𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬||𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

Edited Chapter Five

The air crackled with magic, but it was a different kind of magic than Amelia had ever experienced before. It was tainted, twisted, and fueled by hatred.

The scene was a chaotic tapestry of destruction and despair. Buildings lay in ruins, their once vibrant facades reduced to rubble. The sky was a canvas of billowing smoke and flashes of spells, casting an eerie glow over the battlefield.

Amelia could hear the cries of anguish and the shouts of defiance. The sound of spells colliding echoed through the air, creating a symphony of chaos. The ground shook beneath her feet as powerful curses and hexes were unleashed, leaving devastation in their wake.

Amidst the chaos and destruction, there was an undeniable presence of darkness. The forces of Voldemort, dressed in their ominous black robes, moved with a sinister efficiency, their every action calculated and precise. But what caught Amelia's attention was a figure that stood at the forefront of Voldemort's followers, as if he held a position of leadership.

Tall and imposing, his presence was commanding, radiating an aura of power that sent shivers down Amelia's spine. His eyes, a piercing shade of gray, locked onto her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. Something was unsettling about his gaze as if he could see straight into her soul. The emptiness in his eyes spoke volumes, a chilling reminder of the darkness that consumed him.

Amelia's eyes fluttered open, her heart pounding in her chest as she woke from a deep sleep. Beads of sweat clung to her forehead, evidence of the intense nightmare that had just gripped her. She took a moment to catch her breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease that still clung to her.

As she sat up in bed, Amelia's mind replayed the vivid images from her dream. The darkness, the sinister figures, and that tall, enigmatic figure who seemed to hold some kind of power over her. It all felt so real, so hauntingly familiar.

She reached for her glass of water on the bedside table, taking a sip to soothe her parched throat. The cool liquid provided a momentary respite, but it couldn't wash away the lingering unease that had settled deep within her.

With a sigh, Amelia swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, her bare feet making contact with the cool wooden floor. The sensation grounded her, reminding her that she was awake, that the nightmare was just a figment of her imagination.

Determined to shake off the remnants of the dream, Amelia quietly opened the door to her room, careful not to disturb the slumbering girls. She tiptoed down the stairs, her footsteps barely making a sound as she made her way toward the common room. And there, in front of the crackling fireplace, sat Mattheo, his back turned to her.

Amelia's eyes were drawn to the wisps of cigarette smoke that lingered in the air, a sign that Mattheo had also sought solace in the late hours of the night. She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should disturb his solitude. After all, she had been hoping for some peace herself. But something compelled her to approach him.

With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, Amelia walked towards the armchair where Mattheo sat. She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and quietly settled herself on the couch beside him. The warmth emanating from the fireplace enveloped them both, creating a cozy atmosphere in the dimly lit room.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke, the crackling of the fire providing a soothing soundtrack to their silent companionship. Amelia stole glances at Mattheo, his profile illuminated by the flickering flames. She noticed the weariness etched on his face, a reflection of her restless state of mind.

Finally, unable to contain her curiosity any longer, Amelia softly broke the silence. "Couldn't sleep either?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Mattheo turned his head towards her, his eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and boredom.