Chapter 78 Laughter Between Shadows
The mishap began, as many of Liora Potter’s troubles did, with curiosity.
It was a quiet afternoon, the kind Hogwarts only occasionally allowed—sunlight slanted through the tall windows of the Transfiguration corridor, warming the stone beneath her shoes. Liora had escaped her friends under the pretence of needing fresh air, though in truth she simply needed space. The past few weeks had been heavy with whispers, glances, and unspoken tension. Between rumours about Mattheo, her own growing confusion, and the way every look between them felt like it carried a thousand unasked questions, her thoughts had grown loud.
So when she noticed a small cluster of enchanted feathers drifting near an unused classroom door, she stopped.
They shimmered faintly—silver-edged, humming softly as if alive.
“That’s… not normal,” she murmured.
The feathers floated in slow circles, occasionally bumping into one another and releasing tiny sparks of pale blue light. Liora glanced up and down the corridor. Empty. Of course it was empty. Hogwarts had a habit of presenting its strangest wonders only when no one else was around.
She stepped closer.
The moment she did, the feathers reacted—spinning faster, light intensifying, until one brushed her sleeve. A sharp pop echoed, followed by a puff of glittering smoke that coated her hands and robes in a fine, luminous dust.
“Oh—no, no, no—”
She waved her arms, which only made things worse. The dust responded by multiplying, clinging to her like enchanted pollen. Her fingers sparkled. Her sleeves glowed. When she exhaled in frustration, the air itself shimmered.
A soft, unmistakable laugh echoed behind her.
Liora froze.
She turned slowly.
Mattheo Riddle leaned against the stone archway at the end of the corridor, arms crossed, dark hair falling messily into his eyes. There was no sharp edge to his expression now—no guarded stillness or distant calculation. Instead, his lips were curved in open amusement, eyes alight with something warm and dangerously human.
“You know,” he said lightly, “most people set off alarms when they break rules. You, apparently, explode into starlight.”
Her cheeks burned brighter than the dust coating her skin. “I didn’t mean to,” she protested. “They just—floated. And then they attacked me.”
“Ah. Hostile feathers.” He nodded solemnly. “Happens all the time.”
She huffed despite herself. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Possibly,” he admitted, pushing off the wall and approaching. “But in my defence, this is the first time I’ve seen Hogwarts try to turn someone into a constellation.”
As he drew closer, the dust reacted again—flickering, drifting toward him as though drawn by gravity. A few sparks landed on his sleeve and promptly fizzled out.
Mattheo frowned. “Interesting.”
“Don’t tell me it’s dangerous,” Liora groaned. “I’ve had enough of those this term.”
“No,” he said slowly. “Just… temperamental. Residual enchantment. Probably from an old charm experiment.”
She looked down at herself, then back up at him. “Can you fix it?”
His gaze flicked to her face, then lingered just a fraction longer than necessary. “Yes,” he said quietly. “But you have to stop flailing.”
“I am not flailing.”
She immediately flailed again when a cluster of feathers darted toward her hair.
Mattheo snorted—an actual, unrestrained sound of laughter that caught her completely off guard.
She stared at him.
He noticed, clearing his throat and attempting—poorly—to regain composure. “Sorry. That—wasn’t very dignified.”
“I didn’t know you could laugh like that,” she said before she could stop herself.
Something shifted between them, subtle but real. His smile softened, losing its edge. “Neither did I,” he replied.
He stepped closer, raising his wand. “May I?”
She nodded, suddenly aware of how near he was. Close enough that she could see the faint crease between his brows when he concentrated. Close enough that the warmth of him cut through the cool stone air.
“Finite Lucentia,” he murmured.
The dust dimmed slightly—but didn’t disappear. Instead, it drifted downward, pooling around their feet like glowing mist.
Mattheo frowned again. “Stubborn.”
“Like me,” she said lightly.
His lips twitched. “I’ve noticed.”
He tried another spell—then another. Each softened the glow but failed to dispel it completely. With every attempt, his frustration grew more theatrical, until finally he lowered his wand with a sigh.
“Well,” he said, “on the bright side—literally—you’d make it impossible to lose you in the dark.”
She laughed, the sound bubbling out before she could contain it. “That’s supposed to be reassuring?”
“I’m excellent at reassurance,” he replied dryly.
She laughed again, louder this time, and something about that sound seemed to surprise them both. It echoed off the stone walls, warm and real, cutting through weeks of tension like sunlight after rain.
Mattheo watched her with an expression she hadn’t seen before—unguarded, almost reverent.
“You should laugh more,” he said quietly.
Her smile faltered, just a little. “You should too.”
Their gazes held.
For a moment, the corridor felt suspended outside of time—no rumours, no legacies, no shadows whispering of darker things. Just two students standing too close, glowing faintly with accidental magic and shared amusement.
The feathers suddenly dropped to the floor with a soft clatter, their light fading to nothing.
Liora blinked. “Did you—?”
“No,” Mattheo said. “You did.”
“I did?”
“Your magic stabilized it.” He studied her with renewed interest. “You don’t just react to enchantments. You… calm them.”
Her face warmed, though this time it had nothing to do with glittering dust. “I just wanted it to stop.”
“Intent matters,” he said. “More than people think.”
She hesitated, then smiled shyly. “Thank you. For helping. And… not laughing too much.”
“Oh, I absolutely laughed too much,” he replied. “But you’re welcome.”
They stood there a moment longer, neither quite ready to leave.
Eventually, Mattheo gestured toward the end of the corridor. “Come on. Before someone else wanders in and starts asking why you look like a fallen star.”
She fell into step beside him, their shoulders nearly brushing. Not touching—but close enough that she felt the awareness of him with every breath.
As they walked, she glanced up at him. “You know… I’m glad it was you who found me.”
He looked down at her, expression unreadable for just a heartbeat—then softer than before.
“So am I,” he said.
And for the first time in a long while, the tension between them didn’t feel heavy.
It felt hopeful.