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 air between Emerson and Mattheo the next morning was different. It wasn't exactly strained, but it carried the weight of something tender between them.
They didn't talk about what happened in the locker room. Mattheo simply held her, breath still shaky and body still thrumming with everything she did to him. And she let him, resting her cheek against his shoulder and playing with the back of his hair gently, listening to the silence stretch out between them.
It wasn't mentioned when Emerson walked him back to the dungeons after he finally calmed down, damp hair still curling around his ears.
It wasn't mentioned when his fingers brushed hers, accidentally, or maybe not, and he didn't let go.
It wasn't mentioned when they stood in the corridor near the entrance to the Slytherin common room, bathed in the low flicker of torchlight, just looking at each other for a long, long moment before she wished him goodnight and walked to Ravenclaw tower.
By the time she returned to Ravenclaw Tower, it was late. It was so late that the corridors were dark and empty and even the portraits seemed to be asleep. She didn't even have the opportunity to Olivia what happened.
Now, in the morning light, it was all she could think about.
She could still feel the heat of Mattheo's skin and hear the sound of his voice. It was low and ragged, murmuring her name like it hurt to say it. She couldn't even forget the look in his eyes when she touched him and the way his hands had curled around her after, almost like he didn't want to let go.
When she arrived at breakfast the next morning, Mattheo was sitting with Draco at the Slytherin table for the first time in days. Theo and Enzo sat at the Ravenclaw table, waiting for Olivia and Emerson but Mattheo... He was absent from his spot.
He didn't glance up when she entered the Great Hall either. He didn't even flicked his gaze sideways when Blaise nudged him and said something with a smirk. He just stared at his plate, muscles tense beneath his uniform shirt and fork scraping idly through his eggs without really eating them.
And Emerson felt it like a slap to the chest.
She knew it wasn't rejection. Not really. She could see it in the way his jaw was tight and in the way he bounced his leg beneath the table. He was restless and irritable. He wasn't ignoring her because he didn't care.
He was ignoring her because he did.
For him, he remembered the way her hands trembled at first, but then how careful she was and determined to pleasure him.
He remembered her lips around him, how reverent she was, like she knew how rare it was for him to fall apart like that.
He remembered how she held him afterwards like she was trying to protect whatever fragile pieces he'd just shown her.
