Mattheo Riddle One Shots

The day everything changed

Heyyyy! So like I'm not back. I'll probably post this and not be back for like six months-

ANGST
Words: 1300

The Malfoy Manor was quiet that summer but to you, it had always felt cold. You were eight, still small enough to believe in secrets and kind enough to see beauty where others saw inconvenience. The house-elves whispered about how you didn't look like Lucius or Draco—your hair too unruly, your eyes too different. and though you never asked questions, you always noticed.

But you had Mattheo.

He had been staying at the manor for weeks, the Dark Lord's son, only ten years old but already carrying the sharpness of someone who knew too much. With you, though, he softened. You showed him your secret corners of the gardens where injured birds rested in your palms and stray cats prowled in search of scraps. He laughed there, really laughed.

That morning, you'd been running down the stone steps into the courtyard when your shoe caught on the edge. You fell hard, your knee scraping open against the rough path.

"Y/n!" Mattheo's voice broke with panic as he ran to you. He dropped beside you, small hands already tugging at his sleeve to wipe the blood away. "Don't cry, I'll fix it—see? It's not so bad."

You blinked at him, tears stinging but more startled by his worry. He ripped a strip from his shirt, clumsy little hands tying it around your knee. He was shaking.

"Better?" he whispered, eyes wide.

You nodded quickly, wanting to calm him. "Better. Thank you, Theo." You even managed a small smile, the kind that made him flush and look away.

Neither of you noticed the shadow stretching across the courtyard until it was too late.

The Dark Lord had been watching.

He stepped forward, silent and cold. and Mattheo froze. You didn't understand the weight of his presence the way Mattheo did. But when you looked to Mattheo, he was scared, and he was never scared.

"What is this?" His voice sharp and venomous. His gaze burned into you first. "A Malfoy girl... distracting my son."

Before you could speak, his wand was raised. Pain struck through you like fire, your little body writhing on the stones as a scream tore from your throat. You didn't know what you had done wrong. You only knew it hurt.

Mattheo lunged forward, grabbing your arm. "Stop! Please—don't hurt her!"

The words sealed his fate.

The Dark Lord's gaze snapped to his son, cold fury flashing. "Attachment," he hissed, as though it were poison. "Weakness."

Hands—Death Eater hands—dragged Mattheo back, and he fought like a wild thing. "No! Let her go! She didn't do anything—she's good! She's good!" His voice cracked into sobs. He cried for you.

You watched through blurred, tear-filled eyes as he reached toward you, still screaming, still crying, before he was torn from the courtyard. The echo of his voice was the last you ever heard of him.

And when the pain finally ebbed, you lay trembling on the stones, Lucius's cold hand pulling you to your feet. "You should not have gotten in his way," he said, tone sharp with disappointment. Narcissa's eyes avoided yours entirely.

That night, the words were whispered to you over and over until they sank into your bones: Mattheo was punished because of you. You are bad. You don't deserve to be like the others.

From then on, the manor grew darker. They told you Hogwarts was not for you. A girl like you was better suited to serving, to silence, to obedience (🤮)

And you believed them. Because Mattheo was gone. Because he had cried for you, and it had cost him everything.

You were eight years old when your childhood ended.m

(Mattheo's POV)

The Malfoy Manor never felt like home, not to him. The walls were too high, the air too heavy, and everyone looked at him as if they already knew what he was destined to become. He hated it. But there was one reason he didn't mind being here: you.

You were younger only eight. but you weren't afraid of him the way everyone else was. You didn't flinch at his name. You smiled, even at him, even when his temper slipped or his voice grew too sharp. You showed him the hidden corners of the gardens where wildflowers pushed stubbornly through cracks, and you whispered to animals as if they could understand. He didn't understand why, but when you were around he could feel the heavy weight in his chest lifted just a little.

That morning, he chased after you across the courtyard. You were laughing. Then you stumbled. The laugh broke off into a cry as you hit the stone path, skin scraping raw.

"Y/n!" Mattheo's heart lurched in his chest. He dropped to his knees beside you, hands clumsy and shaking. Blood welled bright against your small knee, and he panicked. "Don't—don't cry! I've got you, I'll fix it—"

He yanked at his sleeve, tearing the fabric without a thought, wrapping it tightly around your leg. His throat ached with how hard he was swallowing, like if he didn't hold himself together you'd disappear.

"Better?" he whispered, terrified of the answer.

You nodded through damp lashes, gifting him a smile—small but brave. His stomach flipped with relief. You were safe. That was all that mattered.

Then the world shifted.

"Pathetic."

The voice sliced through him like a blade. His blood ran cold as he turned and saw the tall figure looming in the archway.

His father.

Mattheo's body locked, fear clawing up his spine. He knew that tone. He knew what it meant.

"What is this?" the Dark Lord hissed, eyes narrowing on you. "A Malfoy girl... daring to distract my son?"

Mattheo shook his head quickly, desperation clawing at his chest. "No, Father—she wasn't—" he could see the fear in your eyes, not understanding.

The wand rose. The curse struck.

Your scream ripped through the courtyard, high and broken, and Mattheo's stomach twisted so violently he thought he might be sick. You writhed on the ground, your small body trembling under the weight of magic far too cruel.

"No! Stop!" He scrambled forward, grabbing your arm, voice breaking. "Please—don't hurt her! She didn't do anything!"

The Dark Lord's gaze cut to him, and Mattheo froze, terror spiking. He hadn't meant too, but he just couldn't bear to see you like this.

"You beg for her?" His father's voice was cruel. "Attachment." The word dripped with venom. "Weakness."

Hands seized Mattheo's shoulders from behind—Death Eaters, faceless and merciless. He knew. He struggled, thrashing like a cornered animal. "No! Don't hurt her, she's good! She's good!"

He caught one last glimpse of you, trembling, eyes wide with pain and confusion, looking for him.

They dragged him down dark halls, into darker rooms. He cried then, not for himself, never for himself, but for you. Because he'd seen your face twisted in pain and knew it was his fault. Because his father would make sure he learned his lesson.

And he did.

The punishments were seared into his skin, burned into his bones. He learned quickly that caring, even a little, was dangerous.

But what hurt most wasn't his father's wrath. It was the silence after. Because when the door finally opened, when he was left broken and trembling, you weren't there. He was scared but more scared for you. You didn't deserve that cruel world he lived in.

You never would be in his world again.

And Mattheo Riddle, at ten years old, understood the truth: love was not for him.

⸻
Guys I'm definitely not back, but like here you go! Might make a part two?