Where the Flowers Used to Grow [Mattheo Riddle]

Chapter 25

June 2003

Florence walked through the gardens, just as she had for the past week, only this day she was joined by others bumbling about the grounds carrying flowers, rocks and foliage. She leaned herself against the large trunk of an oak tree, watching everyone bow as they hurried past her. An older man carrying an armful of lavender bowed wobbly in front of her before handing her a stalk of the fragrant flower. She wasn't used to the way they all looked at her yet, but she couldn't ignore the way it made her feel. She tried to hide it, but as as her hands touched the old man's she watched the pride grow in his grin, and she could no longer stop herself from smiling. The man waddled off and she placed the piece of lavender in her hair behind her ear. She had become so used to guilt, hatred and loneliness she had forgotten what it felt like when someone looked at her with joy, with pride. She told herself that no one had looked at her like that since they had all found out about her and Mattheo the day after Dumbledore died, but as her eyes landed on the tall dark man walking with a group of people, laughing and patting them on the back, she realised the truth, which is that no one had ever looked at her like that, not even her family. The only time someone had ever looked at her with that kind of purity before the sweet old man had been Mattheo, the first night they kissed at the Winter solstice. She didn't know it was possible to only realise how much you missed something once you had gotten it back. His eyes raised to hers across the garden, his heart leaping for a moment at the image of her standing there, her long dress billowing in the sea breeze, the piece of lavender in her hair, her eyes on him. He smiled, that pretentious, infectious smile. She blinked, frozen for a moment at the sight of his darkness surrounded by all the gorgeous light and colour around them. She pushed herself off the bark, turning towards the cliff's edge. She had to stay focused, she had to stay vigilant.

"You're allowed to enjoy it." The salty air stuck in her lungs, her skin shivering in the damp air, but her insides were boiling, spilling over into her cheeks.

"Thank you for the permission to enjoy the festivities of the religious holiday I introduced you to." She sneered, staring out over the open water, the soothing consistency of the crashing waves slowing her racing pulse.

"I'm not talking about the summer solstice." He grinned as he placed himself next to her. "But you knew that." She looked over to meet his eyes already admiring her. He slowly lifted his hand, the tips of his fingers gently running along the lavender tucked into her hair. She closed her eyes, her skin tingling as the slight movement of the flower tickled her ear. "It suits you." He whispered. She lifted her eyes back to his as he dropped his hand, his expression a mixture of pleading and caution.

"Purple's not really my colour." Florence replied, shaking herself off slightly as she looked back over to the grey water, her explosive heartbeat trying to find those soothing sounds again. She felt his body turn to face her, his head leaning down towards hers. Her fingers dug into the material of her trousers, hoping he wouldn't see her hands shake.

"Not the flower, Flora." Her eyes stayed set on the blurred line between sky and sea as his low, sultry words fluttered over her skin, his hot breath sticking to her neck. "This place suits you. The way our people adore you suits you." He took a step closer, his chest pressing into her shoulder, his neck craning down to push his nose into her cheek, the contact making her shiver. "I suit you." She took a deep breath, all the hair on her body sticking up electrifyingly as his mass began to consume her, as it always did.

"Mattheo-"

"I know." He sighed over her, his body tense against her. He was filled with so much emotion, so much rage and lust, excitement and fear, but it was all wrapped up in his hard shell. "I know you haven't forgiven me yet for..." Both of their lungs were heaving, both of their mouths dry and desperate. "But today you'll see. Today you'll understand. I built this for you Flora, for us, for everyone." She slowly turned her head, forcing him to lift his face from her cheek.

"I think you've told yourself that so many times you're actually starting to believe it." He looked down over her, their bodies so close together but their minds so far apart.

"We're going to build a new world Florence, a better world. A world filled with equality and acceptance..." His hand lifted to cup her cheek. "... and lots of flowers." He grinned. "Don't you get it, little mouse? I'm giving you the world."

"Why?" She whispered as she blinked up at him. "Why are you-"

"My father represented hate, but his prejudice was born from ignorance and a flawed, biased society. He wasn't the real enemy. Our societal structure is a lie and you know it. We pretend to be a democracy but the wizarding world has always been run by the elite, Florence."

"So your plan to combat the regime is to replace one rich man with another? Are you forgetting your lineage, Mattheo? You're an heir of Slytherin, you'll just be another-"

"Do you never listen?" He huffed. "I will not be undertaking this task alone, like those selfish men before me. I'll have you." He grinned. "And we won't use puny labels like minister, as we'll have rid the world of the Ministry of Magic, destroying the organised agenda of rich pricks and their habitual, offensive fucking rituals!" He took a deep breath, trying to quieten his growingly aggressive tone.

"Chaos." Florence whispered. "You want chaos. A world with no leadership is chaos-"

"Who said there will be no leadership?" She looked up at him, the sharp edge of his jaw tensing as he spoke. "I just said we won't become irrelevant, snotty politicians with hidden agendas. We'll truly live for our people Florence, just as you always did for everyone you cared about. We'll be what they need, give them something to believe in, something to follow." Her mouth opened slightly.

"Gods." She whispered, making his smile grow wider.

"Gods."

---

May 1998

With one swish of his wand the line of fire was drawn in front of the forest. He watched as the flames reached from branch to branch, the pain of his smoke-filled lungs making him wince. As a symphony of screams and cries began to erupt from the heat a small tear fell down his cheek. He turned away, heading back towards the new army he had created, the army that awaited his words, his instructions. He tried to block out the smell of burning bodies and the image of the centaurs weeping as their loved ones perished around them. It was her fault. That's what he told himself. She'd abandoned them just as she'd abandoned him. As he returned to the battlefield and saw all the pale faces staring up at the billowing smoke rising into the sky Mattheo realised what he'd done.

"We have to start afresh." He addressed the remaining comrades. "Burn down the school. Burn the ground we stand on. Hogwarts was a pawn of the Ministry. The lessons taught here were nothing more than Ministry propaganda aimed to turn us all into rule-abiding, robotic morons who will keep electing the same fucking old men who don't care about anything but power!" He looked around as they all stared at him, their young bodies covered in blood and dirt. "Let's send them a sign! Let's burn down their precious school, and everything around it. Let's let them know that the revolution has begun! The revolution of the young!" Mattheo watched as they all dispersed in groups, running madly chanting "Revolution!" as the flames grew around him. They covered the entire grounds, the field, the classrooms, the whomping willow. It all went up in a glorious orange before it began crumbling into nothingness. Mattheo followed a group running into Hogsmeade. As they went building to building he walked to the shrieking shack. He stared at it as the wood creaked in the breeze.

"You told me that everywhere a man goes he should leave an impression, a scar." Mattheo whispered into the evening air as he flicked the spark from his wand through the front door. "I think this will all leave a scar, dad." Mattheo listened to the shack screaming, the smoke exploding from between the old planks of wood. "I've already buried all memory of you from this place, and I've only just begun."