The castle lies in shadows now. The school still stands, but it's unrecognizable—towering statues of the Dark Lord stand where DumbIedore’s used to be, his red eyes following you with every step.

You walk steadily through the corridors, the soles of your boots clicking softly against the stone. Fear is a living thing here now. It clings to the air like smoke.

Behind you, Mattheo matches your stride, his voice low and amused. "You walk like you belong here."

You glance sideways at him, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Don’t I?"

He hums. "Maybe. Or maybe you just hide it better than the rest."

There’s a pause, heavy with unspoken things.

Once, you might have fought. But now... you’re quieter. Smarter. Whether that’s survival or allegiance is a question you don't bother answering aloud.

At the top of the marble staircase, you catch sight of VoIdemort himself. His eyes meet yours, sharp and calculating, and he nods once.

Mattheo leans in just enough that his words brush your ear. "Tell me, little snake... are you loyal to the Dark Lord? Or just pretending long enough to survive?"

You tilt your head slightly, pretending to consider it. "Does it matter?" you murmur. "As long as I’m winning?"

Mattheo’s laugh is quiet, genuine. "You’d fit right in."

He doesn't push for more. He knows better. Everyone plays a role now—some willingly, some because they have no choice, and some because they're waiting for their moment to strike.

You’re still deciding which one you are.

And in a world ruled by VoIdemort, that indecision could be the most dangerous weapon of all.