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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Emerson's legs carried her back to Ravenclaw Tower almost on instinct, but her mind was still in that dim corridor with Mattheo. The words clung to her like cobwebs, impossible to shake.
By the time Emerson reached the tower and the bronze eagle asked its riddle, she answered it without thinking, the words automatic. The knocker swung open.
The sound of laughter hit her first. It was warm and easy, the kind of laughter that didn't belong in a place as suffocating as Hogwarts felt these days.
She stepped into the common room, and there they were.
Olivia was curled sideways on the couch, one arm looped around Darcy's shoulders. Darcy, alive, breathing and smiling, was doubled over in laughter at something Theo just said, his cheeks flushed from grinning. There was no sign that only an hour ago he was chained up in front of the class, about to be cursed. Theo himself looked faintly pleased with the reaction, though he was pretending to roll his eyes at Olivia's dramatics, his head laying in Olivia's lap.
Neville was perched on the armrest, watching the scene with quiet amusement. Blaise sat in the chair opposite, his smirk lazy, while Luna was cross-legged on the rug at his feet, absentmindedly wearing a butterbeer cork necklace and listening like the whole thing was the most fascinating story in the world.
Darcy noticed her first. "Em! Did you hear what Nott said about Muggle escalators?!" He burst out, barely containing his laughter. "He thinks they're like some sort of magic conveyor belt for people!"
Theo rolled his eyes, but he was hiding his smirk in that lazy, almost reluctant way that Emerson knew meant he was enjoying himself more than he'd ever admit. "Well, they are, aren't they?"
Olivia snorted so loudly she nearly fell over.
Suddenly, the knot in Emerson's chest loosened and it hit her: the truth Mattheo hadn't wanted to tell her was standing right here. Darcy was safe because of him.
Her lips curved without her meaning them to. She didn't trust her voice, so she just smiled at the group, letting their easy laughter wash over her like warmth after a long frost.
For the first time since Dark Arts that morning, her hands stopped shaking. She still carried the weight of Mattheo's words and the images his voice had planted, but they sat alongside gratitude.
And as she lowered herself into the armchair nearest them, listening to Darcy's animated retelling of Theo's joke, she allowed herself the smallest breath of relief.
Mattheo was right: Darcy was safe.
"You're supposed to be traumatised," Emerson teased Darcy lightly, letting her eyes scan over the younger brother she never truly had. "Not... Whatever this is." She couldn't help the relieved emphasis.
