Betrayal.

That word clung to your thoughts like a vice wrapped around your chest, tightening with every passing second. You never imagined that the boys—Mattheo, Tom, Theo, Enzo, Draco, and Blaise—boys you’d called your friends for seven years, who knew your secrets, your pain, your heart—would just hand you over to the Dark Lord. Like everything you had been through with them meant nothing. Like you meant nothing.

The disbelief sat heavy in your bones, dull and aching. Maybe they never really cared. Maybe it was always going to end like this. But the thought didn’t feel right. They might have mastered deception, might have lied to the world, but not for this long. Not to you. There had to be more to it.

And yet… here you were.

Locked in a damp, shadow-drenched dungeon beneath some unknown manor. Cold stone bit into your knees where you sat slumped, hair falling into your face as you stared blankly at the floor. Your wrists throbbed where the enchanted cuffs pressed against your skin—dampening your magic, draining you slowly.

Only feet away, the six boys stood huddled together, their voices low and urgent as they spoke in hushed tones. You could feel their eyes flicking toward you every so often. Watching. Hesitating. The tension radiated off them like heat.

And they weren’t unaffected—not even close. Not that they’d say it aloud, but you saw it. In the way Mattheo kept pacing. In the way Draco clenched and unclenched his fists. The way Theo kept avoiding your eyes altogether. Even Blaise’s usual smirk had faded into something uncertain. And Tom—

Tom’s gaze lingered the longest.

Expression unreadable. Cold. Collected. But something shifted in his eyes when he looked at you—something quiet, something guilty. As if, for the first time in his carefully constructed life, he felt regret.

⸻

“Did he even say why he wanted her?” Mattheo finally broke the silence, his voice tight as his eyes flicked toward you, then back to the group. The others shook their heads.

All but Tom.

Tom was still staring at you—until Mattheo smacked his arm hard enough to snap him back.

Tom’s eyes narrowed as he slowly turned his head toward his brother, the sharpness in his expression warning him not to push.

“Did you hear me?” Mattheo asked again, jaw set.

Tom scoffed softly. “Yes, I heard you.”

“But you didn’t answer,” Theo cut in, brow raised.

“You look lost in thought.” Blaise said next, folding his arms. “So what’s going on in that genius mind of yours?”

“Besides all the dark secrets we don’t want to know about,” Enzo added, trying to cut the tension with a half-smile. But Draco nudged him sharply.

“Not the time.”

All eyes turned back to Tom, who—despite their words—had already drifted back to staring at you. You hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. But the ache in their chests deepened at the sight.

“Any day now, Tom,” Mattheo muttered, the edge in his voice growing sharper.

Tom was quiet for a beat longer. Then, finally, he looked back at them and spoke.

“I overheard him speaking to Bellatrix.” His voice was low. Controlled. “Something about ancient magic.”

The others exchanged glances.

“Okay, but what does that have to do with {{user}}?” Theo asked, keeping his voice quiet as his gaze flicked back to you.

Tom exhaled slowly. His next words felt heavy.

“He thinks…” He paused. Then looked directly at Mattheo. “He thinks {{user}} possesses it. That it’s buried deep in her bloodline—old, untapped power. And he wants to use it.”

Silence fell over the group like a veil. The weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating and final. No one spoke.

None of them knew that you had heard every word.

And as your fingers clenched into the cold stone beneath you, your heart pounded—not just in fear… but in anger. Because he was right. The Dark Lord had found a thread of truth. And now, you would have to decide what to do with it.