Chapter 26 First Hint of Darkness
The library felt quieter after Mattheo slipped away, leaving Liora clutching the green-bound book and the folded fragment of a mysterious map. The words he had whispered—don’t wander alone—echoed in her head long after he disappeared around the shelves.
Danger.
Slytherin hallways.
Because of him.
She didn’t understand, not fully, but the tone of his voice had made her stomach twist—protective, warning, conflicted. Not cruel. Never cruel. Not with her.
Still… something about the way he’d avoided answering her last question lingered like a shadow in her thoughts.
By the time evening settled over the castle, Liora had read the same page of Magique Obscura five times without absorbing a single word. The Hufflepuff common room was warm, golden, full of soft chatter and flickering candlelight. Students played wizard chess on thick rugs; some passed around Cauldron Cakes; others reviewed Charms homework.
Liora sat curled in one of the yellow armchairs, the green book heavy in her lap. Her roommates kept sending her curious glances.
Finally, Rina plopped into the seat beside her, dark curls bouncing. “You’ve been staring into that thing like it’s going to come alive and eat you.”
“It’s nothing,” Liora said too quickly.
Rina lifted a brow. “Nothing usually doesn’t look like someone died and left you their last Horcrux.”
Liora choked. “Definitely not a Horcrux.”
“Then spill. You’ve been acting weird since lunch.”
Liora opened her mouth, then closed it again. She didn’t even know what to say. I found a mysterious charm book, a map full of old runes, and Mattheo Riddle warned me about roaming the castle alone didn’t seem like wise information to share in a public room.
So instead she said, “I… talked to someone today.”
Rina leaned forward like a kneazle spotting a mouse. “Someone? Or someone?”
Liora flushed.
Rina gasped dramatically. “You talked to the Slytherin brooder again, didn’t you? Liora! He has knives for cheekbones.”
“That’s not—well, maybe—I mean—” Liora sank lower into her chair. “He warned me about a dangerous book.”
“That’s the first step in all tragic romances,” Rina said solemnly. “Next he’ll be rescuing you from falling off a broom.”
“He already saved me twice,” Liora muttered before she could stop herself.
Rina froze. “Twice? Girl, you’re living a whole novel and you didn’t tell me?”
Liora pressed her lips together, heat rising in her cheeks.
She didn’t want this to become gossip. Mattheo didn’t deserve that. And something about the moment in the library felt… private. Important.
So instead she forced a small smile. “Nothing dramatic. Just… coincidences.”
Rina watched her with a look that said she didn’t believe a word of it.
But she let it go.
For now.
A Walk in the Courtyard
After curfew strode nearer and the common room grew louder, Liora slipped away with the book tucked under her arm. Reading in her dorm felt too stifling. She needed fresh air to untangle her thoughts.
The courtyard was quiet at this hour. Moonlight spilled over stone benches, casting silver across the fountain at the centre. Leaves rustled softly in the breeze.
Liora sat on the fountain’s edge, opening the green book again.
But she couldn’t focus.
Mattheo’s words.
His eyes.
The moment their fingers touched.
The warning in his voice.
Some things are easier when you don’t examine them too closely.
What did that even mean?
“Potter.”
Her pulse jolted. She turned.
Mattheo stood under an archway, one hand braced against the stone, his dark robe rippling slightly in the breeze. Moonlight painted his features sharply—the line of his jaw, the fierce angle of his cheekbones, the intensity in his eyes.
He looked unreal.
Like a shadow sculpted into a boy.
“You shouldn’t be out alone right now,” he said quietly.
She blinked. “You didn’t follow me.”
“No,” he said, stepping into the light. “But I was looking for you.”
It felt like her heart stuttered.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he approached the fountain slowly, deliberately, as if approaching a creature he feared might bolt.
“You asked me something earlier,” he said, stopping a few feet away. “In the library.”
Her breath caught. “Why you keep helping me.”
He nodded once. His eyes drifted to the book in her hands. “And why I told you to be careful.”
She swallowed. “Are you going to answer?”
His jaw tightened. He looked away for a long moment, staring at the fountain water as if searching for something within its ripples.
Then—
“Liora… my family is not something you want to be tangled up in.”
Her stomach dropped.
Not Slytherin gossip.
Not idle rumours.
Real danger.
She steadied her voice. “You mean your… heritage.”
He flinched—barely, but she saw it.
“Does everyone know?” he muttered.
“Not everyone,” she said softly. “But people talk.”
“People talk about monsters,” he said sharply. “Because they want to believe they can see one coming.”
She stared at him, stunned.
He rarely cracked like this. Rarely revealed more than a sliver of vulnerability. Tonight he looked raw—exposed.
And she hated that he felt that way.
“Mattheo,” she whispered, stepping closer without meaning to, “I don’t think you’re a monster.”
He laughed—but not cruelly. More like he didn’t believe her.
“You don’t know me,” he said.
“Then tell me.”
He froze.
For a heartbeat, she thought he might walk away.
But he didn’t.
He turned, meeting her eyes with something fierce and frighteningly honest.
“People think they understand what it means to carry a name,” he said. “A legacy. But my—” He stopped. The word father hovered unspoken, heavy and poisonous. “My lineage isn’t just dark history. It isn’t just something you can bury or ignore.”
She held her breath.
“It follows me,” he said. “Everywhere. In everything. Even here.”
His voice dropped. “Especially here.”
“And that’s why Slytherins are watching you,” he continued. “Not because of you. Because they’re watching me.”
She felt cold all over.
“Why?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Because they’re waiting to see what I become.”
She stepped closer. “And what do you think you’ll become?”
He stared at her like the question pierced deeper than she realized.
“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely.
And then, softer:
“But you make me want to be something else.”
The words hit her like a whisper of wind and thunder at once.
Her breath trembled.
Mattheo looked away the moment he said it, as if he regretted revealing too much. His shoulders stiffened.
“You should keep your distance,” he muttered. “Just until things settle.”
She shook her head. “No.”
He snapped his gaze back to her. “Liora—”
“No,” she repeated, louder. “I don’t feel unsafe around you.”
“You should.”
“Why? Because of rumours? Because of a name?”
“Because,” he said sharply, “I don’t want you hurt because of me.”
Her heart squeezed.
She took another step forward, closing the last of the distance between them.
“I trust you.”
Mattheo inhaled sharply.
“You shouldn’t,” he whispered.
“But I do.”
His expression crumpled for a fraction of a second—so quick she might have imagined it. A flash of something raw, something longing, something afraid.
He lifted a hand as if to touch her—hesitated—then let it fall.
“You really don’t know what you’re saying,” he murmured.
“Then explain it to me,” she urged.
He looked torn. Truly torn.
But he shook his head.
“Someday,” he said, voice low. “Not today.”
She nodded slowly. “Then I’ll wait.”
“Why?” he whispered.
Because I feel safer with you than with anyone else.
She couldn’t say it. Not yet.
Instead she offered a small, warm smile. “Because you help me. Even when you pretend you don’t want to.”
For the first time, his expression softened—not guarded, not smirking, not unreadable.
Soft.
“You’re impossible,” he breathed.
“Maybe.”
A wind swept through the courtyard, rustling the trees and stirring her hair. She shivered slightly.
Mattheo noticed instantly.
“Come on,” he said softly. “I’ll walk you back.”
She blinked. “You said I shouldn’t walk with you.”
He gave her a look somewhere between exasperation and reluctant fondness. “I said you shouldn’t wander alone. I didn’t say you shouldn’t be safe.”
Her heart fluttered painfully.
She closed the book. “Okay.”
They walked side by side through the moonlit corridors—close enough that their hands brushed once, twice, sending a delicate shock up her arm each time.
He didn’t pull away.
Neither did she.