Chapter 23 First Private Conversation
Dinner at Hogwarts had never felt longer.
Liora sat at the Hufflepuff table, poking absently at a shepherd’s pie while conversations swirled around her like warm smoke. Students laughed, traded jokes, tossed animated candies across the table. The Great Hall shimmered with orange lanterns and fluttering paper bats enchanted to swoop over plates and steal bits of dessert.
Normally, she would have been enchanted by it all. Tonight, she barely noticed.
Her thoughts kept tugging elsewhere.
To the way Mattheo had extinguished her spell in Charms without anyone noticing.
To the way that group of Gryffindor boys had suddenly fallen silent near him.
To the way she kept feeling… protected.
And watched. But never in a frightening way.
In a quiet, steady, reluctant way.
Her heart had been restless all afternoon. And as she watched the Slytherin table from across the hall, she saw him—Mattheo Riddle—slouched against the end of the bench, eyes half-lidded but aware of everything.
He looked like someone who listened to shadows.
He didn’t look at her once during dinner.
Yet she felt him.
When she finally pushed back her plate, her pulse quickened.
She didn’t know where she was going when she stood.
She didn’t know what she expected when she left the Great Hall.
But her feet knew.
They led her through a side corridor—one dim and narrow, used more by ghosts than by students. Her steps echoed softly under the lantern light.
The castle felt older down here.
Older… and waiting.
The Hidden Nook
Liora rounded a corner and nearly stopped breathing.
Mattheo was already there.
He leaned against a carved alcove in the wall—a half-hidden nook behind a statue of a robed witch whose eyes glowed faintly in torchlight. One foot planted against the stone, arms crossed lazily, expression unreadable.
As though he’d been expecting her.
As though he’d known she’d come.
Liora’s throat tightened. “How—how did you know I’d—?”
“I didn’t,” Mattheo said quietly. “But I hoped you would.”
Her heart tumbled into her stomach.
He pushed off the wall, steps slow, unhurried, but purposeful. When he stopped in front of her, he left just enough space for her to breathe—barely.
“You’ve been… watching me,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
A long pause.
Then—
“Yes.”
Liora’s breath caught.
He didn’t say it with arrogance. Or with guilt.
He said it like a truth he didn’t care to decorate.
“Why?” she asked softly.
Mattheo’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked away, staring into the shadows beyond her shoulder.
“Because you don’t understand this castle yet,” he said. “Because you wander into places that could hurt you. And because you don’t realize how many people pay attention to you now that they know your name.”
“Because I’m Harry Potter’s sister?”
He scoffed faintly. “Because you’re you.”
That erased every other thought she had.
The hallway felt smaller—warmer—and far too quiet.
Liora swallowed. “You’ve been helping me.”
Mattheo lifted one shoulder in something like a shrug. “You needed help.”
“And you just stepped in? Every time?”
“Not every time,” he murmured. “Only when you were about to burn something important down.”
She huffed an embarrassed laugh. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
He looked at her then—fully, intensely—and Liora felt something inside her unravel.
“You’re reckless,” he said quietly.
She blinked. “I’m not reckless.”
“You are,” he insisted. “You follow sparks. You chase noises. You’re curious about everything, even the things you should avoid.”
“That’s not reckless,” she muttered. “That’s just—exploring.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Yes it is,” he said, stepping one fraction closer. “But it’s also why you’re impossible to ignore.”
Her breath stuttered in her throat.
Heat rushed into her cheeks.
She tried to look away—but he was too near, too steady, too intense.
“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing,” she whispered.
Mattheo’s lips curved—not into a smile, but into something more fragile. Something rare.
“It’s not,” he said. “It just means I can’t pretend not to see you.”
Her heart fluttered painfully.
For a moment, neither spoke. The torches crackled softly, casting shifting light across his face—sharp angles turning soft, shadows flickering in his eyes.
“Mattheo,” she whispered, “why did you meet me here?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he reached out slowly—almost reluctantly—and brushed a wet lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers were cool and careful.
Her breath trapped in her lungs.
“I needed to know if you were okay,” he said. “After Charms. After the courtyard. After everything.”
“I’m fine,” she breathed.
“I know.” His fingers lingered just a second too long. “But I needed to see it.”
Silence folded around them—thick, charged.
Liora swallowed, her voice barely audible. “You didn’t have to do all that for me.”
“I did,” he murmured. “Because you don’t see what other people see.”
“What do you mean?”
Mattheo studied her for a long moment—long enough that she shifted under his gaze.
“You’re kind,” he said finally. Quietly. “Too kind. Too trusting. It makes people want to take advantage. It makes others want to protect you.”
Her chest tightened. “Do you?”
He didn’t flinch.
“Yes.”
The air left her lungs.
Slowly, he stepped back—not far, but enough to give her space to breathe again.
Liora’s hands fell to her sides, trembling slightly. She wasn’t used to someone being so direct. So honest.
So unguarded.
“Mattheo…” she whispered. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything.”
His voice was still low, but no longer tense. Almost… resigned. As if he couldn’t help what he felt—and didn’t want to admit it out loud.
Liora bit her lip. “Can we—can we talk again like this?”
His eyes flicked to her mouth, then back to her eyes.
“Yes,” he said, almost instantly.
She smiled—soft, small, but real.
And Mattheo looked like someone who wasn’t used to being smiled at.
He looked like someone who didn’t know what to do with the warmth it caused inside him.
He cleared his throat, stepping back another inch. “You should get back soon. Before someone notices you’re gone.”
“Right,” she whispered.
But neither of them moved.
Not really.
Liora finally turned, heart thrumming, ready to head back down the corridor.
But as she stepped past him—
Her hand brushed his.
Skin to skin.
Warm.
Electric.
Alive.
Both froze.
Liora inhaled sharply. Mattheo’s eyes flickered down to their hands—barely touching—like the moment was suspended in some fragile bubble of time.
She didn’t pull away.
Neither did he.
Then—
A sound down the hall.
Footsteps.
The bubble burst.
Mattheo withdrew his hand first, slow, lingering.
Liora felt the loss immediately.
“Go,” he murmured, voice roughened, shadowed. “Before we’re not alone anymore.”
She nodded, breath unsteady, and hurried down the corridor—her pulse racing, her hand still tingling.
Behind her, Mattheo stayed in the shadows, watching her leave.
His expression unreadable.
But his fingers curled once—remembering the warmth of her hand against his.