Mattheo Riddle One Shots

The Quills of the Heart

Warnings: fluffy! Short.

Summary: Reader shows kindness.

Words: 545

Mattheo Riddle was not accustomed to the warmth of Christmas cheer. The bustling chatter in the Slytherin common room was a reminder of what he always pushed away—connection. Friends sat in clusters exchanging presents, laughter bubbling in the air. Mattheo, however, lounged in his usual corner, the shadows seeming to cling to him as much as the scowl on his face.

He was good at keeping people at arm's length. Whether through sharp words or an intimidating presence, he made sure no one got close. No one really noticed the things he liked, the things he did when the weight of expectations wasn't crushing him.

Until now.

"Mattheo?"

Your voice broke through his thoughts, soft and uncertain. He looked up, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as you stood in front of him, a small box wrapped in emerald green paper held out toward him.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice rougher than intended.

"A present," you replied simply, a faint smile playing on your lips. "For Christmas."

His brow furrowed, suspicion flashing across his face. "Why?"

You shrugged, refusing to let his guarded demeanor intimidate you. "Because I wanted to. And because I thought you might like it."

For a moment, Mattheo didn't move. His fingers twitched, like he was debating whether to take it. No one had ever given him something just because they wanted to. Everything in his life came with strings attached, hidden motives lurking beneath the surface.

Still, he reached out and took the box, his movements slow and deliberate. His fingers brushed against yours briefly, and you swore you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or gratitude, though it was fleeting.

He tore the paper off with an almost casual carelessness, revealing a sleek wooden box beneath. Lifting the lid, his breath caught ever so slightly. Inside was a set of elegant quills, their tips gleaming silver, accompanied by bottles of ink in rich, vibrant colors.

"You're always sketching when you think no one's looking," you said, your voice softer now. "I thought you could use something a little better than those old scraps of parchment and worn-out quills."

For a moment, Mattheo didn't speak. His thumb traced the edge of one of the quills, his mind racing. You'd noticed. Out of everyone in the castle, you'd seen something he'd tried so hard to keep hidden.

When he finally looked up at you, there was a shift in his expression. The usual mask of indifference was gone, replaced by something raw, almost vulnerable.

"Thank you," he said, his voice quieter than you'd ever heard it.

Then, to your surprise, his lips curved into a small, fleeting smile. It wasn't the cocky smirk he wore when teasing his friends or taunting his enemies. This was different. Genuine.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

"Merry Christmas, Mattheo," you said, turning to leave before the moment could grow awkward.

As you walked away, Mattheo's gaze lingered on you, the weight of the quills in his hands grounding him in a way he hadn't expected.

For the first time in a long time, he felt... seen. And that terrified him just as much as it intrigued him.