Boundless

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 (𝟐𝟑)

Mattheo Riddle

The things I did for that girl.

I'd been hexed by Death Eaters before.

I'd had broken ribs and a shattered wand and blood in my mouth more times than I could count.

But nothing — and I mean nothing — tested my patience like sitting through six straight hours of Ollie's favourite Muggle movies.

There were dancing teenagers, talking animals, and romantic misunderstandings that could've been solved with a five-second conversation. And Ollie? She was thriving. Laughing with her mouth full of chocolate buttons, quoting half the lines like she'd grown up in those films instead of in a manor full of silverware that insulted you.

Honestly, the films were terrible.

But she loved them.

So I loved them too.

Ollie didn't say much through the first one. Her head was nestled in the crook of my arm, fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the cuff of my sleeve, and her body warm next to mine under the blankets. Her hair smelled like mint shampoo and strawberry potion. She only mumbled now and then — a tired laugh when I made a sarcastic comment, or a sleepy sigh when something hit her in the chest.

By the second film, she was sitting up, eyes brighter. She called out predictable plot twists and tossed a pillow at me when I made fun of the male lead's haircut. By the third, she was smiling — actually smiling — like the hangover had faded and the cloud over her head with it.

That smile made every saccharine plotline worth it.

"Alright, Ollie," I said, stretching my arms over my head after the credits rolled, "you've officially overdosed on comfort movies."

She gave me a lazy glare. "You promised the full trilogy."

"I promised a day in bed with junk food and terrible acting. We delivered. Now it's time for dinner. Actual food. Sunlight. Other people."

She groaned like a child being dragged to a family reunion. "But people. And noise. And Sebastian. Do we have to?"

"Yes," I said, standing and pulling her blankets off with a flourish. "It's time to rejoin society. Besides, we'll sit with the group. Safety in numbers."

After some bribery involving the last fizzy strawberry, she agreed. She even changed into a new jumper — one I was almost positive was mine — and we made our slow, half-sleepy way to the Great Hall.

It was loud. Bright. Too much after a day of silence and soft films, but Ollie squeezed my hand once before we walked in, and I was almost stupid enough to think we'd get through the night without incident.

And then he appeared.

Sebastian.

He moved like he'd been waiting — like he'd calculated the exact moment we'd show up, and timed his seat accordingly. One beat after we stepped inside, he swooped in from the other direction and dropped into the empty spot beside Ollie at the Slytherin table.

She froze. Just for a second. And then offered him a weak smile.

His message couldn't have been clearer.

She's mine.

I slid onto the bench a little further down, between Blaise and Theo, who were deep in some argument about whether or not pumpkin juice was acceptable with steak.

My food tasted like ash.

I didn't look at her. Not right away.

I couldn't.

Instead, I listened to the forced way she laughed when Sebastian whispered something in her ear. The polite, neutral tone she used when responding. The way she kept shifting in her seat, like she was searching for air.

I had no right to feel angry.

We were friends again.

That was the deal.

Friends.

But watching her sit next to a boy who gave her ultimatums, who needed to mark his territory just because we spent the day in b, — doing nothing but watching films — it made my knuckles itch all over again.

I took a breath. Just one.

And forced my gaze across the table.

Her eyes met mine.

Soft. Apologetic.

I raised an eyebrow.

She smiled. Small. Just for me.

And for a second — even as Sebastian pressed a kiss to her cheek — I knew she still felt it.

Us.

We weren't done.

Not by a long shot.