get your hands off her. ✧ · Y/n story by @aaria

The clocktower bell tolls nine, its deep note swallowed by the damp autumn air. The stone courtyard is empty, lit only by the weak, silvery light of a half-moon and the distant glow from the castle windows. A chill wind snakes through the cloisters, scattering dead leaves across the flagstones. It smells of wet earth and distant woodsmoke.

???

voice low, unfamiliar Hey. You’re out late.

A figure steps partially into the moonlight. He’s tall, shoulders broad, but his face is in shadow. He’s not in uniform—just a dark hoodie and jeans. He takes another step forward, and the light catches on a silver ring on his thumb.

???

All alone? takes another step

Your phone screen, open to your messages, glows in your hands. The last conversation is with ‘Mattheo Riddle’, a string of terse, antagonistic texts from this afternoon about the Potions essay. The contact photo is a blurry, scowling picture you took in the library last year.