#anawritez-posts

The morning sun bathed the Hogwarts courtyard in golden light, casting long shadows over the throng of students who milled about, their faces glued to their phones, waiting for the first bell of the semester. Y/N stood on a stone balcony that overlooked the busy courtyard, leaning on the cool, weathered railing. From her vantage point, she could see everything: groups of students huddled together, heads bent over tiny screens, others laughing at some shared meme or gossip, and the occasional solitary figure scrolling through social feeds, lost in their own world. The air was filled with the incessant clicking of cameras, the chime of incoming texts, and the murmur of excited conversations.

Selfies were taken with exaggerated poses, videos were filmed with enthusiastic gestures, and every corner of the courtyard seemed to be alive with the bright, distracting light of mobile devices.

The courtyard felt less like a place of learning and more like a digital carnival, with everyone seemingly more interested in capturing moments for social media than engaging in their surroundings.

As Y/N watched, a more serious tone was set when Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape walked past the scene. Dumbledore’s usually twinkling eyes had a glint of disapproval, and his normally serene expression was slightly strained.

Snape, on the other hand, looked outright disgusted, his lip curled in a sneer as he observed the students engrossed in their screens.

"It's appalling," Snape muttered, his voice low but edged with disdain. "No focus on their studies, only on their incessant need to document their every move."

Dumbledore sighed, adjusting his glasses as he surveyed the scene with a mixture of concern and resignation. "Indeed, Severus. It seems the allure of these devices has overshadowed the purpose of their education."

Professor McGonagall, who had been walking alongside them, added her own sharp comment. "We are educators, not entertainers. The way these students are fixated on their phones is utterly distracting. It’s as if they’ve forgotten there is a world beyond the screen."

The three professors continued walking, their conversation growing fainter as they moved toward the Great Hall.

They stopped near Cedric Diggory, who was standing apart from the crowd, engrossed in a book rather than his phone. His phone lay silent on the table next to him, clearly not in use.

Dumbledore approached Cedric with a thoughtful look. "Mr. Diggory, might I have a word?"

Cedric looked up, a bit startled but composed. "Of course, Professor."

Dumbledore gestured for Cedric to follow him, with Snape and McGonagall flanking him. As they approached a quieter area, Dumbledore smiled warmly at Cedric. "We’ve noticed that you’ve been rather... unengaged with the phone culture that has overtaken the school. It’s quite refreshing, actually."

Cedric nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I just prefer focusing on other things. The constant notifications can be distracting."

Snape, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. "You mean to say that you’ve managed to avoid the distractions that plague your peers?"

Cedric shrugged, his expression earnest. "I guess so. It’s just easier for me to stay focused without the constant buzz."

Professor McGonagall gave Cedric a nod of approval. "Very well. We’re about to discuss this very issue in the presentation, and your perspective might be valuable."

As Cedric prepared to follow the professors, Y/N watched from her vantage point, her thoughts a whirlwind of curiosity and concern. The courtyard continued its flurry of activity below, but now there was a sense of anticipation in the air as the professors and Cedric made their way to address the pressing issue of technology’s impact on the students.

As Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall continued toward the quieter area of the courtyard, Professor McGonagall’s sharp eyes caught sight of Ginny Weasley standing nearby.

Ginny was absorbed in her phone, but she quickly looked up as McGonagall approached.

“Miss Weasley,” McGonagall said, her tone both professional and curious. “How is the planning for the Yule Ball coming along? I trust everything is proceeding smoothly?”

Ginny's face brightened, and she gave a thumbs-up, clearly pleased with the question. “Yes, Professor McGonagall! Everything is going great. We’re finalizing the details, and it looks like it’s going to be great.”

McGonagall nodded in approval. “Good to hear. I look forward to seeing how it all comes together.”

As McGonagall moved on, Pansy Parkinson sauntered by, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous sparkle. She overheard the exchange and couldn’t resist making a snide remark.

“Oh, look at that,” Pansy drawled, loud enough for Ginny to hear. “The little suck-up, always trying to win favor with the professors.”

Ginny’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she tried to ignore Pansy’s comment. Hermione Granger, who had been nearby, walked over and joined Ginny, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“Ginny, I’ve heard great things about the Yule Ball plans,” Hermione said, trying to offer a comforting smile. “Your bag looks new too”

Ginny’s eyes sparkled with pride as she opened her bag to show Hermione.

It was a sleek, stylish accessory that she had clearly taken care to choose for the occasion. She glanced nervously at McGonagall, who was now engaged in conversation with Cedric.

Ginny quickly tried to close her bag, but not before Hermione caught a glimpse. Hermione raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, sensing Ginny’s discomfort.

Y/N remains on the look out watching each interaction when another classmate catches her eye, Astoria Greengrass, gliding through the courtyard like she owned the place.

Astoria was effortlessly beautiful, her blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight, and as usual, she drew admiring glances from almost everyone—especially the wide-eyed first years who stared after her with a mixture of awe and envy. Y/N could practically hear their whispers. “That’s Astoria… the prettiest girl in Hogwarts…”

Astoria’s path led her straight to Draco Malfoy, her boyfriend since first year, who leaned casually against one of the courtyard’s columns, his pale hair slicked back in his signature style. Without a word, Astoria walked up to him, cupped his face, and pulled him into a deep, unapologetic kiss. Y/N cringed, her face twisting in mild disgust. Do they always have to do that in public?

She tore her eyes away from the PDA and scanned the rest of the courtyard, searching for more familiar faces.

Y/N’s gaze landed on Mattheo Riddle, standing with a group of boys from their year. Even from a distance, Mattheo commanded attention.

The younger students stared at him, not with admiration for his looks like they did with Astoria, but with something closer to reverence.

His father, Tom Riddle, was infamous in the wizarding world—powerful, wealthy, and renowned. The wealth alone set Mattheo apart from the rest, but it was his casual arrogance that made him stand out even more. He leaned back, talking to someone, clearly enjoying the attention, his expensive watch gleaming in the sunlight.

No one flaunted their privilege quite like Mattheo.

Y/N watched as Ginny Weasley approached him, flashing a bright smile and making casual conversation.

It was no secret that Ginny, coming from a large, relatively poor family, was always looking for ways to get ahead. She was holding up a designer bag in front of Mattheo, likely trying to smooth-talk him into giving her something. Y/N shook her head, already knowing how this would play out.

Mattheo, without even glancing at the bag, shrugged her off with a disinterested wave, his eyes scanning the crowd for someone more interesting. Ginny, undeterred, lingered a moment longer before retreating, while Mattheo spotted Theo Nott a little ways off, caught up in some suspicious activity.

Theo stood by the edge of the courtyard, subtly handing off a small bag to a group of younger students. Y/N recognized the look immediately—a special handshake that clearly meant he was dealing something they shouldn’t have. She sighed but didn’t bother intervening. Theo was clever enough not to get caught.

As she continued to observe, Hermione Granger passed by Astoria and Draco, her bushy hair bouncing as she walked. Y/N noticed how Draco momentarily paused his make-out session with Astoria just to glance at Hermione.

It was subtle, but Y/N caught it, a faint frown pulling at her lips.

What’s that about? she wondered but quickly dismissed it. Not my business.

Something else caught her attention.

A boy, unfamiliar and awkward, stood near the courtyard's edge. He had dark hair and glasses, and he fidgeted nervously with his phone, clearly out of place. Y/N could feel his discomfort radiating off him in waves.

New kid,she thought, narrowing her eyes. Looks like he’s having a rough time already.

Glancing down at her phone, she saw the time. Classes were about to start.

With a deep breath, she pushed herself away from the railing and headed down towards the courtyard.

On her way to class, she spotted Pansy Parkinson, Enzo Berkinshire, and Blaise Zabini gathered around Daphne Greengrass, who looked more annoyed than usual.

Pansy was laughing, clearly teasing her, while Daphne tried to keep her composure.

Y/N could see Daphne's fists clenched at her sides as Pansy mocked her, flicking at her uniform.

Y/N sighed and walked over. Here we go again.

"Really, guys?" Y/N called out, inserting herself between Daphne and the trio. Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically, her lips curling into a smirk.

"Oh look, it’s Y/N, here to save the day," Pansy said sarcastically, folding her arms over her chest. "Can’t you let us have a bit of fun?"

Y/N ignored the comment, her sharp eyes flicking over the group. Blaise stood back slightly, leaning against the wall with his usual cool indifference, but Y/N noticed something off. There, on his lips, was a faint smudge of lipstick—barely noticeable, but enough to catch her attention. She recognized the color instantly.

It was the same shade Luna Lovegood often wore. Interesting, she thought, filing that information away for later. 

"You’ve got something on your lips, Zabini," Y/N said casually, raising an eyebrow. "Same shade as a certain Ravenclaw, I think."

Blaise’s face hardened, though he quickly wiped the lipstick away with the back of his hand, his expression unreadable. He shot her a warning glance, but Y/N just smiled knowingly. Blaise and Luna Lovegood had been secretly seeing each other for a while, but he was careful to keep it under wraps.

Luna’s eccentric reputation meant their relationship was vulnerable to the cruelty of Hogwarts gossip, and Blaise, protective as ever, didn’t want to put her through that. 

Pansy snickered, nudging Blaise with her elbow. "Oh, hiding something, are we?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," Blaise said smoothly, his voice cool, though his eyes flicked to Y/N as if to say drop it.

Y/N, sensing she’d hit a nerve but not wanting to push further, shifted her focus to Enzo, who was standing beside Blaise, trying to suppress a grin.

“And you,” Y/N said, turning to him with a teasing glint in her eyes. “I’m guessing that massive stain on your tie isn’t part of the uniform?”

Enzo glanced down at the inkblot smeared across his Slytherin tie and groaned. "Ugh, not again." He quickly pulled at the fabric, trying to hide the mess under his robes. “You’d think I’d learn by now.”

Y/N laughed softly, knowing Enzo was the least malicious of the group. He often went along with Pansy and Blaise’s teasing but never crossed the line himself.

Before anyone could say anything more, Pansy’s voice cut through, her tone more biting than before.

"Still," Pansy said, a malicious gleam in her eyes, "I wouldn’t get too comfortable, Y/N. We all remember your little tantrum last year. Don’t think we’ve forgotten about that."

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

For a moment, she faltered, her mind flashing back to last year—a memory that was still raw, still too painful to think about. She tried to keep her composure, but her flustered reaction was impossible to hide.

Enzo, sensing her discomfort, shot Pansy a look. "Pans, don’t," he muttered, his voice softer than usual, almost protective. "Not now."

Pansy shrugged, clearly enjoying the power shift, but Y/N quickly recovered, straightening up and glancing at Daphne. The girl still looked nervous, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, and Y/N knew she couldn’t afford to let her guard down now.

Protecting Daphne was more important than letting Pansy get under her skin.

"Whatever, Pansy," Y/N said, forcing a smile as she turned to Daphne, gently guiding her away from the group.

"You should really work on your material—it’s getting stale." Her voice was steady, though a part of her still felt that lingering sting.

Pansy, undeterred, huffed and flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder.

"Oh, we’ll see about that," she muttered, though there was less bite to her tone now that Y/N had brushed off the comment.

Blaise and Enzo exchanged a glance, and Y/N could see Blaise quietly pulling Pansy back from pressing further.

Enzo, always the peacekeeper, gave Y/N a small, apologetic smile. "Catch you later, Y/N," he said before turning to follow Blaise and Pansy as they walked away, Pansy still throwing a final taunt over her shoulder.

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Daphne, looking relieved, straightened her uniform, glancing at Y/N with gratitude.

"Thanks," Daphne said quietly. "You didn’t have to do that."

Y/N waved it off. "Don’t worry about it," she said, forcing herself to relax. "You’ve got enough on your plate without dealing with them."

Daphne nodded, and Y/N noticed how much the younger girl’s hands were still trembling slightly. She offered a reassuring smile, though her mind still lingered on Pansy’s comment from earlier.

Last year. It was something Y/N tried to forget, but some memories were harder to bury than others.

Suddenly, Y/N pointed ahead, eager to change the subject. "Looks like you’ve found the door to our first class."

Daphne blinked and realized she’d been leaning against the classroom door the whole time. Flustered, she quickly moved aside, and Y/N chuckled, feeling a little more in control now.

"Come on," Y/N said, motioning for Daphne to follow her into the room. "Let’s not give Pansy anything else to talk about."

The classroom buzzed with chatter as students took their seats, sunlight pouring in from the tall windows. Y/N settled into her usual spot near the back, pulling out her notebook and tapping her pen idly against the page. She glanced around, taking in the familiar faces. Draco, predictably, had his arm draped over Astoria’s shoulder as they sat near the middle of the room, looking every bit the couple who ran the place. Blaise and Theo sat not far from them, leaning in to whisper about something that no doubt involved trouble, while Pansy tossed paper balls at Daphne, who sat hunched in her seat.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, watching the small scrap of paper hit Daphne’s shoulder. Before she could say anything, Astoria’s sharp voice cut through the noise. "Pansy, enough," she snapped, her tone cold.

Astoria’s protective streak when it came to her sister was no secret, and everyone in their group knew not to push her when it came to Daphne.

Pansy huffed dramatically, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. "Just having a bit of fun, Astoria. No need to get all motherly."

Draco placed a calming hand on Astoria’s shoulder, his lips curling into a small smirk.

"Relax, love. She’s not worth it," he said, shooting a sideways glance at Pansy, who just shrugged, unbothered. Astoria, still fuming, crossed her arms and leaned back into Draco, letting out a frustrated sigh as she glared at Pansy.

At the front of the class, Professor Snape entered the room with his usual sweeping grace, his dark robes billowing behind him like a storm cloud.

The room instantly fell silent, the air thick with anticipation as everyone knew Snape didn’t tolerate disruptions, especially on the first day.

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the class, lingering on a new face at the back.

"It seems we have a new student today," he drawled, his voice cold and smooth. "Potter, would you care to introduce yourself?"

All eyes turned toward the boy sitting awkwardly in the corner. He had messy black hair, round glasses perched on his nose, and an air of nervousness that made him look out of place. Slowly, he stood up, looking around the room, his cheeks reddening as the attention settled on him.

"Hi, uh, I’m new," he said, his voice quiet but clear. "My name’s Harry… Harry Potter."

The name hung in the air for a second, and then, predictably, Draco was the first to react. He tilted his head with a lazy smirk, his arm still casually around Astoria.

"Potter, huh? You look familiar," Draco said, his voice dripping with amusement.

From across the room, Hermione Granger rolled her eyes, her exasperation evident. She sat up straight in her chair, glaring at Draco, who caught her gaze and, without missing a beat, poked his tongue out at her, grinning mischievously. Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, turning her attention back to the front.

But before Harry could say anything, Blaise spoke up, sitting forward in his seat. "Hang on. Potter?" he said, his dark eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Is your dad… James Potter?"

The room buzzed with excitement, but before Harry could respond, Mattheo Riddle, who had been lounging in his chair with a bored expression, suddenly perked up. "Oh, Salazar," Mattheo said, his voice louder than necessary. "You mean the famous Quidditch player?"

That set off a chain reaction.

Theo immediately leaned over his desk, his eyes wide. "No way! James Potter was a legend on the pitch!" he exclaimed, and soon enough, half the room was talking at once, throwing questions and comments in Harry’s direction.

"Did you play Quidditch at your last school?"

"Are you as good as your dad?"

"Can you fly?"

"What’s it like having a famous dad?"

Harry’s face turned bright red as he stood there, overwhelmed by the sudden attention. His gaze flicked nervously to Snape, who was now rubbing the bridge of his nose in clear frustration. "Enough," Snape said sharply, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Potter, sit down."

Harry quickly nodded and sat, clearly relieved. Y/N, who had been doodling absentmindedly in her notebook through the commotion, realized with a start that the only empty seat was next to her.

Her pen paused over the page, and she glanced to the side, noticing Harry shuffling into the chair beside her. 

As Harry sat down, Mattheo, who was seated just in front of them, turned around, his usual teasing smirk plastered on his face.

He gave Harry a once-over, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "So," he said in a low, mocking drawl, "you’re gonna join us for a little practice Quidditch later, yeah? Live up to the family name and all?"

Harry, still flustered, glanced between Mattheo and the rest of the group, clearly unsure how to respond. He nodded slowly, not wanting to stir up more attention.

"Good," Mattheo said, turning back around. "Griffindor need all the help they can get especially with a celebrity on the team."

Y/N smirked to herself at the exchange but didn’t say anything. Instead, she returned to her notebook, shading in the wings of the dragon she had been doodling earlier.

The class buzzed around her, but Y/N found herself zoning out, her focus on the intricate lines she was drawing.

A light tap on her desk startled her. She looked up and realized that Harry had been watching her. He looked nervous, fiddling with his quill, but there was a small, shy smile on his face.

"Uh… those are really good," Harry said quietly, nodding toward her doodles.

Y/N blinked, a little surprised. She wasn’t used to people commenting on her drawings, much less noticing them. "Thanks," she said softly, feeling a little flustered.

Y/N could hear them talking, but she stayed focused on her doodles, her hand moving quickly across the page. She barely noticed Harry glancing at her again, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but the moment passed, and he stayed silent, clearly still too shy to push the conversation further.

next chapter

It's time for their flying class, and the students had all changed into their flying gear, the breeze whipping through the Quidditch pitch as they stood waiting for Madam Hooch’s instructions. Y/N adjusted her gloves, her eyes wandering the field, observing the usual dynamics of the group. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N noticed Ginny Weasley walking over to Madam Hooch, holding her expensive-looking bag tightly to her chest. Ginny whispered something, and Madam Hooch gave her a short nod, allowing her to leave. Y/N frowned as Ginny hurried away, the grip on her bag suspiciously tight, but before she could think too much about it, a loud, exasperated voice cut through the noise.

"I can’t find my phone!" Astoria whined dramatically, her arms crossed as she stood in the middle of the group. "Anyone seen my phone?"

Madam Hooch rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "You don’t need your phone to fly, Miss Greengrass," she said, her tone clipped. "Pay attention to your broomstick instead."

Astoria huffed, sulking as she glared at the empty space where her phone should’ve been. Y/N couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the scene, amused by how attached Astoria was to her phone even in a flying lesson. 

Just then, Y/N felt someone come up beside her. It was Harry, already standing in his flying gear, looking a little nervous but trying to blend in. She gave him a small nod in acknowledgment.

"Are you a confident flyer?" Y/N asked with a friendly smile.

Before Harry could respond, Draco, Theo, and Enzo strolled over, grinning like they’d found fresh prey. "Potter," Draco drawled, his smirk widening, "we still haven’t heard enough about your dad. James Potter, right?"

Theo chimed in, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "He was a legend on the pitch. You gotta tell us what it’s like having a father like that."

Enzo, ever the enthusiastic one, added, "Do you think you’re going to live up to his reputation? Or maybe surpass it?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, looking flustered, but before he could get a word out, Mattheo Riddle joined the group, his dark curls tousled in the breeze.

"What’s all the fuss about?" he asked with a lazy grin, though Y/N noticed his eyes weren’t on Harry at all—they were on her. 

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under Mattheo’s gaze, feeling his attention linger on her longer than necessary. "We’re just talking about Harry’s dad," Draco said, his voice casual, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Quidditch player, remember?"

Y/N, trying to excuse herself from the situation, took a step back. "I’m going to check on Daphne," she said quietly, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

But Harry, clearly eager to escape the questioning, glanced at her. "Mind if I join—"

Mattheo cut him off, his smirk widening. "Not so fast," he said smoothly, stepping in front of Harry. "You’re not getting away that easily. How about you tell us whether you’ll join the Quidditch team or not? That’s the real question."

Y/N sighed inwardly, watching as Mattheo and the others kept Harry occupied. It was clear Mattheo wasn’t really interested in the conversation; his focus had shifted to her more than once during the interaction, but Y/N ignored it, turning her attention elsewhere.

Across the pitch, Pansy Parkinson had noticed something too. Daphne Greengrass sat on the sidelines, her broomstick resting beside her as she quietly drew in a small sketchbook. Pansy, always one for trouble, grinned mischievously and made her way over, plopping down next to Daphne.

"You really need to learn how to defend yourself," Pansy teased, nudging Daphne’s arm. "Y/N’s off with Potter, Astoria’s busy throwing a tantrum about her phone, and here you are—defenceless."

Daphne glanced up from her drawing, biting her lip nervously. "I don’t need anyone to defend me," she muttered, though her voice lacked confidence.

Pansy raised an eyebrow, leaning over to peek at what Daphne was drawing. Her eyes lit up when she saw the subject of the sketch—it was a detailed drawing of none other than Pansy herself. A wicked grin spread across Pansy’s face as she grabbed the paper from Daphne’s hands. "Well, well, well… what do we have here?" she mocked, holding up the drawing. "Is this supposed to be me?"

Daphne’s face turned beet red as she reached out to grab it back. "Give it back, Pansy!" she pleaded, her voice shaking.

Pansy held it just out of reach, a cruel laugh escaping her lips. "You’ve got a crush on me, don’t you, Greengrass? That’s adorable," she taunted, waving the drawing in the air. Daphne’s eyes filled with tears, and she lunged forward, trying to snatch the picture from Pansy’s hand.

But Pansy, not paying attention, backed up right into Blaise, who was walking by with a drink in hand. The collision sent the bottle flying, spilling all over the picture and soaking Daphne’s bag in the process. Blaise cursed under his breath, glaring at Pansy, while Daphne let out a small sob, staring at the ruined drawing.

Pansy just laughed harder, clearly finding the whole situation hilarious. But her laughter drew the attention of everyone nearby.

Y/N’s heart dropped when she saw Daphne’s tear-filled eyes. Without thinking, she rushed over to her, kneeling down beside the younger girl. "Hey, it’s okay," Y/N said softly, putting a comforting arm around her. "Don’t worry about them."

But before Y/N could say anything more, Mattheo had appeared beside them, always quick to step in during moments like this. With a nonchalant look, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp hundred-pound note, holding it out to Daphne. "Here, Greengrass," he said casually, waving the money in front of her. "Get yourself a new bag."

Y/N’s jaw tightened as she looked up at him, her tone sharp. "Mattheo, you can’t just throw money at every problem. It doesn’t fix things."

Mattheo shrugged, his smirk never faltering. "Why not? Seems like an easy solution to me."

Y/N glared at him, frustration boiling beneath the surface. "That’s not the point," she muttered, helping Daphne to her feet. "Come on, let’s go find a professor who can help with this."

Daphne nodded, sniffling as she clutched her soaked bag. Pansy, still grinning, didn’t seem the least bit remorseful, while Blaise gave her an exasperated look, shaking his head at the mess she’d made.

As Y/N led Daphne away, she could feel Mattheo’s eyes on her, but she didn’t turn back. This wasn’t a situation that could be fixed with money or arrogance, and she wasn’t about to let him or anyone else dismiss Daphne’s feelings like that.

"Don’t worry," Y/N said softly to Daphne as they walked. "We’ll get this sorted. And next time, don’t let Pansy get to you. She’s just looking for attention." 

Daphne gave a small nod, still upset but grateful for Y/N’s support. Y/N glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of Mattheo watching them from across the pitch, his usual smirk replaced with something more thoughtful.

Y/N gently guided Daphne through the corridors of Hogwarts, heading toward Professor McGonagall’s office, but they were abruptly stopped by the familiar voice of Professor Snape. 

"Miss Y/L/N, Miss Greengrass," Snape drawled, his black robes sweeping as he approached. "The sixth years are to meet in the Great Hall now. Head back immediately." His dark eyes flicked between them, leaving no room for argument.

Y/N exchanged a quick glance with Daphne, who still looked shaken from the incident with Pansy, but there was no choice. With a nod, Y/N turned them around, leading the way back toward the Great Hall. Daphne remained quiet, clutching her damp bag, and Y/N gave her a reassuring smile as they walked inside.

When they entered, they immediately spotted Mattheo, Theo, Draco, Enzo, and Blaise gathered in one corner. Y/N and Daphne made their way over to the nearest bench and sat down, relieved to see a familiar group. Astoria quickly appeared as well, her usual confident stride interrupted by a huff of annoyance.

"I still can’t find my phone!" Astoria exclaimed, her tone drenched in frustration. She reached Draco and promptly made Enzo move aside, pushing him out of the way with a dramatic flourish. Enzo just rolled his eyes as he shifted seats, used to Astoria’s antics.

"Can’t say we’ve heard that before," Enzo muttered under his breath, earning a small chuckle from Blaise.

"Well, you don't need it for flying, so it’s not like it matters," Y/N teased gently, but Astoria ignored her, still sulking about her missing phone.

Before any more could be said, the doors to the Great Hall opened, and Snape entered, followed by Professor Dumbledore, whose usual serene expression contrasted with Snape’s ever-present scowl. The room quieted immediately as they took their places at the front of the hall, all eyes now on the Headmaster.

Not long after, Pansy, Ginny, and Hermione walked in, making their way toward the seats near the front. Harry was the last to enter, and Y/N saw the shy grin spread across his face when he spotted her. He quickly crossed the room and slid into the seat beside her.

"Hey," Harry greeted with a smile, causing a ripple of curiosity to spread across the room. Pansy and Ginny both glanced over, their eyes narrowing slightly. It was no secret that they weren’t fans of Y/N, but they seemed intrigued by Harry.

"Oh, now this is interesting," Pansy whispered to Ginny, her eyes darting between Y/N and Harry. Ginny just crossed her arms, glancing at Y/N out of the corner of her eye, clearly bothered.

Y/N smiled back at Harry, feeling slightly awkward under the sudden attention but trying to shake it off. Before anything could be said, Dumbledore cleared his throat, commanding everyone’s attention.

"Good afternoon, students," Dumbledore began, his voice calm and warm as always. "I’ve called you here today to discuss a matter that has caused some disruption as of late. We’ve noticed an increased dependency on mobile phones, and after careful consideration, we’ve decided to implement a new policy."

There was an immediate chorus of groans from the students, as if they had already guessed what was coming next.

"From this day forward," Dumbledore continued, "phones will be banned during school hours. They will still be allowed after classes and on weekends, but we feel it is necessary to remove distractions during the academic day."

Draco, who had his arm draped lazily around Astoria, raised an eyebrow. "Banned? You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath, earning a small laugh from her.

At that moment, Cedric Diggory, the current Head Boy, stood up from his seat, a wide grin spreading across his face. "I’ve actually prepared a presentation on how this will benefit us all!" he announced with enthusiasm, holding up a neat stack of papers.

Mattheo rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, great," he said sarcastically, shooting a teasing look at Cedric. "Leave it to Diggory to get excited about taking our phones away. What’s next? A speech on the joys of waking up early?"

Theo snickered next to him, nudging Mattheo in the ribs. "Bet his presentation has charts and everything."

Y/N tried to suppress a smile, busying herself by looking at the parchment in front of her. But Mattheo, ever observant, wasn’t done. He leaned over slightly, his voice lower but clearly directed at her. "What do you think, Y/N? Going to miss your phone, or are you one of those people who can survive without it?"

She shot him a sidelong glance, trying to stay focused on what Dumbledore was saying. "I’ll manage," she replied, her tone nonchalant, hoping that would end the conversation. But Mattheo just grinned, clearly enjoying her attempt to ignore him.

Before he could press further, Mattheo’s attention shifted to Harry, who had been sitting quietly next to Y/N. "What do you think,?" Mattheo asked with a smirk. "Think your dad would’ve survived this ban?"

Theo burst into laughter at the jab, clearly enjoying the subtle teasing. "Yeah, wasn’t your dad all about Quidditch? Bet he wouldn’t last a day without messaging the team."

Harry went red but managed a small smile, trying to stay composed. "I’m sure he’d have found a way to cope."

On the other side of the hall, Ginny sat up a little straighter, her hands smoothing over her brand-new designer bag. "Well, I don’t care about phones. Look what I got over the summer," she said proudly, holding up the bag for everyone to see. It was sleek, expensive, and stood out among the other, more modest bags in the room.

Pansy raised an eyebrow, her eyes narrowing slightly as she examined it. "Oh, look at that," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Didn’t realize Weasleys could afford things like that."

Ginny’s smile faltered for a second, but she quickly recovered. "I saved up for it," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Draco, always one for a cutting remark, snickered. "Blaise, you should’ve spilled your drink on that bag instead of Daphne’s earlier. Would’ve been a real shame, huh?"

Astoria let out a soft laugh at Draco’s comment but then glanced over at her sister, who still looked upset, her eyes downcast as she fiddled with the strap of her ruined bag.

Y/N noticed too and squeezed Daphne’s hand under the table, offering her a supportive smile. "Ignore them," she whispered softly. "We’ll get this fixed."

Across the room, Cedric had launched into his presentation with gusto, but most of the students were already tuning him out. Mattheo leaned back in his seat, clearly bored, but every now and then, Y/N could feel his gaze flicker over to her. Meanwhile, Harry, sitting quietly beside her, was clearly trying to work up the courage to say something, his eyes occasionally darting to her doodles in her notebook.

And though Y/N was surrounded by the usual chaos of Hogwarts, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was beginning to shift, especially with the way Mattheo and Harry both seemed drawn to her, each in their own way.

Y/N tried not to notice, keeping her focus on her notebook, doodling absentmindedly as Cedric droned on. Beside her, Harry fidgeted, clearly trying to work up the courage to say something. His eyes darted to her sketches, lingering on them for longer than he probably realized, but he remained quiet, too shy to speak up. Y/N’s attention drifted, her gaze wandering across the room. She noticed Pansy sitting a few rows away, her usual smug expression firmly in place as she half-listened to Cedric. But something was off. Pansy’s phone buzzed softly in her lap, barely noticeable amidst the dull chatter of the hall. Y/N watched as Pansy glanced down at her phone, her lips twitching into a smirk before she quickly tapped out a reply. Her fingers hovered over the screen, then she locked it abruptly, her body tensing as she fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. It was subtle, but Y/N had always been good at picking up on small details, and Pansy’s sudden shift in demeanor piqued her curiosity.

Just as Y/N’s mind started piecing things together, her gaze shifted to Ginny Weasley. Seated toward the back, Ginny had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression unnervingly stiff. Her usually carefree demeanor seemed replaced by an anxious sort of energy. What really caught Y/N’s attention, though, was how Ginny was deliberately avoiding looking at Astoria. Her eyes were darting anywhere but in the blonde’s direction. Even when whispers started around the room, Ginny stared at the floor, her fingers gripping the strap of her expensive new bag so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Y/N frowned, something clicking in her gut. Ginny wasn’t the type to flaunt new things or act evasive, and it was clear from the way she clutched her bag that something was bothering her. But before Y/N could give it any more thought, the click of the projector stole everyone’s focus.

A bold question flashed across the screen: "Who is Astoria Greengrass?"

The room fell silent. Even Cedric paused, bewildered, as whispers spread like wildfire through the hall. The air was thick with anticipation and confusion, and Y/N’s heart sank. Something wasn’t right.

The first image appeared on the screen, showcasing Astoria in her typical, glamorous form. The boys reacted instantly, some letting out low whistles as usual, but Y/N noticed Ginny shrinking even further into her seat, her eyes glued to her lap. Pansy, on the other hand, leaned forward slightly, her earlier fidgeting gone as she now seemed intent on watching the scene unfold. Astoria, sitting confidently beside Draco, raised a perfectly arched eyebrow but shrugged it off, her usual poise intact. She was used to attention—thrived on it, even.

The next slide, however, hit differently.

The screen changed again, this time showing a side-by-side photo comparison: a younger Astoria with her natural black hair and her current blonde look. The caption underneath read, "Born with black hair but dyed it blonde to look like her sister, Daphne Greengrass."

Astoria’s composure cracked, her expression faltering for a split second. The room erupted in gasps and hushed voices as the next slide followed quickly.

“Multiple plastic surgeries: nose job, boob job,” the next slide read, accompanied by invasive before-and-after photos. The photos, no doubt taken over the years, showcased a younger Astoria, starkly different from the one everyone knew now. The beauty she had always flaunted was suddenly under a harsh spotlight, and not in the way she preferred.

Y/N's heart sank as she glanced at Astoria. The girl who always held her head high, confident in her appearance, now sat frozen, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen. The room had gone from admiration to stunned silence, whispers growing louder as the secret exposed itself to everyone.

Draco, who had been leaning back with a smirk just moments ago, straightened up instantly. His arm slid off the back of Astoria’s chair as he looked over at her with concern, his brows furrowing in confusion and anger.

Y/N’s mind raced. The photos, the information… whoever had stolen Astoria’s phone had leaked all of this. And judging by the smug looks around the room, many of the students were enjoying the spectacle, finding amusement in her humiliation.

Astoria’s hands clenched into fists on her lap, her face paling before turning a furious shade of red. Without a word, she stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sudden movement snapped Draco out of his shock.

"Astoria—" Draco began, but she didn’t respond. She stormed out of the room, her head held high, though Y/N could see the tremble in her shoulders as she fled.

Draco wasted no time in following her. He shot a dangerous glare around the room, his eyes lingering on the boys who had whistled earlier, daring them to say something now. Without a word, he pushed past a few students and hurried after Astoria.

The atmosphere in the Great Hall shifted, the excitement dying down as students realized the severity of what had just happened. Even Cedric, who had been oblivious moments earlier, now looked awkward, unsure of how to proceed.

Y/N’s gaze fell on the projector screen, still displaying one of the invasive slides, and her stomach turned. This wasn’t just cruel—it was a violation. She couldn’t believe someone had done this to Astoria, no matter how superficial she could be at times. No one deserved this level of public humiliation. And then, Mattheo’s phone buzzed.

Y/N, who had been glancing around the room in search of answers, noticed the sudden tension in Mattheo’s posture. He was leaning back, appearing as casual as ever, but when his phone lit up, she saw his hand freeze for a moment. His jaw clenched as he unlocked it to read the message. Whatever was on the screen seemed to rattle him—his normally laid-back expression disappeared, replaced by something Y/N couldn’t quite read.

His eyes darkened as they flicked from his phone to the room around him, then briefly toward Y/N before he quickly put his phone away. He looked shaken, his usual air of confidence now disrupted.

Y/N caught the flicker of unease in his eyes, and her gut told her that this wasn’t a coincidence. The timing of the text, right after the humiliating slideshow, was too precise.

Something was going on. Something much bigger than just the stolen phone. And now, Mattheo—usually so composed—seemed to be caught in the middle of it.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her thoughts swirling. She glanced once more at Pansy, still sitting smugly despite the chaos around her, and at Ginny, who had yet to meet anyone’s eyes. But it was Mattheo’s reaction that unsettled her most. Whatever message he’d received, it had shaken him in a way she hadn’t seen before.

As the whispers continued, Y/N leaned toward Daphne, who was sitting silently beside her, looking horrified. "It must’ve been whoever stole her phone," Y/N whispered urgently, the weight of the situation settling in her chest.

Daphne’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth as she realized the same thing. "I—I didn’t think…"

Before they could speak further, Professor Snape stood up abruptly, his expression dark. "Enough!" His voice cut through the chatter like a blade, and the room instantly quieted.

"We will investigate this matter immediately," Dumbledore added, his tone still calm but laced with authority. His eyes swept over the students, but there was no anger, only disappointment. "Whoever is responsible for this will face consequences."

Y/N leaned back in her chair, her mind still spinning from what had just happened. As the teachers began to shuffle the students out, she couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that this year at Hogwarts was only going to get more complicated.

Before.... The morning light filtered through the high, stone windows of the Slytherin common room, casting an eerie glow over the cold green and silver tones.

Mattheo groaned as he rolled over in his bed, the usual Slytherin morning hustle beginning to stir around him. He could hear the murmur of voices already, the familiar sounds of gossip echoing through the room like a ritual.

He sat up, ruffling a hand through his dark hair, and lazily swung his legs over the side of the bed. Just another day at Hogwarts, or so it seemed.

As Mattheo stepped out into the common area, he spotted Pansy Parkinson perched on one of the luxurious emerald couches, gossiping eagerly with Blaise Zabini, who seemed only half-interested in whatever scandalous story she was spinning.

Pansy, as always, was full of energy, her eyes sharp as she surveyed everyone who walked past.

“And you wouldn’t believe what Astoria said at dinner last night,”

Pansy’s voice was high and excited, clearly relishing in the drama she was recounting.

Blaise, on the other hand, leaned back in his seat, looking half-bored but still indulging her with an occasional nod.

Right on cue, Astoria Greengrass walked into the common room, accompanied by her sister, Daphne.

The sight of them made Pansy’s eyes gleam with anticipation. As Astoria made a beeline for her boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, leaving Daphne behind, Pansy wasted no time.

“Oh, look who’s all alone again,” Pansy purred, standing up and making her way over to Daphne with a smirk.

“Morning, Greengrass. Funny how your sister always seems to find company while you’re left behind,” Pansy teased, her voice dripping with condescension.

Daphne, used to Pansy’s jabs, rolled her eyes but remained silent, her shoulders tensing. Pansy circled her like a predator, waiting for a reaction.

Blaise, hearing Pansy’s cruel tone, called out, “Pans, come on. Give it a rest.”

Pansy shot him a look but didn’t push further, content that her words had landed. She turned back to Blaise, already resuming her gossip as if nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, Mattheo had just made his way out of the Slytherin common room, meeting up with his friends, Enzo and Theo, in the hallway.

The three of them exchanged their usual banter as they walked toward the Great Hall, the anticipation of breakfast pulling them forward.

As they approached the hall, Ginny Weasley was there, lingering just outside the doors. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw Mattheo, and she hurried over to him with a too-bright smile.

“Hey, Matty,” Ginny greeted, her voice sickly sweet. “How’ve you been?”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, knowing exactly why she was suddenly interested. It wasn’t the first time Ginny had sidled up to him when she needed something, especially money.

Before Mattheo could brush her off, Hermione Granger appeared, grabbing Ginny’s arm and tugging her away. “Ginny, seriously, stop bothering him.”

“I wasn’t—” Ginny started, but Hermione shot her a stern look, effectively silencing her. 

Mattheo rolled his eyes, barely paying attention. He turned to go inside, and as he did, he bumped into someone.

Y/N.

She was walking with her headphones on, completely lost in her own world, oblivious to everything around her.

The collision was minor, but enough for Mattheo to sigh in mild annoyance. He stepped back, trying to move past her without any further interaction.

Y/N glanced up briefly, her eyes meeting his for a split second, but she quickly looked away, more focused on her music than the minor bump.

“Watch it,” Mattheo muttered under his breath as he continued walking into the Great Hall, his mood souring for no apparent reason. 

As Mattheo sat down at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, the usual chatter and gossip surrounded him. He scrolled through his phone absentmindedly, checking messages until a new one popped up from his mother.

Mother: "Gone on holiday again, darling. House is yours for the weekend. Don’t do anything stupid. Kisses."

Typical. She was off enjoying some extravagant escape while he was left to his own devices. Not that he minded.

The idea of having the house to himself for the weekend suddenly sparked a plan in his head. Mattheo smirked, leaning back against the bench, his fingers moving quickly to message Theo.

Mattheo:  "House is empty this weekend. Small get-together? Just us."

Theo’s reply came almost instantly.

Theo: "Hell yeah. Who’s in?"

Mattheo thought about it for a moment. He wanted this to be laid-back, not a wild crowd—just his closest circle. He tapped out a list.

Mattheo: "You, me, Enzo, Draco, Pansy, Astoria, and Blaise."

Theo responded with a thumbs-up emoji.

As Mattheo slid his phone back into his pocket, he glanced up and caught sight of Astoria walking in, hand-in-hand with Draco. She was radiant, her smile light and graceful as she pulled Draco toward the Slytherin table.

Pansy followed close behind, linking arms with Blaise, the two of them deep in some whispered conversation.

His eyes shifted briefly, and once again, he spotted her.

Y/N.

She sat at the far end of the hall, her headphones hanging around her neck, casually flipping through a book. She looked detached, as if she was somewhere else entirely.

Since their collision earlier in the morning, Mattheo had found his mind drifting back to her more than he cared to admit. He didn’t understand why—there was nothing particularly extraordinary about her, nothing that would make her stand out to someone like him. But she was under his skin now, a lingering thought he couldn’t shake.

He turned away quickly as Theo joined him at the table. 

“So, just us this weekend?” Theo asked with a grin, sitting down beside him. “Keeping it exclusive?”

“Yeah,” Mattheo replied with a smirk, “just the usual crew. I don’t want it to get out of control.”

Theo nodded. “Perfect. Draco and Astoria are in, yeah?”

“Of course,” Mattheo said, glancing over at them as they settled in. “Draco wouldn’t miss it.”

Theo chuckled. “And Blaise with Pansy?”

“They’ll be there,” Mattheo confirmed, his eyes briefly flicking back to Y/N before he turned his full attention back to Theo. “It’s going to be a chill weekend. Nothing crazy.”

But as the plan solidified in his head, that strange curiosity about Y/N gnawed at him again. He didn’t know why she had captured his attention so suddenly, but for some reason, he knew this weekend would offer him more than just an escape from the usual Hogwarts chaos.

Maybe it was a chance to figure out what was so different about her—and why she was lingering in his thoughts more than she should be.

The dim lights of Mattheo’s family estate flickered as the small group gathered in the lavish living room, the remnants of emptied bottles of firewhisky scattered across the marble table.

Laughter echoed through the halls, a mix of drunken giggles and exaggerated storytelling filling the space.

Mattheo Riddle, leaning against the ornate fireplace, downed another drink with a grin, his eyes glassy from the alcohol coursing through him.

Pansy Parkinson was sprawled on the couch, giggling uncontrollably as Blaise Zabini attempted to balance a glass on her head, while Draco Malfoy and Astoria sat huddled in the corner, whispering to each other, their cheeks flushed from both alcohol and the late hour.

Theo and Enzo were by the window, looking out at the sprawling garden that surrounded the estate, deep in conversation but still throwing glances toward the rest of the group.

Mattheo, clearly more intoxicated than the rest, stumbled to his feet and raised his voice.

“You lot wanna see something real fun?”

His words were slurred, but they caught everyone's attention. He smirked, looking around at his friends with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I’m gonna show you my dad’s little secret. The bastard’s got this whole place full of hidden treasures. Stuff he doesn’t even want anyone to know about.”

The group exchanged curious glances, unsure of where Mattheo was going with this, but the allure of a secret was too tempting. They were already drunk, and this seemed like the perfect cap to their chaotic night.

“Come on,” Mattheo beckoned, swaying slightly as he made his way down a hallway. “I’ll show you where he keeps all the good stuff.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow, pushing herself off the couch, stumbling slightly before following Mattheo.

The others trailed behind, their curiosity piqued, and soon they were in the basement, standing before a heavy, reinforced door.

Mattheo fumbled with a key from his pocket and, with a smirk, unlocked the door.

It swung open with a heavy creak, revealing a vast room filled with an overwhelming amount of wealth—paintings from famous artists, statues worth more than entire houses, piles of Galleons, and treasures from every corner of the world.

“Merlin’s beard…” Draco muttered, eyes wide with astonishment.

Blaise let out a low whistle. “This is insane. How the hell does your dad have all this?”

“Who knows,” Mattheo laughed, stumbling inside. “Politician, right? Pretends to be clean, but look at all this.”

He waved his arms dramatically, stumbling over a stack of Galleons that spilled across the floor. “Probably all stolen. You think he earned this? Yeah, right.”

They all stepped in, the temptation of such wealth proving too irresistible. Theo picked up a heavy bag of coins and tossed it to Enzo, who caught it with a grin, scattering Galleons everywhere.

Astoria and Pansy were admiring a painting that looked ancient, possibly cursed, but they were too drunk to care.

Draco, usually composed, grabbed a handful of Galleons and tossed them into the air, gold coins raining down like confetti.

Laughter filled the room as Mattheo pulled out his phone and started taking pictures of his friends surrounded by his father’s secret stash, laughing like they had no care in the world.

“This is priceless,” Pansy laughed, posing dramatically in front of a massive statue, completely unaware of the implications of what they were doing. “We could run this whole country with this kind of money.”

“Probably how my dad plans to,” Mattheo muttered under his breath, his tone bitter. “He thinks he owns everything.”

Drunkenly, they kept going, unaware of the storm brewing just outside.

The fun came to a sudden halt when the door behind them slammed shut, and a cold, menacing voice filled the room.

“Enjoying yourselves?”

Mattheo froze, his blood running cold. His father, Tom Riddle, stood in the doorway, his face a mask of fury, the silence that followed suffocating.

The air in the room shifted from lighthearted chaos to heavy tension in an instant. His friends, who had been laughing moments before, now stood motionless, their drunken stupor wearing off as they realized what they had stumbled into.

Mattheo’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move, staring back at his father with defiance, the animosity between them simmering in the air.

“What the hell is this, Mattheo?” Tom’s voice was low, dangerous, as he stepped further into the room, his cold eyes scanning the scene—the scattered coins, the drunken teens, the priceless artifacts now lying carelessly on the floor.

“I was just showing them how a politician like you really earns his keep,” Mattheo spat, his words laced with venom. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting to Mattheo’s friends, who stood awkwardly, not sure whether to flee or stay rooted in place.

“Get out,” he barked, his voice commanding, causing them all to flinch. “Now.”

No one moved, still in shock at what was unfolding. Mattheo’s friends looked at each other, clearly uncomfortable, but none of them dared to speak.

“Are you deaf?” Tom growled. “I said, get out.”

One by one, they filed out, not daring to look Mattheo in the eye. As they left, the weight of what they’d seen lingered in their minds. Tom Riddle, a respected politician, wasn’t what he appeared to be.

The sheer amount of wealth and corruption they had witnessed tonight made it clear—Mattheo’s father was hiding something far worse than just a stash of money.

When the door finally clicked shut, leaving Mattheo alone with his father, the tension in the room became suffocating.

Tom’s gaze bore into Mattheo, filled with disappointment and anger. “Do you think this is a game? Parading your friends in here like this?”

Mattheo shrugged, his voice defiant. “It’s not like you care what I do. You’re never around anyway.”

Tom’s hand moved faster than Mattheo could react, grabbing his son by the collar and pulling him close.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” he hissed. “You’re reckless, and one day, that recklessness is going to cost you everything.”

Mattheo yanked himself out of his father’s grip, his chest heaving with anger.

“You’re one to talk. Look at all of this,” he gestured to the room around them. “You’re the corrupt one, hoarding wealth while pretending to be some noble politician.”

Tom’s eyes darkened. “You don’t understand anything.”

“I understand enough,” Mattheo shot back. “You hide things, you lie, and you think you own everyone and everything. But you don’t own me.”

For a brief moment, there was a flicker of something in Tom’s eyes—guilt, perhaps—but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He stepped back, his voice cold and controlled.

“You will clean this up, and you will never speak of this again. Do you understand?”

Mattheo’s lip curled, but he nodded. “Yeah, whatever.”

As Tom turned to leave, he paused at the door, his voice cutting through the tension one last time.

“One day, Mattheo, you’ll learn what real power is. And you’ll regret throwing this away.”

Mattheo stood there, seething, watching his father’s back as he left. The anger boiled inside him, the resentment that had been festering for years now threatening to consume him. He hated his father—hated everything he stood for.

When he finally emerged from the safe, his friends were waiting, their expressions a mix of concern and uncertainty.

None of them dared ask what had happened, but they all knew—things had changed. And the corruption they’d glimpsed tonight was only the tip of the iceberg.

Two days before Y/N’s meltdown, the atmosphere at Hogwarts was charged with unspoken tension. Mattheo sat in the back of Potions, trying to focus on Professor Slughorn's lecture while his mind raced with worry.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking his concentration. He pulled it out and felt a chill run down his spine as he read the message.

Hacker: "Nice photos, Riddle. Wonder what your father would think if he saw these."

Mattheo's heart sank. He remembered that night all too well—the reckless thrill of flaunting his father’s wealth and the humiliation that followed when his father found out.

The hacker had those photos. The ones that could destroy him.

He glanced around the room, his gaze landing on Y/N. She was quiet, tears pooling in her eyes, clearly in distress. He wanted to help her, but his own problems felt insurmountable.

Suddenly, Y/N let out a choked sob.

The class fell silent, and Professor Lupin quickly approached her, concern etched on his face. He gently led her out of the classroom, and Mattheo’s stomach twisted. What was happening to them?

Turning back to his friends, he demanded, “Who shared the photos?”

Theo raised an eyebrow, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“The photos from the party!” Mattheo snapped. “Someone has them.”

“We didn’t share anything,” Enzo chimed in, bewildered. “What’s wrong with you?”

Ignoring Draco, Mattheo pushed past his friends, frustration boiling inside him. He needed answers and he needed them fast.

Draco smirked from the front. “First Y/L/N, now Riddle. Who’s next to have a meltdown, huh?”

As he stormed down the hallway, he saw Professor McGonagall standing with the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody. She turned to him, ready to make introductions, but Mattheo brushed past them, barely acknowledging their presence.

“Really charming, Riddle,” Draco called after him, laughter lacing his words.

Mattheo clenched his fists, unable to shake the feeling of impending doom. Once in his dorm, he pulled out his phone again, desperate for answers. 

Hacker:   "£10,000. By tonight, or your father sees everything."

Panic washed over him. He couldn’t let this happen. He had to find a way to get the money and fast. His mind raced, but before he could formulate a plan, he received another text.

Hacker: "Meet me in the courtyard. Alone."

With no time to waste, Mattheo grabbed the cash he had saved and made his way to the courtyard, his heart racing with anxiety. 

When he arrived, the courtyard was empty, a feeling of dread settling in. His phone buzzed again.

Hacker:   "Put the money in the bin nearby."

Reluctantly, he did as he was told, tossing the cash into the bin. Frustrated and feeling utterly defeated, he walked to a nearby balcony, desperate for some air.

There, he spotted Y/N sitting alone, her headphones on, gazing off into the distance. She looked lost in thought, and for a moment, he paused, simply watching her. 

His heart ached. She was hurting, just like him, but there was something about her that drew him in.

As he leaned against the balcony railing, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were both caught in a storm, each trying to navigate their own turmoil.

Y/N sat on the balcony, watching the sun rise, when she noticed Mattheo approaching. His expression was tight, almost anxious. She tilted her head slightly. “Why are you so nervous, Riddle?”

He shook his head, dismissing her concern. “I’m not.”

“Really? Because you were definitely nervous yesterday in Lupin’s class,” she countered, a knowing look in her eyes.

Mattheo stepped closer, leaning against the railing beside her. “Does this mean you’re stalking me, Y/L/N?”

“No,” she replied flatly, “I just notice things sometimes.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “I notice things too. So, what happened yesterday? What’s the matter with you?”

Y/N sighed, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her. “I’m just… exhausted.”

“Sounds heavy,” he said, genuinely concerned.

“It is. I’ve been up all night thinking about-,” she paused not wanting to reveal her secret, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tired of pretending, I guess.” 

Mattheo’s curiosity piqued. “Everyone pretends, right? Not just me?”

“Well, not everyone,” he replied, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, you and your friends. You’re all living lives that aren’t real,” she said, a hint of frustration creeping in.

He chuckled, realizing how right she was. The show-off antics with his father’s safe had been an attempt to prove something, but it had backfired spectacularly. He was more furious that they saw a glimpse of his reality when his father returned than he was about the wealth itself.

“Are you always this philosophical? Or is it just because it’s morning?” he teased.

Y/N laughed, and it sent a thrill through him. He liked the sound of her laughter more than he cared to admit. But her expression quickly turned serious again as she continued.

“Don’t you get tired? Wouldn’t it be easier if everyone just stopped lying? If we didn’t have secrets? If we could be honest with the people we care about?”

Her words struck a chord deep within him, resonating with feelings he had been pushing away.

It was the very foundation of his motives for becoming the hacker, though she didn’t know that. She spoke about wanting to tell her mother the truth, the burden of knowing her father was alive and the fallout it could cause.

“I—” she started but faltered, emotion welling in her eyes. “I just need to—”

Before she could finish, she turned and hurried away, leaving Mattheo standing there, feeling the weight of her unspoken pain.

As he watched her retreat, a figure emerged in the courtyard. Mattheo squinted, recognizing the familiar shape.

The person approached the bin where he had tossed the money earlier. 

His heart dropped as he realized who it was—Cedric Diggory, the head boy, and the very person behind the blackmail. The hacker, the one threatening to expose him. 

Mattheo felt a rush of panic, his mind racing as he contemplated his next move.

Mattheo lingered in the hallway, leaning against the wall as he overheard his friends’ conversation.

Pansy was animatedly gesturing, her voice cutting through the noise of the bustling corridor. “I mean, with all that stuff in his dad’s safe, he must be a corrupt politician or something.”

Draco shrugged, glancing around to make sure no one was listening too closely. “We can’t be sure of that. Better not say anything.”

Blaise chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Didn’t you see all that money he had? It’s a bit suspicious, don’t you think?”

Draco just shrugged again. “My father has a safe like that.”

Theo smirked, “So then he’s corrupt too, right?”

Astoria jumped in to defend Draco, crossing her arms. “No, the Malfoys are just rich purebloods.”

Pansy shot back, “Hey, we’re all purebloods, Tori.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but only Daphne calls me that.”

“Whatever,” Pansy replied, dismissively.

Then Astoria’s words hit Mattheo like a slap in the face. “I bet he’s just as corrupt as his father.”

Blaise turned, clearly intrigued. “Hey, would you stop being his friend if he’s corrupt, as you say?”

Theo, supposed to be Mattheo’s best friend, smirked and answered, “Of course not! With all that money? I’ll never stop being his friend.”

The bell rang, slicing through the tension and interrupting their chatter. Mattheo straightened, the weight of their words pressing down on him. He felt a sick twist in his stomach, realizing that Y/N was right; his friends were all pretending.

They weren’t the loyal companions he thought they were. 

With a heavy heart, he joined them as they headed to class, the laughter echoing hollowly in his ears.

Mattheo stormed through the courtyard, his mind racing. He zeroed in on Cedric, who was leaning casually against a wall. “I saw you take the money,” Mattheo said, his tone sharp.

Cedric raised an eyebrow, pretending innocence. “What money? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mattheo stepped closer, annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. “Do you even know who my dad is?”

Cedric smirked, leaning back with feigned nonchalance as Mattheo continued.

“I mean, my father has very important friends. I don’t think he’d appreciate what you did.” Mattheo challenged, his frustration growing.

Cedric chuckled, “Come on, man. From the Daily Prophet, I heard you and your father don’t get along. I’d say you’re in the clear.”

“Don’t tell me you hacked my phone for a few thousand pounds,” Mattheo said, incredulous.

Cedric shrugged, his attitude irritating Mattheo even more. “Maybe that’s nothing to you Slytherins, but it’s a lot to me, okay?”

“Can I ask you one question?” Mattheo said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can you hack any phone?”

Cedric nodded, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Yeah. You won’t believe what you can find. If you want to know something about someone, that’s where you start.”

“Great,” Mattheo muttered, turning away. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he walked away, his thoughts drifted back to Y/N. He couldn’t shake her from his mind. She was always right—she had this uncanny ability to see through the façades they all wore.

In his dorm, he decided to do some digging on Y/N. He already knew about her father’s tragic past, but Cedric’s words urged him to hack her phone. As he sifted through her messages, he found a sweet exchange between Y/N and her mother.

Y/N: "Hey, Mum! Ready to meet at Dad’s grave?"

Her Mum: "Not quite, I have a date tonight! But I’ll call you later, love"  

Y/N: "Still going! I’ll take him some flowers."

Her Mum: "Just remember, no fake flowers this time! They’ll just end up in the bin."

Y/N: "Mum, you do realize the cleaners take away real flowers once they die, right? Technically, I’m being eco-friendly!"

Her Mum: "We replace them weekly, dear. Not quite eco-friendly!"

Y/N: "But enjoy your date! I’m glad you’re happy. 😊"

Mattheo smiled at the exchange. She was sweet, even with her teasing. He felt a tug in his chest, wanting to be part of her world, to share in her happiness.

He made his way to the graveyard, his heart racing as he spotted Y/N kneeling at her father’s grave, placing the fake flowers with care. Just as he was about to approach her, she turned around, a look of disbelief washing over her face.

Y/N’s scream pierced the stillness of the graveyard, echoing off the cold stones and carrying with it a deep, gut-wrenching pain. Her fists clenched at her sides, trembling as she stood before the gravestone, her voice thick with fury. “Why did you lie?” she yelled, the words coming out raw and ragged. "Why did you come back?! After all these years, why now?"

Mattheo, who had been standing a few paces behind her, felt a knot form in his stomach. He had never seen her like this—so shattered, so angry. He didn’t understand. Why was she yelling at a gravestone? He knew that her father was dead. He watched her collapse to her knees, her shoulders shaking, the weight of her emotions palpable in the air.

“You left me!” Y/N sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “You lied, and you left me.”

Mattheo’s brow furrowed as he took a hesitant step closer, his heart aching for her, though confusion clouded his mind. He had no idea why she was reacting like this—why her grief had turned so venomous. He had come here with her for support, but this was beyond anything he had expected. Her pain felt… different. Personal. Not the kind of grief one carries for someone who’s truly gone.

“You said you were gone, you promised me that!” she cried out, her voice barely holding together. "But now you’re here. Pretending to be dead… pretending to care." Her words were laced with betrayal.

Mattheo felt a cold chill run down his spine. Pretending? What was she talking about? He stared at the gravestone, confusion swirling in his chest. And then it hit him—a terrible realization that sent a jolt through his body.

Before he could process it fully, a shadow moved at the edge of the graveyard. Mattheo’s heart skipped a beat as a figure emerged from the mist. Tall, menacing, his presence sent an immediate wave of dread through Mattheo’s body.

It was him—Y/N’s father. Barty Crouch Jr.

Mattheo froze, realization crashing down on him like a wave. This was the man Y/N had been hiding from the world. The man she had spent her life believing to be dead, only to discover he wasn’t. And now, here he was, standing right before her. The very embodiment of all the lies that had been tormenting her.

Y/N’s sobs quieted, replaced by a deep, seething rage. She stood abruptly, facing her father, her face wet with tears but her eyes blazing with fury. “You ruined everything,” she spat, her voice trembling. “Why did you lie to me? Why did you make me think you were dead?”

Barty Crouch Jr. didn’t move at first, his expression unreadable as he stared at his daughter. His presence was cold, detached, as if the weight of her words didn’t affect him at all. It only made Y/N angrier.

“I spent my whole life mourning you,” she cried, her voice rising again. “I thought I was alone! But you… you’ve been out there this whole time, hiding, pretending, while I grieved for someone who wasn’t even gone!”

Mattheo’s heart hammered in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. He wanted nothing more than to step forward, to pull Y/N away from the source of her pain, to hold her and tell her that she wasn’t alone anymore. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Instead, he did the only thing he could do—he reached for his phone, his fingers shaking as he began filming. His heart twisted with guilt for intruding on such a private moment, but something about it felt necessary. This moment… it was too raw, too revealing. And he needed to understand, needed to have proof of what he was seeing. Of who her father really was.

Y/N’s voice shook as she continued, her anger bubbling to the surface. “Do you even care?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “Do you care about what you did to me? To us?” She paused, choking on her words. “You’re not even sorry, are you?”

Barty Crouch Jr. remained silent, his cold eyes fixed on his daughter, offering no comfort, no apology. It was as if her words didn’t reach him, as if he couldn’t feel the weight of her pain.

Y/N’s shoulders slumped, her strength drained. “You left me,” she whispered, her voice small and broken now. “You left me, and I don’t even know why.”

Mattheo’s chest tightened, a deep sense of helplessness washing over him. He wanted to step in, to hold her, to stop this from going any further. But he knew—he couldn’t interfere with this. Not yet. She needed to confront her father, no matter how painful it was.

But the look on Barty’s face, that cold indifference, made Mattheo’s blood boil. How could he just stand there? How could he ignore the damage he had done to her?

The phone buzzed in Mattheo’s hand again, a reminder of the world beyond this graveyard, but he barely registered it. His focus was entirely on Y/N, on the way she shook with silent sobs, her body trembling from the weight of everything she had discovered.

Mattheo’s gaze flickered between Y/N and her father, a storm brewing inside him. He hated that he couldn’t protect her from this, hated that she was caught in the web of her father’s lies. But as much as he despised Barty Crouch Jr. in that moment, Mattheo knew this wasn’t over. There was more to this story, more she wasn’t telling him. And he would find out.

As Y/N’s cries softened into silence, her father finally spoke, his voice low and devoid of emotion. "You never needed protection, Y/N. You’ve always been strong enough on your own."

Mattheo clenched his jaw, feeling a surge of anger. How could he say that to her? After everything?

Y/N shook her head, tears still streaming down her face. “You don’t get it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You don’t get to come back into my life like this… and act like nothing’s changed.”

Barty’s expression remained impassive, as if her words meant nothing. He turned, slowly walking away, leaving Y/N standing there, broken and alone once again.

Mattheo stayed rooted to the spot, his fingers tightening around his phone as he watched Y/N collapse in front of her father’s grave. Every instinct screamed at him to go to her, to pull her into his arms and shield her from the pain tearing her apart. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He knew he had no place in this moment.

From the shadows, Mattheo watched helplessly as she sobbed, her entire frame shaking from the weight of it all. Her cries pierced the air, raw and full of betrayal, and it took everything in him not to run to her side. His heart ached for her, but he knew this wasn’t something he could fix—not now, not like this.

As Barty Crouch Jr. turned and walked away, his cold indifference only deepened the fury inside Mattheo. How could he leave her again? After everything? But still, Mattheo stayed where he was, a silent witness to her agony, knowing she hadn’t seen him yet. He was almost grateful for it—grateful she didn’t see the way he stood there, paralyzed, torn between wanting to comfort her and knowing he couldn’t intrude on such a fragile moment.

The phone in his hand felt heavy, a reminder of the fact that he had been filming the entire time. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe part of him wanted to capture the truth, to understand the depth of her hurt. Or maybe it was something darker, something tied to the twisted need to know everything about her life. Either way, guilt gnawed at him now.

Y/N’s sobs quieted, her body shaking as she remained on her knees, staring at the gravestone. Mattheo’s chest tightened, torn between stepping forward and staying hidden. But he forced himself to stay back, to resist the urge to offer the comfort she needed, comfort he didn’t know how to give.

She never looked in his direction, and for that, Mattheo was thankful. The last thing she needed was to see him standing there, recording her pain like it was something to be documented. His heart clenched as he watched her struggle, completely unaware of his presence. He didn’t deserve to be seen, not after this.

As the silence settled over the graveyard, Mattheo turned, slowly slipping away into the shadows. He’d never wanted anything more than to be by her side in that moment—but sometimes, staying away was the only thing he could do.

The corridors of Hogwarts buzzed with gossip, whispers echoing off the stone walls. Mattheo tried to block it out as he walked to class, but the chatter surrounded him like a swarm of bees.

“Did you hear Y/N’s leaving?” Pansy said, her voice dripping with intrigue.

“Yeah, I heard she had a total breakdown,” Blaise chimed in. “I mean, can you blame her? With everything going on?”

“Right? She’s been a mess ever since the whole family drama,” Astoria added, rolling her eyes. “Who wouldn’t be?”

Mattheo clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped, stepping closer.

“Oh, please,” Ginny scoffed. “She’s just a freak. It’s no surprise she lost it. You think she’s just going to pretend everything’s fine after what happened?”

“Enough!” Mattheo shot back. “You’re all being cruel. Y/N is dealing with something you can’t even begin to understand.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, smirking as he leaned against the wall. “Defending the freak, are we, Riddle? Didn’t think you’d stoop so low.”

Mattheo felt his blood boil. “What’s your problem, Malfoy? She’s not a freak. She’s just—”

“Just what? An emotional mess? Sounds about right,” Draco interrupted, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Shut up, Draco!” Mattheo retorted, stepping forward, fists clenching. “You don’t know the half of it. You don’t know anything about her!”

Their friends watched in tense silence as the confrontation escalated. 

“Whatever, Riddle,” Draco sneered, crossing his arms. “You want to play the hero? Good luck with that.”

Mattheo’s resolve hardened as he turned away from Draco, his mind racing. He was the only one who knew the truth—Y/N’s father was alive. He had seen him at the graveyard, standing right there as she cried.

The rest of their friends were oblivious, lost in their petty gossip.

With a determined glint in his eye, he headed to the nearest empty classroom. He would expose their secrets—starting with the people he thought he could trust. 

He pulled out his phone, focusing on hacking the school’s Wi-Fi. If Cedric could do it, so could he. He could use the access to pull up any juicy information about his so-called friends—Pansy, Astoria, Draco, and even Ginny, who’d been quick to judge Y/N.

As the data streamed into his mind, he felt a thrill. They thought they could gossip without consequences? He’d show them what it meant to be exposed.

In the back of his mind, he still heard Y/N’s voice, urging him to break free of the lies. This was just the beginning.

Mattheo paced nervously outside the clinic, his heart racing with every passing moment. All he wanted was to be there for Y/N, to support her while she navigated her struggles.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and approached her room.

As he reached for the doorknob, a nurse stepped in front of him, arms crossed, her expression firm. “Sorry, but you can’t go in.”

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, frustration creeping into his voice. “Or who my father is?”

“Yes, I know who you are,” the nurse replied flatly. “And I don’t care.”

Mattheo felt a flicker of irritation. “Just tell me she’s going to be okay.”

The nurse softened slightly but maintained her professional demeanor. “She’s here to get better. That’s what we’re focusing on. You can’t rush that.”

His gaze drifted past her to Y/N. She was sitting by the window, her silhouette outlined by the sunlight. The way she stared into the distance, lost in thought, made his heart ache. She looked so fragile, and he felt utterly helpless.

“I just want to take care of her,” he admitted, his voice quieting.

“Caring for someone is more than just being there physically. It’s about giving them the space they need to heal,” she replied gently. “You being here means you care, and that’s important.”

He nodded, frustration still bubbling inside him. He had a plan to help her feel supported and understood, to expose the truths behind their friends’ façades. He wanted Y/N to know she wasn’t alone in this struggle.

“Can I at least stay out here? Just for a little while?” he asked, almost pleading.

The nurse studied him for a moment before relenting. “You can stay, but keep your distance. She needs her space right now.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, relief washing over him.

As he leaned against the wall just outside her door, his eyes remained fixed on her.

The sun illuminated her features, casting a soft glow around her. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but he knew she needed to process everything in her own time.

He thought back to their last conversation—the way she had opened up about her exhaustion, her desire to stop pretending.

It resonated deep within him. He remembered how she had challenged him, questioning the facades they all wore. It ignited a determination in him, a resolve to expose the lies that plagued their lives.

What if he could hack their friends’ secrets? Show Y/N that even in a world full of pretenses, there was a chance for authenticity?

He wanted her to know she wasn’t alone, that he understood her pain because he felt it too.

As he watched her, he noticed the faintest tremble of her shoulders, a telltale sign that she was holding back tears.

The urge to go to her surged within him. He wanted to take her into his arms and tell her it would be okay, that they would get through this together.

Just then, a soft knock interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to see the nurse watching him. “You okay?” she asked, concern etched on her face.

“Yeah, just... worried,” he replied, his gaze flickering back to Y/N. “I hate seeing her like this.”

“It’s tough,” the nurse said gently. “But she’s strong. She’ll get through it with time and support.”

Mattheo nodded, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. He resolved then and there that he would be the support she needed, no matter how difficult the journey would be.

When she was ready, he would help her face the world, and together, they would uncover the truths that bound them.

As he stood there, watching her, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. For Y/N, he would become the strength she needed.

No more pretending—just honesty, even if it meant diving into the darkness.

The sun was setting over the Hogwarts grounds, casting a warm golden glow over the castle as students gathered outside, the excitement of summer break thick in the air.

The group sat sprawled across the grass near the Black Lake, talking about their plans for the long break ahead. Everyone seemed eager for the break, buzzing with anticipation.

“So, what’s everyone doing for the summer?” Ginny asked, stretching her legs out on the grass, leaning back on her arms. 

“Well, I’m going home, obviously,” Ginny continued, answering her own question. “Mum’s going to make me help with wedding preparations for Bill and Fleur. And then I might play a few pickup Quidditch games with Ron and the twins.”

Pansy smiled smugly, twirling a strand of her hair. “Paris for me,” she said. “Shopping, art galleries, a little bit of mischief in the city of love. You know, the usual.”

“Of course,” Astoria chimed in, her voice light. “Because Paris is just so... quaint in the summer.”

Pansy shot her a mock glare, but Astoria just laughed, brushing her hand through her perfectly styled hair.

“What about you, Theo?” Ginny asked, turning to him.

Theo grinned, reclining back lazily. “Venice. Going home, spending some time on the coast. Blaise is coming to visit too,” he said, nodding toward Blaise, who raised an eyebrow in agreement.

“Best food in the world,” Blaise added, smirking. “And I need a break from all of you.”

Everyone laughed.

Astoria nudged Draco playfully. “I’ll be meeting Draco’s parents for the first time,” she said, her tone a mix of excitement and nerves. “We’ll be at the Malfoy Manor for most of the summer.”

Draco smiled faintly, resting his hand on hers. “It’ll be fine. Mother already adores you.”

They all turned to Mattheo then, the last one to speak. His stomach knotted, and for a brief moment, he wished they wouldn’t ask. But he knew they would.

“So, what about you, Mattheo?” Pansy asked, cocking her head curiously. “You kept going on about Spain, didn’t you? Something about your mum?”

Mattheo swallowed, glancing around at them. His original plan had been to spend the summer in Spain with his mother—sun, sea, and no reminders of the mess he’d gotten himself into at Hogwarts.

That was all he had talked about for weeks. But now, the idea of leaving felt wrong. 

Y/N had been plaguing his thoughts since that day by the balcony, and no matter how much he tried to focus on other things, she always slipped back into his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to stay close.

Something about the way she had talked to him, the way she saw through his bravado, had shifted something inside him. She was breaking, and he couldn’t just leave.

He cleared his throat, forcing a smile. “Actually... I’m staying here,” Mattheo said, his voice calm, though his decision had been made in that very moment. 

Everyone turned to him in surprise, their eyes wide.

“Staying?” Pansy repeated, her brow furrowing. “You were so excited about Spain. Now you’re staying? What’s that about?”

“Yeah, mate,” Blaise added, raising an eyebrow. “You haven’t stopped talking about getting away. Spain was your escape, remember?”

Mattheo shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, though the truth of his thoughts felt heavier than he could admit. “Changed my mind. Spain can wait.”

Theo leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You’re staying in this dump of a town instead of going to Spain with your mum? What are you hiding?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “I’m not hiding anything, Theo. I just... have stuff I need to take care of. That’s all.”

Pansy exchanged glances with Astoria, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re not actually staying because of school, are you?” she teased, her voice dripping with amusement. “Come on, you’ve been talking about Spain for weeks. What’s keeping you here? Some secret project we don’t know about?”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened slightly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He could feel the weight of their curiosity, their need to poke at his every decision.

They had no idea about Y/N—about why he was really staying. And he intended to keep it that way.

“Nah,” Mattheo lied smoothly, the words coming easily despite the twist in his gut. “Just thought I could use the time to, you know... handle some things. Maybe catch up on stuff I’ve let slide.”

Blaise leaned forward, his brow raised in suspicion. “Catch up on what? Since when do you care about ‘handling things’? It’s Spain, mate. Sun, parties, getting away from everything.”

Mattheo shrugged, trying to keep his tone casual. “I don’t know, maybe I need a break from all that. Summer’s long enough—I’ll go later.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, not buying the excuse for a second.

“You’re always talking about needing to get away from the school. Now you’re staying? Something’s up,” he said, a teasing smirk playing at his lips. “What’s really going on, Riddle? Family stuff? You’ve been acting weird since the whole... incident.”

Mattheo’s temper flickered, but he swallowed the annoyance. The last thing he wanted was for Draco or any of them to start digging. “Think what you want, Malfoy. I just decided to stay, alright?”

As the others continued chatting about their upcoming summer plans, Mattheo’s mind started working. He knew what he had to do now.

Y/N had made him see things differently. She’d made him realize how much people around them were pretending—how much they all hid behind their facades. And he was done with that.

While the others enjoyed their vacations, he’d be here, working. He was going to expose the secrets, tear down the lies.

And maybe—just maybe—it would help Y/N, too. Even if she never knew he was behind it. Even if she never saw the lengths he’d go to stop the pretending.

But for now, he stayed quiet, letting them believe whatever they wanted.

Mattheo leaned against the cool stone wall outside the clinic, arms crossed as he settled in for what would likely be another long day of waiting.

He’d taken the nurse’s advice to heart—being there, literally, was the only thing he could think to do. He couldn’t be in the room with Y/N, but he could at least be close.

Close enough that, should she need him, he’d be there in a second.

As students passed by, their conversations blending into background noise, Mattheo’s mind began working. He couldn’t shake what Y/N had said to him that day about everyone pretending.

About how much easier life would be if people stopped lying, if they didn’t hide behind the masks they wore every day. Her words lingered in his thoughts, and an idea began to form.

He glanced down at his phone, fingers tapping the screen as he started jotting down notes, a plan slowly taking shape.

The school's WiFi—everyone’s connected to it, and that’s where secrets lived, buried in texts, emails, and messages sent between students. He could use that. He could become the one to expose the lies, force people to stop pretending.

And maybe, just maybe, it would help Y/N too.

His heart twisted at the thought. She was so observant, always noticing things no one else did.

Maybe if there was a hacker stirring things up, she’d want to help figure it out. She’d want to solve the mystery, and in doing so, it might pull her out of this dark place she was stuck in.

Even if that hacker turned out to be him. He chuckled at the irony of it all—creating a game for her, knowing she’d be chasing him without even realizing.

Mattheo sketched out his plan on his phone, mapping out how he could pull this off. He’d start small, gathering secrets, and then slowly leak them out, one by one. Just enough to get people talking. His friends would be the first targets—Draco, Pansy, Theo, and even Ginny.

They were always pretending, hiding behind their perfect lives. It wouldn’t take long before the cracks started showing. And once Y/N caught wind of it, she’d be intrigued. She’d want to get involved, to solve the mystery.

As Mattheo worked, his eyes flicked toward the clinic’s entrance. He watched as Y/N’s mother stepped inside, her face tense with worry.

He’d seen her come and go before, always the same look of concern etched into her features. She was trying to stay strong, but it was clear she was breaking inside.

He felt a pang of empathy—he wanted to comfort her, tell her that everything would be okay, but he didn’t know how. 

He waited, time dragging slowly until, at the end of the day, Y/N’s mother emerged again, this time with tears in her eyes. She wiped them away hastily, trying to compose herself, but it was clear she was devastated.

Mattheo’s chest tightened. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to offer some kind of reassurance, but he stayed put, watching helplessly as she walked away.

“Still here?” a voice interrupted his thoughts.

It was the nurse from earlier, the one who had stopped him from seeing Y/N. She was carrying a small bag, clearly headed home for the night.

Her eyes softened when she saw him, but there was a hint of exasperation too. “You know, standing out here all day won’t make things go faster.”

“I’d wait forever if I had to,” Mattheo replied, his tone serious. “I just... need to know she’s okay.”

The nurse sighed, but there was something almost affectionate in the way she looked at him. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. But you need to take care of yourself too.”

“Just tell me she’s going to get better,” Mattheo said, his voice dropping. “That’s all I need to hear.”

She gave him a small smile. “That’s what we’re here for. To make sure she does.”

There was a pause as Mattheo nodded, his eyes flicking back to the clinic. He knew she was right, but he couldn’t shake the overwhelming need to be close to Y/N.

Even if he couldn’t fix everything, he wanted to be near her, to make sure she knew someone cared.

“Go home,” the nurse said, gently patting his shoulder. “Get some rest. You’ll see her soon.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he joked lightly, forcing a grin.

She chuckled softly. “That you will.”

As she walked away, Mattheo leaned back against the wall, his mind already spinning with the next steps of his plan.

The nurse had become an unexpected ally, even if she didn’t realize it, giving him small updates on Y/N’s condition.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him grounded, knowing she was being looked after. He’d wait as long as it took—both for her to get better and for his plan to unfold.

The pieces were falling into place. Soon, people wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.

The masks would fall, the lies would be exposed, and Y/N... she’d find her way back to herself.

He just hoped she wouldn’t hate him when she found out the hacker she’d been chasing was him all along.

Mattheo found himself wandering through the narrow cobbled streets of Hogsmeade, the crisp autumn air biting at his skin. He pulled his coat tighter around him, glancing up at the small sign swaying in the breeze—Tomme’s and Scrolls.

The old bookstore stood unassuming between two larger shops, its wooden exterior worn and aged, but the warm light spilling from the windows made it feel inviting.

This place was a haven for rare books, old spells, and knowledge that Hogwarts didn’t necessarily teach. Mattheo had come here before, but today was different.

He stepped inside, the soft jingle of the bell above the door announcing his arrival.

The familiar scent of parchment and ink filled the air, wrapping around him like a blanket. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with books of every size and subject.

The shop was quiet, the only sound coming from the creak of the old wooden floors as he made his way to the counter.

Behind it, the elderly shopkeeper looked up from a thick tome she was reading, peering at him through round spectacles perched on her nose. Her face broke into a welcoming smile. 

"Ah, Mr. Riddle," she greeted, her voice warm and raspy. "Back again, are we?"

Mattheo gave a small nod, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "Yeah, I’m looking for something specific this time."

Her brows rose in curiosity. "Oh? And what might that be?"

He hesitated, glancing around the empty shop before leaning in a little closer. "Books on computers. Hacking skills, specifically."

The old woman blinked, clearly surprised by the request. "Hacking, you say?" She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before she stood up slowly.

"Well, I do have some rather unusual volumes tucked away. Though I must say, it’s not often someone comes in here asking for that sort of thing. What are you up to, young man?"

Mattheo shrugged, offering a half-smirk. "Just... a project. For school."

She eyed him with a knowing look but didn’t press further. Instead, she disappeared into the back of the store, the sound of her rummaging through dusty shelves echoing through the room.

After a few moments, she returned with a small stack of books, each one looking more ancient than the last.

"These should cover the basics," she said, setting them down on the counter. "Not your usual reading material, but if it’s knowledge you’re after, this is a good place to start."

Mattheo flipped through the pages, skimming the dense text. There were diagrams, explanations of old encryption spells, and even references to Muggle technology. This was exactly what he needed.

"Thanks," he muttered, pulling out a few coins to pay.

The shopkeeper chuckled softly as she rang him up. "If I may ask... this wouldn’t happen to be about a girl, would it?"

Her question caught him off guard. Mattheo froze, then slowly looked up, meeting her gaze. There was something in her eyes—a mix of amusement and curiosity, like she already knew the answer.

"Yeah," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "You could say that."

She nodded, smiling kindly. "Ah, I thought so. There’s always a girl involved when boys like you come asking for odd things like this. Books on hacking, really..."

Before Mattheo could respond, she reached beneath the counter and pulled out another stack of books, these ones much smaller and with titles that made his stomach twist—The Alchemy of Love, Enchanted Hearts, Charmed Bonds: Love’s Magic. She handed them to him with a grin.

"Here, take these too," she said, her eyes twinkling. "It’s a different kind of magic, but you might find them useful."

Mattheo stared at the pile in disbelief. "Love books?" he echoed, incredulous.

The shopkeeper winked. "Trust me. Sometimes, understanding the heart is harder than understanding computers."

Against his better judgment, Mattheo took the books, feeling his cheeks warm with embarrassment. "Thanks, I guess."

As he left the shop, the heavy books weighing down his bag, he couldn’t help but shake his head. Of all the things to be carrying, love books certainly weren’t part of his original plan.

Still, he couldn’t deny the warmth they brought, as if a part of him knew there was some truth in the old woman’s words.

Night after night, Mattheo found himself returning to Tomme’s and Scrolls, pouring over the hacking books in quiet corners. He learned fast, each visit bringing him closer to perfecting his plan.

After visiting Y/N’s clinic, he’d head straight to the shop, the familiar jingle of the bell announcing his return. The old woman would always smile when she saw him, sometimes joking about how he was there more often than her regulars.

One night, as he was deep in a chapter about data encryption, the shopkeeper came over, setting a cup of tea beside him. "You know," she started, sitting down across from him, "if you’re reading all this for a girl, you must really care about her."

Mattheo looked up from the book, surprised by the comment. "Why do you keep saying that?"

She chuckled softly. "It’s in your eyes, boy. The way you carry yourself. You’re not here for yourself—you’re here because you want to protect someone."

He stared at her for a moment, unsure how to respond. She wasn’t wrong, not entirely. It was all for Y/N, but there was more to it than that. He wanted to protect her, yes, but he also wanted to free her from the lies, from the world of pretenses she was trapped in. And maybe, deep down, he wanted to free himself too.

The old woman patted his hand gently before standing. "Well, I’ll leave you to your studies. But don’t forget—sometimes the heart is the most important thing to understand."

Mattheo spent every night after that studying, crafting his plan.

But during the day, he’d sit outside the clinic, reading the love books the old woman had given him. He wasn’t sure why he read them, but there was something about them that kept him hooked.

Maybe it was because he thought Y/N deserved something real, something honest, and these books spoke of a kind of connection he wasn’t sure he understood but wanted to.

Each day, he’d watch Y/N’s mother visit her in the clinic. He saw her come out at the end of the day, eyes red from crying, but always trying to put on a brave face.

It broke something inside of him every time he saw her like that, and all he wanted was to offer some kind of comfort. But he didn’t know how. 

Mattheo stood outside the clinic, leaning against the stone wall, his hands tucked into his pockets.

The cold wind whipped through the courtyard, but he barely felt it. His eyes were fixed on the doors, waiting for the moment they would open. His heart drummed anxiously in his chest, anticipation building as he finally prepared to see Y/N again.

It had been weeks—weeks of waiting, planning, and watching. Every day, he’d made sure to be there, hoping to catch even the smallest glimpse of her, but today was different.

Today, she was getting out.

The heavy oak doors creaked open, and there she was—Y/N, walking slowly beside her mother.

Mattheo felt his breath catch in his throat, relief flooding through him in a way he hadn’t expected. She looked different, more fragile somehow, her steps careful, but there was something in the way she held herself now—determination, maybe, or exhaustion. Either way, she was here, out of the clinic, and that meant everything.

He stood a little straighter, watching intently as Y/N and her mother made their way down the path, her mother’s arm wrapped gently around her for support.

They didn’t speak much, but Y/N glanced up now and then, responding to her mother’s quiet words.

From the distance, Mattheo couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it didn’t matter. She was out. She was better, or at least trying to be, and for the first time in weeks, he felt a weight lift from his chest.

Y/N looked up, her eyes catching a beam of sunlight as she paused for a moment to take in the courtyard, the fresh air hitting her like it was the first time she’d breathed in days.

Mattheo’s heart skipped a beat when he saw her face—still the same, but worn, as if she’d been carrying a burden far too heavy for her to bear.

He had stayed away all this time, not wanting to push, not wanting to intrude, but now—now he could see her again, and the realization that she was okay made his chest tighten with a strange sense of hope.

Her mother glanced over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing slightly as she caught sight of Mattheo standing in the shadows, watching them.

For a brief second, their gazes met, and Y/N’s mother offered him a small, polite nod. She didn’t seem surprised to see him there—maybe the nurse had told her how he’d been hanging around. But there was no hostility in her look, only a quiet acknowledgment.

Then, she turned back to Y/N, guiding her towards the waiting carriage.

Mattheo’s eyes never left Y/N. Every step she took, every small movement, he absorbed it all, relief coursing through his veins.

She was out of the clinic, but he could still see the weight on her shoulders—the exhaustion that clung to her despite her freedom.

But he had a plan now, one that he believed would help, one that could make everything better. And it all started with her. 

She paused before getting into the carriage, looking over her shoulder at the courtyard, her eyes scanning the familiar surroundings like she was trying to reclaim them after so much time locked away.

Mattheo wondered if she could feel his gaze, but she didn’t look his way. She climbed into the carriage, her mother following close behind, and the door clicked shut.

As they pulled away, Mattheo exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief washed over him again, but this time, it was mixed with something stronger—determination. She was out, and now his plan could finally begin.

His fingers twitched at the thought of it, excitement bubbling just beneath the surface.

All those weeks of preparation, of hacking into the school’s systems, of figuring out how to expose the lies people told, it had all led to this.

Mattheo had promised himself that when Y/N came back, things would be different. He wasn’t going to let her drown in secrets and pretense anymore.

He’d spent hours pouring over every detail, every possible way to expose the truths people were so desperate to hide. His friends, his classmates—they were all guilty of it, pretending to be something they weren’t, and Y/N had been right all along. It was time to stop pretending.

As they disappeared down the road, Mattheo turned away, his mind already spinning with ideas. He had to start slow, build the hacker’s identity, make it someone untouchable, someone who could infiltrate the school’s network without being traced.

And Y/N—Y/N would help him without even knowing it. She was too observant, too sharp. She’d be the one to catch onto the hacker’s trail, and when she did, she’d realize it was all for her.

With one last glance at the clinic, Mattheo slipped his hands back into his pockets and headed toward the gates of Hogwarts.

The wheels were already turning in his head, his plan falling perfectly into place. All he needed now was to set it into motion. Soon enough, the lies would come crashing down, and Y/N would see that not everyone pretended.

And maybe then, she’d understand why he was doing this. Why he needed her to see the truth.

He smirked to himself, already looking forward to the chaos that would follow. No more pretending. Not for him. Not for her. And soon, not for anyone.

As the heavy atmosphere in the Great Hall settled into murmurs, Snape finally dismissed the sixth-years. The tension still clung to the air as the students shuffled out, many still gossiping in hushed tones about Astoria’s shocking reveal. Y/N glanced over at Daphne, whose face was drawn with worry as she moved to follow her sister out of the hall.

Y/N was about to go after Daphne when she noticed Harry lingering by her side. His expression was a mixture of concern and confusion, clearly unsure of what to say or do after the whirlwind that had just hit the group. Before she could speak, Mattheo appeared out of nowhere, his gaze fixed on her.

"Y/N, I need to talk to you. It’s important," Mattheo said, his voice tense. He threw a dismissive glance at Harry, waving him off. "You can go now, Henry."

Harry’s jaw tightened, clearly irritated by the misnaming. "It’s Harry," he corrected, but stayed rooted beside Y/N. 

Mattheo rolled his eyes but turned back to Y/N. "Seriously, this is urgent. I need your help."

Y/N hesitated, glancing between the two boys. Harry was clearly on edge, but she could feel the weight of Mattheo’s urgency. Curiosity gnawed at her—especially after noticing how shaken Mattheo had been during the slideshow. She laid a gentle hand on Harry’s arm, giving him a reassuring look.

"I’ll be okay," she said softly, trying to calm his growing agitation. "I just want to hear what he has to say."

Harry frowned, not liking the idea but reluctantly nodding. "Alright… but I’m not far."

Y/N turned back to Mattheo, her curiosity now fully piqued. "What’s going on, Mattheo?"

He glanced around, as if making sure no one was listening, then tugged her to the side, away from prying ears. His usual swagger seemed to evaporate, replaced with something like guilt. 

"You’re the smartest person I know," he started, his words making Y/N cringe a little, but she allowed him to continue. "And I need you to see this."

Mattheo pulled out his phone, unlocking it with a swipe before handing it to her. Y/N’s eyes skimmed the screen. The message was from someone named The Hacker.

"What happens when your parents find out what you did?"

Y/N's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

Mattheo shook his head quickly, brushing the question aside. "That's not important. Just read the rest, please."

She scrolled down, her eyes widening as she reached the next part of the message. 

"Pick one of your friends and your secret will be safe."

She looked up at him, incredulous. "And you chose Astoria?"

Mattheo's face twisted with guilt. He shifted his weight uneasily, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't even think of her as a real friend, okay? So… I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal."

Y/N shook her head, disbelief flooding her. "I can’t believe—"

"I know I fucked up," Mattheo interrupted, his voice edged with desperation. "But you need to understand, I thought it was some kind of joke! I didn’t think it would actually… well, this."

Y/N fell silent, trying to make sense of everything. The slideshow, the humiliating reveal of Astoria’s secrets, and now this—the blackmail from someone calling themselves The Hacker. "So… Pansy, Ginny… are they involved too?" she asked slowly, piecing together the strange behaviors she had witnessed earlier.

Mattheo’s hand slammed down on the table in frustration. "I don’t know! That asshole stopped replying to my messages."

Across campus, the damage had already been done. The gossip about Astoria spread like wildfire, students murmuring about her plastic surgeries, her dyed hair, and everything else that had been exposed. Some pitied her, others mocked. Astoria herself had locked herself in her dormitory, sobbing uncontrollably while Daphne sat by her side, trying to comfort her. 

Outside the dorm, Draco paced angrily, his fists clenched as Blaise stood nearby, offering quiet but firm words of comfort.

"She’ll be alright, mate. Give her time," Blaise said, his voice low.

Draco only grunted in response, his eyes hard with fury as he glared at the ground. Theo and Enzo approached from down the hall, their usual smirks plastered across their faces.

"Who knew the princess had so many secrets, huh?" Theo remarked, elbowing Enzo, who snickered beside him.

Draco shot them a withering glare. "Shut up. Now’s not the time."

Enzo raised his hands in mock surrender, though the amused glint in his eye remained. "Alright, alright. Just saying, mate, that’s rough."

Meanwhile, over by the common room entrance, Ginny sat quietly, clutching her bag even tighter than before. She hadn’t said a word since the slideshow, her face pale and drawn.

Those around her began to notice the oddity—Ginny Weasley, never known for silence, was now shrinking into herself, looking like she wished the ground would swallow her whole.

Back with Y/N, Mattheo’s frustration was palpable as he paced in front of her, glancing at his phone like it was some ticking time bomb.

"So, now what?" Y/N asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Mattheo stopped, looking at her, and for once, he seemed at a loss. "I don’t know. But I need to figure out who the hell is behind this before it gets worse."

Y/N stepped out of the corridor, her mind still swirling with the chaotic conversation she’d just had with Mattheo. As she rounded the corner, she spotted Harry leaning casually against the wall, clearly waiting for her. She chuckled softly, surprised. 

"You actually waited?" she said with an amused grin.

Harry nodded, his eyes warm and patient. "Told you I wouldn’t go far."

She smiled but didn’t have time to respond before her attention was drawn elsewhere. The soft sound of crying echoed from the nearby girls’ bathroom. Y/N’s expression shifted to concern, and she gave Harry a quick nod before walking toward the door.

Inside the bathroom, the quiet sobbing was unmistakable now. Y/N spotted a familiar purse peeking out from beneath one of the stalls.

"Ginny?" Y/N called out, her voice gentle yet firm. "I can see your purse."

There was a tense silence before Ginny’s shaky voice answered from behind the closed stall. "What is it?"

Y/N stepped closer, leaning lightly against the door. "I want to talk about what happened to Astoria."

There was no immediate reply, just more silence and a few shaky breaths. Y/N took a deep breath, her suspicions solidifying. "You’re being blackmailed too, right?"

Ginny's voice quivered as she responded, barely above a whisper. "What makes you think that?"

Y/N sighed softly. "I know that you took Astoria’s phone."

The words hung heavy in the air, and Y/N could hear Ginny begin to sob again, louder this time. She continued, her tone calm yet knowing. "I saw you leave class earlier and figured it out. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots."

Outside, Harry had been waiting patiently, but when he heard Ginny’s sobs growing louder, concern flickered across his face. He pushed the bathroom door open, stepping in tentatively. Ginny went quiet when she noticed him, her embarrassment palpable as she tried to collect herself. 

Harry approached cautiously, his voice soft. "Hey, Ginny. Why don’t you come out? Y/N’s just trying to help you."

There was a long pause, and then Harry continued, his tone comforting. "It’s my first day, and, well… it’s been pretty eventful." He gave a small, awkward smile, glancing toward Y/N before turning back to the stall. "You don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s just us."

Ginny sniffled, clearly torn, but after a moment, the stall door creaked open. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she clutched her purse tightly to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She glanced at Harry, then back to Y/N.

"If Astoria finds out…" Ginny’s voice broke, panic evident in her eyes. "I’m dead."

Y/N gave her a soft, reassuring look. "It wasn’t your fault. Whoever’s behind this just wanted to see if you’d betray your friend."

Ginny shook her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "I didn’t want to, Y/N," she whispered, her voice thick with guilt. 

Without warning, she moved toward Harry, burying her face in his chest. Harry, caught off guard, stood awkwardly for a second before his arms hesitantly wrapped around her, offering a stiff but kind embrace. His wide eyes met Y/N’s, silently asking for guidance on what to do next.

Y/N gave him an understanding nod, her expression softening as she saw how shaken Ginny truly was. Harry patted her back gently, clearly uncomfortable but doing his best to console her.

Ginny pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes before asking the question that had been gnawing at her. "But who made the video?"

Y/N’s mind raced as the pieces clicked into place. She thought back to the Great Hall—the slideshow, the chaos—and something stood out: Pansy. Pansy had been acting strange, fidgeting, just before the slideshow started. And when the rest of the room was glued to the shocking images, Pansy had barely reacted at all.

Y/N’s voice was steady but laced with suspicion as she answered, "The one person who wasn’t paying attention to the slideshow… Pansy."

Ginny’s eyes widened in realization, the fear in her expression momentarily replaced with understanding. "You think she’s involved?"

Y/N nodded slowly. "It makes sense. She was fidgeting just before the slideshow came on, like she expected it.

Y/N stormed down the hallway, her mind set on finding Pansy. The accusations and suspicions were swirling in her head, and she needed answers. Harry was right beside her, glancing at her with concern but staying silent for now, sensing her determination.

She finally found Pansy loitering near the courtyard, leaning against the wall with her usual smirk. Y/N approached her without hesitation. 

"Pansy," Y/N called out, her voice sharp, "we need to talk."

Pansy barely looked up from her phone, flicking a glance at Y/N before rolling her eyes. "About what, Greengrass's little meltdown? Please, spare me."

Y/N took a deep breath, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "Did you have anything to do with the slideshow?" she asked directly, her gaze piercing.

Pansy’s smirk widened as she pocketed her phone, finally giving Y/N her full attention. "Oh? And what if I did?" she shrugged dismissively, pushing herself off the wall. "You think I care about some spoiled little drama? Astoria’s been asking for it."

Y/N took a step forward, unfazed by Pansy’s nonchalance. "I want to know if you’re involved," she demanded, her voice steady.

Pansy crossed her arms, looking at Y/N with a sneer. "Involved?" she repeated mockingly. "You should be asking yourself that question. You know, I was thinking—who’s smart enough to pull off something like this? To hack into someone's phone and orchestrate a public humiliation? All signs point to you, Y/N."

Y/N froze, blinking in confusion. "What?" she said, incredulity lacing her words. "I didn’t send that text, and I sure as hell wouldn’t waste my time on something like this."

But Pansy wasn’t done. She raised her voice, making sure everyone in the vicinity could hear. "Oh, really? Come on, you’re smart enough to pull this off. Who’s to say you didn’t do it? Maybe you’re just getting revenge for last year’s breakdown. We all know you’re still not over that."

Y/N’s face paled as her breath hitched. The mention of last year hit her like a ton of bricks, and for a split second, she couldn’t move. Pansy had crossed the line, and she knew it.

Harry, still standing by Y/N, took a step forward, glaring at Pansy. "Back off, Pansy. Leave her alone."

Pansy’s eyes flickered over to Harry, her smirk faltering. "Oh, look at you, Potter. Defending her like some kind of hero. Let me give you some advice," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Stay away from Y/N. She might have another breakdown, and this time, you’ll be the one she drags down with her."

Y/N flinched at Pansy’s words, her confidence crumbling as she instinctively took a step back. Her chest tightened, the memories of last year clawing their way back to the surface. She had fought so hard to move past it, but here it was, right in front of her again.

"Y/N?" Harry’s voice broke through her thoughts, soft and concerned. He reached out, gently touching her arm. "Are you okay?"

Y/N swallowed hard, blinking away the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She pulled away slightly, her voice quieter than before. "I… I’m fine. Pansy’s right, though. You should probably stay away from me."

But Harry shook his head firmly, his green eyes full of determination. "No. I can choose who I’m friends with. And I choose you, Y/N." He looked at her with sincerity, his voice soft but unwavering. "You’re the nicest person I’ve met here. I want to be your friend."

Y/N stared at him for a moment, her heart aching from the kindness in his words. Despite everything Pansy had said, despite the doubt creeping in, Harry stood by her. She took a deep breath, nodding slowly as she allowed herself to believe, even for a moment, that she deserved that kind of loyalty. 

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips, though the weight of the confrontation still hung heavy in the air.

Astoria lay on her bed, her eyes puffy and red from crying, while Daphne slept soundly in the bed beside hers. The room was quiet, save for the occasional sound of Daphne shifting in her sleep. Draco had finally left after hours of comforting her, but even his presence had felt empty, like he wasn’t fully with her anymore. Astoria couldn’t shake the cold weight of humiliation that clung to her, and she found herself scrolling through her shattered reputation in her head over and over.

Her phone buzzed on her nightstand, a faint glow illuminating the dim room. With a heavy sigh, she reached for it, expecting more pity texts or gossip circulating among her classmates. Instead, the message made her freeze.

The Hacker "Want to get back at those who betrayed you?"

Astoria’s pulse quickened as she sat up, her hands trembling. The words felt like a dangerous invitation, but the fury boiling inside her was louder than her fear. She quickly texted back.

Astoria  "Who are you?"

Seconds passed like hours before the reply came.

The Hacker "Mattheo picked you. Ginny took your phone. Pansy uploaded the video. And now, Draco has betrayed you."

Astoria’s breath hitched as she read the message, her heart sinking into her stomach. Her fingers hovered over the screen as she typed back, desperate for clarity.

Astoria    "What do you mean Draco betrayed me?"

This time, the response wasn’t a text. It was a video file. With shaky hands, Astoria pressed play.

The footage was grainy, but unmistakable. Draco, standing outside their common room, was talking to Theo and Enzo. They were joking, but the conversation quickly shifted.

"Did you know about Astoria’s surgeries?" Theo’s voice cut through the video, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity.

Draco hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before shaking his head. "No, I didn’t. It’s disgusting, honestly. She lied to me about it." His voice was cold, and the words felt like a knife twisting in Astoria’s chest.

The video continued as Theo and Enzo exchanged glances. "She lied to you? But haven’t you known her since you were kids?" Theo pressed.

Draco’s expression darkened, his tone defensive. "Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I had any idea about… that."

Astoria’s hand flew to her mouth, her breath shallow. Draco knew. He had always known. He and Daphne had grown up with her; they knew every insecurity, every reason she had gotten those surgeries. And yet, here he was, pretending he didn’t. Worse—acting disgusted by it.

A wave of nausea hit her as she hurled her phone across the room, the sound of glass cracking echoing in the silence. The betrayal cut deeper than anything she’d experienced today. She had always trusted Draco, and now that trust lay shattered, just like her phone.

But before she could fully process the devastation, her phone buzzed again, the soft glow flickering from its now cracked screen. Reluctantly, she crossed the room and picked it up, wiping away the tears that had started to fall again.

The Hacker "Do you want revenge?"

Her fingers hovered over the screen, her mind racing with anger, pain, and confusion. She hesitated for a split second, but the image of Draco’s face as he lied about her was burned into her mind. The choice felt inevitable.

Astoria  "Yes."

The screen remained dark for a moment, and then a final message appeared:

The Hacker   "Good. Let’s begin."

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The atmosphere in the Great Hall the next morning was thick with tension. As breakfast was laid out on the tables, most students weren’t even paying attention to the food. Their eyes were glued to their phones, watching the countdown timer inch closer to zero. The air buzzed with nervous anticipation, punctuated by whispered conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. 

Y/N sat at the Slytherin table, her heart pounding, though her expression remained calm. She glanced around, noticing the unease on several familiar faces. Pansy Parkinson sat stiffly beside her, fingers tapping anxiously against her plate, her gaze flickering to her phone every few seconds. Mattheo Riddle sat across from Y/N, his leg bouncing beneath the table in agitation. He caught Y/N’s eye briefly but looked away, his usual cocky smirk nowhere to be found. On the other side of the hall, Ginny Weasley was seated with her friends, but she barely touched her breakfast. Her hand clutched her expensive new bag, her knuckles white. Draco Malfoy, who had always seemed unflappable, was unnervingly quiet, his pale face more drawn than usual.

The anticipation built, and students began counting down aloud, their voices rising together. 

“Five… four… three… two… one!”

Suddenly, phones across the hall buzzed with notifications. The room erupted with cheers and laughter as students opened the shared link, seeing confetti burst across their screens. Then the cheering died down, replaced with gasps as four new slideshows appeared. 

Y/N’s stomach twisted. She watched as the first video began playing, the title splashed across the screen: Who is Draco Malfoy?

The hall fell eerily silent as students leaned in to watch. The video started with a montage of Draco’s life—images of him in his pristine Slytherin uniform, smirking at the camera, his family estate in the background. But then it took a sharp turn. It revealed a secret social media account, the username untraceable but clearly Draco’s. Private videos played, showing Draco sending flirtatious messages to an anonymous person, referring to them as "kitten." The screen then flashed to explicit videos of Draco—nudes and risqué content he had sent to his mystery lover. The final clip showed him buying lavish gifts for “kitten,” the anonymity of the recipient fueling gossip instantly.

Students gasped. Some laughed, while others sat in shocked silence. Y/N’s gaze darted to Draco. He looked stricken, his usually pale face flushed with anger and embarrassment. His hands clenched into fists as he muttered under his breath, "I’m going to kill whoever did this." 

Before anyone could fully react, the next video started: "Who is Ginny Weasley?"

Ginny’s face drained of color as her name appeared on the screen. The video began innocently enough, recounting her life with seven older brothers, growing up in a modest household. But then, it shifted. Footage of Ginny showing off her new, expensive bag and designer clothes rolled, juxtaposed with images of her family’s frugality. Then came the paperwork—clear evidence that Ginny had been siphoning money meant for the Yule Ball budget, spending it on herself. The hall erupted in disbelief and shock.

Y/N’s eyes flicked to Ginny. She sat frozen in place, her hands trembling. Across the hall, Professor McGonagall shot up from her seat at the head table. “Miss Weasley!” she barked, her voice ringing through the hall. Ginny didn’t move, her face flushed with humiliation. Students around her began whispering furiously, some hurling insults.

“Thief!”  

“Guess the Weasleys weren’t as noble as we thought.”

Y/N looked away, heart sinking, but there was no time to reflect. The third video had already started: "Who is Mattheo Riddle?"

Mattheo visibly tensed. The video highlighted his infamous father, Tom Riddle, emphasizing his shady business dealings and political corruption. Clips of Mattheo followed, showing him flaunting his father’s wealth, throwing money around at parties, and speeding through town in luxury cars. Then the video cut to Tom Riddle himself, hypocritically denouncing corrupt politicians, saying he was in it for “honor and family,” while the images of Mattheo’s extravagance played on screen. It was a direct attack on both father and son.

Mattheo’s phone buzzed loudly on the table. He glanced at it, paling as he saw the caller ID: his father. His jaw clenched, and without a word, he stood, hurriedly leaving the hall. The whispering grew louder, mocking laughter trailing him as he stormed out, his phone pressed to his ear.

But the final video was the most devastating: "Who is Pansy Parkinson?"

Pansy froze as her name appeared, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her fork. The video started with harmless clips of Pansy and her ex-boyfriends, gossiping with friends. Then the footage turned darker. Secretly recorded, it showed Pansy talking to Blaise, her best friend. In the footage, Pansy confessed tearfully that she didn’t like boys the way she was supposed to. “I like girls,” her voice trembled as she admitted her truth. Blaise had hugged her, comforting her as she cried. 

The hall fell into stunned silence. Pansy sat frozen for a moment, her face going pale. Then, without a word, she stood and ran from the hall. Blaise immediately followed, guilt written all over his face as he chased after her, just as he had comforted her in the video.

The hall erupted into chaos. 

Students were shouting, some calling Draco and Ginny names, others taunting Mattheo. A few students were sympathetic, but most were too caught up in the drama. Y/N could barely hear herself think over the noise.

Across the hall, the doors opened, and Astoria Greengrass stepped inside. Her face was pale, but she looked determined. Then she caught sight of the phones and the videos playing. Whispers immediately followed her entrance, people staring at her, some laughing cruelly. Draco saw her, his eyes wide with panic. He stood, pushing his chair back violently. “Astoria—wait—” But she was already turning, tears spilling down her cheeks as she fled once again. Draco tried to follow, but she was gone before he could reach her. He swore under his breath, his hands trembling as he sat back down. 

Hermione, who had entered quietly, watched Astoria’s retreat with a solemn expression. Y/N saw the way Hermione glanced at Draco—sympathy, but something else too. Draco ran a hand through his hair, his eyes dark with guilt.

“Things are getting out of hand,” Y/N muttered to herself, trying to drown out the taunts and shouts from all around her. Her head buzzed with questions. Who was next? Who was behind this?

The professors stood huddled at the head of the room. Snape’s face was twisted in frustration. "We need to ban phones," he hissed.

"That will only make matters worse," McGonagall replied, her voice strained with the weight of everything.

Dumbledore remained calm but watchful. "We need to address this before it escalates further."

But Y/N couldn’t focus on their discussion. She had a sinking feeling, gnawing at the pit of her stomach. The videos had come for Draco, Ginny, Mattheo, and Pansy today, but it wasn’t over. The countdown had started, and she feared her time was coming.

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The Great Hall buzzed with its usual energy as students gathered for dinner, but tonight, something felt off. As plates filled with food appeared on the long house tables, everyone’s phones simultaneously vibrated, lighting up with notifications. The sudden flurry of activity was impossible to ignore. Murmurs spread through the hall as students began pulling out their phones, glancing at the new notifications. 

A new account had surfaced on every platform—Snapchat, Instagram, TikTok—all displaying the same ominous title: All your secrets - by TheHacker. It was the same account that had leaked Astoria’s secret, and now it was back with a countdown, ticking ominously toward the next morning’s breakfast.

Y/N, sitting at the Slytherin table, felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She pulled it out, her stomach sinking as she saw the countdown. Her eyes flicked up from the screen, scanning the room. Across the hall, Mattheo Riddle was already looking at her, his expression tense. She nodded slightly, acknowledging the weight of the situation, and he returned the gesture.

The atmosphere grew more chaotic as the students realized what was happening. Pansy, seated a few spots down from Y/N, was visibly panicking, her fingers tapping anxiously on the table. Ginny Weasley, on the opposite side of the room at the Gryffindor table, was just as unsettled. She sat stiffly with her friends, clutching her bag as if it were her lifeline. Harry, seated beside her, gave Y/N a small, shy wave, trying to stay cheerful, but the tension around them was undeniable. Y/N noticed how Ginny barely acknowledged him, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. Something was eating away at her.

Looking around, Y/N realized three notable absences: Draco, Astoria, and Hermione. Her eyes narrowed. It was unlike Hermione to skip dinner, and Draco was usually glued to Astoria’s side. Just then, the doors to the Great Hall swung open, and Hermione entered, walking purposefully toward the Gryffindor table. Draco followed a few steps behind, smoothing down his platinum hair as he made his way to the Slytherin table, sitting next to Blaise. But Astoria—still absent.

Draco seemed off, his usual smirk replaced with a blank, almost worried expression. Y/N could sense something had shifted, especially with Hermione. Her gaze lingered on Draco for a moment longer before turning her attention to Ginny, who sat quietly, her eyes darting around nervously. Something was brewing, and Y/N wasn’t the only one who noticed.

The hall erupted with gossip. Students leaned into each other, whispering and glancing at their phones. Y/N overheard snippets of conversation from the students around her.

"Did you see the countdown? What's going to happen at breakfast?"  

"It’s probably another leak—what if it’s about me this time?"  

"Who do you think’s behind all this? Someone’s gotta know more than they’re letting on."

Y/N’s focus was momentarily broken when she caught a few students laughing loudly from the Gryffindor table. Mattheo, ever the provocateur, couldn’t resist making a snide comment across the hall.

"Hey, Potter, you enjoying your little spot in Gryffindor?" he called out, his tone playful but sharp.

Harry, who had been quietly eating next to Ginny, looked up, his face a bit red but determined.

Before Harry could respond, Draco spoke up. "Ease up, Mattheo," he said, surprising Y/N. "Gryffindors aren’t all that bad." His voice was calm, as if he’d been deep in thought. " Y/N shot a glance at Draco, trying to make sense of the unexpected defense.

Blaise, meanwhile, was distracted. His eyes weren’t on the drama; they were on a small piece of parchment. With a sly grin, he scribbled something down and folded it carefully. A flick of his wrist, and the note flew across the hall, landing gracefully in front of Luna Lovegood, who was seated at the Ravenclaw table. Luna opened the note, her eyes lighting up as she read Blaise’s playful message, a small blush creeping onto her cheeks. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the sight—Blaise’s tough exterior softened whenever Luna was involved.

Just then, at the head table, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape were engaged in a heated discussion. The professors had also noticed the phone frenzy and were clearly not pleased.

"This madness needs to end," Snape muttered, his eyes dark and brooding as he glared at the students engrossed in their devices. "We should just ban phones altogether."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "It’s already a mess as it is. Banning phones might cause more trouble than it’s worth, Severus."

Madam Hooch, standing nearby, chimed in. "I agree. Banning phones will just stir the pot. There needs to be another solution."

Dumbledore, always calm in a crisis, simply observed, his eyes twinkling with thought. "We must be careful in our approach. Technology, like magic, is powerful—but it must be used wisely."

Harry follows Y/N, his footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. "What do you think the countdown's for?" he asks, slipping his hands into his pockets, trying to sound casual.

Y/N shrugs without looking back at him. "Probably the next victim." Her voice is detached, almost too calm for the situation they’re in.

He quickens his pace to keep up with her, eyes narrowing in curiosity. "What makes you think that?"

Y/N slows down just enough to glance over her shoulder, meeting his gaze briefly. "Because it’s obvious, isn’t it?" she replies coolly. "A countdown usually means something bad is about to happen. And if we're dealing with this... it's not a party."

Harry's eyes dart to the floor for a second, considering her words. "Right," he mutters, thinking it over. "But why assume it’s a person next? Could be something else. An event. Maybe—"

"Harry," Y/N cuts him off, her tone a mix of exasperation and caution. "You and I both know better. This hacker's twisted. They’ve been messing with people’s lives. If it’s not a person next, then... I don’t know what it is, but it's not something good."

Harry watches her for a moment, studying her expression. Y/N keeps her face neutral, though an unsettling thought lingers in her mind — *what if it’s me next?*

Before Harry can respond, Mattheo strides up from the opposite direction, slipping between them like he belongs there, his usual swagger masking a hint of nervousness. "Why, what are you hiding, Hugo?" he asks with a smirk, feigning ignorance about Harry's name.

Harry frowns at the name slip but stays calm. "It’s Harry. You know that, Mattheo."

"Do I?" Mattheo quirks an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your last name’s kinda hard to forget, Potter." He emphasizes it, but there’s a hint of something else behind his smirk — admiration, maybe even envy. After all, James Potter, Harry’s father, had been one of his childhood heroes.

Y/N, sensing the tension between the two, steps in. "Relax, Mattheo. No need to act like you don’t know who he is." She crosses her arms, giving him a knowing look. "Besides, shouldn’t you be more concerned about that text you got from the hacker?"

Mattheo’s smirk falters for a second. He glances at her quickly before forcing a laugh. "Me? Concerned? Nah, it’s probably a prank. Just some empty threat. I don’t think they’d waste time on me." His casual tone doesn’t match the flicker of unease in his eyes.

Y/N isn’t convinced, but she doesn’t press him. She knows Mattheo’s not the type to admit vulnerability — especially not in front of her.

The three of them arrive at the entrance to the Slytherin common room, the dim torchlight casting long shadows on the stone walls. Mattheo takes a step forward, turning slightly to block Harry’s path. "Well, new kid, this is where you turn back. Slytherin territory, remember?"

Harry halts, giving Y/N a brief, almost playful look. "Right. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Y/N... maybe when the countdown finishes?" His tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying seriousness that makes Y/N pause.

She blinks, not quite catching the flirtation in his words. "Yeah, maybe," she says absentmindedly, her thoughts still on the countdown. Something about it feels too close, too personal.

Mattheo, however, picks up on Harry’s intent immediately. He steps closer to Y/N, clearly annoyed. "Alright, Golden boy, we get it. Bye now." His voice is tight, barely hiding the jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

Harry chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "Right. See you." He waves once more at Y/N before turning to leave, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

As soon as Harry is out of sight, Mattheo lets out a low breath, glancing at Y/N. "New kids kind of annoying huh?"

Y/N doesn’t respond right away, her mind spinning with the weight of her earlier realization — the countdown, the victims. Could she be next? She swallows hard, forcing a smile at Mattheo. "Hmm, sure."

But deep down, a chill settles in her chest. If the hacker's targeting victims based on personal connections... maybe she's closer to danger than she realized.

And she isn’t sure she wants Harry — or Mattheo — to know just how much that possibility scares her.

The castle was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came after midnight when even the ghosts had retired to their usual haunts. Y/N moved swiftly through the dimly lit corridors, her footsteps barely making a sound as she descended toward the library's Restricted Section. She knew the path well by now, having snuck out on more than one occasion. Tonight, the pull of a particularly rare book on ancient hexes had been too tempting to resist.

Slipping inside the library, she carefully closed the heavy wooden door behind her, making sure the hinges didn’t creak. The Restricted Section was darker than the rest of the library, its shelves towering and filled with volumes that radiated mystery and danger. Y/N made her way to her usual corner, her fingers lightly brushing over the spines of forbidden books, seeking the one she'd been wanting to read.

She had just settled in, the heavy tome open across her lap, when a familiar gruff voice broke the silence.

"You're gettin' better at sneakin' about, but not good enough."

Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. Slowly, she lifted her gaze from the book to see the unmistakable silhouette of Professor Mad-Eye Moody leaning against a nearby shelf, his magical eye swiveling in its socket while his real one watched her with a raised brow. 

"Professor," Y/N greeted, trying to hide the smirk pulling at her lips. "Caught me again."

Moody grunted, his lips twitching into something that could almost be called a smile. "Didn’t need the eye for that. Your pattern’s predictable. Always the same time of night." He gave her a sideways glance. "Same shelf, too."

Y/N shrugged, trying to play it off casually. "What can I say? I’m a creature of habit."

Moody didn’t seem to mind that she was there. In fact, over the past few months, she’d noticed that he seemed to have grown used to her presence. The first time he'd caught her sneaking into the Restricted Section, he’d grumbled and threatened detention. Now, he didn’t even bother to escort her back to her dorm.

He limped over to her side, peering at the open book with interest. "Hexes, huh? Bit dangerous for light reading, don’t you think?"

Y/N grinned. "I like a challenge."

He snorted, the sound rough but not unkind. "You’ve got more in common with that lot than you think," he muttered, referencing some of the dark wizards she’d read about.

She tilted her head, amused. "Oh? Should I be worried?"

He eyed her for a moment, then shook his head. "Not if you keep your wits about you. You’re observant, I’ll give you that. You pick up things most others don’t."

Y/N blinked, surprised at the compliment. "How’d you figure that?"

Moody’s magical eye whirled in its socket for a second before he pointed to it. "This helps. But even without it, it’s obvious."

Y/N chuckled softly, but as she watched him more closely, she noticed something. He did this thing — a quick flick of his tongue, licking his lips in between sentences. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him do it, and it reminded her of someone. Her father. He used to do that too, just before delivering some piece of wisdom or when he was deep in thought. The resemblance hit her unexpectedly, and a pang of sadness settled in her chest.

She must’ve paused too long because Moody, always perceptive, narrowed his good eye at her. "Something on your mind?"

Y/N hesitated, unsure if she should burden him with her thoughts, but then again, Moody wasn’t the type to pry without reason. She exhaled softly, her gaze dropping to the book in her lap. "It’s just... that thing you do. Licking your lips before you speak. My father used to do that." Her voice softened. "He... passed away when I was nine. Died in a fire. You just reminded me of him."

For a moment, there was only silence between them. The atmosphere felt heavier now, the soft rustling of pages and distant creaks of the castle the only sounds. Moody didn't say anything at first, just nodded slowly, his face as weathered and scarred as ever, but there was a gentleness in his expression that caught her off guard.

"I’m sorry, lass," he said quietly, his voice gruffer than usual but not unkind. "Losing a parent that young... that’s not something you shake off easy."

Y/N managed a small smile, though the ache in her chest lingered. "It’s been a while now, but it still hits me sometimes. The fire—" she paused, her throat tightening for a moment before she pushed through it, "—it was an accident. But it’s hard not to think about it."

Moody took a seat beside her on the low bench, his gaze turning distant for a moment as if recalling something from his own past. "You keep them with you, you know. Those you lose. Maybe not in the way you want, but they stick around." He glanced at her, his mismatched eyes solemn. "And sometimes, they teach you things long after they’re gone."

Y/N nodded, his words resonating more than she expected. "Yeah. He taught me to pay attention. Said you can learn a lot just by watching people."

Moody’s lips twitched again in that almost-smile. "Smart man, your father."

For a while, they sat there in silence, the weight of unspoken thoughts lingering in the air. Y/N felt a strange sense of comfort being around Moody, despite his gruff demeanor. He didn’t try to offer false reassurances or platitudes — just listened, and that was enough.

After a moment, Moody stood, his wooden leg creaking slightly as he shifted. "You know, if you’re gonna sneak around reading, you might want to mix up your pattern a bit. Next time, someone might not be as lenient as me."

Y/N smiled, rising to her feet and closing the book carefully. "Thanks for the tip, Professor. I’ll keep that in mind."

Moody gave a slow nod, his magical eye whirling again before locking onto her. "And Y/N..." he paused, his voice softer now, "you’re tougher than you think. Your father would be proud."

Her chest tightened at the words, but she managed a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Professor."

As she quietly slipped out of the Restricted Section and made her way back to her dorm, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. Moody's words stayed with her, lingering like a quiet strength she hadn’t realized she needed.

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Mattheo's phone buzzed in his pocket as he leaned against the rough stone wall outside the Great Hall. He glanced down, already knowing who it would be. His father. A tight knot of dread formed in his stomach as he picked up the call.

"Mattheo," his father’s voice came through, sharp and cold as always. "Come home. Now."

There was no question, no explanation. There never was with Tom Riddle. Mattheo didn’t bother asking why—he already knew. The slideshow at Hogwarts had caused more damage than anyone realized, and his father would not be pleased. With a resigned sigh, Mattheo grabbed his coat and made his way to the nearest fireplace to Floo home.

The Riddle estate loomed as ominously as ever when Mattheo arrived. He stepped into the grand entrance hall, the familiar scent of wood polish and something darker, like burnt parchment, hanging in the air. But this time, the air was thick with something else—panic.

All around him, his father’s assistants were frantically shredding documents, burning papers in the fireplaces, erasing files from computers. The chaos was organized, but barely. It was clear that something had cracked wide open, and now they were all scrambling to cover it up.

Mattheo had expected this. It was the reason for his calm demeanor in Dumbledore’s office earlier. What could a headmaster possibly do against his father, the man nicknamed the Dark Lord? Hogwarts had no power here. Dumbledore’s assurances were meaningless. His father’s empire was crumbling, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

He was walking through the chaos when his father’s voice cut through the noise.

"Mattheo!" 

Mattheo turned, stepping into his father’s study. Tom Riddle stood behind his grand desk, his face twisted in a mask of fury. He looked like a man on the edge, his hands trembling slightly as they gripped the back of the leather chair.

"Do you have any idea what you’ve done?" Tom’s voice was deadly quiet, the kind of quiet that made everyone in the room stop and pay attention. "Are you happy now? Your little stunt is going to cost us—everything. People are asking questions, Mattheo. Dangerous questions. They want to know where the hell I got that money."

Mattheo felt the familiar pit of guilt and dread settle in his stomach. He opened his mouth, trying to explain, "I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t think it would get—"

"You never think!" Tom exploded, slamming his fist onto the desk with such force that papers flew into the air. His voice was filled with the kind of rage that could level cities. "You always do this! You take what I’ve built—everything I’ve sacrificed—and you destroy it. Do you think this is a joke? Do you think this is just some game?"

Mattheo’s body tensed, his mind racing for some kind of defense, but before he could speak again, his father lashed out. His fist connected with Mattheo’s face, a sharp, brutal strike that left him reeling, his cheek throbbing with pain as he stumbled back.

"Stop it!" His mother’s voice rang out as she rushed into the room, pulling Tom back before he could hit Mattheo again. She stood between them, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and anger as she held her husband at bay. "Tom, that’s enough!"

But Tom wasn’t done. His chest heaved with rage, his eyes blazing as he pointed a trembling finger at his son. "I work my ass off to give you a life most people would kill for, and this—" He gestured wildly at the chaos surrounding them. "This is what you do with it. You’re weak, Mattheo. You’ve always been weak."

Mattheo said nothing. He couldn’t. The words stung, cutting deeper than the bruise forming on his face. Without another word, he turned and bolted from the room, the sound of his father’s angry voice chasing him down the hallway. But he didn’t stop running until he was outside, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his mind spinning with the weight of it all.

No one could protect him from this. Not Dumbledore. Not Hogwarts. Not even himself.

Meanwhile, 

Once a week, Y/N and her mother visited her father’s grave. It had been years since his passing, but the routine remained, the weight of it sitting heavily on their shoulders. Y/N carried a bunch of fake flowers in her hand, their silky petals rustling as they approached the well-kept graveyard. 

Her mother, as usual, knelt by the headstone, brushing away the faintest traces of dust, even though they visited so often there was barely anything to clean. Y/N quietly placed the flowers down in front of the stone, knowing her mother’s thoughts before she even said anything.

Her mother sighed softly, noticing the faux bouquet. “Fake ones again, sweetheart?”

Y/N shrugged, offering a wry smile. “It’s cheaper.”

Her mother gave her a look, shaking her head with a soft chuckle as she placed the flowers beside her husband’s name. “You’re using my card anyway.”

Y/N didn’t respond, her eyes glancing toward the inscription on the stone:

Barty Crouch Jr.

It was a name laden with infamy, but to Y/N, it was simply her father’s. A man who had made choices she didn’t fully understand but whom she loved in ways she could never express.

They sat in the usual quiet for a while, her mother lost in thought, fingers tracing the letters carved in the stone. Y/N, however, was more restless today, scrolling through her phone as she absently listened to the silence around them. The sudden ping of a notification caught her attention. She opened it quickly, not expecting much. 

The message hit her like a slap: "does your mother know of your late night escapades?"

Accompanying the text were several photos: one of her sneaking into the Restricted Section of the library at night, another of her sitting in a quiet corner with Professor Moody. Her heart skipped a beat. The hacker knew more than she had anticipated. Her secrets, though few, had been laid bare.

Her mother’s voice broke the silence, startling Y/N out of her thoughts. “Remus told me you’ve made a new friend at school,” she said with a sly smile, glancing over at her daughter. 

Y/N rolled her eyes, stuffing her phone back into her pocket, forcing herself to focus. “Oh, did he?”

“Yes,” her mother said, amusement clear in her voice. “He says he’s got a famous father. James Potter’s son, isn’t it?”

Y/N couldn’t help but smirk, grateful for the distraction. “Yeah, Harry Potter. He’s... not what people think.”

Her mother leaned in with interest. “What’s he like, then? Is he as big-headed as people say?”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “No, not at all. He doesn’t even want to play Quidditch like his dad did. He’s... quiet, more thoughtful.”

Her mother raised her eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Really? He sounds... interesting. And you, being so observant. You always were like your father in that way. Could spot something a mile away.”

Y/N’s smile faltered just slightly as she glanced back at the headstone, feeling the weight of those words. She had always been compared to her father—whether in her intelligence or in the quiet, calculating way she moved through the world. Her mother always said it as a compliment, but to Y/N, it was a bittersweet legacy.

As her mother continued to fuss over the headstone, Y/N’s mind wandered back to the photos the hacker had sent. The secrets she thought were buried were now exposed. And as her eyes rested on her father’s name once more, she felt a sinking feeling that perhaps, like him, she couldn’t outrun her own past.

Daphne was walking alone through the courtyard, keeping her head down and trying to avoid any unwanted attention. Astoria wasn't around—she had left earlier for another meeting with Dumbledore, and Daphne was left to fend for herself. As she passed a group of students, she spotted Pansy Parkinson out of the corner of her eye. Pansy’s eyes locked onto her like a predator zeroing in on its prey.

“Well, well, look who’s all alone,” Pansy sneered, her voice dripping with venom as she sauntered up to Daphne. “Where’s your sister? Off crying somewhere because everyone knows about her dirty little secrets?”

Daphne clenched her fists, trying to control the shaking in her hands. She kept her mouth shut and her head high, not wanting to give Pansy the satisfaction of seeing her crumble. But Pansy wasn’t done.

“What’s the matter, Greengrass? Cat got your tongue? Or are you too busy plotting some ridiculous revenge plan with Astoria?” Pansy circled her like a vulture. "Oh, I forgot, you Greengrasses are above all that. So high and mighty, but no one really cares. You’re just as pathetic as everyone else.”

Daphne’s heart pounded in her chest as the words stabbed at her, but she refused to let them show. Her phone buzzed in her hand, and in a moment of weakness, she glanced down at the screen. It was her mother. A sense of desperation welled up inside her. Maybe her mother could help. Maybe she could stop all of this.

Pansy noticed. “What, calling mummy?” she mocked, her voice lilting with false sweetness. “Going to cry to her about the big bad bullies?”

Daphne’s hand trembled as she pressed her mother’s contact, her thumb hovering over the screen. “Please, Mum… just—”

Before she could finish, Pansy snatched the phone from her hand. “Oh, come on, Greengrass,” Pansy scoffed, her smile wicked as she waved the phone in front of Daphne’s face. “We’re not even allowed these during school hours. What’re you gonna do, beg her to send the Ministry?”

Pansy threw the phone to the ground, the sickening crack of the screen shattering echoing in the courtyard. Daphne’s heart sank. She dropped to her knees, reaching for the broken device, her fingers trembling as she lifted it up. The screen was destroyed—completely useless.

Something inside Daphne snapped. She stood up, her chest heaving with a mix of anger and exhaustion. Her eyes narrowed, and for the first time, she didn’t cower under Pansy’s stare. Instead, she met it head-on.

“Are you just here because you like me?” Daphne’s voice was steady, cutting through the chaos like a knife.

Pansy froze. Her smug expression faltered for a split second, replaced by a flicker of confusion. “What—no!” she stammered, her bravado slipping.

Daphne took a step forward, her eyes never leaving Pansy’s. People around them had started to notice, the tension in the air drawing their attention.

“You thought I was drawing you because I liked you?” Daphne said, her voice soft but laced with ice. “No. Quite the opposite. I know you’re broken. I know you’re sad. That’s why you crave my attention. That’s why you bully me.”

Pansy’s face reddened with anger, her hands balling into fists at her sides. The crowd was murmuring now, watching the scene unfold. Pansy’s mask of confidence cracked, and for a moment, Daphne saw something raw in her eyes—something vulnerable.

“Shut up!” Pansy snapped, raising her hand, ready to lash out. Her face twisted in fury, but before she could strike, a gruff voice boomed across the courtyard.

“That’s enough, girls!” Professor Moody strode over, his magical eye whirling as he took in the situation. Right behind him was Professor Lupin, his normally gentle expression now stern.

The two professors moved quickly, pulling the girls apart before things escalated further. Moody’s grip on Pansy’s shoulder was firm, his eyes narrowing at her, while Lupin gently but firmly placed a hand on Daphne’s arm.

“Is there a problem here?” Lupin asked, his voice calm but serious.

Pansy glared at Daphne, her face flushed with anger and humiliation, but she didn’t say a word. She yanked her arm out of Moody’s grip, shooting one last hateful glance at Daphne before storming off.

Professor Moody's magical eye twitched, glancing between the girls as he muttered, “This isn’t the place for this kind of nonsense. Not anymore.”

Lupin, still holding Daphne’s arm lightly, gave her a sympathetic look. “Are you alright, Miss Greengrass?”

Daphne nodded, though she wasn’t sure if she believed it herself. “I’m fine,” she muttered, pulling her arm free. She didn’t look back as she walked away, her heart pounding, her body trembling from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

The battle had been small, but it was one of the first times she felt like she had fought back—and won.

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