The firelight danced across the stone walls of the room, casting flickering shadows over the tense group huddled within. Mattheo stood rigid, his dark eyes locked onto yours, his jaw clenched as though he were holding back a tidal wave of words.

“You think I had a choice?” you asked, your voice sharp, teetering between anger and despair.

Mattheo didn’t flinch. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

Harry stepped forward, his green eyes blazing. “There’s always a choice,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, shaking your head. “I don’t know how to be like you, Harry. I know you wouldn’t have done it. You probably would’ve just figured something out, right? The heroic thing, the perfect solution.”

Harry hesitated, his gaze softening. “I try,” he said simply.

You scoffed, the frustration bubbling over. “Yeah, because you’re perfect. The ch0sen one. Guess what?” You stepped closer, your voice rising as you gestured broadly. “Not all of us can be the ch0sen one. Some of us have to make mistakes. Some of us have to get our hands a little bl00dy sometimes.”

The room fell silent as your words hung heavy in the air. Your voice lowered, tinged with bitterness. “Some of us are imperfect.”

Across the room, Draco shifted, his pale face unreadable, his eyes boring into you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He didn’t say a word, but the weight of his stare was enough.

You turned away, your chest heaving with the effort to keep the emotions at bay. The silence grew thick, and for a moment, you wondered if anyone would say anything at all.