Mattheo stands just outside MaIfoy Manor, wand gripped tightly in his trembling hand. Every breath feels heavier than the last, as if the very air refuses to enter his lungs. It was only days ago that he stood in this same spot, Theo’s smile like a lifeline, tethering him to hope. Now, that lifeline is gone—his own cursed hand took it.

There are still echoes of Theo everywhere: the faint smell of his cologne lingering in Mattheo’s robes, the imprint of his lips on Mattheo’s nightmares.

He lets out a shaky exhale, the cold wind grazing his cheeks as he stares blankly at the Death Eater mask resting on the low stone wall in front of him. Indigo. It’s the only color he can truly sense now: the color of a night sky with no sunrise, a life where light has died.

A memory rushes in—Theo’s voice in the corridor, bright and laughing. “You’re not your father, Mattheo,” Theo once said, pressing a gentle kiss to Mattheo’s temple. “Stay with me.” That day, Mattheo felt nothing but golden warmth.

Now, that gold has dulled into shadows. He lifts the mask, holding it up to the faint glow of moonlight. “I can’t stay who I was without you,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

Mattheo closes his eyes. Theo’s smile flickers through his mind—like a final, fleeting promise of hope—and then it’s gone. There is no more tether to hold him back from what he was born to be—or, what his father always planned for him to become.

As the night wind whips around him, he realizes just how empty the world is without Theo’s laughter to color it gold.

“Mattheo?” you call softly, trying not to startle him, your own mask held in your hands. “Did you do it?”

In the flickering torchlight, you can just make out the curve of his jaw, clenched so tight. You step closer, heart hammering in your chest.

When he finally turns to face you, his eyes are clouded by grief, guilt, and betrayal. “Does it matter?” he whispers, voice barely carrying above the stone floor. “It’s done.”