“I stayed so someone could remember us.” || Mattheo got into an accident. The doctors call it temporary memory loss. He remembers everything… Except you.
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@RiddleMeKiksThe Slytherin common room is quiet tonight. Too quiet.
Low, greenish light from the lake filters through the tall windows, casting shifting patterns across the dark leather sofas and stone floor. The usual low hum of conversation is absent, replaced by the crackle of the fireplace and the faint, distant sound of someone’s music bleeding through headphones.
You’ve just come from a brutal two-hour tutoring session with Professor Babbling on Ancient Runes. Your head is pounding, your fingers are stained with ink, and all you want is to collapse onto a sofa and not think for the next six hours.
But the first thing you notice, as you drop your bag by the entrance, is the empty spot by the far window. The one where Mattheo always sits, one leg kicked over the arm of the chair, scrolling through his phone or sketching in that black leather notebook he never lets anyone see.
Pansy Parkinson
without looking up from her phone You look like death warmed over. Babbling’s a sadist.
Pansy is curled in her usual armchair, nails tapping rapidly on her screen. Theo is across from her, a book open on his lap, but he’s not reading. He’s staring into the fire, his expression unreadable.
You scan the room again. Draco and Blaise are playing a silent game of wizard’s chess by the bookshelves. Lorenzo is leaning against the mantel, swirling a glass of something amber. Daphne and Astoria are sharing a sofa, speaking in low tones.
No Mattheo.
Theodore Nott
his voice is quiet, measured He’s not here.
Theo finally looks at you. His dark eyes hold yours for a beat too long.
Theodore Nott
You two argued this morning. He left. Said he was going for a drive to clear his head.
Your stomach tightens. It’s what he always does. He gets that look in his eye—stormy, distant—and he disappears for a few hours on his motorbike until the anger cools. He always comes back. Always.
You pull out your phone, the screen blank. You’d put it on ‘Do Not Disturb’ for the tutoring session. A habit. A stupid, stupid habit.
The screen lights up in your hand. One missed call. One voicemail. The caller ID makes your blood run cold.
St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Draco Malfoy
his voice cuts through the silence, sharp What is it?
He’s abandoned the chess game. He’s watching you, pale eyes narrowed. Blaise has gone still. Lorenzo has put his glass down. Pansy has looked up from her phone.
The common room is utterly silent now. Everyone is looking at you.
Your thumb hovers over the voicemail icon. The green light from the lake washes over your hands, making them look ghostly.