Chapter 53 Between Forgotten Desks
The classroom hadn’t been used in years.
Dust lay like a soft veil over the long wooden desks, and the chalkboard at the front bore the faint ghosts of spells half-erased by time. Tall windows let in slanted afternoon light, illuminating drifting motes that shimmered like lazy sparks of magic. It was one of those places Hogwarts seemed to forget existed—quiet, untouched, and oddly intimate.
Liora hadn’t meant to end up here.
She’d taken a wrong turn while avoiding a cluster of noisy Gryffindors in the corridor, ducking through a door she assumed led to a storage room. Instead, she found herself standing in the threshold of this forgotten classroom, breath caught in her throat as the silence wrapped around her.
She stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind her.
“Well,” a familiar voice drawled from the far side of the room, “this is unexpected.”
Liora startled, spinning around.
Mattheo Riddle was leaning against the teacher’s desk, arms crossed, posture relaxed in that infuriatingly effortless way he had. Sunlight caught the sharp lines of his face, softening them just enough to make her heart stumble.
“Oh—” she breathed, then laughed softly. “You scared me.”
“That wasn’t my intention,” he said lightly. “But I won’t apologize.”
Of course he wouldn’t.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, stepping farther into the room, the door still closed behind her.
He tilted his head, watching her with that steady, assessing gaze. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I took a wrong turn,” she admitted. “You?”
“I don’t,” he replied simply.
She smiled despite herself. “Of course you don’t.”
He pushed off the desk and took a few slow steps toward her, boots echoing softly against the stone floor. The sound seemed louder in the quiet, each step narrowing the distance between them until she was suddenly very aware of how close he was standing.
“This room,” he said casually, gesturing around them, “used to be for advanced theoretical magic. The kind professors stopped teaching because students asked too many dangerous questions.”
“That sounds… exactly like something you’d be interested in,” Liora teased.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “And you?”
She shrugged. “I like answers.”
His eyes flickered with interest. “That much is obvious.”
They drifted toward one of the desks near the windows, sunlight warming the worn wood. Liora ran her fingers lightly over the surface, tracing faint carved initials left behind by students long gone.
“You come to places like this a lot?” she asked.
“When I want quiet,” he said. “Or when I want to think.”
“About what?”
He considered her for a moment. “That depends who’s asking.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And if it’s me?”
“Then,” he said softly, stepping closer, “it’s complicated.”
Her pulse quickened.
There was something about the stillness of the room, the privacy, the way the air seemed to hum faintly with old magic. It made everything feel heightened—every glance, every shift in posture, every breath.
“You know,” Liora said lightly, trying to ground herself, “for someone who insists on being mysterious, you’re terrible at staying away from me.”
Mattheo huffed a quiet laugh. “You say that like it’s intentional.”
“Isn’t it?”
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. “If it were,” he said, voice low, “I doubt you’d be standing this close.”
Her cheeks warmed, but she didn’t step back.
Instead, she leaned against the desk behind her, crossing her arms loosely. “Maybe I don’t mind.”
That earned her a look—sharp, intent, amused.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re flirting.”
She tilted her head. “Am I?”
“Yes,” he said. “Badly.”
She laughed. “Excuse me?”
“You’re too honest about it,” he continued, eyes glinting. “Most people pretend they aren’t.”
“Well,” she said, smiling, “most people aren’t me.”
Something softened in his expression at that.
They stood there, close enough that the air between them felt charged, like a spell waiting to be cast. Liora became acutely aware of his presence—the warmth radiating from him, the way his attention never wavered, the subtle restraint in his posture as if he were holding himself back.
“So,” she said quietly, “do you come here to avoid people… or to find them?”
Mattheo considered the question longer than she expected.
“Both,” he said at last. “But today… I didn’t expect to find you.”
“Disappointed?” she asked, teasing.
“No,” he replied immediately. “Just… distracted.”
Her heart skipped.
They shared a look—one of those moments where words felt unnecessary, where something unspoken passed between them effortlessly. Liora reached for the chalk on the desk without thinking, rolling it between her fingers.
“What if someone comes in?” she asked.
“They won’t,” he said calmly.
“How do you know?”
“Because I sealed the door when I arrived.”
Her eyes widened. “You—”
“Relax,” he said, amused. “Nothing dangerous. Just privacy.”
Her cheeks flushed at the implication.
“That’s… very Slytherin of you,” she muttered.
“And yet,” he said, stepping closer again, “you’re still here.”
She looked up at him, her breath shallow now. “I trust you.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Mattheo froze.
For a moment, the teasing edge vanished completely, replaced by something raw and unreadable. He studied her face, as if searching for hesitation, fear, regret.
He found none.
“You shouldn’t say things like that so easily,” he said quietly.
“Why?” she asked, just as softly. “Because you might believe me?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because,” he replied, “it makes me want to be someone who deserves it.”
The air between them felt electric.
Neither moved. Neither spoke.
Liora’s fingers tightened around the chalk, then loosened as she set it back down. Her hand brushed his wrist in the process—accidental, fleeting, but enough to send a spark up her arm.
Both of them stilled.
Mattheo’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
“Liora,” he said, her name low, careful, as if testing it in the air between them.
“Yes?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he stepped back, breaking the moment just enough to keep it from tipping into something neither of them was ready to name. The restraint in the movement said more than any confession could.
“We should go,” he said quietly. “Before this room stops being… safe.”
She nodded, though part of her wished he hadn’t stepped away.
As he opened the door, sunlight spilling into the corridor beyond, he glanced back at her once more—dark eyes intense, thoughtful, lingering.
“Next time,” he said softly, “don’t take wrong turns.”
She smiled. “No promises.”
And as they stepped back into the living, breathing corridors of Hogwarts, both of them carried the quiet thrill of what had almost happened—of flirtation suspended in the air, unresolved and undeniably alive.