Emerson Wilmore was an exemplary Ravenclaw student, known for her unwavering dedication to academics and an unyielding moral compass. However, things took a twisted and deviated turn in her life after her boyfriend, Cedric Diggory, was murdered by L...
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The Slytherin dormitory was hazy with smoke, the faint scent of burning herbs mixing with the deep musk of old books and the distant, lingering dampness of the dungeons. Sunlight filtered in through the heavy green curtains, casting fractured beams of light across the room. Mattheo sat at the edge of his bed, one leg stretched out, the other bent, a cigarette resting between his fingers as he exhaled a slow breath.
Theo was sprawled out on Enzo's bed, eyes half-lidded and blood-shot, head tilted back against the headboard. He was uncharacteristically quiet, save for the occasional chuckle or hum of agreement. Enzo, cross-legged on the floor by the window, flipping his silver lighter open and closing absentmindedly, his usual restlessness more subdued than usual.
Mattheo knew why Theo was high.
He hadn't said anything, not outright, but Mattheo didn't need to hear it to know. He knew Theo better than he knew himself. His late mother's anniversary was in a week. Every year, like clockwork, Theo found ways to avoid the thoughts creeping in by drowning them in whatever he could get his hands on. Some years it was firewhiskey when Mattheo had to stay up with him for hours to make sure that Theo didn't give himself alcohol poisoning, others it was drugs when Mattheo had to make sure he didn't overdose.
Today, it was whatever he stuffed into a cigarette paper and inhaled deep into his lungs, taking him somewhere else.
Leading up to this week, since Halloween, Theo was staying up later most nights and returning to the dormitory after curfew. Mattheo assumed that he was either getting high alone, or he was having meaningless sex to forget. Either way, Mattheo didn't probe, both verbally or by invading his thoughts. Theo's mother was a part of him that Mattheo refused to dig into, unless Theo shared it.
Mattheo exhaled a slow stream of smoke, letting his gaze drift across the ceiling of the dormitory. His mind, however, was somewhere else entirely.
Or rather, on someone.
Ever since Halloween, the tension between him and Emerson only worsened with each passing minute.
She was everywhere.
In class, she ignored the way he leaned just a little too close when they worked in Potions.
In the corridors, she refused to acknowledge the heat in his gaze when he brushed past her.
At meals, she sat stiffly at the Ravenclaw table, stubbornly not looking at him while he smirked from across the hall.
Mattheo thrived on it.
On pushing her.
He enjoyed watching her try to act indifferent when her fingers curled just a little too tightly around her quill, or when her breathing hitched when he let his voice drop low in her ear.
