Love Mattheo, your greatest love.

tes cicatrices sont belles

Everyone had already left class, but I had to stay behind for detention due to flipping Snape off for giving me extra homework.

I make my way out of class and decide to head to the Astronomy Tower. I walk up and see Mattheo sitting down. I go up behind him and before I can tap his shoulder he quickly turns around, eyeing me down.

"Hey," he says quietly.

"Hey," I match his tone.

I gently run my hand through his hair and sit down beside him.

"What are you doing?" I ask him, looking at the book in his hand.

"Reading. Snape assigned me extra homework. I'm supposed to read this book about werewolves and than master a potion." "Which potion?"

"Wolfsbane"

"Ahh," I say nodding.

I lean my head up against his shoulder, observing the book.

"Lay down," he says patting his lap.

"What?" I smile.

"Lay your head down."

"Ok" I say confused.

I lay my head down on his lap, looking up to his alluring face. His scars are hypnotizing, face glowing. His hair lays in front of his eyes and I've noticed that every time before he moves it he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, only for it to fall back against his eyes.

And those brown eyes, you could get lost in them. He's beautiful.

"What?" He says staring down at me. I smile. "Nothing." And he looks back to his book. After a few minutes of silence he sighs loudly. "What?" "Nothing it's just Snape gave me the wrong copy, the one that tells the ingredients in French." He say closing the book. "Here, let me." I say grabbing the book, opening it up to the page he marked.

"•Aconit
•Quicksilver noir, pulvérisé [1]
•Moonwort géant
•Myrrhe, marinée dans l'ichor d'araignée de la carotte.

"So all of that translated is,
•Aconite
•Black Quicksilver, pulverized [1]
•Giant moonwort
•Myrrh, pickled in carrow spider ichor" I say and hand him the book.

He stares at me, lips parted. "What?" I shrug.

"You know French?" "Yeah" "How? Where did you learn it?"

"My mom. She taught me when I was little. She said she wouldn't have me in the house if I didn't know French."

"Say something else."

"Like what?" I chuckle.

He shrugs his shoulders, "Anything"

"Tes cicatrices sont belles."

"What does that mean?"

"It means your scars are beautiful."

He smiles and I reach my hand out to touch his scar across his eye. Running my finger along it. I take my hand away but he catches it and puts it to his lips, kissing it.