𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄
Mattheo x OC
A boy consumed by darkness and yet she provided him with a glimpse of light.
A new student has joined the sixth years. Most would be excited at the idea, however that doesn't apply to the son of the Dark Lord, Mattheo Ri...
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Mattheo
My hand held a quill within its fingertips, hovering over a blank piece of parchment. The ink dropped onto the page, the dark dome of liquid bleeding into the paper, black tentacles writhing around the page. I sighed, dipping the quill back into the ink pot and leaving it there. The paper was already scrunched up and thrown across the room in fit of rage, my hands running through my hair in an attempt to calm myself down.
She hasn't given me an answer. And it's driving me mad.
New Year's is in a couple of days but I'm not sure I can wait that long. So here I am, battling with my conscience in whether I should write to her. But then again, what do I say? I don't know if I have the right words that could give my feelings the true justice they deserve. I'll wait. A few more days and then I can see her. I can give her the gift that has been sitting in its bag since our first date. The gift I have been meaning to give her since I truly knew how much I cared for her.
I need her to be mine. I crave her like one craves a cigarette. She's my addiction. My sweet and enthralling addiction.
Staying with the malfoy's has so far been manageable. Draco and I seem to be on our way to friends but there's still a long way to go. Lorenzo has often played peace keeper between us but that hasn't been needed too much the last couple of days. Narcissa was kind enough to give Enzo and me our own rooms and that's where I find myself right now, another blank piece of paper sitting on the desk in front of me.
Being perfectly honest, my main priority has been trying to find a way to reach my mother. Where could she be? I try to recall any of the few memories from my so called 'childhood' to search for clues but my mind is blank. I was brought up knowing that she 'left' and wasn't in the family picture anymore. The idea always saddened me but I never thought more of it. The last couple of years had me convinced she was dead. Not hearing from her, it sucked what little hope I had for a family right out of my heart. Life at home is and will forevermore be fractured. A piece of the puzzle missing. The only things left in the house, that weren't burnt to a crisp by my father, is an old locket and a small gold bangle she supposedly used to wear. I remember when I first found the locket I wouldn't take it off for months. It hung around my neck, hidden under my clothes to avoid my fathers beady eyes. Unfortunately it didn't last long, as he saw the gold chain reflect in the light of the sun. Before I knew it his fist had clenched around the chain and it was yanked from my neck. I hated him more than I ever had that day. I was 10 and the only connection I had to my mother had been ripped away from me.
The bangle is still a mystery to me. It stays in my father's office, untouched. I went to pick it up once and he hexed me the worst he ever had. I had bruises that wouldn't heal for months. My body was painted with splurges of blues, purples, and greys. Every movement causing an agonizing ache. I never understood his obsession with the object and why I wasn't allowed near it. He told me that it was too precious for anyone to touch because it belonged to her. Trying to convince me that he actually loved her. Cherished her. It's fucking bullshit. The man is incapable of any emotions other than hatred and anger.
