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Chapter Text

Evelyn

King's Cross Station was buzzing with life as always. The sound of hurried footsteps, shouted goodbyes, and the distant whistle of trains filled the air. 

People rushed in every direction, clutching trunks and owls, anxious not to miss their departures. 

Evelyn kept a steady pace beside her brother, her small hand safely nestled in her mother’s. The warmth of her mother’s grip was a comfort amid the chaos.

As they approached the magical barrier leading to Platform 9¾, Cedric suddenly reached over and ruffled Evelyn’s hair, completely ruining the smoothness she had spent an hour perfecting.

“Ced! Ced, please. It’s my first year at Hogwarts! I can’t go there looking like this!” she giggled, swatting his hand away.

He smirked, undeterred. “Yeah, sure… but you’re still my little baby sister, so…” He leaned in and messed up her hair again.

They both burst into laughter, the sound bright and carefree.

“Dad! Say something, my hair!” Evelyn pleaded dramatically.

Cedric threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I surrender. I surrender, Lynny. Don’t shoot!” His grin revealed perfect white teeth, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Finally, Evelyn couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the warmth of their bond.

“Still love you though, sis,” Cedric said, grinning wide.

“Don’t exaggerate. He’s not even looking anymore.” Evelyn rolled her eyes playfully.

With laughter lingering between them, they made their way onto the train, the steam from the engine swirling around their feet, carrying them toward the adventure ahead.

-

I sat upright in bed, my heart pounding in the quiet darkness of my room at home. I was no longer eleven—but fifteen. 

The clock’s glowing numbers read 2:00 AM, a time when the world was supposed to be still. But inside me, everything was anything but calm.

I jumped out of bed, my bare feet cold against the wooden floor. I hurried across the hall and opened the door opposite mine. 

The room was pristine, just as Mother insisted—everything in its place, no dust, no clutter. A museum of memories frozen in time.

But the emptiness was impossible to ignore. No matter how perfectly the bed was made, how neatly the books were stacked on the shelf, the silence shouted louder than ever:

he wasn’t there. 

He wouldn’t ever be there again.

A hollow ache settled in my chest. 

The room felt like a tomb for what used to be. I swallowed the lump in my throat and closed the door quietly, retreating back to my own bed, where the ghost of his absence haunted every shadow.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

It was her fourth year at Hogwarts, and Evelyn Diggory couldn’t sit still. 

The Great Hall was alive with quiet whispers and eager glances, the kind of expectant hush that settled over a crowd waiting for something momentous to happen. 

The stone walls, draped with banners in deep house colors, seemed to hold their breath along with everyone else. 

The long tables stretched out under the flickering candlelight, casting warm shadows that danced softly over the eager faces of students and staff alike.

The Goblet of Fire, standing solemn and ancient on its pedestal, had already spat out two names. 

Fleur Delacour for Beauxbatons, her silver hair shimmering even from across the hall; Viktor Krum for Durmstrang, his dark eyes glinting with fierce determination. 

Now it was Hogwarts’ turn.

Evelyn’s fingers were clenched tightly in her lap, nails digging into her palms as if she could hold onto some small fragment of control. Her breath came in shallow, quick bursts. 

Cedric. It had to be Cedric. Her brother had worked harder than anyone else. Every spare moment he’d trained, pushed himself, refusing to settle for anything less than perfect. He deserved this.

Beside her, Hermione sat quietly, eyes flicking over the hall with a calm she wished she could share. Harry was on her left, Ron across the table, all three her closest friends since day one. 

They felt like family — a small island of warmth and safety in this giant, ancient castle.

Hermione reached over, gently squeezing Evelyn’s hand.

“It’s going to be alright. He’s got this,” she whispered, her voice steady and sure.

Evelyn nodded, though inside she was a storm of nerves.

Then it happened.

Blue flames erupted suddenly from the Goblet, curling and twisting like living things. A tiny piece of parchment fluttered through the air and landed in Dumbledore’s hand.

“The Hogwarts Champion is...” His voice echoed through the hall, slow and deliberate.

Evelyn’s heart stopped. Every eye was on the old headmaster.

“Cedric Diggory!”

She jumped to her feet, cheering louder than she thought possible, her voice breaking with relief and pride. Around her, cheers exploded like fireworks. Hermione grinned, beaming at her.

“Congrats, Eve!”

“He definitely deserves it,” Harry said softly, genuine and kind.

Ron gave a small, somewhat awkward nod. 

“That dickhead actually made it!”, Evelyn squeaked.

Evelyn laughed, watching her brother stride forward with that easy confidence of his.

“Who’s the ‘Dickhead' Diggory? Surely not me?” came a teasing voice from a few seats away.

Fred Weasley, with that mischievous grin lighting up his freckled face, winked at her.

Evelyn froze. Heat rushed to her cheeks in an uncontrollable wave. She had been harboring the most humiliating crush on Fred Weasley for years — years of stolen glances, secret hopes, and quiet daydreams.

Before she could even gather her thoughts—

The flames from the Goblet burst into blue again.

Every head in the room turned toward the Goblet, eyes wide with surprise, confusion, and curiosity.

Another slip of parchment floated down.

Dumbledore caught it carefully and read aloud, his voice steady but laced with surprise:

“Harry Potter.”

The Great Hall fell utterly silent. Even the flickering candles seemed to dim.

-

I wake up to nothing.

No sound. No light. No dreams.

Just the sudden weight of being back in my own skin.

The room is cold, the chill creeping under the thin blankets tangled near my feet. I lie still, eyes wide open, staring into the darkness.

Somewhere downstairs, a door creaks, a floorboard groans, then silence again.

I don’t check the time.

Eventually, I push myself up and shuffle toward the bathroom.

The harsh light of the bathroom floods the small, tiled space. I don’t turn it off.

The coldness of the tiles bites at my bare feet as I sit down, back against the wall, knees pulled close.

I don't feel the cold.

The mirror is fogged, streaked with moisture from last night’s bath. I don’t reach out to clear it.

Still, the hazy outline of a girl looks back at me.

People say I look dead.

Like I’m not really here anymore.

They’re not wrong.

I plug in my hair straightener, waiting for the click that signals it’s ready. The soft orange glow fills the room.

I’ve done this every morning since I was eleven.

One section. Pull.

Next section. Pull.

The faint smell of burnt hair product fills the air.

A sudden laugh echoes from downstairs.

Sharp. Out of place.

No one laughs in this house.

Not anymore.

I keep going.

Piece by piece.

Maybe, if I do this long enough,

I’ll feel like someone again.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

The date of the Yule Ball was getting closer. 

She knew Cedric already had someone, even though he hadn’t told her who the mystery girl was. She, on the other hand, had no one.

“You know… you should ask him,” Hermione suddenly said beside her.

“Who?” Evelyn asked, stunned.

“Come on. You’ve been in love with him since your first day at Hogwarts,” Hermione continued. 

Of course, Evelyn knew exactly who she meant, still… “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hermione,” she said, feigning innocence.

“Come on. Give yourself a little push. I think he likes you too, you know?”

“I don’t…”

“Really?” came the sarcastic reply.

“He’s two years older than me…”

“For god’s sake, Evelyn, just ask him. Or stop talking about my brother like that in front of me,” Ron interrupted sharply.

“Of course, that’s the only thing you care about, right?” Hermione shot back, a bit angry. How could she not be? 

She obviously liked Ron — even though she hadn’t told anyone yet, not even herself — and he didn’t get the hints. 

Okay, to his defense… there weren’t exactly a lot of hints for a boy to catch… but still.

“I think you should tell him, Eve,” Harry chimed in, though Evelyn suspected it was mostly to stop their two best friends from fighting. 

Still, she couldn’t be mad at him — he had other things on his mind right now. He was one of the champions, after all. 

There were many people against Harry right now. They took Cedric’s side and made fun of him. 

Even though Cedric was her brother and she wanted him to win, she would never do anything to hurt Harry. To hurt any of her friends. 

She believed him when he said he hadn’t put his name into the Goblet. But before she could say anything, Hermione took over:

“There he is. You got this!”

With that, she gave Evelyn a little push in Fred Weasley’s direction — and she totally bumped into him.

“I… I…” she started stuttering.

“Lynn! Hey! What’s up? Bumped into a lot of people today?” he asked with his usual amused, beautiful smile. George, standing next to him, started laughing.

“I… ehm… I wanted to ask… you know… the Yule Ball is coming and all… and yeah… I… I wanted to ask if… you…” she babbled.

“You want me to go to the Yule Ball with you?” he asked, the smile still on his face.

“Emmm… I…”

“Yeah sure. See you, Lynn,” he said, still grinning and sneaked a little kiss on her cheek before leaving.

-

I finished straightening the last bit of my hair, the soft orange glow of the straightener fading as I unplugged it. 

The smell of burnt hair product still lingered in the air, mixing with the cold silence that had settled in the room.

“Evelyn? Dear, are you coming?” Mum’s voice floated up the stairs again, gentle but insistent, pulling me back from the edges of my thoughts.

For a moment, I didn’t answer. 

The quiet felt heavy — almost too much to bear. 

Outside, the early morning light crept through the curtains, pale and fragile, barely warming the cold walls around me.

I took a shaky breath and whispered, “I’m coming.”

The floorboards creaked under my feet as I made my way down, each step a quiet interruption in the stillness. 

The house felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something that would never quite arrive.

At the bottom of the stairs, I paused, clutching my bag a little tighter. 

The day ahead was supposed to be normal — another year at Hogwarts, another train to catch at King’s Cross. 

But the emptiness inside me was anything but normal.

With one last glance back up the staircase, I stepped into the waiting light of the hallway, ready to face the world that had moved on without me.

-

“So… you’re still not gonna tell me who you’re going with?” Evelyn asked Hermione for maybe the thousandth time.

“You’re going to see it later anyway.”

“Exactly. So why won’t you tell me now?” she pressed for an answer.

Hermione smiled and just stood there — absolutely stunningly beautiful in that blue dress.

“You look perfect, by the way. Really, really beautiful,” Evelyn stated the obvious. Hermione still turned red.

“Yeah… thank you, I guess. You look great too. Still never doing that to my hair again. It took me hours.”

“Yeah… now you know how it feels,” Eve said with a grin. 

Then she took her gaze from Evelyn’s hair, which fell straight down her back, over her dress — a pastel pink gown that went all the way to the floor, princess-like. She wore matching high heels. 

She felt like she was in the wrong movie.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

As they walked down the stairs, Eve could feel the gazes swinging to them — no wonder with how Hermione looked like a freaking goddess.

Then she spotted her brother.

He had one arm around no one but Cho Chang.

He was grinning like an idiot… he looked happy.

Cho. He was there with Cho.

Goddammit, this shit was gonna break Harry’s heart.

He already knew that Cho was going to show up with someone else.

Eve hoped that this was going to turn out alright in the end.

Then she saw him.

Fred.

As their gazes met, she could have sworn he held his breath, startled.

She had never seen Fred Weasley startled.

“You look beautiful,” he said, the smile back on his face.

“Thanks. You too… I mean… I… ehmm… you… uh… you look great,” she stuttered.

His grin widened.

George was never far away.

He had taken Angelina Johnson to the ball.

Harry and Ron came with the Patil twins.

And Hermione, to everyone’s surprise, came together with Viktor Krum.

It looked like it was going to be a magical evening.

And she still couldn’t believe she was here with Fred fucking Weasley.

Fred asked her to dance again.

The ball had started not long ago.

They had already danced once, but they hadn’t really talked.

As Fred led her to the dance floor, she went red again.

His arms were on her hips, and she laid hers around his neck, like most of the girls did on the dance floor.

Though it was a bit hard, because he was a lot taller than she was.

It was a slow song.

He never let his gaze waver.

His eyes were pinned on hers.

She felt like melting away.

“You’re really great,” he suddenly started. “You know, Lynn… I really like you. Like, like you,” he clarified.

Evelyn’s eyes snapped wide open, and her cheeks went even redder than before.

“If you hadn’t bumped into me that day and asked me to the dance, I probably would have. Though you looked real cute — nervous like that,” he added, his wide smile getting just a little bit wider, winking once.

“I… I really like you too. I actually… I pretty much had a crush on you since my first year, I guess,” she admitted, her cheeks burning.

Fred chuckled.

“Yeah… I… well, I think I guessed so far…”

In that moment, if a hole had opened in the floor, she would have jumped in.

His face immediately went white as he realized what he had just said.

“Oh… I didn’t mean… It wasn’t…” he began.

She gave a little laugh.

“It’s okay… I guess everyone knew,” she said, cheeks still burning.

“That was real cute, though,” he gave her a warm smile.

And the song ended.

They left the dance floor.

A bit later, they were walking together just outside the party.

Their hands were intertwined.

And seemingly out of nowhere, he turned to face her.

For a moment that lasted forever, there was only his intense, sweet gaze — from which she neither wanted nor could free herself.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said and touched her red, burning cheek.

She had never seen Fred Weasley this serious.

And all of a sudden, his mouth was on hers, and they were kissing.

She had always asked herself how it would be to kiss Fred — and now she was actually doing it.

It was… great.

This would have to be the best moment of her life.

Till…

“Evelyn?”

They started apart.

And before them stood no one but Cedric Diggory.

“Fred Weasley… really, Lynny?” he said and suddenly began to chuckle.

Then he got serious again.

“Hurt her in any possible way… and I am literally going to kill you, clown. Got it?”

Then he got his grin back.

“Now get back in there. To all these people… and teachers.”

Fred took her hand and led her to the door, not without looking back and winking once at her brother though.

Cedric just shook his head but couldn’t fully hide his grin.

Watching you.

He mouthed to Fred and then watched them slip back into the Great Hall.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

Mum sat at the kitchen table. Dad was nowhere to be seen.

I hadn't really seen him in weeks.

The sunlight poured in through the dusty window, warm and golden, but it didn't touch her. 

She sat still, staring into the garden like it might somehow rewind time if she looked hard enough. Her expression was unreadable-too blank to be anything but full. 

Full of everything she wouldn't let herself show.

"Mum," I said quietly.

It took a full minute before she blinked and looked up. 

I watched the way she straightened her shoulders, lifted the corners of her mouth just enough. Fake. All of it. But still-for me.

"Sweetheart. Ready?"

I nodded.

She stood, still smiling that paper-thin smile. "Then... let's go."

-

The third task had just begun.

Cedric and Harry had entered the maze. The hedges loomed behind them like ancient walls, the stadium buzzing with noise, but none of it really touched her. 

Evelyn had hugged her brother before he went in. Wished him luck. 

And this time-this time she knew. 

He loved Cho. Not just a crush. Not just teenage drama. Love. Real and honest and terrifying. And she meant it when she wished him the best. 

He deserved that.

Earlier, when she had finally found Harry, she wasn't alone. Fred and George were there. Hermione. Ron. Her people.

After the last round of good lucks, Evelyn leaned in toward Harry and grinned. "I'm on team Cedric, guys... no offense, Harry. 

I'd be really happy if you win too, but you know... if you win I couldn't say that Champion blood is coursing through my veins."

Fred laughed behind her, and the others grinned too.

"None taken," Harry smiled as she hugged him.

"But just to set this clear-if you win, I was on your side all along."

They all found seats in the stands. Fred on her right, Hermione on her left. George beside Fred, Ron beside Hermione. 

The stands were buzzing. The noise was electric, but it only half reached her. Evelyn's heart was hammering too fast. 

She was excited. Nervous. Restless. She couldn't sit still.

Fred noticed. Of course he did. He leaned in and started whispering jokes in her ear. Silly ones. Dumb ones. But she laughed. 

She always laughed with him.

With Fred, she felt... safe. Seen. Like she could breathe.

He looked at her and smiled. "You look so cute when you smile."

His voice wasn't teasing this time. Not even a little. There was something different in it-deeper, quieter, realer.

Evelyn's face flushed instantly. She could almost feel Hermione's eyebrow twitch beside her.

"Lynn..." Fred said, more serious than she'd ever heard him. "Over the last weeks I realised something... I... I think I love you."

Then-

BANG.

The cannons fired. Music burst into life. The crowd erupted.

Everyone jumped to their feet. Evelyn did too. Her heart was still racing, but now for a different reason.

"It's Harry!" she said, breath catching.

There he was. Harry, on the ground, the cup nowhere in sight. But... something was in his arms.

No.

Not something.

Someone.

"What's that?" she whispered. But no one answered. Or maybe they did-she didn't hear.

The world slowed.

People swarmed the arena, rushing to the center, cheering, clapping. 

But Evelyn was already moving, pushing her way through them, slipping between cloaks and robes and elbows and noise. 

Her heartbeat drowned everything out. Her chest felt too tight. Her lungs forgot how to work.

She reached the center.

Harry was on his knees.

And in his arms-

No.

No, it wasn't real. It couldn't be.

It wasn't just someone.

It was him.

Her breath hitched, but nothing came in. Her eyes saw it-his face, still and too quiet-but her heart refused. Something 

inside her rose up like a wall. 

Her chest clenched. Her thoughts screamed.

No. Not him. Not Cedric. Not real.

Her heart fought her brain, clawing to stay in the dark, to hold on to that tiny, desperate hope that it was all a mistake.

But she lost.

And in that moment, everything shattered.

It was Cedric. Her brother.

Dead.

Lying motionless in Harry's arms.

There was no air.

No mercy.

Her brain paused. Her eyes kept seeing. Her heart kept breaking.

Cedric. Her brother. Her brother, limp and lifeless in Harry's arms.

There was no sound

Her knees gave way. She fell like her bones had turned to sand.

Her body hit the ground. 

She didn't feel it.

Her Body was everything except in her control.

It was shaking uncontrollably, her hands curled into fists against the floor, but she didn't notice. 

Couldn't. 

Every cell in her was fighting to undo what was already done. To not know what she knew.

Everything inside her was screaming but nothing came out. Not yet. Not until the truth slammed through her like a curse.

And then-

A sound ripped from her throat. Something primal. Shattering. Inhuman. It wasn't even a scream. It was the sound of a world falling apart.

A sound that tore through the stadium, raw and broken and unrecognizable. It didn't even feel like it came from her.

But it did.

Somewhere beyond her, she saw him. Like through thick glass.

Her father.

Breaking through the crowd.

Screaming. Crying. His voice cracking on Cedric's name.

Just pain. Grief. Too loud to carry. Too deep to hold.

He fell to the ground a few feet away from Harry, reaching for his son, sobbing in a way Evelyn had never heard from him before. 

The sound dug into her ribs and stayed there.

But she didn't move.

Couldn't move.

She stayed frozen, surrounded by the echo of that one unbearable truth.

Crumbling.

But even when the crowd thinned, even when Harry and Moody and Dumbledore were gone-even then, Evelyn didn't move. 

Not a muscle. 

Not a breath.

She was frozen inside the worst moment of her life.

And she knew-she would never leave it.

Somewhere in the static, Fred's voice filtered through. Distant. Desperate. Real.

"Lynn. Lynn! What can I do... how can I help... I... you..."

Her legs moved. Slowly. She stood. Her face blank. Her chest hollow.

"I... I think I need some time... alone," she said. Her voice was ice. Still. Empty. Dead.

"I'll be here. Waiting," he whispered. She barely heard it.

And that had been the last time she said anything-for weeks.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

I walked through the wall to get to platform 9 ¾, Mum was right behind me. 

Everywhere around us, pupils were saying their goodbyes to their families. I turned quickly and gave Mum a stiff little hug. 

Before she could get a chance to say anything, I left and quickened my steps to the train. 

Spearing not just me but her of that awkward, fake moment.

I had picked an empty compartment. 

I didn’t really pay attention to either the people walking past my compartment or to the outside of the window, where I was looking, until the compartment door suddenly opened. 

Perfect. Just what I needed. Sarcasm flooded my thoughts.

There was a smell of strong cologne. I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to encourage the person that had stepped in even more. 

Still, I could see his reflection in the window. He sat down at the seat next to the door, as far away from me as possible. 

His hair was dark and curly, and he looked pretty tall. Probably about my age. Before I could see any details, I quickly looked away. 

What did I care? As long as he let me be, I wouldn’t care.

That was the moment I smelled the smoke.

I saw my own face grimace in disgust in the window’s reflection. Finally, the stink forced me to turn to the boy. He had actually lit a fucking cigarette and was smoking inside the compartment. 

Who the hell did he think he was?

Now that I was looking straight at him, not just at his reflection, I noticed three things. 

First: he wasn’t looking at me either. 

Second: his face was full of scars. Mostly small ones, but there were a few that looked a lot more serious, like the one that picked its way through his right brow down to his cheek. 

And third: he was, by all means, undeniably handsome.

There was something about him—an aura of power maybe? A cold, dangerous confidence that made me feel like I should be intimidated. Maybe I would’ve been. A year ago.

But I wasn’t. I hadn’t been, not really, in a long time. Not since... well.

But the thing that truly bothered me was the smoke.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? I can’t breathe in this damn smoke!” I snapped. My voice cut through the compartment like glass.

He looked up. His eyes met mine immediately. Dark. Almost black. Darker even than his hair. Black wasn’t even enough to describe them.

He seemed just as surprised by my outburst as I was. But he didn’t put the cigarette out.

“Are you deaf, you idiot? Put the fucking thing out, stupid!” The words were acid. They burned my tongue as I spat them at him.

He studied me with mild curiosity.

“Hey, not being able to say a sentence without swearing is an interesting habit,” he said calmly. Too calmly. There was an undertone to his voice—danger. The kind that didn’t need to shout. It just lingered.

The cigarette was still between his lips.

“But I would prefer it if you trained your habit with someone else. Anyone else, to be specific.”

I glared. There was something in his eyes. It wasn’t exactly a glare, but it should have scared me. Maybe it would have, once. But not now.

“Put. It. Out.” I articulated every word like a knife to his face.

He raised an eyebrow. Amused. Almost like he found me entertaining.

Did I look funny? Because I definitely didn’t intend to.

“You think you’re funny? Go. To. Hell.” I hissed and turned away.

I hadn’t shown this much emotion in weeks. My anger was hot. Raw. Real.

And it frightened me. No. Not frightened. That wasn’t the right word.

It startled me. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to feel. I hadn’t for a long while.

Everything felt empty, like blur.

Emotions were dangerous. Waking up was dangerous.

I clung to my cold mask like a lifeline.

Then I heard him chuckle. I didn’t turn back. Couldn’t. My own reaction was a betrayal.

I needed to calm down. Needed to shut it all off again. Needed the void.

Then, a thought hit me—one that should’ve come earlier. Who the hell was this boy?

I turned back. He had, to my surprise, put the cigarette out. It lay dead on the floor. His eyes were still on me, watching me like I was some sort of riddle. 

Trying to solve me.

I looked at him more closely. Searching. Anything. A flicker of recognition. Had I passed him in the hallways? In the Great Hall? Nothing.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked, my voice colder now. The numbness returning like a tide. “I’ve never seen you before.”

He tilted his head slightly. Grinned.

“Could be because I’m new. Hi. I’m Mattheo,” he said, grin widening as he held out his hand.

I didn’t like his grin. It promised trouble.

I looked down at it. Then up again. I didn’t move.

His eyebrow rose, but the grin didn’t fade.

I turned away from him again, watching his reflection in the window. Still watching me.

Eventually, his gaze shifted. He took something out of his jacket. It was a little bottle, that was all I could see through the window. 

But as he opened it I knew immediately what it was.

The moment he opened it, the smell hit me.

I immediately knew what it was.

I turned just as he brought the Firewhiskey to his mouth.

Our home had smelled like that since….

In the last few weeks, it reeked of it. And I hated it. Hated what it meant.

I shot him another disgusted glare. He saw it. He ignored it.

“Are you seriously drinking on the train to Hogwarts?” I snapped, venom back in my voice. “Full of pupils? Are you actually this stupid?”

He grinned. “Didn’t know drinking specifically wasn’t allowed. Isn’t it, Miss…”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t going to give him my name.

“Don’t fuck with me, stupid. You know exactly what I meant.”

He only grinned wider.

God, I hated that grin.

Fine. He could play his little games with someone else. I wasn’t his entertainment.

I stood, grabbed my baggage, and left the compartment without another word.

And just as I closed the door behind me, I could’ve sworn I heard him chuckle again.

And worse: I could feel the burn of my anger still under my skin.

I had felt something. And I hated him for it.

Chapter Text

Evelyn 

The Sorting Hat was nearly finished with half the names of the new first years. 

I sat at the very end of the Gryffindor table, as far away as I could get from anyone who might try to talk to me. 

That was the only reason I noticed him. 

He stood in the only shadowed corner of the entire hall, leaning casually against the wall near the doors. 

Our eyes met just once, and when I looked at him, he was already staring back—still wearing that cocky, infuriating smile. 

The kind that makes your blood boil, the kind that made me want to wipe it right off his face.

I turned away immediately, before that stupid, idiotic stranger could worm his way any deeper into my thoughts. Before the he could do any more drama

Finally, the list was done, and all the first years were sorted into their houses. Then Dumbledore rose, his voice calm and mystical as always. 

“This year, another new student will join us. He will start in fifth year as a transfer student. Please, come forward to be sorted into your house. Minerva, if you please.”

The boy—Mattheo, if he even told me his real name—stepped out from the shadows. 

Every gaze in the hall snapped to him, electric silence dropping like a heavy curtain.

“Riddle, Mattheo!” Professor McGonagall called, and the hall went utterly still. If the room had been watching before, now it was holding its breath. 

You could have heard a pin drop as Mattheo Riddle moved toward McGonagall and the Sorting Hat with effortless grace.

He walked with a confidence so sharp, so imposing. 

Moved with a confidence and a powerful, almost dangerous presence that made students on either side instinctively lean away. 

Some of them, at least — probably the cleverest ones. 

The rest seemed too distracted by his obvious handsomeness, throwing admiring glances his way. 

Too many of them. 

I couldn’t decide who was more foolish — me, or them.

He sat down, and the Sorting Hat barely touched his hair before it shouted: “Slytherin!”

No applause followed. 

No cheers. 

Just a thick, heavy silence full of unspoken shock. 

Mattheo Riddle stood again, walking over to the Slytherin table and sliding silently into a seat at the very end.

Seemingly not bothered at all by all those glances.

The silence lingered until Dumbledore’s single clap prompted a half-hearted applause that barely filled the room.

The boy to Mattheo’s right shifted uneasily, instinctively sliding away from him, and who could blame him?  

I was still reeling. 

That was Mattheo Riddle. 

Most had no idea what the name meant. His charisma alone made people cringe in fear or awe. 

The girl to his left leaned forward, trying to catch his gaze. 

He ignored her completely.

In a few faces, I saw my own expression mirrored — those who understood what the name Riddle meant. 

Only a handful, maybe two. Most of them sat at the Slytherin table.

Then Mattheo looked up. 

Our eyes locked for an instant. 

I could feel my breath catch in my throat. I turned away faster than I thought possible.

Now that I knew exactly who I had not just glared at, but insulted, I should have been afraid. I should have been terrified. 

Afraid for my life even.

I should have been full of regret.

Not because I was sorry. But because I had been so stupid. So recklessly stupid to pick someone like him to be angry at.

To pick a fight with him.

Not that he didn’t deserve it.

But I wasn’t afraid.

No — I was furious. Angrier than I’d ever been.

Because he wasn’t just any boy.

He was the son of the man who took my brother away from me.

And that made every bitter piece of hatred inside me burn hotter than ever.

Chapter Text

Mattheo

The Great Hall was nearly empty now. 

The soft echo of footsteps faded as students trickled out. Distant laughter from one of the house tables still lingered in the air like smoke. 

I didn’t move. I didn’t need to. I could feel the eyes that were still on me — uncertain, cautious, curious. 

Some of the smarter ones didn’t dare to look at all. I even recognized a few faces. 

One of them, my cousin, was pretending to talk to someone else, trying to disappear behind his friends like a coward. Pathetic. But maybe not as stupid as I thought.

What really got on my nerves was the girl beside me. She kept glancing my way like I was something to admire. 

Like I was light, instead of the very thing that snuffed it out. 

Did she have no instinct for danger at all? No self-preservation? Idiot. But not my problem.

My eyes, however, weren’t on her. Not really. They were on her — across the hall, still seated at the Gryffindor table.

Griffindor - could have guessed that one.

I had no idea who she was. Still didn’t. But something about her kept pulling at my attention like a thread I couldn’t let go of. 

She didn’t talk to anyone. Didn't even pretend to eat. Just sat there, fists clenched, eyes locked on the plate in front of her like it had personally offended her.

Objectively? Sure — she probably was beautiful once. 

Bronze hair, high cheekbones, soft mouth. But now?

Now, she looked like something faded — like a sketch someone had tried to erase but never quite managed to. 

Her skin was too pale, almost translucent in the wrong light. 

And those eyes I remembered from earlier... hazel, yes, but sunken deep behind dark, sleepless shadows. 

Like every part of her had been drained, hollowed out, and stitched back together with silence.

I’d seen plenty of beautiful women. Better looking ones, too. But none that looked like her. None that wore their damage so visibly and still walked like they didn’t give a shit who saw it.

But it wasn’t that either. It wasn’t how she looked — it was the way she didn’t look at anything. 

The way her eyes had looked dead when they met mine. Not empty like a mask. Not cold like a killer. 

No — it was deeper than that. Like everything inside her had been scraped out and replaced with silence.

She looked... used up.

And still, she’d spoken to me like no one else dared. Like she didn’t give a damn who I was. Like she wasn’t afraid.

But that had changed. 

I’d seen the look on her face when she heard my full name. Mattheo Riddle. 

She hadn’t looked at me once since. 

Just sat there like a statue with rage simmering underneath the surface. It should’ve made her careful. It should’ve made her afraid.

It didn’t.

And for some reason, I couldn’t stop watching her.

When the hall was almost entirely cleared, she finally blinked — like she’d come out of some kind of trance. She stood abruptly and headed for the doors. 

I followed.

"Hello again." I didn’t mean to say it, but it came out anyway as I caught up to her in the corridor.

She turned sharply. 

I could tell she recognized my voice before she even looked at me — her whole body tensed like it had been hit with cold water.

But her expression? Not fear.

"What do you want?" she spat, her voice like venom.

That same tone. The same fire. Somehow, it grounded me.

"What? I just wanted to say hi to an old friend." I smirked, casually leaning against the wall.

Her face froze. Something shifted in her eyes. Like I’d hit a nerve I hadn’t meant to touch.

Then the fury returned, tenfold. "How dare you?" she hissed. "Don’t. Ever. Talk. To. Me. Again. Is that clear?"

Her voice didn’t just sound angry — it was made of it. I almost flinched. 

Almost.

I’d heard worse. Much worse. But something about this — her — made it land differently. 

Her words hit like glass shards, sharp and confusing. I didn’t understand why I cared.

Before I could even form a thought, she turned on her heel and disappeared around the corner, leaving me there like a complete idiot.

By the time I realized what I was doing, I already had a cigarette between my fingers. 

The flame flared briefly as I lit it, inhaling until the burn steadied me.

"Got another one?" a voice asked suddenly.

I looked up. A boy stood in front of me — tall, messy hair, the Nott kid. Theodore, if I remembered right. 

Or maybe Thomas? Something like that.

"What?"

"A cigarette," he said casually, like we were old friends. "Can I have one?"

Still a bit caught off guard, I pulled one from the pack and handed it over.

"Thanks," he muttered, leaning beside me against the cold stone wall. His tone was too relaxed for someone talking to me.

"Light?" he asked.

I blinked. Then narrowed my eyes. "Light it yourself."

He laughed — actually laughed. 

"Geez. Bad mood. Fine." He took out his wand and lit it himself.

"You know who I am, right?" I asked before I could stop myself. Still confused. Still restless.

He just chuckled again. "Of course."

I raised a brow. He mirrored it.

"K. Maybe I’m suicidal or some shit. Who cares?"

That actually made me snort.

He smirked, taking a slow drag. "Not really with the others — the usual Slytherin dickheads bore me. I’m more of a lone wolf."

"Lucky for you," I muttered.

"I’m Theodore, by the way. Theodore Nott. You probably already knew that."

I didn’t answer, just nodded slightly. 

It was quiet for a while after that, but not awkward. It was... peaceful.

Then he asked, "By the way… what were you doing talking to Diggory earlier?"

That got my attention.

I looked over. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. 

"Haven’t seen her talk to anyone in a long time. Thought maybe you knew her? She’s... not the same this year. Like the annoying, loud, smiling Gryffindor’s just—", he let out the smoke to show what he meant.

"What are you talking about?" I asked. My voice was sharper now. More alert.

"The girl you were talking to before. Evelyn Diggory."

Evelyn... Diggory.

And suddenly everything fell into place like a snapped puzzle. 

The fury. 

The emptiness. 

The name.

I stared straight ahead. "Shit."

Theodore didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. 

"Anyway. Thanks for the smoke. See you around."

He waved his cigarette in the air and vanished around the corner.

And I was alone again.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

It was a few weeks into the school year and I was successfully avoiding Riddle, along with everyone else. 

If someone tried to talk to me, I just looked away. 

Most of them got the hint. 

I looked like hell, anyway — pale, with rings under my eyes deep enough to drown in. Like a shadow walking in the shape of the girl I used to be.

That was usually enough.

At the moment, I was sitting in Snape’s class.

I used to hate him. But now? It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing really did.

My potions were flawless—almost Hermione-level perfect. Still didn’t matter. 

Snape didn’t bother me anymore. 

For whatever reason, he’d stopped his usual biting comments. Maybe he could sense what wasn’t there anymore.

Unfortunately, this class was with the Slytherins. Which meant he was here.

I didn’t look at him. Not once. 

I focused so hard on my potion that I didn’t even notice when the class ended. Most students were gone, samples already on Snape’s desk.

I quickly filled a vial, scrubbed my cauldron clean, and rushed out the door—only to almost walk straight into someone.

Two arms caged me in before I could react. I was cornered.

Lorenzo Berkshire loomed in front of me, both palms pressed to the wall next to my shoulders, his face far too close. 

Behind him, I heard laughter—Zabini, maybe.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said in that too-smooth voice of his, the kind that fooled people who didn’t know better.

Fake charm. Sickly sweet. It didn’t fool me.

Enzo was poison dressed in silk.

A handsome face, way too much charisma — and rotten beneath. 

The kind of rot no one ever noticed, because he smiled just right and talked just sweet enough. 

Girls lined up for him. 

He never had to try. 

He got whatever - and whoever -  he wanted, whenever he wanted.

Until me.

Until that one time, almost a year ago now...

“I’ll give you five seconds to take your hands off the wall,” I began, but my sentence was cut off.

“Really, Enzo?” Draco’s voice came from the hallway. Bored, drawling. 

“Don’t you have any taste? Diggory?”

He leaned casually against the opposite wall, but his eyes were sharp.

Enzo laughed, the stench of alcohol drifting from his breath. “Didn’t let you finish your sentence, sweetie. Want to try again?”

I wanted to be angry.

I wanted to feel fire rise in my chest, to slap him across the face, to scream, to hex him.

But I felt... nothing.

Not even fear.

Just a hollow stillness inside me. Like I was watching it happen to someone else.

He misread my silence.

“Aww, don’t be scared, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

He touched my face. His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, slow.

“Don’t touch me,” I said flatly. My voice held no emotion—because there wasn’t any.

Zabini snorted. Draco’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move.

Malfoy just stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He looked at Enzo like something unpleasant had crawled out of the lake, but didn’t move.

He didn’t like what he saw — that much was clear. But he also didn’t stop it.

Typical.

And then, he was there.

Just like that.

Mattheo.

I hadn’t heard him coming. 

One second the hallway was tense and stinking of testosterone—the next, he was just there. 

Leaning against the wall like he’d been there the whole time. A cigarette burned in the corner of his mouth.

“You heard the lady,” he said calmly, eyes locked on Enzo. “Back off.”

His tone was quiet. Flat.

But there was venom beneath it—sharp and deadly.

Enzo turned, half-laughing. “Who the hell do you think you ar—”

He cut off. The moment he saw who had spoken, something flickered in his eyes. 

He flinched, barely, but recovered quickly.

Riddle grinned. Slow. Dangerous.

“Why?” Enzo said, trying to sound unfazed. “What’ll you do?”

Riddle took a small step forward and blew a lazy trail of smoke in his face. 

“You know who I am, right?” he asked, voice low. “Just checking.”

Malfoy shifted. He looked pale.

Real fear flashed across his face. Not performative. Not cautious. Fear.

Enzo held his ground, I even felt him lean in slightly closer. His shoes bumped into mine.

“I know who you are, sir,” Enzo said mockingly. 

“What, want me to bow? You’re no better than us. Just a name. And last I checked, it’s four against one.”

He paused. “You’re not your father.”

A beat of silence.

And I knew. I knew that he’d gone too far.

Mattheo’s face changed. The grin dropped. All calm drained away.

His eyes went cold—empty—like a curtain being pulled shut. 

But his movements remained unbothered, casual even. One step closer. Then another.

Smoke curled from his lips, but he didn’t blink.

“Say that again,” he said, voice like ice, “without taking your hands off her.”

Malfoy stepped forward. “Enzo…”

His voice shook slightly.

Enzo didn’t listen.

With a smug little smirk, he snatched the cigarette from Riddle’s mouth, dropped it to the floor, and crushed it under his heel.

The silence that followed was deadly.

Mattheo laughed. A sharp, joyless, terrifying sound.

Then his fist smashed straight into Enzo’s nose.

There was a sickening crack. Enzo hit the floor with a shout of pain, clutching his face.

“That bastard broke my nose!”

Riddle didn’t even blink.

“That was nothing,” he said quietly. “What makes you think you ever had a chance against me? You’re lucky I couldn’t be arsed to draw my wand.”

His voice deepened. 

“Don’t underestimate me again. And believe me—if I ever see you or any of your little fan club near her again…”

He nodded in my direction. “You won’t walk away next time.”

Malfoy grabbed Enzo’s arm and yanked him up. “We’re leaving.”

“But—”

“Shut up. Now.”

They vanished around the corner, Enzo cursing through blood, Malfoy calling him an idiot.

And I just stood there.

Frozen.

What the hell just happened?

When I looked back, Mattheo was already walking away, a new cigarette in his mouth like nothing had happened.

I rushed after him. “Wait!”

He didn’t stop.

“Hey—Riddle, wait!”

It took nearly a full corridor to catch up. 

When I did, I grabbed his arm. “I said wait, damn it—”

He turned. His expression was blank. Guarded.

“What?” he asked, voice sharper than I expected.

I was breathless. Confused.

And for the first time in weeks—my heart was actually beating.

“Why?” I asked. It was the only word I could find.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why what?”

I stared at him. “Why did you just do that?”

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he took a drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly.

“Just leave it, Diggory.”

His voice was low. Careful.

“No. I want to know. Why did you help me?”

He snorted. “Help you?” He let out a dark chuckle. “You think I did that for you?”

He took a step closer. 

“Berkshire and my cousin have been pissing me off for days. You just happened to be standing there when I’d had enough. Got that?”

He smiled, cold and hollow.

“But—”

“Just fuck off, Diggory.” His voice exploded suddenly. “Go play victim somewhere else.”

I flinched. Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe it really had nothing to do with me.

Maybe I just happened to be in the blast radius when he lost it.

“Fine,” I snapped. I turned away, voice low. “Arsehole.”

And I left.

But my hands were still shaking.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

Finally it was the Hogsmeade weekend. 

The snow was beginning to settle, soft flakes dancing lazily through the grey sky. 

As I walked down the frozen street, I noticed how the world seemed muffled, like buried under a heavy white blanket. 

The sound of my shoes crunching on the snow felt as sharp and cold as the silence in my chest.

The air bit at my skin, but I didn’t really feel it. 

I felt nothing. 

The nothingness had returned, stronger than ever. Like ice around my heart, closing in and numbing every thought.

I found a bank to sit on, half-covered in snow, and let myself sink down. 

I could have sat there until it got dark, until the lights in the village windows blurred behind a curtain of night. Until I froze. 

That would have been fine. Maybe even welcome.

Then I heard laughter. It cut through the quiet like a knife. At first I tried to drown it out, like I always did, but something about it refused to fade into the background. 

A sharp note, loud, wrong and... and so familiar. 

It forced me to look up, even though I instantly regretted it.

He had seen me. Of course he had seen me. Because the laughter died immediately. 

And his expression—no, I didn’t want to see it. That worried look he tried so hard to hide. 

I dropped my gaze, willing the nothingness to swallow me again, but I could still feel his glance pressing against my skin. 

He had tried. Really tried, those first weeks. But I hadn’t let him.

Three pairs of footsteps eventually moved on, fading away. And Fred, and the others were gone.

Regardless of how much it hurt—no, regardless of how much I wanted it to hurt, how much it should hurt—I only felt that cold, perfect emptiness.

I don’t know how long I sat like that, frozen, the snow starting to gather on the edge of my coat. Then a voice broke through my trance.

“Hey Diggory!”

I knew who it was before I even looked up.

“No one here to protect you today, huh? No big, mean Riddle around?” 

Enzo. 

The disgusting amusement in his voice made me raise my eyes, but only to look at him coldly. No anger, no fear, nothing.

Behind him, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle started snickering, like trained dogs. Malfoy stood a little away, pale, almost disgusted. 

His face twisted with something unreadable — pride, shame, I didn’t care.

Enzo’s grin slipped suddenly, replaced by something resentful, darker. “You’re gonna pay for that, you little fucking whor—”

His voice broke off. 

A tiny spark — more a pop than an explosion — flared up just a centimetre from his shoe, scattering snow into the air. 

The sound was small but so sudden that everyone flinched.

I followed their gaze to the ground, where the smouldering end of a cigarette glowed weakly in the snow.

And then I saw him.

Leaning against the wall of a house, half-hidden by the drifting flakes, a calm darkness in the middle of all that pale cold. 

He didn’t seem to care that every eye was on him. Just calmly inhaled, smoke curling around his lips. Like he was bored of the entire world.

Enzo tried to step forward — the spark of anger returning — but before he even fully shifted his weight, the cigarette left Mattheo’s fingers again, slicing through the air with almost lazy precision. 

No wand. Nothing. Just the sharp flick of his fingers and a cigarette dancing like fire.

It hit the snow right at Enzo’s toe, a burst of orange sparks hissing in a sharp crack, like a whip.

The smell of burned paper mixed with cold winter air, heavy and acidic. Nobody moved. For a heartbeat, time seemed frozen, every single breath held hostage.

Then panic — raw, animal panic — flooded through them. They scattered, stumbling, eyes wide, running from a danger they could not measure.

Panic. 

It spread like wildfire through the group. I half-saw how they turned, practically stumbling over each other to get away.

I should have moved too. Should have stood up. But I couldn’t.

I was rooted to the bench, breath stuck in my lungs, heartbeat pounding, throat dry. Staring at him, as if he might vanish if I looked away.

Into those dark as night , black eyes.

He didn’t look at me, not really — but the way he stood there, like he didn’t have to move to control every heartbeat around him — it was enough.

I felt something break inside me. Like my heart remembered how to beat, even though I didn’t want it to.

Hatred, I told myself. That’s what it was. Only hatred.

I clung to that. Because anything else would have been far, far too dangerous.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

I stopped going out.

I went to class, and I went back to my dorm. That was it. 

Again and again. I didn’t just stop talking — I stopped looking. I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. I didn’t allow them into mine.

People always talk about masks. That we wear them to hide how we truly feel.

But this wasn’t a mask.

This was something else entirely.

It was ice. A solid, numbing, unmoving wall.

Not to hide emotions — but to erase them.

I didn’t feel anything. Not anymore. Not joy, not pain, not fear. Not even anger.

And that, somehow, was the worst part.

I stumbled back.

For a second I didn’t even know why. My body reacted before I had caught up.

I blinked.

I was standing in one of the corridors, my shoulder sore where someone had bumped into me. I had no idea which class I had just left. 

I wasn’t even sure which day it was.

It didn’t matter.

“Excuse me, darling”

The voice hit me before the face did. I recognized it immediately.

Mattheo.

The word was quiet — so quiet I almost thought I’d imagined it. But no, it was real. I could still hear it echoing in my head.

There was no mocking edge to it, not like before. No challenge. Nothing sharp. Just a word, dropped like a stone into water. 

And for a second, it cracked something open in me — something I did not want touched.

I turned away before I could see his eyes. Before they could see me. Before they could get past the ice.

I walked on, fast, and told myself it meant nothing.

It had to mean nothing.

Walking. Fast. 

And of course, that wasn’t the end of it. Because why would it be?

They were waiting.

Malfoy and his gang — Enzo at the front, with Zabini, Crabb, and Goyle trailing behind like hyenas. 

I saw it before it happened. 

The way Enzo straightened his posture, his expression shifting into something smug and cold. He was about to say something. Start something. As always.

But then he didn’t.

Instead, he froze. Right in the middle of his step.

He stared — not at me, but behind me.

And there it was again. That flicker of fear. That tension in his jaw.

Without a word, Enzo turned and walked away — fast, sharp, almost like a retreat.

No insults. No threats. Just silence.

I turned, expecting maybe a professor walking by.

Of course not.

A few feet behind, leaning casually against the wall — cigarette between his fingers — stood Riddle.

He hadn’t even moved. He was just watching. Not even glaring. Just... existing.

And apparently, that was enough.

The others hadn’t followed Enzo. 

Malfoy was still standing there, his eyes low, his hands twitching slightly. He walked past, slow and careful — like every step was measured. 

His posture stayed stiff and tall, shoulders squared with forced pride, but his eyes clung to the floor, refusing to rise. 

Not quite fleeing. But not brave, either.

Crabb and Goyle followed him like oversized shadows, too empty-headed to realize they were afraid.

When I turned back around — Mattheo was gone.

Of course. Like a ghost. Like smoke.

Here one second, gone the next.

And I hated that part of me noticed. That some small, awful part of me cared.

Worse — it wasn’t just that I noticed.

It made me feel something.

And that was the real danger, wasn’t it?

Because that word — the way he said it — darling —

it was still echoing in my head.

He had never called me that before. Not like this.

And I wondered, quietly bitter, how many girls he had said that to already.

How many had heard it and fallen for it — or thought they had.

It was part of his charm, part of the dangerous pull around him.

They never seemed to mind, those girls. They kept coming back.

But I wasn’t one of them. I couldn’t be. 

And maybe that was the crack. The one that let the cold seep just a little bit — not out, but in. Just enough to remind me that beneath the numbness…

there was still a girl in there somewhere.

A girl who should be angry. Who should scream, cry, shake, burn.

But instead, she did nothing.

Because she couldn’t.

Because the ice was too thick.

And I swore to myself — again — that it would stay that way.

I would not feel.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

Mattheo

There it was again. 

That rotten, bitter taste in my chest.

Cowardice.

When was the last time I walked away from anything?

Right. Never.

And now here I was — moving like a shadow, fleeing like some ghost of a boy I never was.

For what? A girl?

No.

Not a girl.

Just a girl in a thousand. In a million. And certainly nothing to me.

I should forget her. I should shut it off.

Bury it. Burn it.

Leave it to rot.

But the way he had looked at her.

The way he had touched her.

The way he thought he could.

I could’ve — no, would’ve — torn out his fucking throat and made his idiotic friends, including my equally idiotic cousin, eat it. 

Right there. In the middle of the corridor. On the floor. With witnesses. Blood in their teeth.

But I can’t be reckless.

Not here. Not now.

Not with every pair of eyes on me. Watching. Weighing. Waiting for a crack.

And yet — for a second — I felt it.

That pull.

It wasn’t softness.

It wasn’t affection.

It was territorial. Pure instinct. Rage-sharpened need.

And the truth was simple:

You don’t walk away alive if you touch what’s mine.

Even if I don’t know what it means for something to be mine anymore.

I hadn’t seen her since.

Not by chance.

I just didn’t take that corridor anymore.

The hallways were quieter without her.

But also colder.

And I hated that I noticed.

The sky outside was that awful, bruised grey. Dampness clung to the stones, and the walls smelled like mold and smoke.

I lit a cigarette. Felt the scratch of the match against my thumb.

The ember glowed — orange, hot — like breath in the dark.

And for once, it didn’t calm me.

“Got one more?”

The voice slid in like smoke. Lazy. Unbothered. Annoyingly familiar.

I looked up.

Theodore Nott stood next to me, leaning against the wall like he owned the damn castle.

One hand in his pocket, the other outstretched — palm up, demanding like a king demanding his crown.

He looked straight into my eyes. Calm. Unmoving.

Brave little fucker.

I handed him one.

His grin curved like a knife. “Thanks,” he muttered, the cigarette already at the corner of his mouth. That crooked smile still glued to his face.

“You know…” he said, almost to himself, “I think we’re gonna be very good friends.”

He said it like the words tasted like poison.

But he grinned like it would kill him not to say them.

I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes. “What makes you think I want a friend?”

My voice stayed the same — low, cold, dangerous.

“And least of all you?”

“Easy,” he said, lighting the cigarette.

The flame reflected in his eyes for a second. Not warmth. Just fire.

He took a drag, exhaled slowly.

Smoke rose between us like a held breath.

“I don’t want you as a friend either.”

That actually made me grin.

A real one this time. Just a sliver. But real.

Something about him — about this whole twisted little moment — felt like the wrong kind of familiarity.

Like two wolves sniffing each other out in the woods.

Not friends. Not enemies.

He was bold.

I’ll give him that.

But he didn’t scare me. Not even close.

He watched people like he wanted to unravel them. I watched people like I already knew where to break them.

So no — we weren’t equals.

Just two different kinds of danger, briefly passing in the smoke.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

The days blurred.

Classes, hallways, meals I barely tasted. Faces I barely saw. Voices that rose and fell like background noise.

It was routine now.

Numbness.

And people noticed, of course. They always do.

The whispers crawled along the walls. Weasley’s girl. Diggory’s sister. Poor thing.

I ignored them.

I had to.

Potions was worse than usual.

My head felt three seconds behind my body, stirring ingredients I could hardly name. The familiar bite of asphodel in the air, the faint crackle of a simmering brew. 

Snape moved like a shark through the rows, dark and cold.

As if he thought my reaction - or rather reactionless - wasn’t worth his attention.

Well I definitely won’t complain. 

And there — at the end of class — Hermi-

Waiting.

The Golden Trio tried, once or twice. Granger, especially. I saw her soft, concerned eyes as I packed up my cauldron after Potions.

But I didn’t meet them.

I didn’t meet anyone.

She looked… torn. Like she’d rehearsed the words ten times in her mind already.

“Evelyn, hey,” she started. Soft. Careful.

I didn’t meet her eyes.

“Can we talk? Please? Just for a second?”

I almost wanted to.

For a moment, the idea of someone seeing me felt like an impossible relief.

But the second the thought surfaced, the ice swallowed it whole.

“There’s nothing to say,” I replied.

My voice was flat. Shallow. Not cruel — just empty.

She flinched anyway.

“Evelyn, I just—”

I shook my head, stepping past her.

I saw the pity in her face, and that was worse than hate.

It made me want to break something.

I left her standing there, all her kind words turning to ash on her tongue.

I left the classroom quickly, ignoring the sharp smell of wormwood still on my fingertips. Snape’s voice droned in my head like a distant echo. 

Nothing stuck. Nothing stayed.

It was only outside the dungeons that I felt it shift.

Like gravity had turned against me.

Again.

Enzo.

Always Enzo.

Leaning there like a snake with a half-swallowed rat, his crew behind him. Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and of course Malfoy — pale and sharp as ever.

I kept my head down.

But he grabbed me anyway.

A hand around my arm, twisting, sharp enough to spark pain.

“Still ignoring us, Diggory?”, he sneered.

“You never learn”

I didn’t answer.

Couldn’t answer.

His thumb dug into my skin. Bruising.

“Look at me,” he snapped.

I didn’t.

And that — that infuriated him.

His grip jerked tighter, dragging me closer until I could feel the heat of his breath, sour and wrong.

“You think you’re too good for me?”

He laughed — a horrible, choked sound.

“That’s right, you’re too good for everyone, huh? You’d rather let a worthless Weasley between your legs huh? Just because you let that worthless Weasley fuck you?”

I felt nothing.

Not shame, not fear, not disgust.

Nothing.

And that was the worst part.

Because I should have screamed.

I should have fought.

But my body was heavy, unresponsive. Like stone.

Malfoy stepped forward, exasperated.

“I’m done with this,” he spat, cold, disgusted. 

“That’s enough, Enzo,” he snapped. “I’m done with your pathetic obsession. All this—” he waved a hand, dismissive, “—because she picked a blood traitor over you? Pathetic. I’m out.”

He turned on his heel - posture proud, shoulders straight — and walked away, leaving me pinned there, leaving me with them 

— and with that look on his face, shoulders rigid, but his eyes locked on the ground as if he couldn’t stand to watch.

Enzo’s grin returned, ugly and triumphant.

He shoved me harder against the wall, one knee forcing my legs apart, a hand at my throat.

“You know,” he breathed, “if you won’t choose me, I’ll just take it. If you won’t listen,” he hissed, “maybe you’ll feel.”

Before I could step back, his other hand came up — cupping my jaw, harsh, fingers digging in.

He was close. Too close. I could smell the bitter mint on his breath.

And then —

his mouth crashed against mine.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was something ugly. A theft.

Not a kiss.

A claim.

His other hand clawed at my waist, pulling, forcing, bruising.

I tasted bile. My stomach turned, but I couldn’t move. My body wouldn’t move.

My mind screamed — fight, fight, fight —

but there was only that cold, endless nothing.

The same as always.

And I realized, as my lungs burned and my throat tried to shape a scream — even if I wanted to fight, I couldn’t.

I had no strength left.

No will left.

Nothing.

He pinned me to the wall, forcing another breathless, violent press of lips I did not want, one of his legs shoving between mine, forcing them farther apart.

That was when the air changed.

It was like the whole corridor went silent, suffocating.

And then Enzo was gone.

Ripped off me like a ragdoll.

He hit the floor like a sack of bones.

Mattheo.

His fist was already dripping red when I understood what I was seeing, his expression carved from rage.

His hand twisted in Enzo’s collar, lifting him off the ground with monstrous ease.

“You fucking touch her,” Mattheo growled, voice so low it was more animal than human,

“and I will bury you. Do you understand me?”

Enzo tried to choke out a sound — couldn’t.

Mattheo slammed him against the wall again, blood spattering the stone.

Blood was already smearing across his cheek from the impact.

The others — Crabbe, Goyle, even Zabini — froze in horror.

They didn’t move.

They didn’t dare.

When Mattheo finally let go, Enzo crumpled, coughing and whimpering.

The boys grabbed him, wide-eyed, and ran.

Fled.

Mattheo turned, knuckles torn, blood dripping down his wrist. Split open, raw from the blows.

I could see it shaking — the muscle in his forearm twitching, fighting the urge to keep hitting.

I should have thanked him.

I didn’t.

Because something shifted in me then.

Where there should have been fear, there was something else.

Anger.

Hot.

Alive.

He started to walk away. He hadn’t even looked at me once.

I couldn’t let him.

Not this time.

“Why?”

The word escaped before I could cage it.

“Why did you do it? Again?”

He didn’t turn around.

Didn’t answer.

I stepped after him, voice breaking.

“Why do you keep saving me? Why?!”

He spun so fast I flinched.

His eyes were wild, cracked open in a way that made my heart falter.

“I don’t,” he snapped.

I stared.

“Yes, you do,” I whispered. “You have. Over and over. Why?”

His lips curled, cruel and trembling.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he spat. “I couldn’t care less if you lived or died.”

He tried to leave again.

I followed.

I didn’t even think — I just moved after him, feet numb, heart pounding somewhere far away.

He heard. Of course he did.

He spun back, fury bright in his face.

“Stop following me.”

I froze.

He stepped closer, voice like a blade.

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

I couldn’t.

I wouldn’t.

My mouth opened before I could stop it.

“No.”

He blinked.

“No,” I breathed.

That word again.

“No.”

Just for a second. Shock.

Then it was gone, replaced by that cold, mocking smile.

“Fine,” he spat. “Then I’ll leave.”

He turned again, but I reached for him — my hand brushing his arm.

I grabbed his sleeve, clumsy, desperate, stupid.

He went very still.

Then he ripped free so hard I nearly fell, face twisting in something too dark to name.

His eyes were wild.

“Maybe I should take a page from my father’s book,” he hissed, voice breaking apart, “and finish what he started. Maybe I should kill you — just like he killed your brother.”

The blow landed like a physical strike.

The world stopped.

My lungs seized.

My vision blurred.

My heart stopped.

For one endless second I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t even breathe.

I stumbled back, a hand clamping over my mouth.

The words sank in like ice.

Kill you, like your brother.

Then I staggered back, one hand clamping over my mouth, tasting iron.

The echo of Cedric’s laugh burned through me like acid.

I swallowed, shaking, tears burning even if they couldn’t fall.

“You’re just like him,” I whispered, voice so thin I barely heard it myself.

I choked on the words.

“Just like your father.”

I turned.

And ran.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

I had no idea where I was going.

I just knew I had to go. Away. Far away.

Away from him.

Thoughts. Memories.

Trying to flood to the surface. Trying to drown me.

It got harder and harder to breathe.

Like water slithering up my throat. Like an ice-cold, merciless hand of the past closing around my windpipe.

Tighter. Tighter.

My lungs burned. The air felt thick, poisoned.

I didn’t know if I would be able to surface from this. To freeze the water again.

The only way I know how to survive.

I saw his face again.

Those eyes.

As he spoke those words so mercilessly.

I didn’t know how far my feet could carry me before I crumbled.

I didn’t know.

Didn’t care.

I just needed to get it out of my head.

His voice.

“Maybe I should finish what he started.”

It echoed.

Over and over.

Like a curse.

Freeze.

Stone.

Nothing.

Out. Of. My. Head.

Stop.

Then — steps.

Behind me.

Fast. Heavy. Determined.

Following.

Faster than mine. Faster than these helpless, lost, frozen ones.

No —

Him.

“Wait!”

The voice.

His voice.

The one that just moments ago had shattered something inside me.

“Evie, wait!”

His voice.

That name. Soft. Foreign.

Nobody had ever called me that.

Not like this.

Not from him.

Still, I stopped.

And then—his hand.

Closing around my wrist.

A shudder ran down my spine.

Memories. Too many. Too sharp.

And then—he felt it.

I saw it in the way he instantly let go.

Like he’d been burned.

But he had already turned me to face him.

My heart was pounding. Slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.

The blood hot and screaming inside me as I looked at him.

Hot blood, boiling in veins that had been frozen for too long.

I looked at him.

And everything cracked open.

Fire.

Wild, reckless fire.

Burning just beneath my skin. Because of him.

Those eyes.

Hot.

Loud.

Alive.

All of it—

just because of him.

"You can’t just—” I started, but the rage swallowed the words.

He opened his mouth, unsure. Eyes wide, desperate.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said. Breathless. Ragged. “I… I didn’t mean it. That wasn’t— I—”

“Do you think it’ll just go away because you say sorry?”

My voice rose without permission. 

Burning. Shaking.

“You think you can say anything? Hurt anyone? You—are—a—fucking arsehole.”

He flinched like I’d slapped him.

He blinked. Once.

That was all.

The mask came back down. The cold.

“I’ve never apologized before,” he said. Flat. Cold.

But I saw it.

The mask.

I saw the cracks in it.

“Ever.”

Something twisted.

And still the pull —

That magnetic, terrifying pull toward him.

No, not him. To that fire.

But I barely saw his face.

It was like a red haze had coated everything. A boiling blur of rage and something even worse—

Feeling.

It was like gravity had shifted. Like the world bent around a new center.

The fire.

Him.

Masochistic or not—I didn’t care. I didn’t want to think.

I just wanted the fire.

I needed it to survive.

“I hate you,” I spat. But the words were shaking now. Something wild in them.

And then—

Without meaning to. Without planning to.

I kissed him.

It exploded inside me.

The burn. The heat. The life.

It was too much. Too fast. Too hot.

And then—I pulled away.

Shocked.

Like I hadn’t been the one to do it.

Like it had just happened to me.

I stared at him.

And then—I saw it.

That light.

That flicker.

That fire.

It was in his eyes.

Those impossibly dark eyes.

And then—

His mouth was on mine.

There was nothing soft about it.

It was everything.

Messy. Hot. Furious. Alive.

Like something that had been buried had clawed its way to the surface and demanded to burn.

My hands reached up—instinct. Memory. Desperation.

I gripped his hair, pulled him closer.

And gods—I thought I heard him moan.

A sound that seemed to come out of the depths of his throat.

Maybe I imagined it.

Maybe I didn’t.

But it didn’t matter.

His hand at my hip—pulling.

The other at my neck—fire.

The kind of fire that woke things I didn’t know I still had inside me.

Like my body had remembered what it was like to be alive.

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him.

It was the fire.

I never wanted to let go of it again.

Never wanted to return to that frozen place.

To that numb, dead thing I had been.

This was chaos.

This was madness.

This was burning.

And then—

We pulled apart.

Heavy breath.

Wide eyes.

Staring.

Shocked.

Both of us.

Chapter Text

Mattheo

I—

I don’t remember ever being speechless like this.

Truly speechless. Like something had short-circuited in my brain.

Like the ground had shifted and I hadn’t noticed until I was already falling.

I had no idea what the hell had just happened. Or how.

But it didn’t matter.

It couldn’t.

It was just a kiss.

One of thousands.

Just skin. Heat. Instinct. Physical need.

A reflex, not a revelation.

Nothing more.

Nothing real.

Except…

it didn’t feel like nothing.

I’d never felt anything like that.

Not once. Not ever.

The fire. The chaos. The sharp, raw pull behind my ribs like something had been hooked and yanked toward her.

And her—

Evelyn.

The girl with a storm behind her eyes and ice in her bones.

She burned differently.

Not like lust.

Like danger. Like undoing.

Like something I had no control over.

Which meant one thing.

I had to kill it. Fast.

I hadn’t seen her since. I didn’t think anyone had.

Maybe she’d locked herself away. Maybe she was avoiding me.

Maybe she was scared.

Good.

She should be.

I didn’t need her.

I didn’t need anyone.

I could have what I wanted whenever I wanted.

I always had.

No one ever said no to me.

Not when I smiled like that. Not when I leaned in close and made them forget who they were.

Charm was a weapon, and I’d spent years sharpening it.

So I would use it.

Again.

The Slytherin common room was soaked in shadows, lit only by the fire’s flicker casting long, wavering shapes and the glint of half-empty bottles.

Low voices. Slurred laughter. The scent of spilled firewhiskey and perfume clung to the walls like a second skin.

I scanned the room.

She stood near the bookshelf, laughing at something.

Tall. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Confident. Beautiful in that glossy, curated way.

Not Evelyn.

Perfect.

She’d watched me before. I’d felt her eyes.

She’d practically begged me to look back.

Tonight, I did.

A smirk. One of those smiles. The kind I’d spent years perfecting.

Tilted my head just enough.

She bit her lip. Hooked already.

But the truth?

I didn’t even need to smile.

I could’ve just looked at her. Just stood there and waited.

She would’ve come to me anyway. They always did.

I didn’t need charm. Or words.

Didn’t need to be kind. Or cruel.

I’d seen it in their eyes for years—

That flicker of fear. Of intrigue. Of curiosity.

They never really knew what I’d do next.

And maybe that was enough.

Maybe that was the real reason I never had to try.

Because I didn’t have to manipulate them.

I was already the storm.

The danger was always there.

And they felt it.

Whether I smiled or not.

She didn’t even hesitate when I approached.

Five minutes later, my hands were on her. My mouth against hers.

Smooth. Confident. Automatic.

My hand slid around her waist, pulling her into me like it was nothing.

Because it was.

My mouth found hers.

Effortless. Smooth. Performed.

And—

nothing.

Her lips moved. Her body pressed in.

And still—nothing.

No heat. No spark.

No chaos.

It was like kissing a mirror.

All image. No depth.

I tried again. Rougher. Deeper. My fingers at her bare skin beneath her shirt.

Her breath hitched.

Mine didn’t.

I didn’t even feel present.

Like my body moved on autopilot while my mind screamed from somewhere else.

I pulled away. Smiled again. She smiled back.

But something inside me curled in disgust.

I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

I would not let that girl crawl under my skin.

So I moved on.

The blonde in green silk.

The one with the velvet voice and the easy hands.

The nameless brunette who kissed like a promise and meant nothing at all.

Each one easier than the last.

Each one more hollow.

Their mouths blended together. Their touches slid off like water on glass.

None of it stuck.

None of it felt real.

Every time I kissed them, I searched for something.

A flicker. A burn.

Anything.

But they weren’t her.

And my body knew it.

No matter how hard I tried to forget.

By the time I made it back to my dorm, the common room was nearly empty.

The fire was low. The air still thick with heat and perfume.

My lips tasted like strangers. My hands smelled like borrowed moments.

And my mind—

Still full of her.

The way she’d looked at me.

The way her voice had cracked when she said she hated me.

The way she kissed me like she wanted to set me on fire—and somehow, did.

And the way I’d kissed her back.

Like I’d meant it.

Like I couldn’t stop.

Like I felt something.

I dragged a hand through my hair.

Sat on the edge of my bed, staring into nothing.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I didn’t understand it.

Didn’t want to.

Didn’t dare.

But I knew one thing.

This wasn’t over.

And it was driving me insane.

She started something in me I don’t know how to stop — and I’m not sure I even want to.

Or if I ever could.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

I hadn’t seen him since the kiss.

And thank God for that.

I didn’t want to think about him.

So I didn’t.

I pushed it down. Buried it beneath schoolwork, silence, and every numb, forgettable hour since.

The kiss?

It hadn’t meant anything.

It couldn’t have.

It was heat. That was all.

A mistake, made in the dark.

A flicker I could pretend didn’t happen.

And I was good at pretending.

Really good.

But it followed me.

Like smoke in my lungs.

Like a whisper I couldn’t stop hearing.

Like something that had already rooted itself somewhere I didn’t know how to dig into.

And no matter how deep I shoved it down, it always found a way to claw itself back up.

I hated it.

I hated him.

Which is why, when I turned a corner and saw him—leaning against the cold stone wall, looking too casual, too still, too him—I stopped dead.

My pulse spiked. My stomach twisted.

Walk away.

Now.

But I didn’t.

He didn’t look at me at first. Just stayed where he was, head tipped back, eyes closed like he was tired of everything.

Or like he knew exactly what he was doing and wanted me to see it.

Leaning against the cold stone wall, one foot braced behind him, a cigarette between his fingers.

The smoke curled around his face like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged.

The silence stretched.

My throat was dry.

But he knew I was there. I could feel it in the shift of his shoulders, in the slight twitch at his jaw.

He always knew.

Against every screaming vice in my head to walk away, I stepped closer.

And that was when I saw it.

His hand.

Still wrapped in a makeshift bandage. Still stiff.

Still injured.

“You didn’t heal it.”

I hadn’t meant to say it. But it came out anyway.

My voice came out quieter than I expected. Harsher.

He blinked. Finally looked at me.

His eyes met mine. Unreadable. Shadowed.

“It’s nothing.”

His eyes were tired. Darker than usual. And more dangerous.

“It’s not nothing,” I snapped, stepping in.

He shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“Seriously?” I took a step forward. “You’d rather limp around with a half-ruined hand than cast one bloody spell?”

He gave a slow shrug. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t. And it made something twist in my chest.

“What’s wrong with you?” I said before I could stop myself.

I reached for his wrist.

He pulled away instantly. Sharp. Fast. Like I’d burned him.

But I grabbed again. Harder this time.

He didn’t pull back.

“Hold still,” I muttered.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched me.

I could have sworn that he was holding his breath. But maybe I was just going insane.

I whispered, “Episkey.”

The faint glow pulsed under my fingertips. His skin mended. The blood disappeared.

My fingers were still on his.

My heart was pounding.

Too fast. Too loud. Too aware.

I should’ve let go.

I didn’t.

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

I didn’t breathe.

And still, he didn’t move.

I looked up.

Big mistake.

Because he was looking at me like he wanted to tear me apart.

And I—

I hated how much I wanted him to.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Neither of us spoke.

The air was thick. Electric. Sharp around the edges.

And before I could stop myself, my hand was still on his wrist, and his was moving—sliding up my arm, curling at my jaw, tilting my face up like I was something precious and doomed.

The kiss hit like fire.

Not soft. Not tender.

Hot. Brutal. Desperate.

His hands were in my hair. Mine were on his chest.

And the whole world narrowed to the heat between us.

To the way he kissed like he was drowning and I was the only air he’d ever known.

And I—

I kissed him back like I hated myself for it.

I didn’t know what this was.

I didn’t understand it.

Didn’t want to.

But my body knew.

It knew him. Craved him.

Like something in me had gotten addicted without my permission.

He was a fire I couldn’t walk away from.

A poison I drank -  twice.

A drug I couldn’t stop needing—no matter how much it hurt.

Like we were both trying to burn the feeling out of us.

There was no thought in it. No meaning. Just fire.

His mouth moved against mine with something close to fury. I kissed him back like it was the only way I could breathe.

When we finally pulled apart, it felt like the ground had disappeared under my feet.

I was still gripping his shirt.

I was shaking.

Still breathless. Still dizzy.

He looked down at me with that flat, dangerous calm I was beginning to recognize.

That blank, dangerous calm he wore like armor.

His voice was low. Even. Cruel. Final.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

I didn’t answer.

He stepped back, just a little. Like that made it safer. It didn’t.

“No feelings. No complications,” he said. “You don’t want that. Trust me.”

I didn’t trust him. Not even close.

But maybe that was the point.

“No strings. No feelings. No fucking heartbreak.

It’s just physical. Nothing more.”

“And if I say yes?” I asked, trying to sound like I wasn’t already unraveling.

“Then we do this.”

He said it like a challenge. Like a dare.

Like he already knew I would say yes.

“And that’s all?”

He didn’t blink. “That’s all.”

I should’ve walked away.

Slammed the door shut. Let the fire burn out.

Instead, I whispered, “Okay.”

He kissed me again.

And just like that, I was already burning.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

Maybe I’ve gone mad.

Maybe this is just what madness feels like — fire in a place that’s been frozen for too long.

It’s not love.

Not even desire.

Just heat.

Sharp and sudden and terrible.

And I can’t make it stop.

For months I’ve been cold inside.

Numb.

Hollow.

And I thought that was safer.

Cleaner.

Like silence could be a shield.

Then he touched me— and the silence shattered.

I hate that it happened.

I hate him.

But more than that,

I hate that it made me feel something.

Because that hate?

It’s real.

It’s alive.

It burns.

And it’s his fault.

Every time he kisses me, something in me splits open— like I’m falling straight into the fire he lit and left behind.

It happens in flashes.

His mouth crashing into mine in some dark, forgotten corridor, his hands tangled in my hair, my spine slamming the wall so hard it knocks the breath from my lungs.

His voice, low and dark at my neck— a whisper laced with something dangerous.

We made the rules.

No feelings.

No promises.

No exclusivity.

And I don't care.

But the lie is fraying.

Because sometimes the kiss is savage, bruising-— like we’re trying to break each other with it.

And sometimes it’s slower.

Almost cruel.

Like he wants me to feel every second of it.

To know I’ll want him again.

And again.

And again.

And I do.

Even when I hate him.

Especially then.

Because when his mouth is on mine— when his fingers are gripping my skin like he’s trying to claim it—

the numbness screams.

And for a moment, I feel real.

I feel something.

But it never lasts.

It never does.

And when he walks away like nothing happened— when he leaves me with the fire still crawling under my skin—

I remember what we are.

What this is.

Nothing.

Not special. Not exclusive.

Just a fix.

A beautiful, twisted, chemical fix.

I tell myself I don’t care that he kisses others.

That they kiss him back.

That he touches them the way he touches me.

With those hands. That mouth. That voice.

I’m sure that he does.

How could he not?

He hadn’t actually said it, and I hadn’t seen anything… but I’d heard the rumors around the first few weeks of his arrival in Hogwarts…

But when I see the way they look at him— like they know him, like they had him— something ugly coils in my chest.

And I pretend I don’t feel it.

Because if it’s not exclusive for him, then it’s not for me either.

Right?

Right.

So maybe I’ll kiss someone else.

Let someone else’s hands try to burn this out of me.

Because if I’m not the only one for him, then he sure as hell won’t be the only one for me.

It’s not about him.

It’s the fire.

The thing he woke.

The thing I can’t bury again.

It won’t let me go back to being numb.

It won’t let me forget what it’s like to feel.

Even if I don’t know what I feel.

Even if it hurts.

Even if I don’t know who I am without the cold.

Some nights I wonder—

If something real came for me...

Would I even recognize it?

Would I be capable of it?

Or has something in me been broken too long?

Maybe I’m already beyond fixing.

Maybe I can’t go back to numb, but I sure as hell can’t go back to that.

To what came before.

To the memories.

To the pain.

To the death.

Because that girl?

The one who laughed too loud, who cared too much, who believed people were good?

She died a year ago.

With her brother.

And you can’t bring back the dead.

Not really.

I can’t even say his name.

Not yet.

Not without choking on it.

He used to hum under his breath when he studied. I still hear it sometimes, but I never know if it’s memory or madness.

But there’s someone else, too.

Someone who’s still here.

Still breathing.

And I can’t face him either.

That red hair.

That laugh.

Too much of a reminder.

Too much of what I shut out.

Too many memories of warmth I couldn’t handle.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look Fred in the eyes again.

Even though he was still alive.

And then— my gaze catches on someone else.

Ledger.

Brandon Ledger. Sixth year. Gryffindor.

I think.

Too good-looking for his own good.

Too clean. Too golden.

I talked to him maybe once, or twice.

Years ago.

But he was watching me like he wanted to try his luck.

Like I was something he hadn’t touched yet, but meant to.

And maybe that was enough.

Maybe if I burned bright enough— fast enough— I could forget what Riddle left behind in me.

So I started walking.

And I didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

“Hi Evelyn. What an honour. You good?” he asked, smiling like a golden retriever.

I think, at least. It was all a bit blurry.

“Brenon Ledger, right? Sixth year?”

“Bright mind as ever. A Diggory through and through, it seems.”

Ignore. Shove. Burn.

Bury.

Don’t let it surface.

But I couldn’t let him talk. Not about that.

So my lips were on his.

Cold. Hard.

Nothing.

It felt like kissing ice.

Too similar to the frost wrapped around my heart—so tightly. For so long.

Still… nothing.

I felt his hand on my waist, the other at my neck.

I felt his lips moving against mine.

And still—nothing.

And then—

Gone.

“Move,” came a growl so deep, so dangerous, I almost flinched.

Almost.

Mattheo had one hand clamped in Ledger’s collar.

Ledger stumbled back as Riddle let go of him abruptly.

Then came the punch.

A crack echoed through the corridor as Mattheo’s fist collided with Ledger’s nose.

A sharp, pained groan escaped him.

“Riddle, stop! Stop it!” I heard myself scream.

Actually scream. With emotion.

Hatred, I told myself. Definitely hatred.

Mattheo turned. His eyes wild. His expression grave.

But he let go.

Brenon gave me one last helpless glance. A flicker of something I barely registered.

And then he was gone—already vanished behind a corner before I could count to three.

“Have you lost your mind? Are you completely insane? What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He was inches away in a matter of seconds.

I felt his ragged breath on my face.

“I? I’m crazy? You’re the one kissing your way through Hogwarts! You’re the fucking wh—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I cut him off, blood roaring in my ears, “Don’t you fucking dare. You have no right—none at all—to judge me.

Let alone hit someone who—”

“What? Did I hurt your lover boy?” he spat, “Did I—?”

“You are insufferable! YOU are the one with the hundreds on your body count! The lines of girls at your door! This is purely physical—have you forgotten that? There is no exclusivity!” 

I exploded.

And then—

His open hand slammed the wall next to my head.

So impossibly close.

“Yes. Purely physical. I am well aware of my own rules, Diggory,” he exhaled, his breath hot on my lips.

His eyes darted between mine and my mouth. Up. Down. Up.

“That doesn’t mean,” he murmured darkly, “that we aren’t fucking exclusive.

So I’d advise you to stop pulling shit like that—unless you want Ledger to walk away next time with his guts dragged behind him.”

Red.

I saw nothing but red.

Blood pounded in my ears.

My heart beat like a bomb.

“You seriously believe I’m going to sit tight while you do whatever you want, whenever you want, with whoever you want—and I just stay put like some good little girl?”

I shoved his chest.

“You think I can’t do the same? That I won’t? That I’ll just stay quiet while you screw half of—”

“I haven’t,” he cut me off.

“Not for a while. Just to be clear.”

His voice was low.

Calm.

Dangerously calm.

His hand slid slowly up my arm.

Goosebumps rose in its wake—trailing fire as it reached my neck and curled around it.

“We are fucking exclusive, Darling.”

And then his mouth was on mine.

Claiming it.

Claiming me.

And I exploded.

Fire—everywhere.

Hot. Alive.

Burning.

Not leaving me enough time to even think about my last sentence.

Let alone his.

Because this?

This was anything but nothing.

“You think I’m just yours to throw around like that?” I hissed, even as my body betrayed me—leaning into the fire he lit under my skin.

“No,” he said low. “I think... I’m the only one who really gets to you. And you hate that.”

I said nothing.

Because maybe he was right.

His voice was rough, the anger folding into something that almost sounded like pain.

My breath caught.

“You don’t,” I breathed.

He didn’t move.

Just stood there, eyes burning into mine.

And it wasn’t just anger anymore.

It was something else.

Chapter Text

Theodore

I’ve never been the group type.

All that Slytherin royalty nonsense — purebloods this, mudbloods that.

It was all just noise.

Malfoy, Enzo, Crabbe, Goyle… never wanted anything to do with that circus.

Sure, I was born into the delusion — raised in a Death Eater family, lived through it, understood every part of it. 

But it never meant anything to me. 

I wasn’t suicidal enough to speak against it — but smart enough to keep my distance.

I usually stayed out of all of it.

All the drama.

All the people.

Except him.

Mattheo Riddle was... different.

Don’t get me wrong. I never had a moral problem with Death Eaters or pureblood elitism. I just preferred not to belong anywhere. I liked my peace. My space.

Maybe I was an idiot for getting close to a Riddle.

Maybe I was suicidal after all.

Didn’t matter.

Alive. Dead. No one really cares what happens to people like me anyway.

I was wandering the halls, cigarette between my lips, when I saw that bronze hair.

She turned the corner — and froze.

Evelyn Diggory.

Her face looked… empty. Not masked. Not unreadable.

Empty.

Like someone had sucked every emotion out of her and left just a shell behind.

I remembered her briefly from… before. She had been a rather pretty girl before.

I remembered Cedric Diggory as well.

Solid dude.

Well, didn’t bring him much in the end, but well…

I remember how she’d always adored him. Followed him like a golden retriever.

I think you could still see that. Still see that girl.

Though it was more like a ghost from the past.

The skin on her face was sunken in, her once warm complexion now looked grey and washed out. Deep, dark rings under her heavily veiled eyes.

Drained.

As if the light, the laugh, the life had been sucked out of her.

And yet, behind that blankness — a flicker. A spark.

Like fire trapped behind glass.

A fire I hadn’t seen in her for over a year.

She spun around to walk the other way.

Reflex. Escape mode.

But something inside me stirred — and without thinking, I spoke.

“Why?”

She turned slowly. Her expression unreadable. No emotion. Just... nothing.

“Why him?”

No idea why I asked. No idea why I gave a damn.

Maybe I thought it would answer my foolishness as well.

Didn’t expect an answer either.

“I don’t know,” she breathed.

That was all. Then she was gone. Just like that.

Well. At least I wasn’t the only one haunted by ghosts.

-

The next day, I passed her in the corridor and gave her a lazy wink.

Not sure she saw it. Didn’t matter.

I was leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, enjoying the usual quiet — when someone stepped in front of me again.

Had to be my lucky fucking day.

“Weasley,” I muttered. “What now?”

“Has she talked to you?”

No greeting. No context. Just panic.

I raised an eyebrow and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

Let him sweat for a second.

“Nott,” he pressed. “You hearing me?”

“Everyone hears you, Weasley. Question is why I have to.”

He ignored the jab.

“You know who I mean. Evelyn. Has she said anything to you? Is she okay?”

His voice cracked slightly on the last part.

Poor bastard. Actually worried.

I didn’t answer right away. Took another slow drag.

“No,” I said finally. “She hasn’t. And — no offence — I don’t want her to.”

His face fell. No trace of the usual grin. Just quiet dread.

“Do you know if she’s talked to anyone?”

He sounded desperate now.

“On second thought — yeah, do take it personally.”

For a moment, I debated telling something.

But instead, I shook my head in answer to his question. Barely. Just enough.

He didn’t argue. Just took a breath. Nodded. And left.

I had seen it then.

He actually cared. Maybe even loved.

Moron.

Love and bonds were nothing but an illusion.

No one really cared in the end.

He was stupid to think something like that could actually end up well.

Idiot.

But then again...

Weren’t we all?

Chapter Text

Evelyn

This has been going on for weeks now.

This... whatever it was.

It was stupid and reckless and all of that and still... I couldn’t keep a distance.

I didn’t know what was happening, but I started perceiving my environment again. 

Started keeping some of the stuff I learned in class. 

Started noticing the people staring at me. 

Whispering about me. Laughing. Or even worse: 

Pitying me.

I wanted it to go back to nothing, but that fire didn’t let me. Kept fighting the ice. Kept burning it up. Didn’t let me freeze again. And I didn’t even know where it came from.

Still, I couldn’t look back at them. Those worrying, pitying glances. Those sad faces. I... I just couldn’t.

I just couldn’t face my friends. If they still saw me that…

After all that I’ve done to cut them out.

My bag had actual weight again, not just a pull like before. Books. Stuff. My wand. Real things. 

The cold, slightly wet air from the dungeons hitting me in the face. That dim light, flickering under the heavy burn of torches.

As I walked into Potions, I actually saw the students chatting, preparing for class. 

Still, I sat in my usual seat in the very back. Alone. I felt those disgusting stares. Not like before, but not like I once did either. 

Somewhere in between. Like I was unfinished.

When I looked up, I saw Enzo, Malfoy and their crew sitting on the far side. Their laughter was dull in my ears, like an echo underwater.

I looked back down at the table. The cauldron. The ingredients for today’s potion. Then I heard the chair scrape over the stone floor.

I didn’t care. Not until I got the smell. Strong cologne. Cigarette smoke. And maybe... just the faintest trace of something metallic. Blood maybe?

My head shot up in recognition.

And there he was. All lazily grinning. That impossible fire behind his impossibly dark eyes.

I don’t know how I managed it, but I did. I threw a glare at him. Burning. Full of hate, I told myself.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I hissed.

His left brow arched. His grin widened. Something cruel danced in his gaze.

"What? Not allowed to sit here? Why?" His head tilted slowly to the side.

"Yes! And because you have no right t—" His hand brushed mine for just a second as he sat down at the chair next to mine. Like an electroshock.

My words died. My throat closed.

"What were you saying, darling?" he whispered, mockingly.

Before I could answer, a voice sliced through the tension like a knife.

"What is there so important to be discussed here, Mr. Riddle? In my class?"

Snape.

I hadn't even realized he was in the room. That class had started. That we were no longer alone.

Mattheo looked up, his posture unchanged, calm. But his entire presence screamed something dangerous. Something wicked.

He gave Snape a slow, sly smile.

"No, sir. Of course not. I wouldn't want to miss a second of this highly important lesson."

On the surface, his tone was respectful, measured. But there was something underneath. Something sharp. Like a dagger held just out of sight.

Snape's eyes narrowed. His whole body stiffened, his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might snap.

He looked at me. Just for a second.

And I swear... I swear I saw something like concern. No. That couldn't be right. I was imagining things. 

Going mad.

He turned away. The moment passed. Class continued.

Mattheo’s eyes followed him like those of  a predator. His smile was gone now. His eyes cold, hard, calculating. 

Like stone.

It made my blood boil. And I didn’t even know why.

I didn’t look up again. I focused on the potion. Or tried to. With that half-sight I had newly found.

As soon as Snape dismissed us, I was out the door. Through the corridor. Past the others. Moving fast. Moving blindly.

Until I was yanked sideways. Pulled into the shadow between two stone pillars.

I tore my hand free before I even saw him. Because I knew it was him. I felt him.

Even before my eyes met his. Before they locked onto that fire again.

"What is it?" he breathed.

I couldn’t tell what was in his voice. I couldn’t tell anything. My head was a thunderstorm.

"I... I don’t know... I—"

His hand rose to my arm. Slow. Deliberate. Torturing.

Sliding up.

"I hate you," I whispered. Breathless. Doing everything I could to keep that sound—that moan—from escaping.

"Really?" he said, voice low near my ear. "Do you hate that too?"

His fingers glided higher, up my back, then to my neck. His eyes caged mine.

Then he leaned in. So slow it felt unreal.

His lips brushed my ear. His breath warm.

"Say the word and I’ll stop."

It ignited me.

"Do you want me to stop, Evie?"

I shook my head. So violently it made the storm worse.

Then I saw his grin. Different from the one he gave Snape. Softer. But not safe.

And when his lips met mine, everything else was gone.

Even the storm.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

That beautiful, light laugh.

That spark in his eyes — the one everyone saw. The one I saw.

The one I had always worshipped.

So real. So alive.

Always so full of life.

The way he looked at me. That softness in his gaze. That care.

He never looked down on me.

He looked up. Like I was something special.

That spark in his eyes. The way he looked at me like I was the center of something good.

So different.

So… familiar.

Too familiar.

That gold-bronze hair that caught the sun like it was lit from within.

And that spark — that little fire of joy in his eyes — even lighter than the gold.

The pride I always felt just seeing him.

My brother.

My older brother.

The center of my world.

Cedric.

I gasped for air as I jolted upright.

Breath sharp. Chest tight.

Hands clutching the sheets.

But I was alone.

Alone between all the other sleeping Gryffindor girls.

Blankets rising and falling with their breaths. The gentle hush of sleep all around.

Slowly, silently, I pushed back the covers.

One foot after the other out of the bed that should’ve felt warm —

but now only felt like a cold cage.

My bare foot met the icy stone floor.

Then the other.

I stood. Carefully. Quietly.

Hermione didn't stir.

She slept like stone.

I slipped through the dorm room door and closed it softly behind me.

My hand slid along the cold wall as I walked.

Through the corridor. Past sleeping portraits and darker shadows.

But I didn’t really see any of it.

My mind was far away.

Far from this place.

Far from this body.

Caught somewhere I hadn’t gone in almost a year.

And yet... my feet kept moving.

And when I finally noticed where they were taking me — it was too late.

I was headed somewhere I couldn’t survive.

Somewhere where every breath would hurt.

Where he would be in everything.

In every memory. In every echo. In the air.

I couldn’t go there.

I couldn’t stand it.

It would break me.

And still — I couldn’t stop walking.

Like I had no say in the matter.

No voice. No will.

The grass was wet and cold beneath my feet.

The moon bright above me. Cold light spilling like silver fire.

The breath of night brushed my skin like both a caress and a warning.

I knew exactly what I was walking into.

And I walked anyway.

Into my own doom.

Willingly or not.

Choice or not.

This was happening.

And it would kill me.

Chapter Text

Mattheo

I was standing there, leaning against the cold wall, smoking my cigarette. Minding my own business.

Then I saw her.

That bronze hair, flowing like liquid fire through the dark corridors.

In the middle of the night.

I did the only thing I could think of.

I followed her.

She looked like she was in a trance.

Nightgown.

Barefoot.

Was her hair... curly?

Maybe she was actually sleepwalking?

Then she stepped outside.

The cold night air hit me like a wave.

But she just walked on.

Moonlight painting her body silver. Her bare feet silent on the grass.

Like she wasn't part of this world anymore.

We reached a little hill. A thick, low tree under the full moon.

Right next to the Black Lake.

She still hadn't noticed me.

Then, without a sound, she sank down.

Collapsed, almost.

Knees pulled up, arms around herself like she was trying to hold in whatever was left.

Her wild, curly hair fell over her face.

I moved closer.

Close enough to feel the tension in the air between us.

Close enough to feel like I was trespassing.

Still, she didn't react.

And I don't know what the hell I was doing - but I sat down beside her.

Before I knew it, she jumped.

Startled. Wide-eyed.

Shrinking back like I'd hit her.

Were those... tears?

She wiped them away faster than I could catch.

"What the hell are you doing here? Were you following me?" she rasped, breath shaky.

"No... I... I saw you walking around and..."

I trailed off.

How could I explain something I didn't understand myself?

"Well, you shouldn't have come. This is none of your business," she snapped.

Her expression-furious.

Her eyes-a mask.

The first mask I'd ever seen on her.

"It's him, isn't it?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

She glared at me.

"Still not your business," she spat.

"It won't just go away. That feeling. Because you wouldn't want him to go away. He's everywhere, isn't he?"

Why was I saying this?

"What do you care? You don't care about me. Or anyone. What the hell are you doing here, Riddle?"

Good question.

"You're right. I don't care," I said.

But she did. That was the whole damn point.

"It won't get better if you keep swallowing all of this. Locking it in. Burying it."

I looked straight into her eyes.

And the veil cracked.

Just for a second.

And beneath it: pain. Raw and sharp and real.

"You have to deal with it."

"You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't know how this feels."

Her gaze drifted. And gods, I missed it the moment it left me.

"You're right again. I don't."

I exhaled slowly.

"But like you said - I don't care. So it shouldn't matter if I see it, right? You can let it out. It won't help him to keep it in. 

It won't help you."

I reached out. Slowly. Like she might burn me.

My hand brushed her arm. She didn't flinch.

"Evie, look at me."

My voice - softer than I'd ever heard it. Maybe ever been.

She turned.

A single tear clung to her cheek.

"I can't... it's... it's too much. I-I..."

She broke on her own words.

"Shhh. Hey... Evie. You don't have to carry all of that alone."

And she fell apart.

Tears spilled.

Breath shattered.

"I... I let him down... I didn't do anything. I couldn't. He... We used to come here almost every day... That was our favourite place in Hogwarts... And now... Now he's just..."

She clung to me.

"He's gone. He's just gone. And I don't know how to live without him. I can't do this without him. I can't do anything without him... I'm nothing without him."

And suddenly - I was holding her.

Her breath against my shoulder.

Her arms gripping me like I was the only thing keeping her afloat.

And for the first time in so long - a tear slid down my face too.

It hurt.

It genuinely hurt to see her like that.

As if something deep inside me, something I thought had died, had started bleeding again.

Time passed.

We were still sitting there.

She had her arms wrapped around herself again. Her breath slower now. Her eyes fixed on the moon.

I couldn't look away from her.

Her hair looked different like this.

She looked different like this.

Wilder. Realer. Beautiful.

"Why do you straighten your hair?"

The question just... slipped out.

She flinched. But kept her eyes on the moon.

Then finally:

"I've been doing it for years. Since I was eleven."

I waited.

"But why?"

She looked at me.

There was so much sorrow in those eyes. Too much for someone our age.

"I don't know," she whispered. "It made me feel in control. It was too wild. Too loud. Attention I didn't want. I was never made for the spotlight, I guess."

She got lost in thought again.

And maybe I was bewitched. Maybe I didn't care.

"Don't."

She blinked. "What?"

"Don't do it. You don't need to. Don't hide yourself. You're beautiful. Just the way you are."

Her mouth opened in shock.

Mine probably too.

Did I really just say that?

She looked at me - really looked - and I fell.

Fell into those hazel eyes like they were the only thing holding me in place.

And then she leaned in and kissed me.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet.

It was pain. Grief. Desperation.

And I kissed her back.

Her hands wrapped around my neck, pulling me in.

My hands on her waist.

Her lips-soft. Real. Her.

Then suddenly her hands slipped to my robes.

Fingers tracing the buttons.

My heart stopped.

Her slim fingers started unfastening them.

But I caught her wrists. Firm.

And pulled back.

"No."

Breathless. But firm.

"What? Why?" she asked, confused. Angry.

"We're not doing this. Not now. Not like this."

She let out a short breath. Disbelieving.

"Are you serious? That's not like you. Isn't that your favorite part?"

Sarcasm. Fury. Hurt.

"No."

Clear. Steady.

She laughed. But it wasn't joy.

It was pain.

"Why not? You don't care anyway. So what does it matter?"

God, that broke something in me.

"Yes. I don't care," I said. "But you do. And I won't do that. Not like this. Not when it's just another way to run."

I let go of her hands. Stood.

She looked like she was about to break again. Shatter.

And I hated myself for not knowing how to help.

"You don't deserve that," I said quietly. "No matter what you think. Don't hide, Evelyn. Don't hide yourself."

I turned to go.

Paused.

"I..."

The rest stuck in my throat. I left it there.

And then I walked away.

Oh gods.

I was in so much fucking trouble.

Chapter Text

Theodore

Her hair looks different.

Not neat. Not tidy.

Curls — thick, tangled, alive. Like smoke that refuses to vanish.

Never saw her with curls before.

I saw her on the stone path by the greenhouses. Head low. Arms crossed.

Not hiding — not exactly.

But not open, either.

There’s a difference.

And I don’t know why I noticed. I shouldn’t have.

-

I should’ve looked away.

Should’ve lit a cigarette and gone the other way.

Should’ve shoved my hands in my pockets, muttered some bitter line inside my head, and carried on like I always do.

But I didn’t.

Because for half a second — when her head tilted just so — I thought I saw someone else.

Not Evelyn Diggory.

Someone else.

-

I leaned back against the stone wall, jaw clenched too tight.

Lit the cigarette anyway.

Didn’t even want it.

Smoke curled into the air like her hair did in the breeze.

Wild. Untamed. Uncontrolled.

Don’t think about it.

I dragged slow, bitter smoke into my lungs like it might hold the memory down.

It didn’t.

-

She had curls like that too.

Maria.

Though they weren’t bronze.

No.

Hers was that beautiful auburn — the kind of colour that caught the light just right.

Long and unbrushed and full of wind.

Even when she tried to tie it up, it fell loose in soft, stupid chaos.

She used to call me “Professor Grump.”

Said I talked like I was sixty and hated fun.

She wasn’t wrong.

She liked to skip rocks.

Hated shoes.

Talked like silence made her nervous.

She moved like someone who was always halfway through a dance.

She—

No.

Stop.

-

I ground the cigarette out against the stone. Too hard. Sparks scattered.

It’s been years.

And Evelyn Diggory is not Maria.

She just—

No.

She’s not.

-

Still.

Something’s shifting.

In her.

In the air around her.

The emptiness is thinner now.

Maybe that had something to do with Mattheo. Maybe not.

But he had that something about him that made that spark in her eyes light up.

Like she’s just starting to breathe again — shallow, wary breaths.

And I hate that I see it.

Hate that it makes something move in me.

Not interest. Not hope.

Something older. Sicker.

Like guilt wearing someone else’s face.

-

I heard someone approach, steps too sharp to ignore.

Pansy.

Of course.

She leaned beside me without asking. Typical. Wore judgment like perfume.

“You’ve been brooding extra hard lately, Nott,” she said flatly.

“Must be exhausting for you, keeping tabs on everyone.”

“Only the emotionally constipated.”

I didn’t reply.

We watched Evelyn from a distance.

She sat by herself near the ivy wall, picking at a thread on her sleeve like it might unravel the whole damn world.

Pansy spoke again. Quieter this time.

“She looks... different.”

I shrugged.

“Grief makes people weird.”

“She used to look like she wanted to disappear.”

“And now?”

She paused.

“Now she looks like she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to come back.”

That hit harder than I wanted.

I didn’t answer for a while.

“What do you want Parkinson? Couldn’t find another boy to choke with your perfume?”, I retorted. Dismissing.

“What? Can’t I sit next to an old school friend?”, she teased, her cold snake-like Slytherin-Queen smile on her lips. That one that never reached her eyes.

I didn’t look at her when I responded. The sarcasm gone, just leaving the cold ice.

“We have never been friends. I haven’t talked to you in years.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I said old, grandpa.”

For a second it felt as if she had actually poisoned me.

-

Pansy didn’t push.

Just stood beside me, silence stretched between us like thread on the verge of snapping.

And for a second — just one — I felt a strange, awful ache.

Like memory rising through smoke.

And a voice I hadn’t heard in years whispered through my skull:

“You look sad, even when you smile.”

I shut my eyes. Just for a moment.

Then pushed the memory back where it belonged.

Deep.

Down.

Buried.

But that awfully beautiful sunshine-smile had already burned itself behind my eyelids again.

Maybe it would disappear if I washed it out with acid.

-

Let Evelyn come back to life if she wants to.

Let her hair catch the wind.

Let her smile again.

Let her be everything Maria never got to be.

But me?

I’ll stay right here.

In the smoke.

Where it’s quiet.

Where ghosts don’t talk so loud.

Because if I let them…

If I listen…

If I let myself listen…

Let them come…

Let it in…

I will never come back.

But maybe I don’t deserve to anyway.

Because she should be here. Breathing. Living.

Instead of me.

Chapter Text

Evelyn

I still couldn’t believe I’d stepped outside today without taming my hair — not since I was eleven had I dared let it be wild.

It felt… strange.

Yet freeing.

Like a weight had been peeled off my shoulders, even as the world around me stayed stubbornly unchanged.

But the most shocking part?

I felt.

I cared.

After so long… numbness had finally cracked.

Even if it was just a tiny shred. 

It was something.

Last night was brutal.

But necessary.

It broke me — exactly as I knew it would.

But now I know.

Now I know that burying him… forgetting him… was the real betrayal.

I hadn’t honoured him.

I had been selfish.

What hurt most, though, was him.

Mattheo.

That he had been there.

That, for just a flicker of a second, I thought he might actually care.

“Hello, darling,” a low voice breathed behind me.

My body tensed. I felt his presence before I even registered his words.

His breath brushed the nape of my neck.

My heart skipped a beat.

Then I turned.

His eyes were already on me — deep, unreadable, burning.

The intensity of that stare sent a shiver down my spine.

“Your hair… You’re wearing your natural hair,” he murmured.

Quiet, but with a strength that filled the room — no need to shout when you own the silence. 

“I am,” I said.

That was all.

He didn’t press. Didn’t ask why.

Didn’t compliment me, either.

It was as if he already knew I couldn’t talk about it — or didn’t need to.

Or maybe… he just understood.

God, that’s a dangerous thought.

“Walk with me?” he asked — close again, close enough for his breath to tickle my ear.

Our fingers brushed slightly as we walked side by side.

The brief touch sparked something — like lightning under my skin.

I caught my breath.

Then, in a deserted corridor, he stopped.

Turned.

Studied me for a long second.

His hand rose slowly, resting on my shoulder — warm, steady.

Blood rushed in my ears.

A part of me wanted to flinch, to step back, to hate him.

But he didn’t kiss me.

Instead, he spoke — his voice like wind through leaves. Low. Careful.

“Are you okay?”

I just stared at him, unsure how to speak.

He let out a quiet, humourless laugh.

“No. Of course not. That was a stupid question. What I meant was…”

“I’m fine.”

The lie burned like acid on my tongue.

He inhaled slowly. Then said, “You were right.

I don’t know what it’s like to lose everything.

You can neither lose nor miss something you never had. I didn’t have anything to begin with.”

His eyes dropped to the floor for a heartbeat.

“Maybe that’s better in some ways. The higher you fly, the harder you fall.”

His words landed heavy. Honest. Unexpected.

I swallowed.

“…I’m sorry,” I whispered. “That must’ve been hell. Growing up with… them.”

My voice surprised me — full of something close to care. Real, human care.

And of all people I could’ve shown it to, it was him.

“You don’t owe me an apology, love. You never did.”, he murmured.

Then his eyes scanned me again.

“Living suits you.”

His lips curled into a grin — sharp, wicked.

Before I could stop myself, I nudged him in the arm, laughing. Actually laughing.

“I never thought you could… understand.”

The words tumbled out.

“I never thought I’d even talk to you.”

His hand moved to my cheek, brushing it gently.

His gaze held mine — dark, burning, searching.

And maybe — just maybe — I saw a flicker of fire behind his eyes.

Then his lips claimed mine.

The world shattered into a thousand brilliant fragments.

His hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me closer — as if I might vanish if he let go.

An explosion.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his dark curls, tugging slightly.

A low groan escaped his throat. I drank it in.

He spun us around — my back hit the cold stone wall.

His hands slid down to my waist, gripping tighter.

I gasped.

I swore I felt him smirk against my lips.

I was burning.

And I wanted more.

“Miss Diggory. Mr. Riddle.”

A sharp voice sliced the air.

We broke apart instantly.

Professor Snape stood before us — still, shadowed, silent as death.

“You are in serious trouble,” he said — flat, but deadly. His eyes pierced into mine, then shifted coldly to Mattheo.

“What do you think you’re doing out here when you should be in your common rooms?”

Mattheo didn’t flinch.

One hand slid into his pocket. The other hung casually at his side.

His grin was pure poison.

“And what kind of consequences would those be, Professor?” he asked, voice calm, deadly. “It’s not curfew. Not class time. So — unless loitering has become a crime — I doubt there’ll be any real consequences… will there?”

The last words dripped with mockery.

I could see Snape’s jaw tighten, see the fury bubbling just beneath the surface.

He wanted to say something. Needed to.

But Mattheo didn’t look away.

Didn’t blink.

No fear.

No emotion.

Not empty like I had been — no.

His gaze was something else entirely.

Ice. Sharp. Black.

“You are dismissed,” Snape growled through clenched teeth.

Mattheo smirked. “Thank you, Professor.”

Again, that word — Professor — laced with venom.

He took my hand and began to walk.

As we passed Snape, I could’ve sworn I heard a whisper — just two words.

Did he say that to me?

Was I imagining it?

No.

His words weren’t loud. They weren’t meant for anyone else. But they hit me like a slap to the face.

“Watch out”

Chapter Text

Pansy

The greenish light from the enchanted lake above rippled through the stained-glass windows, casting dancing shadows across the common room. 

Everything shimmered in sickly emerald and dark silver, like a dream twisted into something decadent and cold.

The air was thick — a mix of stale smoke, too much cologne, and whispered gossip buzzing like a hive. I curled into one of the cool, undeniably comfortable leather sofas, trying to disappear into its dark embrace. 

Around me: noise, bodies pressed too close, and a sea of arrogance.

Enzo Berkshire lounged like a self-satisfied god on the couch opposite me, Jessica Stanley perched on his lap like a shiny accessory he could show off whenever he pleased. 

One arm draped lazily around her waist, his fingers tracing her hip as if she were nothing more than property.

She laughed at something he whispered, bright and oblivious. 

Stupid girl.

Enzo’s grin was all charm and shine, but beneath it, he was rotting.

In the farthest, darkest corner of the room, Theodore Nott sat — as always — leaning against the cold stone wall. 

Cigarette dangling between his fingers, eyes half-lidded in what looked like boredom or contempt. Probably both. He didn’t care who was watching. 

He never did.

“What’s up with that Riddle guy, Malfoy?” Enzo’s voice slithered through the chatter, dripping with fake curiosity. 

“Who does he think he is? What’s his deal? Thinks he’s some kind of dark prince or something? Just look at him — spoiled brat with—”

“Shut up, Berkshire,” Malfoy snapped, his head whipped around so fast it almost made me laugh. Eyes flicking nervously around. Panic simmered just beneath his cool exterior.  

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Stay out of his way. We don’t need more attention. Not now.”

His voice had dropped. Fear clung to it, sharp and raw.

That’s right. Draco knew.

He was his cousin after all.

Enzo just grinned wider, like he didn’t get the seriousness. “Relax. Maybe he and Nott over there are secretly—”

“Enzo,” Blaise interrupted, swirling his drink with practiced ease, “I know you love the sound of your own voice, but maybe tone it down. You’re about as subtle as a bludger to the face.”