Sacred Devotion [Mattheo Riddle]

CHAPTER TWELVE

And now—now there were three more.

Faces unknown still, but not for long. Students with names and voices and laughter, students who would never again sit in this hall, never again send owls home. Students who, like the ones at Ilvermorny, had been burned alive by a monster no one had expected.

The nausea hit hard. My throat closed around a sob I couldn't release.

I should have spoken to someone.

The truth struck me like a curse, blinding and slashing.

I should have gone straight to Dumbledore the second Mattheo confessed. The second he told me what he was.

But I didn't.

I'd remained silent. Scared. Stupid. Weak.

And now they were dead because of me.

The noise of the hall melted into a dull roar, as though I was beneath water. Professors were moving—McGonagall rigid and white, Flitwick stumbling over the bench in his haste, Hagrid's giant shape lumbering toward the doors. Then Dumbledore rose, his face calm but his hands fists, knuckles white around his wand.

"Stay here," his voice boomed over the chaos, authoritative but slicing through the panic like a knife. "No one leaves this hall. Not until we know what is happening."

The students didn't listen. They never did. The panic was too loud, too thick, a tangible thing choking the room.

I couldn't stay.

My legs moved before my brain had caught up, scrambling the bench backwards in a scream that made nearby Gryffindors flinch. My eyes stung as I stumbled towards the doors, towards the cluster of professors, towards the truth that had been simmering inside me for too long.

I had to tell him. I had to make it stop.

Dumbledore was already halfway through the doors, McGonagall and Hagrid on either side of him, their faces bent low and intent. My throat hurt as I strained to yell, but words snagged, strangled by the lump rising in my throat.

Burning tears streamed down my face as I followed them, my strides quickening, my boots sliding on the slick stone.

"Professor—" My voice cracked, ragged and loud. "Professor Dumbledore—"

I never got the chance to finish.

A hand appeared out of nowhere, swift and ruthless, clamping around my throat.

The world tilted violently as I was yanked to the side, dragged off balance, my feet scraping against the floor. A shocked cry tore from my throat, cut off as my back hit the wall and the heavy door of an empty classroom slammed shut behind me with a deafening crash.

I fought reflexively at the fingers jabbing into my skin, my breath choking in my throat, terror searing white-hot at the rear of my eyes.

Mattheo.

His face was a mask, his expression cold and unforgiving, his grip bruising as his dark eyes skewered into mine.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice was a low snarl, subdued but lethal, every word bubbling with barely contained fury.

The tears. streaming down my face distorted him, made him appear as something less than human, some dark shape torn from my worst nightmares.

I tried to speak—tried to scream, to command him to release me—but all that came out was a choked gasp, my nails raking ineffectively at his wrist.