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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The Astronomy Tower was quiet in the way only late evenings managed with wind whispering through stone and stars hanging close enough to touch if you believed hard enough.
Emerson sat on the cold floor with her back against the wall, knees drawn up, Persuasion open in her hands. Beside her, abandoned but not forgotten, lay Mattheo's copy of Pride and Prejudice, its spine worn and pages soft from love and rereading over many years. Her brown hair was loose, falling forward as she leaned into the book, brows faintly knit in concentration.
Footsteps echoed behind her. She didn't look up. She didn't even flinch or turn the page any faster. She heard him before she sensed him.
Mattheo stopped short. He waited for her reaction.
And when she still didn't react, he scoffed softly, more amused than offended.
"You're supposed to jump, Emie," Mattheo remarked. "Or at least pretend I startled you."
Emerson smiled faintly, eyes still on the text. "Why would I do that?"
There was a moment of silence, then he stepped closer, shoes echoing just enough to test her. She finally glanced up at him, eyebrows lifting slightly. She was entirely unbothered and unsurprised, as if she knew it was him all along.
Mattheo frowned. "You didn't even look up to know it was me."
She closed the book slowly, one finger marking the page, and tilted her head. "Doesn't matter. I knew it was you."
His expression shifted to surprise at first, then something warmer. "You didn't hear the door."
"No."
"The stairs?"
She shook her head.
"The wind?" He tried.
Emerson's smile deepened. "Your footsteps."
Mattheo let out a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as if caught out by something he hadn't realised was visible. "That's unsettling."
"It's comforting," She corrected gently.
He studied her then, as though recalibrating something internal. "You know me that well?"
She hesitated, not because she didn't know the answer, but because saying it out loud felt like crossing an invisible line. "I think... We know each more than we admit. Besides, you drag your right foot when you're tired," She added mildly, as if stating the weather.
Mattheo huffed with amusement and dropped down beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. His knees angled toward her like they always did when they sat next to each other, as if his body knew where it belonged before his mind caught up. His eyes glanced towards the books at her side.
