Mattheo leans back against the cold stone wall of the Astronomy Tower, arms crossed, a slight smirk tugging at his lips like a reflex more than a choice.

"Wasn’t that bad, really," he says casually, voice laced with his usual edge. "Sure, the Dark Lord wasn’t exactly Father of the Year, but at least dinner was never boring."

You don’t laugh. You don’t smile. You just look at him.

He notices. The grin falters for just a second, but it’s enough.

"Matty," you say gently, stepping closer, "your father was a notorious villain."

His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t respond.

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. He doesn't pull away, but his posture stiffens, like touch makes it more real

"And you were a child."

He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head as if trying to toss your words aside like water off his back. "Yeah, well. Some kids get bedtime stories. I got bIood rituals and wand drills. Guess we all have our thing, right?"

But his voice cracks just slightly at the end. You hear it, and you don’t back down.

"You didn’t ask for any of it." Your voice is steadier now.. "You didn’t ask to become a DeathEater. You were just trying to go to Hogwarts and be free."

His eyes flick to yours. For a moment, the silence between you is heavy with things he’s never said aloud.

"They called it legacy," he finally murmurs, so softly it’s nearly a whisper. "But it felt more like a life sentence."

You squeeze his hand as he lets out a shaky breath. You need to tell him that he’s not his father. That he never was. The question is: will he listen?