11

I sit on my bed with Pansy, the afternoon sun streaming through the dormitory windows, casting soft, angled beams of light across the room.

My head leans against the cool wooden beams and Pansy sits opposite me with her legs drawn up, her eyes sparkling curiously.

I'm telling her about yesterday and my heart is still beating a little faster when I see her incredulous looks.

»It worked,« I say, and although I try to sound calm, I can't hide the slight tremor in my voice. »Just like you said. I kissed him and he was completely caught off guard. At first he reacted as you would expect - arrogant, dominant, you know him - but then...« I stop and look at Pansy, my lips forming into a thin line, »... then he suddenly became so ... gentle. For a moment, at least.«

Pansy grins widely, tilts her head and looks at me as if I had just given her the best gossip of the year. »So the kiss was good? Intense? Hot?«

»Hot? That's still an understatement,« I say and throw a pillow at her, which she laughs off. »It was like I was in control for a second - and that felt ... strong. Like I'm proving to him I don't need him. That I can dominate him.«

Pansy laughs, almost triumphantly. »I knew it! I told you, a kiss is the best weapon. Men like Riddle think they always have the upper hand. But if they fall in love - or just go crazy for you - then suddenly the world is no longer theirs.«

I roll my eyes. »He's not in love, Pansy. That was not the point. It was just a matter of upsetting him.«

"Whatever you say." Pansy raises her hands in a gesture of innocence, but I see the glitter in her eyes. »But why were you in his room last night? Did you plan that or...?«

The question hits me like a bolt of lightning. My body stiffens and my thoughts are racing a little.

She must not know anything about it.

Not from the second drawing.

Not from my bulimia.

No one should know that.

I feel my throat dry, but I force myself to stay calm.

»Um...« I pretend I have to inspect a loose thread on my sleeve just to buy some time. »It was ... well ...«

Pansy tilts her head. »Sarah?«

»It was because I...« My brain is working at it's full speed while I'm looking for a believable lie. »Because I had to get a book back from him. He had borrowed it and had not returned it for months. I was so angry that I just went to his room to get it.«

Pansy raises her eyebrows. »A book? What book?«

»Some stupid book about potions. Nothing special,« I say quickly and try to distract a bit from the actual question. »He didn't even use it properly, I guess. But it annoyed me that he thought he could just keep my things.«

Pansy looks at me for a moment and my heart beats so loud that I'm afraid she might hear it. Then she shrugs her shoulders. »Sounds like Riddle.«

I breathe out a sigh of relief as she continues without following up. »Well, at least you've found the perfect reason to wipe one out for him. The next time you meet him, he might get nervous. He knows now that you can upset him.«

I smile weakly and nod, but inside a storm is rageing. Pansy must never know why I was really in his room.

No one is allowed to.

A soft knock on the door interrupts our conversation.

I gasp for air, relieved about the interruption, before Pansy can ask more questions about my trip to the Matteo chaos.

»Open up, this is probably for you,« I say, pushing Pansy towards the door with a grin.

She gives me a skeptical look, but follows my request.

As soon as she opens the door, Theo leans against the door frame, a mischievous smile on his lips and his hands in the pockets of his cloak.

»Nott,« Pansy greets him dryly but I see the corners of her mouth twitch.

»Parkinson,« he replies just as formally, although his gaze is soft. »I'm going to steal you for a moment.«

Pansy raises an eyebrow skeptically. »Why, hm?«

Theo leans forward a little so close that I almost don't hear what he says. »I have a surprise for you. Just trust me.«

Pansy's cheeks take on a slight pink tone and I can't help laughing. »Oh, just go,« I say and wave her casually away. »I know that Nott stole you from me a long time ago.«

Pansy throws a half-hearted, played-insulted look over her shoulder, but Theo just grins wider. »Don't worry, Potter, I'll bring her back. At some point.«

»Don't force yourself,« I reply dryly and lean back on my bed. »But please don't be too late, she's still my roommate.«

Theo winks at me, gently takes Pansy by the hand and leads her out of the room.

The door closes behind them and the soft giggles of Pansy echo for a moment through the hallway.

I let myself fall back and stare at the ceiling. "Theo Nott, you hopeless romantic," I mutter to myself, shaking my head.

But a warm smile remains on my face as I think of how Pansy lets himself be stolen by him - every time anew.

I'm left alone, the room suddenly feels way too quiet.

My thoughts are buzzing so loud that it's almost deafening.

What am I doing here?

Mattheo Riddle that name is running through my head like a curse.

It is a mystery that I do not want to solve, but try to solve again and again.

Why did he do that?

Did he even do it?

And that kiss...

I feel my cheeks getting hot when I think about it.

My whole body was on alert, as if frozen and electrified at the same time.

It was not a weakness.

No, it was strategy.

Pansy told me to get him out of the concept – and I did.

But why did it feel so... right for a moment?

A bitter laugh rises in me. Right. What a shitty word.

Nothing in my life is right. My family is dead, my brother can hardly stand me sometimes and me? I'm sitting here trying to survive in a world that never wanted me.

And then there's this drawing.

My heart tightens at the thought.

How can anyone see me so vulnerable?

And how can Mattheo be the only one who knows about it and yet claim not to be the author.

The idea that he painted the picture makes me sick – and even more the possibility that he might wasn't.

Who else could know?

I bite my lower lip, feel my eyes burn.

No. No tears. Not again. I can't do that. I don't want that.

I wish I could be as strong as Pansy.

She goes through life like it's a game, and she's the one who makes the rules. But me? I feel like I'm just barely making it, every fucking day.

Maybe I'm, as Mattheo says, weak.

Or maybe I'm the exact opposite.

Maybe my strength lies in the fact that I'm still fighting, even though everything in me screams that I should give up.

My eyes fall on my wand, which is next to my bed.

My fingers tingle after grabbing him, doing something, anything, just to fill that void in my head.

But I'll stay down. I close my eyes, take a deep breath.

I'm Sarah Potter. And no matter how broken I am, I won't let myself be pathetic and weak.

Not because of him, not because of anyone.

Ironically, how my two personalities are the same exact opposite of each other. Ridiculous.

It feels like betrayal. Like a slap in the stomach that doesn't stop hurting that I thought that kiss was right, even for a tiny moment.

Mattheo Riddle the son of Voldemort.

The son of the man who murdered my parents, cold-blooded and without a hint of remorse.

How could I? How could I be so weak around him?

I close my eyes and see their faces in front of me – my parents.

Lily and James Potter. Their love for us, their sacrifice.

Everything they did, they did to protect Harry and me.

And what has become of it? Harry, the child prodigy, the boy who survived. The legend. Everyone knows his name. Everyone knows his scar.

And me?

I'm nothing.

No one talks about me. No one sees me. It's like my pain is worth less. As if I hadn't lost the same thing as him. Our parents died for both of us, but the world only remembers him.

Maybe I'm really invisible.

Maybe it's because I'm in Slytherin, that I'm not as brave or radiant as Harry. But I lost as much as he did. Maybe even more.

And now... now I've allowed that moment with Mattheo. It's like I've revealed everything they sacrificed. Their love, their life, everything.

How could I ever look them in the eye again if they knew what happened, not that this was possible anyway. If they knew that I felt even a hint of... whatever that was, at the son of their murderer?

My stomach tightens and I press the nails into the palms of my hands. That must not happen again. It's just not allowed.

There was a knock.

Everything in me has frozen.

My heart store for a moment, only to beat twice as fast. Fear shoots through my veins like cold water.It's always a knock. Always. And then something bad happens. My fingers automatically reach for my wand, the ankles white from tension.

Without wasting another thought, I run to the door.

This time I'm going to catch him. I will know who this is – who pursues me, who mocks me, who confronts me with these images.

I open the door.But again no one is there.

Only a piece of paper, carefully folded, lies before my feet.

My breath stops as I pick it up. My hands tremble slightly as I close the door with a quick swing of my wand and lock it - an unnecessary reflex that still gives me a touch of control.

With a lump in my throat, I return to my bed, the paper still firmly in my hand.

I sink into the mattress and look at the immaculately folded edge of the sheet.

I take a deep breath, but my lungs feel like they are full of lead.

Whoever does that knows me. Too good.

They know things that no one should know.

And that makes it all the worse.

I stare at the sheet in my hand, my breath stalls as I understand the drawing. My head feels numb, as if someone has flipped a switch that paralyzes my thoughts.

It's me. But...

How? Why?

I'm sitting there in the picture, with my legs slightly spread, so unprotected, so exposed.

My face...

It's mine and yet foreign. My gaze on the paper seems to look directly back at me, penetrating, demanding. My lips are slightly parted, as if in a silent cry. My glasses, broken, lie crookedly on my face, as if I had just lost a fight.

But the worst...

The scars.

Two fine, parallel lines on my inner thighs, right where they really are. But they are not healed, as in reality. They are open, bloody. Thick drops slide down my legs, dark stripes on the paper skin. It looks so real, so alive, as if I could feel the warmth of the blood that was once there.

My stomach is spinning, my head is throbbing. My gaze wants to turn away, but I can't. How did the person know that...?

How did this person know about my scars? No one knows about it. No one could see them, even if they were close enough. Nobody!

I rummage desperately through my thoughts, looking for an explanation, but there is nothing.

No indication, no possibility that anyone could know about it. My heart beats wildly, like a captured bird, while my head is flooded with a thousand questions.

»That... that can't be real, goddammit...« I whisper, my voice breaking. But it's real. Too real. Too perfect. I instinctively reach for my legs, the scars hidden under the fabric of my pants. It feels like they're suddenly visible, like everyone can see them.

This person... whoever it is, has reached into something that no one should touch. I feel my stomach contracting, nausea rising in me.

My gaze wanders back to the picture. My own face, drawn, with eyes staring directly at me. Almost mocking. Almost alive.

My body begins to tremble and a sharp pain runs through my chest.

Who could do such a thing? Who could know?

It feels like I'm out of control, like someone pulled me out of my own thoughts and exposed me. My secret – the one I hid with all my might – captured in a single, grotesque work of art.

I let the paper sink, but the picture burns inside me. It's like I'm not safe anymore, not even in front of myself.

I stare at the words that are in the precise, oblique writing at the bottom of the paper. My eyes fly across the lines, again and again.

"What flows in you, Potter, will resurreat him. You are as much his legacy as his mortal enemy. You are the last spark of his power. You and your brother. The curse of the wizard who was never really defeated. Do you remember how you got the scars? Do you remember the knife?"

My breath is stalling.

I hold the paper so tightly in my hand that the edges drill into my palms.

My heart beats loudly against my chest as the impossible slowly takes shape, like a dark shadow that creeps more and more into my consciousness.

Voldemort.

It's clear.

The words, the hint, the hints – they are too clear to ignore.

It's about him, about the man who took my parents' life, who made Harry and me the target of his dark power.

My head is buzzing.

No. No, that can't be.

This is just a joke, a sick, perfidious joke.

But why, why do I feel so... restless? Why does something contract in me when I read these words?

"The last spark of his power," that flows in me and Harry. My head almost explodes with thoughts that tear each other apart.

I remember how Mattheo asked where the scars on my thighs came from the night when I was drunk with him. I had told him.

And now I wonder – did he know more?

Did he feel that damn "spark" before I even noticed?

My hands are shaking and I just want to tear the drawing, throw it in the corner, just ignore it.

But the feeling remains, like a cutting wind that reminds me of the cold that runs through my bones.

And yet...

I don't want to believe it's true.

I can't believe that this monster, this man – who caused the death of my parents – is somehow connected with me, with us.

»Bloody hell...« I whisper into the silence of the room, as if it would drive away the dark thoughts.

But deep down, I know it's not that easy.

With trembling hands, I quickly hide the drawing between the others that have long been buried in my closet.

One last look at the picture that is still burning in my fingers makes me twitch for a moment.

It feels wrong to ignore it, but it feels just as wrong to keep thinking about it.

I don't want anyone else to see this picture – not Pansy, not Blaise, not Mattheo, not Harry, not Draco, not Enzo, not Theo.

I glance at the clock on the wall.

It's almost time for dinner.

My throat feels dry, like I can't eat anything anyway.

The thoughts of the picture, of the dark words, of what it means, make my stomach turn.

But I'm forcing myself to pull myself together, because I just have to get out of here now.

I can no longer stay in this room where the walls seem to crush me.

Slowly I walk to the door and close it behind me, leaving the drawings in the closet, the memory of the creepy text and the terrible thoughts like a nightmare in the back of my mind.

I still can't drive away the darkness it brings.

Despite everything that is contracting inside me, I take one step ahead of the other, as if everything could go on as usual.

As if there was no reason for my world to turn upside down.

It's time for dinner.

I'm going to Harry first, since I'm a little earlier.

As I sit down at the table, I notice that Fred and George immediately have me in their sights.

They grin at me and it's the typical mischievous grin that they like to put on when they want to tease someone.

»Well, how's the Lady of Slytherin today?« Fred asks with a winking look as he pushes himself onto the bench next to me. George follows him tightly on his heels and sits next to me as well.

Or maybe the other way around. I can't distinguish the two Weasleys still.

»Better than you, I suppose, after you try to make everyone laugh with your jokes,« I reply with a crooked grin.

»Oh, you're so cute when you try to escape us,« George laughs and I can see his eyes teasing me. »You can't get rid of us, sweetheart. We know everything about you.«

»Really?« I raise an eyebrow. »And what exactly do you know about me, huh?«

Fred leans closer to me, a flirt in his voice as he says, »Oh, we know you're the most charming, dangerous, and most underestimated person in the room.«

»Well, you're also charming when you try to flatter me,« I reply with a smile. »But I don't know if that's well received by me.«

»Oh, we are like a good brew - the longer you leave us, the better it gets,« says George, and his eyes flash at the light of the candles on the table.

At that moment, Harry rolls his eyes and sighs loudly. He plays the big brother, but in a more relaxed way, as always when Fred and George play their jokes.

»Fred, George, stop flirting with my sister,« he says, half serious, half laughing, and then shakes his head, »or at least not when I'm sitting at the table. My poor appetite.«

»Oh, we're not doing anything,« Fred replies, »she loves to get attention.«

»And if she doesn't want to, we'll leave her alone,« George adds, giving me a look that seems playful and apologetic at the same time.

»What am I actually doing here?« I say laughing, but I realize that a slight warmth is spreading in me.

It feels good to just laugh at this moment without having to think about all the other things that burden me.

Ron, who sits next to Hermione, shakes his head as he tries to get involved in the conversation.

»Don't make a fool of yourselves,« he says with a grin. »Everyone here knows that Sarah is never so easy that have.«

»Sure, Ron,« I say, still grinning, »you just have to put in a little more effort.«

»You know,« Harry suddenly says, and I notice that he has switched to the overprotective brother mode, »you are always welcome with us, Sarah. No matter what happens.«

That sounds kind of protective and I push the thoughts of the drawing and everything else far away.

It's a pleasant, familiar atmosphere where I feel a little safer again for a moment.

While we laugh and chat, Pansy also appears and the conversation shuts, but I stay for a moment with my friends who distract me from everything else, at least for that moment.

As always I say goodbye to everyone, sometimes I wonder why I didn't just beg for this damn hat to come to Gryffindor. Like Harry.

Oh. Almost forgot. I did.

Stupid hat.

I turn away from the Gryffindor table, run towards the Slytherin table.

As always, I can feel the eyes of the suspicious Gryffindors and at the same time the suspicious Slytherins on me.

Both groups somehow don't want me there. The rumors and prejudices hang over me like a shadow.

Too kind-hearted for the snake.

Too cunning for the lion.

I ignore the looks, raise my chin and run back to my table.

I sit down at the table and see how the boys and Pans are once again absorbed in an extremely interesting conversation.

»I beg your pardon? You are just jealous of my great survival skills!« Push Enzo out and stuffed his mouth with bread.

I can't help but smile. I look down at my plate, poking around in the food as usual. Use my tactics. But with the difference that I really eat this time.

My eyes meet Riddles eyes.

His gaze ran shamelessly down on me as he lightly supported his elbows on the table. He raise his eyebrow slightly and I am immediately very clearly aware that he was mocking me in his mind.

I give him a slightly disgusted look as I just continued chewing.

»Just shut up, man. Everyone knows you'd be the first to die on us.« Draco grins and ran a hand through his hair.

Enzo takes a dramatic breath, his hand goes to his heart. »You better take that back. And apart from that, we all know that you spend hours dyeing your hair, blondie.« Enzo shoots out.

»Both of you shush. You two wouldn't last a day on an abandoned island. Obviously.« Pansy grins sweetly and plays innocently.

I have to be honest, I don't understand what they're all talking about. But I feel extremely amused. Getting all the food down suddenly seems...not so bad anymore, did it...?

I smile. An honest smile.

»Just because you have Theo's tongue in your throat 24/7 doesn't mean you're automatically 24/7 right, Parkinson's,« Blaise muttered amused, whereupon Pansy's cheeks discolored and Theo has choked on his food.

I laugh out loud and shake my head. Draco's grin widens a little and even Mattheo grins slightly.

»Just because you don't get any bitches,« I mutter.

I look down at my plate. It is empty. I did it.

Empty.

»You'll take that back immediately, Potter.« Enzo almost hisses in a pouting tone. I roll my eyes and grin.

»The women are totally feral for me. They all want a portion of Zabini.« Blaise says arrogantly as he plays with my hair.

»You're all assholes.« Pansy laughs.

My plate is finally empty. I even feel quite good.

I'm not sure whether to be proud or shocked.

For the first time since... I don't know how long, I actually ate the whole plate empty.

No constant counting, no shame, no pressing in the stomach from the fear of eating too much.

It is just... normal.

I don't know if I should be proud of it or if I should despise myself for not being strong enough to hold back.

But for a moment – just a brief moment – I feel like everyone else.

We all run out of the hall together, the buzzing of conversations still in the air.

Draco makes a stupid comment, which Enzo picks up laughing loudly, while Blaise just shakes his head, a smile on his lips.

Pansy hangs with Theo behind, his hand loose on her waist, as they discuss something quietly.

Mattheo retreats without a word towards the dungeons, his gaze as cold as ever. A part of me hopes he doesn't show up again tonight.

The group begins to spread out.

Pansy and Theo disappear around the next corner and Enzo shouts something about a game of wizarding chess before turning towards the common room with Draco and Blaise.

Suddenly I'm alone, which would normally be a relief.

But now everything feels heavy, my stomach tightens, the familiar nausea rolls over me like a wave.

Panic rises in me as I look around, looking for a place to be alone.

My breath speeds up, my legs carry me almost automatically through the endless corridors.

The feeling in my throat is not to be ignored.

Finally, I push the door to the toilet open – the toilet in which Moaning Myrtle does its mischief.

A well-known place for me, unfortunately.

I lean on the sink and fight the tears that suddenly blur my vision.

My legs carry me as if by themselves in one of the cabins.

The door falls into the lock behind me, and before I can even get a clear thought, it passes me.

I bend over the toilet, my stomach contracts painfully and everything I have just eaten comes out again.

It doesn't stop.

Again and again I choke until my body trembles until my head throbs and turns black before my eyes. Tears flow uncontrollably down my face. I can't breathe anymore, I can't think anymore. My chest tightens and I desperately cling to the edge of the toilet, while my whole body shakes.

It feels like I'm drowning in myself, like I'm losing all the control I've ever had.

A high, mischievous giggle penetrates through the roar in my ears.

Moaning Myrtle. Of course.

I hear her voice, hear her say something – probably one of her typical comments full of pity and mockery.

But the words blur, do not reach me.

It's like she's miles away, like everything's getting into me through a thick glass pane.

My breath comes intermittently, short and shallow.

My throat is burning, my hands are shaking,

And my thoughts spill over in an incessant storm of self-hatred, fear and shame.

Why am I so weak?

Why can't I control this?

Why doesn't it stop?

I sit here, completely drained, my forehead leaning against the cold wall of the cabin, unable to grasp even a clear thought.

My body shaking uncontrollably. My knees are pulled close to my chest and my hands are pressing tightly against my ears as if they could stifle the noise in my head.

My eyes are tightly closed, so tight that it hurts but I can't open them. I can't see anything. I don't want to see anything.

Everything screams within me.

My heart is racing, my chest feels like it's about to break. The room turns, even if I'm sitting still. My thoughts spill over, screaming at me, cruel, cruel.

„Weak."

"You'll never be good enough."

"Why are you still here?"

"Harry wouldn't have done that. Harry is strong. And you?"

I press my hands even harder on my ears, as if they could drive away the voices.

But they come from within and there is no escape.

Why am I like this?

Why can't I control this?

My chest tightens, and for a moment I feel like I'm going to suffocate. I gasp, but it's not enough. It's never enough.

I want to scream, but no sound comes from my lips.

I want to leave. Away from here, away from myself.

But I'm trapped – in this body, in this head.

There is no way out.

And that's the worst. I am my own dungeon.

The door to the toilets slammed open and I heard footsteps approaching quickly. Even before I could collect myself, Mattheo steps up the cabin door in front of me.

His eyes immediately fall on me - curled up on the floor, tears in his eyes, weak and trembling.

»What the hell, Potter?!« His voice is loud and piercing, his face a mixture of anger and... something else I couldn't interpret. »Didn't you hear the damn announcement? Everyone should go to the big hall! There's a fucking intruder!«

Before I can react, he grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. »Get up. Immediately.«

Suddenly, Myrtle's squeaky voice sounds from the ceiling. »Oh, what a sight! Poor little Potter, dissolved like a heap of misery.« She chuckles, her voice sounding shrill and enjoyable. »And now the dark prince comes to save her. How romantic.«

»Shut up, you annoying ghost! Go cry a bit more. No one gives a damn!« Mattheo gives her a sharp look, his voice full of disgust. »Get a life - or whatever you ghosts are supposed to do...« he hisses.

»Ohhh, you're so mean!« Myrte pulls out an offended snout, but then disappears while she mutters something incomprehensible.

I feel Mattheo hold me tighter but his eyes were now looking at me more closely. »You look like you're about to faint. At least wash your face before we get out of here."

I nod weakly, unable to fight back, when he almost pulls me to the sink row.

I wash my face mechanically, the water cool and refreshing on my hot skin.

My hands are shaking and I have to hold on to the edge of the pelvis so as not to collapse.

Mattheo stands behind me, watching me in the mirror.

His gaze is impatient, but there was also a hint of concern. »Are you done?« He finally asks, his voice sharper than necessary.

I nod again, and he grabs my arm again. »Good. And now move your ass before we meet someone that's not as friendly as I am.«

But before we reach the door, something suddenly occurs to me that panics me again. »Wait!«

Mattheo groans in annoyance. »What now?«

»My wand... I don't have it! I can't go without my wand!«

His gaze becomes even darker, and I see how his jaw tightens. »stupid girl...«

He shakes his head, but grabs his forehead as if he has lost his patience with me. »All right, but if we die, it's your fucking fault.«

He pulls me out of the toilet, his grip firm and determined, while I keep still staggering behind him.

I tear my arm out of his grip, glare at him and mutter: »I can walk by myself, you know.«

Mattheo just raises an eyebrow mockingly, but says nothing.

We walk silently through the empty, quiet corridors. The darkness seems to lie around us like a pressing coat and I felt my breath get shallower. My gaze wanders nervously again and again over the school walls but no one was to be seen.

»How did you know I was in the bathroom?« I finally ask, my voice quietly, almost hesitant.

He pauses for a moment before looking at me with a sharp, cold look. »Where else should you be, Potter? You always disappear there when you...« He pauses meaningfully before continuing with a mocking grin. »—if you take care of your little damn vomiting.«

His words hit me like a slap in the stomach, and I feel my face getting hot. »You're a bastard, Mattheo,« I say, but my voice broke at the end.

He laughs dryly. »Oh, please. Do you want to tell me I'm wrong?«

I bit my lip, turn away from him again and walk faster until I finally reach my room. The door was locked and I open it with a quiet spell.

But when I open the door and enter the room, my breath froze.

I see something that will haunt me in my worst nightmares. And it wasn't small. It was all over the room. A sight that I will never forget, can not even forget if I try to.

A scream escapes me, shrill and full of panic, as I stop.

My heart races and everything in me screams to run away, but my legs refuse to move.

»Holy shit, woman! what is it now...!?—« Mattheo begins, but he broke off when he saw my condition.

I hear him behind me, but his voice was just a blurry sound in the distance. Tears flow down my face and I begin to tremble.

The panic rolls over me like a wave and I couldn't do anything but scream.

»Sarah! Stop it, damn it!« Mattheo grabs me tightly by the shoulders, but I struggled wildly, trying to free myself from his grip. Like a lunatic.

»Let go of me! It's dead! It's dead! I'm next! I'm next! Or my brother! I-I s-swear! M-Mattheo!« I scream, but my voice sounds suffocated, desperate.

»Calm down!« He roars back and before I can continue beating around me like a lunatic, he suddenly pulls me to him.

He holds me tight, presses my head against his chest and forces me to remain silent. His grip is firm but not painful and I feel his rapid breath over my hair.

»Stop... damn it, Potter, stop,« he murmurs, this time more quietly, almost soothingly. I tremble all over my body, tears still running down my face, but I am too weak to fight back.

»Why...me again and again.« I finally whisper, my voice hoarse and broken.

I am sobbing uncontrollably and loudly into his chest. Mattheo was silent, his grip on me remains strong while I sink into his arm. »You'll be alright.« is the only thing he whispers, as I feel his rapid breathing over my hair.

————————

❤️

This is my first chapter in 2025🙏. I'm really grateful that at least a few of you are reading my story.

If you have read this far and think "where is the ENEMIES part? Why is Mattheo so soft now???".

Oh babies, get prepared for a lot of tension and heartbreaks in the next chapters. Enjoy that Mattheo holds Sarah right now I just say... 🙃

- xx your Shishiiiii 💋