BeIIatrix stands before you like a phantom born of fire and ash—wild-haired, wide-eyed, and smiling as if the war never ended. Her voice slithers through the air. “Did you miss me, baby?”

Mattheo’s jaw tightens as he stands beside you with his wand clutched.* “I thought you were—”

“Dead?” she finishes for him, cocking her head with a manic tilt. “Oh, my pretty little foolish Mattheo. Death is for the weak. I’m so much more than that.”

She steps closer, her dress trailing behind her like a shadow. Her eyes rake over him. “Look at you. Your father’s son in every way. Power in your veins, darkness in your bones... yet here you are, kneeling for the daughter of a traitor.”

Her gaze flickers to your stomach—hungry, hateful.

“This child is not yours,” she hisses. “It’s the Dark Lord’s. And I won’t let you and your filthy little whorė stain it with love.”

Mattheo steps forward, his voice low and threatening. “Call her that again and I’ll remind you what I really inherited from my father.”

The sound of someone apparating fractures the silence as Tom advances, calm and cold. “He didn’t give you rage, Mattheo. He gave you restraint.”

He turns his cold gaze on BeIIatrix. “And you, Mother… should remember what fear feels like.”

BeIIatrix lets out a twisted laugh, though it wavers for a second too long. “My firstborn,” she sneers. “How precious. You were meant to lead legions, not protect little traitor whorės with soft eyes.”

Tom steps forward slowly, his presence commanding the room. “And you were meant to be a mother. But all you ever led was ruin.” His eyes are devoid of any warmth. “You will stay away from her.”

Her smile widens into something monstrous. “So you love her too? How touching.”

“No,” Tom says calmly. “What’s touching is your delusion. You never built anything. You clung to what he left behind. You didn’t raise us… you survived us. Funny, isn’t it? The only child you want is the one you didn’t manage to break.”

Her face twitches.

“You were necessary,” she reminds them. “Your father wanted heirs. Weapons. I gave him what he needed. And in return? I got weakness.” Her attention turns back to Mattheo. “Disappointment. Pathetic sentiment over a stupid little girl you should’ve erased, Mattheo—instead of fuckıng her and handing her power she never deserved.”

Mattheo doesn’t flinch. “She had power long before I touched her.”

BeIIatrix takes a step forward. “That child is mine.”

Mattheo steps in front of you. “It will never be yours.”

Her smile fades. “We’ll see, my love,” she threatens as she disappears back into the shadows.

One by one, DeathEaters begin to appear. Apparating into the room like ghosts of a war that refuses to die.

“Theo—apparate her out. Now. Don’t tell us where,” Tom commands.

Theo hesitates, eyes flicking to you. “She can’t. It’s too dangerous—”

“I’m not leaving, Tom,” you say, stepping forward. “I came here to fight.”

Mattheo turns to you, desperation sharpening every word. “Yes. You are.”

You shake your head. “No. I’m not running.”

Around you, the DeathEaters begin to move, tightening the circle.

“There’s no more time,” Tom warns before he casts his first hex.

Mattheo looks over his shoulder at you. His eyes are soft, despite the war behind them. “I love you. That’s why I’m asking you to go.”

As you reach out to touch Mattheo, Theo seizes your hand. The world shatters into a crack of light as the two of you apparate away.