Chapter 18 First Touch
The morning began like any other—sunlight spilling through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, chatter rising from every table, students scrambling to finish homework they’d forgotten overnight. Liora sat with her Hufflepuff friends, nodding politely as they discussed plans for the day, but her mind drifted elsewhere.
The Serpentine Annex.
The glowing pedestal.
Mattheo following her.
It had been only last night, but the memory still hummed in her chest like a lingering charm, quietly buzzing just beneath her heartbeat. She tried not to look at the Slytherin table.
She failed.
Mattheo sat near the far end, half-listening to his group of friends, half-brooding into a plate of untouched eggs. His expression was unreadable, but he didn’t look angry. Or annoyed. More like… distracted.
He didn’t glance her way.
Not once.
Her stomach fluttered with something complicated.
Charms Class
By midday, Liora’s head was a mess of spells, star charts, and the memory of a boy who wouldn’t look at her. Charms was usually a cheerful class, full of sparking wands and laughter when things went wrong. Today, Professor Flitwick had them practicing Hovering Charms on various classroom objects.
The room buzzed with floating feathers, bobbing cushions, and the occasional desk leg twitching when someone mispronounced a syllable.
“Remember!” Flitwick squeaked from the front. “Clear intent and gentle control!”
Liora repeated the incantation under her breath and pointed her wand at the cushion before her.
“Wingardium Levi—”
The cushion twitched.
“—osa!”
It lifted three centimetres before abruptly spinning and smacking her in the face.
She sputtered. “Oh—come on!”
Her friend Hazel snorted beside her. “Maybe try not glaring at the cushion? Positive energy helps!”
“I wasn’t glaring. I was focused.”
“You were glaring. Hard.”
Liora huffed and steadied her wand.
But before she could try again, the classroom door opened.
Mattheo Riddle walked in.
Not late—he moved with the unbothered confidence of someone who entered precisely when he felt like it. A few Slytherin girls straightened. A Ravenclaw whisper-squealed. Even Flitwick paused mid-sentence.
Mattheo handed Flitwick a note, then made his way to the only open spot.
The desk beside Liora’s.
Her breath hitched. Hazel’s eyes went wide. “Well,” she whispered, “this should be fun.”
Liora wished she could turn invisible.
Mattheo dropped into the seat beside her, his presence immediately shifting the air. Warm, dark, heavy with quiet intensity.
He didn’t greet her. Didn’t look at her.
But she felt him.
It was impossible not to.
The Accident
Flitwick floated past them, checking wand movements. “Pair practice, everyone! Two students, one object!”
Hazel quickly partnered with another Hufflepuff, leaving Liora… with him.
Mattheo finally turned his head slightly. His eyes met hers. Calm. Sharp. Just a flicker of something unreadable before he looked at the cushion sitting between their desks.
“You take the left.” His voice was low, smooth.
“O-okay.”
Her wand trembled. She hoped he didn’t notice.
They pointed together.
“On three,” Mattheo said. “One… two… three.”
“Wingardium Leviosa.”
The cushion rose—beautifully, smoothly—and Liora nearly gasped in relief.
But then something popped. A spark of gold flared from the tip of her wand.
“No—no, no—” she muttered.
The cushion spun aggressively, then shot straight at her face again—but this time, Mattheo reacted instantly.
His hand shot out, grabbing the cushion mid-air—
And his other hand covered hers.
His fingers wrapped over her wrist and wand hand, steadying her grip. Firm. Warm. Certain.
Liora froze.
The world froze.
Mattheo’s hand was around hers.
Their arms nearly touched, breath mingling in the inch of space between them. She could feel the heat of him through her sleeve, the tension in his fingers, the way his thumb instinctively rested just above her pulse.
His skin was warm.
Warmer than she expected.
He didn’t let go.
For a long moment neither of them moved, as if breaking the contact would shatter something delicate.
Then, quietly—
“You’re holding your wand too tightly,” he murmured. His breath brushed her cheek. “Relax.”
She couldn’t relax if she tried. But he guided her gently, loosening his hold, adjusting her fingers with surprising care.
When he finally let go, it was slow—like his hand didn’t want to leave hers yet.
“You okay?” he asked.
Liora could barely speak. “…Yes.”
Mattheo looked at her—really looked at her—and something softened in his eyes. Almost imperceptibly, but she saw it.
Then he placed the cushion back on the desk.
“You’re improving,” he said.
“Am I?” she whispered.
He hummed. “A little.”
His version of praise.
Hazel stared at her from across the room like she had witnessed a marriage proposal.
Later in the Hall
The class ended in a blur of fluttering feathers and students rushing out excitedly. Hazel grabbed Liora’s arm, squealing, “OH MY MERLIN—did you SEE that?! Your HANDS—”
“Hazel—shh!”
Hazel lowered her voice only a little. “He touched your hand like he meets fate in your palm!”
Liora groaned into her hands.
When she finally stepped into the corridor, she expected Mattheo to vanish as he usually did. Slytherins slipped away like smoke, silent and uninterested.
But Mattheo lingered.
He stood a few paces away, leaning lightly against the wall, arms crossed. Watching her. Or waiting. She wasn’t sure.
Their eyes met.
For once, he didn’t look away.
“You handled it well.” His tone was casual, but his gaze wasn’t. “The spell. You kept focus.”
“I nearly attacked myself with a cushion.”
His lips twitched. “A dangerous enemy.”
Liora blinked—then laughed softly. “Thank you… for helping.”
He nodded. “Don’t mention it.”
The hallway buzzed around them. Students passed. Books bumped. Someone shouted for a lost quill. But the space around her and Mattheo felt strangely quiet.
Comfortable.
Warm.
She took a breath. “You’re actually not as—scary as everyone says.”
His amusement flickered. “Don’t let that get around.”
“No?” she teased lightly. “Why not?”
“Because,” he said with a faint smirk, “I like being feared. It keeps stupid people away.”
“And… people who aren’t stupid?”
Mattheo hesitated.
His eyes lowered to hers again, lingering a little too long.
“They don’t stay away,” he said quietly.
Her cheeks warmed.
He pushed off the wall. “See you around, Potter.”
And then he walked away, robes brushing behind him, leaving her heart tumbling in her chest.