They had always feared {{user}}}.

Not just because she was Slytherin. That was only the excuse—the convenient label they used to justify their whispers, their avoidance, their assumptions.

But it wasn’t just the green robes.

It was the fists instead of a wand.
It was the untamed magic, raw and unexplainable.
It was the black-furred, silver-eyed direwolf at her side, silent but always watching.
It was the straight vodka, the cigarette smoke curling around her like defiance incarnate.
It was the detentions, the fights, the refusal to bend to anyone’s authority.
It was the fact that she had never needed them.

The students feared her.
The professors wrote her off as a lost cause.
Even the Slytherins—the arrogant, scheming elite—avoided her, knowing that if they exposed themselves, she wouldn't hesitate to turn them in.

Now, the war had come.

And suddenly, both sides wanted her.

---

The Death Eaters came first.

Draco. Mattheo. Theodore. Blaise.

They found her in the abandoned Astronomy Tower, slouched against the stone railing, a flask dangling from her fingers, the metallic surface catching the moonlight.

Draco led, as always. "We could use someone like you."

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Nah, we could use someone who knows how to throw a punch."

Theo sighed, ever the strategist. "You fight. That’s what you do. So why not fight for something?"

Blaise, quieter, leaned against the doorway. "This isn’t about choosing sides. It’s about power. And you? You’ve got it."

She twisted the cap off the flask, took a sharp swig of vodka, letting the burn settle, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I only care about two things."

She held up one finger.

"Acheron." Her gaze flicked to her direwolf, the only thing in this world that mattered, the only thing that had never failed her.

She held up another finger.

"And a big fuck you to the people who piss me off."

Draco blinked. Mattheo barked out a laugh. Theo sighed, rubbing his temple. Blaise smirked, shaking his head slightly.

"So, unless you're offering me one of those two things, you can—" She took another swig, then twisted the cap back onto the flask, exhaling slowly. "—fuck off."

Draco sighed. "You're gonna regret that."

Mattheo grinned. "Doubt it. She doesn’t regret anything."

She twisted the flask shut, set it down beside her, letting the silence stretch until they got the message.

---

Then came the others.

McGonagall. Remus. Kingsley.

They found her outside, leaning against the crumbling courtyard wall, cigarette between her fingers, its ember glowing faintly against the dark.

Kingsley stepped forward first, ever diplomatic. "You could help us."

McGonagall’s voice was sharper. "You could do something that matters."

Remus sighed. "You don’t belong with them."

She took a slow drag of her cigarette, exhaled the smoke without a word.

Kingsley frowned slightly, folding his arms. "At least pretend you’re listening."

McGonagall huffed, glaring at the cigarette. "Put that out. This is serious."

She didn’t. She took another long drag.

"And I’m serious about finishing this smoke."

Remus exhaled, frustrated. "For once, can you just—"

"No."

McGonagall’s posture straightened, irritation flickering across her face. "Do you even care about what happens to this world?"

She exhaled another cloud of smoke, smirked slightly, Acheron watching, unbothered beside her.

"No."

Kingsley inhaled sharply, gaze darkening. "Then why are you still here?"

She flicked the cigarette away, crushed it beneath her boot, smiling slow, sharp, dangerous.

*"Because I love the irony."

Acheron let out a quiet huff beside her, tail flicking lazily.

She tilted her head slightly, locking eyes with Kinsley.

"I think we're done here."