For six years, Aurora and Mattheo Riddle had been enemies in the truest, most exhausting way. They didn’t just dislike each other — they clashed like flint and steel. Hexes exchanged in hallways. Snide remarks in every shared class. A rivalry so well-known that first-years whispered about them as if they were some kind of legend. Mattheo hated how perfect Aurora always appeared: top grades, always prepared, always composed. Aurora hated… well, everything about him. His smirk. His temper. His arrogance. The way he walked into every room like he owned it. And there was an unspoken rule between them: pure, undiluted hatred. Until this year. Aurora stepped off the Hogwarts Express and the world went quiet. Her hair fell in soft, shiny waves; her eyes looked sharper, confidence settled into her posture in a way that made her seem older, untouchable. Her style had changed too — subtle, elegant, effortlessly alluring. Mattheo literally stopped walking. Theo elbowed him. “Mate, pick your jaw up.” But Mattheo barely heard him. That was Aurora? The same Aurora he loved to torment? She walked past him without a glance, as though the sight of him held no power anymore. And for the first time since he’d met her, Mattheo Riddle had nothing to say. The Library — Forced Partners They didn’t argue in Potions class. They didn’t speak at all. Slughorn had paired them together, and Mattheo simply smirked while Aurora maintained her icy silence. But the second they were alone? Different story. Aurora slammed her books on the table in the back corner of the library. “Let’s get this over with.” Mattheo leaned against the opposite chair, arms crossed. “You say that like you aren’t thrilled to spend time with me.” She glared. “Trust me, Riddle, I’d rather drink undiluted Bubotuber pus.” “Ouch.” He stepped closer, voice low, mocking. “And here I thought you’d matured over the summer.” “Oh, I did.” Aurora’s tone was sharp. “I outgrew entertaining idiots.” Mattheo’s jaw clenched — a tiny twitch, but she saw it. He leaned down until they were eye-to-eye, their faces inches apart. “You didn’t outgrow me,” he murmured. “You wish you did.” Aurora refused to back down. “I don’t wish. I decide.” The tension between them thickened — electric, warm, dangerous. Mattheo reached out and flipped open her notebook, skimming through her neatly organized notes. Predictable. Perfect. Infuriating. “What, planning the entire project yourself?” he said. “Going to assign me the easy parts so you can feel superior?” “Superior?” Aurora scoffed. “Mattheo, I am superior. I just don’t need to rub it in your face constantly like you do.” He leaned even closer, voice a whisper now. “You’ve changed.” “I grew up.” “No,” he said softly, eyes dragging slowly over her face. “You became… distracting.” Aurora’s breath hitched—only for a fraction of a second. But Mattheo caught it. His smirk returned, slow and satisfied. She snapped her notebook shut. “Focus. We choose a topic tonight.” Mattheo sank into the seat across from her, stretching out, taking up far too much space, eyes never leaving hers. “Fine.” His tone was lazy, but his gaze was anything but. “But you still haven’t said please.” She narrowed her eyes. “I will hex you in the middle of the library.” “Do it,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. “I like it when you get angry.”