Chapter 29 Humor and Connection
The castle hummed with evening life when Liora and Mattheo crossed back into Hogwarts. Torches flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows that danced as students hurried past toward dinner. The intensity of their conversation on the bridge still lingered, wrapped around them like a fragile thread neither quite knew how to cut.
And yet—something had changed.
The air between them no longer felt quite so sharp. The tension hadn’t vanished, but it had softened, stretched thinner by understanding. By honesty. By the quiet acknowledgment that neither of them was exactly what the world insisted they should be.
They paused just inside the entrance hall.
“I should probably find Hermione,” Liora said, glancing toward the marble staircase where groups of Gryffindors clustered. “She’ll think I’ve been kidnapped.”
Mattheo huffed. “She’d assume I did it.”
“Well,” Liora said, pretending to consider, “you do have the look.”
He arched a brow. “The look?”
“Tall, dark, brooding, probably hiding something illegal in your pockets.”
He smirked. “Probably?”
She laughed, the sound slipping out before she could stop it. It felt strange—easy—in a way she hadn’t expected. Mattheo stilled slightly, clearly surprised by it.
“That was… unexpected,” he said.
“What was?”
“That you’d joke with me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Most people don’t,” he replied simply.
Something in his tone tugged at her heart. “Then they’re missing out.”
Before he could respond, a sharp pop echoed through the hall.
Both of them turned just in time to see a third-year Ravenclaw sprint past, his school bag hopping along behind him like a very determined frog.
“Oh no,” Liora murmured. “That bag is cursed.”
Mattheo’s eyes gleamed. “Looks like a Hex of Perpetual Mobility. Sloppy work.”
The bag leapt, smacked its owner in the back of the head, then bounced away again.
Students laughed. A professor shouted for order.
Liora bit her lip, trying not to giggle. “Should we help him?”
Mattheo shrugged. “We could.”
The Ravenclaw tripped, sprawling across the floor as the bag hopped triumphantly onto the stairs.
“Or,” Mattheo added dryly, “we could watch.”
Liora burst out laughing—full, bright, uncontrollable.
Mattheo stared at her like he’d never seen anything quite like it.
“What?” she asked between laughs.
“I forgot you could sound like that,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Happy.”
Her laughter softened into a smile. “You don’t forget things like that.”
“I do,” he said quietly. “More than I should.”
She hesitated, then gently nudged his arm with hers. “Well. Consider this a reminder.”
He looked down at where her arm brushed his, then back up at her face. Something unguarded flickered across his expression.
Before either of them could say more, the Ravenclaw’s bag finally exploded in a shower of parchment and ink.
“Oh Merlin,” Liora gasped. “That’s going to take weeks to clean.”
She raised her wand instinctively. “Accio—”
“Wait,” Mattheo said, grabbing her wrist.
His touch was warm. Grounding.
“You’ll reverse the charm wrong if you rush it,” he said. “Watch.”
He flicked his wand with precise ease. “Finite Saltatio.”
The bag slumped lifelessly to the floor.
The Ravenclaw blinked. “It’s… it’s stopped.”
“Try not to enchant your belongings without a counterspell next time,” Mattheo advised coolly.
“R-right. Thanks,” the boy stammered, scurrying away with what dignity he could salvage.
Liora stared at Mattheo. “You make that look ridiculously easy.”
“It is,” he said. “When you don’t panic.”
She rolled her eyes. “Some of us weren’t raised on spell theory.”
“Neither was I.”
She looked at him, surprised. “Really?”
“Really.”
Before she could ask more, a sudden crack sounded overhead.
A chandelier flickered violently.
Liora’s eyes widened. “That doesn’t look good.”
One of the candles sputtered, then shot off its chain like a firework, zooming straight toward them.
“Oh!” Liora yelped, ducking.
Mattheo reacted instantly—stepping in front of her, raising his wand.
“Protego.”
The candle bounced harmlessly off the shield and clattered to the floor, extinguishing itself in a puff of smoke.
A beat of silence followed.
Then—
“Wow,” Liora said softly. “I’m beginning to think the castle itself is trying to test you.”
“Or punish me,” he muttered.
She peered at the fallen candle, then back at him. “Do things like this just… happen around you?”
“More often than I’d like.”
She grinned suddenly. “Well. At least it keeps life interesting.”
His lips twitched despite himself. “You’re remarkably calm for someone nearly taken out by a homicidal candle.”
“Hey, I trust my reflexes.”
“And me,” he added quietly.
She met his gaze. “Yes. You too.”
That did it.
Something in Mattheo cracked—not broken, just… loosened. His shoulders relaxed. The ever-present tension in his posture eased.
“You’re strange,” he said.
“Good strange or bad strange?”
“Annoyingly good.”
She smiled, pleased. “I’ll take it.”
They started toward the Great Hall together, the scent of dinner drifting toward them.
“So,” Liora said, “is this where you tell me you’ve never laughed before?”
“No,” he replied dryly. “But I don’t do it often.”
She tilted her head. “Why not?”
He glanced at her. “Because it reminds people you’re human.”
“And that’s bad?”
“In my world?” He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
She slowed, forcing him to stop with her.
“Then laugh anyway,” she said firmly. “You don’t owe anyone a performance.”
He studied her face, then—astonishingly—let out a quiet chuckle.
It was low and brief, but real.
Liora’s heart skipped.
“There,” she said softly. “See? The world didn’t end.”
“Give it time,” he replied, though his eyes glinted with amusement.
They reached the doors of the Great Hall. Voices swelled from inside—music, laughter, clinking cutlery.
This was where they would part.
For now.
“Thank you,” Liora said, unsure exactly what she was thanking him for.
Mattheo nodded. “Anytime.”
She turned to go—then paused.
“Mattheo?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you came to Hogsmeade.”
He hesitated. Then, with quiet honesty: “So am I.”
She walked into the Great Hall with warmth in her chest and a smile she couldn’t quite hide.
Behind her, Mattheo watched for a moment longer than necessary—before turning away, the echo of her laughter lingering like magic he hadn’t expected to crave.