Chapter 74 Lines Drawn in Quiet Steel
The Great Hall had a way of amplifying everything—voices, laughter, rivalries. That afternoon, it felt especially loud.
Liora noticed it the moment she stepped inside. Gryffindor red was everywhere, clustered and animated, their voices ringing with an energy that scraped along her nerves. She told herself it was nothing. Just another day. Just another meal.
She made it halfway to the Hufflepuff table before she heard her name.
“Oi—Potter’s shadow.”
The words weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be. They were sharp enough to cut through the din, precise and intentional.
Liora stopped.
She didn’t turn right away. She knew better than to give attention to bait. Still, her shoulders tightened, and she felt the familiar prickle of heat climb her neck. The speaker—Cormac Vale, a sixth-year Gryffindor with a reputation for running his mouth—leaned back against his table, arms folded, smirk firmly in place.
“Didn’t realize you’d started collecting Slytherins,” he continued lightly. “Or do they collect you?”
A few Gryffindors snickered. Not all of them. Some looked uncomfortable. Others watched with open interest.
Liora forced herself to breathe. She turned slowly, meeting Vale’s gaze. “I’m just here to eat,” she said evenly. “Like everyone else.”
Vale tilted his head. “Funny. Looks more like you’re auditioning for something. Standing near them. Studying with them.” His eyes flicked pointedly past her shoulder. “Letting them hover.”
Liora followed his gaze despite herself.
Mattheo stood near the Slytherin table, posture deceptively relaxed, one hand braced on the stone bench. His face was unreadable, dark eyes fixed—not on Vale, but on her.
Something shifted in the air.
Vale noticed it too.
“Oh,” he said softly, amusement sharpening. “There it is. Guess the rumours are true.”
Liora felt anger spark, quick and bright. “You don’t know anything,” she said, voice steadier than she felt.
Vale pushed off the table and took a step closer, lowering his voice as though sharing a confidence. “Careful,” he murmured. “People like him don’t make friends. They make use of people. And when they’re done—”
“Enough.”
The word cut cleanly between them.
Mattheo hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t hurried. He simply appeared—close enough that Liora could feel the shift of air as he stepped into her space, just slightly to her side. Not in front of her. Not behind. Beside.
A choice.
Vale’s eyes flicked to Mattheo, his smirk faltering. “Wasn’t talking to you, Riddle.”
Mattheo smiled. It was small and cold and didn’t reach his eyes. “You are now.”
The Great Hall seemed to quiet—not fully, but enough. Enough that a few nearby students leaned in, curiosity sharpening.
Vale scoffed. “What, you her guard dog now?”
Mattheo’s gaze never left Vale’s face. “No,” he said calmly. “Just correcting a misunderstanding.”
“And what’s that?”
Mattheo tilted his head, studying Vale like a puzzle already solved. “You seem to think you’re entitled to comment on her choices.”
A beat.
Vale laughed, though it sounded forced. “Relax. It’s a joke.”
Mattheo’s smile didn’t change. “Jokes are usually funny.”
Liora’s heart hammered. She hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t wanted a scene. But there was something grounding about Mattheo’s presence—solid, steady, unmistakably deliberate. He didn’t crowd. Didn’t touch. Yet she felt sheltered all the same.
Vale’s eyes narrowed. “You threatening me?”
Mattheo leaned in just enough that the movement registered, subtle but unmistakable. “No,” he said softly. “I’m informing you.”
“Of what?”
“That you’ll stop speaking to her,” Mattheo replied. “Or about her. Starting now.”
Silence stretched.
Vale glanced around, clearly weighing the audience. A few Gryffindors shifted, uneasy. Someone coughed. The teachers’ table sat just far enough away to offer plausible deniability—but not protection.
Vale straightened. “You don’t own her.”
Mattheo’s gaze flicked sideways—to Liora—for half a second. Not possessive. Not claiming. Just… checking.
Then he looked back at Vale. “Correct,” he said. “Which is why this ends with words.”
Another pause.
Vale’s jaw worked. Finally, he lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Merlin. Didn’t mean to step on Slytherin toes.”
Mattheo didn’t move. Didn’t respond. Simply watched until Vale backed away, muttering under his breath as he returned to his table.
Only then did the tension ease.
Mattheo turned to Liora. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, though her pulse was still racing. “Yes. I—thank you.”
He studied her face carefully, as if checking for cracks she might not admit to. “You don’t owe me thanks.”
“I know,” she said. “But still.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The Great Hall resumed its noise around them, but it felt distant, muffled.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she added quietly.
“I wanted to,” Mattheo replied just as softly.
Something in his tone—controlled, sincere—made her chest ache.
They walked together toward the Hufflepuff table, not touching, not speaking. Just moving in the same direction, steps naturally aligned. It felt… intentional. Like a line drawn without words.
As Liora sat, she felt the weight of glances from all sides—curious, speculative, wary. She ignored them.
Mattheo didn’t sit. He paused beside the table, hands resting lightly on the stone.
“Liora,” he said.
She looked up.
“You don’t need to tolerate that,” he continued. “From anyone. Gryffindor or otherwise.”
Her lips curved faintly. “I can handle myself.”
“I know,” he said. “That wasn’t the point.”
“What was?”
He hesitated—a rare thing. Then: “You shouldn’t have to.”
Their eyes held.
Heat crept into her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble,” she murmured.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m familiar with the concept.”
She laughed under her breath, the tension easing at last.
“I should go,” he said, straightening. “Before someone decides this was more dramatic than it needs to be.”
“Probably wise.”
He turned to leave, then paused. “Liora.”
“Yes?”
“If anyone says anything else,” he said quietly, “you tell me.”
Her heart skipped. “All right.”
He nodded once and walked away, disappearing into the Slytherin crowd.
Liora watched him go, aware of the whispers already starting, the stories that would grow teeth by morning. But beneath the unease, there was something else—steadier, stronger.
A certainty.
Whatever lines had been blurred before, today had drawn one clearly.
And for the first time, Liora realized—Mattheo wasn’t just watching from the shadows anymore.
He was choosing where to stand.