HIDDEN FATES [Mattheo Riddle]

ONE

CHAPTER ONE
—
The Juice Incident

It was a typical Monday morning—or at least I thought it was—until ten minutes into breakfast when an unexpected deluge of orange juice cascaded over me, courtesy of a Slytherin girl I didn't even know. Let me take you back to the beginning.

As I walked into the Great Hall, the morning light streamed through the enchanted ceiling, casting warm golden hues across the long, wooden tables filled with students. The smell of fresh pastries and sizzling bacon wafted through the air, but all I could think about was how much I wanted the day to be over. I wished I could curl up under my blankets, the world fading away, if only for a moment of peace. The classes lined up for the day looked as appealing as a three-hour lecture on the history of goblin rebellions, and I felt a familiar heaviness settle in my chest. If I weren't a good student with aspirations, I might have seriously considered skipping them all.

"You look tired," Dean, my friend and fellow Ravenclaw, said as I slid into my usual seat at the table. His voice was a soothing balm, but I knew it was just a reminder of my exhaustion.

"Wow, you're so nice, Dean," I replied, rolling my eyes as I reached for a piece of crusty bread, feeling its warmth beneath my fingers. It was a small act of rebellion against the day's looming responsibilities, a momentary escape into the simple pleasure of food.

Sarah, my other friend, slapped my hand away with a mock look of horror, her brow furrowing as if I'd committed a great sin. "Carbs aren't good for you," she chided, her tone light yet tinged with genuine concern. She had that knack for caring too much about sugar and calories, almost like a mother hen clucking over her chicks.

Dean and I exchanged a knowing glance, struggling to suppress our laughter. We adored Sarah, even if her fixation on health felt a little overzealous at times. Her heart was in the right place, even if her dietary advice often made our mornings feel like a culinary battlefield.

"Are you Eline?" a new voice interrupted, slicing through our morning banter like a knife through butter.

I frowned, trying to locate the source of the voice. My gaze landed on a striking blonde girl who wore her Slytherin colors with the pride of a lioness. She stood tall, exuding confidence and poise that felt almost otherworldly, as if she'd stepped right off a glossy magazine cover. The way she flicked her hair back made me feel suddenly self-conscious, my own unkempt locks sticking out like an afterthought.

"Uh, yeah, why?" I replied, my tone awkward and defensive, narrowing my eyes slightly in suspicion. The way she regarded me made my skin prickle.

She scoffed, the sound sharp enough to draw the attention of nearby students. Conversations faded into hushed whispers, and I could feel eyes upon us, as if we were the stars of a drama playing out on the stage of the Great Hall. Not that I understood why; our exchange was about as thrilling as watching paint dry.