She was a misfit, he was a git.
Matilda Diggory enters her fifth year of school, ready to remain as under the radar as possible, only there's a catch. She's somehow managed to catch the eye of a particularly annoying redhead, who seems hell-bent on...
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The next morning, Matilda lay in bed, unwilling to face the world. Her heart felt heavy after the incident with Fred last night. She had gone to find George afterwards, curtly informing him that Fred was ready to pass out, but she'd left before he could ask what had happened. Now, she was trapped in her bed, time slipping away while she stared blankly at the canopy above her.
Everything felt wrong. She had tried to stay invisible, blending into the background as much as possible. But somehow, Fred had seen her. He wasn't the only one. It seemed everyone had started to notice her, and she hated it. No matter how much she wished she could disappear, the spotlight lingered. It was as if she were fulfilling her mother Catherine's wish—to remain a nobody—but with none of the anonymity that should have come with it.
A heavy weight pressed on her chest, keeping her pinned down. Paralysis crept in, and the effort to get up seemed meaningless. What was the point, anyway? She had no friends to speak of, Quidditch practice was hours away, and school felt like a burden, drowning her under piles of parchment. Her hunger for academic approval had dulled the moment she realised that no amount of accolades would change her fate. Lycanthropy haunted her, a constant reminder that good grades wouldn't make a difference. So why try?
By the time noon arrived, Matilda finally dragged herself out of bed. It took her another hour of staring at the bathroom door before she found the strength to shower. The hot water swirled around her, but instead of refreshing her, it left her lightheaded, as if the heat were draining her. Slowly, she dressed in an old pair of sweatpants and an oversized navy sweater she didn't even remember owning.
The girl in the mirror was unrecognisable—pale, fragile, hollow. She looked lost as if her clothes were wearing her rather than the other way around. The sleeves of her sweater drooped past her hands, and she wrapped her fingers around her upper arm, thin enough to touch her thumb and index finger together. Her hair was a frizzy, tangled mess, piled on her head in a lazy bun. The dark circles under her eyes betrayed the sleepless nights she'd come to accept as her new normal.
She slid her feet into worn-out uggs and went down to the common room, but halfway there, her body betrayed her. Blue and black specks clouded her vision, and her legs wobbled beneath her. She managed to steady herself against the couch before slowly sinking to the ground, head resting on its side as the world faded around her.
"Tilly? Here, she's waking up. Matilda, can you hear me?"
A voice cut through the fog. She blinked, eyes fluttering open to find herself lying on the floor, surrounded by concerned faces. First years, seventh years, all crowding around her. Lee Jordan crouched beside her, his voice calm but firm as he gave quiet orders to those nearby, dispersing the crowd.
Alicia and Angelina were by her legs, lowering them gently back to the ground, while Wood fidgeted nervously, wringing his hands. Fred and George stood beside him, trying to keep him from pacing. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione hovered, their faces etched with concern.
