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𝕯USTY AIR OF THE CLASSROOM WAS THICK, Professor Binns droning on about whatever it was that you failed to listen to. Most of the students were barely keeping their eyes open, their quills scratching half-hearted notes or doodles in the margins of their parchment.

At your usual table, you sat sandwiched between Seamus and Kyra, with Dean and Neville on the other side of Seamus, and Alana on the other side of Kyra. While most of the class struggled to stay engaged, your table had become a subtle huddle of whispers.

Seamus leaned toward you, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "Bet you one sickle I can mimic Binns perfectly."

You glanced at him, trying to suppress a laugh. "You can't even get through a regular sentence without your Irish slipping through," you teased, keeping your voice low.

Seamus put a hand to his chest, feigning mock offense. "Oi, that's uncalled for. My accents are flawless."

"Flawlessly terrible," you shot back, earning a stifled laugh from Kyra.

Sitting next to Seamus, Dean watched the exchange with a faint smile, though his eyes lingered on you a little longer than necessary. He admired the way your laughter lit up your face, a rare burst of joy in an otherwise dull lecture.

But then his gaze shifted slightly, catching Neville's expression. Sitting next to Dean, Neville was also watching you, his face a mixture of quiet admiration and nervousness. Neville's quill tapped absently against his parchment as he stared, and Dean felt a twinge of recognition in his chest.

It wasn't obvious — Neville wasn't the type to wear his feelings openly — but Dean had known him long enough to recognize the subtle signs. The way Neville seemed more nervous when he was near you, the way he always offered to help you with Herbology, and now, the way his gaze softened as you laughed with Seamus.

Did Neville like you too?

Dean's stomach churned slightly despite the lack of confirmation in his suspicion.

"Everything alright?" Neville whispered, noticing Dean's faraway look.

Dean nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just trying to follow along," he lied, gesturing vaguely at Binns.

Meanwhile, Kyra leaned closer to Alana, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think we'll be tested on the exact years of the rebellion or just the general timeline?"

Alana tilted her head, her blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she considered the question. "Probably both. Binns is big on specifics," she replied, her tone thoughtful.

Kyra smiled faintly, her eyes lingering on Alana's profile for a moment longer than necessary. She quickly looked away, pretending to adjust her notes, her cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink.

Seamus nudged you again, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Alright, watch this." He straightened in his chair, puffed out his chest, and launched into a spot-on impression of Binns' monotone voice. "And thus, the goblins of Gringotts refused to pay their taxes, leading to a century of discontent..."

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, but your shoulders shook with silent amusement. Kyra, too, hid her grin behind her hand, while Alana shook her head, though a smile tugged at her lips.

"Seamus, you're going to get us all in trouble," you whispered, but your tone was more amused than scolding.

Dean chuckled softly, his gaze flicking between you and Neville again. 'He very well could like her too,' Dean thought. 'Maybe he doesn't, but I wouldn't blame him if he did.'

The thought was cut off before it could spiral further, focusing instead on the notes in front of him.

At a different table in the classroom, Theodore sat between Blaise and Indie, his shoulders stiff. Ever since he'd awkwardly told Indie that he didn't like her like that, their interactions had been tinged with discomfort.

Indie was scribbling notes furiously, her head down, pretending he wasn't there. Theodore, however, couldn't help but sneak glances toward your table.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment, noting the way you joked with Seamus and Kyra, the way your quiet laugh seemed to brighten the dreary room. But then his gaze darted away quickly, landing on his parchment as if he'd been caught.

Indie noticed the glance, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn't say anything, but the tension between them was palpable.

Theodore glanced at you one more time before sighing and turning his attention back to his notes. Indie noticed the sigh and bit back a comment, instead focusing harder on her writing.

As the lecture droned on, the subtle undercurrents of emotions at the table remained unspoken, a quiet symphony of feelings hidden beneath the surface. Seamus' jokes, Kyra's looks to Alana, Theodore's glances, and Indie's and Dean's quiet suspicion all wove together, creating a tapestry of connections that none of them fully understood — yet.

The dungeon was dimly lit, the flickering light from the torches casting eerie shadows over the stone walls. The faint hum of conversation mixed with the bubbling of cauldrons as Professor Snape announced the day's assignment — a particularly tricky potion requiring precise timing and delicate measurements.

You found yourself paired with Mattheo once again, his sharp gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of irritation and skepticism. It was a pairing that seemed to amuse Professor Snape more than it ever amused you or Mattheo.

"If you need any help, just ask," you mentioned quietly, your tone measured and polite, though the faintest flicker of challenge danced in your eyes that only Mattheo seemed to notice. "Nothing wrong if you don't understand the instructions."

"Oh, don't worry," Mattheo chuckled, his voice low but edged enough to prick. He began unpacking the potion ingredients with deliberate care, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure I'll manage just fine without your... mediocrity."

He didn't say anything else, instead grabbing a knife and beginning to chop the ashwinder eggs with a precision that spoke to his skill in Potions.

The room around you buzzed with the sound of knives against cutting boards, bubbling cauldrons, and the low murmur of other students' conversations, but the air between you and Mattheo felt heavier, charged with an unspoken competition neither of you would admit outright.

At the table in front of you, Lorenzo and Draco worked together. Despite their focus, Lorenzo's attention kept drifting toward your table. Each time Mattheo made a pointed remark or let out a derisive scoff in your direction, Lorenzo's brow furrowed, his irritation evident.

"Riddle, stop being a git," Lorenzo groaned finally, his voice cutting through the bubbling of nearby cauldrons. He set down his silver stirring rod with a sharp clink, giving Mattheo a pointed look.

Mattheo barely glanced up, the corner of his mouth curling in a smirk. "Just offering constructive criticism, Enzo. It's not my fault some people can't handle it."

"Constructive?" Lorenzo shot back, his tone incredulous. "You're about as constructive as a bludger to the face."

Pansy's voice rang out, her sharp tone slicing through the tension. "Yeah, it's not her fault you're miserable, Riddle." She didn't even look up from where she and Daphne were grinding roots into a fine powder, her words as casual as if she were commenting on the weather.

Daphne glanced at the scene with mild curiosity but didn't add anything, her focus remaining on ensuring the powdered roots were as fine as possible.

Watching the unfolding drama with barely concealed amusement, Drac finally chimed in. His smirk was as sharp as his drawl. "Leave them alone. This is far more entertaining than actually brewing the potion."

"Speak for yourself," Pansy scoffed, her hands busy measuring powdered billywig stings. "Mattheo, seriously, stop being such a drama queen. You're worse than Daphne when her nail polish chips." Daphne shot Pansy a glare but didn't argue, focused on preparing her potion with precision.

Meanwhile, Theodore sat quietly at his station with Blaise, his hands methodically stirring the cauldron before him. Yet his focus wavered, his eyes flicking toward your table every few moments. Each time Mattheo leaned closer to you, muttering something under his breath, Theodore's stirring slowed, his jaw tightening slightly.

When Mattheo's voice dropped into a sharp, low whisper, Theodore's hands paused entirely, though he couldn't quite hear what Mattheo was saying.

"Everyone buys your little act, don't they?" Mattheo muttered as he dropped the ashwinder eggs into the cauldron with a calculated precision that betrayed his irritation.

You sighed softly, sprinkling the crushed scarab beetles into the potion with practiced ease. Without looking up, you replied, your tone calm but edged with a subtle challenge, "I'm just being polite, Riddle. You should try it sometime."

At the station with Theodore, Blaise worked silently but with a quiet intensity, his sharp gaze darting between you and Mattheo. His expression remained unreadable, though his dark eyes glimmered with an interest that suggested he was trying to piece together a puzzle.

When the potion required more lacewing flies, you excused yourself to retrieve additional supplies from the potions closet. The quiet moment of escape felt like a breath of fresh air until you sensed a presence behind you.

Without turning, you spoke, your voice low. "You don't know when to quit, do you?"

The sharp scent of pickled roots and dried herbs filled the small space, mingling with the faint hum of the potions classroom beyond. A glance over your shoulder confirmed it — Mattheo was behind you, his broad frame partially silhouetted by the light streaming from the open door. His expression was dark and determined, his posture radiating quiet intensity.

Mattheo's chuckle was quiet and humorless, a low sound that sent a ripple of tension through the air as he stepped further into the cramped space. The open door cast a long shadow behind him. "Do you ever stop playing innocent?"

You turned to face him, leaning casually against the shelf lined with jars of peculiar ingredients. The faint scent of lacewing flies reached your nose as you raised a brow. "Do you ever stop assuming you know everything?"

He took a step closer, his dark eyes scanning your face with a mix of frustration and irritation. His voice was laced with biting sarcasm, though his tone wavered just enough to betray something deeper. "I know enough. You're not as perfect as you pretend to be." He let out a slight groan, dragging a hand through his hair. "I just don't get why my friends can't see that."

"Do you ever just let things go?" You muttered, the corner of your lips twitching into a faint chuckle that did little to soften the tension.

"Not when it comes to you," he grumbled, his voice low but cutting. His dark eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a mix of disdain and hatred.

You crossed your arms, leaning more firmly against the shelf stacked with jars of powdered unicorn horn and shrivelfig. "And why exactly do you care?"

"Because it's so frustrating that I'm the only one who can see the kind of damage you're capable of. You're not as... harmless as people think you are," he remarked, his gaze narrowing, each word pointed and deliberate.

You tilted your head slightly, a faint smirk lifting the corner of your mouth. "And you think you've got me all figured out, do you?"

As Mattheo's shoulders tensed, he stepped closer, the small gap between you shrinking as the air thickened with tension. "I know what you're doing, playing the sweet little Ravenclaw, but I see through it, and my friends will see it too."

Your smirk widened as you met his gaze evenly, the flicker of challenge in your eyes unwavering. "Go ahead, Riddle. I'd love to see you try."

Staring at you, his jaw tightened, the room almost crackling with the weight of unspoken words. Then, slowly, a sardonic smile curled on his lips. "Careful, Ravenclaw. You don't know what you're asking for."

Before you could fire back, footsteps echoed just outside the door, cutting through the heavy silence. Blaise's calm voice filtered in, sharp and curious. "Everything alright in there?"

Mattheo straightened instantly, his expression shifting into something guarded while he watched your expression shift as if you'd donned a mask in the blink of an eye. He turned halfway, glancing over his shoulder as Blaise's figure filled the doorway, his sharp gaze flickering between the two of you.

"Yeah, everything's good," you answered sweetly with a soft smile, subtly brushing past Mattheo as you carried the jar of lacewing flies back to your workstation, your composure intact despite the lingering tension.

Mattheo lingered in the closet for a moment longer, his jaw tight as Blaise gave him a pointed look before stepping aside to let him leave. The tension followed you both back into the classroom, an undercurrent beneath the bubbling cauldrons and murmured instructions.

As you returned, you caught Theodore's gaze briefly before he looked away, his stirring now a touch more forceful. At your table, Mattheo worked in silence, his shoulders tense. Blaise, however, continued to observe quietly, his curiosity deepening with each subtle exchange.

The atmosphere in the room buzzed with unspoken tension, unnoticed by Snape but clear to the Slytherins around you. It was a storm brewing just beneath the surface, and you couldn't shake the feeling that it was far from over.

The warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the classroom, casting patterns on the stone floor. Dust floated in the beams of light, undisturbed by the hum of chatter that buzzed beneath Professor McGonagall's commanding voice. She stood at the front of the room, her wand poised as she demonstrated a tricky spell — turning a teacup into a hedgehog.

You sat in your usual spot behind the Patil twins and next to Lavender, the faint floral scent of her perfume wafting over every time she moved. Parvati and Padma were scribbling, their parchment quickly filling with notes, but your own sheet remained half-empty, scattered with absent-minded sketches of stars and swooping spirals. Lavender leaned toward you, giggling softly as she pointed at your drawing of a teacup-hedgehog hybrid, her quill hovering over her lips in mock concentration.

"Do you think it'd still hold tea?" Lavender whispered, her bright eyes dancing with amusement.

"Only if you want hedgehog-flavored tea," you replied, stifling a laugh as Parvati turned to shush the two of you, though the small smile tugging at her lips betrayed her annoyance.

Across the room, Harry sat beside Ron and in front of Hermione, his quill resting forgotten on his parchment. While Ron was hunched over his notes, drawing his own silly sketches with a look of determination, Harry's attention was far from the lesson. His blue eyes drifted to you repeatedly, lingering just a moment too long before he hurriedly looked away, pretending to jot something down.

"Harry," Hermione hissed, her voice sharp but quiet enough not to draw McGonagall's notice. She kicked the back of his seat firmly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"What?" Harry asked, blinking as though coming out of a daze. He turned to Hermione, who was glaring at him in exasperation.

"You're going to miss the entire explanation," she whispered, her tone both scolding and curious.

Harry's ears turned a deep shade of red, and he mumbled, "I'm not... I was just... paying attention."

Arching a brow skeptically, Hermione followed his earlier line of sight directly to you. Her sharp eyes caught the faint trace of a smile tugging at Harry's lips whenever you laughed softly at something Lavender had said. She leaned closer, her voice dropping lower. "You've been staring over there for the past ten minutes, Harry."

"No, I haven't," Harry protested quickly, his blush deepening as he shot a furtive glance toward Ron, who had just caught the tail end of their exchange.

"What's going on?" Ron whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially. His blue eyes darted between Hermione and Harry, catching the nervous look on Harry's face.

Hermione rolled her eyes with a knowing sigh. "Harry can't seem to focus on anything except—"

"Nothing," Harry cut her off. He shrank back in his seat, muttering, "It's nothing."

"Sure doesn't look like nothing," Ron agreed sarcastically with a smirk, his voice low as he leaned on his elbow. He followed Harry's earlier gaze, though his brows furrowed in concentration. "What were you looking at anyways?"

Hermione let out a quiet groan, shaking her head. "Honestly, boys."

Meanwhile, you remained blissfully unaware of the attention, your focus shifting briefly to the spell McGonagall was demonstrating. Lavender nudged you, gesturing to her wand. "Think she'll notice if I turn my quill into a hedgehog instead of the cup?"

"Only if it starts running around the desk," you whispered back, your laughter barely contained as you tried to refocus on the lesson.

Oblivious to Harry's stolen glances and Hermione's pointed observations, you were absorbed in the hushed conversation at your table. The warm, golden sunlight streaming through the tall windows cast a gentle glow on Lavender's hair as she leaned forward, her voice carrying a dreamy tone.

"I can't wait for the summer holidays," Lavender sighed dramatically, twirling a glossy curl around her finger. Her quill lay forgotten on her parchment, the unfinished