Dusk and Desire - A Mattheo Riddle Story

The Boy Nora Rosier Wanted To Strangle

Nora Rosier considered herself to be an entirely agreeable person. She got along well with her peers, was the darling teacher's pet of Hogwarts, and was easily her mother's favorite child (though to be fair, that was more of a curse than a blessing but sometimes, a win was a win). Yes, Nora smiled when she was supposed to, had perfectly polite manners, and won the hearts of everyone she met with ease.

Everyone except Mattheo fucking Riddle.

Nora Rosier hated Mattheo Riddle. Well, perhaps hated wasn't a strong enough word. Loathed for eternity? Wanted to put her hands around his neck and squeeze until he was strangled to death and she was choking on her own laughter? Hoped that his father would return to life so he could see what a dismal son Mattheo had come and kill him for her? Yeah, that seemed about right. Not hate. Hate wasn't enough to describe the boy who seemed to make it his mission to make her as miserable as possible.

Especially when it came to Quidditch.

Nora could admit that she had few shortcomings—her grades were stellar, her circle wide, her personality agreeable (for the most part)—but Quidditch was one of them. Her older brother was the daftest man she ever met but he played for the Wimbourne Wasps. She couldn't possibly let Christopher—the biggest jerk on the planet besides Mattheo—beat her at anything so Nora was determined to not only play Quidditch professionally but to do it better than him as well.

She just had to make it on the team first.

Nora loved Quidditch. Perhaps loved wasn't a strong enough word. The feeling of being free up in the air while the wind blew in her hair and the excitement of the game rushed around her was enough adrenaline to last her a lifetime. There was a part of her, yes, that wanted to play Quidditch to be better than Christopher but there was a much larger part that just adored the way it was the only time she ever truly felt free from anything.

Her father was dead. Got himself killed by being a secret Death Eater when she was just a baby. Her brother was awful. He seemed to delight in cruelty when it was directed at his little sister and he was also a tremendous idiot, probably like her father. Somehow, her mother was worse. She had the delightful talent of looking at her daughter and seeing only a mirror of herself. Whatever shortcomings Nora had, Nova somehow had too (yes, she was very clearly named after her mother, who was probably too narcissistic to allow for anything but that). So Nora had to be perfect. She had to get the best grades because she would receive a howler if she didn't. She had to be agreeable with others because her mother would ground her for weeks if she wasn't. Yes, Nora was her mother's darling, the child of a woman who looked at another person only to see herself. A younger, prettier, smarter, better version. And Nova couldn't stand that.

Nora was no idiot. She would never have her mother's love. But she could have her approval. She could have respect. In her mind, that was enough. She could do without love. Why should she want something she would never get?

Love. Who needs it?

Freedom. That was what she wanted. And Nora only felt free doing one thing. Well, two things actually. Playing Quidditch and hating Mattheo Riddle.

For the past seven years, Nora had spent every Quidditch tryout falling off of her broom—if she ever managed to make it on, that is. But that wasn't her fault. If they wanted her to stay on the broom, why would they make them so damn small? Even her ass wasn't enough to cushion against the hard planes of the wood.

But this summer, she had been practicing. Nora spent every day outdoors playing with her brother's girlfriend, a chaser for the Harpies and someone whom Nora actually liked more than her own relations. Now, Nora could not only stay on the broom but she could fly it damn well too. Even Imani commented on Nora's skill, saying if the tryouts went as well as their practices, Nora had a shot of making the pro leagues. It would be an understatement to say she was ecstatic.