Chapter 79 Shadows in Plain Sight
The classroom should have felt ordinary.
That was what unsettled Liora most as she stepped inside.
Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows of the unused Charms classroom, illuminating rows of dusty desks and floating motes of glittering magic that hovered lazily in the air. The enchanted chalkboard bore faint remnants of old lessons—half-erased incantations and diagrams that shimmered and faded if stared at too long. It smelled faintly of parchment and ozone, the lingering echo of spells cast long ago.
Normal.
And yet her skin prickled the moment she crossed the threshold.
Liora slowed, fingers tightening around the strap of her satchel. She had come here looking for a quiet place to revise, hoping to escape the noise of the corridors and the constant weight of unspoken tension that had followed her since term resumed. Instead, the room seemed to hum beneath her feet, a low vibration she felt more than heard.
Something was wrong.
She took another step. The door creaked shut behind her, sealing the room with a soft click that echoed too loudly in the stillness. Instinctively, she glanced back at it—half expecting the hinges to writhe or the wood to darken—but the door remained perfectly mundane.
“Probably just nerves,” she murmured to herself.
Yet even as she moved toward the nearest desk, the air shifted.
It was subtle. A ripple, like heat over stone. The floating motes of magic trembled, their glow dimming as if something were draining them. Liora’s breath caught. She reached instinctively for her wand, heart thudding as a faint pressure pressed against her chest.
Then she saw it.
A symbol etched into the far wall, half-hidden behind a tapestry depicting a long-forgotten wizard duel. Dark lines pulsed faintly, the magic within them twisting and coiling like something alive. It wasn’t large, nor immediately threatening—but it radiated intent. Purpose.
Dark magic.
Liora swallowed hard.
She had read enough in recent weeks to recognize the signs. This wasn’t a curse meant to harm indiscriminately, nor a prank hex gone wrong. It was… contained. Controlled. The sort of magic someone cast deliberately and carefully, knowing exactly what they were doing.
Her fingers trembled as she took a step closer.
The pressure intensified.
The symbol flared, reacting to her presence, and the air thickened until it felt difficult to breathe. Liora stumbled back, pulse racing. Panic fluttered in her chest—but before it could take hold, a familiar sensation washed over her.
Cool. Grounding. Like shadow slipping silently between flame and flesh.
“Don’t touch it.”
Mattheo’s voice came from behind her, low and sharp.
She spun around.
He stood just inside the doorway, the light catching in his dark hair, his expression unreadable but his eyes alert—too alert. His wand was already in his hand, fingers steady, posture deceptively relaxed. Yet Liora had learned to read the tension in his shoulders, the way his presence subtly shifted the space around him.
He had known.
“I—I wasn’t going to,” she said quickly, though they both knew she had been close. “I felt it the moment I walked in. What is it?”
Mattheo’s gaze flicked briefly to the symbol before returning to her. Something unreadable crossed his face—calculation, concern, and beneath it all, something darker.
“A residual enchantment,” he said at last. “Old. Not dangerous. Not if you know how to unravel it.”
Liora frowned. “Then why leave it here?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation told her more than his words ever could.
“This classroom was used by advanced students once,” Mattheo continued carefully. “Experimental magic. Some of it never fully… dissipated.”
“That’s not what this feels like,” Liora said softly.
His eyes sharpened. “You’re right.”
He moved past her without another word, his presence brushing against hers like a shadow passing over sunlight. The air seemed to respond to him immediately—the pressure easing slightly, the pulsing lines of the symbol dimming as though recognizing him.
That unsettled her more than the magic itself.
Mattheo stopped a few feet from the wall, studying the mark with practiced calm. He lifted his wand and traced a slow, deliberate arc in the air. The motion was precise, controlled. Familiar.
Liora watched, heart in her throat.
She had seen him cast spells before—brilliantly, effortlessly—but this was different. There was no hesitation, no experimentation. He knew this magic intimately.
The symbol shuddered, reacting to his wand like a living thing responding to a master’s call. Dark lines twisted inward, folding in on themselves as Mattheo murmured an incantation so quiet she barely heard it.
The room exhaled.
The pressure vanished.
The floating motes of magic brightened once more, returning to their gentle, harmless glow. The symbol faded, the lines dissolving into nothing more than faint scorch marks on the stone.
Silence fell.
Liora realized she had been holding her breath.
Mattheo lowered his wand slowly, shoulders relaxing only when the last echo of magic dissipated. For a long moment, he didn’t turn around.
Then he did.
Their eyes met across the quiet classroom.
“You solved it just like that,” Liora said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That wasn’t… simple magic.”
“No,” he agreed.
She searched his face, noting the way his jaw tightened, the guardedness returning like armour sliding back into place. “Should I be worried?”
His gaze softened—just a fraction. “No. Not about this.”
“But—”
“Liora,” he interrupted gently. “It’s gone. That’s what matters.”
She didn’t argue. She never did, not when he used that tone—the one that carried both reassurance and a subtle plea not to push further.
Still, something inside her shifted.
Because she had seen it now.
Not just his power—but his restraint.
Most students would have panicked, summoned a professor, or fled the room. Mattheo had stepped in quietly, dismantling the magic without drawing attention. Without recognition. As though solving dark enchantments was simply… another skill he kept hidden.
“You were watching me again, weren’t you?” she asked softly.
A corner of his mouth twitched. “You walked into a room humming with unstable magic. I’d be a poor strategist if I weren’t.”
She huffed a quiet laugh, tension easing just a little. “That’s one way to put it.”
They stood there, the aftermath of magic lingering between them. Liora became acutely aware of how close they were—closer than necessary. Close enough that she could feel the faint warmth radiating from him, the steady calm beneath his controlled exterior.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “For stepping in.”
“I always will,” he replied without thinking.
The words hung between them, heavier than any spell.
Mattheo seemed to realize what he’d said at the same moment she did. His gaze flickered, expression shuttering as he stepped back slightly, putting space where there had been none.
“We should go,” he added. “Before someone notices the residual traces.”
Liora nodded, though her heart beat faster than before. As they turned toward the door, she glanced once more at the wall where the symbol had been.
Gone.
But the feeling remained.
As they stepped into the corridor, Liora knew one thing with absolute certainty: whatever darkness lingered around Mattheo Riddle, it wasn’t reckless.
It was deliberate.
And that made it far more dangerous than rumours ever suggested.