Mattheo Riddle One Shots

The Other Woman

Warnings: sad, short.

Words: 1033

Summary: Reader has never really been anyones first choice. You were running over to the Slytherin common room, to Mattheo's dorm. You've been dating him for almost a year now but especially a couple months ago he's been so distant to the point where he only said two words to you in a week. You didn't wish to loose him because you love him, even through you've never said it to him. You wanted to know why he'd been so distant.

The stone halls of Hogwarts were eerily silent as you raced to the Slytherin common room, your steps echoing off the cold walls. Your heart pounded, a frantic rhythm of fear and desperation. Mattheo had been distant—so distant that the boy you'd fallen for felt like a ghost. Once, he'd been your everything, your anchor in a world that always seemed to tell you that you weren't enough. Now, you felt like you were grasping at smoke.

You reached his dormitory door, hesitating only for a second before knocking. The door swung open quickly, and there he was—his dark curls disheveled, his piercing brown eyes sharp as they landed on you. But instead of warmth, there was disappointment in his expression.

"What do you want, Y/N?" His tone was flat, detached, as if your presence was a burden.

That was the last straw. "What do I want?" you repeated, your voice shaking. "I want to know why you've been ignoring me, Mattheo! I want to know what I did wrong! You've barely spoken to me for weeks, and I—"

"Don't you get it?" he interrupted sharply, his voice like a slap. "You're the other woman."

The world tilted.

The words cut deeper than any curse could. You stared at him, frozen, your brain struggling to make sense of what he'd just said.

"What?" The word came out broken, barely a whisper.

"I was already seeing someone," he said coldly, as if reciting facts in a textbook. "You were just... a distraction."

The air left your lungs, and your chest constricted painfully. "Oh," you said softly, the single syllable carrying all your hurt and disbelief. You stepped back, shaking your head as if that could undo the reality crashing down around you. "Of course. Of course I wasn't enough. Stupid. So stupid."

Mattheo flinched at your words, but he said nothing, his silence deafening. You turned on your heel and walked away, each step heavier than the last.

The days blurred together after that. You stopped going to meals, unable to face the pitying looks of your friends or the sight of Mattheo with her—the girl he'd chosen over you. The girl he'd cheated on you with. You spent your days hiding in the library, pretending to study while your thoughts spiraled.

You weren't enough. You were never enough.

The hollow ache in your chest grew until it consumed you. Food lost its appeal, and the reflection staring back at you in the mirror became a stranger—paler, thinner, emptier.

Meanwhile, Mattheo carried on as if nothing had happened. He walked the halls with his new girlfriend, her laughter grating in your ears like nails on a chalkboard. But beneath his indifferent facade, something gnawed at him.

It was the little things at first. He noticed his dorm felt colder without the blanket you'd knitted for him draped across his bed. He missed the way you used to wait for him outside Potions, your face lighting up when you saw him. He missed your notes—little scraps of parchment you'd leave tucked into his books, filled with encouragement or silly doodles.

His new girlfriend, perfect on paper, didn't fill the void. She didn't laugh at his jokes the way you did, didn't ask him how he was feeling or stay up late with him, listening to his dreams and fears. And slowly, it began to dawn on him.

He'd thrown away something real for something shallow.

Six months had passed when Mattheo finally snapped. He ended things with her, his chest aching with the realization of how much time he'd wasted. The guilt was suffocating.

He needed to see you.

He found you in the courtyard, sitting beneath a tree with a book in your lap. The sight of you—thinner, paler, and so heartbreakingly quiet—made his heart clench painfully.

"Y/N," he said, his voice soft but urgent.

You looked up, your eyes widening slightly before narrowing in suspicion. "What do you want, Mattheo?"

"I need to talk to you."

"I think you've said enough." Your voice was steady, but your hands trembled as you closed your book.

"Please," he pleaded, stepping closer. "I know I screwed up. I know I hurt you more than I can ever make up for. But I need you to know that I was wrong."

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "Wrong? You didn't just hurt me, Mattheo. You broke me. And for what? To be someone's second choice again?"

"No," he said quickly, his voice breaking. "You were never second to me, Y/N. I was an idiot. I thought I didn't deserve you, so I sabotaged it. I pushed you away because I was scared."

"Scared of what?" you demanded, tears brimming in your eyes.

"Of loving you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because I do. I love you, and I was terrified of how much you meant to me. But I can't lose you. Not again."

The words hung in the air, raw and heavy.

You stared at him, your heart warring with your mind. The hurt he'd caused was still fresh, but so was the love you'd buried deep inside yourself.

"I don't know if I can trust you again," you said finally, your voice trembling.

"I'll spend the rest of my life proving that you can," he promised, stepping closer. "Please, Y/N. Just give me a chance to fix what I broke."

For a long moment, you said nothing. Then, with tears streaming down your cheeks, you nodded. "One chance, Mattheo. Don't waste it."

And for the first time in months, a fragile hope bloomed between you.