A heart beneath the mark

15. Part

Hey everyone! I'm sorry I haven't been active the last few months, I had a lot to deal with.
Anyway, I'm trying to become more active again so... I hope you like this part

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Hannah Bennett's POV

The first thing I noticed was the light. It poured through the high windows like liquid gold, far too bright for how heavy my body felt. My head ached dully, my mouth was dry as parchment, and I felt like I'd been asleep for a year. I blinked slowly, trying to make sense of where I was. The room smelled sterile—peppermint and old linen—and the air was unnaturally quiet. No distant chatter from common rooms, no flipping pages, no quills scratching on parchment. Just the soft clink of a bottle and the faint rustle of someone moving nearby. Then the pain in my limbs, the tightness in my chest, and the sense of floating all came rushing back.

Hospital Wing.

I tried to sit up but barely managed to lift my head before a sharp voice interrupted me.
"Don't even think about it."
Madam Pomfrey stepped into view, wand in hand, eyes narrowed in that no-nonsense way of hers.
"You've been unconscious for over two days. You're weak, dehydrated, and lucky you didn't collapse down a staircase instead of onto a library table."
Her words sank in slowly.
Two days?
"What..." I swallowed, my voice scratchy. "What happened?"
She sighed, checking something on the bedside table. "You fainted. Blood sugar dangerously low. It's a miracle someone noticed when they did. Any longer and—" She stopped herself. "Let's just say you're lucky."
I stared at the ceiling, the fragments of memory starting to piece together—ink-stained parchment, my aching hands, Mattheo's irritated voice, and then... nothing.
"Who found me?"
She glanced at me sideways, then muttered, "Mattheo Riddle."
I blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
"He brought you here," she said more clearly. "Carried you from the library. Said you fainted mid-sentence."
I stared at her, stunned.
Mattheo Riddle. Hogwarts' most emotionally unavailable Slytherin. The boy who treated me like I was nothing more than a particularly annoying fly buzzing around his head. That Mattheo Riddle had carried me to the Hospital Wing?
"He... actually carried me?"
"Indeed. And before you ask, no, he didn't look particularly thrilled about it," she added dryly. "But he came back. A few times, actually."
"He what?"
"Didn't say much. Just stood there. Watched you for a bit. Left again."
I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know what to think.
Before I could make sense of it, the door creaked open.
Madam Pomfrey turned, nodded at whoever was there, and walked away without a word.
And then he walked in.
Mattheo Riddle. Hands in the pockets of his black school trousers, expression blank, dark curls falling into his eyes like always. He looked like he didn't want to be here. Or like he needed me to think he didn't want to be here.
His gaze swept over me briefly, as if confirming I was actually conscious.
"You're alive," he said, tone flat. "Good for you."
"Nice to see you too," I muttered, my throat still rough.
He didn't come closer. Just stood there like he was trying to decide whether it was worth saying anything else at all.
I stared at him. "So... you brought me here?"
"Figured dying on a library table would be dramatic. Even for you."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the concern."
"I wasn't concerned," he said automatically. "You were just... twitching. It was weird."
That stung more than it should have.
I sat up a little straighter. "Well, next time I'll make sure to faint more gracefully. Wouldn't want to disturb your aesthetic."
He actually smirked at that—barely. "You'd still manage to make it inconvenient."
"Why did you even visit?" I asked, watching him closely.
He didn't answer immediately. His eyes flicked to the window, the clock, anywhere but me. Finally, he said, "Pomfrey told me you weren't dead. I figured that was enough."
"And yet here you are."
"Don't read into it," he said flatly. "I had to bring something anyway."
I frowned. "What?"
He reached into his bag and pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment—our Charms project. Or rather, the finished version of it.
"I finished it. Presented it this morning," he said casually, as if it had been no trouble at all.
My mouth parted slightly. "You... did it? Alone?"
He nodded. "Didn't want to, but I wasn't going to let your dramatic collapse tank my grade."
"How did it go?"
He shrugged. "Everyone liked it. Slughorn said it was 'impressively thorough,' and Daphne Greengrass asked if I was accepting tutoring requests. I told her no."
There was something in his voice. Not pride, not mockery. Just... resignation.
"And you gave me credit?" I asked quietly.
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not a complete bastard, Bennett. Your name's on it."
I blinked again, completely thrown off. "Why?"
He sighed, like he was tired of the conversation already. "Because you did most of it. And because I didn't feel like explaining why my partner collapsed in front of me while I did nothing."
Ah. There it was. The cold edge. The indifference. Still... he had finished it. He had included my name. He had visited.
"You really don't care at all, do you?" I asked, not even sure why I was pressing. He looked at me then. Properly. His eyes were dark, unreadable—but not empty.
"Don't get used to it," he said quietly. "You'll be back to annoying me soon enough."
With that, he placed the parchment on the nightstand, turned, and walked out without another word.

Later that evening, the door opened again—this time with smaller, faster footsteps.
"Hannah!"
I turned to see Gwen—my little sister, wide-eyed and breathless, in her first-year robes. Her bag was bouncing at her side as she rushed toward my bed.
"You're awake!" she cried, climbing into the chair beside me.
"Hi," I smiled tiredly. "Didn't think they'd let you in."
"I begged. Said you were my sister and might be dying."
I laughed softly. "Dramatic."
She shrugged proudly. "It worked."
Then she leaned in, her voice dropping like she was sharing a secret.
"Oh, and guess what—Mattheo Riddle asked about you."
I blinked. "What?"
"Yesterday, in the corridor. I was going to Potions, and he just appeared out of nowhere and said, 'How's your sister?' in that weird serious voice he always uses."
"What did you say?"
"I told him you were still asleep and he just nodded like... like it didn't matter. But I think it did."
My heart thudded softly in my chest.
"He doesn't care," I whispered.
Gwen tilted her head. "I don't know. Maybe not in the way normal people care. But he asked. And that means something, right?"
I didn't know what to say.
Maybe he didn't care.
Maybe he just hated messes and I was one of them.
Maybe it was guilt, or habit, or something else entirely.

But maybe...
Just maybe...
It was something more.