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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With a new resolve to grow a pair, Matilda huffed and quietly whispered to herself, "Just ask Fred. If he says no, it's okay. The world will keep spinning."
She walked in the direction she'd seen him and George take, hoping they hadn't wandered too far. It was pathetic, the little burning ember of hope that dwelled inside her heart, but Matilda couldn't help it. There had been no talk of Fred asking Adelaide to the ball yet, so perhaps he had the same reservations as her... perhaps he was hesitating, waiting for Matilda to pull her shit together. She turned a corner, found George and smiled.
And then she saw it.
"Yes! I would love to come to the ball with you, Freddy!"
Peeves was hovering overhead, dropping little bits of confetti over the scene of Fred spinning Adelaide around.
Matilda's breath caught in her throat.
It was like a slow punch to the gut — not sharp, not sudden, just this building, spreading ache that left her breathless. Her fingers curled tightly into her sleeves. The confetti drifted down like snow, mocking her as it landed in Fred's hair, clinging to Adelaide's curls. They looked perfect. Effortless. As if they'd been designed to fit into this little romantic tableau, complete with laughter and soft lighting and a bloody poltergeist acting as master of ceremonies.
This was worse.
So much worse than Fred just saying no.
Matilda thought she was going to be sick.
She staggered back a step, then another, her shoulder knocking lightly into the stone wall behind her. Her throat burned, not with tears yet, but with the effort of holding them in. There was no place in that corridor for the words she had been ready to say, the quiet question she had built up so much courage to ask. They had crumbled, turned to grubble before they ever left her lips.
Because Fred hadn't been holding out for Matilda.
He'd been planning an elaborate proposal for Adelaide.
Peeves threw another handful of confetti, and it fluttered past her like ashes from a fire she hadn't realised she'd started.
Matilda turned and walked away.
Not fast — she didn't want to draw attention, didn't want to make noise. She moved like a shadow pulling back from the light, each step heavier than the last, each breath tighter in her chest. Her skin felt too thin. Her body too loud. And all she could hear in her mind was that bright, delighted voice:
"Yes! I would love to come to the ball with you, Freddy!"
It echoed like a curse.
She didn't know if she wanted to cry or scream or laugh at how pathetic she felt. Maybe she deserved it. Maybe this was her punishment for hesitating, for leading Pierre on, for pretending she could outrun the feelings that had been dragging her down since the first day of term.
