𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒 - Slytherin Boys

Detention ~ M.R

The stench of stale potion ingredients hit me like a Bludger as I stepped into Snape's dungeon. Detention. Again. Bloody McGonagall and her eagle eyes. All I did was slightly modify a Confundus Charm on Malfoy during Charms. Apparently, turning his hair into a nest of wriggling earthworms was "unacceptable behavior" for a Gryffindor.

I sighed, dragging a bucket of soapy water and a bristly brush towards a table plastered with what looked suspiciously like chewed gum. Lovely. Just lovely.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? Potter, scrubbing floors like a common house-elf?"

I didn't even have to look up to know who it was. That drawling, velvety voice could only belong to one person. Mattheo Riddle. Voldemort's son. Slytherin Prince. And my personal nemesis.

"Riddle," I muttered, not bothering to meet his gaze. "Enjoying the view?"

He sauntered closer, leaning against the table opposite mine, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. He oozed arrogance, the kind only pureblood royalty could possess. Gods, he was infuriating. And unfairly attractive. The bad boy image was only amplified by the dark mark permanently etched onto his left forearm. "Immensely. It's not every day I get to see you…reduced."

"Believe me, Riddle, the feeling's mutual," I spat, scrubbing harder at a particularly stubborn wad of purple goo. "I'd rather be wrestling a Hippogriff than sharing the same air as you."

"Such harsh words, Potter," he said, feigning hurt. "I'm wounded. Though I suppose I should be used to it by now. After all, you and your precious brother are always interfering with what my father wants.”

"And you and your father continue to terrorize us and our friends," I shot back, finally looking up, my eyes narrowed. "So, forgive me if I'm not exactly thrilled to be in your company."

The air crackled with tension. We stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills, our eyes blazing. I hated him. I hated his smug smirk, his effortless charm, the way he seemed to know he got under my skin.

"You know, Potter," he said, breaking the silence, his voice suddenly softer, almost… teasing? "For a quiet, nerdy little Gryffindor, you've got quite the temper."

"And you, Riddle, are an arrogant, self-serving git," I retorted, my cheeks flushing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have gum to annihilate."

I turned back to my task, trying to ignore the way his eyes were still fixed on me. I could feel his gaze like a physical touch, sending shivers down my spine. It was unsettling, unnerving.

Silence descended again, broken only by the scrape of my brush against the wooden table. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, and I was starting to get irritated. I was already on edge being around him.

"So," he said, after a while, "what exactly did you do to Malfoy's hair?"

I hesitated, then a small smirk tugged at my lips. "Let's just say he had a newfound appreciation for the wonders of terrestrial ecosystems."

Riddle actually chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent another unexpected shiver through me. "I'll admit, that's…creative. Though I'm sure Snape wasn't impressed."

"Understatement of the century," I muttered.

And then, something strange happened. We started talking. Really talking. About Hogwarts, about classes, about the absurdity of some of the professors. I even found myself laughing at some of his dry, sarcastic observations.

He had a sharp wit, I'd give him that. And a surprising understanding of complex potion theory, which, admittedly, impressed me. He was still arrogant, still infuriating, but…there was something else there too. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

As we talked, he moved closer, until he was standing right beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine. The air thrummed with an undeniable energy. I could feel his presence, his warmth, the subtle scent of sandalwood and something darker, something…dangerous.

"You know, Potter," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "you're not as bad as I thought you were."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Riddle," I said, my voice barely a whisper. But my heart was pounding in my chest.

His hand reached out, stopping my hand that was scrubbing the table. His dark eyes bored into mine. "Maybe I don’t want it to.”

Time seemed to stop. It was just us, alone in the dimly lit dungeon, the tension thicker than ever. I knew I should pull away, I should tell him to get lost. He was the enemy, pure and simple.

But I didn't.

His fingers trailed up my arm, sending sparks of electricity through my veins. He stepped closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You're beautiful, Y/N," he whispered.

My breath hitched. He knew my name. He was never so informal.

My mind was screaming at me to run, to push him away, but my body seemed to have a mind of its own. I found myself leaning closer, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. It was wrong, it was reckless, it was insane. But I couldn't resist.

His lips brushed against mine, softly at first. Testing. Then, with a groan, he deepened the kiss, his hand moving to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer.

It was a desperate, consuming kiss, filled with a hunger that mirrored my own. I tasted smoke and something else, something forbidden. I closed my eyes, abandoning myself to the moment.

It was wrong. So wrong. But it felt so incredibly, undeniably right.

We broke apart, breathless, our eyes locked. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words.

"What was that?" I finally managed to whisper, my voice trembling.

A smirk played on his lips. "Detention getting a little…interesting, Potter?"

I slapped him. Not hard, but hard enough to sting.

“Don’t.”

He grabbed my hand, pulling me to him again. "Don't what, Y/N? Don't kiss you? Or don't tell the truth?”

I stared up at him, my mind reeling. I hated him. I desired him. I feared him. And gods help me, I wanted him.

"This can't happen, Mattheo," I said, my voice stronger this time. "We're enemies. This is…insane."

His eyes darkened, his grip on my hand tightening. "Is it, Y/N? Or is it just that you're afraid? Afraid of what you feel when you're with me?"

I didn't answer. Because I knew he was right.

He leaned in again, his lips hovering just above mine. "I'm not going to apologize for wanting you, Y/N. And I'm not going to pretend I don't see the way you look at me."

And then, he kissed me again. And this time, I didn't resist.

The rest of detention was a blur of stolen kisses, whispered words, and forbidden touches. We didn't finish cleaning the tables. Snape would be furious. But at that moment, I didn't care.

As I walked back to Gryffindor Tower, my head was spinning. What had just happened? Had I really just spent detention making out with Mattheo Riddle?

The answer, unfortunately, was yes.