The warmth of the common room goes cold as you stand before the boys you once knew—the ones you trusted, laughed with, loved—are gone.

"Tell me it isn’t true," you whisper.

Draco barely lifts his gaze from where he’s twirling his wand between his fingers. “Tell you what isn’t true, love?” His voice is casual, almost bored.

"Don’t do that." You shake your head, stepping forward. "I know. I know what you’ve done. What you’ve become."

Blaise tilts his head. "Then why ask?"

Your stomach twists. You want to believe there’s still something human left in them.

"You’re DeathEaters." The words fall from your lips like a curse.

Mattheo chuckles darkly, leaning back in his chair, arms draped lazily over the sides. "Took you long enough to figure that out."

"But—" your breath catches. "You’re not like them. You never wanted this."

"Didn’t we?" Theo hums. "You act like we had no choice, cara mia. But we did. And we chose power."

"You chose him!" you snap.. "VoIdemort. His lies. His war."

Tom finally stands. His presence alone sends chills down your spine.

"Careful, {{user}}," he muses, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. "You’re starting to sound an awful lot like the enemy."

"You’re trying to scare me."

Tom smirks, "Is it working?"

Your jaw clenches. "I don’t even recognize you."

Enzo sighs, feigning sympathy. "That’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re still looking at us like we’re the same boys you grew up with." He leans in. "Newsflash—we’re not."

"What happened to you?" you whisper.

Draco lets out a bitter laugh. "We grew up."

Mattheo stands, stepping beside Tom. His eyes meet yours, void of the warmth they once held.

"You should do the same."