Chapter 20 Shared Study
Liora stood outside the library doors for a full minute before gathering the courage to enter.
Her books felt heavier than usual, her wand practically buzzing with unspent nerves. The spell she’d been struggling with—Lumos Traceri, a delicate charm meant to reveal magical residue—had become her newest academic nemesis. She’d tried everything: practicing with her roommates, asking upper-years, even reading three different spell guides.
Nothing worked.
Except… Mattheo had made it look easy last time. Effortless. One flick, one whisper, and the air itself responded.
And Liora, naïve as it was, couldn’t stop thinking he might help her again.
The thought made her stomach twist.
He doesn’t owe you anything, she reminded herself.
He might not even want to talk to you again.
But the memory of his hand brushing hers… the way he shielded her in class… the way he watched her across the Great Hall earlier…
She swallowed hard, pushing open the door.
The library was quiet, lit by floating lanterns and shafts of afternoon gold. Students hunched over books, murmuring softly or scribbling frantically. Madam Pince glided between shelves like a vulture on silent wings.
And in the far corner, tucked behind a row of worn spellbooks—
Mattheo sat alone.
As if he always belonged there, half in shadow, one hand idly twirling his wand, the other turning pages of a thick tome. His dark hair fell over his forehead, his posture relaxed yet coiled with an underlying tension she couldn’t name.
He didn’t look up.
Liora nearly turned around.
But something in her pushed forward—something gentle, stubborn, brave.
She approached lightly, clutching her notes so tightly the parchment crinkled.
“Mattheo?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
His wand stopped spinning.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
For a heart-stopping second, he simply stared at her—intensely, curiously, like she’d just appeared from thin air.
“Potter,” he said, voice low. “Shouldn’t you be with your Gryffindor fan club?”
She blinked. “They’re not— I mean, they were teasing me. I didn’t want to… stay.”
His eyes flickered, perhaps in amusement, perhaps in recognition, perhaps something darker.
“And you think studying with me is safer?” His tone was wry, but quiet.
“I…” She looked at her parchment, suddenly wishing it would swallow her whole. “I just need help. With a spell.”
Mattheo watched her for a moment, assessing, weighing. Liora felt as if the air changed under his gaze.
Then he closed his book with a soft thump.
“What spell?”
“Lumos Traceri,” she said quickly. “I can’t get it right. It keeps flickering out or… exploding.”
Mattheo’s brow rose slightly. “Exploding.”
“Only once.”
A corner of his mouth twitched.
He tapped the empty seat beside him. “Sit.”
Liora’s breath caught—she couldn’t explain why—but she obeyed, settling into the chair, leaving just a little too much space between them.
Mattheo noticed.
He didn’t comment.
“Show me,” he said simply.
Liora pulled out her wand, hands trembling slightly. She took a breath.
“Lumos Traceri.”
A faint wisp of blue light shot from the tip—only to sputter, crackle, and twist sideways before disappearing with a sad little hiss.
Liora winced. “See? It hates me.”
Mattheo’s eyes lifted to her face, unexpectedly gentle. “It doesn’t hate you. You’re forcing it.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” He reached out, very slowly, and adjusted her grip on the wand. His fingers brushed over hers—barely, just enough to send sparks through her arm.
Liora froze.
Mattheo seemed unaffected… but his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“This spell isn’t brute force,” he murmured. “It’s intention. You’re trying to drag the magic instead of guiding it.”
“Oh.” Her voice came out small. “That… makes sense.”
“Of course it does,” he said dryly. “You’re a Potter. You lot are good at instinct. Terrible at precision.”
She shot him a glare. “Hey!”
He smirked. “Prove me wrong then.”
His hand remained lightly on hers—steadying, not restraining. She tried to ignore the warmth.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
Liora hesitated. “Why?”
“Because you think too loudly.”
She flushed. “I do not—”
“Liora.”
Her name in his voice did something to her. Softened her resistance, coaxed her compliance.
She closed her eyes.
“Don’t force it,” Mattheo murmured. “Just… feel it. Let the magic follow your intention. Don’t pull.”
She inhaled. Exhaled.
“Now,” he said quietly. “Lumos Traceri.”
She whispered the incantation—
And this time, the spell emerged as a beautiful ribbon of blue light, swirling gently around her fingers, dancing like a soft glowing thread.
Her eyes flew open, mouth parting in amazement.
“I did it,” she breathed. “Mattheo—I did it!”
Mattheo didn’t smile, not fully. But his eyes warmed in a way that made her heart flip.
“Of course you did,” he said. “You’re capable. Just needed the right nudge.”
“That was more than a nudge,” she murmured.
He leaned back slightly, watching her with unreadable depth. “You underestimate yourself.”
His words settled deep inside her—warm, steadying, disarming.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other. No teasing Gryffindors. No curious Hufflepuffs. No rumours. Just… them. Alone. Connected by spelllight still floating lazily around her wand.
Liora swallowed. “Mattheo… why did you help me before? In class?”
His gaze sharpened. “Why are you asking?”
“Because I don’t understand,” she said softly. “You didn’t have to. You barely know me.”
A long silence.
Something flickered in his eyes—something conflicted, something buried too deep for her to see clearly.
“You’re different,” he said finally.
Liora blinked. “Different how?”
But Mattheo didn’t answer.
Instead, he stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair as if irritated with himself.
“You should head back soon,” he said. “It’s getting late.”
Liora frowned. “You’re leaving because I asked?”
“I’m leaving,” he said quietly, “because if I stay, you’ll ask something I’m not ready to answer.”
Her heart stuttered.
Before she could say a word, he stepped past her—close enough that she felt the shift of air as he moved.
“Mattheo—wait—”
He paused.
But he didn’t turn.
“I’ll help you again,” he said softly. “If you ask. But be careful who sees.”
Her breath hitched. “What do you mean?”
He walked toward the aisle.
Too late.
A soft gasp sounded from behind a nearby bookshelf.
Liora spun.
A small Slytherin second-year—pale, sharp-eyed, unmistakably nosy—peeked around the corner, staring directly at her. And at Mattheo.
The boy’s eyes widened in a mixture of curiosity and fear.
Liora’s stomach dropped.
Mattheo turned just slightly, eyes narrowing. Danger flickered in the air like static.
The boy gulped—and ran.
Mattheo muttered something under his breath, low and dark.
Liora felt the blood drain from her face.
Someone had seen them.
Someone from his house.
Mattheo looked back at her, expression tightening.
“This,” he said quietly, “is going to cause problems.”