Lost and bound | Mattheo Riddle

Chapter 7: First Interaction

The Slytherin common room was nothing like Celestia had imagined. There were no dank, dark dungeons dripping with slime. Instead, it was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and a ceiling supported by vaults. Greenish lamps hung on chains, casting a shimmering light across the room. A large fireplace carved with intricate serpents dominated one wall, a fire crackling merrily within, its warmth pushing back the chill from the Black Lake that lapped against the tall, glass windows, revealing a mesmerizing, shifting world of deep green water and curious Grindylows.

It was elegant, powerful, and deeply secretive. It felt, Celestia realized with a jolt, like a sanctuary. A different kind than the cottage on the moor, but a sanctuary nonetheless.

A prefect, a tall seventh-year boy with a sharp jawline named Lucian Bole, gave them a brief, stern speech about Slytherin unity, house pride, and the importance of "representing our values with dignity." His eyes lingered meaningfully on the group of new first-years. "We stick together. What happens in Slytherin, stays in Slytherin. The other houses may distrust us, but they will also respect us. See that they do."

With that, they were dismissed to find their dormitories. The girls' dormitory was through a stone archway. Celestia, Pansy, and Daphne found their room, along with two other girls, Millicent Bulstrode, a large, silent girl, and Tracey Davis, who seemed friendly but nervous. Their trunks were already at the foot of four-poster beds hung with emerald green silk curtains.

The next morning, the dynamics of their little group began to solidify over breakfast at the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy held court, reliving his rejection by Harry Potter on the train.

"The audacity" he sniffed, spooning kedgeree onto his plate. "Think they're so special. You'll see, Lupin. That lot in Gryffindor are all the same. No breeding, no manners."

Theo Nott, sitting across from Celestia and methodically dissecting a kipper, spoke without looking up. "Potter's got a seeker's build, though. Father said James Potter was exceptional on a broom. Might be trouble on the pitch." His observation was neutral, factual.

Blaise Zabini, elegantly sipping pumpkin juice, raised an eyebrow. "Trouble implies he'll get on the team as a first year. Which is impossible."

"My father will hear about it if he does" Malfoy said pompously.

It was then that Mattheo Riddle approached. The conversation around him dipped slightly. He took a seat next to Draco, his movements unnervely smooth. His eyes, that cold grey, scanned the group before landing on Celestia.

"Lupin" he said, his voice a low, measured tone. "An unusual name. Not one you hear in.... certain circles." It wasn't a question. It was a probe, disguised as small talk.

Celestia kept her eyes on her porridge, stirring it slowly. She could feel Pansy and Daphne's attentive silence. "It's not uncommon where I'm from" she said, her voice even. Control.

"And where is that?" Mattheo pressed, a faint, condescending smile playing on his lips. "My family has connections everywhere. I'm sure I'd know of it."

She looked up then, meeting his gaze directly. The cold knot in her stomach hardened. She saw his father's arrogance in the set of his jaw, his father's cruelty in the coldness of his eyes. Your father murdered my family, she screamed inside her head. Outwardly, she gave a small, polite shrug. "A small place. Very private. You wouldn't know it." She turned to Daphne. "What's our first class? Transfiguration, isn't it?"

It was a clear dismissal. A subtle changing of the subject that denied him the information he sought. Blaise's lips twitched in amusement. Theo watched the exchange with intense interest. Draco looked annoyed at having the attention shifted away from him.

Mattheo's smile didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. He had been rebuffed, and by a girl he clearly considered beneath his notice. "Transfiguration" he repeated, the word sounding like a threat. "Professor McGonagall. A notoriously.... strict teacher. I'm sure she'll be fascinated by your.... private education." He emphasized the word, implying it was lacking.

The bell rang, saving her from having to formulate a response. As they gathered their books, Theo fell into step beside her.

"He's a piece of work, isn't he?" Theo murmured, his voice low so only she could hear. "Riddle. Thinks he's the heir to the castle already just because of his name."

Celestia glanced at him, surprised by the bluntness. "His name is.... well-known" she said carefully.

Theo's thoughtful eyes met hers. "A name is just a name. It's what you do with it that matters. My father says the Riddle legacy is.... complicated." He said it in a way that suggested he knew exactly how complicated it was.

As they navigated the moving staircases, Mattheo and Draco strode ahead, already acting like they owned the corridors. Pansy and Daphne flanked Celestia, a show of silent solidarity.

"Don't let Riddle get to you" Pansy said sotto voce. "He's trying to establish pecking order. Thinks his father's.... history.... makes him top of the food chain."

"It usually does" Daphne added pragmatically. "But you held your own. You didn't give him anything. That's smarter than most."

They entered the Transfiguration classroom. As Professor McGonagall began her stern lecture on the dangers and complexities of their subject, Celestia's mind raced. She was surrounded. Draco with his blustering prejudice, Blaise with his detached curiosity, Theo with his quiet, knowing observations. And Mattheo. Always Mattheo, a living, breathing monument to the worst night of her life.

He thought he knew power. He thought his name was a weapon that made him untouchable.

Little does he know, she thought, her fingers gripping her blackthorn wand beneath the desk. She felt its cool, unyielding strength, a core born of loss and resilience. Little does he know that my name is a shield. And my secret is a weapon he can't even conceive of. She looked at the match on her desk, the subject of their first lesson. And I will learn to be sharp enough to cut him down.