The courtyard buzzed with chatter. You stood by the fountain, its cool mist brushing your skin, but even the serene sound of water couldn’t calm the storm building in your chest.

They were there—Regulus and his friends, lounging like kings of the castle. Tom leaned against a column. Draco and Blaise exchanged quiet laughs, while Mattheo spun his wand with practiced ease. Theodore stood in quiet amusement. Lorenzo observed everything with a slight smirk. And at the center, Regulus stood, his dark hair ruffled by the wind, his gray eyes unreadable.

Your chest tightened. You remembered the first time you met Regulus. You’d been cornered by some of these very boys, wands drawn, ready to hex you for daring to cross their path. Regulus had stepped in, his wand raised, and ordered them to stop. His words were sharp, but his actions had been protective. You’d thought, perhaps naively, that he was different.

Now, as their laughter grew louder and their glances sharper, you felt the weight of that moment twist into bitter irony.

“Look at her,” Draco said. “She looks like she doesn’t even know why she’s here.”

Mattheo’s grin widened. “Sweetheart, you’re the main event.” His wand flicked lazily in your direction.

You turned your gaze to Regulus. “Are you going to let this happen?” you asked.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you.

“She thinks you’re going to save her, Reg,” Blaise said with a laugh. “Isn’t that sweet?”

Before you could react, a flash of light erupted from Mattheo’s wand. The curse hit you squarely in the chest, sending you stumbling back.

You forced yourself to stand, the sting of the curse paling in comparison to the betrayal burning in your chest. Your eyes found Regulus again. He was watching you now, his face a mask of cold indifference. But beneath it, you swore you saw something flicker—guilt, maybe, or hesitation.

“Coward,” you hissed, the word heavy with pain and anger.

For a moment, his jaw tightened. But then he turned away, his back to you as he walked off with his friends.