The air was thick with frustration, but Mattheo sat in a corner, uncharacteristically quiet, his head in his hands.

“You dove her straight through the battle!” Theodore’s voice rang out, low but sharp, as his eyes bore into Tom. His usual calm was nowhere to be found, replaced by a rare stormy intensity.

“Are you kidding me?!” Tom shot back, his composure cracking. “Come on, man! What else was I supposed to do? Just stand there and—”

“Guys, stop!” Pansy’s voice cut through the clamor, her tone desperate as she stepped between them. “This isn’t helping! What’s done is done—arguing about it won’t change anything.”

But they didn’t stop. Blaise tried to interject. “Listen, we all made choices out there. None of us were prepared for how it went down—”

“Choices?” Theodore interrupted, his voice laced with disbelief. “This wasn’t just a choice. This was her. And now she’s—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, his voice catching in his throat.

Draco chimed in, attempting to defuse the growing fire. “Theo, Tom—we’ve all lost people. This isn’t on him.” His tone was softer than usual, but it only seemed to fuel the anger in the room.

The argument escalated, voices rising in a chaotic symphony of blame and pain. Everyone was speaking at once, their words tripping over each other in the heavy air.

Except for Mattheo.

He sat apart from the group, his usual spark dulled. His fingers dug into his dark curls as he stared at the ground.

“Mattheo—say something!” Pansy’s voice wavered as she turned to him.

But Mattheo didn’t move.

His silence was deafening, louder than all the shouting in the room. For the first time in anyone’s memory, Mattheo had nothing to say. The group fell silent, their words dying out one by one as they turned to look at him. Theo’s anger melted into guilt, Tom’s frustration softened into something that looked like regret, and even Pansy’s lips trembled as she realized the depth of Mattheo’s loss.

Finally Mattheo lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed, "It doesn't matter. She's gone."