The air in the classroom is thick with silence and tension. The only movement in the room comes from the slow flick of a cat’s tail. It sits atop McGonagall’s desk, watching every breath your friends take.
Draco leans back in his chair, his voice coated in sarcasm. “We survive a fight with DeathEaters and get detention as a reward. Next time, I’ll just let them kill me.”
Enzo snorts. “Told you—McGonagaII’s secretly a sadist.”
Draco scoffs. “Didn’t realize ‘shut up and suffer’ had become Ministry policy.”
“Someone should let them know,” Enzo adds dryly. “Their strategy’s working.”
His eyes flick sideways toward Mattheo, who hasn’t looked up since they sat down. His jaw is clenched, eyes locked on some point far beyond the room.
Enzo leans in slightly. “He hasn’t said a single word in three days.”
Pansy crosses her arms. “Must be comforting, sitting in silence while the rest of us pick up the pieces.”
“Don’t be unfair, Pansy,” Enzo says. “The whole thing with {{user}} is really fűcking him up.”
She rolls her eyes. “Spare me, Enzo. He’s the one who sent her away, so he better learn to live with it.”
Mattheo’s head snaps up,and his eyes darken as they settle on Pansy. “You think this is living?”
Pansy raises her brow. “He speaks. I’m shocked.”
“You know what? I’m tired of guessing your drama, Parkinson,” Mattheo bites back. Say what the fűck you want to say or shut up.”
There’s a pause of silence before Pansy hits back. “Daphne is missing, Mattheo. And you haven’t even said her name.”
Mattheo’s face contorts with something bitter and broken. “Daphne’s missing? You don’t say. I’m fűcking fighting with the fact that she’s not here! Have you even once asked about her? No. You fűcking didn’t.”
Enzo groans as he rubs his temples. “Remind me again why we’re in detention and not therapy?”
Draco doesn’t look up. “Because detention costs less than a therapist… and watching them implode is free.”
Pansy rises from her seat and walks over to Mattheo.. “You made that choice. You let her go with Theo. And now you’re breaking down over it? That’s yours to own, Mattheo.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” he mutters, voice cold.
“At least you know she’s safe,” Pansy snaps. “Daphne is not. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. And I’m not going to sit here writing stupid essays while you wallow in self-pity. I’m going to go find her.”
She pushes her chair back with a screech and storms toward the door. But before she can reach it, the cat sitting on McGonagaII’s desk leaps down with a soft thud. The feline stretches upward and morphs back into Professor McGonagaII herself.
“You may leave, Miss Parkinson,” she says coolly. “But I expect an apology should you return in one piece.”
Enzo mutters under his breath, “I swear I’m going to hex that cat on instinct one of these days…”
Pansy takes a final look around before heading out the door.
Meanwhile, in DumbIedore’s office, the mood is colder. Dimmer. Your father paces the rug with controlled fury—his eyes betraying the storm beneath.
He hasn’t heard from you in days. Not a word. Not a whisper. With a single flick of his wrist, his voice low and commanding, he draws his wand.
“Expecto Patronum.”
A brilliant silver doe bursts from the tip, radiant and swift. It circles the office once, casting soft light on the walls of dusty portraits, then prances to the window and leaps through it—galloping into the night. It does not need direction, because It knows who to find.
You…