Faer • Mattheo Riddle

3.0

Morning crept into the dormitory with a soft, pale light filtering through the heavy curtains. The room was a mess, a battlefield after the war of last night's party-empty goblets, potion bottles meant for hangovers, and discarded shoes scattered across the floor. 

The muffled groans of Daphne and Pansy filled the air, punctuated by the occasional rustle of sheets as they shifted in their beds. The dormitory smelled faintly of sweat, stale perfume, and the remnants of firewhiskey.

I blinked awake, my eyes gritty from too little sleep, and the familiar dull throb at my temples reminded me that I'd had too much to drink, even if not as much as the others. I pushed myself up slowly, my muscles aching with the effort. 

My head felt heavy, but it was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort in my chest, a tightness I couldn't quite shake since last night.

I rubbed my temples, trying to clear the fog in my mind. I had a vague recollection of the party, the noise, the chaos, and that moment with him in the Astronomy Tower-his grip around my throat, the burning intensity in his eyes. 

I shook the thought away. 

That was over now, at least for the moment. But the tension it left in my body remained like a poison I couldn't expel.

I heard Daphne moan again from across the room, her arm thrown dramatically over her face. "Merlin, I think I'm dying," she muttered, her voice barely audible under her pillow.

I scoffed under my breath but said nothing. Pansy, on the other hand, was less dramatic but clearly in worse shape. She lay still for a moment, then sat up abruptly, her face a shade too pale, her hands clutching her stomach. Her dark hair fell into her face, and she looked like she might be sick at any moment.

For a second, I considered turning away, slipping out of the room while they were too groggy to notice. I hated these moments, these displays of weakness. 

They reminded me too much of my own vulnerabilities, the things I fought so hard to hide. But something made me pause, my eyes lingering on Pansy as she struggled to keep herself together.

I could see her skin starting to glisten with a thin sheen of sweat, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Her hair was a mess, sticking to her face, and I felt something strange stir inside me-something I didn't quite recognize.

Sympathy? No, I didn't do sympathy.

 I was always the one who kept my distance, who refused to be sucked into anyone else's mess. But there it was, a small, irritating prickle in the back of my mind, urging me to do... something.

Pansy groaned softly, her eyes squinting shut as another wave of nausea hit her. She was going to be sick again. 

Before I could stop myself, I crossed the room, my feet moving as if on their own. I stood beside her for a second, feeling awkward and unsure, then reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling it back from her face.

It felt strange, holding her hair like that-so intimate, so... gentle.

 I could feel the softness of it, the warmth of her scalp beneath my fingers. I held my breath, waiting for her to snap at me, to push me away, to make some snide comment about how out of character this was.