In an alternate existence

Irritation (Fascination)

Matteo stormed into the Slytherin common room, boots striking the flagstones as the green-tinted firelight flickered wildly on the ancient stone. He paced with restless energy, jaw clenched, chest tight. Every movement felt too loud in the hush that fell as he entered, but he didn't care. He needed to move. He needed to shake off the look she'd given him-a look that refused to leave his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

On the couch, Draco lounged with practiced indifference, legs crossed at the ankle, fingers drumming rhythmically against the leather. He watched Matteo sidelong, eyes hooded, mouth curled in a half-smirk. Typical Malfoy. Unbothered. Or at least pretending to be. Matteo wondered if Draco had felt it too-that sharp, assessing pressure that clung to the air whenever Potter-Akira-entered a room.

At the hearth, Blaise sprawled with his usual, feline grace, eyes following Matteo as if he were a puzzle to be solved. He looked amused, but under the amusement was something sharper, more interested. Blaise rarely got ruffled, but even he hadn't missed the shift in the Great Hall, the way the entire school had seemed to still when Akira had spoken.

Theo sat in the shadows, elbows on his knees, gaze distant. He didn't say much. He never did. But Matteo could feel him thinking, always thinking, about the things no one else dared to voice.

Matteo's anger simmered. It wasn't just anger, though. It was something more complicated, something he didn't want to name. He replayed the moment in the Hall-her eyes on him, calm, cold, ancient. Like she'd peeled him open and seen everything inside. He hated that feeling. Hated how his palms sweated and his heart thudded long after he'd sat down. He hated that she hadn't so much as blinked at his outburst.

He ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard. Did she really see through him, through all of them? Or was he just imagining it? Draco's smirk deepened; Matteo shot him a glare but said nothing. Sometimes it felt like Draco knew what he was thinking, which only made it worse.

The room gathered tension like a storm gathering clouds. Blaise's lips quirked, but he didn't speak. He just watched, eyes glinting with something Matteo couldn't quite read. Did Blaise see it too? The way Akira moved through the world, as if she belonged to the shadows and the light had to follow her?

Theo's gaze flicked to Matteo for a heartbeat. There was no judgment in it, only calculation. Theo had always been the one to notice the invisible, to sense the undercurrents. Matteo wondered if he'd noticed what Matteo himself had only begun to suspect: that he was thinking about Potter far too much. And not just with anger.

He wanted to call her arrogant, dramatic, untouchable. He wanted to believe she'd just come back with a new name and a baby and expected the world to fall at her feet. But the truth was, she didn't seem to care at all about their stares or their whispers. She looked through people, not at them. She was untouchable because she made herself so.

Draco shifted, stretching his arms with lazy grace. Matteo caught the brief flicker of something in Draco's eyes-resentment, maybe, or respect. Or both. They'd all watched her, hadn't they? Not just today, but always. Even back when she was just Potter, the Gryffindor hero they all loved to hate. Now, though, she was something else. Something... more.

Blaise's eyes lingered on the firelight, but Matteo saw the way his gaze darted back to the door, as if half-expecting Akira to storm in, as if he'd welcome the chaos. Maybe Blaise liked the danger, the unpredictability. Maybe he liked the way she made them all feel unsteady.

Theo's knuckles were white where they gripped his knees. Matteo wondered what he saw when he looked at her-if it was that strange, patient magic that seemed to hover around her, or something else entirely.

The silence stretched, broken only by the pop of the fire and the faint rush of water from the Black Lake against the windows. Matteo's thoughts twisted, bitter and restless. He'd come back from the war angry, with nothing but his name and his scars. She'd come back changed, carrying more power than before, and no one dared say it, but everyone noticed.

He tried to convince himself it was jealousy, or pride, or just the old rivalry. But it wasn't. Not really. It was the way she'd looked at him. Like she'd seen every lie he'd ever told, every weakness he tried to hide. It was unbearable, that certainty in her gaze.

He'd find out what she was hiding. He'd make her look away first.

Across the room, Draco caught his eye and arched an eyebrow, as if to say: Don't let her get to you.

But it was too late for that.

The fire flickered, casting long shadows up the stone walls. Outside, something huge drifted past the window, its eye catching the light-a reminder that in Slytherin, secrets always lurked just beneath the surface.

Matteo's fists tightened. He wasn't ready to let Akira win. Not yet. But in the quiet, in the shadows, he wondered if it was already too late. A sudden, startled giggle broke the heavy quiet. All four boys jerked their heads up, eyes snapping to the far end of the common room where, somehow, impossibly, a floating baby carrier was bobbing gently just above the floor. Inside, Teddy Lupin blinked wide, curious eyes at the emerald-lit chamber, his hair shifting from turquoise to a startled violet as he took in the unfamiliar faces.

Matteo froze mid-step, his mind blank. For a second, none of them moved, as if a Niffler had just waltzed in balancing the Sword of Gryffindor on its nose.

Draco was the first to find his voice, though it was little more than a stunned whisper. "Is that... Potter's baby?"

Blaise nearly choked on thin air, then let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "How the hell did he get in here?"

Theo's gaze darted to the enchanted entrance. The common room's wards hadn't even flickered. Had the baby just... slipped through? Or had he been brought? Either way, Teddy was here now, giggling at the Slytherins as if they were part of some elaborate, magical joke.

Matteo stepped closer, uncertain. Teddy's eyes-bright and unafraid-locked onto his, and something inside Matteo quivered, an awkward tenderness he didn't want to acknowledge. Teddy reached pudgy hands skyward, babbling happily.

None of them seemed eager to touch the carrier, as if the baby might explode with Gryffindor hexes at the first sign of Slytherin interference. But then Teddy let out a soft, plaintive whine, and Blaise, shrugging, knelt down and gently steadied the floating carrier.

"He's not going to bite," Blaise muttered, glancing up at the others. "Though I wouldn't put it past Potter to have charmed him to hex us if we try."

Draco, regaining some composure, stood and brushed imaginary lint from his robes. "We can't just leave him here. Someone will notice. Someone like McGonagall."

Matteo's heart hammered. He glanced at Theo, who gave the barest of nods. "We should take him back," Theo said quietly, his voice steady.

None of them wanted to be the one to pick up the carrier, but after a tense, silent moment, Matteo surprised himself by moving first. He reached out, hands careful, and lifted the carrier as if it held precious glass-and not the most famous baby in the wizarding world. Teddy looked up at him, then grinned, hair flashing gold for an instant.

Matteo swallowed, ignoring the way the others watched him. "Let's go," he said gruffly.

The four Slytherins slipped from the common room and into the torch-lit corridors, the baby carrier floating gently between them. Teddy cooed and waved, entirely untroubled by the odd procession.

When they reached the door to Akira's suite, Matteo hesitated, then knocked. The door swung open almost instantly. Akira stood there, eyes sharp, wand in hand. She took in the sight-her godson, four notorious Slytherins, and an awkward silence-and her expression shifted from concern to something unreadable.

"We found him," Matteo managed. "In our common room."

Akira's eyes softened, and she reached for Teddy, scooping him into her arms. "Thank you," she said, her voice low but sincere, laced with a gravity none of them could ignore.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then, with a curt nod from Akira, the Slytherins turned and melted back into the shadows of the corridor, each of them carrying the memory of that brief, strange encounter-one that none of them would speak of, but none of them would forget.