The Serpent & Hawke | Mattheo Riddle | Enemies to lovers

Part 51 - Strength in numbers

Mattheo's POV

I wasn't physically frozen, but I lay on the grass like a broken thing, curled into myself as if I could somehow hold the pieces together.

My tears had dried on my cheeks in salty tracks, and the blood from my nose had crusted over my nostrils, forcing me to breathe through my mouth.

Each breath felt like swallowing glass.

But why was I even breathing?

What was the point?

I stared into the dark forest, its shadows seeming to writhe and twist in my peripheral vision.

The only sound was the dying crackle of flames from Hagrid's ruined hut, punctuated by the occasional crash of burning timber.

I had no recollection of time.

Minutes, hours, centuries — they all bled together in a haze of grief.

I didn't know how long I'd been laying here, a discarded toy nobody wanted anymore.

But I didn't care.

I didn't care about anything.

I felt empty.

Hollow.

A vessel stripped of purpose.

Like maybe how my mother felt, carrying me...

The thought sliced through me with fresh pain.

Had she felt this emptiness as I slowly drained her life away?

Had she known what was happening to her?

Exhaustion pulled at my body like lead weights, my limbs and head impossibly heavy.

Even my thoughts felt thick and sluggish.

I could see my wand lying in the grass, but I made no effort to retrieve it.

What good was magic now?

Why didn't he kill me?

Or capture me?

I stepped right into Snape's wand, felt the tip press against my chest, and yet, he let me live.

Another cruelty masquerading as mercy.

He knew I had the horcrux.

I could feel the weight of it in my pocket – Jacob's pocket.

The locket seemed to pulse against my thigh, a cold, dead heartbeat.

The questions spun in my head like vultures, but everything kept drifting back to Lyanna.

Her face, her smile, her screams...

I don't think I've ever been in this much pain, and I've been tortured my whole life.

This was different — this was having your soul torn apart while you were still alive to feel it.

Malfoy's words echoed in my mind.

Claiming his mother loved me more, that I received more respect.

The thought almost made me laugh, a bitter sound caught somewhere between a sob and a scream.

I remembered when Lucius would curse me, beat me, cause me pain while Draco would watch from the shadows.

And it was nothing compared to my own father's torture.

The Dark Lord had ways of causing pain that went beyond physical agony, beyond what any normal mind could conceive.

Whatever this respect was Malfoy talked about, it must've been in his imagination, because I didn't receive it.