Bound By Blood.

ch.72~Hidden.

"You see the thing about right now is,

I'm going to fucking enjoy it. 

Because if I only have you for now, I am going to soak up every second. 

Learn that now, Brookie."

Recovered Translated Correspondents between Death Eater Mattheo Riddle, to Order Member Alexandra Brooks, 2003.

Raided Order backup house, 2003.

Mattheo.

I stood in the middle of the Orders Backup share house, both shock and concern running through my veins. 

Shocked, for one that these halfwits even found this place, let alone raided it and actually recovered a Horcrux. 

Concern, that at any moment she would run in here playing hero. 

I paced the small, cluttered room, the air thick with dust and the scent of forgotten memories, half wondering if any belonged to her. 

Draco was leaning against a rickety table, flicking idly through a stack of old papers, while Theo rifled through a faded trunk, his brows furrowed in concentration.

"Honestly, I can't believe we came all this way back here for a few crumbling trinkets," Draco muttered, tossing aside a yellowed map. "We might as well just report this back and be done with it. What more can we really get from here?"

I nodded, distracted. 

The mission had been clear—find the Horcrux, collect any related artifacts, and abandon this place for good. 

Draco had already found the Horcrux the night before, a shimmering locket nestled within a stack of broken baubles. 

But still, it felt like there was nothing left but the decay of the house itself.

"Theo, anything worth taking?" I asked, trying to pierce through my rising anxiety.

He shook his head, carefully feeling the edges of cracked jewelry pieces as if sensing their value through touch alone.

"Nah, just a load of junk. Better off leaving it behind," he replied, his voice muffled by the trunk's interior. "Unless you want a few cursed doilies."

I chuckled half-heartedly, but soon enough, a sound drew my focus—a faint creaking from the hallway outside. 

It cut through the stale air like a knife. 

My pulse quickened.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice low and edged with urgency. 

I slipped out of the room, straining to listen for any signs of what—or who—was behind that sound.

Praying to merlin it wasn't her. 

Stepping into the dim corridor, the floorboards protested underfoot. As I moved cautiously toward the sound, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. 

After all, the house was old, its secrets tangled in shadows, and we'd ruffled too many feathers already.

Then, just out of the corner of my eye, I seen her, dipping into a room just one over from them. 

I pressed myself into the shadows, instinctively holding my breath as I followed her, careful not to make a sound. 

She was a silhouette against the dim light, an unassuming figure moving with grace and purpose—traits I'd always admired but never witnessed fully in action.