Yvonne Wyllt's ,decendant of the most powerful wizards,story begins at Hogwarts on her 6th year a new boy joins,Mattheo Riddle.
Mattheo and Yvonne have a love hate relationship but are willing to do anything for eachother even if it meant bringing...
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YVONNE'S POV
Pansy, Astra, and I had planned a sleepover, which I was thrilled about since it had been a while since we'd spent proper time together. It was supposed to be fun, a distraction, but as I pulled on one of Mattheo's oversized T-shirts, my mind betrayed me. I couldn't stop thinking about him.
He had never been this angry with me before.
"What's up with you?" Astra asked, flopping onto my bed and propping her head up with her hand.
"I'm just thinking about Mattheo," I admitted, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "He's never been this angry at me before."
"Yeah, he was pretty mad," Pansy chimed in, making me wince.
"Pansy!" Astra scolded, nudging her.
"What? It's true!"
I sighed, sinking onto the bed. "I don't know... maybe he's really done with me this time."
Astra shook her head. "Yvonne, I don't think he's angry. I think he's worried about you."
I looked away, chewing my lip. "Maybe..."
"After you talk to Potter tomorrow, you should talk to Mattheo," Astra suggested. "You need to sort this out."
"Okay," I agreed, but deep down, I wasn't sure I was ready to face him.
The next morning, we all overslept and ended up scrambling to get ready for breakfast.
"You guys finally made it," Theodore remarked as Astra slid into the seat beside him. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple, making her grin.
"I guess we were too tired last night," Pansy said, already piling food onto her plate.
I moved toward my usual spot at the Slytherin table—right beside Mattheo. It was instinctual, automatic. But when I sat down, he barely acknowledged me.
He didn't turn his head. Didn't meet my eyes.
"Theo, I'm sorry," I said softly.
He flicked his gaze to me for the briefest moment before looking away again, giving me nothing.
My stomach twisted uncomfortably as I pushed my food around my plate. My fingers subconsciously found the ring on my hand—the one Mattheo had given me for Christmas. I twisted it, over and over, a nervous habit. How long was he going to stay angry? How long was I supposed to endure this cold silence?
I didn't know if I could take it much longer.
After breakfast, as my friends and I were getting ready to leave, I noticed Harry Potter approaching. He signalled that he needed to talk, and I sighed.
"Guys, I'll be right back."
As I stepped away, I heard the unmistakable sound of Mattheo scoffing behind me.
