Descent - Mattheo Riddle

Chapter ten

!TW! Mention of Torture, blood, and pain. Further, the final descriptions could be very unpleasant for people with arachnophobia (the fear of spiders).

Lucia

As I lay in the suffocating darkness of the dungeon, the sound of the heavy door creaking open sent a shiver down my spine. Footsteps, measured and deliberate, echoed through the cold, damp air. My heart pounded in my chest, and I knew without seeing him who had entered.

Lord Voldemort.

His presence was like a dark cloud, filling the space with an oppressive, malevolent energy. I forced myself to look up, my vision blurred by pain and exhaustion. There he stood, tall and menacing, his serpent like features illuminated by the flickering torchlight. His crimson eyes locked onto mine with an unsettling intensity.

"Ah, Miss Peverell," he began, his voice chilling. "I trust you are finding your accommodations... adequate?"

I fought to suppress a shudder. His words were laced with a sinister politeness that only heightened my fear. He moved closer to the bars of my cell, his wand twirling idly in his long, pale fingers before he clasped his hands behind his back.

"I must say," he continued, "it is not often that someone captivates my interest as you have. The Peverell name carries with it a certain... mystique. Your family's secrets, their power, have always intrigued me."

I kept my gaze steady, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. Silence was my only weapon, and I intended to wield it as long as possible.

Voldemort's lips curved into a cold, mirthless smile. "Your silence speaks volumes, Miss Peverell. It tells me you understand the gravity of your situation. You see, I am not here to question you directly or inflict further pain. I am here to understand you. To observe."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "There is a certain elegance in knowing one's adversary. A strategy that transcends mere violence. Your resilience is commendable, but it will only delay the inevitable."

Every word he spoke was calculated, designed to unnerve me, to break down my mental defenses. I felt a wave of nausea but forced myself to remain composed.

"You are here," he said with intimidating quietness, "because you possess something of great value. Information, power, secrets... all locked away within you. And I, Miss Peverell, have all the time in the world to uncover them."

Just then, the door to the dungeon opened again. Mattheo entered with a swagger, his presence almost as imposing as his father's. The two Death Eaters stationed outside shifted uncomfortably but remained silent. Mattheo's eyes briefly met mine before he turned to his father, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, well, if it isn't the grand orchestrator himself," Mattheo drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Checking up on my handiwork, are we, Father?"

Voldemort's expression hardened slightly. "Mattheo," he acknowledged, his voice cool and precise. "I instructed that I be undisturbed."

Mattheo rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "And yet, here I am. I thought it pertinent to check on our... guest. After all, it is my job, isn't it?"

Voldemort's gaze turned icy. "You tread dangerously, Mattheo. Remember your place. Your insolence in ignoring my summons earlier will not be forgotten."

Mattheo's smirk faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered, muttering under his breath, "Yeah, yeah, message received."

The tension between them was palpable, a twisted mockery of a father-son relationship. Voldemort's authority was absolute, yet Mattheo's defiance was a blatant challenge, a dangerous game he seemed all too willing to play.