Chapter 83 The Trap Beneath the Stone
The first sign that something was wrong came quietly.
Liora felt it before she saw it—a faint prickle along her arms, like the air itself had turned watchful. Hogwarts was full of strange sensations, whispers of old magic and moving staircases, but this was different. This felt intentional.
Predatory.
She slowed her steps in the corridor near the abandoned tapestry on the third floor, books hugged to her chest. The passage was usually busy at this hour, students cutting through on their way to dinner. Tonight, it was empty. Too empty.
Her instincts—still new, still uncertain—told her to turn back.
Instead, she took another step forward.
The stone beneath her boot clicked.
Not loudly. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough.
The air shifted.
Liora froze.
The torches along the walls flickered, their flames dimming to a sickly blue. The temperature dropped sharply, breath frosting in front of her mouth. The corridor seemed to stretch, walls subtly bending inward, the ceiling lowering by inches.
“Oh,” she whispered. “That’s not good.”
The tapestry at the far end of the hall shuddered, then peeled itself from the wall, threads unravelling into writhing cords of enchanted fabric. Symbols flared along the stone floor—old runes, half-forgotten, pulsing with dark intent.
A trap.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She raised her wand, forcing her hands to steady. “Finite—”
The spell died on her lips as the runes flared brighter, sending a shockwave of magic rippling through the corridor. Liora was thrown backward, slamming into the wall with a gasp. Pain flared through her shoulder as her books scattered across the floor.
The corridor sealed itself with a heavy thud, stone sliding into place behind her.
She was trapped.
Mattheo felt it from across the castle.
He’d been descending the stairs near the Slytherin common room when the magic rippled through him like a blade under the skin—sharp, familiar, wrong. His steps faltered.
Dark magic.
Not the clumsy kind students experimented with. This was deliberate. Structured. Targeted.
And it carried a resonance that made his blood hum in warning.
Liora.
He didn’t question it. Didn’t stop to think. He turned on his heel and moved, cloak snapping behind him as he took the stairs two at a time, ignoring startled looks and shouted protests.
By the time he reached the third floor, the air was already heavy with enchantment.
He skidded to a stop outside the sealed corridor, jaw tightening as he took in the runes burning through the stone.
“Idiots,” he muttered—not at her, never at her, but at whoever had thought this was acceptable.
He pressed his palm to the wall, eyes closing as he listened—not with his ears, but with the deeper sense he rarely acknowledged. The magic sang back to him, a cruel, looping pattern meant to confuse, to drain, to break.
And at its centre—
Liora.
Alive. Frightened. Fighting.
Relief and fury twisted together in his chest.
He drew his wand.
Inside the corridor, Liora pushed herself upright, wincing as pain shot down her arm. The tapestry-creature slithered closer, threads snapping like whips against the stone.
“Okay,” she murmured to herself, forcing calm into her voice. “Think.”
The runes pulsed in a steady rhythm—three beats, pause, three beats again. A pattern. Traps always had patterns.
She cast a quick Lumos, illuminating the symbols more clearly. They were old—older than the castle renovations, perhaps even older than Hogwarts itself. Protective magic twisted into something cruel.
This wasn’t a prank.
This was meant to hurt someone.
Her stomach clenched.
“Protego!”
The shield charm flared just in time as the tapestry lashed out, its threads striking the invisible barrier with enough force to make her arms tremble. The shield held—but barely.
She backed away slowly, mind racing.
Fire might work—but enclosed space, unstable enchantments. Too risky.
Cutting spells? Possibly, but the fabric reformed itself almost instantly.
Then she noticed it—the runes closest to the sealed wall flickered unevenly, as if struggling to maintain their hold.
A weak point.
She took a breath, centring herself the way Professor Flitwick had taught her.
“Diffindo!”
The spell sliced cleanly through the air, striking the rune cluster. The symbols flared violently, sparks exploding outward—but the wall didn’t give.
Instead, the trap reacted.
The corridor groaned.
The ceiling began to descend.
Liora’s breath hitched. “That’s worse. That’s definitely worse.”
Mattheo’s first spell wasn’t elegant.
It was brutal.
“Solvo Nexus!”
The magic slammed into the sealed stone, the runes screaming as they resisted. He followed immediately with a second spell, darker, quieter, spoken under his breath in a language few still remembered.
The wall cracked.
Not enough.
“Someone set this,” he growled, fury sharpening his focus. “Someone wanted her here.”
He adjusted his approach, tracing the runes with precise movements, unravelling the spellwork thread by thread. Sweat beaded at his temple as the magic fought back, pushing against him with stubborn malice.
Inside, he could feel Liora’s presence like a fragile flame.
Hold on.
The tapestry struck again.
Liora’s shield shattered, sending her skidding across the floor. She cried out as she hit the ground, wand clattering from her grasp. The creature reared back, threads drawing tight, ready to strike—
A crack split the air.
The wall behind her exploded inward in a shower of stone and sparks.
“Down!”
She didn’t think. She obeyed.
Mattheo’s spell tore through the corridor, magic roaring like a living thing. The tapestry shrieked as the enchantment unravelled, threads collapsing into lifeless cloth that fell to the floor with a dull thump.
The runes flickered wildly, then went dark.
Silence fell—heavy, ringing.
Liora looked up, chest heaving.
Mattheo stood amid the wreckage, wand raised, eyes blazing with a fury she had never seen before. His breathing was controlled but harsh, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then he crossed the distance between them in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of her.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was low, urgent.
“My shoulder,” she said honestly. “And my pride.”
That earned a sharp exhale—almost a laugh, quickly swallowed.
He reached out, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then gently examined her shoulder, fingers warm through her sleeve. His touch was careful, reverent.
“You shouldn’t have been here alone,” he said, tension threaded through every word.
“I didn’t know,” she replied. “I felt something was off, but—”
“But you went anyway,” he finished, eyes meeting hers. “Of course you did.”
“I handled it,” she said defensively.
“You almost didn’t,” he shot back—and immediately softened. “You were brave. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous.”
She swallowed. “Someone wanted me here.”
“Yes,” he said grimly. “And that’s what worries me.”
Distant footsteps echoed down the hall.
Mattheo’s posture shifted instantly, walls sliding back into place. He stood and offered her a hand.
“Can you walk?”
She took it, rising slowly. “With help.”
His grip tightened, grounding, protective.
As professors’ voices grew louder, Mattheo leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper only she could hear.
“This wasn’t random,” he said. “And it wasn’t a warning.”
“What was it, then?”
His eyes darkened.
“A test.”
The professors rounded the corner moments later, expressions shifting from confusion to alarm at the destruction.
Mattheo stepped back, his mask fully in place now—but Liora could still feel the echo of his fury, his fear, his unspoken vow.
Someone had crossed a line.
And whoever they were, they had just learned one dangerous truth:
Liora Potter was not alone.