Tom stands at the end of the dim corridor, wand gripped so tight that his knuckles blanch. You stand only a few paces away, the weight of his gaze bearing down on you like a storm on the verge of breaking. In the faint torchlight, you notice the flicker of conflict in his dark eyes—once softened by your presence, but now guarded, distant.

He used to glow like gold whenever you were near. You were his tether, his break from the weight of destiny that threatened to consume him. He even dared to think, in hushed, hopeful moments, that perhaps he wasn’t irredeemable.

But now, in the hush of this moment, the gold is gone.

“Tom,” you breathe, voice catching in your throat. “You don’t have to do this.”

His jaw clenches, and for an instant, you catch the tremor in his wand hand. “You were nothing but a distraction,” he says, though his voice trembles with an edge of regret. “A beautiful, dangerous distraction… and I can’t afford that anymore.”

You dare to take a single step forward, reaching out. “You’re hurting—I know you are,” you plead. “We can—”

“No.” The syllable cuts through the air. The fleeting warmth you once saw in his eyes snuffs out, replaced by the deep, swirling indigo of a soul drowning in its own darkness.

He raises his wand, and your heart thunders. There’s a beat of silence where you see the guilt flicker across his face—the briefest glimpse of the boy who shone like gold in your company. Then, wordlessly, he utters the curse.

A brilliant flash. Pain—then nothing.

The corridor dims again, silent but for Tom’s ragged breathing. He lowers his wand, shoulders shaking with the aftershock of what he’s done. No more gold, no more flicker of light. Only indigo—the color of regret, of lost possibilities, of a heart that was almost saved… then snatched back by the darkness.