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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As February rolled in, a change occurred throughout Hogwarts.
Valentine's Day was coming.
Matilda never cared for Valentine's Day. It was always a silly holiday for couples who had been dating for two days to make a scene of and proceed to break up the following week.
It was a waste of time.
It was only a week into February and Matilda had witnessed at least a dozen "proposals", and at least half were rejected. The most ridiculous? A fourth-year Hufflepuff had enchanted a hundred origami roses to bloom mid-air in the Entrance Hall while he dropped to one knee and serenaded his Ravenclaw crush with a wobbly rendition of Celestina Warbeck's latest hit. The roses had caught fire when Peeves joined in with a Filibuster Firework, the boy screamed, and by the time Filch stomped through the smoke, the Ravenclaw boy had hexed the poor Hufflepuff into sprouting donkey ears. Matilda had nearly choked on her pumpkin juice.
And her opinion of the holiday wasn't going to change—even if a certain charming, red-headed boy insisted on threading his fingers through hers whenever he could.
Unfortunately, Fred had a double in Herbology while Matilda was leaving Potions. She'd parted ways with Cedric at the dungeon steps and started up the staircase, stomach grumbling at the smell of roast and gravy drifting from the Great Hall and her joints and muscles drumming a familiar beat with each step.
"What's got you in a hurry?"
Matilda stopped short as Pucey and Montague appeared in front of her.
She froze. Like a goddamn deer in headlights.
The sounds around her zipped silent, as if someone had simply drawn a curtain on the life around them.
"We thought you'd have learned by now that you're not welcome down here," Montague hissed, eyes sharp with malice. "At least you didn't bring Pretty Boy or that Mudblood-loving Weasel this time."
"No one to find you..." Pucey leaned in, foul breath brushing her cheek.
She wanted to move, wanted to fight.
But she was so scared.
The memories flashed in front of her.
Their hands. Their laughs. Her pain.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
"Let's go again, shall we?"
Pucey reached for her arm.
And screamed.
He jerked back, palms red and blistered, swearing as though she'd branded him. "You bitch!"
Montague's face twisted, and he shoved forward, seizing her shoulder—
And instantly howled in pain, his skin blistering red where it met hers. He staggered back, slapping at his neck as if trying to snuff out flames.
