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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Sunlight filtered in gently through the tall windows of the Ravenclaw girls' dormitory, soft and pale against the stone walls. It cast dappled shadows across the floor and bed linens. The morning was quiet. The castle hadn't fully stirred yet on the Sunday morning. The only sound was the occasional distant chirp of birdsong outside, and the faint rustling of the wind against the glass.
Emerson stirred first.
Her lashes fluttered open slowly, her breath steady and warm in the silence. She didn't wake all at once. It was slow, like surfacing through warm water. She breathed a soft inhale but then she felt it. The brush of breath against the back of her neck and the steady, heavy weight of arms wrapped around her middle.
Her brow furrowed, still fogged from sleep, until the warmth behind her finally registered.
Mattheo.
His body curved perfectly along the line of hers, fitting against her back like they were two puzzle pieces that had always been meant to meet. His chest rose and fell in a quiet rhythm, every exhale brushing gently against the dip of her neck. One of his arms was slung low around her waist, holding her securely and protectively. His palm was splayed across her ribs like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go. Her hand shifted instinctively under the sheets, and she froze as she felt the unmistakable feel of his other hand interlocked with hers, their joined hands tucked just above her heart.
Emerson exhaled slowly, pressing her cheek further into the pillow.
She didn't want to move. Especially not when she could feel the slow thrum of his heartbeat through his chest, rising and falling against her back. She breathed in deeply again, inhaling the lingering notes of Mattheo's woodsmoke and spice scent. Every inch of her body was aware of him, and yet utterly at peace.
The space between them didn't exist anymore.
They hadn't moved apart once in the night. In fact, somehow, they only grew closer. Mattheo's legs were tangled gently with hers, their bodies molded in a way that felt far too natural and right, to be accidental.
She didn't dare turn around yet.
Instead, Emerson closed her eyes for another moment, just breathing him in. That scent that she breathed from the Amortentia weeks ago still clung to his skin, but now it was mixed with the scent of sleep-warmed cotton and something else entirely: home.
Mattheo's fingers twitched slightly against her stomach, pulling her back more snugly against him in his sleep. Her breath hitched, only just, at the sensation of being held so deliberately. It wasn't possessive. It wasn't claiming. It was like Mattheo couldn't bear the distance, not even in dreams.
She couldn't help the small smile that touched her lips.
Turning her head just slightly, Emerson could just make out his sleeping face through her peripheral vision. She could see his softened brows, unclenched jaw and the dark lashes that so rarely let down their guard now resting gently against his cheek. His curls were a little messy, falling over his forehead, and there was the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth, like he was dreaming something safe for once.
