Chapter 7 Magical Mishap

The early evening air was cool as Liora Potter made her way toward the Potions classroom. She had promised herself she would be cautious after her friends’ warnings, but the pull of curiosity—and the small thrill of independence—was too strong. Tonight, she wasn’t just attending class; she intended to explore a little, just enough to satisfy the questions gnawing at her.

The dungeon corridors were dimly lit, the flicker of torches casting long shadows along the stone walls. Liora’s wand was clutched in her hand, not for defence, but as a comfort, a small anchor in the unfamiliar terrain. She had spent the afternoon practicing her Charms in the common room, but the thought of Potions—the precise, delicate dance of ingredients, fire, and magic—called to her imagination like a secret waiting to be discovered.

“Just a little peek,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Nothing dangerous… just to see.”

The classroom smelled of herbs and strong elixirs, a scent both comforting and intimidating. Liora had memorized the layout in her lessons: rows of cauldrons, jars of ingredients lining the walls, and a single large desk at the front for Professor Slughorn. Tonight, however, the room was empty—she had arrived early, hoping for a quiet moment to observe, maybe even experiment with the knowledge she had gleaned from last week.

She set her cauldron on the bench and began assembling a simple concoction, a basic healing draught, carefully following Slughorn’s notes. Her hands shook slightly with anticipation as she measured powdered roots, whispered the incantations, and stirred the bubbling liquid. Everything seemed to proceed normally at first—until the potion began to fizz violently, rising higher than expected.

“Oh no,” Liora muttered, stepping back instinctively. The cauldron emitted a sudden flare of orange sparks, and a small tongue of fire leapt across the table. She stumbled backward, heart hammering, trying to snatch a cloth to smother the flames.

“Stop! Be careful!” she cried, panic rising as the fire danced closer to the shelf of flammable ingredients.

And then, just as the situation seemed impossible, a shadow fell across the doorway. A cool, calm presence filled the room, and the flames seemed to hesitate, as if acknowledging it.

Mattheo Riddle stepped in, his movements smooth, controlled, almost predatory in their precision. In one fluid motion, he raised his wand, muttered a single word in a low, confident tone, and the fire was extinguished. The potion settled into a harmless shimmer, smoke curling gently above the cauldron.

Liora blinked, frozen. She had expected the flames to consume her small experiment, maybe even singe her robes, yet here he was, as if materializing from the shadows themselves, and the danger was gone.

“You’re… you’re Mattheo,” she stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer immediately, his dark eyes studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said finally, his voice calm but carrying an edge that hinted at more than mere warning. “This is dangerous.”

“I… I was just trying to… I mean, I thought I could…” Liora’s words tumbled over one another. She felt both chastised and oddly exhilarated by his presence. There was something about him—something magnetic, almost tangible—that made her heartbeat erratic.

“You’re inexperienced,” he continued, stepping closer. “But that’s not necessarily bad. Just… don’t let curiosity lead to harm.”

Liora nodded quickly, cheeks flushing. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt an unusual sensation in his presence. It was more than the relief that he had saved her—it was something in the way he moved, in the subtle intensity of his gaze, that made her feel as if he could see her thoughts, her intentions, even the doubts she hadn’t voiced.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice almost lost beneath the stone arches of the dungeon.

He inclined his head slightly, an almost imperceptible gesture. “Be more careful next time. Hogwarts can be unforgiving.”

She swallowed hard, noticing for the first time the almost imperceptible aura surrounding him—an energy that felt both dangerous and compelling, dark yet protective. Her pulse thrummed in her chest, a mixture of fear, gratitude, and something she didn’t yet understand.

“You’re… different,” she said impulsively, finding herself unable to contain the thought.

Mattheo’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something unreadable, that made Liora shiver. “Different how?” he asked, voice low and smooth.

“I don’t know…” she admitted, fumbling with the edge of her sleeve. “I just… feel like you’re… not like everyone else.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied her silently, as though measuring her carefully. The tension in the room was palpable, a quiet charge of energy that seemed to hum against her skin.

Finally, he stepped back, the moment broken, and the shadows of the dungeon seemed to reclaim their normality. “Focus on your lessons. Practice your spells and potions before wandering into dangerous areas.”

“I will,” Liora promised, though the pull in her chest made her doubt her own words. “I… I should go now.”

As she turned toward the door, her eyes caught his once more, and she felt an unusual tug—an inexplicable connection, a silent understanding, a pull toward something beyond reason. The sensation was strange, thrilling, and terrifying all at once.

Mattheo watched her leave, expression unreadable. The shadows of the dungeon seemed to cling to him, and when she glanced back for a brief instant, he was already gone, vanished into the hallways with a quiet grace that made her wonder if he had been real at all.

Liora’s heart raced as she retraced her steps back to Hufflepuff. She couldn’t explain it—the fluttering in her chest, the strange warmth in her stomach, the feeling that she had just glimpsed something extraordinary in Mattheo. It was more than curiosity now. It was fascination, awe, and something almost… magnetic.

By the time she reached the safety of her common room, the encounter replayed in her mind in vivid detail. Every movement, every glance, every subtle inflection of his voice seemed etched into her memory.

And as she finally climbed into bed, staring at the soft glow of candlelight through the windows, Liora Potter understood something undeniable: Hogwarts was full of dangers, both magical and human, yet the one who had saved her—the one who had stepped in quietly, effortlessly—was also the one who had stirred something strange and unexplainable in her heart.

Somewhere in the shadows, Mattheo Riddle waited—or perhaps he had already retreated, leaving only the lingering sense of him. And somewhere in the quiet of the night, Liora felt it: the pull, the connection, the magnetism that neither warnings nor innocence could undo.

She drifted into a restless sleep, dreams flickering with sparks, shadows, and dark eyes that seemed to follow her even through the stone walls of Hogwarts.

Something unusual was happening. And she knew, deep in her heart, that she had only just begun to understand the pull of Mattheo Riddle.