Mattheo Riddle One Shots

Dyslexic

Warnings: fluff

Summary: One day Mattheo is complaining about his grades being ok, but when he asks reader what her grades are she says an even worse grade than him. He asks why and eventually she tells him she has dyslexia. So he is now determined to help her with it.

Words: 771

Mattheo slouched against the back of his chair in the library, his Transfiguration textbook lying forgotten on the table. He groaned, raking a hand through his dark curls.

"Another bloody A," he muttered, tossing the essay he'd just gotten back onto the table. "It's not bad, but it's not great either. Feels like I'm stuck in this mediocre cycle."

You glanced up from your parchment, chewing on your quill. "You're complaining about an A?" you asked, raising a brow. "You do realize most people would kill for that, right?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not most people," he retorted, shooting you a smirk. Then, as if struck by a thought, he leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. "What about you? What'd you get?"

Your grip on the quill tightened. "Uh..." you hesitated, suddenly very interested in the blank corner of your parchment. "A D."

Mattheo blinked, sitting up straighter. "Wait, seriously?"

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up. "Yeah."

"But you're, like, always studying," he said, frowning. "How does that even—no offense—how does that happen?"

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "It just does."

He didn't buy it. "Come on, Y/N. There's gotta be a reason."

"It's not a big deal—"

"It is if it's bothering you," he interrupted, his voice gentler now. "Just... tell me."

You hesitated, debating whether to brush him off again. But the way he was looking at you—with curiosity and something like concern—made you pause. "I have dyslexia," you admitted quietly, glancing down at your hands. "It makes reading and writing... harder."

Mattheo's expression softened. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know." You shrugged. "It's embarrassing, I guess. Everyone else makes it look so easy."

"Hey," he said, reaching across the table to nudge your hand. "Don't do that. You're not less smart just because it's harder for you. It's not your fault."

You looked up, his earnest expression making your chest ache in a good way. "Thanks, Mattheo."

"Don't thank me yet," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I'm officially making it my mission to help you."

You raised a brow. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm going to help you study. We'll figure out ways to make this dyslexia thing work with you instead of against you." He grinned, already looking far too excited about his plan. "I mean, come on, I'm basically a genius."

You snorted. "Sure you are."

"Oi, I'm trying to help here," he teased, leaning closer. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Of course I do," you said softly, smiling at him.

True to his word, Mattheo showed up to every study session with a new plan. He found colored overlays to help reduce the glare of black text on white paper. He made flashcards with bold, easy-to-read letters and even started reading passages aloud for you when the words felt like they were swimming on the page.

Whenever you started to feel frustrated, Mattheo was quick to crack a joke or flash you one of his trademark smirks. "Hey, we're in this together, yeah?" he'd say, squeezing your hand.

And slowly, it started working. Your grades crept up little by little, and the frustration you usually felt while studying wasn't quite as overwhelming anymore.

One evening, as you finished writing an essay you actually felt proud of, you glanced over at Mattheo. He was sprawled across the couch, flipping through one of his textbooks with an exaggerated look of boredom.

"You know," you said, breaking the silence, "I don't think I would've gotten this far without you."

He looked up, smirking. "Obviously."

You rolled your eyes but smiled. "I mean it, Mattheo. Thank you."

"Anytime, love," he said, his voice softer now. "Besides, it's not like I did all the work. You're the one who didn't give up."

"Only because you wouldn't let me," you teased.

"Exactly. That's what boyfriends are for," he said, leaning over to kiss your temple. "Now, let's celebrate your brilliance. How do you feel about sneaking into the kitchens for some dessert?"

You laughed, your chest light and warm. "Sounds perfect."

As he tugged you out of the library, his hand warm in yours, you realized that with Mattheo by your side, maybe things weren't as daunting as they seemed.