Chapter 92 The Shadow That Walked Behind Her
Liora didn’t notice when Mattheo began following her.
That was the unsettling part.
In the days after the sealed door, Hogwarts felt subtly altered—not louder or darker, but aware. Corridors seemed to stretch just a little longer when she walked them alone. Staircases paused as if considering whether to obey her direction. Even portraits watched her with a curiosity that bordered on recognition.
And always—though she could never quite prove it—she felt watched.
She told herself it was imagination. After all, she’d discovered a forbidden room, touched ancient magic, awakened something that had slept for centuries. Anyone would feel unsettled after that. She was still herself. Still Liora. Still the same Hufflepuff girl who got lost in books and trusted people too easily.
She didn’t know that every time she left her common room alone, Mattheo was already moving.
He never followed closely. Never obviously. He knew Hogwarts too well for that.
Instead, he used reflections—glass cases, polished armour, water in basins. He memorized her routes, anticipated her turns, watched from stair landings above or corridors parallel. When she paused, so did he. When she laughed with friends, he allowed himself to breathe again.
And when shadows shifted where they shouldn’t, he felt it instantly.
The first sign came on a Tuesday evening.
Liora was returning from the greenhouses, arms full of parchment and notes, humming softly to herself. The castle was unusually quiet—dinner had ended early, and most students were gathered in common rooms or the Great Hall.
Mattheo felt it before he saw it: a pressure change in the magic around her, subtle but wrong.
Someone was watching her.
Not like he did.
This presence pressed inward, coiling through the air like a held breath. Mattheo’s hand tightened around his wand as he slowed, slipping behind a suit of armour just as a shimmer passed across the corridor ahead of Liora.
A concealment charm.
Advanced. Old-fashioned. Careful.
His jaw clenched.
She didn’t notice. Of course she didn’t. She was distracted by her notes, by her thoughts, by the steady comfort of routine. She turned down a side corridor—the one near the old tapestries—without hesitation.
Mattheo swore under his breath.
That corridor had no reason to be empty.
He moved faster now, silent as the shadows he favoured, following just close enough to intervene if necessary. The shimmer shifted again, trailing her like a predator testing distance.
Mattheo didn’t confront it.
Not yet.
He waited until the corridor narrowed, until the torches flickered, until the magic in the air tightened into something sharp enough to cut. Then, without breaking stride, he flicked his wand once—barely a motion.
A disruption charm.
The shimmer spasmed.
The concealment tore for half a second, revealing the distorted outline of a student—older, taller, wand raised in hesitation rather than attack.
Mattheo didn’t give them time to recover.
A second spell followed, precise and merciless, slamming into the stone between the watcher and Liora. The corridor filled with blinding silver light and the sound of shattering wards.
By the time Liora turned, startled, the corridor behind her was empty.
“Hello?” she called softly, heart beginning to race.
Nothing answered.
She frowned, unease curling in her stomach. “Must be my imagination,” she murmured, though the words didn’t convince her.
She hurried on.
Behind her, hidden in the deep shadow of an archway, Mattheo exhaled slowly.
The watcher didn’t return.
But that didn’t mean they were gone.
The second time, it was subtler.
Liora spent the afternoon in the library, researching ward theory for a class assignment. She didn’t notice the way books rearranged themselves slightly on the shelves near her, or how the candle beside her flickered without wind.
Mattheo did.
He sat two rows away, pretending to read while monitoring every shift in the ambient magic. The same presence lingered again—faint, cautious, observing rather than acting.
Whoever it was, they were learning.
That made Mattheo’s blood run cold.
When Liora rose to leave, gathering her books, the presence withdrew—but not before brushing against her magic, testing it like fingers against glass.
Liora paused, breath hitching.
Mattheo was on his feet instantly.
“Everything okay?” he asked quietly, stepping into her line of sight as if he’d just noticed her.
She smiled, relieved despite herself. “Yeah. I just—thought I felt something. Probably nothing.”
“Probably,” he echoed, though his eyes were sharp.
They walked out together, side by side, the unspoken comfort of proximity settling between them. The presence stayed away this time. Mattheo felt it retreat, frustrated.
Good.
Let them learn something too.
That night, Liora dreamed of doors.
Not the sealed one—but others. Endless corridors lined with thresholds, each humming softly, each waiting for a hand brave or foolish enough to touch them. She walked barefoot across cold stone, drawn forward by a pull she couldn’t resist.
In the dream, someone walked behind her.
She never turned.
When she woke, her heart was racing, her sheets tangled around her legs. Moonlight spilled across the dormitory floor, silver and calm.
She sat up slowly, pressing a hand to her chest.
She didn’t know that Mattheo stood on the opposite side of the stone wall, in the corridor outside Hufflepuff, senses stretched thin, listening to the rhythm of her magic until it steadied again.
He shouldn’t be here.
He knew that.
But leaving felt impossible.
Not now.
By the end of the week, Mattheo was exhausted.
Protecting someone without their knowledge required restraint, precision, and constant vigilance. He neutralized three subtle enchantments, disrupted two surveillance charms, and traced one spell signature back to a group of older Slytherins who pretended ignorance a little too convincingly.
He didn’t confront them.
Not yet.
Every instinct told him this wasn’t just curiosity or rivalry. Someone was testing boundaries. Pushing gently, watching reactions.
Watching her.
Liora, for her part, sensed the tension without understanding its source.
She felt safer when Mattheo was near. Calmer. The castle seemed less sharp around the edges, the whispers less insistent. She told herself it was just familiarity—trust growing naturally.
But one evening, as they parted ways after dinner, she hesitated.
“Mattheo?”
He turned.
“You ever get the feeling,” she said slowly, choosing her words, “that things are moving around us… without us seeing them?”
His gaze softened, just a little.
“Yes,” he said. “All the time.”
She smiled faintly. “Good. I thought I was imagining it.”
He almost told her then.
Almost.
But the truth was heavier than she knew, and once spoken, it couldn’t be taken back.
So instead, he nodded once and said, “You’re not.”
As she walked away, unaware of how closely danger trailed her steps, Mattheo watched until she disappeared from sight.
Only then did he turn toward the shadows, wand already in hand.
“Stay away from her,” he murmured—not loudly, not threateningly, but with a certainty that carried weight.