Fighting Fate // Mattheo Riddle ♣️

Chapter Fifteen - Rita Skeeter

Word Count: 2,517. 

Warnings: None. 

I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I was stripped down to my undergarments, leaving the darkened bruise on my arm in plain view.

"You have one hell of a grip Flint," I muttered, running my fingers across the skin before moving my hand to my eye.

Somehow, although the bruise on my arm seemed to look a lot worse, my eye was the only one that pained me. I hissed at any contact with it.

Pansy had told me several times the night before that I should have it healed by Madame Pomfrey, but I had insisted that there was no pain and therefore no point. I had lied.

"Fuck," I breathed, running a hand down the front of my neck. "If only I was good at healing charms."

I was reminded of my hands, and turning my palms over, I brushed my fingertips over the missing scars. They had vanished. It was impossible for them to heal. Not that fast. It must have had something to do with almost losing control. When it cracked.

Talking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. I was curious. Having never purposely broken the glass inside my head, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. What was in it? What was I trying to keep in?

I had always kept a firm hold on it, constantly pushing the lid further into the glass, almost forcing it to shatter from the bottom. What would happen if I let go willingly?

Relaxing fully, I let the vice grip I had on my mind soften. As my hold loosened, so did the lid. I imagined it like the flame in the fire. Growing and twisting out of its prison until it reached a peak.

A calming sensation pushed through my body, and I opened my eyes, gasping. I watched myself in the mirror with fear and interest.

My eyes had turned a golden colour and the air around me had darkened, black smoke surrounding my body in tendrils. They circled my arms and neck, pressing into my skin.

Shaking my head, I shut my eyes quickly, diminishing the flame. I pushed my body forward to grip my hands on the sink.

Shoving the fire back into its cage, I tightened the lid, letting it fester inside the glass, hitting against its clear prison, trying to escape. I didn't let it.

Panting, I looked back up to the mirror, watching my now sweating figure. The golden eyes and black smoke had vanished, and the room was brighter than ever before. Whatever that was had left, but so had the bruises along with it. It hadn't taken just that. Every scar that had ever touched my skin had disappeared. There was no longer a long white scar across my shoulder or the scar across my stomach. Even the little ones, the scrapes and bumps, had vanished. The only wound that remained was the long, irritated scar across my face. My skin looked untouched for the first time I could remember.

ᵜᵜᵜᵜᵜ

"Some dark wizards may have a black tendril apparition. This is due to their avid use of dark magic. If they have lost control over –"

A chair was pulled out across from my seat, causing me to slam the book I had been reading closed. The title caught my eye as it had when I picked it up. 'The Unusual Abilities of Dark Wizards." I quickly covered it with my arms.

Across from me sat a most peculiar woman. She was blonde, pale-skinned and wore a red lipstick that stood out on her face. The only way I could describe the outfit she wore was that it belonged in the 1950s rather than the time we were in. Hovering beside her was a floating quill and notepad. I questioned whether she might have been a ghost.