Leah Labelle has spent most of her years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the shadows, always present but never quite noticed. She often felt caught between not being ugly enough to be bullied and not being captivating enough to seiz...
I expect Saturday morning's breakfast to be filled with an uncomfortable and peculiar atmosphere, but to my surprise, it isn't. Mattheo and Theodore enter the room together, engrossed in a conversation that has captured both of their attention and enthusiasm. It's as if the altercation from last night never occurred, as if the bruises on their skin weren't inflicted by each other.
I am thankful that Pansy appears just as bewildered and disoriented as I am by this. ❝I'm sorry, but last time I checked, you guys weren't on exactly good terms,❞ she remarks, her mouth full of cereal.
❝Solved it. Can't let my disgust for her win,❞Theodore responds, his gaze avoiding mine as he takes a seat on the opposite side of the table, abandoning his usual spot next to me. Mattheo plants a gentle kiss on the side of my head before settling into Theodore's usual seat.
❝Hey angel,❞ he greets me, his arm resting behind me as he ensures I am tethered closer to his side.
I attempt to convince myself that my desire to distance myself from Mattheo stems from my discomfort with openly displaying affection.
Pansy acknowledges this notion with a nod, seemingly accepting Theodore's explanation. However, her subsequent comment about me and Mattheo being the most adorable couple she has ever witnessed only intensifies my unease. Meanwhile, Theodore diverts his attention to Draco and Blaise, engrossed in their conversation about the upcoming Quidditch game. I retreat further into my Slytherin sweater, my elbow resting on the table as I lay my chin in the palm of my hand.
Pansy's arm suddenly digs into my ribcage, causing me to grimace.
❝I should be upset with you for not telling me about you and Mattheo,❞she says in a lowered voice, leaning closer to ensure our conversation remains private.
❝But I kinda get it, so I'm not upset. You're forgiven,❞ she beams and with a radiant smile, she playfully ruffles my hair. I respond with a timid grin, not quite sure how to react.
I reach for the unoccupied glass of juice in front of me and gently pick it up, trying to keep myself distracted. With my gaze fixed on the bright orange liquid, I slowly swirl the glass, lost in thought. As I glance up, I see everyone at the table chatting and smiling, seemingly content.
Putting down the glass, I attempt to join in on the conversation between Mattheo and the tired-looking Enzo. It's clear he won't be drinking anytime soon.
Despite the warm and cheerful atmosphere around me, there's an inexplicable sense of discomfort gnawing at the pit of my stomach, like a restless bird trapped in a cage. It's as if beneath the surface of our happy gathering, there's an ominous undercurrent waiting to pull me under.
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As Tuesday morning rolls around, I can't shake the feeling that my luck is about to take a turn for the worse. The past few days have been unusually uneventful in our group, almost bordering on boring. But I don't mind boring, to be honest.
