Chapter 1
Nahel Virell and Cassian Campbell had always been at odds.
Ravenclaw and Slytherin.
Sharp mind versus sharpened tongue. Their clashes weren’t loud or theatrical like others—no shouting matches or wand-brandishing drama. Just words, cold and cutting, exchanged like daggers every time they crossed paths.
But today… felt different. The halls of Hogwarts were buzzing. The rumor—Nahel and Cassian, together—had started as a whisper, then spread like Fiendfyre. By breakfast, it had burned through every common room. By lunch, the staring had become impossible to ignore. And now, in a shadowed alcove just outside the library, Cassian had cornered him. His storm-grey eyes, unreadable as ever, were locked on Nahel like he was trying to dissect him.
“Unbelievable,” said quietly the boy dressed in green, his tone deceptively calm. “You’re the one who started this, aren’t you?”
The other one raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Started what, exactly? The tragedy of your reputation crumbling because people think you might be capable of feelings?”
Cassian tilted his head, letting a sharp smile creep across his face. “Tell me, Virell, are you always this defensive when accused—or just when it’s true?” Nahel crossed his arms. At 1.70 meters, he wasn’t physically imposing, but the deep, glacial blue of his eyes made up for it—cool, sharp, and impossible to look away from when he was angry.
“If you weren’t constantly lurking behind me in every corridor like some cursed shadow, maybe people wouldn’t assume we’re involved,” he snapped. He let his eyes flick over the slightly taller boy—dark chestnut hair perfectly in place, posture too poised for someone who claimed not to care. Disgust, or maybe just frustration, twisted across the Ravenclaw’s face. “I’d prefer if you put your attention elsewhere. I don’t have time to indulge whatever… fixation you’ve developed.”
Cassian’s brow twitched at that, the scar on his jaw moving as his teeth were clenching, but before he could answer the sound of footsteps interrupted them.
Two fourth-year girls passed, walking much too slowly, their eyes flicking between the two boys with shameless curiosity. One nudged the other and whispered something, prompting a burst of giggles. Nahel’s jaw clenched. If looks could kill, the girls would have collapsed mid-step.
As they disappeared, he threw his hands up, pacing a short step away. “Look at this! This is your fault!”
The scarred boy exhaled slowly, as if biting down a dozen responses. He leaned back against the stone wall behind him, arms crossed in a graceful, practiced motion. “You think I’m enjoying this?” he said, his voice like ice over glass. “I didn’t start it. I didn’t want it. And yet here we are.” He glanced sidelong at Nahel. “Funny, though—no one seems to believe I want nothing to do with you.”
Nahel turned on him. “And you think I do?” His voice rose, uncharacteristically sharp.“Do you really believe I’d settle for someone like you? Merlin—how low do you think my standards are?” His anger came in waves now, not his usual dry sarcasm but something raw. He hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t wanted his quiet, structured life upended by Cassian’s presence bleeding into it. And now he was angry. “If I find out who started this, I swear I’ll throw them into the Black Lake and hex them to grow gills.”
The Slytherin gave a cold little laugh. “That’s cute,” he muttered. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in the lake, let alone throwing someone in.” He stepped closer, not aggressively, but enough to press the tension between them tighter. “Besides, we both know there isn’t a single universe where you would date someone like me. Just as there’s not a chance in hell I’d want anything from you.”
Their eyes locked— pale and impassive for one, burning with something that wasn’t just anger anymore for the other. “And yet,” he continued quietly, “someone out there clearly thought we were believable enough to spread it. Which means someone knows exactly how to get under both our skins.”
Nahel’s breath caught. He hated this. Hated that it made sense. Hated even more that his nemesis was right.
He shifted, folding his arms tightly. This wasn’t just about a rumor anymore. It was about control. The loss of it. The vulnerability of being seen—in ways that weren’t real, but felt far too exposed anyway. And worst of all, the fact that Cassian Campbell was the only person who understood what it felt like. He swallowed hard. “…Let’s make a deal.”
The Slytherin blinked, caught off guard by the change in tone. Nahel continued, voice firm now. “We find whoever started this. We make them stop. Quietly, cleanly. No drama. Just results.”
Cassian studied him for a long second as if weighing the risk of alliance. Then, slowly, he nodded once. “Fine. But let’s be clear—this isn’t a partnership. It’s a ceasefire. We do what needs to be done and then go back to ignoring each other.” He stepped closer again, just slightly, lowering his voice. “And we don’t give anyone else a reason to talk.” To anyone passing by, their proximity was suggestive. Intimate, even. Another rumor just waiting to be born. Nahel didn’t flinch, though every cell in his body wanted to push him back.
“You don’t have to remind me,” he said, cool and steady. “It was obvious from the start.” He took a step back, finally creating distance between them. The anger in his posture had cooled—but the determination was still sharp. “I’m going to talk to those girls. They probably know more than they let on.” He turned on his heel and walked away without looking back. Cassian remained still, watching him disappear down the corridor.
His gaze flicked to the far end of the hall where more students lingered—laughing, whispering, watching. He let out a slow breath and leaned his head against the wall. It should’ve been simple. Dismiss it. Move on. Prove it wrong. But he hadn’t denied it at first. He hadn’t laughed. And the way Nahel’s voice sounded—clipped and furious and just a little breathless—echoed in the back of his mind like a spell he hadn’t meant to cast.