Chapter 9 Dormitory Reflection
The golden glow of the Hufflepuff common room had dimmed into the soft flicker of candlelight by the time Liora Potter returned from the library. The quiet hum of whispered conversations and the occasional laugh of students settling into their dormitories created a comforting rhythm that should have soothed her. Instead, her mind buzzed relentlessly with the memory of Mattheo Riddle’s dark eyes, his smooth voice, and the subtle intensity of their first conversation.
She climbed the staircase to the girls’ dormitory, each step echoing in the quiet hallway. The warmth of the common room faded behind her, replaced by the familiar coziness of her own bed and the comforting presence of her friends’ laughter in their own rooms. Yet even in this sanctuary, Liora felt a strange, insistent pull in her chest—a magnetic tug she couldn’t explain.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Liora clutched her wand loosely, staring down at the parchment she had meant to review after dinner. Her lessons and notes blurred together, her thoughts circling back to the moment in the library. Mattheo had appeared silently, effortlessly, and vanished just as quickly. His presence had been unsettling, yes, but also… compelling.
Why did I feel drawn to him? she wondered, tracing the edge of the parchment absentmindedly. There was something in the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way his gaze lingered—not just observing, but almost… probing. It was as if he could see past the surface, past the polite masks people wore, and somehow, he had seen me.
Liora shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. He’s a Slytherin. He’s… different. And I don’t even know him. I can’t just… feel things because of a glance.
But try as she might, the sensation refused to fade. She could feel it in her pulse, in the subtle shiver that ran along her spine whenever she recalled the way he had appeared out of the shadows, extinguishing the flames she had accidentally conjured. The memory of his dark, unreadable expression made her stomach twist in anticipation and unease.
Her eyes drifted to the window, where the moonlight spilled silver across the dormitory floor. She imagined him walking the castle halls, silent and deliberate, as if the shadows themselves obeyed his command. Liora felt both fear and fascination—their first encounter had been brief, yet it had left a mark, a lingering awareness of something beyond her understanding.
I shouldn’t feel this way, she told herself firmly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. I barely know him. He’s dangerous. He’s… complicated.
Yet, even as she repeated the warnings to herself, Liora couldn’t deny the subtle thrill that ran through her at the thought of seeing him again. Hogwarts was full of mysteries, and Mattheo Riddle was the most enigmatic of them all. She didn’t understand him—not fully—and that, perhaps, was why she felt such an irresistible pull.
Her friends’ warnings echoed in her mind. Ella and Marnie had been clear: Slytherins, especially someone like him, were not to be trusted blindly. They had spoken of cleverness, cunning, and unpredictability. But Liora, with her trusting nature and her curiosity, found herself questioning their caution. There was something different about Mattheo—something that defied simple labels of danger or intrigue.
She hugged her knees to her chest and sighed, letting herself indulge in thought. There was the memory of his voice, low and precise, and the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes when she had admitted to her curiosity. There was the way he had saved her from the fire without a word of judgment, as if he understood her recklessness and chose to intervene—not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
Liora’s chest tightened as she remembered the magnetic pull she had felt in his presence. It was unlike anything she had experienced with anyone else. Not her friends, not even her brother Harry, had left her with such an echo of awareness. She felt… alive, alert, and strangely seen.
Could it be magic? she wondered, her brow furrowing. Not the kind of spells or potions, but something… in him. Something inherent, innate. His presence felt like a force, a subtle energy that drew her attention and held it, even from a distance. The thought made her shiver, both with fascination and a hint of fear.
She glanced around the dormitory, half-expecting him to appear in the doorway, as if the castle itself had answered her unspoken thoughts. But the room was quiet. Only the soft hum of candlelight and the distant shuffle of students returning from evening walks filled the space.
Her hand absently traced the edge of her wand, as if seeking comfort in its familiar weight. The fire in her chest, the fluttering in her stomach, and the restless energy in her mind refused to settle. She realized, reluctantly, that this curiosity—this fascination—was no longer something she could ignore.
Liora closed her eyes, letting the memories of the evening wash over her: the library, the potion mishap, his dark gaze, and the magnetic pull that seemed to thread between them. She could feel it in her bones, in her pulse, in the rhythm of her thoughts.
Something about him… it wasn’t just attraction. It was a connection, subtle and undeniable, a force she couldn’t explain. And even as her logical mind cautioned restraint, her heart whispered that she was being drawn into something larger than herself—something that would challenge her innocence, her trust, and perhaps even the limits of her courage.
She sighed softly, curling under her blankets, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow, she told herself, she would be careful. She would focus on her lessons, on her friends, and on the magic she was learning to control. But deep down, Liora knew the truth: Mattheo Riddle had left an impression on her—a shadow of presence that lingered long after he vanished.
And she couldn’t ignore it.
Not now. Not ever.
Hogwarts was alive with magic, danger, and mystery. And somewhere in the castle, Mattheo Riddle’s presence waited, subtle but undeniable, pulling her closer with every thought, every heartbeat, and every shadowed glance.