The night had fallen heavy over Hogwarts, a haunting chill rolling in across the grounds. The air was sharp with dread—an electric current of fear as students and professors gathered in the courtyard, wands drawn, hearts pounding.

Thunder rolled above the castle, and in the distance—beyond the gates—dark figures emerged from the fog. The Death Eaters. Cloaked in black, their faces hidden, their formation precise. And at the center, gliding forward with unnerving calm, was Lord Voldemort himself.

The Slytherin boys stood together near the front—Tom and Mattheo Riddle flanked by Draco, Theo, Enzo, Blaise, and Regulus. The air between them was tense, too still.

“Bloody hell…” Theo whispered, his voice barely audible. “He’s really here.”

Draco didn’t answer—his pale face had gone even whiter at the sight of his father, Lucius, standing tall beside Voldemort, his expression stone.

But Tom’s eyes weren’t fixed on their father. Not at first. He was calculating, cold, observing the army spreading like a storm. And then—he froze.

Because there, standing one row behind Voldemort—just off to his right—was you.

{{user}}.

You weren’t the same girl they remembered. The one who used to laugh in the library, sneak sweets into the Slytherin dorms, or cling to Mattheo’s arm when he teased you.

No. This {{user}} was different. Your hair darker, your expression colder—haunted. You stood tall, wand in hand, robes trimmed in black and silver, eyes gleaming with that same deadly calm your father carried.

Tom’s lips parted, his composure cracking for the first time in years. “…{{user}}?”

Mattheo followed his gaze. When his eyes found you, his heart stopped. “No… no, that can’t be—”

“It is,” Tom breathed. His tone was quiet, almost reverent. “It’s her.”

Blaise looked between them, disbelief flickering across his face. “Wait—that’s your sister?”

Theo’s voice was softer now, almost afraid to speak. “She’s with him?”

Mattheo took a step forward before Tom’s hand shot out, gripping his arm. “Don’t,” Tom warned, voice low. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Mattheo’s voice shook with anger. “She’s standing next to him, Tom—our father! He turned her—he did something to her—”

“I know,” Tom said through clenched teeth. “But charging in won’t fix it.”

Across the courtyard, Voldemort raised his wand, his voice carrying over the field—cold, commanding, echoing like death itself.

“Students of Hogwarts…” he began. “Tonight, I offer you a choice.”

But Tom wasn’t listening. His focus was entirely on you.

Your gaze swept across the courtyard, detached, unreadable—until it landed on them. The Slytherin boys, your brothers at the center.

For a heartbeat, everything froze. The sound of wind faded. The whispers died. It was just you—and them.

Your eyes locked with Tom’s first. Then Mattheo’s.

And in that fleeting moment, Mattheo swore he saw something flicker in your eyes—something human.

Recognition. Regret. Pain.

Tom’s chest tightened. “She remembers,” he murmured.

But before either brother could move, Voldemort’s voice cut through the silence again, venomous and sharp.

“{{user}},” he said, turning slightly toward you. “My daughter… stand by my side.”

And you did—without hesitation.

The courtyard erupted in murmurs, fear and disbelief spreading through the students.

Mattheo’s fists clenched. “He’s using her,” he spat.

Tom’s expression hardened, his voice low and calm but filled with fury. “Then we’ll take her back.”

Draco swallowed hard, eyes flicking between his father and his friends. “And what if she doesn’t want to come back?”

Tom’s eyes never left you. “Then,” he said quietly, “we remind her who she really is.”

The Slytherin boys stood behind him now, the green firelight from their wands reflecting off their faces—Enzo’s defiant glare, Theo’s tight jaw, Draco’s trembling resolve, Regulus’s steely calm.

And as the battle lines began to form, the brothers’ gazes stayed locked on you— their sister, their blood— standing at the front of the enemy line.

A shadow of the girl they once knew.