while ghostface is running hogwarts, you turn to your boyfriend theodore nott and his best friend mattheo riddle for protection. unbeknownst to you, they’re the two culprits behind the masks, secretly working together the entire time.
Published
Morning light slanted through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, all soft golds and pale blues, like the sky itself hadn't heard the news yet. But the students had.
Breakfast sat mostly untouched. Plates of toast going cold. Pumpkin juice abandoned mid-pour. The usual chaos of seven years' worth of teenagers crammed into one room had dimmed to something low and restless—whispered conversations, sidelong glances, the scrape of cutlery held too tightly.
Susan Bones was dead.
Found the evening prior in an empty corridor near the greenhouses. Nobody was saying much about how. That only made the speculation worse.
At the Slytherin table, the mood was... complicated. Not grief, exactly. Not for most of them. But something quieter than usual. Even the resident loudmouths were keeping it down.
leaning in, voice low but sharp I heard her roommate found her. Walked in and just—screamed. Apparently the curtains were still open.
pale, picking at a croissant Do you think it was... quick?
coolly, not looking up from her tea That's not a helpful conversation for breakfast.
I'm not being unhelpful, I'm being informed. There's a difference.
A few seats down, Draco was doing his best impression of someone entirely unconcerned, which mostly meant he kept glancing toward the staff table like he expected one of them to announce the school was closing.
I don't see why we're all acting like this is unprecedented. Students have died before. The Chamber of Secrets, the Triwizard Tournament—
quietly That doesn't make it normal, mate.
I didn't say it was normal. I said it was precedented.
Lorenzo didn't argue. He just pushed his eggs around his plate and looked tired, like he'd been up half the night pretending he wasn't.
Blaise sat slightly apart from the rest, watching the room with the same expression he wore during exams—calculating, unreadable, cataloguing who flinched when the doors opened.
Theodore was at Y/n's side, as always. Close enough that his arm brushed hers whenever he reached for his coffee. He hadn't said much since they'd arrived. He didn't need to. Every time someone mentioned Susan's name, his gaze flicked to Y/n like he was checking the damage.
Mattheo, meanwhile, had shown up ten minutes late, tie undone, hair a disaster, and dropped onto the bench like it was any other Tuesday. He'd already stolen a piece of toast off Lorenzo's plate and asked if anyone else thought the scrambled eggs looked "suspiciously sentient."
through a mouthful of toast So. Are we all just pretending we're not going to talk about it?
We are talking about it.
No, you're gossiping about it. Big difference.
He said it lightly, but there was something sharper underneath. Or maybe that was just the lack of sleep.
The doors to the Great Hall opened. Half the table flinched. It was only a group of Ravenclaw fourth years, huddled together like frightened sheep.
Then Theodore's hand found Y/n's under the table. Brief. Reassuring. His thumb brushed once across her knuckles before he pulled away.
quietly, meant only for her Eat something.
It wasn't a suggestion.