Lorelei's POV:
"You think we're safe here?" Mattheo asked, drawing the curtains and locking the windows. It wasn't really a question, more like a sarcastic accusation.
"I don't know, but Mother told me to stay here." I bit my tongue.
I stared at the rug picking at the brittle yarn with my bare toes - I liked to do that while I paced.
Even with my eyes trained on my toes, I could sense the figure across from me turn.
"So you're a Schmidt? You are Freyja Schmidt's daughter?"
He shrugged off his cloak and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his white shirt so that it fanned open around his collarbone.
I hissed at the tinge of incredulousness in his voice.
"Expecting someone else?" I pursed my lips, attempting to stand a little taller.
"Your mother did mention you were quite ... the fighter."
He strolled towards me in tense, measured steps. I held my breath as his cologne washed over me again, squeezing my eyes shut as he swept down and whispered in my ear,
"I think she's right."
My neck burned where his breath blew, a tingling sensation engulfing me. I forced my eyes to focus on anything else aside from the ravishing young man before me.
"The serpent. What is it?" My voice wavered as I swallowed.
He smirked at my apprehension.
Probably used to girls fleeing for their lives at the mention of his name.
"This?" Mattheo stood back up, his coal black lock brushing against my neck as he did so. His fingers snapped and the silver emblem appeared in his palm. His eyebrows raised into a malicious smirk.
"Family heirloom."
What. Did. I. Say.
"Some kind of family remembrance, like a club certificate?" I squinted, examining the fine silverwork and craftsmanship embroidered well into the emblem.
"Welcome! You're a Riddle now!" I mocked with a satire beam.
At least my voice was working again.
His expression was still unreadable and pale. Plain and solid, like rocks. Weirdly jagged and freshly polished rocks.
"It's the only thing I have left." He gritted sternly.
I gulped. What was I supposed to say? 'Sorry for your loss, I don't have a Dad either, if that makes you feel better.' I swallowed and sighed, unclenching my fists.
Plus, I wasn't so sure he could exactly relate. How could anyone when the carbon copy of someone I presumed to be dead only a few months ago was standing right in front of me?
"So why did y-"
Before I could finish, Mattheo clamped his palm on my mouth, grabbed my wrist and slammed me onto the cushioned ground. Hard.
What in Merlin's beard?
Instinctively, I drew my lknees in and kicked, pushing my torso off the ground with my elbows. He swiftly dodged my left kick, but caught my right hook with a muffled groan. I fastened my legs around his right knee and pulled. His weight toppled to the ground beside me in a thud.
Immediately, I shuffled aside so his back contacted the floor with a crunch, and I flipped sideways so I landed in a palm plank on top of him. I drew my right knee up to his lower abdomen, pinning him to the ground between my arms.
I raised my eyebrows and glared at the person beneath me. Though his constant panting was receding, he remained dead silent, licking his lip and wincing as he tasted blood.
At least he wasn't whimpering, unlike Sirius. Another pang of guilt and remorse shot through me as I considered my guardian's destiny.
I stayed motionless, balancing my weight on my two palms and left toes, waiting for my explanation. He didn't seem like one to betray me so quickly.
No, I trusted Mother's judgement too much.
After an eternity, he relaxed. His bloodied cheeks drew into a tight smirk as he explained painfully calmly,
"You can get off now, they're gone."
I squinted suspiciously at Riddle, still not moving a muscle.
"The Death Eaters," he explained in pained breaths, "they're not lurking at the window anymore."
Of course. That's why he wanted to hide us.
With two quick jabs, I marked the pressure points in his shoulder seam and sprang up, the tension melting away between us as I paced over to the window. Muttering a few more spells, I conjured an animated mirage and lined it up against the windows.
Now, any onlookers that somehow managed to see through the curtains and wards would see nothing more than an old man and his 30 dogs.
I turned around, surprised to find my roommate still on the ground.
He groaned as he hoisted himself back up, several bones cracking as he did so.
"Stay still," I crouched down next to him.
He groaned and turned away stiffly, gritting, "don't touch me."
Without hesitation, I grabbed his slightly-dislocated wrist and snapped it back in place with a smirk, studying his expression. To my dismay, he remained perfectly inert and expressionless as I summoned my carryon first aid kit.
"I said - "
"This might sting a little," I lowered my voice to a gentle hush.
Why am I being so nice to this pretentious prick?
"Scratch that." I amended. "It will hurt." He didn't reply, just fixed his eyes on the ground between us and clenched his jaw.
I dabbed the ointment harshly on the scab on his cheek, jabbing another cotton swab on the tip of his chin. Securing my thumb under his bloodied chin, I sloshed on another layer of alcohol disinfectant, smirking as the wounded twat winced at the touch.
"That's not how you're supposed to do it." He hissed, glowering at me. "It's unhygienic and -"
I conjured a warm towel and tossed it at him, cutting off whatever pretentious crap he was going to spew. Then, I shifted so I was behind him without bothering to clean up the trail of sanguine still trickling down his jaw.
"Episkey!"
We both winced as several cracks were heard. His back shot up at an unnatural angle before he slouched back again. He grunted several times, but stifled it successfully.
"Lie back down." I snapped, cleaning up the cotton swabs and bottling the ointments.
"You have no idea what you're doing, don't you?" He snickered slyly.
I held out my hand to snap his back on my own, but refrained. He didn't deserve my touch.
"Sometimes people roll with it, Riddle." I hissed back.
He was probably glaring daggers at me, but he groaned slightly as he lowered himself, cracking his knuckles from the pain.
How delightful.
"Now get up."
I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms, eying the patient before me.
The only reason I voluntarily healed him was because I was the cause of his injuries in the first place. Plus, his constant groaning would keep me up at night.
He sat up slowly at first, but no cracks were heard. His no-longer-bloody lips spread into a tight grimace as he cleaned the towel with a flick of his wrist and sent it hurling back at me. In a fluid motion, I grabbed the damp towel in my left hand, halting as the impact of the momenta shot through me.
He raised an eyebrow and I sent the towel and the kit back to my suitcase, turning as I trudged past him and into the bathroom, not bothering to help him to his feet.
I scrubbed the soap in my palms harshly, scraping the texture roughly against my skin and digging my dirtied nails into my palm. I ran my shaking hands under the water, with each trickle carrying away a stream of red into the basin, swirling endlessly until finally slipping into the drain. Taking a deep breath, I splashed my sooted face with water several times before switching it off and scrubbing my face and hands with my towel.
"Aggressive skin care routine you got there." My eyes shot up, seeing the muscular figure lean against the doorframe through the mirror. It wasn't a casual lean, more like a death-choke-hold, a one way thumb wrestle in which Riddle gripped the doorframe so tightly his veins popped.
I rolled my eyes and spun around.
"What do you want?" I huffed, strangling my hair into two tight fishtails.
"An apology, " Mattheo smirked.
I opened my mouth to speak, but I was interrupted by a deafening crackle from outside. Our eyes locked and I whisked out my wand, tip-toeing out of the bathroom.
I stopped before the fireplace where the sound had originated. I crouched down, scanning the fireplace for traces of Floo Network or other messages. Suddenly, the coals in the fireplace sizzled and a familiar face appeared.
"Mother?" I croaked.