theo was right there, topping it off with a mischievous look.

I knew exactly what he was doing.

He thought if he got me drunk enough, I'd spill. Where I'd been. Why I left without saying goodbye. What stopped me from coming home.

But two years undercover taught me how to hold my liquor and my secrets.

After the fifth shot, I flopped onto my bed, elbows on my knees, staring into the amber swirl in my glass. The edges of the room blurred just enough to make it feel like a dream.

Theo dropped down next to me, messing up his hair even more than usual, cheeks flushed.

"You gonna tell me, you stubborn bastard?" he asked, voice thick with whisky and something softer.

I just gave a faint smile and shook my head. "Not tonight, Theo."

He huffed, kicking his feet up on the trunk by my bed. Silence stretched between us, easier than before dinner.

Until the question burning a hole in my chest finally slipped out, low and rough: "How is Ollie?"

Theo stiffened just a little—most wouldn't notice, but I saw it. The hesitation, the way he stared at the ceiling like the answer might be hidden there.

I sat up straighter, my heart pounding. "Theo."

He rubbed his face, mumbling, "She's good, Mattheo. She's... Ollie."

"She's seeing someone, isn't she?"

He winced, finally looking at me with a grimace. "Yeah."

The words hit me like a punch in the ribs.

"Who?"

Theo shifted, reaching for the bottle but found it empty. He cursed under his breath, stalling.

"Sebastian Sallow," he muttered at last.

The name dropped like a stone in my stomach.

Sebastian bloody Sallow.

I remembered him, the annoying, overeager prat who used to follow Ollie like a lost puppy. Always hanging around her. Always grinned way too wide when she laughed.

Guess patience paid off.

I pressed my hands to my thighs, grounding myself, turning the burning jealousy and anger into something cold and sharp.

"How serious is it?" I asked, voice like a razor.

Theo hesitated again. "Pretty serious," he said. "They've been... together for a while now. Since last year."

I nodded once, biting my cheek until I tasted blood.

Theo sat up, leaning forward, voice dropping. "Mate, she was wrecked when you left. We all were. But you... you broke her, Mattheo."

I closed my eyes, letting the truth slice through me. I deserved that. I deserved worse.

But none of it changed how I felt. What I knew. Ollie wasn't meant to end up with someone like Sebastian Sallow. She was meant for someone who got her fire, her fury, her reckless, relentless heart. Someone who'd burn the world down just to keep her warm.

I opened my eyes, running my hands through my hair. "Let's go," I said roughly. "To the party."

Theo blinked, surprised by how sudden I was. "You good?" he asked.

"No," I said straight up. "But I'm here."

And tonight, I'd start fighting to get her back. Even if it killed me.