War, Love, and Riddle //Mattheo Riddle x OC

Chapter Thirteen - Horcruxes, Liquid Luck, and Giant Spider Funerals

The guilt had begun to rot him alive.

Draco felt it in everything now, in the silence between heartbeats, in the cold silver reflection staring back at him from darkened windows, in the suffocating quiet that settled over Hogwarts long after midnight. It clung to him like grave dirt beneath fingernails. Every corridor felt narrower. Every shadow seemed to whisper accusation as he passed. The castle itself had become unbearable these past months, ancient stone pressing inward around secrets too heavy for boys barely old enough to survive them.

Hermione had forgiven him.

That was the worst part.

Because now, every time she smiled at him across the Great Hall, every time her fingers brushed his beneath a table or her eyes softened when they met his, something inside him split open all over again. He had spent so long convincing himself that rage was easier than heartbreak, easier than wanting someone who looked at another boy like he hung the stars themselves. But now he had her, and instead of relief, there was only terror. Terror of what he had already done. Terror of what he was becoming. Terror of what would happen when she discovered the blood staining the edges of everything he touched.

He could not carry it alone anymore.

The Slytherin common room was almost unrecognizable at this hour, the remains of the earlier party abandoned in exhausted disarray. Velvet couches sat crooked beside overturned glasses, candle wax dripping slowly down silver holders like melted bones. Beyond the tall windows, the black lake shifted in restless darkness, moonlight distorting beneath the water as if something enormous moved far below the castle.

Draco crossed the room quietly.

For once, even his arrogance had abandoned him.

When he slipped into Mattheo's dormitory, the room smelled faintly of cedarwood smoke, old parchment, and Emma's perfume, something soft and warm hidden beneath the colder scent of dungeon stone. The green glow from beneath the lake filtered dimly through the curtains, painting the room in ghostly silver.

Emma stirred first.

Half asleep, she pressed herself instinctively closer against Mattheo's chest, her arm draped lazily across his waist beneath tangled blankets. "Mattheo," she murmured thickly, eyes still closed, "your cousin is trying to wake you."

Mattheo groaned softly, pulling her tighter against him instead of moving. "Can this wait until morning?" His voice came rough with sleep, the kind of exhaustion that only existed these days in stolen hours between fear and violence.

"No," Draco answered quietly.

Something in his tone must have reached Mattheo immediately.

The irritation vanished from his face almost instantly.

Emma blinked slowly as Mattheo leaned down to press a lingering kiss against her forehead before carefully disentangling himself from her warmth. The cold dungeon air swallowed him the second he stepped away from the bed. He dragged a pair of grey sweats low onto his hips before following Draco out into the common room.

The silence there felt oppressive now.

Mattheo studied him for a long moment, dark curls disheveled from sleep, scar cutting pale across his brow beneath flickering candlelight. Even exhausted, there was something dangerous about him. Something sharpened by war.

"What's going on, Dra?"

Draco could not meet his eyes.

Instead, he stared toward the windows where black water shifted endlessly beneath the castle. "I have a mission."