18. Part

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There was something in the air lately—something unspoken, something I couldn't quite name. It lingered in the way Mattheo Riddle looked at me across classrooms now, in the silence that followed when our eyes met for too long and one of us had to look away. I kept telling myself I was imagining it.
That nothing had changed.
That it was just in my head.
But I knew better.
It had started after that night on the Astronomy Tower. Or maybe before that. Maybe it had begun the moment I told him the truth under the stars, when the words finally slipped from my lips—raw, painful, vulnerable. When I looked him in the eyes and saw... not disgust. Not mockery. Not the boy who had spent years making my life hell.
But something else.
Something I wasn't ready for.
Since then, we hadn't spoken properly. Not really. But something had shifted. The space between us was no longer filled with sharp edges and knives. Now it was something quieter. He still didn't approach me in the corridors, didn't sit near me in the Great Hall, didn't so much as offer a nod of acknowledgement in front of others—but I could feel him watching sometimes. Just briefly. Just enough to notice.
He didn't pretend I didn't exist anymore. And that was somehow worse.
Because now, when our eyes met, it didn't feel like a battle.
It felt like a question.
__________________________

"I still think you're lying," Cho said beside me as we crossed the courtyard, scarves fluttering in the wind.
"I'm not," I muttered.
"You are," she pressed. "You say there's nothing going on, but I can literally feel the weird tension every time you're in the same room. Like—like the air goes heavy. You could cut it with a wand."
I rolled my eyes, hugging my arms tighter around my cloak. The sky was iron-grey above us, snow threatening in the clouds, the scent of frost already biting at the stone walls of the castle.
"There is no tension," I lied. "We don't even talk."
"Exactly," she said. "But you used to hate him. Loudly. Passionately. And now... it's all weird silences and lingering glances."
I hated how well she knew me.
I didn't say anything. I didn't have to. Cho sighed softly beside me and slowed her pace.
"I'm just saying," she said gently, "don't forget who he is. What he's capable of. His father literally tried to destroy everything."
I flinched. I couldn't help it.
"I know," I said sharply. "You don't need to remind me."
Cho looked at me for a long moment. "Maybe I don't. But I also know you, Hannah. And I know how your heart works. You want to find good in people. Even when it's not there."
I looked away. "I don't want to find anything in him."
A pause.
"Don't lie to yourself," she whispered.
And I didn't answer. Because I couldn't.
_________________________________

That evening, after dinner, I found myself alone in the library, unable to focus. My Transfiguration book lay open in front of me, but the words refused to sink in. I'd read the same paragraph five times and still couldn't remember a thing. My fingers drummed against the edge of the page, restless.
Eventually, I gave up.
I left the library, wandering through the castle, not entirely sure where I was going until I found myself standing at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower steps.
I hesitated.
Then climbed.
The sky was clear tonight. Cold and endless, stars scattered like silver dust across velvet. I sat on the stone bench near the railing, pulling my cloak tighter around me as I stared up at the stars. My breath puffed in front of me, little clouds of warmth dissolving into the dark.
For a while, it was just me and the sky.
Until footsteps echoed behind me.
I tensed immediately. Slowly turned.
Mattheo Riddle stood in the doorway.
He said nothing at first. Just walked forward slowly, his presence stretching between us like a second wind. I waited for him to make some sarcastic comment. A sly insult. A muttered jab under his breath.
But none came.
"Mind if I sit?" he asked.
I turned slightly to look at him, narrowing my eyes. "You've never cared before if I mind."
He gave a small shrug. "Trying something new."
I raised a brow but didn't object. He sat down beside me, not close, but not distant either. There was silence again, broken only by the soft sound of wind and the distant hoot of an owl.
I expected him to speak—to bring up that night when I told him too much. But he didn't.
Instead, after a pause, he asked, "What was it like... growing up in your house?"
I blinked.
"What?"
"Your home. Your family. I mean—" He cleared his throat, looking awkward for once. "You talk about your sister sometimes. And you and Chang are close. Just wondering... what your life was like before Hogwarts."
I stared at him, completely thrown off. This wasn't the kind of question Mattheo Riddle asked. He didn't ask anything, not unless it was to mock.
"Why do you care?"
He hesitated, then answered, "I don't know. Just curious."
I turned my face away, back to the stars. For a moment, I didn't say anything.
But then I heard myself begin to speak. Quietly.
"It was... fine, I guess. Normal. I mean, as normal as it can be."
He didn't interrupt.
"I always loved reading. Mum said I'd go through books faster than she could buy them. I spent summers in the garden or in my room, scribbling in journals I never let anyone read."
I let out a breath. "And Hogwarts... Hogwarts was supposed to be my fresh start. My own place to be me. But then you—" I stopped.
He tilted his head. "Then I what?"
"You happened."
I regretted the words the second they left my mouth. But they were already out there, hovering between us in the dark.
Mattheo looked away. He didn't argue. Didn't smirk. Just nodded slowly like... like he knew. Like he'd known all along.
"That wasn't the plan," he muttered, voice low.
"What was the plan?" I asked, not to challenge him, but genuinely.
He didn't answer for a moment. Then—
"There was no plan," he said. "There never is. You just... grow up the way I did, and you learn how to strike first. Before anyone else does."
I glanced at him. His jaw was tense, eyes focused somewhere far off in the stars.
"What about your life?" I asked quietly. "What was it like for you?"
He was silent so long I thought he might ignore the question entirely.
Then he said, "It wasn't really a life. Just a series of... expectations. Rules. Power. Legacy. That kind of thing."
"Sounds... lonely," I murmured before I could stop myself.
His lips curved—just barely. Not a smile, but something that tried to be.
"It was," he admitted.
And just like that, we sat there again. Quiet. Together. The air between us softer somehow. Less like a battlefield, more like a truce.
We didn't say anything else that night. We didn't need to.
But for the first time, I left the Astronomy Tower not feeling like I'd lost something—
—but like something might be growing, slowly, in the spaces we used to fill with hate.

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