Chapter 76 Cracks in the Armor
The corridor was quieter than Liora expected for a Tuesday evening, the kind of hush that settled over Hogwarts when dinner had ended and students scattered back to common rooms or libraries with armfuls of books and heads full of unfinished thoughts. Torchlight flickered along the stone walls, warm and wavering, casting shadows that stretched and shrank as she walked. Her steps echoed softly, the sound oddly comforting.
She hadn’t planned to wander this far from the Hufflepuff common room. It had started with the intention to clear her head—too many whispers lately, too many looks that lingered a second too long. The rumours had grown teeth. She could feel them circling, snapping quietly at the edges of her thoughts.
Mattheo.
The thought of him had become so constant that she hardly noticed it anymore, like breathing. And yet tonight, something tugged at her chest with a little more insistence, a sense that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be—or perhaps that she wasn’t.
She turned a corner and nearly collided with him.
They stopped short at the same time, instinctively stepping back, mirroring each other in a way that made her heart stutter. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Mattheo stood with his hands in his pockets, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes as if he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. His Slytherin robes were neat as always, but something about his posture was off—less controlled, less guarded. He looked tired, though his gaze sharpened the instant it landed on her.
“Liora,” he said, her name low and careful, as if testing whether it would hold.
“Mattheo,” she replied, surprised by the warmth that flooded her voice. “I didn’t think anyone else would be down here.”
“I could say the same,” he answered. A faint curve touched his mouth, not quite a smile. “You’re far from Hufflepuff territory.”
She shrugged lightly. “I needed air.”
Something flickered in his eyes at that—recognition, perhaps. He nodded once, understanding more than she’d said. “So did I.”
They stood there, the silence stretching but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that invited honesty if one was brave enough to step into it.
“Walk with me?” Liora asked before she could overthink it.
Mattheo hesitated, just for a heartbeat. Then he inclined his head. “Alright.”
They moved together down the corridor, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. The castle seemed to breathe around them, ancient and knowing, its stones holding secrets older than either of them could imagine. Liora glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, noticing the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders were set as if bracing for something unseen.
“You’ve been… distant,” she said gently.
His eyes stayed forward. “Have I?”
“Yes,” she answered, honest but not accusing. “More than usual.”
A short exhale escaped him, almost a laugh without humour. “That’s saying something.”
She smiled faintly, then grew serious again. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I just—” She faltered, searching for the right words. “I notice.”
That made him stop.
Liora halted with him, turning to face him fully. The torch nearest them hissed softly, its flame bending as if caught in a draft. Mattheo looked down at the floor, then back up at her, and for the first time since she’d met him, his gaze wavered.
“People notice too much,” he said quietly.
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
He took a step away, then another, pacing a short distance before turning back, agitation clear in the tightness of his movements. “I mean that whispers travel faster than truth. That names—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching. “That legacies don’t stay buried.”
Liora’s heart tightened. She had her suspicions, of course. Everyone did. But hearing the strain in his voice made it real in a way rumours never could.
“They’re talking,” she said softly. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” he replied, voice flat. “They always are.”
She moved closer without thinking, drawn by the gravity of his unease. “Does it bother you?”
He laughed then, sharp and sudden. “Does it bother me that people look at me and see someone else? That they decide who I am before I open my mouth?” His eyes met hers, dark and searching. “What do you think?”
She swallowed. “I think it hurts.”
Something in his expression cracked.
It was subtle—so subtle she might have missed it if she hadn’t been watching him so closely—but the carefully constructed wall he carried seemed to splinter just enough to let something raw show through. His shoulders sagged a fraction, as if the weight he carried had shifted.
“They look at my name,” he said, voice lower now, rougher. “They look at my house. And that’s it. The rest is already written for them.”
Liora reached out, then hesitated, her hand hovering between them. She didn’t know if he wanted comfort or space. Before she could decide, he spoke again.
“I spend every day making sure I don’t become what they expect,” he admitted. “And somehow, that only makes them expect it more.”
Her hand settled lightly against his sleeve.
The contact was small, tentative, but it sent a quiet shock through both of them. Mattheo stiffened, then slowly relaxed, his gaze dropping to where her fingers rested against the dark fabric.
“You’re not what they say,” Liora said firmly.
He looked at her then, really looked, as if trying to see whether she meant it—or whether she was just being kind. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” she insisted. “I know how you help people when no one’s watching. I know how careful you are. I know you’ve never once treated me like I was… less.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “That’s not proof.”
“It’s enough for me,” she said.
For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The torchlight danced between them, catching the green in his eyes, softening the hard lines of his face. When he finally exhaled, it was shaky, as if he’d been holding his breath for a very long time.
“I’m afraid,” he said quietly.
The words hung in the air, fragile and exposed.
Liora’s chest ached. “Of what?”
“That no matter what I do,” he replied, “it won’t be enough to outrun my blood.”
She stepped closer, close enough now that she could feel the warmth of him, the steady but uneven rhythm of his breathing. “Blood doesn’t decide who you are,” she said. “Choices do.”
His lips curved faintly. “You sound like a Gryffindor.”
She snorted. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ll lose my Hufflepuff privileges.”
That earned a real smile from him, brief but genuine, and the tension eased just a little.
“Thank you,” he said after a moment. The words were simple, but the way he said them carried weight.
“For what?”
“For seeing me,” he replied.
Her heart fluttered, startled by the intensity in his gaze. “I don’t think I could stop even if I tried.”
He didn’t look away this time.
The space between them felt charged, not with danger, but with something delicate and terrifying all the same. Mattheo’s hand lifted slightly, as if he might touch her, then dropped back to his side.
“I should go,” he said, though he didn’t move.
“Me too,” she agreed, equally still.
They stood there a moment longer, suspended in something unspoken. Then, reluctantly, he stepped back.
“Goodnight, Liora.”
“Goodnight, Mattheo.”
He turned and disappeared down the corridor, his footsteps fading into the stone. Liora remained where she was, her hand still warm where it had touched him, her thoughts swirling.
For the first time, she understood not just the mystery around him—but the fear beneath it.
And she knew, with quiet certainty, that she would stand beside him anyway.