13

It's strange to be here. At the Burrow, amidst the chaos of the Weasleys, where every moment is filled with life – laughter, shouting, the clinking of dishes, and the creaking of the old wooden floors. It feels so... wrong. Too warm, too safe.

While at Hogwarts, blood clung to my walls, here everyone sits together carelessly, as if the world is still right. But it's not. Not for me.

After the incident – after everything that happened – Dumbledore decided to close the school for a while, and it's been two weeks now.

Security measures, they said. As if that would make anything better. As if I wouldn't see the words on my wall every night, no matter how far I am from Hogwarts. Over and over, those words that were written on my wall, flash before my eyes, even when I try to banish them. They won't go away.

Harry insisted that I come with him. And the Weasleys... they took me in, as they always do.

Kind, caring, almost suffocatingly loving. Mrs. Weasley keeps a constant eye on me, as if waiting for me to shatter into a thousand pieces. And maybe she's not entirely wrong in that.

Tomorrow, Hogwarts reopens, and everyone is acting like it's a good thing. But I know it's not over. It will never be over.

I'll walk those cold hallways, and the smell of blood will be in my nose again. The memories will be there waiting for me, around every corner.

And yet... maybe it's better this way. Better than sitting here, letting myself be lulled by this false warmth.

I let my gaze wander around the kitchen. Harry stands with Ron by the stove, laughing at something Ginny said, while Fred and George try to secretly sneak something into the soup bowl. Everything seems so normal. So damn normal.

I push my chair back and stand up. My legs feel heavy, as if I'm moving through thick fog.

»Mrs. Weasley, may I help?« My voice sounds calm, almost hesitant, while the usual chaos of the Weasleys rages around me. Plates clatter, voices overlap, and Fred and George are engaged in a heated battle with mashed potatoes, while Ginny shoots them annoyed glances.

Mrs. Weasley pauses for a moment, her gaze lingering on me – a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, barely noticeable, but I see it. It's always there. Then she smiles, but the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. »No, that's not necessary.« She quickly waves me off and turns back to the steaming bowls on the table.

I open my mouth to say something. »But—«

»We're almost done, just sit down already,« she interrupts quickly, her tone meant to sound friendly, but it's far too practiced. Too dismissive.

I press my lips together and nod slowly as I step back.

A part of me wants to convince myself that I'm imagining all of this. That there's no difference between me and Harry, that I'm just imagining their glances, their slight sighs when I enter the room.

But deep down, I know better.

Since I was sorted into Slytherin, something has broken – invisible but undeniable. She doesn't see me the same way she sees Harry. I'm not her golden boy, not the shining hero she so willingly welcomed into her family.

I am... different. A Slytherin. A Potter, yes, but... somehow not.

And maybe it's always been this way. I was just too blind to see it.

The Weasleys all settle around the large wooden table, the familiar chaos quiets for a moment as everyone finds their place.

Plates are passed around, bowls of steaming food placed in the center. Harry sits between Ron and Ginny, while Fred and George argue over the potatoes, claiming one of them took more than the other.

Mrs. Weasley sits down with a satisfied sigh, throwing Harry a warm look. »Harry, dear, I heard Professor McGonagall praised you a lot for your last Quidditch match. You really have a talent for it.«

Harry's ears turn slightly red as he nervously pokes at his peas with his fork. »Oh, well... It was just... teamwork.«

Ron snorts. »Come on, Harry, you nearly led us to victory all on your own.«

»That's true,« Ginny agrees, sending Harry an honest smile. »You were really great.«

Mrs. Weasley nods proudly and starts heaping mashed potatoes onto Harry's plate. »I just don't know where you get it all from. Your parents would be so proud of you, dear.«

I sit quietly in my place, pushing my food around on my plate without actually eating.

My hands are clasped together under the table, my gaze fixed on the steaming plate in front of me. The conversation flows on about Quidditch, school, and everything in between – but I feel like a stranger at the table.

Suddenly, I feel a shift beside me. Mr. Weasley leans toward me, his voice soft and gentle. »Is everything alright, darling?«

I blink in surprise, pulling myself out of my thoughts and looking into his kind, concerned eyes. Mr. Weasley has never stopped being nice to me. Never stopped treating me with warmth, even if it's different from how he treats Harry.

I force a smile onto my lips, a tired one, but hopefully convincing. »Yes, everything's fine, Mr. Weasley. Thank you.«

He studies me for a moment, as if sensing that there's more behind my smile, but he eventually nods and turns back to his plate.

»Ginny, could you pass me the bread?« he asks, and the conversation resumes.

My gaze drifts back to my plate. I never thought that a simple dinner could feel so heavy. Or maybe I did. It always felt heavy to sit at a table with food.

While everyone laughs and chats, this invisible weight stays on my shoulders. Mrs. Weasley's quick, almost imperceptible sideways glances, always when she thinks I won't notice. The way her smile always becomes a little firmer when it meets mine.

It's not the same.

It was never the same.

And maybe it never will be.

I push my plate aside, my stomach feeling uncomfortably empty, despite the few bites I've forced myself to swallow. The smile on my lips is weak, but it serves its purpose. No one asks questions.

»I... I'll just step outside for a moment,« I say quietly as I stand up, carrying my plate with trembling hands to the sink. Mrs. Weasley merely nods absently, too busy clearing the rest of the dishes to pay me any attention. Of course.

On my way to the door, I hurriedly grab several pieces of parchment, a quill, and a small ink bottle from the desk in the hallway. The door creaks quietly as I open it, and a cold draft hits me.

I sit on the top step of the porch, the moonlight bathing the surroundings in a pale, silver glow. My fingers tremble as I dip the quill into the ink and write the first letters on the parchment.

To Pansy.To Theo.To Enzo.To Draco.To Blaise.

The familiar names on the paper make my chest tighten, and I bite my lip to hold back the tears that are welling up in my eyes. It feels wrong. All of this. I shouldn't have to send these letters with Harry's owl. My owl... my faithful, loving Cassia... she should be here. She should be waiting for me, with her gentle, wise eyes and soothing coos. But instead, she's gone.

A muffled sob escapes me, and a tear falls onto the parchment. I hastily wipe it away and force myself to keep writing.

𓆗

I lie on the couch in the living room, the darkness of the night pressing heavily on my shoulders. The house creaks, the distant rustling of the wind – everything feels so suffocating. I toss and turn, but sleep won't find me. My thoughts won't allow it.

I think of Hogwarts. Of the Great Hall. Of the blood. Of Cassia. Of Mattheo. Of the looks from the others. How they stare at me as if I'm a broken artifact that can't be fixed. And then tomorrow. The return to where all of that happened. Where I'll be with my friends again... if they're still even my friends.

A soft knock at the window jolts me from my thoughts. My heart leaps as I sit up and hurry to the window. Harry's owl is perched on the windowsill, proud as ever, extending its leg to me. I hesitate for a moment, gently stroking its feathers before untying the scroll.

Draco wrote back.

My gaze darts over his handwriting.

Surprisingly, it's not the usual sarcastic scribble, but – for him – almost disturbingly nice. Of course, he couldn't resist teasing me a little, but somewhere between the sharp comments about my »dramatic fits« and my »talent for attracting chaos«, there was something else.

An invitation.

He wanted me to visit him. Supposedly to make sure I didn't »sulk in self-pity« any more, but I can read between the lines.

A small smile curves on my lips. Draco Malfoy, actually offering me a place to stay. I never would have dreamed of this.

A soft sigh escapes me as I skim the letter again.

A stupid idea flashes through my mind, a really stupid one. But when have I ever listened to my sense of reason?

My gaze drifts to the mantel, where a small jar of Floo powder sits. I know I shouldn't do this – not now, not tonight. But the thought of staying here, just another minute in this house where I feel so out of place...

A slight grin creeps onto my lips as I decide. Quickly, I pack a small bag with the essentials.

I grab the Floo powder and step into the fireplace. My heart races, my fingers tremble slightly as I throw a small handful of powder into the flames.

Green fire erupts, and I step into it.

»Malfoy Manor,« I mutter.

As soon as I step out of the green flames, I gasp, startled, and gasp for air. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to orient myself.

The fireplace I just came from is large and ornately decorated, but the dim light that barely filters through the long hallways makes everything feel even more eerie.

I feel goosebumps rising on my arms. It's silent – too silent. It should be this way, it's the middle of the night, but still, the goosebumps remain.

I swallow hard and take a cautious step forward, my boots leaving a barely audible echo on the cold marble floor.

My eyes scan the entrance hall. The room is vast, with high ceilings that seem to stretch into nothingness. Dark portraits of motionless figures hang on the walls, their gazes making me feel like they're watching me. Shadows dance across the floor as weak moonlight filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I step slowly, each footfall careful and deliberate. The eerie atmosphere of the manor is almost suffocating, every creak of the floorboards makes me flinch. I breathe deeply and try to suppress my growing anxiety.

Then I pause. Everything is so quiet that I wonder if anyone is awake at all.

Suddenly, I feel two strong arms wrap around me from behind. A hand presses firmly over my mouth, stifling my startled scream that dies in my throat.

My heart races, panic surges within me, and I try to break free, but the grip is too strong.

Just as I'm about to fight back, I'm abruptly spun around. A quiet, amused laugh sounds, and I look directly into Draco's grinning face. He raises an eyebrow, his silvery gaze sparkling with amusement in the darkness.

»I didn't know you'd visit me so early, Potter,« he murmurs with a teasing undertone, slowly removing his hand from my mouth.

I exhale, relieved, and lightly smack him on the chest. »You bloody idiot, you almost gave me a heart attack!«

Draco just laughs softly and pulls me into a quick, unexpected hug. I return it and briefly rest my head on his shoulder. His familiar presence calms me, even though the scent of expensive perfume tickles my nose.

»You're insane, you know that?« he murmurs, holding me at arm's length again as he looks me over. »How did you even get in here? Did you raid the Weasleys' fireplace?« He grins slyly, his voice playfully outraged.

I roll my eyes. »I just borrowed some Floo powder. It's called initiative, Malfoy.«

»Initiative, sure,« he responds dryly. »And what if my mother had discovered you? Or worse, my father?«

I shrug and grin slightly. »Then I would've claimed I was an Auror searching for dark magic.«

Draco rolls his eyes and chuckles softly. »Trust me, that would've been your last visit.«

We stand there for a moment in silence before he suddenly grabs my hand. »Come on, before one of the house-elves spots you. They're worse than my mother.«

I let him pull me along, my steps echoing softly through the endless corridors of the Malfoy estate.

On the way to his room, I let my gaze wander through the gloomy, elegantly adorned hallways. The Malfoy manor is enormous, much larger than I imagined, and every corner seems like it could conceal a dark secret. My heart still beats a little faster than usual, but Draco's relaxed demeanor calms me slightly.

»I thought your parents didn't hate me... not that much... at least,« I say quietly, stealing a quick glance at him. My voice sounds more uncertain than I'd like to admit.

Draco flashes me a brief grin before responding dryly: »Not you, Potter. Your brother, though.« His voice is calm, but there's something in his gaze that makes me flinch.

I swallow hard. »Well, that's comforting,« I mutter, trying to cover up my nervousness with sarcasm.

He suddenly stops and leans casually against a wall, his gray eyes drilling into mine. »You know, if they caught you here... they wouldn't throw you out, Sarah. They'd try to make you one of us.«

I furrow my brow, looking at him with a mix of curiosity and unease. »Do you really think I'm that easily influenced?«

Draco shrugs. »I think everyone has a price.« He studies me intently, as though looking for a crack in my facade. »But I give you maybe a week before my mother tries to introduce you to dark magic. And my father... well, he'd probably insist you associate with the right people.«

I cross my arms in front of my chest and look at him challengingly. »Like you?«

He laughs softly. »Exactly. And I'm bad enough, right?«

I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips as I follow him again. »You're the worst, Malfoy.«

»I know,« he grins and opens the door to his room.

When I step inside, I'm surprised at how neat it is. Dark wooden furniture, green curtains, and an impressive bookshelf on the wall. A large fireplace gives off dim light, and the bed in the middle of the room looks absurdly comfortable.

I raise an eyebrow. »Nice bedroom. I would've expected it to be... well... creepier.«

Draco throws himself on the bed and snorts. »Trust me, there are creepier rooms in this house. You don't want to know what's in the east wing.«

I give him a skeptical look as I slowly scan the room.

I lie down next to him on the bed, my head sinking slightly into the soft pillows, and I stare at the dark ceiling, which is decorated with fine silver patterns.

The atmosphere in Draco's room is surprisingly calming, almost cozy – and that in a house that should be making me feel fear and dread.

I don't say anything, just let the silence hang between us as my thoughts flit around like loose threads.

My lips press together as a particular face suddenly crosses my mind – Lucius Malfoy. A cold shiver runs down my spine, but I blink it away.

No one knows I want to speak to him. No one must know. Not even Draco.

Suddenly, I feel him casually drape his arm over my shoulders. His touch is unusually warm, yet so typically careless, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

»So, what really brought you here?« he asks finally, his voice lazy but with a hint of curiosity.

I hesitate for a moment, weighing my words. »I... just wanted to get out,« I say, turning my head slightly toward him. »Hogwarts opens again tomorrow, you know. I thought I'd take the opportunity.«

Draco snorts softly. »So you decided to show up in the middle of the night? You could've just sent another letter, Potter.«

I laugh quietly, though I feel tense on the inside. »Come on, Dray, a little adventure never hurt anyone.«

He raises an eyebrow and eyes me skeptically. »Or you're just suicidal. I mean, do you know where you are, right?«

I shrug. »Maybe I like the risk.«

Draco grins slightly. »You're crazy, you know that?«

»Says you, of all people,« I retort, turning on my side to look at him more clearly. His blonde hair is slightly disheveled on the pillow, and his eyes sparkle with amusement in the weak light from the fireplace.

For a moment, everything is quiet. Only our breathing and the soft crackle of the fire fill the room. I wonder if he notices that I'm hiding something from him. But he doesn't say anything further, and I let my thoughts drift back to the ceiling while my heart feels heavy in my chest.

I lie next to Draco on the bed and stare at the damn ceiling. My head is full, way too full, and yet it stays silent between us for now. The room is dark, only the faint glow from the fireplace illuminates the corners, and Draco's arm rests so casually over my shoulders, as if it's the most natural thing in the world that I'm here.

»So, Potter, what are you really doing here?« he asks again, his voice lazy, but I hear the curiosity behind it.

I sigh softly, my gaze still fixed on the ceiling. »Couldn't sleep, the Weasleys are annoying, and I wanted to get out before I lose it.«

Draco snorts and turns his head to me. »Right, because it's a good idea to just walk into a house full of people who don't really want you here, in the middle of the night.«

I laugh dryly. »Just leave me alone, okay? Better than putting up with Mrs. Weasley's fake act any longer.«

He raises an eyebrow. »Fake act?«

I turn slightly toward him. »Yeah, man. She acts all nice, but you should see the look in her eyes when she thinks I don't notice. She doesn't treat me like Harry. I swear, she looks at me like I'm... I don't know...« I bite my lip and stare into space.

Draco stays quiet for a moment, then leans a little closer to me. »You know, Potter... maybe it's just that she feels it instinctively.«

I furrow my brow. »Feels what?«

He shrugs, his grip on my shoulder tightening a little. »That you're different. That you're not just some Gryffindor in green. You're a Slytherin, Potter. Not without reason."

»Cut the crap, Draco,« I murmur, but somehow, the thought lingers in my mind.

He grins crookedly. »I'm just telling it like it is. Your brother, the Weasleys—they can't accept it. But you? You fit in here. More than you think.«

I turn back to lie on my back and stare silently at the ceiling. Somehow, I hate that he's saying this... but a small part of me? Wonders if he's right after all.

I keep staring at the ceiling, while Draco's words echo in my head. A Slytherin. Not without reason. I don't know if it's because I'm tired or if it really stirs something in me, but I can't shake it off. Maybe he's right. Maybe I was never meant for Gryffindor.

»You really think I belong here?« I ask softly, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Draco turns onto his side, resting his head on his hand and looks at me. His expression is no longer mocking, but... serious. »I think you're trying to fit yourself into a world that doesn't want you, Potter. And that's going to break you eventually.«

I swallow hard. »Yeah, but—«

»No buts,« he interrupts. »Stop apologizing all the time, stop asking if you're enough for anyone. You're a damn Slytherin. And the world is scared of us—rightly so.«

I snort quietly. »Sounds like you're proud of that.«

He grins. »I am.« Then he becomes serious again. »I mean it, Sarah. You can try to fit in, pretend you're one of them... but deep down you know you're not. You're not like your brother.«

My heart tightens when he says that. »I don't want to be like Harry.«

»Good.« He leans back and stretches. »Then stop tearing yourself apart for him and his shitty group of friends.«

I bite my lip. »Easier said than done.«

Draco looks at me as if he wants to say something else, but then we hear it—a loud, metallic screech followed by heavy footsteps echoing through the house. I flinch, and Draco immediately sits upright.

»What the...?« I murmur, my heart racing.

Draco's gaze turns tense. »The gates.« His voice is tight. »Someone's coming.«

My breath catches.

Draco sits up abruptly, his face suddenly tense, panic flashing in his otherwise calm gray eyes. »Shit. Shit, shit, shit.«

I immediately sit up, my heart pounding in my chest. »What? What's going on?« I ask frantically, my eyes darting to the door. The footsteps grow louder, echoing down the halls like a looming storm.

Draco runs a hand through his hair, his breath coming quicker. »Death Eater meeting,« he hisses, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

My stomach knots painfully, and a wave of cold sweat crashes over me. »What...? Draco, I—«

He grabs my hand, his fingers icy cold. »They can't see you. Damn it, Potter, if they find you here, you're dead. Got it?«

Draco's head snaps around, his eyes locking onto the door. The footsteps are getting closer. Far too close.

»Shit, someone's coming this way,« he hisses, and before I can even react, he grabs me roughly by the arm. My heart races as he pulls me hastily through the dark room. »Draco—«

»Get in there, now, and don't make a single sound!« he snaps sharply, yanking open the wardrobe door and pushing me inside without hesitation. Before I can protest, he slams the door shut, and I hear the soft click of the lock.

Darkness. Tight. I can hardly breathe, my head pounding against the back of the wardrobe as his hurried steps echo outside.

I press my hand over my mouth to stifle the sob that rises in my throat. I can't cry. Not now.

Then I hear his voice, muffled through the wood. »Stay quiet. I'll handle it, Potter. It'll be fine.« His tone is far too rushed, too tense, for me to believe him.

I squint my eyes shut as my thoughts race in panic. What if they find me? What if they figure it out? Draco's parents... Voldemort... I swallow hard, tears burning in my eyes.

Why did I even come here? I should have known this was a terrible idea.

The footsteps stop outside the door. My breath halts. I bite my lip, flinching as I hear voices. Male voices. Deep, dangerous.

My heart is beating so loudly that I fear they can hear it.

Draco starts speaking nervously, but suddenly the door bursts open with a loud bang. I flinch, my heart skipping a beat. I hear heavy footsteps, then a familiar, dangerously calm voice.

»Father says you need to come downstairs. It's important,« Mattheo says. His voice sounds neutral—too neutral.

I hold my breath, pressing myself deeper into the wardrobe. Please just leave, I silently beg.

But then, it goes quiet.

Too quiet.

»Why are you so damn tense, Malfoy?« Mattheo's tone shifts. Suspicion laces his words, sharp and cold.

I bite my lip, my hands trembling slightly as I try to stay as quiet as possible. Draco mumbles something, his words incoherent, frantic.

But Mattheo isn't satisfied.

Suddenly, I feel it—this strange, invisible presence that pushes into one's mind.

My entire body freezes.

No. No, no, no.

Legilimency.

Mattheo is in Draco's thoughts.

I can hear the faint grinding of Draco's teeth, his panicked breathing. »Get out of my fucking head, Riddle,« he hisses, but I know it's too late.

Suddenly, I hear fast footsteps coming toward me. Draco tries to stop him, but with a single, murmured »Expelliarmus,« he is thrown aside. A dull thud, a muffled grunt.

My stomach tightens painfully.

Then I hear Mattheo in front of the wardrobe. He murmurs a spell—»Alohomora.«

The door bursts open abruptly, and cold light spills onto me.

I stare into Mattheo's dark, merciless eyes.

Mattheo's eyes widen, a look of sheer shock and uncontrollable rage flashing in them.

His brows furrow, his jaw clenches as he stares down at me. I can barely breathe, my heart hammering against my ribs as if it's about to burst.

Without another word, he spins around, covering the distance to Draco in a few steps, and grabs him roughly by the collar. I gasp softly as Draco's back slams against the wall.

»You brought her here?« Mattheo growls, his voice a dangerous whisper filled with unrestrained fury. "Have you lost your damn fucking mind?! She's going to die!" His fingers dig deeper into Draco's clothes, his face just inches from Draco's.

Draco winces, but says nothing. I see him swallow hard before he tries to free himself from Mattheo's grip. But Mattheo releases him abruptly, shoving him almost carelessly aside and turning immediately back to me.

Without hesitation, he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me roughly out of the wardrobe. My breath catches in my throat, tears well up in my eyes, and panic surges within me. I hastily wipe my face, but my hands tremble. »Mattheo! Please!«

Draco growls lowly, »You can't take her to the Dark Lord! This is madness, Mattheo!« His voice is hoarse, yet determined.

But Mattheo shows no mercy. His eyes are cold, his voice a soft, dangerous hiss: »We're all dead if I don't do this! You damn fool! You think my father won't feel her fucking presence? He'll kill us all. You! Your parents! Her! Me!«

I wipe the tears away quickly, forcing myself to stop crying. I can't— not now. If I break down, I won't survive this. I have to stay strong. I must.

Mattheo's grip on my wrist is tight, almost painful, as he drags me relentlessly through the dark halls of the estate. Draco pleads behind him, but I can't make a sound.

My heart races in my chest, my thoughts tumbling over each other. I can barely keep up with his pace, stumbling now and then, but he drags me on. His face is like stone, not a trace of doubt or hesitation.

Finally, we reach the great hall, and I instinctively hold my breath. The heavy doors are already open, and the air inside is thick, filled with a sense of darkness that nearly suffocates me.

Immediately, everyone turns. Eyes pierce into me, cutting through me. Whispers flutter, some full of disgust, others amused.

»A Potter...« I hear someone hiss with a vile smile. »How interesting.«

Another Death Eater chuckles softly. »Slytherin or not – a Potter is still a Potter.«

I bite my lip, my head lowering slightly, but Mattheo remains unmoved. He stands firm, his grip on my wrist tightening for a moment.

»Father,« he says coldly, his voice echoing through the room.

Lucius Malfoy's eyes widen when he sees me, and a shocked scream escapes him. »Draco!—« But before he can say another word, Voldemort calmly raises his hand, and the room falls silent. Lucius immediately shuts up as if he never spoke.

My gaze shifts around. Narcissa's eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, I see pure fear in them – an involuntary, almost maternal reaction that disappears as quickly as it came. Draco's gaze, which I immediately catch, is filled with concern and uncertainty as Lucius grabs him. But then, our eyes move to Voldemort, and a cold, paralyzing sensation spreads through me.

There are no words for what I'm feeling right now.

I stand here, part of the Slytherin family, but in the eyes of all these people, I'm still a Potter.

Lucius's gaze, full of accusation and a desire to humiliate me in front of everyone, is almost palpable.

But what terrifies me the most is the way everyone falls silent after Voldemort's hand gesture. All these monstrous, dangerous people—they have power. Power that doesn't exist in my hands. Yet despite that, they all fear just one man.

I am here, trapped in this room, surrounded by the worst creatures there are. And as I feel the coldness of the people around me, a sudden uncontrollable tremor stirs within me.

They are all Death Eaters, all loyal to Voldemort.

And me? What am I?

A wave of panic spreads inside me. But I can't run. I can't even cry. Only the cold, cruel knowledge that I am now in a room full of people who will forever see me as what I never wanted to be: the child of a Potter. I loved being a Potter. But I hated being inconspicuous. I hated that everyone only saw Harry as the hero.

But what now? Now I hate myself for being as noticeable as a decorated turkey about to be served as the main dish.

A potential target for anyone who pledges themselves to the Dark Lord.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my body, but the fear that settles in my chest won't let me go.

In this moment, I realize that I am much more than just a Potter.

I am what the Malfoys see in me: A weapon to be used. But for what? For what purpose? And can I escape this fate, or am I already lost?

I hold Voldemort's gaze, his cold eyes fixed on me as though he sees everything within me, every slight tremor.

I must stay strong. There is no turning back. But what comes now?

I pull my arm away, trying to free myself from Mattheo, but he just tightens his grip.

An angry, almost panicked feeling overwhelms me, and without thinking, I shove him.

»You're a damn bastard, Mattheo!« I yell at him, my voice trembling with rage. »Don't think you can force anything on me here! I hate you, you goddamn bastard!«

My heart pounds wildly in my chest, the anger flows through my veins, as if it's turning the fear surrounding me into something else.

I'm angry, angry at everything that brought me here—at Mattheo, at Voldemort, at this whole damn situation that I can't escape from.

Mattheo tightens his grip, and I feel the fury rise within me as I struggle against him.

But then I hear Voldemort's cruel laughter, and the sound cuts through the room like a knife.

He's laughing at me. At my desperation, at what I've become.

I try to collect myself, but the laughter echoes in my ears, and it feels as though it's suffocating me. My body is cold, and my hands tremble as I try to stay calm.

Every fiber of my body screams to run away, but I am here, trapped in this room, surrounded by people who would prefer to see me dead. I don't want to appear weak, but it's hard to bear Voldemort's gaze, so full of contempt and power.

I take a deep breath, trying to fight the feeling of helplessness that overwhelms me. But it's hard to resist what surrounds me. Mattheo's cold, hateful stare, Voldemort's cruel laughter—it all becomes too much. And I know I have no control over this situation.

But I will not give up. I cannot give up.

Voldemort takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming, as if he's twisting the very air. I can feel the cold breath of his breath as he leans over me. My skin burns as his long, cold fingers glide through my hair, as though he's examining me, looking right through me.

»What a beautiful young woman you've become, Sarah,« he whispers with a diabolical grin, his thin lips curling. The words echo in my head like sharp knives. »So much anger, so much beauty in one body. Almost a shame to harm you, isn't it?"

I tense up as he turns his gaze on me, like a predator that's finally found its prey. His voice is cold and sarcastic, and I try not to be affected by the fascination he seems to have for me.

»Did you actually like my drawings?« he asks in a mocking tone, his eyes gleaming at the hint he throws into the air. »Or was it your beloved owl Cassia, who stood by you so loyally? What a faithful companion, don't you think?«

He mocks me, and it feels as though he knows every one of my weaknesses and is playing with them. My heart races. I fight against the waves of panic rising within me, but Mattheo's grip on my arms leaves me no space to escape.

I squirm more, trying to free myself, but it's useless. Every breath of freedom seems to drift further away, while Voldemort edges closer to me.

I stare directly into Voldemort's eyes, even though my heart is pounding in my chest and my body feels as though it's frozen in cold steel. I resist the looming presence surrounding him, this creeping fear that constantly tries to break into me. But I won't break. Not now. Not before him.

»You're a monster,« I finally speak with a firm voice, even though the words burn like fire on my tongue. »And I will never stand in your shadow, no matter how many times you try to break me! Because you know what?... You're weak.«

The air is still. An unbearable silence, broken only by the soft, shocked murmurs of the Death Eaters. »Can she really say that?« I hear from somewhere in the rows, a voice full of horror. »The girl is insane.«

»What a disobedient little damn brat!« another whispers, and I feel every Death Eater's gaze on me, a mix of disbelief, disrespect, and also... concern.

I ignore them. I ignore everything around me, even Voldemort's cold smile. Instead, I search for the familiar faces in the room that are still here. And there, from the corner of my eye, I see them.

Draco. Narcissa. Both staring at me, their eyes wide, a mixture of shock and... fear? Yes, fear. Fear of me. Fear of what I do now, what I don't do, what I could still do.

Then my gaze shifts further. Theo. Enzo. Pansy. Blaise. All Death Eater children. Their faces twisted with a blend of regret and some kind of silent, desperate hope that I won't continue acting like this. That I'll stop.

Their gazes meet mine, and it breaks my heart. Their eyes are full of fear, as if they want to warn me, hold me back, so I don't make the final mistake. But I see it in their eyes—they can't help me.

None of them can help me.

But I won't bend.

Mattheo pulls me towards him. Suddenly, I feel his hand around my neck, tight, suffocating, and his hissing voice slices through the silence of the room.

»Behave, damn it, Potter,« he hisses, the words sharp as knives.

His touch is like ice, so cold it shoots through my entire body. Where is the boy who once held me back when I cried because his father killed my owl? Now, only the boy before me remains, completely swallowed by the darkness. I hate myself for even thinking for a second that Mattheo could be different.

I hate him.

The warmth I once saw in his eyes is now gone. Only a cold, empty gaze remains.

His grip tightens, my throat aching as he continues to torment me. No sign of tenderness, no trace of the person I once knew.

In his eyes, there is nothing but merciless cold.

Voldemort's laughter echoes through the room, a cruel, hearty laugh that freezes the blood in my veins.

It feels as though he is mocking me, mocking the situation, which to me is no longer funny. Then, suddenly, he falls silent, his smile vanishing as he continues to stare at me with a gaze so penetrating that it steals the breath from my lungs.

»Mattheo.« His voice is calm, but the command in it leaves no doubt about his power. Mattheo releases me, and I stumble forward, my neck aching, but I try to steady myself. My hand grips my throat as I take a deep breath.

Voldemort steps closer, his eyes full of dark intent. He lets his power seep into me, trying to invade my mind, but he meets resistance. It hurts as he attempts to carve his way in, but I stand firm. I won't allow it.

He looks at me, a slight smile on his lips, but it is not kind. »You are stronger than I thought,« he murmurs, his voice so cold I almost shiver.

He grabs my chin, pulling my face toward his. I feel the coldness of his hand on my skin. But before he can say anything, I sharply knock his hand away. »I have a deal for you,« I say coldly, without hesitation, without letting the fear that stirs inside me take hold.

The silence in the room is suffocating. All the Death Eaters are staring at me, some gasping as they realize what I just said. Pansy steps toward me, but Theo holds her back, wrapping his arms around her as he senses the tension in the air. I see the worry in his eyes, as well as the fear in Enzo and Blaise's, watching me as if they don't know what will happen next.

But they can do nothing. There is no going back.

And I know that I've just made a dangerous move.

I take a step forward. My gaze remains firm, unshaken, as if I'm finally breaking free from the role of the innocent Potter.

I look around, the cold, hateful glares of the Death Eaters piercing me, but they don't reach me. For a moment, I'm not the weak girl hiding in the shadows of others.

No, today, I'm stronger, more confident than I've ever been. I am no longer just Harry Potter's sister. Today, I am Sarah Potter, and I won't let anyone decide for me.

I turn my head toward Mattheo. Our eyes meet, and in that moment, all I see is the fear in his eyes—the fear he desperately tries to hide.

But it's not enough. His icy gaze, promising to break me, reveals more than he intends. I know he's scared. I can see it in his eyes. And that is what makes me stronger.

I take a deep breath, trying to suppress the nervousness rising within me. I can't appear weak—not now. Not in front of all these people, not in front of Voldemort, not in front of Mattheo.

I take a step closer, my heart pounding loudly in my chest, but I hold Voldemort's gaze. He stands before me, bigger, stronger—but I won't bend. I am no longer the innocent Potter they all think I am. I feel the cold eyes of the Death Eaters on me, but I ignore them as I speak with icy clarity.

»I know you want Harry. You've had him in your sights for a long time. You feel him—he carries a piece of you within him.«

I pause, as the heavy silence fills the room. I can feel their gazes, all the Death Eaters lurking like predators in the dark. I sense the fear within me, but I refuse to let it weaken me. I let my gaze sweep over the crowd, seeing the looks of my friends—terror, panic in their eyes, their silent plea for me to end this madness.

»Take me,« I continue, my voice cold, cutting. »That's my deal. Keep Harry out of it. I will give you everything—information about Dumbledore, about Hogwarts, about everyone in this damn castle. I will help pave the way for your path to domination, to everything you've ever wanted. But...« I take another step closer, my eyes locking onto his, unshakable. "Keep. Your. Filthy. Hands. Off. My. Brother. Voldemort."

The silence is deafening. No whispers, no coughs. Only the slow pounding of my own heart in my ears. I know I've just crossed a line. A line that has no return. But I won't be swayed.

The reaction is immediate—my friends scream, horrified and desperate, but these are merely faint background noises, fading away in my ears. The entire hall stares at me. Their faces are twisted in shock, horror, and something that looks like fear. But I hold their gaze unwaveringly.

»By Salazar, no! Are you fucking insane?!« Mattheo roars, his face a mix of anger and fear. But before he can do anything further, Voldemort raises a hand.

The room freezes in an instant, and an eerie stillness spreads as Voldemort takes control.

His eyes lock onto me, and the expression in his gaze is more than just calculated. It's merciless, penetrating. When he finally speaks, his voice is so cold it cuts through to the bone. »And how can I be sure you'll keep your end of the deal, sweet little Potter?«

His words slice through the air like a sharp blade, a threat that feels almost tangible.

I hear Pansy, quietly sobbing. Her wails pierce my consciousness, but I can do nothing. No one can do anything.

The entire hall is frozen, as the words hang in the air. Enzo, Blaise, Theo, Draco... they all stare at me, their eyes full of fear and shock, as if they're unsure of what they're witnessing.

They can't do anything. Not now, not here. It's as if the whole world around me has come to a standstill, as if time itself is holding its breath.

I feel the cold stares of the Death Eaters, waiting for my decision. My voice, firm and clear, contrasts sharply with the chaos bubbling inside me. I know what I'm doing, but that doesn't change the fact that it's the last thing I ever wanted. It feels like a painful betrayal, like a dark, icy chain wrapping around my heart. But there is no other way.

Mattheo... I know what he's thinking, even if he doesn't say it aloud. He hates his father. He hates this moment, just as much as I do. He can't do anything, just like I can't. He feels just as trapped as I do, only he hides it differently.

But the truth is, no one here knows what I'm really planning.

My thoughts fly to Harry. To my brother, whom I want to protect so desperately. I never wanted him to grow up in this world, to fight in this war.

But I will protect him, no matter the cost. Even if I have to go through the very pit of hell.

I do this for Harry. For my family.

I was never worth as much as Harry was. I was beaten as a child for not keeping my mouth shut. I was called too fat, too ugly by my own aunt, until I developed bulimia.

I was never worth anything.

I was never someone who was noticed when I was gone. I was never someone who could make people smile just by my presence.

And the only time I thought I had a secret admirer, someone who might actually see me and care, turned out to be the Dark Lord, chasing after my brother.

If I'm good for nothing else, I'll do the only thing that could protect my brother.

My words break through the silence, loud and clear. »The Dark Mark would prove you my loyalty,« I say, my voice firm, but inside, I am nothing but chaos. I hate this. I hate this moment. I hate what I'm doing.

But if this is what it takes to save my brother, then it's what I must do.

I feel everything inside me rebelling against this decision, but I don't allow my emotions to weaken me. I have no other choice. No one here has a choice.

I will do anything for Harry. Even if it means allying myself with the demons of my own family.

The room is deathly quiet. The words I just spoke echo in my head, as if they are being repeated over and over, becoming embedded in the walls of this dark hall.

I see the faces of the Death Eaters, their gazes piercing me like cold knives, but I also see the horror in the eyes of my friends—in Draco's, Enzo's, Theo's, Blaise's, and Pansy's eyes. They can't comprehend it. None of them knew that I was planning this. None of them knew I had forced myself into this cruel decision.

Mattheo turns to me, and I see a mixture of anger, disappointment, and despair in his gaze. He doesn't speak. He can't speak. But I feel it. I feel his pain and helplessness like a stab to my chest. He hates what's happening here, just like I do. But he knows there's nothing he can do. Just like I do.

The whole situation feels like a nightmare. It feels as if the ground beneath me is opening up, like I'm sinking into an endless abyss that keeps pulling me deeper. But I hold on. I cling to this decision, even though it tears me apart.

Voldemort's voice interrupts my thoughts, and I see him slowly rising. He walks toward me, and I can't help but take a step back. But I stand my ground as best as I can. My heart beats fast, but I try to maintain control. I can't let myself be weak now.

»I think we understand each other,« he says, his words hissing like a serpent. »You will help me overthrow Dumbledore. You will help me solidify my power. And in return, I will spare your brother.«

His gaze is like a cold, relentless beam that pierces me. And for a moment, it feels as though he wants to invade my mind. But this time, I can resist him. I hold onto my thoughts, protect them from him, even though I know he can feel it.

I nod without saying a word. That's enough for him; he understands. But it's not enough. It will never be enough. I know I can't get rid of him now, that he has me in his power.

And what I promised him is no easy way back. I've sold a part of my soul, and I will never be the person I once was.

I feel an icy hand close around my heart, and I know that this is only the beginning. But now it's too late to go back. I have no choice anymore. No one here has a choice.

The voices of the other Death Eaters echo through the room, a jumble of outrage and doubt. »This can't be!« one of them yells. »She's a Potter! This is impossible!« Another Death Eater adds, »You can't accept her, Dark Lord! She's a mistake!«

But Voldemort's face only becomes more impassive, almost hostile. With a single, icy glance, he quiets the room, and then hisses, »Silencio!«

An eerie, thundering moment of silence follows, as the voices of the dissenters vanish into nothing. The atmosphere is heavy, as if the room itself is holding its breath. No one dares to say another word. All eyes are on me.

Voldemort slowly turns toward me, and with a sudden, deliberate movement, he grabs my arm. The coldness of his grip makes me gasp, but he lifts me into the air as if I were nothing more than a puppet. My body trembles, but I hold his gaze, trying to push back the fear. But inside, everything boils—a storm of panic, dread, but also a burning sense of revulsion.

»This is your new place,« Voldemort speaks coldly, his voice reverberating through the room, drowning out all other sounds. »You will join the Dark Army, Sarah Potter. Now you are a member of the true power.«

I feel the room closing in around me as all eyes are on me. The gazes burn into my skin. Some are curious, others full of rejection and hatred. And then... then I see the looks of my friends. They are shocked, full of fear. Their gazes hurt more than anything else. Their concern, their agony. I feel their pain like a blow to my chest. I whisper only, ‚I'm sorry...'

Draco looks at me, his gaze broken, his eyes full of disappointment and sympathy. But even he knows there is no going back now. He sees a stranger in me, someone who is no longer the Sarah he once knew. And that hurts more than anything.

I keep scanning the room, see Narcissa's concerned gaze, and then my eyes meet Mattheo's.

In his eyes, a mix of anger and disappointment flashes. But he says nothing. No one says anything. They are all silent, yet I hear the words in their heads, all echoing in a quiet chorus: ‚How could you?'

But there is no turning back. I cannot go back. I am here, in this room, among these people who want me to be one of them. And I know that in this moment, I am no longer the Sarah I once was.

My chest tightens. The weight of this decision hangs on my shoulders like lead, and yet... I can do nothing. I must endure. I must survive.

»What's next, my dear?« Voldemort asks, his gaze hungry, as though he wants to tear me apart. But I can't do anything, can't respond. I'm too weak, too broken to resist him now.

His words hit me like a blow. A bitter, cold pain sears through my body as I look at him. My gaze is full of hatred as I try to conceal the torrent of emotions that are building inside me. I feel like I've just betrayed everything I ever held dear – my family, my brother, my friends. My heart beats as though it's desperately searching for a way out of this nightmare.

But I know there's no way out anymore.

With a sharp tug, I pull my arm from Voldemort's grip. It's like a physical act of defiance, even though it changes nothing. »I have school tomorrow, so I have to go back. Just like your son and the other Death Eater kids here.« I say coldly, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. My words sound as if they were made of ice. Every sound I make feels like a lie.

He laughs softly, and that sound makes my skin crawl. »Such a... beautiful... and yet such a temperamental young woman...« he says, his voice full of contemptuous provocation.

I feel my stomach twist, but I suppress it. I am stronger than that.

»My son. Take her back to the...« he stops abruptly, then looks at me directly, as if reading too much in my gaze. A dark grin spreads across his face.

»Weasleys,« I say coldly, as he tries to find the right words to match his shadows.

»...Weasleys...« he repeats with a malicious grin, letting it hang in the air like a puff of poison. »Take the rest of the gang with you, my son. I think they'll for sure want a little talk with our new...member.«