HIDDEN FATES [Mattheo Riddle]

SIX

CHAPTER SIX
—
A Shattered Illusion

Lunch with Mattheo's friends had gone shockingly well, leaving me with a sense of surreal disbelief. If someone had told me a week ago that I'd be laughing with Slytherins, I would have thought they'd been hit with a Confundus Charm. But there I was, sitting with the scariest group of students in Hogwarts, feeling oddly at ease. The banter, the teasing—it had all flowed naturally, like a stream meandering effortlessly through rocky terrain. And of course, much of the laughter had come at Mattheo's expense, but even that felt lighthearted and fun, rather than malicious. For a while, it felt like I belonged, like I wasn't just an outsider playing pretend in their world.

But that easy feeling faded as I stepped into the library later that afternoon, the atmosphere shifting the moment I sat my books down on the worn wooden table. Dean was already there, hunched over his books, and the second he saw me, his eyes narrowed. I could feel the tension crackle between us, heavy as a storm cloud on the brink of thunder.

"Now you wanna sit with us?" Dean's tone was hostile, the words cutting through the otherwise quiet hum of the library.

I raised an eyebrow, startled by the bitterness in his voice. Before I could respond, Sarah, sitting beside him, cleared her throat awkwardly. "Dean, don't be so harsh," she murmured, though her eyes flicked toward me, uncertainty etched in their depths.

My fingers tightened around the edge of my book, the irritation bubbling up inside me. Dean had no right to act like this, as if I owed him an explanation for every single choice I made. I hadn't done anything wrong. I had texted them, informed them about lunch, and now, here I was being treated like some kind of traitor for spending time with Mattheo.

"I did text you in the group chat this morning, didn't I?" My voice was slow, deliberate, as if explaining something obvious to a child.

Dean shot me a glance, but didn't answer. Sarah shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to avoid the growing tension.

"You did," Sarah finally agreed with a small nod, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And neither of you replied, right?" I continued, my irritation mounting like a fire catching wind, growing hotter and more uncontrollable by the second.

Dean sighed, flipping his book open aggressively. The pages slammed against the table with a force that made the pens scattered across it rattle. "Okay, okay. Let's just study," he muttered, not meeting my eyes.

I shoved my chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the stone floor. Without another word, I sat down, my body rigid with anger. The frustration inside me was a boiling cauldron, threatening to spill over at any moment. Honestly, it didn't take much to set me off. My emotions were always on a hair-trigger, swinging wildly from one extreme to the other. Happiness, anger, sadness—it all burned brightly, like fireworks that exploded too quickly, leaving behind nothing but smoke.

Sarah's discomfort was palpable, like the shifting of weight in an unbalanced boat. But for the first time, I didn't care. My friends didn't know about the fake relationship with Mattheo. They didn't understand, but even without knowing the truth, their lack of support and understanding stung. Shouldn't they have trusted me enough to know I wasn't abandoning them? I shouldn't have to defend every single decision, to justify who I was with, whether it was real or not. I especially shouldn't be made to feel guilty for having lunch with someone I was supposedly dating.

"Ellie," Dean's voice broke through my thoughts, quieter now, almost tentative.

I ignored him, my eyes glued to the open notebook in front of me, the words blurring together as my anger simmered beneath the surface.