The world slows as the sickly green light streaks toward you. There’s no time to move, no time to think—only the sudden weight of Mattheo knocking you to the ground.

The Killing Curse hits him instead.

The impact sends him crashing beside you, his body limp, his breath coming in ragged gasps. A choked sob rips from your throat as you scramble toward him.

"No—no, no, no—" your voice cracks as you shake him gently.

VoIdemort stands motionless, as if he, too, hadn’t expected Mattheo to step in the way. The battlefield around you blurs, the sounds of battle fading under the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

"How could you do that?" you cry, hot tears spilling down your face. "Why would you do that?!"

Mattheo blinks up at you, his usually sharp eyes dull with pain.

"You were in trouble," he breathes. "And I was protecting you."

"You idiot—" your voice breaks as you watch him struggle to keep his eyes open.

His fingers brush weakly against yours, his touch feather-light. "You always called me reckless."

"Because you are," you remind him, your grip unrelenting.

But even as you hold onto him, you feel it—the inevitability of what’s slipping away.

VoIdemort watches in cold silence, unimpressed, unfeeling. His own father doesn’t even spare him a second glance.

But you do.

"Stay with me," you whisper desperately.

Mattheo exhales shakily, his fingers curling slightly around yours.

"I wish I could."