Chapter 77 Instincts in the Dark
The corridors of Hogwarts were rarely silent, even late at night. Stone breathed here—walls whispered with old magic, torches murmured to one another in low crackles, and portraits shifted restlessly in their frames as though dreaming with their eyes open. Yet as Liora Potter walked alone beneath the arched ceiling of the east wing, an unnatural stillness settled around her, thick enough to press against her ribs.
She slowed her steps.
Her wand was warm in her palm, reacting faintly to something she couldn’t see. Liora frowned, glancing over her shoulder. The corridor stretched long and empty behind her, shadows pooling at the edges like ink dropped in water. She told herself she was being ridiculous—Hogwarts was old and strange, yes, but she had walked these halls dozens of times after curfew with nothing more than a racing heart and a guilty conscience.
Still, something felt…wrong.
She had meant only to return a book to Professor Sprout’s office—a harmless errand she’d volunteered for earlier that evening—but a wrong turn near the staircases had led her into this unfamiliar passage. The air here smelled damp, tinged with metal and moss, as though the castle had opened a forgotten lung.
“Just turn back,” she murmured to herself.
The words echoed strangely, bouncing once too many times off the stone.
Liora took another step—and froze.
A sound reached her ears, low and wet, like claws dragging across rock.
Her breath caught. She lifted her wand instinctively, heart hammering as she strained to pinpoint the noise. It came again, closer this time, followed by a faint clicking sound that made her skin prickle.
That wasn’t a student.
She swallowed hard. “Lumos,” she whispered.
Light bloomed from her wand, casting pale gold across the corridor. Dust motes danced in the glow, and for a brief, foolish second she felt relieved—until the light slid forward and illuminated movement ahead.
Something shifted in the shadows.
Liora’s pulse roared in her ears as a shape unfolded itself from the darkness, limbs elongating at impossible angles. It stepped into the light slowly, deliberately, as though it knew she couldn’t look away.
It was tall—too tall—and thin to the point of grotesque elegance. Its skin gleamed a dull, pearlescent gray, stretched tight over sharp joints. A narrow head tilted toward her, revealing eyes like polished obsidian, reflecting her own terrified expression back at her.
The creature clicked again, mouth opening to reveal rows of needle-like teeth.
Liora stumbled back. “Protego!”
The shield charm flared to life just as the creature lunged. It slammed into the invisible barrier with a force that knocked her off balance, sparks skittering across the stone floor. The shield wavered, pulsing under the impact.
“Oh Merlin,” she whispered.
The creature recoiled only briefly before circling her, movements fluid and unsettlingly intelligent. Its claws scraped the floor as it searched for a weakness, eyes never leaving hers.
Think, Liora. Think.
She cast a Stunning Spell—too weak. It glanced off the creature’s side with little more than an irritated hiss. Panic clawed at her chest as she backed toward the wall, shield charm flickering again under another strike.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she gasped, fear threatening to unravel her focus.
The creature lunged a second time.
“Incend—!”
The spell never left her lips.
A flash of green light sliced through the air, sharp and precise. The creature shrieked—a high, piercing sound that made Liora clamp her hands over her ears as it was thrown violently against the wall. It hit the stone with a sickening crack and collapsed in a heap, limbs twitching.
Silence rushed back in, heavy and sudden.
Liora stared, chest heaving, wand trembling in her grip.
A second later, footsteps echoed behind her—measured, controlled.
“Lower your wand,” a familiar voice said quietly. “It’s unconscious.”
Her heart skipped.
She turned slowly.
Mattheo Riddle stood a few paces away, wand still raised, expression carved into calm lines that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The green glow faded from his spell as he flicked his wrist, eyes never leaving the fallen creature.
“What—” Liora’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to breathe. “What was that?”
“A Skelthorn,” Mattheo replied. “Or something very close to it.”
She stared at him. “Those aren’t supposed to be in Hogwarts.”
“They’re not,” he agreed.
The creature let out a low, rattling breath, and Mattheo stepped forward instantly, placing himself between it and Liora without hesitation. The movement was instinctive—so quick and natural it made her chest tighten.
He cast another spell, binding the creature in shimmering cords of magic. Only when it lay completely still did he lower his wand and turn to her.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
The question came out sharper than she expected, threaded with something dangerously close to fear.
“I—I don’t think so.” She looked down at herself, half-expecting blood or burns. There were none. “You saved me.”
His jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t have been alone.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I just—got turned around.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The corridor seemed to hold its breath around them, torchlight flickering as if unsettled by what had just occurred.
Liora studied him in the dim glow. Mattheo looked different here, away from the Great Hall and classrooms—more real, somehow. His dark hair was slightly dishevelled, his expression stripped of its usual cool detachment. She noticed the way his shoulders remained tense, as though he were still braced for another attack.
“You followed me,” she said softly.
He didn’t deny it. “Yes.”
“Why?”
His eyes flicked to hers, something unreadable passing through them. “You wandered into the east wing after curfew,” he said. “That area’s unstable. Old magic.”
“You were watching me,” she murmured.
“I was making sure you didn’t get hurt,” he replied, almost curtly.
The simplicity of the statement sent a strange warmth through her chest.
Liora glanced at the bound creature. “How did you know what spell to use?”
Mattheo hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second—but she saw it.
“I’ve…read about them,” he said finally.
She nodded, though curiosity sparked at the edges of her fear. “Thank you,” she said again, more firmly this time. “I don’t think my shield would’ve held much longer.”
His gaze softened, just slightly. “You did well,” he said. “Most people panic.”
“I did panic,” she admitted with a shaky laugh.
“No,” he corrected quietly. “You fought.”
The words settled between them, heavier than any compliment she’d received before.
Footsteps echoed faintly in the distance—voices drifting closer. Mattheo stiffened instantly.
“Professors,” he said under his breath. “We can’t be found here.”
“What about—” Liora gestured to the creature.
“I’ll take responsibility,” he said without hesitation.
Her eyes widened. “Mattheo—”
“It’s fine,” he cut in, already moving. He conjured a shimmering veil over the Skelthorn, obscuring it from view. “Go. Take the left corridor—it’ll loop you back toward the greenhouses.”
“And you?”
“I’ll draw them away.”
The idea made her chest tighten. “You don’t have to do that.”
His eyes met hers, intense and unwavering. “Yes. I do.”
Before she could argue further, he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Liora—listen to me. Go. Now.”
Something in his tone left no room for debate.
She nodded reluctantly, backing away. “Be careful.”
For a split second, his expression softened in a way she’d never seen before. “Always.”
She turned and hurried down the corridor, heart pounding—not just from fear, but from something deeper, more confusing. She didn’t stop until the familiar scent of earth and greenery replaced the damp stone air of the east wing.
Only then did she slow, leaning against the wall as she tried to steady her breathing.
Mattheo had followed her.
He had watched her.
He had stepped in front of a monster without hesitation.
The realization sent a shiver through her—not of fear, but of something dangerously close to awe.
As she made her way back toward Hufflepuff, one thought echoed louder than the rest:
Whatever darkness surrounded Mattheo Riddle…
his instincts, when it came to her, were unmistakably protective.
And she wasn’t sure whether that frightened her—or made her feel safer than she ever had before.