beginning of the end
Euphemia’s POV
15 june 1996
Mattheo,
Hi, how’s your summer going? I’ve been thinking about you
20 june 1996
Matt,
I hope you are well.
5 july 1996
Mattheo,
Would you call me needy if I asked what the coffee cup and cigarette meant?
16 july 1996
Mattheo,
I figured you’d have written at least once. If you’re still concerned about what you said that night, you shouldn’t be. I don’t care about any of that shit, Matt. And I can’t just pretend none of it happened and I don't want to pretend.
25 july 1996
Was one night all you wanted all along? Just another notch on your belt?
17 august 1996
I scan the shelves in front of me as I try to decide what to make for dinner tonight. There’s a small corner shop at the end of the block Harry and I live on where I do most of our shopping. I sigh, picking ingredients out for some pasta and move towards the check out queue, pulling my muggle money out as I wait in the long queue. The radio plays softly through the store and my mind drifts to Mattheo Riddle, as it often does when I allow my mind to wander for more than a minute. When I left Hogwarts, three months ago, I had hoped to hear from Mattheo but I’ve gotten nothing. Not a single letter, note, anything all summer and I can’t help the bitterness that’s been creeping into my heart over the summer.
I tell myself I shouldn’t be surprised; that Mattheo Riddle, the infamous Slytherin Casanova, has never slept with the same girl twice and I was never going to be any different. But we were different, or at least I thought we were. Maybe that was naive of me to assume. Maybe Fred and George were right.
Mattheo’s POV
10 june 1996
Mia,
Have you settled into your new apartment yet? I hope it’s everything you hoped it would be. You deserve to be happy.
19 june 1998
Mia,
Saw in the prophet that Sirius Black was spotted in a muggle town. It wasn’t near you, was it? I hope you are safe…
2 july 1996
Mia,
I dreamt about you last night.
13 july 1996
Mia,
How have you invaded every tiny part of my brain? It's maddening, princess, really. I think I’m going mad.
30 july 1996
Mia,
I’m sorry I haven’t written. I’m not great with words, especially when it involves emotions. The amount of letters I’ve started and thrown out is ridiculous. I miss you. Is that crazy? I can’t remember the last time I missed anyone. Although you’re not just anyone are you?
14 august 1996
I set my quill down with a sigh, resisting the urge to rub my eyes with my ink stained hands as I stare down at the finished sketch; Euphemia Potter looks back up at me from the page, a mischievous smile on her lips. My sketchbook is as filled with her as my head is. All my hand has produced this summer is her. Her face partially covered by her hair as it blows in the wind, her smoking a cigarette in the Astronomy Tower, her in class listening studiously to a lecture, the way her face lights up when she smiles, the way she looked after we kissed, the way she looked under me and sleeping the next morning. Her face is all I see when I close my eyes and with every page I fill with her I hope it takes her out of my head but it doesn’t. It's just her all the time and I think it will drive me insane.
24 august 1996
Draco, Elladora and I follow behind the adults as we make our way up the seemingly endless amount of stairs of the Quidditch World Cup Stadium. Mr. Malfoy managed to get us all personally invited to watch the match from the Minister’s box at the very top of the stadium, which Draco has been bragging about relentlessly. Finally we reach the top box, my legs infinitely thankful, and as I step around Ella the sight makes my heart skip a beat. Sitting in the front row of the box is nearly an entire row of redheads but the only one I care about is Mia. Her long red hair is pulled up into a ponytail and she’s decked out in green for the Irish. She chats amicably with the Weasley sitting next to her who I remember slightly from my first year at Hogwarts but can’t recall his name and my attention is pulled from her as Mr. Malfoy greets the Minister of Magic.
“I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?” Mr. Malfoy says, pushing Draco forward to greet the Minister. “And this is our ward, Elladora. She’s Narcissa’s niece.”
“How do you do? How do you do?” Fudge greets them, smiling and bowing.
“And this is Medusa, my sister, and her son, Mattheo,” Mr. Malfoy adds, gesturing down to my mother and me.
“Ah, yes of course. How do you do?” I see the realization in Fudge’s eyes of what Mr. Malfoy left out-- our surname-- as he shakes my hand and bows politely to my mother.
At my name, however, Mia turns around and our eyes lock for a moment and I feel like the world has been upside down for the last three months and it's right side up again. “Hey princess,” I mouth to her but all she does is smile politely and turn back around. My jaw clenches as I watch her laugh at something one of the Weasley Twins says and she continues to face forward, not looking my way.
“Seems like the princess moved on,” Ella mutters in my ear, clearly pleased.
“Shut up,” I glare at her out of the corner of my eye, moving to sit in my seat. Mr. Malfoy talks a few moments longer, clear distaste in his expression that the Weasleys managed seats in the Minister’s box and that they brought Granger; he always has been a stuck up git, although the rest of our group isn’t much better.
I spend much of the match distracted by Mia, everytime she cheered and or reacted to the match, my gut twisted horribly anytime she touches or laughs or looks at anyone who isn’t me. And it isn't until the very end, when she stands up to leave once the match has ended, do her green eyes land on me again. We share a brief glance but too soon her eyes leave mine and I’m left feeling lost again. Does she regret what happened? I stew in my own bitter air as we follow the crowd down the endless stairs and back onto solid ground.
“Who was that lovely girl?” My mother whispers to me as we begin the walk back to our campsite.
“Who?” I ask innocently, watching where I’m stepping as we traipse through the dark.
“The one you couldn’t take your eyes off of. You barely watched the match, darling,” Mum pries further.
“I watched the match,” I grumble.
“Hm, so who is she?”
“Mia… Mia Potter,” I relent finally, avoiding my mother’s gaze. Most people would be surprised that she doesn’t know but, being a Riddle is still very taboo in this world, even more so for my mother than me, so Mum doesn’t venture outside much except her small social circle.
“Oh, well. With her hair I assumed she was a Weasley but I guess her mother did have red hair as well,” my mother says casually and I turn my head to look at her.
“You knew the Potters?” I ask.
“Of course, we overlapped a few years at Hogwarts as well, her parents and I. And the Potters were a pureblood family before James married Lily. My father worked with Fleamont at the Ministry. Mia, you called her? Well Fleamont would have been her grandfather. Do you like her?” my mother says easily, as if I didn’t just admit to being close with one of the two people responsible for her husband’s death. I look at her with raised eyebrows and she laughs slightly at me. “I’m not your father, dear. While I may prefer you to find a nice pureblood girl to settle down with eventually, I won’t force you into anything. You’ve never done anything unless it was what you wanted.”
“Woah, who said anything about settling down?” I balk, my feet stop walking of their own volition but my mother just laughs, turning to face me.
“Mothers think about that kind of stuff. Besides, you’ve never told me about any other girl before so I assume this Mia is special,” she says, tilting her head at me.
“She’s too good for me…She deserves someone better than me,” I say after a long moment, looking down at my shoes.
“Then be better,” my mother says softly, reaching out to cup my chin and lift my head so I’m looking at her dark gray eyes. My mum and I look nothing alike; she has the white hair and gray eyes of a Malfoy, but I inherited my father’s looks: his dark hair and dark eyes and tainted soul. “If you really care for her, then work to deserve her, if that’s what you want.”
“You don’t think it's a bad idea? A Riddle and a Potter?” I ask slowly, searching my mum’s eyes.
“I don’t know if it is or not,” she admits, releasing my chin, “but I do know that love is stronger than all other kinds of magic.” She smiles at me softly, patting my cheek before nodding towards where the Malfoys and Ella are still walking ahead of us. “Let’s go and tomorrow, you can tell me all about her.”
Euphemia’s POV
“There’s no one like Krum!” Ron exclaims, standing up on a chair so he’s taller while the Twins dance around him clad in their green gear. “He’s like a bird the way he rides the wind! He’s not just an athlete. He’s an artist!”
“I think you’re in love, Ron!” Ginny calls, laughing next to me on the couch in our bigger-on-the-inside-tent along with Hermione on the other side of Ginny.
“Victor, I love you! Victor I doooo!” The twins start singing and Harry, Ginny and I join in, “When we’re apart my heart beats only for YOUUUU!” Ginny, Hermione and I fall to bits laughing as the Twins and Ron start wrestling and Harry backs up several feet to avoid being swung at. Although he accidentally falls straight into Charlie’s lap, sending us all into further hysterics. I’m grateful for my friends, or family as they often feel like. Seeing Mattheo rattled me more than I thought it would after three months of not hearing from him. Even with all the anger at his silence, seeing him again made me feel like I’d been lost all summer and finally found my way back home.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Mr. Weasley yells at the boys, running back into the tent as screaming echoes from outside.
“Sounds like the Irish are having a party,” Bill chuckles, looking towards the entrance of the tent.
“It’s not the Irish, we need to leave!” Mr. Weasley says urgently.
“What? Why?” I ask, standing along with everyone else. Mr. Weasley doesn’t respond, just begins pushing us all out of the tent. As we stumble outside, heat of fires hits us as tents burn not a few rows behind us, people running at top speed all around us, and at the center of all the chaos, is a crowd of wizards with hooded cloaks and skull masks obscuring their features, and above them are four floating people struggling against invisible bonds, the wizards under them holding their wands straight up, controlling the figures above like some sick marionette show. Everything is chaos and fire and screaming. As a green light flashes in front of the crowd, I recognize the faces of the Muggle groundskeeper who we had paid for our tent spot and I assume the rest is his family. The sight makes me sick.
“Get to the woods, hide and I’ll find you later! And stick together! Bill, Charlie, Percy, you’re with me! Mia, Fred, George, everyone else is your responsibility. Go! RUN!” Mr. Weasley shouts over the screams before the four older Weasley’s run toward the masked crowd.
“C’mon! We gotta go!” I yell to the others, grabbing Harry’s hand, and Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and I all begin sprinting with the rest of the crowd towards the woods. Fred, George and I with our wands in hand, just in case, as we push through the crowd which is getting tighter and tighter. My hand slips away from Harry’s and I call out to him, but his voice is still behind me so I keep moving.
After what seems like forever, we stumble into the tree line, panting and sweaty. I trip on a tree branch and fall straight into George who manages to catch me and help me stand back upright. I turn and see Fred, Ginny, Ron and Hermione. “Where’s Harry?” I ask the two urgently. They look around, fear growing on their faces as they look around. “Harry!” I yell, panic taking over my body.
“Mia, I’m sure he’s fine, we’ll find-” Fred starts but I don’t stick around to listen as I take off back towards the campsite at top speeds and I run back through the forest and crowds of people.
“Harry!” I shout over and over, searching everywhere for my brother, as tents burn and smolder around me, but I don’t see the crowd of masked wizards anymore. As I near where our own campsite had been, I start panicking even further. I stop and look around me, nothing but smoldering and smoking tents as far as I can see. “Harry!!” I shout, loudly as possible, tears threatening to obscure my vision.
“Mia?” I suddenly hear and I whip around to see Harry emerge from behind a tent. I gasp and we run to each other, colliding roughly. I grab at his face and shoulders and arms frantically checking for burns or blood.
“Are you okay? What happened? Why didn’t you follow us?”
“I don’t know, I got separated and fell down and got knocked out I think, I don’t-” Harry starts explaining but his eyes suddenly land on something over my shoulder and I turn to see a man kicking over something laying in the embers before looking up at the sky and raising his wand. I push Harry slightly behind a tent and follow suit, looking through a burned hole to watch the man. He mutters something I don’t quite catch and green shoots out of his wand and into the sky. A skull and snake, seemingly made out of green light, appears in the sky and Harry groans beside me, his hand shooting up to touch his lighting bolt scar. I watch the sky, illuminated green by the Dark Mark; something I’ve only ever read about and very much hoped I’d never see in person and fear grips me. Movement pulls my eyes away and I look back through the hole in the burned tent to see the man who cast the Mark coming straight for us.
“Harry, I need you to run,” I whisper, not taking my eyes off the man.
“What?” he groans, his voice sounding pained.
“Go, run into the woods and find the others. I’ll be right behind you,” I whisper frantically and I watch as the man raises his wand in our direction. “Protego!” I shout, casting a shield charm as a curse shoots from the man’s wand. “GO!” I yell to my brother but he doesn’t move, just pulls out his own wand and casts Explelliarmus over the tent, but the man deflects it. I stand and shoot another curse over the tent. The man stumbles back slightly as it hits him, causing his wand arm to turn numb and he watches me carefully before turning and running in the other direction.
I drop back down to my knees and cradle my brother’s face in my hands. “Are you okay? Does your scar hurt?” But before he can answer, voices echo over the landscape and there’s a blinding series of flashes over Harry’s and my heads.
“Stop! Stop!” Calls Mr. Weasley, running towards us quickly, Charlie in his wake. “Harry, Mia, what are you doing here? Are you alright?”
“Which of you conjured it?!” A cold voice inquires and Mr. Crouch pushes his way past Mr. Weasley and points his wand at Harry and I. “Which of you did it? Do not lie!”
“You think we did this?” I cry indignantly.
“You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!” Crouch responds.
“This is the Potters! I don’t think they’re like-” Charlie scoffs but Mr. Weasley raises a hand to cut him off.
“They’re just kids, Barty!” Mr. Weasley tries reasoning with the man. “Where did the Mark come from, Mia?”
“A man,” I shrug, explaining how I found Harry and saw the man and everything that happened before they showed up.
“What did he look like?” One of the other Ministry officials asks.
“I didn’t see his face, it's too dark,” I say helplessly. “I’m sorry.”
✦
2 september 1996
I’ve had nightmares about the Dark Mark nearly every night since the World Cup mixing in with the usual visions I’ve grown used to over the years. Last night was a particularly nasty one but what worries me more than anything, is Harry’s scar hurting him. He confessed the morning after the World Cup that he'd woken up from a dream about Voldemort a few nights previous and had woken up with the pain in his forehead.
Our curse scars have always baffled me. Our matching lighting bolt looking scars are so strange they confound even Dumbledore. At the end of Harry’s first year, and his run in with Voldemort and Professor Quirell, we explained to the Headmaster that Harry’s scar had been paining him for weeks but mine has never hurt at all. Dumbledore didn’t have an explanation and since then, Harry’s scar has only ever hurt when near Voldemort, or his ghost, so the return of the pains is a terrifying idea. Remus, who I wrote to the next morning, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley all say not to worry, that Harry and I are safe and protected but the fear still hides in the back of my mind.
I sigh, shouldering my bag as I push my way out of the library where I spent my afternoon free period, a perk of fewer N.E.W.T. level classes. The sun shines through the windows, lighting up the corridor with warm golden light. Even with all the terrifying things, being back at Hogwarts is lovely. Dumbledore announced at the Welcome Feast last night that two international schools will be joining us around Halloween for something called the TriWizard Tournament which has sent the whole school into an excited frenzy.
I turn the corner of the hall, making my way back to Gryffindor Tower, but I run right into someone standing right behind the turn. “Oof, I’m sorry!” I exclaim, looking up from a green Slytherin tie at my eye level to the deep warm brown eyes of Mattheo Riddle and my heart skips a beat. I forgot how good he looks in his uniform, bloody hell. Mattheo stands there in all his glory, dark curls perfectly tousled, his tie loose around his neck and his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, veins standing out on the back of his hands that I can still feel on my waist if I think hard enough.
“Careful, Princess,” he smirks easily, like no time has passed since the last time we spoke.
“Sorry,” I mutter, dropping his gaze and kneeling to gather the textbook I dropped but Mattheo beats me too and holds it out of my reach, that stupid cocky smile that I like so much on that stupidly perfect face. “Can I have my book, please?”
“Not until you tell me why you’re avoiding me,” he says, still holding the book out of my reach.
“I-I’m just busy,” I stutter.
“Mia, c’mon, it’s the start of the year. How busy can you be? You barely acknowledged me at the World Cup and you brushed me off on the train yesterday and you can barely even look at me right now. What’s going on? Is it what happened after the World Cup? Do you think I had something to do with that?” He asks, hurt shining in his eyes and I blink, realizing that no it did not occur to me for a moment to suspect him.
“What? No, I- Should I? Did you?” I ask, searching his eyes as he sighs, dropping his arm to his side, the textbook smacking against his leg.
“No! Not at all! You know I hate that kind of shit-”
“Well then why did you bring it up?” I ask, getting frustrated, trying to snatch my textbook from his hands but he pulls it back again.
“Because it's the only reason I can think of that would make you avoid me,” Mattheo says, turning to pin me against the wall causing memories of him pressing me against my dorm room door. “So if it’s not that then what is it?”
“Maybe the fact that we slept together and you snuck out in the middle of the night and then I didn’t hear from you all summer!” I finally snap and his face falls as my words hit him.
“Oh, Mia-”
“If all you wanted was one night you could’ve just said! Not string me along all term and make me feel like an id-” I’m cut off as Mattheo presses a kiss to my lips and effectively melting all the bitterness and anger away, infuriatingly quickly. “You can’t just kiss… me and expect… everything to be okay… again,” I say in between his kisses.
“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, reaching up to brush a piece of my hair behind my ear. I snuck out because I didn’t want to get caught coming out of your room and I didn’t want to wake you up so early. I didn’t want any rumors to get around before we had a chance to talk and I tried to write, I did, but I’m shit at it really. Words aren’t my thing but I tried and I thought about you all the time. Shit, I filled an entire sketchbook with you but I’m-”
“What?” I breathe out in bewilderment at his confession. He looks at me sheepishly, which is something I never thought I’d say about Mattheo Riddle.
“Well I’m shit at words but I can draw, you know that, and pretty much all I drew this summer was you,” he says, his cheeks tinting slightly pink.
“Can I see it?” I ask, reaching out to place my palm on his chest. Mattheo smiles slightly and nods.
“Anything for you, princess. Does that mean you forgive me?”
“If you give me my book back,” I respond with a smirk.
“Hm, how about this?” He says, mischievously, taking a step back. “I’ll give you your book back, if you let me walk you to wherever you’re going.”
“You’re an idiot,” I laugh and shake my head as I take a step forward and press a quick kiss to his lips. I pull away and he has the biggest grin on his face.
“Do we have a deal?”
“Yes, fine whatever,” I laugh.
“After you, Princess,” Mattheo gestures his arm out in an exaggerated move and I laugh, feeling significantly better than 15 minutes ago.