Chapter 81 The Weight of a Name
By morning, the castle had found its voice again.
Whispers threaded through the corridors like living things, slipping between students, curling into corners of common rooms and clinging to the edges of breakfast tables. They weren’t loud—not at first—but Hogwarts had always known how to make secrets travel faster than shouts.
Liora felt it the moment she stepped into the Great Hall.
Conversation dipped. Eyes flickered. A pair of Ravenclaws leaned closer together, murmuring urgently as she passed. Near the Gryffindor table, a boy glanced toward the Slytherins and quickly looked away, his expression tight.
Something was wrong.
She slowed, scanning the room instinctively, and then she saw him.
Mattheo sat at the Slytherin table, posture relaxed to the point of indifference, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair. To anyone watching casually, he looked like he always did—composed, aloof, unreadable.
But Liora knew better now.
His jaw was set just a little too tightly. His gaze flicked up every so often, sharp and assessing, tracking movement in a way that suggested he was listening to far more than what was being said at his table.
She followed the direction of several glances and felt her stomach sink.
They were watching him.
Not with curiosity. Not with admiration.
With fear.
Liora slid into her seat at the Hufflepuff table, barely tasting her breakfast as she tried to piece together the fragments drifting past her ears.
“…heard his family—”
“…Dark magic runs deep—”
“…can’t believe the professors let him stay—”
Her fingers tightened around her goblet.
“What’s going on?” she asked quietly.
Beside her, Hannah hesitated. “You haven’t heard?”
Liora shook her head, already bracing herself.
“There are rumours,” Hannah said carefully. “About Mattheo. About his family.”
Liora’s chest tightened. “What kind of rumours?”
Hannah lowered her voice. “That he’s… well. Dangerous. That his bloodline is tied to things that should’ve stayed buried. Some people are saying he’s been practicing Dark magic here, right under the professors’ noses.”
Anger flared hot and sudden. “That’s ridiculous.”
Hannah blinked. “You don’t think so?”
“I know so,” Liora snapped, then softened her tone. “Mattheo wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
Across the hall, a Slytherin girl leaned toward Mattheo and murmured something urgently. He responded with a slow shrug, lips curling into a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
The look he received in return was wary.
Even from his own house.
The realization struck harder than Liora expected.
This wasn’t just idle gossip. This was fear taking root.
By midday, the whispers had sharpened into something more defined.
Students gave Mattheo a wider berth in the corridors. Conversations died when he approached. A group of younger Hufflepuffs physically shrank back as he passed them on the stairs, one clutching his friend’s sleeve as if expecting something terrible to happen.
Mattheo noticed. Of course he did.
He always noticed.
He walked with his usual unhurried stride, hands in his pockets, expression coolly detached. But inside, the familiar weight settled onto his shoulders—a burden he had carried his entire life.
The Riddle name never stayed buried for long.
He turned a corner near the Charms classroom and nearly collided with a Ravenclaw prefect, who jumped back as though struck.
“Sorry,” the prefect muttered quickly, eyes darting away.
Mattheo raised an eyebrow. “I don’t bite.”
The boy flushed and hurried off without another word.
Mattheo exhaled slowly through his nose.
So it had begun.
He’d known this moment would come eventually. It always did—someone digging too deep, asking the wrong questions, connecting dots that had been carefully scattered. He had spent years perfecting the art of indifference, of letting rumours slide past him like rain.
But this time was different.
Because this time, Liora was watching.
He felt her before he saw her—felt the shift in the air, the subtle warmth that always accompanied her presence. He turned to find her standing a few paces away, brows drawn together, eyes bright with restrained fury.
“That was rude,” she said flatly, glancing in the direction the prefect had fled.
Mattheo shrugged. “People scare easily.”
“They shouldn’t,” she replied. “Not of you.”
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
“You don’t know that,” he said quietly.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I know enough.”
He studied her for a long moment, searching for any trace of doubt, of fear. He found none—only stubborn conviction and something achingly close to concern.
“Everyone’s talking,” she continued. “They’re saying things about your family. About Dark magic.”
He laughed softly, humourless. “Ah. So that’s all.”
“That’s not ‘all,’” Liora snapped. “They’re treating you like you’re—like you’re something to be afraid of.”
Mattheo’s gaze hardened. “I am something to be afraid of.”
“No,” she said immediately. “You’re not.”
The certainty in her voice startled him.
“You don’t get to decide that,” he replied, more sharply than he intended.
She didn’t back down. “I get to decide what I believe.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and electric.
Mattheo looked away first.
“Be careful, Liora,” he said. “People who stand too close to me tend to get burned.”
She scoffed. “Funny. I don’t feel burned at all.”
Before he could respond, the bell rang, echoing through the corridor. Students surged around them, creating distance where neither of them wanted it.
As she passed him, Liora said softly, “I trust you.”
Then she was gone.
Mattheo stood there long after the corridor emptied, her words reverberating through him like a spell he couldn’t shake.
By evening, the rumours had grown teeth.
Someone had scrawled Dark Heir in charcoal on a corridor wall near the dungeons. It vanished within minutes—whether by professor or prefect, Mattheo didn’t know—but the damage was done.
At dinner, he barely touched his food.
Blaise watched him from across the table. “You okay?”
Mattheo didn’t look up. “Perfect.”
Draco leaned back in his chair, expression calculating. “People are idiots. Let them talk.”
“They always do,” Mattheo replied. “Until they decide talking isn’t enough.”
Draco studied him closely. “You worried?”
Mattheo’s fingers tightened briefly around his fork. “No.”
That was a lie.
Because for the first time, he wasn’t worried about himself.
He was worried about her.
Liora sat in the Hufflepuff common room that night, parchment spread out before her, but her quill lay untouched. Every whisper she’d heard replayed in her mind, each one sharpening her resolve.
They were wrong.
Whatever secrets Mattheo carried—whatever shadows clung to his name—she knew what she had seen. His restraint. His protectiveness. The way he had stepped between her and danger without hesitation.
Fear came from ignorance.
And she refused to be ignorant.
As the fire crackled softly, Liora made a quiet promise to herself.
She would not let the castle turn him into a monster.
Even if it meant standing alone beside him.
Far away, in the depths of the Slytherin dormitories, Mattheo stared up at the dark ceiling, unable to sleep.
The whispers echoed in his thoughts, but louder still was her voice.
I trust you.
The most dangerous thing anyone had ever said to him.