Soft sobs and quiet tears echoed throughout the candlelit room, the flickering flames casting long, trembling shadows along the stone walls—as if even the light itself wept for you.

At the front, your father stood tall, voice steady but laced with sorrow as he addressed the large crowd gathered to honor a life taken far too soon. A life that meant everything to him. A life full of potential, lost before it ever had a chance to truly begin.

Your life.

The wizarding war had claimed you—like so many others. But it was over now. The Dark Lord was gone, his loyalists either imprisoned or vanished. Some of your former friends had turned against their families to fight for the right side. It had been a costly victory. And one of those costs… was you.

At the front of the room rested your elegant, closed casket. Flowers adorned its sides, the scent heavy in the air. In the front row sat your closest friends—Pansy, Daphne, Mattheo, Theo, Enzo, Draco, and Blaise. One by one, they had spoken. Their voices shook, eyes rimmed with red, though a few managed to hold their grief more tightly than others. But it was there, etched in every posture, every breath.

And then there was Tom.

He lingered in the shadows, hidden from view. His father had fallen, and Tom had vanished into the night. Branded, hunted. But of course he came for this. He had to. You were the one person, besides his brother, that he had ever truly loved.

He couldn’t be seen. Not yet. But he watched. And waited.

When the service ended and the last of the mourners slowly trickled out, leaving only the lingering silence and fading incense behind, Tom stepped forward. He didn’t have much time before the caretakers came for the casket.

Slipping from the shadows, he moved with quiet precision toward the front. His fingers brushed along the carved wood of your coffin, tracing the intricate symbols until he reached the latch. Gently, he lifted the lid.

There you were.

Peaceful. Still. As if asleep.

His hand trembled slightly as it hovered over your cheek, then slowly traced down the curve of your face, his fingertips brushing your skin like a prayer.

“Time to wake up, love,” he whispered.

From inside his coat, he withdrew a small vial. Carefully, he parted your lips and poured the potion down your throat, then stepped back—eyes locked on your face.

A few tense moments passed.

Then, slowly, your fingers twitched. Your chest rose. And your eyes fluttered open.

You blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim light. And then you saw him.

Tom. With that infuriating, familiar smirk.

A slow smile crept across your lips as you sat up.

“So… it worked.”

He stepped closer, slipping a hand behind your neck and pulling you into a kiss—deep, fierce, and full of longing. When he finally pulled away, you were breathless.

“Oh, it worked,” he said darkly, satisfied. “They all believe you’re gone. And now… you’re free. You can be with me.” His eyes glinted. “While I decide what comes next.”

You nodded, your heart racing. You knew the plan. You knew what Tom had put into motion after his father’s fall. You had faked your death for this—so you could be with him without interference, without sides. A new path. A new purpose. Together.

And whatever came next, it would be written in fire, shadow, and bl00d.