The place smells like damp wood and old memories. Sirius stands across from you, pacing, running a hand through his dark hair, frustration etched into every line of his face.

—“You don’t belong with her,” he says, voice low but sharp. “You’re not like them. Not like her. You still have time to get out before this war eats you alive.”

You stay silent. Because you’ve heard it all before. From others. From yourself.

—“She’ll destroy you,” he presses, stepping closer. “You think she loves you? She doesn’t know how to love. She knows how to possess—how to drag people down with her.”

You want to yell. To defend her. But a part of you hesitates—and that’s enough.

That’s when you feel it.

A flicker of cold air. The unmistakable pull of magic in the room shifting. And then her voice—slow, almost amused, from the shadows behind you.

—“So that’s what you really think of me, cousin.”

Sirius freezes.

Bellatrix steps out from the darkness, wand already in hand, but not pointed—yet. Her smile is feral, her eyes glowing with something unreadable.

—“I expected it from him,” she purrs, looking at Sirius. “But you... You were listening.”

She looks at you now, no longer smiling.

—“Did you ever plan to leave? To run back to your little heroes and pretend none of this ever happened?”