Bound By Blood.

ch.12~ She wouldn't.

"Wait for what?! I needed to show you am I serious! You never, ever took me seriously! I am sorry that had to be the way I proved it to you, but it was. 

I am not joking, Riddle. War is war."

Recovered translated correspondents between Order Member Alexandra Brooks, to Death Eater Mattheo Riddle, 2004. 

Hogwarts, 1997. 

Mattheo.

I don't know how I went from so eager to get on the pitch to get my aggressions out, to holding Brooks against the wall in the locker room tunnel, but I did. 

I'm lying, I do know. 

That fucking sweater. 

It wasn't just any sweater; it was his—Weasley's. 

The moment I saw her walk into the stands, wearing that oversized thing like it was designed for her, I felt a fire ignite deep within me. 

The way the fabric pooled around her hips and cascaded down her arms made my heart thump in frustration and confusion. 

I couldn't shake it; anger mixed with something deeper, something I wasn't ready to face.

But for some reason, I dragged her in here, and demanded she took it off. 

What the fuck came over me, ill never know. 

But there she was, pinned under my hold, to the cold wall. 

"I'm just getting started," She said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Everything inside me screamed to step back, to pull away and let her have her space. 

Yet I found myself leaning in even closer, my breath mingling with hers for a moment that felt like eternity. "You really want to play this game?" I asked, my voice low, laced with the weight of unspoken challenges.

"Maybe," she shot back, a boldness in her tone that only made my blood boil hotter. "You brought me in here. Maybe you want to play too."

I stepped back, shaking my head as if that would clear my thoughts. "You really have some nerve."

"Funny thing," she countered, her eyes glinting, "so do you, considering the way you're holding me against this wall."

Suddenly the air shifted, the playful banter giving way to an undeniable tension that prickled along my skin. "I shouldn't even care that you're wearing his sweater," I muttered, more to myself than her.

"Then why do you?" she shot back, her eyes locking onto mine, probing and defiant. 

I let her words wash over me, infuriating and impossible to ignore. 

"What do you want from me, Brooks?" I couldn't quite mask the confusion in my tone, a question twisting in the air, heavier than either of us anticipated.

"Maybe I want to see how far you'll go," she replied, the smirk returning as she tilted her head defiantly, her confidence radiating off her like heat from the sun. "Or maybe I just like pushing your buttons."

"God, you're infuriating," I muttered, though I could barely keep the corners of my mouth from twitching upwards. 

She had this way of catching me off guard, and instead of hating it, I felt something entirely different unraveling within me.