Boundless | Mattheo Riddle

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 (𝟐𝟐)

Olympia Malfoy

The first thing I registered was pain.

Blunt, throbbing, all-consuming pain — behind my eyes, beneath my temples, in my stomach. Even my hair hurt. I was wrapped like a corpse in my duvet, and the sun slashing through the curtains felt like a personal attack.

I was never drinking again.

Ever.

Not until the next time, anyway.

There was a knock at my dorm door. Then a second knock, a very specific, very insistent knock that could only mean one person.

Pansy.

"Go away," I croaked, burying my face under a pillow.

"Draco sent me," she sing-songed, pushing the door open anyway. "So if I don't come in and fix you, he'll sulk for the rest of the day, and I can't handle that kind of emotional labour."

She swept into the room like she hadn't just been dancing on tables six hours ago, her hair twisted up, her wand in one hand and a suspiciously large bag in the other.

"Up. Sit. Open your mouth."

I groaned, but obeyed.

Pansy uncorked a potion bottle and poured something fizzy and green down my throat before I could protest. It fizzled horribly. I gagged.

"Ugh. That's vile."

"Yeah, well. So is alcohol poisoning. Don't whine."

She tossed me a chocolate bar, then a wrapped packet of painkillers and a bottle of water.

"Draco's orders," she added, sitting on the edge of my bed. "He said — and I quote — 'She wanted to drink like us, now she gets to recover like us.' Honestly, I think he's proud."

I smiled faintly, head pounding less with each passing second. "Thanks, Pans."

She waved a hand. "You're family. And also, I can't have you looking like death during breakfast. Someone has to balance out Theo's horrific morning face."

She was halfway to the door when it creaked open again — and there he was.

Mattheo.

Still in last night's jumper. Hair a little messy, curls falling into his eyes. A paper bag in one hand, two bottles of pumpkin fizz in the other.

Pansy took one look at us and smirked like she knew something I didn't.

"Right," she said. "My job here is done."

And just like that, she vanished.

Mattheo nudged the door shut with his foot. "You look like you got flattened by the Knight Bus."

"I feel like it, too," I muttered.

He walked over and dropped the paper bag on my blanket. "I brought reinforcements."

Inside: my favourite Muggle sweets, chocolate buttons and fizzy strawberries and those weird sour strings I never found in Hogsmeade. And two DVDS — old comfort films I used to make him watch when we were fifteen and bored and hiding from the world.

"Are you going to tell me where you got these?" I asked, picking up the DVD case.

He shrugged, grinning. "Let's just say Enzo has very loose morals when it comes to the Room of Requirement."

I laughed weakly. "You brought movies for me?"

"I brought movies for us. And the sweets are medicinal."

He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. Which, for us, maybe it was.

"I thought we could lie here all day," he said, "watch bad films, eat too much sugar, and recover. Together. As friends."
His eyes met mine, serious beneath the soft amusement.

"Just friends," I echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah."

I nodded.

And then he pulled the covers up, rested his head next to mine, and pressed play.