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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Breakfast that morning began, for Mattheo, in a state of profound personal offence.
He sat at the Ravenclaw table looking as though the entire world conspired specifically to punish him for having enjoyed himself once. His headache did not ease nearly enough to make the Great Hall tolerable, and the noise of several hundred students talking over cutlery and owls and the general stupidity of morning felt like a direct assault on what remained of his patience. His elbow rested on the table, fingers pressed hard against his temple, while he drank from a goblet of water he clearly resented for not being stronger.
Enzo, unfortunately, was recovered just enough to become unbearable again. He was still hungover too, though far less quietly. He sat slouched next to Mattheo with a goblet of pumpkin juice and the bright-eyed recklessness of a man who decided to turn his own suffering into a social event. Every few minutes he would take one glance at Mattheo's face, grin to himself, and then say something deliberately chosen to make the morning worse.
Theo, of course, was immaculate.
He looked as though he went to bed early, read a chapter of something literary, and woken naturally at dawn to the sound of his own excellent judgement. His hair sat perfectly, his robes were crisp, and his coffee was being treated with the reverence it deserved. He remained the only one of the three who appeared actually fit for public company.
"You know," Enzo exclaimed brightly, buttering toast with the confidence of a man who somehow survived both a hangover and an almost-beating. "I still think threatening me while naked really added something to the atmosphere this morning."
Mattheo did not look up. "I'm going to kill you."
Theo took another sip of coffee. "He's said that twelve times since we sat down."
"Thirteen," Enzo corrected. "One of them had more feeling."
Mattheo turned his head just enough to glare at him with genuine murderous focus. "Do not make me remember your face before I've eaten."
Enzo looked delighted. "That sounds romantic."
"It sounds like a threat," Theo muttered.
"Everything sounds like a threat when he says it," Enzo sighed happily and tore off a piece of toast. "Honestly, though, the visual this morning was difficult to recover from. There you were, all brooding and barely dressed and furious—,"
Mattheo sat up a fraction, worried about the slightest slip up of Emerson's name and the implications it would have if the wrong person overheard. "Enzo."
"—and then in your jumper was none other than –,"
Theo reached forward without looking up and shoved Enzo's shoulder back into his seat before Mattheo could launch himself over the table and end the conversation permanently.
