Chapter 88 Sparks of Possession
The sun filtered through the tall windows of the Great Hall, scattering light over the long tables and casting a golden glow across the breakfast spread. Liora sat with her Hufflepuff friends, laughing over a shared joke about a misfired Levitation Charm in last night’s charms class. For the first time that morning, she felt… ordinary. Safe. Light.
But safety, as she had learned with Mattheo, was rarely absolute.
Across the hall, leaning casually against a table, was Darien Voss, a third-year Gryffindor with sharp green eyes and an easy charm that had earned him more than one scandalous whisper. He had been watching her ever since she’d walked in, that infuriating smirk on his face.
“Potter, right?” he called across the hall, voice smooth, almost musical. “I didn’t realize you were back from—” He gestured vaguely to the holiday break. “—whatever secret Hufflepuffs do.”
Liora flushed, unsure whether to feel amused or annoyed. “I’m just… having breakfast,” she said lightly, hoping her tone would discourage further attention.
Darien chuckled, a low, teasing sound that made her cheeks warm. “Breakfast alone? That’s a shame. You should join me at Gryffindor’s table. We could—”
Mattheo stepped up beside her without a sound, like a shadow sliding into place. His presence was immediate, magnetic, almost oppressive in its intensity.
Darien paused mid-sentence, green eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh,” he said, smirk faltering just a bit. “Hello… Riddle.”
Mattheo didn’t answer. He simply stood there, his gaze fixed on Darien, his expression calm, controlled—but every subtle shift in posture and flare of dark eyes said: Do not cross me.
Liora felt a thrill she couldn’t quite explain. There was something about seeing Mattheo in this subtle, protective mode—his dark aura coiling silently around her like a shield—that made her pulse race.
“I’ll be fine,” she murmured quickly, hoping to diffuse the tension. “I’m not interested.”
Darien’s smirk returned, only now it was edged with challenge. “Oh? I didn’t realize Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had such… strict social rules.”
Mattheo’s hand twitched at his side, fingers brushing the edge of his robe as if testing restraint. He said nothing—just tilted his head slightly, the faintest narrowing of his eyes enough to make Darien hesitate.
Liora, oblivious to most subtleties until now, noticed the change in Mattheo immediately. His posture was rigid, yet effortless; he radiated controlled energy, a quiet warning that went beyond words. And the more she watched, the more she realized the conflict simmering beneath the surface—the battle between who he was, who he feared he could be, and the way he felt about her.
Darien, clearly reading the shift, laughed lightly. “I see the Slytherin’s got an eye on you. Lucky girl, huh?”
Liora’s blush deepened. “I—he’s not—” She faltered, realizing how true it sounded. Mattheo was watching her. Always watching. And while it was protective, there was something else—possessive, urgent, restrained.
The Gryffindor raised an eyebrow, sensing the tension he couldn’t name. “Well, if you ever get tired of being guarded…”
“That’s enough,” Mattheo finally said, his voice low, smooth, and dangerous in a way that silenced the entire table. The words weren’t raised, but every ear seemed to catch them, every student noting the authority in his tone. Darien’s smirk faltered again.
“Riddle…” Darien said, voice tight but careful.
“Don’t,” Mattheo replied, one word, carrying the weight of unspoken consequences.
Darien’s green eyes flicked from Mattheo to Liora and back. He had the instinct to challenge, but instinct alone wasn’t enough against the storm that Mattheo had become in mere moments. With a sharp nod, Darien stepped back, muttering, “Fine… but your luck won’t hold forever.”
The Gryffindor disappeared into the crowd, leaving a tension in the air that didn’t fade immediately. Liora exhaled shakily, realizing her heart had been racing almost as violently as it had the night in the magical corridor.
Mattheo turned to her, gaze dark but unreadable. “Are you… all right?” he asked.
“I… yes,” she stammered. “Thanks.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied softly. But his eyes lingered on her in a way that made her pulse quicken. “Just… remember that not everyone here has good intentions. Some people enjoy testing boundaries they shouldn’t touch.”
“I know,” she whispered, still aware of the ghost of his protective energy wrapping around her.
He shifted slightly closer, subtle enough that it might have been her imagination, yet deliberate enough that she felt it. “And some people,” he continued, voice low, “react poorly to what isn’t theirs to claim.”
Liora met his gaze, understanding him more in that single statement than she had in weeks of conversations. He wasn’t just protective—he was aware, calculating, battling his instincts to remain detached. And yet, he couldn’t keep himself entirely apart from her.
Her chest tightened. “Mattheo…”
He looked away just slightly, as though trying to reclaim composure. “Go back to your friends,” he said, the edge in his voice softening, almost affectionate. “I’ll follow shortly.”
She nodded, sensing the storm beneath the calm surface, the subtle conflict that raged inside him. And for the first time, she truly understood the weight of his legacy—not just the Riddle name, but the constant vigilance he carried, the constant battle between instinct and morality, desire and restraint.
As she returned to her seat, she felt a flutter in her chest—an acknowledgment of the invisible tether between them. A feeling that was protective, possessive, urgent, and undeniably magnetic. And even as the other students continued their chatter, she couldn’t shake the knowledge that Mattheo’s watchful eyes lingered, hidden in the shadows, weighing the world and her place in it.
For Liora, the thrill wasn’t just the danger— it was the subtle, undeniable tension that sparked every time they were near, the silent admission that their connection went deeper than casual friendship. And somewhere in the darkness of Mattheo’s careful restraint, she felt an unspoken promise: that no matter the whispers, the rumours, or the challenges Hogwarts might throw at them, he would be there.
Always.