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 midday sun slanted through the tall windows of the Great Hall, glinting off golden plates and catching in the swirls of steam rising from pumpkin juice and porridge. Matilda sat at the Gryffindor table across from Alicia, their hands bumping as they reached for toast. Angelina had begged another ten minutes of sleep and was still buried under her duvet, grumbling something about late nights and never drinking again.
Despite the promise of the full moon lurking just under her skin, Matilda felt... oddly well-rested. Balanced. She reached for a mug of tea, surprised her hand didn't tremble as it usually did before a transformation. Maybe it was the adrenaline still thrumming from last night, or maybe it was something simpler. A quiet joy that softened her edges.
She took a bite of toast and turned to Alicia—only to freeze as a pair of gold heels thunked onto the table in front of her.
Matilda blinked. Those belonged to her.
She looked up slowly.
Madam Pince stood over her like a bat out of hell, lips pressed so thin they nearly disappeared. She didn't say a word. Just stared. Then she turned and walked away.
A strangled noise escaped Matilda's throat.
The students nearby had noticed, of course. Snickers rippled across the Hall. One of the Durmstrang boys whispered something to his mate, and they both burst into laughter.
Matilda's face flushed so red it could've outshone her red sweater. She lowered her gaze to her eggs, pretending she couldn't feel a hundred eyes pressing in.
To be honest, she didn't know what to do with herself.
For the first time in her life, people were looking at her—and it didn't have anything to do with Cedric or her scars. Not the tragic twin or the girl with the silver-lined limp. Just a normal teenage girl.
She glanced up and spotted Cedric across the Hall, already grinning. He nodded toward the entrance.
Matilda followed his gaze—and immediately wanted to throttle someone.
Fred Weasley waltzed through the doors, hair slightly tousled, hands in his pockets, and a familiar swagger to his step. Of course he was. Of course he was glowing with that smug, post-triumph glint in his eye.
Apparently, Cedric knew about their rendezvous too. Hell, the whole castle would by now.
"Fuck's sake, Weasley," she muttered under her breath.
She glared at her brother, who simply shrugged with a laugh. Matilda dropped her head into her hands, but a smile tugged from her heart.
A moment later, a weight settled beside her. And another on her other side.
"What's got you so down?" came the too-cheerful voice to her left.
She didn't even lift her face. "Go away, Weasley."
