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 clue to the Second Task required deciphering some sort of riddle contained inside the Golden Egg. However, every time Harry opened it, everyone within earshot of the Common Room was cursed with a howling screech so piercing it echoed off the walls and rattled through their skulls. For days, Matilda sat with Hermione, attempting to help Harry figure it out, only to end up with wicked headaches and no answers by the end of it.
"I don't know how you're still standing," Pierre said as he walked beside her on their way back from Hogsmeade. The snow crunched beneath their boots, a soft hush in the quiet between words. "I've only heard it screech once—when Fleur opened it on the first night—and I still shiver at the memory."
Two weeks had passed since the First Task, and with that came the second Hogsmeade trip of the year. Pierre had asked Matilda if she would show him around, to which she'd agreed. She hadn't been aware of the "date" implied—at least, not until he took her hand on the walk there.
It had taken her by surprise. He'd hesitated at her reaction, his fingers beginning to slip away, but Matilda had squeezed his hand and assured him that she felt the same way. Hell, she was struggling to suppress the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach every time he looked at her over the rim of his butterbeer with those deep, warm brown eyes.
Matilda smiled softly, kicking up the fresh layer of snow in front of her. "It's not so bad. The worst part is trying to help both Harry and Cedric."
"Why would that be?" he asked, curiosity tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Well, I worry when I figure it out with one of them, because then I have to withhold it from the other," she said with a shrug, glancing down at her boots as they sank lightly into the snow.
Pierre looked at her for a long moment. "You're a good person, Matilda."
She laughed, blinking as though he'd spoken a foreign language. "What?"
"Not many people would be torn up about that," he said simply. "But you are. You're very kind."
"You make me sound like a Hufflepuff," she groaned, elbowing him playfully.
"Hey!" he laughed, stooping down to scoop up a handful of snow. He packed it quickly and hurled it at her shoulder with impressive aim.
Matilda gasped, mouth open in mock offense. "You're evil!" she grinned, ducking down and retaliating with her own snowball.
He blocked the shot with his arms, yelping and trying to reason with her as she pelted him with one after another. Students wandered past them, some laughing, others dodging rogue snowballs, but Matilda paid them no mind.
She was winding up to throw another when Pierre suddenly reached out and caught her hands in his. His grip was firm but gentle, gentle enough to suppress the flashes of a boathouse and a helpless version of herself. A devious smirk played on his lips, and his breath curled visibly in the cold air. His cheeks were flushed a soft pink, eyelashes dusted with frost, and a few dark curls had escaped from beneath his beanie, swaying slightly in the winter breeze.
