A heart beneath the mark

27. Part

I didn't mean to lose it.
Of all the things I could have misplaced—the spare quill I always chewed to splinters, the rolls of parchment stuffed hastily into my satchel, even my half-finished Potions essay—it had to be that.

Mattheo Riddle's letter.

The folded parchment had lived in the deepest corner of my bag for weeks, hidden beneath textbooks and ink-stained notes, as if burying it there could keep its contents buried too. I should have destroyed it the moment I found it, should have burned it to ash in the common room fire. But I hadn't.
Instead, I'd read it again and again, until I knew the cadence of every jagged line. Until his scrawled words etched themselves into my chest like a wound I couldn't stop pressing.
And now—now it was gone.
I realized it on the staircase after dinner, the bustle of students thinning out around me. My satchel felt lighter, off. I dropped onto the cold stone step, unfastened the clasp with shaking hands, and rifled through the contents. Books. Ink. Wand. Notes. No letter.
My heart stumbled into my throat.
"No, no, no," I whispered, my fingers scrabbling across parchment that wasn't the right one, pushing aside pages as though the folded square might materialize out of sheer panic.
But it wasn't there.

My mind raced through the evening. Defense Against the Dark Arts, where I'd been too distracted to follow half of what Professor Carrow was droning about. The library afterward, trying to pretend Callum's quiet presence across the table didn't make me too aware of myself. Then the Great Hall for dinner. Had I pulled the wrong parchment out? Left it between books? Dropped it on the library table?

The thought made my stomach churn.
Because if someone else had it...
"Looking for this?"
The words slid into the air, calm but heavy, and I froze.
I turned slowly.
Callum stood halfway down the corridor, his blue Ravenclaw scarf hanging loose, the light from the sconces catching in his fair hair. In his hand dangled it—the folded parchment, edges crinkled from my touch.
My blood ran cold. "Callum..."
He didn't smile. His gaze flicked from the letter to me, sharp but not cruel. "You left it in the library. I thought it was your Charms homework at first, but—" He lifted it slightly, hesitating. "It isn't homework."
My chest tightened. "Callum—don't—"
"I didn't read it." His voice was steady, but I caught the faint edge of something else—hurt? "Just the first line. Enough to see your name." He paused, studying me. "It's not written by you, is it?"
Heat pricked behind my eyes. "It's... complicated."
He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Then let me help you carry it."
Before I could answer, another voice cut the air like a blade.
"Give it back."
The sound shot straight down my spine.

Mattheo.

He stood at the base of the staircase, shadows clinging to his frame, his expression carved into something sharp and dangerous. But it was his eyes that rooted me to the spot—dark, intense, burning with a heat that was part fury, part something I couldn't name.
Callum stiffened. His grip on the letter tightened instinctively. "This is yours?"
Mattheo ascended the stairs with slow, deliberate steps, each one echoing in the quiet corridor. "Obviously." His voice was low, venom curling around every syllable. "So unless you're in the habit of snooping through things that don't belong to you, Ravenclaw, hand it over."
Callum's jaw tightened. He glanced at me, uncertain, then back at Mattheo. "If it's yours, then why does it have her name?"
The silence stretched. My heart beat so hard I thought both of them must hear it.
Mattheo stopped a step below us, his gaze never leaving Callum. "Last warning. Give. It. Back."
The air between them was taut, charged, and I knew if Callum refused, Mattheo wouldn't hesitate to escalate. Slowly, reluctantly, Callum extended the parchment.
Mattheo snatched it, his fingers brushing mine in the process. The touch sent a jolt through me, unbidden, unwanted, but I couldn't tear my eyes from his face.
His gaze dropped to the letter in his hand. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, meant only for me. "You kept it."
I swallowed hard. "I didn't—"
"You kept it," he repeated, louder now, his eyes narrowing. "All this time. What, Bennett? Did you tuck it under your pillow? Read it every night and sigh like some lovesick little girl?"
The words landed like blows.
"Stop," I whispered, but my voice cracked.

Mattheo's lips twisted into a cruel smirk, but I saw the flicker beneath it—the shadow of something he was fighting to bury. "What did you think it meant? That I cared? That any of it was true?" He leaned closer, his breath brushing hot against my cheek. "You're pathetic."
The word sliced through me like a curse.
"Oi." Callum stepped forward, anger sparking in his usually even tone. "You don't get to talk to her like that."
Mattheo straightened, turning his head slowly toward him, like a predator acknowledging another's intrusion. "And you don't get to stick your nose where it doesn't belong."
"She's my friend," Callum shot back. "That's exactly where I belong." His eyes darted briefly to me, softer. "At least I don't make a sport of tearing her down."

Mattheo's jaw tightened, his fist curling around the letter until his knuckles went white. He looked like he might strike, like the fury burning through him was barely contained.
But then his gaze snapped back to me.
"Why did you write it, then?" I asked before I could stop myself. My voice was shaky, desperate. "If it meant nothing, why put it on parchment at all?"
For the briefest instant, his mask slipped. His eyes—Merlin, his eyes—were raw, conflicted, full of words he would never say. My breath caught.
Then, just as quickly, the walls slammed back up. His smirk returned, cruel and jagged. "I was bored," he said, each word like poison. "Had nothing better to do than scribble lies. That's all it ever was."
The ground tilted beneath me.

But I saw it. The flicker. The hesitation. The way his voice cracked, imperceptible to anyone but me. He was lying.
Before I could speak, he moved. One step closer, his presence overwhelming, his hand braced against the wall beside me. He bent down, his lips grazing the shell of my ear, his words a whisper that trembled with everything his face refused to show.
"Burn it, Bennett. Before it burns you."
My chest ached with the weight of it.
And then—he pulled away. His eyes lingered on mine for one shattering second, before he spun on his heel and strode down the corridor, his cloak whipping behind him, leaving only the echo of his footsteps and the suffocating air he'd left behind.
I stood frozen, trembling, clutching the stair rail as if it were the only thing holding me upright.

Callum touched my arm gently. "Hannah..."
I shook my head, unable to speak. My throat was tight, my heart heavier than ever.
Because Mattheo had left me with nothing but the truth I wasn't supposed to know.
And a letter that still burned like fire in my hands.