Dusk and Desire - A Mattheo Riddle Story

Anger

"Ah, shite," Mattheo cursed as he watched the bludger fly clear out of the stands. It would come back, of course, but it'd still take Crabbe a while to wrangle it in. "Sorry, lad."

The big bloke sighed. "Don't sweat it. I'll pack everything up, you just get back to your girl before you get cranky."

"Hey! I don't get cranky."

Crabbe gave him a look. "Mate, the last bet you made had you ready to punch anyone who even sat too close to you and now that you've gotten with Nora, it's even worse. You sit by her in every class and every meal and spend every Quidditch practice. It's safe to say that you can't spend more than an hour away from her without bordering on killing somebody.

Mattheo's eyes widened not just at the other beater's words, but because there were so many of them. He didn't know if he'd ever heard the boy say so much in his life. But then they narrowed back again. "Fuck you. I'm not pussy-whipped," he said with a deep scowl.

"You just proved my point, Riddle. You're pussy-whipped by Nora fucking Rosier, but at least she has nice tits."

"Don't fucking talk about her tits, asshole, or I'll fucking kill you." 

Crabbe chuckled and went to chase the bludger. I'll show him. The little cocksucker. But then Mattheo just realized that he was proving Crabbe even more right by clenching his fist and cursing him mentally in his head. Nora. I need Nora. She'll calm me down. 

Well, that wasn't true. Nora would probably rile him up with her snarky mouth before she used said snarky mouth to suck all of his anger off. Great. Now I'm angry and horny.

Remembering that Nora said she'd wait for him to finish practice in the corridor where he left her, Mattheo stalked off with his anger sizzling beneath his skin, just waiting for a reason to explode. First years scattered once they saw the dangerous look in he eyes, especially coupled with his clenched jaw and fisted hands.

"Stupid fucking Crabbe talking about my girlfriend," he seethed. Jealousy wasn't an entirely familiar feeling to Mattheo. Perhaps it should have been, considering who his brother was but Mattheo had never really cared that Tom got all the glory for being Voldemort's perfect son. Being the spare meant that he had a freedom Tom never had.

But then, like always, Nora came in and flipped his world upside down.

Now, Mattheo had to contend with this sour feeling in his stomach, wondering when she would wise up and leave him. She was his, yes, but for how long? How long would it take her to wise up and realize that he was a bloody mess? Her life had been hectic for so long. How much longer would she want his chaos before realizing that he, too, was chaos she needed to get rid of?

Getting that fucking bullshit out of your head, he ordered himself. She likes you. Maybe even loves you. Only you. No one—

But then he turned the corner and saw exactly what he was waiting for: a reason to explode.

Fucking Lincoln Powell stood there with his prick hand grabbing Nora's arm. And Mattheo saw nothing but red.

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF MY GIRLFRIEND!" he roared before charging toward the two of them. Nora, to her credit, didn't look scared but Powell looked bloody terrified as, instead of letting go, he continued to talk to Nora with desperate eyes. "I WARNED YOU POWELL!"

Mattheo reared back and landed his fist on Powell's face with a sickening crunch. The Ravenclaw crumpled with a cry as students around them started to scream. Mattheo couldn't see Nora—actually, he couldn't see anything beyond the boy cradling the bruise that was already beginning to appear on his jaw. But before he could even look up, Mattheo hit him again, smirking in satisfaction as blood spurted from Powell's nose.