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

Chapter Nineteen - Unmentionable Magic

The letter burned in Emma's pocket long after the house had gone quiet, not with real flame, but with something more intimate and cruel, a heat that seemed to pulse against her thigh as though Dumbledore had folded a piece of his ghost into the parchment and left it there to haunt her. Grimmauld Place slept around them in layers of dust and old sorrow, its walls breathing with the faint creaks of a house that had held too many secrets for too long, and Emma lay awake beneath the heavy blankets with anger tightening behind her ribs. A letter. After everything he had taken, shaped, hidden, and decided for her, Albus Dumbledore had left her a letter. Not a weapon, not an answer, not the relief of truth spoken plainly before death stole the chance, but a folded scrap of parchment that had sat in her pocket all day like a siren song, calling her name with every heartbeat until resisting it felt like trying to resist her own blood.

Beside her, Mattheo slept with his head resting on one arm and the other thrown possessively over her waist, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that should have soothed her. Moonlight spilled through the grimy window and painted him in shades of silver and shadow, softening the sharpness of his face until he looked younger, almost peaceful, though even in sleep his hold on her remained firm. Emma turned her head to look at him, letting her eyes trace the dark curl falling across his forehead, the faint tension that never truly left his jaw, the hand curled against her hip as if some unconscious part of him knew the world was always trying to take her. He looked like sin and salvation tangled together beneath the sheets, and for one fragile moment she almost let the letter wait until morning simply because staying in his arms felt easier than letting Dumbledore hurt her again.

But the parchment burned.

Emma moved carefully, shifting only enough to reach toward the sweater abandoned on the floor beside the bed, the one Mattheo had stripped from her earlier with impatient hands and a wicked smile that still made warmth stir beneath her skin despite the dread coiled in her chest. Her fingers fumbled blindly through the fabric until they found the stiff folded edge tucked inside the pocket, and the faint crinkle of paper sounded impossibly loud in the sleeping room. The moment she settled back against the pillows, Mattheo's arm tightened around her waist, his body drawing her closer even from the depths of sleep, and the ache that moved through her then was so tender it almost made her cry before she had even opened the letter. He could not keep his hands from her even when he was unconscious. He reached for her the way drowning men reached for air, and Emma wondered, with a sudden piercing sadness, whether anyone had ever reached for her like that before him.

She slipped her wand from beneath the pillow with slow, practiced care and whispered the softest lumos she could manage. A small glow bloomed at the tip, warm and golden, no brighter than a reading lamp, and it cast Dumbledore's handwriting into sharp relief as she unfolded the parchment across her lap. For a moment she only stared at the familiar loops and slants of his script, feeling old resentment press against the back of her throat. She could hear his voice before she read a single word, calm and kind and maddeningly certain, the voice of a man who had always known more than he said and expected children to be brave enough to survive the consequences.

My dearest Emma,

I have had the pleasure of watching some of the most astonishing witches and wizards grow in my time at Hogwarts, yet you must know that one of the greatest privileges of my life has been watching you become the extraordinary witch you were always meant to be. You are gifted beyond comprehension, my girl, and I knew it from the moment I met you all those years ago. There are no accidents in this life. Harry's wand was meant for him, and you were meant to save us. There is power deep inside you, a well of unmentionable magic, old magic, forgotten magic, magic that will aid you in the journey ahead. Find Ellery Evergold in Tinworth. She will be expecting you. Time is of the essence, Emma, and you are running out of it. You hold the power to right this world once and for all.