The moment it happened, Mattheo saw it — the fIash of green light, the jet of the KilIing Curse slicing through the chaos, hitting you square in the chest.

Your eyes widened for a breath, then went empty. Your b0dy crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings severed.

“No—NO!”

A raw scream tore from Mattheo’s throat as he lunged forward, crashing to his knees beside you.

His trembling hands scooped you up, pulling your lifeIess form against his chest.

“Baby… wake up,” he pleaded, voice cracking. “Come on. Look at me, please—”

He brushed the blo0d-matted hair from your face, his fingertips shaking, his breathing ragged. But you didn’t move. You didn’t speak. And the world kept burning around him.

“You said you’d never leave me,” he choked, rocking you gently. “You fucking promised.”

He clutched you tighter, as if shielding you might undo what had already been done—might call your soul back just by sheer force of will.

But then the grief curdled into rage. With a sharp, trembling breath, Mattheo gently laid your b0dy down, stood, and drew his wand with a grip so tight his knuckles went white.

Without mercy, he struck down anything that dared move near you—screams and spellfire erupting as he carved a blo0dy path through the battlefield. He didn’t care. Not anymore.

The world could burn.

As smoke rose and the war waged on, Mattheo fell to his knees again and lifted you into his arms, cradling you like something precious, broken, irreplaceable.

He turned from the ruins of the fight and disappeared into the shadows, holding you close as he moved. No one could see you like this. No one else deserved to touch you.

“I’ll burn this world down to bring you back,” he whispered against your hair, his voice low and de@dly.

He knew only one person who might be able to help. One person with enough power—and darkness—to defy de@th.

His twin brother.

Tom Riddle.

⸻

Hours later, deep beneath an abandoned manor, Mattheo stood in the doorway of a forgotten ritual chamber—its stone walls pulsing faintly with cursed runes. The air was heavy with old magic, thick and alive, like it had been waiting for this.

He held your b0dy tightly in his arms, soaked in bl0od and ash, refusing to let you go.

At the far end of the room, Tom Riddle stood cloaked in shadows, his gaze sharp as ever.

“I need you to bring her back,” Mattheo said, voice raw.

Tom’s eyes flicked to you, then back. “You know what it’ll cost.”

“I don’t care. I’ll pay it.”

Tom said nothing for a beat, then slowly nodded. “Place her on the altar.”

Mattheo hesitated only a second before crossing the room, laying you down gently on the obsidian slab. The runes sparked to life beneath you, glowing red.

Tom stepped forward, drawing a curved, ancient dagger from his robes. “This won’t bring her back untouched,” he warned. “Blo0d magic never does.”

“I don’t care if it kiIls me,” Mattheo murmured. “Just bring her back.”

Tom sliced his palm and let blo0d drip onto the altar, the magic reacting instantly—candles flaring, air crackling with energy as he began to chant in Parseltongue.

The room trembled. Shadows danced across the walls like they were watching.

Mattheo stood frozen, eyes locked on your face.

Then—

Your b0dy twitched.