Mattheo Riddle One Shots

Silence Is Better Than Noise

Warnings: not in depth trauma, but still trauma

Summary: reader has some trauma and Mattheo is there for every step of the way.

Words: 2746

The halls of Hogwarts had been filled with the usual hum of chatter, the rustling of robes, and the distant sound of students rushing from one class to the next. But for you, each step you took felt like it echoed in a way that made everything feel heavier. The weight of the past was never far from your mind, no matter how much you tried to push it away.

Mattheo Riddle, your boyfriend, had been a constant comfort in your life. His sharp, teasing smile was often the only thing that could make you forget, even if for a moment, the dark corners of your mind. He knew about some of your trauma—the scars you carried, both seen and unseen—but there were still parts of your story you kept hidden. Even with him, the thought of fully revealing everything seemed impossible. You feared he wouldn't understand, or worse, he would walk away.

The two of you had spent most of your evening in the common room, curled up on the couch. You liked these moments—the quiet, peaceful times where you could just be together without the pressure of the world outside. Mattheo had been extra patient with you lately, sensing that you were struggling. But you couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt each time you leaned on him.

"Hey, Y/N," Mattheo's voice broke through your thoughts as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. "You alright? You've been awfully quiet."

You hesitated, biting your lip. You didn't want to burden him with your thoughts, but you knew he could see through your mask.

"I'm fine," you whispered, though the words didn't feel true. He didn't push you, though—he never did. That was part of what made him so different from everyone else.

It was moments like this, in the soft glow of the firelight, when you felt safe enough to let your guard down, just a little bit. But even then, it was hard.

Mattheo sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "You sure? You know you can tell me anything, right?"

You nodded, offering him a small, shaky smile, before you snuggled back against him, hoping the warmth of his body would ease the tightening in your chest. He wrapped his arm around you, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm.

"Thank you," you muttered softly, almost too quietly for him to hear.

"Don't thank me," Mattheo replied, his tone firm but gentle. "That's what I'm here for."

A moment of silence passed before he spoke again, his voice a little more strained. "I just... I need you to talk to me more, Y/N. I can't help you if you keep everything bottled up."

You flinched at his words, instinctively shrinking back. It wasn't his fault. He didn't know how his voice, even in concern, sometimes made your heart race with panic. He didn't know the scars his words could trigger.

"I—I will," you promised, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mattheo pressed his lips to your forehead, sensing something was off. But before he could ask again, a sudden sound in the hallway caught both your attention. A student had accidentally knocked over a stack of books, and the resulting clatter echoed down the corridor.

"Bloody hell," Mattheo muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening in frustration. "People have no respect for—"

Without thinking, his voice rose, sharp and angry. The tone he used was the one you had heard before in moments of genuine frustration—when he was upset, and his emotions got the better of him.