The Serpent & Hawke | Mattheo Riddle | Enemies to lovers

Part 65 - Not something weak people do

Lyanna's POV

My eyes squeezed shut against the blinding green light while I clung to Mattheo with everything I had.

I stumbled upon impact, but refused to let go.

My heart thundered so hard I thought it might explode.

Then I felt him sag, his weight becoming suddenly, heavy in my arms.

Terror warred with determination, as I lowered him carefully to the ground.

I could just about hear Voldemort's cry of agony.

All fragments of his soul were gone, leaving just him.

Movement caught my eye, Harry progressed towards Voldemort, firing curses frantically at his withering form.

Even though he was weak, he managed to block Harry's attempts.

Multiple voices rang out as spells flew from every direction.

My friends, our peers - unleashing everything.

Through tears, I saw Voldemort backing away, the Elder Wand moving impossibly fast to deflect the barrage.

He dissolved into black smoke, other Death Eaters following like shadows chasing darkness.

Then, my world narrowed.

Nothing existed except the boy in my arms and the desperate prayer in my heart.

My eyes burned with emotion as I touched his face.

His skin was still warm, but wrong somehow.

Too still, too empty.

With his eyes closed, he could have been sleeping, but the absence of his usual vitality felt like a physical slice in my chest.

I pulled him up closer, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried to pour every ounce of love I possessed into the embrace.

I had no idea if this would work, if love could really save him like Snape had said, but I had to try.

Memories that had been locked away for months crashed through my mind like a broken dam.

I focused on every precious one I could muster.

The first time his eyes met mine, that electric connection that had nearly brought me to my knees.

The pull between us had felt so natural, so inevitable - like gravity or magic itself.

The way he'd bite his lip when concentrating, the tight knit between his brows.

How his hands always found some excuse to touch me - brushing hair from my face, adjusting my tie, simple touches that carried worlds of meaning.

The sound of his laugh when I'd say something particularly sarcastic.

The way he'd looked at me that night on our beach, like I was the only woman in the world.

"Lyanna."

I barely registered the voice, and continued, my arms tightening around Mattheo.

More memories flooded in.

His ridiculous jokes that somehow always made me belly laugh.

The softness of his skin after hot showers, and how he like to shake his head like a dog drying off from the rain.

The adorable mess his hair became when he felt too lazy to style it.

His thoughtfulness that always surprised me, remembering little details, always giving me butterflies.