She was a misfit, he was a git.
Matilda Diggory enters her fifth year of school, ready to remain as under the radar as possible, only there's a catch. She's somehow managed to catch the eye of a particularly annoying redhead, who seems hell-bent on...
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The dungeon air was heavy with the scent of rose petals and spice, bubbling cauldrons simmering low on their stands. Amortentia shimmered like liquid pearl, its steam curling in delicate tendrils, each ribbon laced with desire.
Matilda leaned over her cauldron, wand tapping the rim once, twice, in precise rhythm. The potion was nearly complete—just a whisper of mint root to stir the senses. Around her, students were already leaning in, eyes wide, cheeks pink from whatever scent the love potion revealed to them.
She hesitated.
"What do you smell?" came Vera's voice, airy and lilting. She was leaning over her own cauldron, nose twitching curiously, like a fox catching wind of something elusive. "I smell fireflies at dusk. And strawberries that don't exist yet. And..." she paused, dreamily, "April wildflowers."
Matilda gave her a sidelong glance. "That's oddly specific."
Vera grinned. "That's how you know it's real."
Taking a breath, Matilda finally bent low over the shimmering potion. Gunpowder.
Her chest tightened. She blinked rapidly, as if that could will it away.
Then came honey. Soft, warm, golden. The kind of sweetness that lingered after a joke whispered too close to her ear.
No, no, no.
And finally—petrichor. The crisp, earthy scent that followed rain after a dry spell. The smell of renewal, of something that had been scorched clean. The smell of the Quidditch pitch after stormy practices. The smell of—
"Fred," Matilda muttered, barely audible even to herself.
She straightened up too fast, nearly knocking her elbow into her cauldron.
"Something wrong?" Vera asked, blinking serenely at her. Her hair was tied with little bits of ribbon, and her sleeves had ink stains shaped like stars.
"No," Matilda said too quickly. "Just... a strong smell."
Vera hummed. "Sometimes the strongest things are the ones we bury deepest."
Vera often spoke with the strangest phrases, but this one made too much sense that Matilda faltered. "What do you mean?"
Vera tilted her head. "You're chasing the sun while pretending to nap. But I think you already know that, don't you?"
Matilda gave a short laugh, shaky. "I guess." She had no clue what that meant.
She smiled again, already drifting to her next task. "I wonder what Luna will think about my scents."
Matilda, jaw clenched, shoved the scent and everything it stirred down into the darkest corner of her mind. She thought of Pierre—his easy confidence, the warm steadiness in his eyes. Yes. That was safe. That was distraction. That was what she needed.
She and Pierre had stayed at the library for hours on Sunday, and he'd proven himself handy when she got stuck on translating a French article about a witch who was burned to death one year. Turns out, the girl had incorrectly cast the tickling charm and walked directly through a maze of flames, thinking she could outsmart the gamemakers, only to die right before their eyes.
Terrible way to go out.
And the more stories she found, the more worried Matilda was for Cedric and Harry. She was still yet to speak to either of them — Cedric was always surrounded by a herd of Hufflepuffs, including Sammy, Freya, and Stacey, while Harry seemed to be avoiding public spaces altogether.
Eventually, they turned to Pierre's hopeless ability at Potions. It was shocking, truly, how bad he was at knowing important ingredients, how they blend, and how their properties complement one another. It felt like she was teaching a First Year, though it wasn't nearly as boring as she imagined.
No, no. She and Pierre hadn't stopped flirting the entire time. It was exhilarating — to have the banter she'd been missing with Fred, but without the complications or messy feelings. Merlin, her cheeks had been sore from grinning by the time they went their separate ways!
So, no. The potion was wrong.
Matilda Diggory did not love Fred Weasley.
✧.*
That night, the common room was mostly deserted, the embers in the hearth casting a golden haze across the stone walls. Matilda sat cross-legged on the rug, watching Ginny Weasley point her wand at a quill with ferocious determination.
"Glacius!" Ginny barked, and the quill shivered before letting out a soft puff of frost. It drooped.
Matilda smiled. "Not bad."
Ginny let out a sigh and dropped her wand. "I don't get why we're learning this so early. I can barely freeze a teacup."
"You're not meant to master it overnight," Matilda said, adjusting the girl's wand grip slightly. "Try again. Think of the stillness. Not just the cold. Like... like a pond before sunrise. Not moving. Completely quiet."
Ginny nodded, serious now. "Okay."
She tried again—Glacius—and this time, the tip of the quill glistened over with a thin sheen of ice. Matilda clapped once, genuinely impressed.
Matilda chuckled, tucking her legs beneath her. Ginny glanced at her with a curious squint.
"Can I ask you something?" she said slowly.
"Sure."
"What do you think of Adelaide?"
Matilda blinked. "Adelaide?"
"You know. Fred's new girlfriend. Everyone's talking about it." Ginny watched her, tone innocent.
Matilda paused, hands still. She chose her words carefully. "I don't know her that well. But... from what I've seen, she's lovely. Smart. Polite. Kind. I don't remember Sammy, Freya or Stacey having anything to say about her, so that could be a good sign. I'm sure she's nice."
Ginny nodded. "She is. But..." she wrinkled her nose. "I dunno. I liked the idea of you and Fred."
Matilda laughed, surprised. "You hear of that once, and now you're obsessed..."
"Well, duh!" Ginny said brightly. "Fred dating someone I have always wanted to be my sister? Dream come true. Besides, he smiles differently when he talks to you."
Matilda looked away. Her throat felt tight. "That's all old news."
"Still," Ginny shrugged, then gave her a sly look. "Anyone else caught your eye?"
Matilda hesitated, then said, more to the fire than to Ginny, "There's... someone. Maybe."
"Ooh." Ginny sat up straighter. "Tell me everything."
Matilda smiled softly, thinking of Pierre's brown eyes and quiet charm. "His name's Pierre. He's new. From Beauxbatons."
Ginny's grin spread. "Is he cute?"
"He's... different," Matilda said, evading the question. "Quiet in a loud sort of way."
"Fred'll have competition then."
Matilda's smile faltered—but only for a moment. "Fred can do whatever he likes."
Ginny didn't catch the pause, already diving into questions about Beauxbatons and French boys and whether Matilda thought Pierre might help tutor Ginny in her abysmal French, followed by marvelling at Matilda's own French.
Matilda played along, laughing, nodding. But when Ginny had gone, and the fire was low, she sat for a while longer, watching the embers crackle. The scent of honey still clung faintly to her sleeves.
She didn't want to love Fred Weasley.
Maybe Pierre would be her first step out of that well.
