Chapter 24 Slytherin Gossip Escalates
Slytherin House did not do rumours lightly.
They sharpened them.
Whispers moved like smoke through the green-lit corridors beneath the castle, curling around pillars and drifting through conversations with cutting elegance. Liora Potter didn’t know it yet—not fully—but Mattheo Riddle’s world had begun to shift the moment her name entered it.
And Slytherins noticed shifts faster than any House.
It began the morning after their quiet talk in the hidden nook near the Great Hall—the one where Mattheo had stood just slightly too close, and Liora had walked away with her pulse refusing to slow, his touch still ghosting along her skin.
Inside the Slytherin common room, a place of green flame and murmured ambition, Daphne Greengrass leaned over a velvet-backed chair, speaking low but sharp enough for others to hear.
“Riddle left dinner early last night. That alone is suspicious.”
Her friend Millicent snorted. “Always found him odd. But lately? He’s… distracted.”
On the far side of the room, a few first-years turned their heads—they had heard the rumours too. Mattheo leaving conversations half-finished. Mattheo slipping off between classes with a distant look. Mattheo looking—Merlin forbid—softened.
Theo Nott lounged nearby, pretending to read a thick volume on curse theory. He didn’t look up, didn’t react—but one corner of his mouth twitched.
He was listening.
Pansy Parkinson, always eager to be in the centre of brewing drama, folded her arms.
“I heard he’s been seen talking to someone.”
Theo shut the book with a loud thump. “Who?”
She smirked. “A Hufflepuff.”
A collective pause stilled the air like an intake of breath.
A Slytherin being overly friendly with anyone outside their House was notable.
Mattheo Riddle doing it… was practically scandal.
“Which Hufflepuff?” Theo demanded, his tone too calm.
Pansy tapped her chin. “Potter’s daughter.”
Daphne’s eyebrows shot up. “Liora Potter?”
“That one.”
Now Theo genuinely stared, disbelief flickering across his features. “You’re certain?”
“Certain enough,” Pansy said smugly. “Saw them in the courtyard last week. Close enough to speak privately. And that wasn’t the only time.”
Daphne leaned in, hungry for more.
“Does he… like her?”
Millicent scoffed. “Mattheo? Actually liking someone? Don’t be ridiculous.”
But her voice wavered, uncertain.
Mattheo had never shown interest in anyone. Ever. That alone kept his aura carved in stone—untouchable, uninterpretable, and entirely his own.
Theo finally stood, pushing off from his chair. “Whatever you’re all thinking—don’t. You know Riddle. He doesn’t do attachments.”
“Maybe he’s changing,” Daphne said.
Theo shot her a look sharp enough to cut. “Or maybe someone wants to be dead.”
A hush fell.
Mattheo Riddle’s temper was understated, controlled, but lethal when stirred. People didn’t discuss him casually. They certainly didn’t pry into his private life.
But this rumour?
It was too compelling.
Too disruptive.
Too dangerous.
And the whispers kept spreading.
Mattheo felt it before anyone said a word.
The looks. The pauses when he entered a room. Quiet conversations that abruptly ended as he passed.
He ignored most of it—Slytherins thrived on secrets—but today the air carried something different. Something sharp. Something about her.
He sat in a corner of the common room, pretending to study an arcane manuscript. The fire flickered green, casting shadows across his sharp features. His quill didn’t move.
Theo approached, hesitant.
“You planning to stab someone with that quill, or…?”
Mattheo didn’t glance up. “Depends.”
Theo sighed. “Look, there’s talk.”
“Let them talk.”
“They’re talking about her,” Theo added carefully.
Mattheo froze—not visibly, but internally something snapped tight.
Theo lowered his voice. “They think you’re… distracted by a Hufflepuff.”
Mattheo finally lifted his gaze. Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
“Are you asking,” he murmured, “or warning me?”
Theo held steady—one of the few who ever could.
“Warning you. Because you know how this place works. If people believe you’re getting soft—”
“They’ll test me,” Mattheo finished.
Theo nodded.
Mattheo set the quill down, expression unreadable. “Let them test.”
But inside?
A slow burn started.
Not at the rumour.
At the idea of anyone talking about Liora.
At the idea of anyone watching her.
She was fragile in some ways—not magically, but socially. Too warm. Too trusting. Too bright for his world.
And Slytherin curiosity? That was never innocent.
Liora didn’t know any of this.
Her morning had started normally—slightly late for breakfast, hair still refusing to settle, books clutched against her chest as she rushed toward Charms.
She noticed the stares, though.
Not from her own House.
From Slytherins.
A few looked curious.
A few looked mocking.
One or two looked downright predatory.
She nervously fiddled with her sleeve as she reached a set of stairs, whispering to herself, “Maybe I spilled ink on my robe without realizing.”
At the staircase landing, Emily from her dorm jogged to catch up.
“Liora! Slow down, you’re practically running from the castle.”
“I just—” she hesitated, lowering her voice—“do you feel like… people are watching?”
Emily’s eyebrows knitted. “People?”
“Slytherins,” Liora whispered.
Emily stopped dead in the hallway.
“Oh no. Not because of that Riddle boy, right?”
Liora’s cheeks burned. “I—I don’t know. Maybe.”
Emily sighed dramatically. “Liora, you’re sweet, but you’re also oblivious. Slytherins gossip worse than any flock of pixies. And Riddle? He’s… well… he’s the kind they either worship or fear.”
Liora blinked. “Why fear?”
Emily hurried her along. “Because he’s unpredictable. And because of his name.”
Liora swallowed. She knew his surname carried weight. But Mattheo felt… complex.
Not dangerous.
Not cruel.
Just… layered.
Troubled, maybe.
And the memory of his hand brushing hers in the nook—like an unexpected spark—still tugged at her.
After lunch, the gossip in Slytherin reached a new level.
Daphne and Pansy approached Mattheo directly, which was brave—or foolish—depending on interpretation.
He stood in a dim corridor, reviewing a parchment when they approached.
“Mattheo,” Daphne said sweetly, deceptively polite.
Mattheo did not look up. “Don’t.”
She blinked. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t start.”
Pansy stepped forward, wearing the kind of smile that meant she knew she was goading a sleeping dragon. “We just wanted to know why you’ve been spending time with a Hufflepuff.”
He slowly raised his eyes.
Their breath caught.
This version of Mattheo—the glacial stare, the quiet threat simmering beneath—was the reason people didn’t cross him.
“You’re asking questions that don’t concern you,” he said coldly.
Daphne pushed, her curiosity outweighing her fear. “Is she the reason you’ve been disappearing? And why you’ve missed two of our study meetings?”
Mattheo said nothing.
Which was answer enough.
Pansy’s eyes widened. “Merlin, you do like her.”
Mattheo stepped forward once—only once—but it was enough for both girls to retreat instinctively.
“Say her name again,” he murmured, voice low and lethal, “and you’ll regret it.”
Their smug expressions shattered.
They fled.
But the damage was done.
Rumours no longer whispered.
Rumours ignited.
Liora’s day finally ended with a long trek back toward the Hufflepuff basement. She was tired—mentally exhausted from feeling stared at, whispered about, tugged by invisible threads she didn’t understand.
At the turn near the dungeon staircase, she paused.
A sound.
Soft. Deliberate.
Someone breathing.
She felt the hairs on her arms rise.
The shadows shifted at the edge of the corridor—tall, still, watching.
Her heart thudded painfully.
Was it Mattheo?
Or someone else following her?
She took a step back, clutching her books to her chest.
The figure didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just watched.