┏ ೋღ : 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂. ೋღ ┓

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖔𝖓𝖊:

┗━━━ ೋღ : ©-fictophilic : ೋღ ━━━━┛

𝕿HE POTIONS CLASSROOM WAS FILLED WITH STUDENTS SETTLING INTO THEIR SEATS. The air was thick with the smell of dried herbs, crushed roots, and the sharp tang of brewed potions that had been simmering all morning. 

You slid into your usual seat, the familiar creak of the old desk beneath you grounding you in the moment, with an empty seat beside you — Kyra's seat. A glance toward the door had your gaze fixed, waiting for Kyra. You could almost hear the rustle of her robes and the distinct sound of her footsteps, but as always, she was running late, lost in her own thoughts or caught up in the chaos of the bustling corridors.

But before she could enter, a shift in the air caught your attention. A subtle disturbance — a presence that slid into the seat beside you. There was no need to look up to know who it was — you could already feel the difference in the space around you, the air growing thicker with the familiarity of a person who was both too close and too far at the same time.

Mattheo Riddle.

You didn't have to glance at him to know that cocky, arrogant grin was plastered across his face. It was in the way his movements never seemed rushed, like the world around him was meant to bend and follow his pace. The faintest trace of amusement lingered in his expression, one that didn't reach his eyes but danced around them.

"I told you," he murmured, his voice low and almost casual, the words lingering between you. His chair creaked slightly as he stretched out, settling in like he had every right to be there. "I wasn't gonna forget about this."

You didn't immediately look up, just focusing on your parchment as if you could will the situation to make sense. The quiet buzz of the class around you, the way the other students seemed to ignore the sudden shift in the atmosphere, didn't help. You exhaled quietly, half in annoyance, half in amusement.

"Seats were established last week," you muttered, a flicker of irritation creeping into your voice. "Don't you know the unspoken rule of not changing seats?" Your eyes stayed forward, purposefully avoiding his, but you could feel his presence too strongly to ignore. "You're really that committed to being annoying, aren't you?"

His smirk deepened, pulling at the corners of his lips. He didn't answer right away, letting the silence stretch just a little too long before resting his elbow on the desk, propping his chin up with the hand that was so effortlessly casual. The subtle tension in the air seemed to pull tighter as he leaned in just slightly, enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. His voice was quieter now. "Only when it's this fun."

You couldn't help the sigh that slipped from your lips. A glance around the room confirmed what you'd suspected — the other Slytherins had taken up the surrounding seats, creating an almost invisible but palpable boundary around your table. It was like watching a pack of wolves circle their prey, except the prey was you, and their attention was never fully on you, but always there, like the unblinking eyes of predators.

Beside Mattheo, Blaise slouched comfortably in his seat, his fingers tracing the edges of his textbook but his attention clearly on the interaction. As usual, Theodore was silent, his expression unreadable as he flipped through his Potions book with a quick, practiced flick of his wrist, though his eyes kept drifting toward you, almost too often to be coincidental. The tension in the way he held himself was like a tight coil, one that only loosened when his attention shifted back to his book.

And then there was Lorenzo. His seat was directly in front of you, nestled between Draco and the edge of the table. He leaned back slightly in his chair, long legs stretched out beneath the desk, his gaze flickering between you and the others with that subtle air of being ever-so-aware of everything around him.

Draco sat next to him, his usual sneer in place. He adjusted his posture, brushing his blond hair from his eyes with a flick of his wrist, making sure his sharp profile was always visible to everyone.

Beside Draco was Pansy, her presence as unmistakable as her perfectly pressed robes and carefully styled hair. Her gaze flicked to you more than once, her eyes as kind as the smile she wore.

On the other side of Pansy was Daphne, who, unlike the rest, didn't speak as loudly with her presence. Daphne was more reserved and quieter, but there was a quiet sharpness to her.

Your gaze finally turned to Mattheo, the corner of your lips lifting in the briefest semblance of a smile, though it held none of the warmth you might've given anyone else. "You're obsessed with me," you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, a quiet laugh escaping your lips as you let the words hang between you.

Mattheo's amusement deepened. He leaned in just slightly, enough that his voice was nothing more than a hushed murmur. "You wish."

The soft chuckle that followed felt like a threat, the low rumble vibrating in the pit of your stomach. His eyes held yours, calculating, almost predatory as if he was trying to figure out how much more he could get away with, how much further he could push before you broke. It was always like this with him — an endless game, and you were both the player and the prize, whether you liked it or not.

You barely moved your lips as you scoffed, raising an eyebrow as you shot back, "I really don't."

His chuckle was low, almost dangerous, as if he found your denial more entertaining than anything else. He tilted his head, watching you with a gaze that felt almost calculating. Like he was picking apart every word, every reaction, trying to see what would get under your skin the most.

Meanwhile, Theodore shifted in his seat. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. His grip on his quill tightened. His knuckles whitened, though he didn't look up from his book. He hadn't spoken a word, but the tension in his body was enough of an answer.

Kyra walked in, her eyes immediately scanning the room. The confusion on her face was palpable as she took in the scene — Mattheo, sitting beside you. Her gaze flicked over to the other available seats, realizing there was only one other seat available, much like last year. Before she could protest, you gave her a subtle nod, gesturing toward the seat beside Indie.

Kyra's raised eyebrow and the silent question that passed between you were enough for her to realize the situation. You gave her a single nod and Kyra sat down without a word. The quiet weight of it lingered between you both, unspoken but understood.

The door slammed open with a dramatic flourish, and in swept Professor Snape, his robes billowing behind him like a dark storm cloud. The room fell into an eerie silence as he took his place at the front, his eyes flicking over the class with their usual cold precision. The students instinctively straightened, some more than others, but the tension in the air didn't lift.

The winding staircase to the Divination tower was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood beneath your legs as you sat comfortably in the window. The cool glass pressed lightly against your back as you flipped a page in your book, the warm glow of the morning sun casting a golden hue over the pages.

Opposite you, Dean sat with his sketchbook propped against his knee, charcoal lightly dusting his fingers. His strokes were slow as he captured the curve of your posture, the way your hair fell against your shoulders, the concentrated furrow of your brows as you read. The quiet between you both wasn't awkward — it was easy as though words weren't needed to fill the space.

Dean glanced up from his sketchpad, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long. He knew he shouldn't, but something about how at peace you looked made it impossible not to admire you. It was ridiculous, really. The little crush he harbored — something quiet and unnoticed, tucked away like a secret between the pages of his sketches.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence.

Seamus and Neville appeared at the bottom of the stairwell, both slightly out of breath. Seamus grinned when he spotted the two of you. "Oi, Divination's about to start. You planning on joining us or just hiding away up here all day?"

You rolled your eyes, snapping your book shut with a smirk. "I'll have you know, we were enjoying a perfectly peaceful morning before you came stomping in."

Dean chuckled, closing his sketchbook. "Yeah, and now you've ruined my artistic process."

Seamus and Neville laughed, though Neville's was somewhat quieter and more forced. His gaze flickered to Dean's closed sketchbook before settling on you, something unreadable in his expression. A twinge of jealousy sat in Neville's chest, though he shoved it down before it could show.

Instead, Neville forced a small smile. "We should go. Trelawney will start predicting our deaths if we're late."

You pushed yourself up from the window, stretching before gathering your things. "Wouldn't want that."

As you fell into step beside Dean, with Neville walking just a little closer than necessary, the four of you made your way up the final steps to Divination.

The scent of burning incense filled the circular tower, the air thick and warm, almost stifling. Crystal balls glowed dimly on round tables, their mist swirling with vague images that none of you ever seemed to interpret correctly.

Professor Trelawney stood at the front, draped in her usual shawls, her oversized glasses making her eyes appear even more bug-like than usual. "Ah, welcome, my dear students! Sit, sit! Today, we will gaze into the depths of the unknown, peering beyond the veil of time itself..."

Seamus stifled a laugh as he nudged you, whispering, "Bet she's gonna predict my untimely demise again."

You smirked. "I'd put money on it."

Dean took his usual seat beside you, pulling out his notebook, but Neville hesitated a second longer before sitting at the table beside you, Seamus following him. He stole a glance at Dean, then at you, before sighing quietly to himself.

The wooden bridge stretched out over the ravine, the cool autumn air rustling through the trees below. The scent of damp wood and fresh mountain air filled your lungs, grounding you in the moment as you stood near the railing, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

Leon leaned against one of the posts, hands shoved deep into his robe pockets, his weight shifting lazily from one foot to the other. His dark eyes flickered with defiance, an almost bored expression set on his face, but you weren't fooled. His jaw was clenched, and the muscle there twitched slightly — an old tell of his when he was getting annoyed but refusing to show it.

"You need to start improving your grades," you told him, your voice firm, though frustration seeped through. "I'm serious, Leon. It's barely the beginning of school, and you're not even just barely passing, you're flat-out failing. You'd have to be actively trying to do this badly this early on."

Leon scoffed, rolling his eyes as if the whole thing were an inconvenience to him. "It's not a big deal. I don't need amazing grades to get by."

Your grip tightened on your sleeves, nails pressing into the fabric. "It is a big deal when Mother and Father are owling me nonstop about it. They're on my back, telling me I need to make sure you sort yourself out." You exhaled sharply, trying to keep your voice as low as possible. "Do you have any idea how stressful it is to be responsible for your mess?"

Leon shifted, his relaxed stance faltering ever so slightly. He glanced away toward the horizon, his irritation becoming more obvious. "You don't have to be responsible for me," he muttered. "I can handle it."

"You're not handling it." You threw up your hands in exasperation. "You act like none of this matters when it does. You're making it worse for yourself, and whether you like it or not, it affects me too."

Leon was about to retort when a group of his friends approached, their loud voices carrying across the bridge. The moment they neared, he straightened, the tension in his shoulders melting away as if the argument had never happened. His expression smoothed into something effortlessly careless, the same way he always did when he wanted to avoid a conversation.

One of the boys, Nigel, took in the scene with a knowing smirk, his gaze flicking between you and Leon. "Oi, Leon, is this your sister?" His grin widened as he nudged Leon's arm. "Didn't know you had such a pretty sister."

You shot him a deadpan look, unimpressed. Leon's scowl deepened, his irritation clear, but instead of responding, he took the opportunity to escape. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's go," he muttered, brushing past you as he joined his friends, their laughter trailing behind them as they disappeared down the path.

You watched him go, the frustration still simmering hot in your chest. Your nails pressed into your palms as you exhaled sharply, feeling exhaustion creep in from the argument. Your shoulders sagged, and with a quiet sigh, you sank down against the wooden railing, letting the cool air try to ease the tension in your body.

A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. "Are you okay?"

You blinked, looking up to see Lavender standing a few feet away. She must have been walking past, but her gaze was locked onto you now, her brows knit together in concern.

For a moment, you hesitated. You could brush it off, tell her it was nothing. But the weight in your chest was heavy, and the frustration still burned in your veins. "Just... sibling stuff," you muttered, your voice quieter now.

Lavender stepped closer, her presence warm and unwavering. "I saw you looked upset," she mentioned gently. "Want to talk about it?"

You considered her words, the way she stood there, waiting patiently, no pressure in her tone — just genuine concern. For the first time today, you let out a breath that didn't feel so suffocating. "Yeah... That'd be nice."

Lavender offered a small, encouraging smile and sat down beside you, waiting for you to speak when you were ready.

The Sundial Garden was quiet in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows over the trimmed hedges and stone pathways. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the faint scent of blooming lavender and fresh earth. The occasional distant chatter of students passing by was a soft backdrop to the peaceful stillness that settled over you and Hermione.

The two of you sat on the grass, each engrossed in your respective books. Hermione was hunched slightly forward, her hair falling around her face as she flipped through the pages of a particularly dense textbook, her quill in hand, occasionally jotting notes onto a piece of parchment. On the other hand, you held a well-loved romance novel in your lap, your fingers idly playing with the corner of a page as you tried to focus — but your attention kept drifting.

To her.

The way her brow furrowed in concentration. The way she absently tucked a curl behind her ear when it fell in front of her face. The way she chewed the end of her quill as she read.

You forced yourself to look back at your book, but the words blurred together. The romance you were reading paled in comparison to the one playing in your own mind — the one where maybe, just maybe, Hermione would look at you the way you looked at her.

You two were barely friends, but when she offered for you to join her peaceful study session in Sundial Garden, you jumped at the chance.

A thought struck you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you reached into your bag, pulling out your Muggle music player and untangling the earphones. Without a word, you nudged Hermione's arm.

She looked up, blinking at you. "Hmm?"

You held out one of the earbuds. "Want to listen with me?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment, glancing between the earbud and her book. "Oh... I suppose," she finally said, placing her quill down. She tucked her hair behind her ear before taking the offered earbud and placing it in.

You pressed play, and the soft, nostalgic melody of 'Heaven' by Bryan Adams filled your ears.

The two of you sat there, silent but connected by the music. The warm vocals washed over you, the lyrics sending a soft ache through your chest as you stole a glance at Hermione. She was leaning back slightly now, her head tilted just enough that the fading sunlight illuminated the curve of her cheek, the warmth in her brown eyes. She tapped her fingers absently against the cover of her book, listening.

Your heart pounded, the words of the song embedding themselves into the quiet between you: "Baby, you're all that I want, when you're lyin' here in my arms..."

You quickly looked away, swallowing hard, willing yourself to focus on the music instead of how much you wanted to reach out and intertwine your fingers with hers.

Hermione turned to you, a small, amused smile playing on her lips. "I didn't expect this kind of music from you," she teased lightly.

You let out a quiet laugh, shrugging. "I like all kinds."

She hummed, her expression soft. "It's... nice," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, but you weren't sure she saw it. Your throat was too tight to say anything.

So you just sat there, side by side, sharing music and silence, while your heart ached with the kind of longing you weren't sure would ever be returned.

The Black Lake stretched out before you,its