Spectre: The Dark Riddles #1

47: Werewolf

"Some monsters deserve to have the full story told."

--Elastra Malfoy's life motto

***

OCTOBER 1997 – DECEMBER 1998

Luna Lovegood, Rolf Scamander, and I have just made it out of London proper on our impromptu year of magical creatures study when the first letter from Mattheo arrives. Artemis, my late cousin's owl, has somehow found a way to get papers in and out of Azkaban without being held up by the dementors. Crazy, incredible bird.

I have to reread the first two words several times before realizing it's my name, written in terrible chicken scratch handwriting.

Elastra Malfoy,

You are the last person I expected to hear from, but beggars can't be choosers, and somehow that's exactly what I've become. And to answer your question, we're beyond allies, baby Malfoy. If you'd like to make friends with a werewolf, be my guest, but know that your pen pal has atrocious writing. It won't be getting any better.

Also, do you always compare everyone you meet to some kind of animal? Why do you do that? Is it some kind of weird Hufflepuff thing? And a spider—really? That's the best you can come up with for me? You've got to be more creative than that, little Hufflepuff. I'll take the Phoenix comparison, but change out the spider for something else, I beg of you.

-        M.R.

P. S. Should I be concerned about this owl around the dementors? I can't take another death on my conscience.

It takes me ten minutes to decipher the terrible handwriting, but luckily, we're stopped at the Ministry of Magic. There's a problem with Rolf's transportation paperwork. Something about his family having a history of illegally smuggling magical creatures in and out of the country.

Luckily, I have just enough time to write a response to Mattheo and send it off with Artemis. I tell him about the plan I've formed—a year-long expedition across Europe to research a few endangered magical species and determine the best course of action for saving them—and know that whatever his opinion is on it, he can't stop me. It's liberating to tell someone about this, at least, even if that someone is locked away within the North Sea.

Two weeks pass before the next letter comes. Again, his chicken scratch is almost illegible. But once I decipher the words, I hear them in his voice. I never thought Mattheo Riddle's voice would offer me any sort of comfort, but it's my only reminder of home. He is my last remaining tie to Tom, and I am his tether to reality. It may be a strange, codependent relationship we're forming, but those pages feel too good to stop sending.

On Christmas morning, he sends me his longest letter yet.

Ella,

(I can call you that, right? I mean, how many letters need to be written before I can shorten your name?)

If I'm keeping track of the days correctly, this should reach you by Christmas. Maybe New Years, I don't know. It's always dark here. I'm beginning to lose track of what's real and what's in my head, let alone keeping track of time.

You must be somewhere in Italy right now. Lucky you. I've never been to Italy in winter. The only reminder I have of that place is a scar on my stomach that Theo gave me the summer after Fourth Year. He gave it to me about a week after I got my Dark Mark. That was a bad week. I try not to think about it, but the dementors have a way of bringing memories like that to the surface, and I can't get it off my mind.