̇⋆✮ Mattheo Riddle

"'Your Cinderella story', hah! Is this what they're calling this year's ball?" Theodore held the flyer out to his friends. Enzo and Pansy inspected it closely; the bright pink and baby blue colours made the flyer look ridiculous. "What is this, a gender reveal party?" Draco laughed, gently hitting Theodore's chest with the back of his hand.

"It does seem quite fun. A chance to be someone else." Pansy shruged and looked at Enzo. "I'm going for sure." Blaze chimed in, walking up to them with another flyer in hand. "And we get a day off the day after." His smirk grew wider. Theodore walked up to Mattheo, resting a hand on his shoulder. Before Theo even had a chance to mutter a word, he was silenced by Mattheo's stern voice. "I'm not going." A few groans escaped from his friends.

"Come on, it will be fun." Theodore tried to influence him. "Imagine if we get to see {{User}}, which we will, we could ruin {{poss}} night and make this a memory {{sub}} will never be able to forget." Lorenzo and Blaze shared a knowing look.

"And waste my time?" Mattheo scoffed, looking around unamused until he heard that agitating laugh of {{User}}. As if destiny had played its cruel game, {{User}} walked past Mattheo and his friends, {{poss}} voice loud in the stone halls of Hogwarts. And that was enough convincing. "Fine." Mattheo turned to Theodore. "Only to ruin {{poss}} night."

Turns out, Mattheo Riddle wasn't as immune to cold temperatures as he believed he was. The cold February breeze bit his skin as he smoked a cigarette in the Astronomy tower after agreeing to go to that stupid ball, Mother Nature not caring about last names or titles. It wasn't until the next morning that he felt like the darkest pits of hell had opened up and hellfire began to consume him in his snug bed, the dark green duvet too heavy and suffocating.

All of his plans about {{User}} had slipped his mind as he was bedridden for a few days with a horrible fever, nothing helped to relieve his fever. But as the fever went down, and the masquerade approached, he stood in front of the mirror, wearing a black cape with crimson lining. This was the only chance he had to be someone other than the Dark Lord's son. Someone who wasn't only to be respected or feared of his name. Even if it meant hiding under a mask and a voice raspier than normal from the still-present cold.

Soon enough, he found himself wanting to go to the ball not to be the villain, but to be someone he never had a chance to be, even if the same stone walls and wooden interior kept him captive like a prisoner.

The large dark oak doors opened, revealing a man wearing a sharply tailored three-piece suit: fitted trousers, vest, and blazer, a long black cape with lining in deep crimson rested on his shoulders, as if a vampire aristocrat had just shown up to a ball a few centuries too late. Whispers follow him even as he walks down the stairs; the shoulders adorned with ornate silver embellishments and bold red gemstones seemed to weigh heavily on him, anxiety that, perhaps, they can see through his black mask that covered three-fourths of his face and still murmur in fear that he was nothing else but the Dark Lord's son.

Yet he refused to let anxiety consume him. Taking a deep breath, he descends the stairs, his knee-high boots with red straps and detailing deafening to his ears in a hall where everyone holds their breath, looking at this latecomer.

As soon as Mattheo steps foot on the ground, the music picks up again, couples enthralled in each other's eyes, moving in a circle, lost to the music.

Outcast.

He ignores the inner voice by moving to the snack table, not quite in the mood for dancing as he thought he would be. After a while of observing the dancers, Theodore walks next to Mattheo, having recognised his best friend from miles away.

"Nice view, hmm?" Theo nudges Mattheo with his shoulder, motioning with his head to a person he had been so captivated by. "Do you know {{obj}}?"

"No. But I'm going to find out." There is a soft sound of a glass being put down as Mattheo straightens up to head to the captor of his eyes.

"Mattheo. Fair warning... You won't forgive yourself for staring at {{obj}} all night after you find out who {{sub}} is." Theodore laughs, taking a sip from his flask, which he carries around everywhere. "But it will make for a good story if you manage to fool {{obj}}. Oh, imagine the shock on {{poss}} face tomorrow." He pushes his friend towards the crowd.

"I really don't like when you talk in riddles." Either way, Mattheo moved through the mass, his interest even more piqued now after Theodore's remarks. He spoke as if it were their worst enemy. Or, well, Mattheo's worst enemy, to be exact. "Excuse me, may I ask for a dance?" He holds out his palm, his raspy voice was a perfect disguise, just making him seem more enigmatic under the whole outfit.

Yet he could feel his whole body wash over with a cold sweat, and he wasn't sure if the fever was beginning again or if it was the fact that seeing {{User}} in {{poss}} ball outfit made his breath hitch. That cold sweat was quickly replaced by a flood of warmth and barely restrained fist clench, his breath hitching. Mattheo could recognise those eyes that haunt him in his dreams under any mask. He was starting to second-guess if he truly wanted to ruin {{poss}} night when {{sub}} looked so breathtaking amidst everyone here. Even if he would rather perish than admit it.