CHAPTER 68: THE STATES OF MIND OF A FALLEN ELECTED OFFICIAL

"Out!"

And without a word more, he forcefully slammed the door in the faces of the fools who came to question him, mock him, call him crazy, and revel in his misery. He could still clearly hear their idiotic laughter behind the wooden panel, but at the moment, he honestly couldn't care less. They weren't the first, and in just an hour in that cursed carriage, he had already encountered four groups of students – initially curious, then, as he became hostile towards them, starting to doubt his mental health and advising him to go to a specialized institute for such illnesses rather than Hogwarts.

Matthew knew that his image among other students had long been unfavorable, or at least he pretended not to notice. However, now that he found himself in a situation where he would have hoped for some support from fellow students and beyond the wizards and witches in the country, he felt tragically alone in the face of adversity.

Yet, when he had boarded that carriage a few hours ago, his father having dropped him off at the magical post relay without even wishing him a good school year, he hadn't thought for a moment that he would be the subject of ridicule from his peers, let alone from people who were not part of Slytherin house. From the latter, he didn't expect anything else, but that the other houses tended to make him an outcast, he found hard to understand.

Sighing, he peeled his forehead off the door to return to his seat, looking dazed and gloomy as he had been all summer. With nothing else to distract him, he gazed out the window at the multitude of small villages far below the carriage transporting him to Hogwarts. At that moment, he would have given anything to have any pet to play with, but while his father had always been quick to buy him anything he wanted, he had never had the opportunity to ask for a pet, with Ron perfectly filling that role.

"Ron..." he muttered through clenched teeth. "Dirty traitor!"

His friend wasn't there to hear him, and there was little chance they would have the opportunity to see each other right away. Ron had apparently asked to borrow another carriage, eager not to have to endure the presence of the boy-who-lived, even though just a few months ago, he couldn't spend more than five minutes without making it a duty to accompany Matthew everywhere. But today, like many others, the one he thought was his best henchman had turned away from him, leaving him for the first time in deep distress at the thought of having to make the journey to Hogwarts alone.

Solitude was not familiar to him, always having had someone with him to assist, encourage in his activities or decisions, bending to his every desire and ensuring unwavering support in all circumstances. Life had never allowed him to feel such an emotion, this feeling of emptiness within him that he couldn't fill since that fateful June evening, like a weight in the pit of his stomach too heavy to bear. If a situation displeased him, if he needed to vent his anger on someone or rant about an injustice happening to him, Ron was there to bear the brunt, and Matthew had never imagined he could complain about it. The redhead was too proud of the position his place next to him afforded him to contest his words, and just like Malfoy, he loved to strut around Hogwarts because of it.

But that was before discovering that Matthew was not what he claimed to be, and the disillusionment must have been great enough for him not to bother sending him a single letter throughout the holidays. Overnight, as Matthew's status evolved, Weasley no longer found it necessary to put on a good face and remain faithful to him, and he promised himself to make him pay for it.

"On the other hand, if I waved a bag full of Galleons under his big nose, I would be willing to bet that he would come back immediately and swear otherwise," he fumed in a furious tone.

And grabbing the first object available to him, a small decorative basin in this case, he violently threw it against the wall opposite his seat, ignoring the multiple porcelain pieces scattering across his compartment. If the school were to find out about his outburst, he would undoubtedly regret his actions, especially since it would only reinforce rumors about his mental state. But, to be honest, he couldn't care less; the newspapers, the Minister of Magic, and some malicious minds had been explicit enough on the subject since the end of the tournament. An incident like this would only serve as additional proof in their eyes that he was definitively someone to be locked away.

Sighing, he tried to redirect his attention to the outside landscape, attempting to gather his thoughts to focus on another subject. However, try as he might, and since thinking was decidedly not his strong suit, nothing other than his imminent return to Hogwarts to face ridicule and other unpleasant remarks came to mind. That, and the fact that he would have no support to endure it. If once Dumbledore's office had been a haven of peace and the best place to vent his anger under the benevolence and compassion of the headmaster, he was convinced that this time he would not be able to enjoy the presence of the old wizard to reassure him even a little.

Just like with Ron, the mere thought of Dumbledore, hitting him like a jolt, immediately brought forth a simmering anger within him. His mentor, his role model, the one who had been telling him since he was little that he was important, even essential, to the successful implementation of his plans, the most invaluable cog in his projects aimed at defeating Voldemort—this very person, whom he could have taken for a supernatural idol in the manner of Muggles and their strange religions, had also turned his back on him. Oh, unlike Ron, Dumbledore had much better abilities not to display it openly, but the headmaster, who had been so eager to see him every summer during the months of summer, had at least deserted the Potter mansion. He only offered brief greetings before disappearing with his father for yet another jaunt across Britain, and for more than two months, he and James had not ceased to leave him alone at home with only stupid elves, passionate about nothing other than cleaning and cooking.

"None of this would have happened if I hadn't opened my mouth," he grumbled, clutching his head in his hands. "If I hadn't repeated to Dumbledore the conversation I had with Voldemort in its entirety, I could have continued pretending to be the chosen one. Ron would still be with me, Dumbledore would continue to trust me, and Dad... Dad would still pay attention to me."

No matter how many times he repeated it to himself over the past few weeks, going over all the mistakes he could have made to avoid the situation he was in, he knew that there was no going back, and the least he could do now was to try to overcome it. But he couldn't, and without anyone noticing or really paying attention, he languished in this sort of torpor he had been plunged into for all this time.

More than once, the desire to cry had overwhelmed him, alone in his room or in the garden of their property. He cried for the life he led before, for the advantages he drew from it, for the relationships he had forged and which today counted on the fingers of just one hand, crying in memory of his father's omnipresence by his side, this man he was so eager to make proud, who had long been his only and unique model, this man with whom he had spent most of his time outside of school. This man who, despite all his faults, remained his father, but who today did not pay him any more attention than to his subordinates and preferred to roam the country in search of the rest of their family, and especially the one who had usurped his title: his own brother.

Without really realizing it, as anger and hatred tugged at him again, the window pane began to crack, streaks appearing here and there on its surface. But Matthew was focused on the seat in front of him, his gaze fixed and his eyes bulging, as he kept in mind the face of that boy he hadn't seen for so long, that boy who looked so much like their father and who today was at the center of his attention.

That boy who had stolen his father from him.

A sudden knock on the door brought him back to reality, and a moment later, Matthew was surprised to see Neville appear in the doorway, looking just as shy and timid as usual and holding his toad Trevor in the palm of his hand as usual.

"H-hi," he said awkwardly, looking at him nervously. "Is it... Is it possible to come in here? Slytherins chased me out of my compartment..."

Matthew looked at him for a few seconds, as if judging him at first glance. Then, sighing, he gestured with a simple hand movement for him to sit in front of him, saying nothing more. Thanking him, Neville dragged his trunk to the net hung above before managing, after many difficulties, to deposit it there without his traveling companion deigning to give him a hand.

"You shouldn't let those snakes push you around," Matthew said only once he had sat down. "It's by letting them walk all over you that they feel powerful and allow themselves to intimidate everyone."

"I'm sorry..." he apologized flatly, eyes downcast. "My grandmother tells me the same thing as you, but it's not the same to tell someone what to do and to find yourself in this situation. I lose my composure when I get nervous."

"I don't care," Matthew snapped in a cold tone, turning his attention back to the window.

Neville did the same, then noticed the state of the compartment, with porcelain fragments scattered around. His gaze lingered on Matthew, but Matthew didn't realize it at the moment, too busy trying to fix the evident damage he had caused. It was only once his task was completed that his eyes met Neville's, and the heir Longbottom immediately looked away, embarrassed to have been caught in the act. Matthew did not share the same discomfort, and only after a few seconds did he realize that, aside from being in the same house at Hogwarts and sharing the same dormitory, he didn't know much about the boy in front of him. A boy whom he had harassed, intimidated, and occasionally brutalized for four years but who was now willing to share the same compartment with him for several hours. Did he have masochistic tendencies?

"Did your summer go well?" Neville suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them for some time.

"If you're wondering if I had a nice summer despite all the horrors that have been said about me in the newspapers, then I can assure you that's the case!" he affirmed in a tone that tried to be convincing. "I did lots of things, so many that I couldn't list them all!"

"That's good," he replied, smiling briefly. "My grandmother set up a greenhouse in our property's garden to congratulate me on my good school results, so I spent mine with my hands in the soil taking care of my rare plants..."

And while Neville listed the names of each of the plants he had carefully repotted, Matthew listened without reacting, and to be honest, without paying attention. Botany had never been one of his strengths, and in his eyes, anyone finding any interest in it could only be a thoroughly... boring person, just like the boy in front of him, in truth.

"My Uncle Algie gave me a Mimbulus Mimbletonia upon his return from one of his expeditions to the Near East," he continued without realizing Matthew's disinterest. "He found it on the banks of the Euphrates, near a town called Deir-Ezzor. His guides advised him not to touch it because it secretes a strange substance from its pustules, like pus..."

"Neville, for the second time, I don't care," he cut him off sharply, slumping in his chair. "If I wanted a botany lesson, I would have waited until I was at Hogwarts in Madam Pomfrey's greenhouses."

"Oh... Okay," the other stammered, sounding disappointed.

Once again, silence fell, interrupted only by the croaking of Neville's toad trying to escape from his hand. Unintentionally, this conversation reminded him of the greenhouses in his mansion, or rather, what was left of them, as no one had taken care of them for many years. Once, the lush and exotic plants had been the pride of its occupants. Today, the greenhouses housed only dead or dying plants, James never having had a green thumb just like him. On second thought, the only person who found any interest in them had disappeared six years earlier without ever giving any news.

His fists clenched immediately at the mention of Lily, and the knuckles of his fingers turned white in seconds as he thought about that sweet and smiling face, that thick hair flying in all directions at the slightest gust of wind, those piercing green eyes that could detect the slightest buried emotional problem, that kindness emanating from her that manifested in so many signs of affection towards others... Today, this woman was no longer there, abandoning him like the others to start a new life elsewhere, and especially without ever checking in on him. It was probably what hurt him the most when thinking about her: her silence, and for that, he hated her with all his might.

"Despite what you may think of me, know that I love you as much as Harry and Rosie, and I regret what happened. I hope that one day, you can forgive me for leaving, and that we can become the family I always wanted us to be..."

This sentence constantly played in his mind, like a painful memory he couldn't escape, a reminiscence of a past he would have liked to forget but couldn't, a link that still seemed to attach him to the woman who had been his mother but was now nothing more than a blurry and vaporous image becoming increasingly blurry over time. Matthew constantly remembered his mother's last words to him, a little monologue that wanted to be filled with love, sadness, and hope for him, but sounded so false in his ears that he couldn't believe a single word of it. If truly his mother had wanted to rebuild the bond that united them all, the first thing to do in his eyes would have been to come back, to give the slightest sign of life, to tell him that she still thought of him and hadn't forgotten him...

However, nothing. Not the slightest letter, not the slightest living proof of her existence, not the smallest piece of information about her activities, where she was, with whom, and especially what she was doing. This silence... for others, it might have been distressing, a nagging thought not leaving them, giving them the intimate conviction that something serious might have happened to her. But for him, he saw it only as a complete disinterest of a woman who had never loved him other than by constantly rebuffing him and always highlighting her older brother and younger sister, while James had eyes only for him. And for that, he hated her.

But at the same time... an inner voice kept telling him that he missed her, that he would have liked to leave with her and escape the situation he was in now, and that he hoped to see her again at least once to throw in her face all the resentment he held against her.

Noise coming from Neville's seat made him turn his head towards him again, and he observed his housemate rummaging through his trunk before pulling out what initially seemed to be just a piece of wood but turned out to be a complete kit for him to write in peace. Longbottom unfolded the four legs, lifted the board slightly, and took out an inkwell, quill, and parchment, arranging everything in front of him.

"I have... I have a letter to write to someone," he apologized, noticing Matthew's interest. "I hope you don't mind?"

"No," he said, shrugging. "As long as you don't splash ink on my face with your clumsiness, I see no harm in that."

Neville thanked him with a nod before starting to write in silence, muttering from time to time to himself about the turn a sentence could take and the appropriate word he could use.

"I should have also specified, as long as you don't annoy me by talking to yourself," Matthew snapped sharply as Neville nervously chewed on the top of his quill.

"Sorry," he stammered.

"Oh, but can't you stop apologizing all the time!?" the other exploded, losing patience. "It's annoying! Are you a man or a weakling? What am I saying, the answer is obvious... I hope for your family's sake, your grandmother will keep your seat in the Wizengamot as long as possible. You wouldn't last more than five minutes among the other lords. You might even apologize to them for voting differently on a bill!"

"Because you would do better in the assembly?" Neville retorted surprisingly firmer.

"Me? But they would eat out of my hand," Matthew assured him.

"I don't get that impression from what they say about you currently."

Neville's last remark seemed to hit home, and Matthew looked at him with a puzzled expression, surprised as much as furious by the audacity of the usually timid young man in front of him.

"So, do you believe all the nonsense that is said in those newspapers pretending to be serious?" he fulminated.

"No, and actually, I believe you when you say he's back," Longbottom replied. "At least, I believe you because Dumbledore believes it, and even if the headmaster can have many faults, he wouldn't lie about such a serious matter as the return of the most terrible dark wizard we've known since Grindelwald."

Surprised to finally find someone not calling him a liar, Matthew was disconcerted enough to forget all anger towards the chubby boy sitting in his compartment. The tension he felt within him disappeared on the same occasion, replaced once again by the languor that had taken up residence in him for weeks.

"Who are you writing to?" he asked, himself quickly surprised by his question.

"A friend," Neville replied as he plunged back into writing his letter. "You might know her, Lucie Desmoulins. She's enrolled at Beauxbatons, but she was here last year for the Triwizard Tournament. She's one of the girls who accompanied Daphne Greengrass everywhere with Tracey Davis. You probably know them?"

"Greengrass..." Matthew grumbled, thinking of that beautiful blonde who had royally ignored him all year. "That ice-cold witch, forced to ask her lapdog fiancé to defend her because she's incapable of doing it herself?"

"Um... yes," he confirmed dubiously. "Anyway, Lucie invited me as her escort for their wedding, which took place this summer, and it was fantastic! I had never attended such a ceremony, and the festivities lasted two days! There were a lot of people, even foreign princes. Did you know, by the way, that her husband himself is a prince? I had known it when he came to the Christmas ball last year, but it completely slipped my mind. Tracey told me he was very friendly, though I didn't have the chance to talk to him at that time."

Of course, Matthew bitterly thought, that dandy could only be the ideal son-in-law to perfect the idyllic image already painted of him at the Christmas ball; it couldn't be otherwise. It was already difficult to bear the idea of having been pitifully defeated by this fool, by the fact that he was handsome, had connections with crowned heads, and now had as a wife one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen in his young life; he had to be nice on top of that! Truly, life was so unfair.

"Do you love her?" he asked absentmindedly.

"Who? Lucie?" Neville stammered nervously.

"No, the prince," Matthew hissed, rolling his eyes. "What an idiot... Of course, I'm talking about her, unless you're a pedophile!"

"Oh," he sighed. "Well... I don't know, she's very kind to me, much more open, and truthfully, she's very beautiful, but..."

"But what?"

"I... I don't really know what it's like to be so close to a girl like I am with her. I know nothing about the art of courting, and I don't even know what she might feel for me. Maybe she thinks the same thing as everyone else, that I'm just a chubby and clumsy boy..."

"Awkward too, and a bit stupid," Matthew reminded him with relish. "It makes you wonder what you're doing in Godric Gryffindor's house if you don't even have an ounce of courage to have asked her clearly by now. At least you'd be clear on that question."

"You're right," he admitted. "I... I'll ask my grandmother for some advice on courting her, and then we'll see where it leads us."

"Ask your grandmother for advice on such a thing, does this boy have no honor?" Matthew wondered inwardly. "It makes you wonder if he can think for himself or if he needs someone's help to perform the slightest task in his life."

Deciding that his traveling companion fell into the second category, he decided to change his mind by delving into the small bag of sweets he kept in his pocket. Of course, and while savoring a cauldron cake under Neville's gaze, he didn't bother to offer him one, letting him continue to write his letter to the girl who, according to him, had the misfortune of having attracted the favors of this big fool.

Time went on, and Longbottom had long finished his letter, which he had carefully stored in his trunk with the rest of his materials. Now both were silently watching the landscape darken as they approached the north of Scotland. The journey, terribly long, had taken up much of the day, and internally, Matthew hoped that one day soon, the Ministry of Magic would implement a much faster means of transportation than their current carriages to come to Hogwarts, and preferably a means that would have allowed him to complete the entire journey away from the eyes of others and in peace.

But as he thought that this tranquility would have been certain without Neville's presence, the door of their compartment opened for the umpteenth time of the day, revealing the person Matthew hated most within the school, perhaps on par with Snape: Draco Malfoy.

"Well, I didn't know you were hanging out with Longbottom, Potter?" he taunted under the crude laughter of his two usual sidekicks, Crabbe and Goyle. "It seemed to me all these years that you couldn't stand him, but after all, two big pigs like you can only get along by cohabiting for so long."

Matthew was certainly not as slim and slender as the heir Malfoy, but daring to call him a pig when his two gorillas were as voluminous as him seemed to him a lack of obvious foresight.

"I think you've got the wrong compartment, Ferret. The animals are all the way down the corridor, last door on the right," he retorted.

Malfoy's smile disappeared immediately, replaced by a particularly pronounced frown on his face.

"So, Potter, how's your head today?" he asked mockingly. "With all the gossip in the Daily Prophet about you, I'm still surprised you have permission to attend Hogwarts despite the danger you represent. My father could easily fix that by proposing to the school council your immediate expulsion at the slightest problem you're involved in..."

"Your father is far too busy bowing to his master to care about the school's affairs," Matthew assured him with a smile. "Not easy to look ahead when the only thing you can see is the smelly feet of the person you serve with submission..."

"Be very careful with what you say, Potty, because you will quickly realize that your insubordination will no longer meet the same indulgence as before," Draco affirmed. "Things may change at Hogwarts, and in the right direction."

"Change in which direction? The one where you and your Death Eater buddies are finally expelled from school to rot in Azkaban?" Matthew argued. "Will he come to reward the little Slytherin snakes for their good and loyal services?"

"If the Dark Lord is truly back, then yes, I hope he'll come first to take care of you. But since you're the only one daring to claim such a thing, I'd be more inclined to think it's just another attempt on your part to try to grab all the attention to yourself," Draco declared.

"Stop lying; your father was there in the graveyard that night, and yours too," he added, nodding towards the two gorillas. "You know I'm telling the truth!"

"Really? That's not what my father told me... He has absolutely no idea what you're talking about, but by accusing him of such horrors, he might well ask you for an explanation before the Wizengamot. It seems you're not in good graces with the Minister anyway, so I have no illusions about the outcome of this trial. I can already imagine the headlines: 'A respectable member of our community facing a scandalous accusation from Crazy Potty!' What do you think, Potty?"

Losing his composure, Matthew had immediately stood up from his seat, wand drawn and pointed at Draco, who smiled widely, seeing that his words had hit the mark. With his temples pulsating furiously, heat rising to his face as his outstretched arm trembled like a leaf, he glared furiously at Draco, his eyes almost bulging.

"You'll see what Crazy Potty will do to you if you keep opening your big mouth in front of him," he threatened. "I faced Voldemort in a duel, so if I wasn't afraid of him, I certainly won't be afraid to put a jumping little ferret back in his place!"

"We are three, and you only have Longbottom to protect you," Draco informed him calmly, casting a piercing and mocking gaze at Neville. "I also wonder where Weasley could be. Judging by the absence of the smell of manure emanating from this compartment, I could conclude that he has never set foot here. Maybe he too has seen the light and finally realized that you're a liar doubled with a madman!"

"Shut up!" Matthew erupted.

"You're alone, Potter, alone and defenseless!" he exclaimed joyfully.

"He... he's not alone!" Neville contradicted, standing up to face Draco as well. "I-I can fight too!"

Malfoy seemed initially surprised by the sudden burst of courage from the Gryffindor, but soon his laughter echoed in the compartment, quickly joined by those of Crabbe and Goyle, resembling ridiculous growls. Matthew watched his companion with a surprised expression, touched by this show of sympathy towards him, or at least by the fact that he wanted to stand by his side to confront their enemy. Usually, this role was reserved for Ron, but he had never done it so spontaneously.

"You, the Squib?" Draco mocked, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "You can't even hold a wand properly! The only thing you could do is poke my eye out by waving it foolishly, as you usually do!"

"Your traveling companions don't have any skills either, retorted Matthew. Apart from clenching fists and hitting everything that moves, I've never seen them do magic! Maybe they're not even Squibs but trolls; that would explain the stupidity that is innate in them and the foul smell emanating from them. After all, it must be a unique thing in the history of Hogwarts to finish last in end-of-year exams four years in a row!"

The two trolls mentioned immediately stopped laughing, and for a moment, Matthew thought they were going to charge at them upon Drago's order to display their brutality. However, Malefoy only had to give them a single look for them to remain motionless, their eyes burning with anger.

"Good decision; otherwise, I would have taken you down in the blink of an eye," Matthew assured them, wanting to appear more confident than he actually was.

"That doesn't solve the problem of your numerical inferiority," Draco reminded him. "Even with this idiot, you're still only two, while we are..."

"Stupefy!"

Malefoy didn't even have time to finish his sentence before the Stunning Spell sent by his archenemy hit him squarely in the chest, violently throwing him onto Crabbe and Goyle, who were themselves pushed out of the compartment by the force of the impact. Dazed, both took a few seconds to try to sit back up, a task made more difficult by the weight of their superior's body crushing them.

"That settles the numerical problem," Matthew informed them, keeping his wand pointed at them, unashamed of attacking Draco in such an informal manner. "Now you will go back to your compartment, carrying this idiot with you, or you will end up like him."

The two gorillas looked at each other for a few seconds, then nodded quickly. They seized Draco's arms and legs, lifting him to carry him to the recommended place. Smiling, Matthew finally lowered his wand, his mood much more relaxed than before, thinking about his attack on the Slytherin. The consequences of his actions could wait a few hours; he intended to enjoy this single satisfaction. In some ways, Malfoy's presence could have curious advantages, and this was one of them.

Almost skipping back to his seat, he settled down calmly, a smile on his lips as he rummaged through his bag for another well-deserved treat.

"I hope there won't be any repercussions," Neville commented after a while.

"Knowing him, he'll go cry to Snape, or he'll write a letter to Daddy complaining about being humiliated once again by me," Matthew replied calmly.

"Maybe," Neville agreed, smiling briefly. "I wonder what he meant by the changes that might happen at Hogwarts this year."

"Given that he claims they'll happen tonight at dinner, we can assume that everything will be revealed during Dumbledore's speech, and I have a hunch that it might include the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Neville seemed to share his opinion as he nodded while trying to keep his toad in his hands.

"It can't be worse anyway than the Triwizard Tournament," Matthew continued. "I hope that this year, I won't encounter mortal dangers on my path."

Not him, but internally, he hoped that his brother, if ever found, wouldn't have as much luck as him, just for the pleasure of seeing him pitifully struggle against the dangers that Voldemort would put in his way. Having stolen his mother, his father, the director's interest, and the esteem of those who now knew the truth, he crossed his fingers not to have to return the glory that was supposed to be his. In the meantime, he would make sure to keep it for himself at all costs.

This thought accompanied him throughout the rest of the journey, as well as Neville's presence, which, after his outburst earlier, seemed less burdensome and unpleasant than at the beginning. It certainly wasn't the beginning of a friendship in his eyes, but with Ron no longer there, and Neville showing some willingness to defend him, maybe he could take advantage of this unexpected situation to his benefit.

At least until the tide turns in his favor, and he can do without it.

🌟 New Chapter 69 Has Been Update on blog! 🌟

Hey everyone! A brand-new update is now LIVE on my blog! 🚀

🔹 Be the first to read the latest chapter!
🔹 Subscribe to my blog for early access and stay updated on all future releases.

📢 Important Note: FanFiction updates will go live a week later, so don't wait—head over to the blog now for the latest content!

peverellmagics. blogspot

Your support means everything! Let me know your thoughts in the comments. 👇😊
#NewUpdate #EarlyAccess #SubscribeNow #PeverellMagic

Step into the world of PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n! Experience where tales unfold, magic ignites, and the future takes shape.

For exclusive support and early access to upcoming chapters, join us at PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n.

Note: Get the scoop a day before anyone else! Updates release on P.a.t.r.e.o.n before they hit FanFiction. Join us for free to read ahead!