LUNACY ll Mattheo Riddle x Reader

27. ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇQᴜᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ

Snape returns ten minutes later. In three strides, he's got the collar of Mattheo's shirt in his right hand, three more, and he's got Harry's in his left. The two boys are then thrown back onto the ground with equal force- The near-death of a student has clearly frightened Snape into not giving a damn about who Mattheo's father is. There are some things more important than the status one has earned and that which one was born with.

"Snape, don't you dare-"

"Legilimens."

Harry and I both stare as Snape and Mattheo engage in some sort of a staring contest, sweat dripping off Mattheo's forehead while Snape takes on a contorted expression of murderous determination. Whatever's going on, Snape seems to come out victorious, because Mattheo falls on his arms, gasping for air, as Snape turns his venomous glare on Harry next.

"Apparently I underestimated you, Potter," he says quietly. "Who would have thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell?"

Harry? No, no that can't be... There must be another explanation, a reasonable explanation...

"I- Read about it somewhere."

"Where?"

"It was a library book. I can't remember what it was call-"

"Liar," Snape says. Then that same thing happens, the staring contest- Though it's over with Harry much more quickly.

"Bring me your schoolbag." Snape's voice is soft. Too soft. "And all of your schoolbooks. All of them. Bring them to me here, now!"

Harry doesn't need telling twice. He staggers to his feet and splashes out of the bathroom. Snape watches him leave, turning his back on Mattheo in the process-

"Crucio!"

Snape deflects the curse just in time. The professor looks as pale as I feel, unable to look away from the fury in Mattheo's eyes. He's absolutely livid, out of his mind... I finally see what they mean when they call him the Dark Lord's son.

"You had no right!" Mattheo roars, lashing out at Snape with another curse. "No right! Those were my memories-" A jet of red light. "My thoughts-" A blast that Snape narrowly avoids in time. "My secrets you tore through! Expulso!"

Snape doesn't manage to protect himself this time. He's thrown onto the opposite wall with a sickening crack, but his wand remains in his hand-

"EXPELLIARMUS-"

"-CRUCIO!"

Snape's disarming spell hits Mattheo first, but the Unforgivable Curse has already been cast by the time Mattheo's wand goes flying out of his hand. The jet of brilliant light travels the room in a full circle, and then-

"Y/N!"

The blinding pain is gone as quickly as it came, but my limbs are still trembling in the aftermath. I hear the vague thump of Snape hitting the floor, the splashing of water as Mattheo skids to a stop beside me.

Ragged breaths... I think Mattheo is crying... Then the door opens once more, and my blurry vision restores itself.

"This," Snape pants heavily, the pain apparent in his voice, "Is your copy of Advanced Potion-Making, is it, Potter?"

"Yes," Harry answers, breathing equally as hard.

"You're quite sure of that, are you, Potter?"

"Yes."

"This is the copy of Advanced Potion-Making that you purchased from Flourish and Blotts?"

"Yes," Harry repeats firmly.

"Then why," Snape winces, placing a hand to his back, "Does it have the name Roonil Wazlib written inside the front cover?"

A beat passes.

"That's my nickname."

"Your... Nickname."

"Yeah, that's what- That's what my friends call me," Harry says, only able to lie so airly because he has no idea the number of Unforgivable Curses that were hurled around just now.

"I understand what a nickname is." And there Snape goes again, another staring contest. I recall the conversation I heard between Mattheo and Snape that day in the Hospital Wing, when the two thought I was asleep...

Occlumency.

"Do you know what I think, Potter?" Snape says, very quietly. "I think that you are a liar and a cheat and that you deserve detention with me every Saturday until the end of term. What do you think, Potter?"

"I- I don't agree, sir."

"Well, we shall see how you feel after your detentions. Ten o'clock Saturday morning, Potter. My office."

"But, sir..." Harry sounds desperate. "Quidditch... The last match of the-"

I lash out with my wand. Harry stumbles back, a hand pressed to his cheek, staring at me disbelievingly as blood drips out of the freshly formed cut on his chin. He opens his mouth- Because the Chosen One really has the nerve to try and say a word against me after what he just did to my brother-

Harry topples onto the floor. And from his wound, he starts oozing pitch black smoke.