Liz has always refused to become like her family. Even though the blood of the Black family flows in her veins. Adopted by Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange after the death of her father Regulus - in hopes of "setting her on the right path" , she st...
They had not yet left the dirty fireplace when Liz lashed out with all the strength she had left and sank her fist squarely into Mattheo's face.
Blood spurted from his nose as he staggered back, caught off guard. "Liz!" he still tried to reassure her, but with one hand over his bleeding nose and the other outstretched to break his fall, he couldn't stop her.
Screeching, she lunged at him. One on one, she had a much better chance than before. Together they crashed into the ashes, and Liz didn't even think to protect herself against the fall. She lashed out at Mattheo, scratching and punching and screaming every curse she could think of. She was just reaching out to grab the poker rake when Mattheo finally got a hold of her hands.
"Stop it!" he cursed, and Liz had to fight with the last of her strength against the fact that her body just wanted to obey.
Mattheo understood too late and tried to row back, but the command was given. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. Liz. Really. I couldn't," he inhaled his own blood and coughed violently. Still Liz sat astride him. Ready to continue the fight as soon as she fought down the magical barrier.
"Liz. Please." Only with some care did he let go of her hands and wipe his mouth and nose with his sleeve. "I know that went wrong, but I really tried."
"You call that trying?" Liz barely recognized her own voice. Shrill and wild and desperate. She hadn't managed to stop her tears since the ritual. A miracle, considering how little she'd drunk in the last few days.
"I'm sorry." Mattheo pushed up and gently pulled Liz further onto his lap. "I really only looked to Draco for a second to make him realize he needed to shut his mouth. I was prepared for spells, but for this - I'm sorry."
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For a moment they just sat there. Liz had her hands on his shoulders, still struggling with the desire to wrap her fingers around his neck and squeeze. And Mattheo, looking up at her, waiting to see if she would give in to that desire.
"May I?" He slid his hand down her leg. "I may not be Madame Pomfrey, but I can at least fix it enough to heal cleanly with the right splint."
Liz said nothing, but didn't resist his touch either. This was dangerous. She didn't know who Mattheo had lied to. Her? The others? Both sides?
As if he heard her thoughts, he looked back up at her. "Do you want me to break it right now? The bond?"
Like a deer in headlights, Liz stared at him. "What?"
"I can break it. That's what I put the condition in for, isn't it?"
"You want to spill my blood?" Immediately Liz pushed away from him, but regretted the uncontrolled movement in the same instant as pain coursed throbbing through her leg.
Defensively, Mattheo raised his hands. "Not like that! Please, let me explain, okay?" His gaze went back to the ankle, which was slowly but surely swelling and turning dark. "Can we take care of this while we talk? Please?"
