Dusk and Desire - A Mattheo Riddle Story

The Girl Mattheo Riddle Wanted To Push Off A Ravine

Mattheo scowled as he watched the girl with the perfect dirty blonde hair walk onto the field. Wait, did he say perfect? He meant absolutely fucking disgusting. Looking like dirty dishwater. Looking like golden leaves in the sun.

Fuck. 

Mattheo Riddle hated Nora Rosier. Well, perhaps hated wasn't a strong enough word. Loathed beyond all reason? Was tempted to push her off of the Hogwarts Express and laugh as she screamed down to the canyon below? Hoped that his father would return to life just to cackle as Nora pleaded for her life in that annoying ass voice of hers? Yeah, that seemed about right. Not hate. Hate wasn't enough to describe the girl who seemed to ruin every aspect of his life.

Well, not every aspect. She hadn't ruined Quidditch. Not yet.

But she was damn well trying to.

Nora Rosier showed up without fail for Quidditch trials each year, which was hilarious because it seemed that it was the only thing she wasn't good at and he was, which meant that he hoarded it over her every year like it was the most delicious pumpkin patsy. 

"Eh, Rosier, are you coming to the Slytherin Quidditch game?" he asked last year before the first game, the year that Nora fell off her broom and Enzo Berkshire, the captain, had to do a last-minute slowing charm so she didn't break her neck. Mattheo wished that the spell wasn't successful so the world didn't have to hear from her ever again. "I bet it will have you falling out of your seat."

Nora had scowled. She always scowled. Mattheo wasn't sure if her face could make any other expression. "Fuck you, Riddle."

Mattheo winked. "You wish."

That only made the scowl worsen.

Despite the fact that she seemed to fail miserably at tryouts, she showed up every year. Every year. Even first year, when it was well-known that almost no first year makes the team except for him and Potter. That year had been one of her most spectacular failures. Nora couldn't even fly and yet she tried out for chaser anyway. He still remembered the look of pure shock and fury on her face as she couldn't even get the stick off the ground yet he flew circles around her on his.

That memory made him smile every time.

Nora hated how he was better than her. He could tell, which is why he brought it up any chance he got. She hated not being the best at anything and considering she was, without fail, top of Slytherin class in every goddamn subject (except potions, maybe, since Malfoy was top of the class and she wasn't in it anymore). Mattheo wanted to be up there but he always seemed to come in second, which pissed him off beyond all belief. 

Every exam season, she would rip the scores off the wall and come skipping down the hallway to him, gloating written all over her damn face. "Look, Riddle. You were second in class! Oh, I wonder who was number one. Bet she's beautiful." Her bragging was even worse because she was beautiful and she fucking knew it. He could say whatever he wanted about Nora Rosier—her father died stupidly in the first Wizarding War, her mother was neurotic, her brother idiotic, her voice annoying, her personality infuriating—but he couldn't say she was ugly. That would be lying. Nora was incredible, with long, sexy legs that led to a pert ass, breasts that looked like they would fit in the palm of his hand, large lips, catlike eyes that always had a bit of brown liner on them to make her look even fiercer, silky hair. Yeah, she was beautiful. On the outside. He wouldn't be a guy if he didn't notice.

"Right!" Enzo said, clapping his hands together. Enzo was a right handsome young lad with a constantly dimpled face, bright blue eyes, and shaggy, straight brown hair. Everyone liked Enzo. Apparently, even Nora did, smiling at him as he gave commands. "Let's get started. Keepers, you're up first."