Chapter 25 Library Adventure
The next morning, Liora woke with a lingering echo of unease from the previous night’s encounter in the dungeons. Whoever had watched her from the shadows had never stepped forward. Never spoken. Never moved. But she had felt them—felt the weight of their attention like a hand on her back.
She’d barely slept.
Yet as sunlight filtered through the small round window of the Hufflepuff dormitory, warming her blankets and softening the cold memory, she made a quiet decision:
She would not live at Hogwarts in fear.
If Slytherin students whispered about her, if shadows followed her—well, she wouldn't let it drown out everything she actually wanted. And today, she wanted something simple. Comforting. Familiar.
She wanted to go to the library.
The vast, echoing halls of Hogwarts’ great archive always calmed her. Rows of towering shelves, the soft whir of ancient spells that cleaned dust from volumes, Madam Pince's hawk-like patrols—yes, the library felt safe.
So after breakfast, Liora grabbed her bag and headed there early, hoping to get in some quiet study before her first class.
The library was nearly empty when she arrived. A couple of Ravenclaws hunched over parchment; one Slytherin girl took notes with impeccable precision. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, washing the tables in jewel tones.
Liora exhaled slowly. Peace.
She wandered deeper into the aisles, letting her fingertips brush book spines—Transfiguration theory, obscure herbology texts, a few books that vibrated faintly with old magic.
Then something pulled at her.
Not literally, but almost spiritually.
A soft hum beneath her skin. A tug at her curiosity.
She turned left, down a narrow aisle she’d never noticed before. The bookshelf at the end seemed older than the rest—darker wood, faint runes carved into the edges, a quiet aura of magic.
Unease prickled her again.
But so did intrigue.
“Restricted collection?” she whispered to herself.
Not quite. There were no chains, no glowing barriers. But these volumes looked ancient, many without labels or titles.
Her hand drifted toward a black-bound book wedged tightly between two larger tomes.
Just before her fingers closed around its spine—
A voice murmured from behind her.
“I wouldn’t touch that one if I were you.”
She spun, heart thudding.
Mattheo Riddle stood only a few feet away.
He looked like he belonged here and yet wholly out of place—dark school robes, hair tousled as if he’d run a hand through it several times, green-tinged library light catching in his eyes. He held a single book at his side, fingers tapping the cover absently.
“Mattheo,” she breathed, hand still hovering near the black-bound book.
He stepped closer—quiet, deliberate steps that made barely a sound on the polished floor.
“Some of these books bite,” he said lightly. “Others curse you. That one in particular likes to scream.”
Liora jerked her hand back so fast that Mattheo actually smirked.
“Not funny,” she muttered, cheeks warming.
“A little funny,” he murmured.
The aisle suddenly felt very small.
“Why are you here?” she asked quietly, realizing how odd it was to find him in such a secluded corner.
“Looking for something,” he said. “And making sure you don’t get mauled by ancient, temperamental literature.”
Her stomach fluttered—unexpected, unwelcome, but warm.
Still… she remembered yesterday. The watching figure in the shadows. The stares from Slytherin students. The new, sharp tension in the air.
“You’re not following me, are you?”
His brows lifted.
“No,” he said softly. “But I seem to keep finding you.”
Something in his tone—something honest, almost reluctant—settled her nerves.
She gestured toward the shelf. “I felt… drawn here. Like something wanted me to find it.”
Mattheo’s eyes flicked to the book she’d nearly grabbed.
“That’s possible,” he murmured. “Some magical books are… sentient. Sort of. If one wants to be found, it’ll nudge you.”
He stepped closer—not touching her, but close enough she could feel the faint warmth of him.
“Let me check.”
He reached past her, hand brushing the air near her shoulder. His fingers curled around the spine of the book beside the black one she’d nearly touched.
This one was deep emerald green with tarnished gold lettering.
“Magique Obscura: Forgotten Charms of the Old World,” he read.
Liora’s eyes widened. “Hidden charms? I’ve been struggling with charmwork all week…”
His gaze flicked to hers.
“I know,” he said quietly.
“You know?”
“You’re not exactly subtle,” he said. “I noticed. You… concentrate too hard. Sometimes instinct works better.”
Heat crept up her neck.
Mattheo noticed her.
More than she realized.
He offered her the book, just slightly.
“Want it?”
She hesitated. “Shouldn’t you take it? You found it.”
“I have no use for it,” he said. “But you might.”
The way he said you left her breath catching.
She reached out—slowly—and their fingers brushed as she took the book.
A spark.
A warm flicker of energy.
Not painful. Not shocking.
Just… present.
Mattheo’s breath hitched just slightly.
So did hers.
They both withdrew a fraction too quickly, as if caught.
“Why are you always helping me?” she blurted, the question tumbling out before she could stop it.
Mattheo’s expression shifted—shuttered, darkened, softened all at once.
He looked down at the floor, jaw tightening.
“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “And I’m not sure I want to.”
Liora blinked. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said quietly, “some things are easier when you don’t examine them too closely.”
She swallowed. His cryptic honesty hit deeper than she expected.
But before she could push further—
Something fluttered above them.
Both looked up.
A parchment slipped out from the very top of the shelf—a loose, forgotten piece that floated down like a falling leaf. Mattheo caught it instinctively.
“What is it?” Liora asked.
He unfolded it carefully.
His eyes widened, then narrowed.
“A map,” he murmured. “Or part of one.”
He angled it so she could see. The parchment was old, edges torn, ink faded but still legible. It showed a section of Hogwarts, but not any part she recognized—curving hallways, a triangular room, strange symbols.
“And this,” Mattheo said, pointing to a rune, “isn’t standard wizarding script.”
Liora leaned in closer—too close, realizing too late she could smell him. Something clean and faintly smoky.
“What kind of script is it?” she asked softly.
Mattheo didn’t move away. “Dark magic. Before Hogwarts existed.”
Her breath caught. “Is it dangerous?”
His jaw flexed. “It can be.”
But he didn’t put the parchment back.
He folded it once, slipping it inside the cover of the green book she held.
“Keep it.”
“What? Why?”
“Because,” he said, meeting her gaze with startling intensity, “I think whatever drew you here today… it wasn’t that screaming book.”
A chill prickled down her spine.
“You think something wanted me to find this?”
He nodded once.
“And Mattheo… do you think this map leads somewhere?”
His lips curved into an expression that wasn’t quite a smile.
More like anticipation. Or warning.
“It always does.”
As they stood there—alone in the quiet, surrounded by the hum of ancient magic—Liora felt something shift between them. Not dramatic. Not obvious.
Just… alignment.
She hugged the book to her chest.
Mattheo watched the motion, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t do anything,” he replied.
“You did,” she insisted.
Silence.
Then, unexpectedly, a softness touched his voice.
“You’re welcome.”
They stared at one another a moment too long.
Until someone cleared their throat loudly.
Madam Pince had appeared at the aisle entrance, arms crossed, expression sharp enough to cut stone.
“If you two are finished loitering,” she snapped, “take your materials and sit somewhere appropriate! Books are for reading, not whispering conspiratorially around.”
Liora squeaked.
Mattheo didn’t flinch.
But he stepped just slightly closer to Liora, lowering his voice.
“Read it,” he murmured, nodding toward the green book. “And… don’t wander alone for a few days.”
Her breath hitched. “Why not?”
He hesitated.
“Slytherin hallways aren’t safe right now.”
“Because of you?”
He didn’t answer.
Which was answer enough.