Chapter 97 What We Don’t Say Out Loud
Night settled over Hogwarts like a quiet spell, soft and enveloping. The corridors dimmed, lit only by flickering torches and drifting candlelight, while the distant murmur of the castle faded into something almost peaceful. It was the kind of night that made everything feel closer—thoughts, fears, truths.
Liora wasn’t sure why she couldn’t sleep.
She had tried—turning over in her bed, closing her eyes, willing her thoughts to settle—but her mind refused to quiet. Too much had been building. Too many moments left unfinished, too many words left unsaid.
So she did the only thing that felt right.
She left.
The common room door closed softly behind her as she stepped into the corridor, wrapping her arms lightly around herself against the cool air. Her footsteps echoed faintly as she walked, not toward any particular destination, but toward something she couldn’t quite name.
Or maybe she could.
She just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
It didn’t take long before she sensed him.
Not saw—sensed.
A presence she had grown used to, one that felt less like being watched and more like being… accompanied.
“You’re not very subtle,” she said quietly, stopping near an open archway where moonlight spilled across the floor.
A pause.
Then, from the shadows, Mattheo stepped forward.
“I wasn’t trying to be,” he replied.
She turned to face him, her expression soft but tired. “Do you ever sleep?”
“Sometimes.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“It’s not meant to.”
Despite herself, she smiled faintly.
They stood there for a moment, the silence between them familiar now—not empty, but full of everything they didn’t say.
“You couldn’t sleep either?” he asked after a while.
She hesitated, then nodded. “Too much on my mind.”
“About?”
She looked down, her fingers twisting together slightly. “Everything.”
Mattheo didn’t press.
He leaned lightly against the stone wall, giving her space, but not distance. “That’s vague.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
Liora took a breath, then stepped closer—not enough to close the space entirely, but enough that the distance felt intentional.
“Do you ever get tired of it?” she asked quietly.
“Tired of what?”
“Feeling like you have to be careful all the time,” she said. “Like one wrong step and everything changes.”
His expression stilled.
“Yes,” he said simply.
She nodded, as if she expected that answer. “Me too.”
The admission hung between them.
“I didn’t think I would,” she continued, her voice softer now. “When I first came here, everything felt… exciting. New. Like I could just be myself and figure things out as I went.”
“And now?”
She let out a small breath. “Now it feels like everything matters more than I thought it would.”
Mattheo watched her closely. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“It is when you don’t know what you’re doing,” she said, a hint of vulnerability slipping through. “Or who to trust.”
The word lingered.
Trust.
It wasn’t light. It wasn’t easy.
He pushed himself off the wall slightly, his posture shifting—not defensive, but attentive. “You don’t trust anyone?”
“I do,” she said quickly. “Just… not easily anymore.”
“Why?”
She glanced up at him, then away again. “Because things aren’t always what they seem. People say things. They hide things.” Her voice faltered slightly. “And sometimes you don’t realize it until it matters.”
Mattheo’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“That’s true,” he said.
She looked at him again, searching his face. “You do it too.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised her.
“But not with everything,” he added quietly.
Her breath caught slightly. “How am I supposed to know the difference?”
He held her gaze for a long moment.
“You don’t,” he said.
That should have made things worse.
But somehow, it didn’t.
Liora let out a soft, almost breathless laugh. “That’s not very reassuring.”
“No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”
Another silence settled between them—heavier now, but not uncomfortable.
“I think that’s what scares me the most,” she said after a moment. “Not the rumors. Not the danger. Just… not knowing where I stand.”
“With people?” he asked.
“With you.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
For a second, everything seemed to still.
Mattheo didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
He just looked at her—really looked at her—as if trying to decide something important.
“You shouldn’t,” he said finally.
Her heart sank slightly. “Shouldn’t what?”
“Let it matter that much.”
“It already does,” she said quietly.
That answer lingered.
Unavoidable.
Mattheo stepped closer then, closing the distance between them in a way that felt deliberate, careful.
“You trust me,” he said—not a question.
She swallowed. “I think I do.”
“Think?”
“I’m trying to,” she corrected.
His gaze softened, just slightly.
“That’s dangerous,” he said.
“I know.”
“And you’re doing it anyway.”
“Yes.”
The honesty in her voice made something shift in his expression—something quieter, deeper.
“Why?” he asked.
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she said, “Because when I’m with you… it doesn’t feel like I have to pretend. Even when you’re not telling me everything.”
He exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.
“That doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you,” he said.
“I know.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t make the wrong choice.”
“I know,” she repeated.
“Then why—”
“Because I don’t think you want to.”
The words were simple.
But they landed harder than anything else she’d said.
Mattheo looked away for a moment, his jaw tightening as if he were holding something back. When he looked at her again, there was less distance in his eyes.
“You make it sound easy,” he said quietly.
“It’s not,” she replied. “I’m just choosing it anyway.”
Silence.
Then—
“I care about you.”
The words were quiet.
Almost too quiet.
But they were there.
Real.
Liora’s breath caught.
Mattheo didn’t look away this time. He held her gaze, steady, unguarded in a way he rarely allowed.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he added.
“I know,” she whispered.
Her chest tightened—not painfully, but with something warm and overwhelming.
“That doesn’t mean I know what to do with it,” he continued. “Or that I won’t… get it wrong.”
“You probably will,” she said softly.
A faint, surprised huff of air left him—almost a laugh.
“Honest,” he noted.
“Always.”
He studied her for a moment longer, then nodded slightly.
“Good.”
The space between them felt smaller now, charged with something unspoken but undeniable.
Liora shifted her weight, her voice quieter now. “I’m not asking for answers,” she said. “Or promises.”
“That’s good,” he replied. “I wouldn’t give them.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
“But I’m not walking away either,” she added.
Something in his expression changed at that—subtle, but real.
“Neither am I,” he said.
The admission settled between them, steady and certain.
Not a declaration.
Not a resolution.
Just… truth.
They stood there a while longer, the quiet of the castle wrapping around them, the distance between them no longer uncertain, but chosen.
And though neither of them said anything more, something had shifted.
Not everything.
Not yet.
But enough.
Enough to make the silence feel different.
Enough to make the night feel less heavy.
Enough to make what came next—whatever it was—impossible to ignore.