The Chosen One (MattheoRiddle x Ophelia)

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ-16

As I descended the staircase, my eyes were drawn to the sight of my father in the company of a stranger. The stranger's curly hair and broad shoulders were visible, but his face was obscured. The suspense was palpable as my father stepped aside, and the stranger came into full view. It was none other than Matthew Riddle, the devil himself. His head was held high, and his cold expression sent shivers down my spine.

"What is he doing here?" The shock and confusion on my face were evident as I demanded an explanation from my father. But he remained silent, retreating to his room without a word. I followed him, my heart racing with anger and confusion. When I finally caught up to him, he spoke in a monotonous voice. "He is going to stay here this holiday, and I, for sure, want to give him all the comforts you receive staying in this house."

My frustration grew, and I couldn't help but express my feelings. "It's because I'm your daughter that I receive those privileges, not him.," I said, my voice rising. The tension in the room was palpable, and I couldn't believe that the person I despised the most would be staying here. Why couldn't he spend his luxurious holidays in his Riddle Manor?

I returned to Matthew and crossed my arms around my chest. "You are not welcome here," I spat, my tone cold and unwelcoming. But suddenly, Snape appeared behind my back and spoke, "This is my house, and I brought him here. I have the right to bring anyone to my home." Snape stressed the word 'my home,' and I was left feeling angry and frustrated.

I, consumed with seething anger, stormed out of the hall after giving Matthew a death stare. I locked herself in my room, determined to devise a plan to oust Matthew from the house and ensure my holidays remained unspoiled. My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Get lost, Cobby," I  barked, assuming it was that irritating creature. The door creaked open, and to my surprise, my father entered. His presence was imposing, and his eyes glinted with a resolute determination. "Sit on the bed, Ophelia," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "We need to talk."

Obediently, I pivoted and perched myself on the bed, crossing my leg on over the other. Snape's imposing figure loomed over me, his voice crisp and unfeeling as he began to speak. "Matthew is not here by chance," he intoned, his voice possessing a chilling edge. "Tomorrow, your training will commence. I trust that you will be more cooperative with him. I cannot tolerate any pandemonium in my household."

His words struck me like a bolt of lightning, leaving me feeling numb and helpless. They were a bitter pill to swallow, but I nodded, knowing that there was no other choice. Why did this boy have to follow me everywhere like a shadow, tormenting me at every turn?

"Dinner is served. Get ready for it." The atmosphere was tense as he left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. I was left alone with my thoughts, trying to make sense of the situation. Why was this training so important? I was already a skilled witch, excelling in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Yet my father was insistent that I needed to be fully prepared. It was as if he knew something that I didn't. Snape was no help either, always cloaked in his own agenda. "I have lived with him for fourteen years," I muttered to myself. "And yet, I still can't figure out his plans." 

After luxuriating in a warm shower and donning a fresh set of clothes,  I made my way down the hallway, the only light came from a flickering lamp, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The musty scent of dampness hung in the air, and the creaking of floorboards underfoot added to the sense of foreboding. I could hear the distant rumble of thunder, and I knew that the storm was coming. A gust of wind rattled the windows, and I shuddered involuntarily, feeling a sense of unease settle over me like a heavy cloak.

And yet, despite the horrific setting, my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Matthew. His presence alone was enough to send my heart racing, and I was acutely aware of the way his eyes followed me as I approached the table. For the first time, he was dressed in something other than his usual attire, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at the effortless way in which he carried himself. His dark green t-shirt and black pants seemed to complement each other perfectly, and the rings on his fingers added a touch of elegance to his overall appearance.

As our eyes locked in a hypnotic stare, I felt a sudden sense of unease. It was as if he had the power to bend reality to his will, to shape the world around him according to his desires. His aura was suffused with a dark energy, a force that seemed to emanate from the very core of his being. As I turned away from his piercing stare, my eyes fell upon a sumptuous feast laid out on the table. The tantalizing aroma of roasted chicken, shepherd's pie, and fish and chips wafted, making my mouth water uncontrollably.

I approached the table and took my seat. The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light over the scene, illuminating the gleaming silverware and crystal glasses that sparkled in the soft light.

The dinner was a somber affair, with the only sounds being the clinking of silverware against plates and the occasional cough or clearing of the throat. The air was thick with tension, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. I felt a sense of relief when the meal finally came to an end, and I made my way up to my room.

As I lay in bed, my mind was racing with questions and doubts. Why was Matthew here, and what did he want from me? Why was my father so insistent on my learning how to defend myself against the dark arts? The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. And then, as if by magic, my eyes grew heavy and I drifted off to sleep, my mind still buzzing with unanswered questions.

The following morning, I was roused from my slumber by the piercing sound of my alarm clock. I groggily rose from my bed, my mind still foggy with sleep. After completing my morning routine, I made my way downstairs and found my father seated on his favorite armchair, his eyes fixed on a crumpled note. As I approached him, I noticed a look of fear etched on his face, a sight that was as rare as it was unsettling. My father was a man who was feared by many, but to see him cower in fear was a sight that made my blood run cold. I tentatively reached out for the note, but my father snatched it away and tossed it into the garbage bin, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon.

"Is everything okay, dad?" I queried, my curiosity piqued. His eyes suddenly landed on me, and I could see the fear etched in his gaze. "Perhaps," he drawled, his eyes glinting with a cold malice, "it would be prudent to delay your training until a more suitable time." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. And then, without another word, he stood up and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Matthew had entered this house yesterday to train me, but today he had flown away, leaving nothing but a simple note. I couldn't help but feel that something dangerous was lurking, but these complications were beyond my ken.

As I made my way up to my room, my mind raced with questions and doubts. What was my father so afraid of? And why had Matthew left so suddenly? I knew that I couldn't rest until I had found the answers to these questions, but I also knew that I couldn't do it alone.