Bound By Blood.

Ch.22~ Less than we thought.

"Our one bit of normalcy, maybe ever. 

It was nice, too nice for our own good."

Recovered Translated Correspondents between Order Member Alexandra Brooks, to Death Eater Mattheo Riddle, 2005.

Hogwarts, 1997.

Mattheo.

It hurt to leave her that morning. 

I never imagined something like that, hurting me. 

But to wake up next to someone, to her, having her wrapped around me, with a suffocating hold... for once, I felt peace. 

It was a rare sensation, one I hadn't expected to find amidst the chaos of our lives, with her. 

The gentle rise and fall of her breath, the way she nestled into my side, feeling so perfectly at home against me, made everything else fade into the background. 

In that cocoon of warmth and safety, the rest of the world was just a distant echo...classes, rivalries, familial expectations, all drowned beneath the surface of this newfound intimacy.

Yet here I was, forced to confront the reality that peace was temporary, merely a fleeting moment in a life filled with shadows and uncertainty. 

I had to get up. I had to face the day ahead, and the weight of decisions heavy on my shoulders. 

I couldn't let myself fall too completely, knowing that daylight would usher in the complications that came with our lives...the ones that threatened to tear us apart.

For right now. 

The sunlight spilled through the window, casting warm hues across the room, illuminating her features as she slept peacefully. 

I paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of her, the way her hair fanned out on the pillow, the slight curve of her lips, the gentle flutter of her eyelashes as she dreamed. 

Every detail etched into my memory like a photograph. 

This very well could've been the first, and last time I got to see her like this. 

Herself. 

For a brief moment, I considered staying; the thought of abandoning my obligations and responsibilities filled me with longing. 

I wanted to slip back under the covers, to fall asleep again with her, to forget everything but this.

 But reality crashed down again, sharper this time, and I knew I couldn't—wouldn't—be selfish.

Reluctantly, I pulled away, careful not to disturb her slumber. 

Each inch felt like tearing a piece of myself away, such a foreign feeling. 

As I slipped on my hoodie, I glanced back at her one last time, overwhelmed with a wave of emotions that I struggled to categorize: desire, confusion, fear.

How had we gotten to this point? 

How had a single night unfolded into something so significant? 

We had danced around our feelings for so long, caught in a cycle of unspoken words, of arguments, of tension and longing looks, yet this—this moment—was different.

It could've been different. 

We only had ourselves to blame. 

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