Yvonne Wyllt's ,decendant of the most powerful wizards,story begins at Hogwarts on her 6th year a new boy joins,Mattheo Riddle.
Mattheo and Yvonne have a love hate relationship but are willing to do anything for eachother even if it meant bringing...
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YVONNE'S POV
We didn't speak as we ran.
Not because there was nothing to say—but because every breath burned, every step felt like the ground would swallow us if we slowed down for even a second. Behind us, the smoke of Diagon Alley still curled into the sky like a warning flare. The dragon had drawn every eye in the wizarding world, and soon the Ministry would follow. We had seconds to vanish, minutes to disappear.
Theodore's portkey spell dropped us in the middle of nowhere—just fields, overgrown hedgerows, and a cold wind that bit straight through our clothes. I stumbled a little on landing, knees shaking, hands still buzzing from the magic I'd cast. Mattheo caught me before I hit the ground.
"I've got you," he murmured.
I just nodded, swallowing hard. My magic still hummed under my skin, unstable and aching like a bruise.
"We need shelter," Regulus said. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the silence like a blade. "We're too exposed."
"There." Draco pointed toward a shadow in the distance. "Ruins, maybe. Looks abandoned."
We moved again—less like a group of powerful witches and wizards, more like a pack of hunted animals. Tired, bloodied, limping. Hermione was still clutching the cup, her knuckles white. Ron had a makeshift bandage around his arm, and Harry kept glancing behind us like he expected Death Eaters to fall from the sky.
The building turned out to be an old stone manor—half collapsed, windows broken, vines strangling the walls like nature was trying to swallow it whole. But the wards were weak, and no signs of recent life. It would do.
"Inside. Now," Mattheo said.
We filed in slowly. No one spoke.
Blaise sealed the entrance with a few quick flicks of his wand. Astra cast a bubble charm to muffle any noise from within. And Hermione, finally, sank to the floor and let out a single, shaking breath.
"We did it," she whispered.
The cup sat between her hands like it weighed more than gold. Like it was cursed just to touch. Maybe it was.
Everyone collapsed where they stood—onto the dusty floor, against the cracked stone walls. Dahlia curled up near the fireplace, wand still clutched tight in her fingers. Pansy leaned her head on Draco's shoulder, eyes shut but jaw clenched. Regulus paced, always pacing.
I found a spot in the corner and sat with my knees pulled to my chest. The weight of what we'd done settled into the room like fog. We'd stolen from Gringotts. Released a dragon. Shattered wards older than we were. And we had the Horcrux.
But it didn't feel like a victory. Not yet.
Mattheo sat beside me in silence, his shoulder brushing mine. His cloak smelled like smoke and ash. His hand found my thigh, grounding me with just the barest touch.
