Mattheo

When Mattheo Riddle turned eleven, his trip to Ollivanders was unlike anyone else’s. The yew wand with its Thestral tail hair core fit his hand as though it had been waiting for him. Ollivander’s usual curiosity turned grave. He explained the wand was one of only two, carved from the same branch of blackthorn, their cores drawn from the same Thestral’s tail. Such “twin-born” wands were bound by ancient magic — if they ever connected, they would awaken a soulbond, revealing the wielder’s fated other half. Mattheo dismissed it as myth, but the words never left him. Far from him, (y/n) Lestrange lived her first ten years inside Azkaban. Born to Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, she grew up in cold stone corridors, surrounded by Dementors and her mother’s fierce devotion. Her father was distant, a looming shadow rather than a constant presence. At eleven, the Ministry removed her from the prison, sending her to Hogwarts. Summers were spent with the Malfoys — a place of silver spoons, cold stares, and unspoken expectations. Her wand was as unusual as her life. Ollivander insisted on crafting it by hand, selecting blackthorn and a Thestral hair taken from the same creature that had given Mattheo’s core. When she asked why it felt different, Ollivander only told her, “Its twin will find you when the time is right.” Through their early Hogwarts years, Mattheo and (y/n) existed in each other’s periphery. They were both Slytherins, both the children of feared Death Eaters, yet their worlds rarely overlapped. Until the afternoon in their sixth year when fate stepped in. The library was nearly empty, rain muting the castle’s usual noise. They reached for the same book at the same moment. Their fingers brushed — and both wands hummed in unison from where they rested in their pockets. The magic was warm, electric, alive. It wasn’t the soulbond’s full awakening, but it was the spark. Neither of them understood the true force they’d touched — not yet.