Chapter 85 Bloodlines Unveiled
The castle felt different after the trap.
Not quieter—Hogwarts was never quiet—but sharper, as if its ancient walls were listening more closely than before. Whispers followed Liora through corridors, curious glances lingering just a beat too long. Professors doubled patrols. Staircases seemed less playful, their movements more deliberate.
And Mattheo had not spoken to her since Snape summoned him.
Not until tonight.
The note appeared on her bedside table just after curfew, ink blooming slowly into words as if deciding whether it trusted her enough to exist.
Astronomy Tower. Midnight. Come alone.
Her heart skipped, fear and anticipation tangling together.
She didn’t hesitate.
The climb to the Astronomy Tower was long and winding, lit only by moonlight spilling through tall arched windows. Liora’s footsteps echoed softly as she ascended the final spiral staircase, her breath quickening—not from exertion, but from the weight of what she knew was coming.
Mattheo stood at the edge of the tower, silhouetted against the stars.
The night wind tugged at his dark hair, his cloak fluttering behind him like a shadow with purpose. He didn’t turn when she stepped onto the platform. He already knew she was there.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he said quietly.
“I always come,” she replied.
That made him turn.
His expression was unreadable—carefully controlled—but his eyes betrayed him. There was tension there. Guilt. Fear.
Relief.
“I’m not angry,” she said before he could speak. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I am,” he replied. “Terrified, actually.”
She moved closer, stopping a careful distance away. “Then tell me.”
The wind howled softly between them.
“For weeks,” she continued, voice gentle but steady, “you’ve protected me. You’ve warned me. You’ve watched things you didn’t want me to see. And today… today you risked everything.”
His jaw tightened. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” she said. “You chose me.”
The words hung between them, fragile and powerful.
Mattheo looked away, gaze lifting to the stars. “That’s the problem.”
Her chest tightened. “Talk to me.”
He was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small object—a silver ring etched with symbols so old they seemed to resist being understood. The metal hummed faintly with restrained magic.
“You saw this before,” he said. “In the library. You didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t want to pry.”
“You should have.”
He turned it in his fingers. “This ring belonged to Tom Riddle.”
The name struck like thunder.
Liora sucked in a breath. “Voldemort.”
“Yes.”
The word was spoken without fear—but not without weight.
“My grandfather,” Mattheo continued, voice low. “Or so the blood says. The truth is… complicated. But the magic doesn’t lie.”
Her mind reeled, pieces snapping into place—his knowledge, his attunement to dark magic, Snape’s suspicion, the way the trap had responded to him.
“You’re his heir,” she whispered.
“By blood,” he said. “Not by choice.”
She stepped closer now, heart pounding. “And the magic in the corridor—it reacted to you because—”
“Because it was designed to,” he finished. “The spellwork recognized Riddle blood. It let me in. It would have fed on you if I’d been too late.”
Her hands curled into fists. “They used you as a key.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew that was possible?”
“I suspected,” he admitted. “That’s why I’ve been watching. That’s why I’ve been careful.”
“Careful?” Her voice wavered. “You’ve been risking yourself every time you step near me.”
His gaze snapped back to hers. “And I would do it again.”
The intensity in his eyes stole her breath.
“You don’t understand,” he said, voice rough. “People like me don’t get to be careless. Every spell I cast, every instinct I follow—it all gets weighed against what I might become.”
“And what do you think you might become?” she asked softly.
He hesitated.
“A monster,” he said finally. “Or a weapon. Or a symbol people fear enough to justify destroying.”
Her heart ached.
“You’re none of those things,” she said fiercely.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” she insisted. “I know the boy who steps between danger and someone smaller than him. I know the one who teaches instead of commands. Who warns instead of controls.”
She reached out, then stopped herself. “You don’t scare me, Mattheo.”
His breath shuddered. “You should be afraid.”
“Of you?” She shook her head. “I’m afraid for you.”
Silence fell again, heavier than before.
“You shouldn’t trust me,” he said quietly.
“I do.”
“Why?”
The question was raw. Bare.
“Because,” she said, “you told me the truth when you didn’t have to.”
He laughed softly, without humour. “This isn’t the whole truth.”
“I know,” she replied. “But it’s enough for now.”
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of stone and night air. The stars above them burned bright and distant, indifferent to bloodlines and legacies.
“They’ll come again,” Mattheo said. “Whoever set that trap—they were testing. Next time won’t be subtle.”
“And you think they’ll use you again.”
“Yes.”
“And what if they succeed?” she asked. “What if they try to push you where you don’t want to go?”
His eyes darkened. “Then I’ll need someone to remind me who I am.”
She took the final step between them.
“Then let me,” she said.
His breath caught.
“You shouldn’t make promises like that,” he whispered.
“I’m not promising,” she replied. “I’m choosing.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he lifted the ring and placed it into her open palm.
Her fingers closed around it, warmth spreading through her skin—not dark, not cold, but steady and alive.
“No one else knows,” he said. “If you carry this knowledge, you carry the danger with it.”
She met his gaze without flinching. “I already do.”
The stars seemed closer somehow, the night pressing in around them.
Mattheo reached out at last, hesitating only a second before his fingers brushed hers—light, careful, reverent.
“Then we’re bound by this,” he said softly. “Whether I like it or not.”
She smiled faintly. “You like it.”
He didn’t deny it.