Weighted Hearts & Gilded Feathers

 After Hermione’s collapse, Harry had grown increasingly worried about her. Cornering her numerous times a day to inquire about her health. As if she didn’t feel stifled enough. Her magic, the thing that gave her this life, that intrinsic part of her that had opened doors she’d never even imagined was fighting her. 

While she didn’t have the raw power of Harry or the upbringing of Ron, she made up for it with unmitigated will. But this wasn’t something she could power through. The sickness that was robbing her of the thing that finally made her special. 

She’d woken up in the hospital wing, a week later, her bed right next to Mattheo who was steadfastly ignoring her despite her attempts at conversation. She felt horrible. She was horrible. She’d thought about how she’d feel if he had done the same thing to her, or if the boys had done the same to her. It would hurt. She was hurting Mattheo for Ron and Harry, who threw her out on the street when she had nowhere else to go. 

O.W.L.s were quickly approaching and she began panicking at the loss of all that study time. Granted she was ahead of the students in her year due to the time-turner use, but she still wanted to revise. The best preparation was always over-preparation. 

Once she returned to the tower the boys were nicer to her than they had been all year. Harry had hugged her and told her she didn’t need to stop being friends with Mattheo but admitted it brought him peace of mind. Ron had just grumbled that she shouldn’t have been his friend in the first place. George and Fred had visited her in the infirmary, leaving little tokens for her while she slept. 

They’d hugged her once she made it back to the common room as they whispered apologies in her ears and told her to ignore Ron and Ginny. 

She’d been placed on a potion regimen by Madam Pomfrey, three different potions twice a day. Two of which were obscure enough she couldn't find anything about them in the library. It unsettled her to not know, but the potions were helping so far. This close to OWLs she didnt have the time to refuse them. She needed her magic as stable as possible to get through exams. 

Umbridge was still roaming through the castle like a dementor, sucking the joy from students as if she had no other reason to live. Hermione suspected that the woman was a sadist, anyone who could smile while watching kids cut their skin open with a blood quill was decidedly not right in the head. The twins had taken to being her personal nightmare, going so far as to place a portable swamp in front of her office. It was fitting for the toad-like woman. 

Hermione dove head first into all her missing assignments, and spent every possible moment in the library trying to catch up. She’d taken to sitting at the table she’d always shared with Mattheo. A few times early in the week she caught him at the table, staring out the window and tried to join him, but when she went to pull the chair out from the table it wouldn't budge. 

She’d implored him, begged him to just talk to her, to let her explain. He never looked at her, didn't move his eyes from the window, his facial expression did not change, it was as if she didnt exist. It wasn't until she raised her voice, well above appropriate levels for the library of all places, that he spoke, “I don't play well with strangers, scurry off Gryffindor.” 

The tone of his voice gave her pause, it was so cold that gooseflesh raised on her skin and a shudder ran through her. She was tempted to walk away, to leave him be and just find another table. Lick her wounds in peace, but she was a Gryffindor and proud of it. She’d slammed her hands on the table leaning over it so her face was right in front of his, amber eyes instantly connected to hers. His frustration was evident by the crease in between his eyebrows. She was tempted to strangle him, to hit him with an incarcerous and force him to hear her out. 

The truth was, as much as she didnt want to lose her friendship with Harry and Ron, there was irreversible damage there now. In response, she went and caused the same damage to her friendship with Mattheo. Who hadn’t expected anything of her, or from her, except companionship. It was the first friendship she’d ever had that came without expectations and she’d fucked it up. 

She stared at him, trying to break through the walls she knew he was holding up right now. It wasn't legilimency, she had not mastered that. It was will, she was begging him to let her in, to see the conviction in her eyes, to understand that all she wanted was to apologize. 

For a fraction of a second, he wavered, the cloud that had covered his irises shrunk back for a single moment before slamming back in place. He leaned back and stood abruptly, the chair screeched against the flooring, and stomped away but not before he eviscerated her in one sentence, “Figure out who you want to be Hermione, because you're not the nice person you think you are.” 

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Mattheo’s initial anger at Hermione had diminished, but left in their wake, was a cacophony of unanswered questions and conflicting emotions. He wanted to be mad at her, to let his rage fester, roll around in it, revel in the anger. But without her soothing presence, all he felt was forsaken. 

He understood why she did what she did, but she didn’t understand, she was to him what Harry was to her. Sure he’d had friends before, but not like her. No one he would go to bat for. No one he would defend to his own detriment. He’d gone against his house even his father for her. And she betrayed that, muddied it in her pursuit of regaining the trust of people who didn't deserve her in the first place. 

Severus had ordered him to go to his office once he was released from the infirmary. Every step he took away from Hermione was painful, the ache in his chest built day after day.

He’d been given a potion regimen to take daily, without explanation, only that his father knew about it and approved. Evan stood in the room, arms crossed leaning against the wall. To anyone else, he looked like he didnt have a care in the world, but Mattheo knew him, could tell by the tick in his jaw and the tension in his shoulder that something was not right. He’d asked what was going on and demanded they tell him why he needed to start on the potions but he received no answer. With a sweep of his arm across Severus’ desk he knocked the bottles to the ground. Neither man said a thing, his head of house just looked at him impassively before speaking in a condescending drawl, “Are you done with your tantrum? I thought you were above juvenile antics, I’m disappointed I was wrong.” 

Mattheo's anger welled up, he was close to bursting, frustrated that he was being kept in the dark. It was always one thing after the other. He thought he was finally catching a break when he’d cornered Mia that night in the corridors. Sure it might have been a little underhanded but it produced the result he wanted. The need to be around her, the comfort he found in her presence was beyond anything he’d ever felt. Regulus was always distant, cold, and anxious. Evan was aloof even in his mischievous moments. 

But Hermione, Mia, she was like a home he’d only ever heard other people describe, family dinners and hot chocolate in front of the fire. 

He used that anger and stared into his professor's eyes, willing himself to break through those barriers and uncover the secrets that he was hiding. He didnt approach stealthily, he didnt feel the barrier and look for cracks. He did not send his magic in different directions as Regulus taught him, creating a diversion so he could slip in somewhere else. No, he slammed into his barriers, Mattheo felt his magic as if it lived on his skin, it vibrated. His magic was just as invested in the recovery of this information as his mind was. 

His professor put up a valiant effort, Regulus and Evan had never lasted this long, but he reached into the well of his core, digging deeper than he’d gone before, especially using mind magic and made one last push against his walls. Glorious triumph ran through him as he strolled through the potion stores of Severus’ mind.

 It was unsurprising that would be how he organized his memories. Mattheo sent his magic out through the room and felt a brush of magic towards an unsuspecting shelf of dusty vials. People always gave themselves away in one of two ways. By diverting their attention elsewhere or leaving the memories they truly didn't want to be inspected, completely unprotected, expecting that the intruder would go for the more heavily protected. Something told Mattheo this particular memory would be the unsuspecting sort. He’d probably be hiding this knowledge from Dumbledore and only shored up that defence when in the man's presence.

It only took a few vials for him to find what he was looking for and see what they were hiding from him. 

Hermione, Mia, the person who had placed another fissure in his already fucked up heart was his sister. 

His blood.

 At least that's what they suspected, what Snape suspected. They’d told his father already and he’d told Mattheo nothing. 

Tom Marvolo Riddle, the deceiver, morningstar in the flesh, let him battle for Hermione’s safety, even threatened her for what? To see the depth of Mattheo’s devotions? His protectiveness? 

Once again he felt as though the floor had dropped from under him, he thought he’d finally found something, someone of his own. And his father was already scheming to take it away, her away. 

His feelings were like facets in a stained glass window, individually conflicting, but put together made a beautiful picture. He’d found her, they’d found each other in a school of hundreds. She was there and they were finally together. Maybe he could use this knowledge and get her back, she’d come back to him and find out the truth. Mia would learn what the Order did to their family, how they’d stolen her away after murdering their mother. She’d turn away from the Order, abandon that Potter boy and it could just be them. Them against the world, as it was always meant to be. 

But that wasn't realistic, and he wasn't even sure he’d trust her allegiance were it to occur that way. She needed to find the truth on her own. She needed to see that they were never going to value her. Not like he would. She’d been used by the Order, used to help the Potter boy fight her own father. Not that he wasn't worth fighting, he was an abominable man, but so many of his most ruthless crimes were committed in his search for her. In retaliation for what they’d stolen from him. 

They could leave this place, let their father wage his war and escape somewhere else. Bask in the comfort they found in each other and return after the war was over. 

He wasn’t mad at her per se, she had no idea who she might be. But he resented her in that moment. For not just being Hermione, for not being the friend he wanted. For not caring enough about his friendship to be steadfast. For choosing Harry. 

That was when he realized the fatal flaw in his plotting. It was Harry, it would always be Harry. Harry was the brother she wanted, not him. Not the twin she’d been separated from. 

He withdrew from Snape's mind, his ears were bleeding and he was slumped against his chair, looking more dishevelled than Mattheo had ever seen him. Evan was kneeling next to him, murmuring spells, a hand on Snape's jaw, coaxing him to open his eyes. 

Evan turned to Matteo, his face full of disapproval and concern, but not just for him, for the potions master sitting in the chair. 

They went into Severus’ adjoining rooms, waiting in the living room for him to freshen up in his bedroom. Evan didnt speak, but he kept casting worried glances at the door to the bedroom, obviously more concerned than he would for a person he didnt care about. He wondered briefly if they had history from before or if the school term had made them more acquainted with each other. 

Finally, Severus came back into the room, you’d never guess by looking at him that Mattheo had just ripped through his mind. He took a seat at the offset wingback chair, leaned forward and steepled his fingers. He and Evan were having some sort of silent conversation and Mattheo found himself getting increasingly irritated. 

His world had already shifted on its axis enough in the past year, he just wanted someone to be honest, to tell him what was going on so he knew how to deal with the influx of unexpected news. So he knew that something was being done, or he’d take things into his own hands. 

Mattheo looked between the men, “Is someone going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” 

Severus grunted at his words but remained silent, content to let Mattheo ramble and curse. Evan finally spoke. “What do you want to know, Mattheo?” 

“I’d like to know how long you suspected Mia of being my sister, why you didnt tell me about it, how long has my father known, and what you intend to do about it?” he shouted at no one in particular. 

“We are doing nothing for now except observe,” Mattheo went to interject but was silenced with a glare from the surly professor, “As I was saying, we will observe and try to mitigate the damage the seal is undoubtedly doing to her core, while your father researches how to remove the seal.” 

“So you're telling me we just leave her with the people who kidnapped her and killed our mother?” 

His magic was slowly filling the room and Evan interjected, probably sensing Mattheo was about to reach a breaking point, “For now, not forever, we don't want to tip off  Dumbledore before we have the opportunity to remove the seal. There's no way to know currently if he placed anything nefarious in her core while sealing her. We could do irreparable damage to her trying to remove it too soon.” 

Mattheo’s eyes shifted to face a man who was as close to real family as he’d probably ever have, before Mia that is, his face scrunched up in distaste, “You, of all people, hid this from me. I have no expectations from the others, but you? Tell me, does Reg know too?” 

Evans visibly stiffened, obviously taken aback by his verbal assault. That was all Mattheo needed to know. They didn't trust him, not with the truth. Not with his sister. 

He stood up and moved towards the door, just as he reached for the handle Snape spoke, “You can't tell her, just keep your distance for now Mattheo it's safer that way, for both of you.” 

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He’d sat next to her in class for weeks willing himself to ignore her, even though it went against every atom in his body. He wanted to shake her, to tell her who she was to him. To tell her to run before either side could destroy her in their quest for victory. But his hands were tied, he wouldn't risk her safety. He wouldn't risk the possibility of actually getting his sister back even if it couldn't happen right away. 

So he ignored her, every day in class and then again when she’d corner him in the library. 

He’d stopped using their table, preferring to find a dusty alcove further back in the library near the restricted section. He spent more time with Draco, Theo and Blaise drinking and smoking behind the greenhouses whenever they got the chance. He didn't mind their company and they knew not to ask about his situation with Hermione. He appreciated people who knew when to keep their questions to themselves. 

They’d become a solace to him recently. They distracted him when they saw him staring into the common room fire for too long. Looks of concern smoothed over quickly as they diverted his attention from his swirling thoughts. 

The figures were back, and the only person to ever push them away was out of reach.