Chapter 27 Hogsmeade Incident
The October air in Hogsmeade smelled of warm cinnamon and cold wind—an odd mix that made Liora breathe deeper with every step. It was her first real visit to the wizarding village, and despite having heard about it since her first day, nothing truly prepared her for the living portrait before her: crooked chimneys puffing smoke like lazy dragons, windows glowing amber, students spilling out of Honeydukes with sticky fingers and ridiculous grins.
Hermione had rushed ahead toward Scrivenshaft’s with Harry and Ron in tow, promising to find Liora in a few minutes. They had insisted she come with them, even though she felt like a quiet extra figure in their trio. The moment they disappeared around a corner, swallowed by the noise and excitement, Liora felt the oddest sensation—for once, being alone didn’t frighten her.
It felt…freeing.
She tucked her scarf closer and wandered along the cobblestone path.
She had no idea that she was being watched.
Mattheo Riddle leaned against the shadowed side of Gladrags Wizardwear, arms crossed, posture deceptively lazy. His dark eyes never left her—not for more than a blink.
He shouldn’t be here.
He’d told his friends he didn’t care about Hogsmeade, that he’d rather stay in the dungeons brewing illicit things with Enzo. But then Liora had laughed softly at breakfast when Ginny told her the pastries at The Three Broomsticks were “life-altering,” and something in that laugh punched the choice right out of him.
He was here before he even realized he’d decided to be.
He watched her stop to look through a window display of tiny magical snow globes that replayed winter scenes with uncanny detail. She leaned in, her breath fogging the glass, eyes bright with curiosity. Mattheo felt something twist sharply inside him.
She looked…enchanted.
She had no idea how many people in this world were drawn to light like hers. No idea how many would try to smother it.
Which was precisely why he was here. Keeping a distance. Keeping her safe.
He told himself that was all.
Liora wandered farther from the main street, following the drifting sound of music—a fiddle accompanied by the deep hum of bagpipes. It drew her toward a smaller alley lined with quaint boutiques she didn’t recognize.
The music stopped abruptly.
She frowned, glancing around. The alley was empty except for a stray owl perched on a signpost. The faint warmth of the main street felt miles away. A cool breeze tugged her scarf.
“Maybe I went too far…”
She turned to head back—but her boot caught on something.
A tripwire. Mouth slightly open, she looked down just as a narrow rune-etched charm snapped and released a flash of blue.
A ward trap.
Before she could react, the air shimmered, crackling with static. A containment charm swallowed the alley—thin, nearly invisible, but unmistakably there. Her breath hitched.
“Okay, that’s… probably not meant to be here,” she whispered, stepping back.
The magical boundary buzzed. Something told her it wasn’t meant for her specifically… but it didn’t matter. She was inside it now.
She reached out, wand trembling slightly.
“Finite—”
A low voice cut through the air. “Don’t.”
She spun, heart leaping.
Mattheo emerged from the shadows as if he’d been sculpted from them—coat open, hair tousled from the wind, a dark intensity in his eyes that made the alley feel suddenly much smaller.
“Mattheo?” She blinked. “What are you doing here?”
His jaw ticked. “Preventing you from blasting yourself into the nearest wall.”
He stepped beside her, gaze sharp as he examined the barrier. “This isn’t school-level magic.”
“That’s comforting,” she muttered.
His lips twitched—almost a smile, if one squinted. “Whoever set this up knew what they were doing. It’s a containment snare. Harmless if you leave it alone, but it reacts to spellcasting.”
“So we’re trapped?”
“No,” he said simply. “You’re not.”
He raised his wand and sliced through the bottom corner of the ward with a spell she didn’t recognize. The magic sputtered, hissed… then severed cleanly like a rope cut with a blade. The barrier dissolved.
Liora stared.
Mattheo pocketed his wand and looked at her. “You really shouldn’t wander off alone here.”
“I wasn’t that far,” she said, flustered.
“You were far enough.”
His tone wasn’t scolding—it was quiet. Edged with something like… concern. Genuine, unfiltered concern. It made warmth coil low in her stomach.
She swallowed. “Did you follow me?”
His expression didn’t shift. Not even a blink.
She took his silence as answer enough.
“Why?”
He looked away, jaw clenching. “You attract trouble.”
“That’s not—”
“And you don’t notice half of it,” he added.
Her cheeks flamed. “I’m not helpless.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
The wind rustled between them, cool and crisp.
“You’re… unpredictable,” he continued, voice softer. “You walk toward things most people avoid. You trust places you shouldn’t. People you shouldn’t.”
Her breath caught, because something in his tone sounded tender and frustrated and protective all at once.
“So I keep an eye on you,” he finished quietly. “That’s all.”
Her heart stuttered.
She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to stand or breathe or exist under the heavy weight of his honesty. Mattheo rarely explained himself. He rarely offered pieces of truth the way he just had.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He blinked, surprised. “For what?”
“For caring.”
He stared at her like he didn’t know what to do with those words. For a second—just a second—she thought he might reach out, might brush her hand, might close the small distance between them.
But then—
Footsteps echoed from the mouth of the alley.
Liora jolted.
A cluster of third-year Slytherins rounded the bend—Malcolm Avery leading them, his smirk sharpened with mischief.
“Riddle? I thought we lost you at the pub,” Avery snickered, eyes sliding to Liora. “But looks like you found something much more… intriguing.”
Mattheo’s expression iced over. If the shadows in the alley had teeth, they would’ve bared them.
Avery cocked his head. “A Gryffindor? Really?”
Mattheo stepped forward once.
Avery wisely stepped back.
“We’re done here,” Mattheo said, voice low enough that it carried a clear threat.
The group scattered like spooked crows.
When Mattheo turned back to Liora, something dark and unreadable hovered in his eyes. “Let’s get you back to the main street.”
Liora nodded. “Okay.”
They walked side by side toward the laughter and lights of Hogsmeade, the accidental isolation of the alley feeling strangely intimate in her memory.
Halfway there, their hands swung close—too close—and brushed for the briefest second.
Neither of them pulled away.
Neither spoke.
By the time they reached the bustle of the main road, Liora’s heart was still racing—not from danger, but from something she didn’t have a name for yet.
And Mattheo walked just a step behind her, gaze steady, making sure nothing—and no one—touched her again.