CHAPTER FIVE
❝ SKYFALL❞
TRIGGER WARNINGS || Language,, Death,, Violence,, Mentions of Death

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THE NEXT morning, the Great Hall buzzed with uneasy murmurs, the usual clatter of breakfast muffled beneath the weight of something unspoken. The air felt thick, charged with the kind of tension that only came when something terrible had happened.

Atticus barely had time to register the strange atmosphere before a copy of the Daily Prophet was slammed onto the table in front of him. Axelle stiffened beside him as they read the bold, black headline. 'MINSTER OF MAGIC DEAD - FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED!'

Atticus's breath caught. His hands trembled as he smoothed the paper out, scanning the article with wide eyes. The words blurred together - an attack, late in the night, no suspects yet, security measures increasing. Axelle was silent, their fingers curled tightly against the table. "We just wrote to them," they murmured. "We just sent that letter."

Atticus swallowed hard, his mind racing. "Do you think-" He cut himself off, unsure how to even phrase it. Did someone want to silence the Ministry? Was this connected to the fear they had written about? Axelle's jaw tightened. "I don't believe in coincidences."

Atticus looked at Axelle. "If the Ministry wasn't listening before..." he exhaled, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him. "They have to listen now." Axelle's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Or they're already too late."

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Zelda sat at the edge of her bed, turning the vial over in her fingers. The liquid inside shifted, dark and viscous, like ink swirling in water. It almost seemed alive. She should've been scared. Should've felt something other than the cold, creeping weight settling in her chest. But fear had abandoned her a long time ago - around the same time she realized her mother was never coming back.

Roman's words still echoed in her mind. "Slip it into someone's drink. Any drink. Your choice."

It was a test. A way to see if she was really willing to cross the line. Her grip tightened around the vial. She had no intention of following orders blindly. If she was going to do this, it was going to be on her terms.

Zelda spent the next day watching. Studying. If Roman was testing her, then she was testing him right back. She paid attention to who he spoke to, who he avoided. She watched for the names that carried weight, the ones that made others lower their voices when they entered the room.

And then she found her target, Marcus Flint.

Arrogant and cruel with a reputation for tormenting Muggle-borns - and Muggles, when he got the chance. She'd seen the way he sneered at her in the halls, how he spoke about people like her as if they were less than nothing. He wouldn't think twice about hurting her. So why should she hesitate?

The opportunity came faster than she expected. The Great Hall was loud that evening, students laughing and talking over dinner. Zelda moved carefully, a ghost among them, unnoticed as she slipped through the crowd. His goblet sat half-full at the Slytherin table, his attention elsewhere as he laughed with his friends. He was distracted - now or never.

Zelda pulled the vial from her pocket, her heartbeat a steady drum in her ears. With a swift, practiced motion, she tipped the contents into his drink. The dark liquid mixed seamlessly, vanishing into the deep red of his wine.

She stepped back, blending into the movement of the hall, forcing herself to walk at a normal pace. Seconds later, Marcus lifted the goblet to his lips.

Zelda didn't stay to watch, she didn't need to.

By the time she reached the corridor, she heard the first choked gasp behind her. The sound of someone struggling for breath. The scrape of a goblet clattering to the table...Zelda kept walking.

Roman wanted proof? He had it now.

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Lola stepped back, admiring her handwork. The flyer was centered perfectly on the corridor wall, the enchanted ink shimmering between shades of gold and deep purple for dramatic effect.

'Tea Party in the Common Room  - Tonight!
Fancy cups, good gossip, and possibly enchanted biscuits! Be there! - Lola'

She clasped her hands together, satisfied. "Lola."

She turned to find Dante, Atticus, and Axelle standing a few feet away, staring at the flyer like it had personally insulted their bloodlines. Dante squinted. "Tea party?"

"Yes!"

Axelle pointed at the flyer, unimpressed. "Why?" Lola sighed as if she were explaining something very simple to three very slow children. "Because I want to. Not everything I do has to be deeply analyzed, you know!" She playfully remarked with a cheeky smile.

Dante adjusted his tie, arms crossed. "That's where you're wrong. Because historically speaking, every time you organize something, it ends in disaster."

Lola gasped. "That is so unfair!" Dante held up a hand, already counting on his fingers. "The Yule Ball prank war, the 'accidental' love potion experiment, that time you thought you could outsmart Graves-"

"Okay, first of all," Lola cut in, "the Yule Ball thing was not my fault, that was mostly Zelda's idea, and Peeves had it coming. Besides, this is just a simple, wholesome tea party."

Axelle scoffed. "Wholesome? You? Perfect."

Lola huffed. "It's tea and snacks and polite conversation-"

"Since when do we do polite?" Dante interrupted.

"Always! But there will be tea, and there will be biscuits, and I will be drinking out of a ridiculous floral teacup because it's cute."

Atticus sighed. "You do realize this is going to attract absolute chaos, right?" Lola clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Obviously. But that's half the fun!"

Axelle rubbed their temples. "If I show up and this is just a cover for some kind of emotional intervention, I swear on Merlin's beard-"

"Oh, no, no, no." Lola grinned. "This is just tea. The emotional interventions happen after." Dante ran a hand down his face with a chuckle. "We should not go."

A long pause.

"...But we're going, aren't we?" Axelle muttered.

Atticus exhaled through his nose. "Mhm." Lola beamed. "Brilliant! Bring sugar. And extra biscuits...incase the kitchens do try to hex me."

Dante was already walking away. "We're going to regret this."

"You always say that," Lola called after him. "And I'm always right!"

Axelle groaned. "If I get emotionally vulnerable at this stupid tea party, I'm hexing you." Lola winked. "No promises." The trio trotted away with chuckles.

Lola was still admiring her flyer when a familiar, unsettling presence crept up beside her.

"You're joking." She turned to see Clyde standing there, his usual expression of detached boredom in place, arms crossed as he stared at the parchment like it was a personal offense.

Lola blinked innocently. "About what?" Clyde gestured vaguely at the flyer, then at her, then back at the flyer. "This...you. Hosting a tea party again but with more people?"

"Yes," she said, smiling. "Tea party and more students. More fun!" He stared at her for a long moment, then at the shimmering words again, as if waiting for them to rearrange into something less absurd.

"...Why?"

Lola groaned. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Maybe I just want to do something nice!" Clyde raised an eyebrow. "You really do 'nice.' But you also do 'mildly concerning with a 60% chance of property damage.'"

Lola gasped, clutching her chest. "That is so unfair! There is absolutely no way property damage happens at this tea party!" Clyde just looked at her - internally amused.

"...Okay," she admitted. "There is technically a non-zero chance." He made a vague, "There it is," gesture.

She huffed. "Look, I promise, it's just a normal, civilized event. Tea. Biscuits. Probably gossip. You know, human things like last time!" Clyde narrowed his eyes. "I don't trust it." The Slytherin teased.

Lola rolled her eyes. "You don't trust anything."

"Correct." He glanced at her, then back at the flyer, then exhaled through his nose. "What time?" Lola blinked. "Wait...are you coming?"

Clyde scowled, like she'd accused him of something terrible. "No."

"Then why do you need to know the time?" Clyde's jaw tightened slightly. "Just...in case."

Lola smirked. "In case of what?" He turned, already walking away. "You'll find out."

"Oh my Merlin," she called after him. "If you crash my tea party with some elaborate, brooding villain act, I swear-"

He didn't answer, marching away and digging into his pocket for possibly a cigarette.

Lola watched him disappear down the corridor, then turned back to the flyer, considering. "I should probably set up some protective enchantments."

________________________________

Roman moved through the castle like a shadow, his steps careful, deliberate. The corridors were near silent at this hour, only the occasional flicker of torchlight and the distant hoot of an owl breaking the stillness. He kept his head down, the charmed coin burning in his pocket, as if urging him forward. He wished he could ignore it - pretend this wasn't happening. But that was a luxury he no longer had.

At the base of the Owlery's winding staircase, he hesitated. It was one thing to exchange notes in hidden crevices, to pretend this was just a game of secrets. But meeting face-to-face? That changed everything. He curled his fingers around his wand and forced himself to move.

The climb was slow, each step creaking under his weight. The smell of feathers and old parchment filled the cool night air, and as he reached the top, the wind cut through his robes, sharp and biting. Owls rustled above, shifting on their perches, their golden eyes glinting in the moonlight. And then he saw them.

Two figures stood near the arched window, their black robes blending into the night. One was tall, broad-shouldered, his face hidden by the hood of his cloak. The other was slighter, their posture poised, confident. When they turned, the faint light caught a familiar serpent-shaped ring on their finger.

"You took your time," the smaller figure drawled, their voice smooth, unreadable. "We were beginning to think you'd lost your nerve." Roman forced his voice steady. "I'm here, aren't I?"

The tall one chuckled, low and knowing. "That remains to be seen." A hand reached into the darkness, and something small and silver gleamed in the moonlight. Roman knew, without asking, that this was a test. And there was no turning back now.

Roman stared at the object in the figure's palm - a small, silver dagger. Its blade was thin, delicate, but deadly sharp. The moonlight glinted off the edge, casting a faint gleam against the cold stone floor. He didn't move.

"Take it," the hooded figure said, their voice low and firm. Roman's fingers twitched at his side. He didn't need to ask what this was for. They wanted proof, commitment, obedience. His stomach twisted, but he forced his face into something unreadable. Hesitation was weakness. Weakness was dangerous.

He stepped forward, plucking the dagger from the figure's grasp. The handle was cold against his palm, the weight of it far heavier than it should have been. The smaller figure - clearly the one in charge - tilted their head, watching him with something close to amusement. "You understand what we're asking of you, don't you?"

Roman forced himself to nod. They moved closer, so close he could see the faint curl of a smirk beneath their hood. "There's a rat in the castle," they murmured. "Someone who talks too much. Someone who betrays."

Roman's pulse roared in his ears.

A name was slipped into his hand, scrawled on a scrap of parchment. He didn't look at it. He couldn't.

"Consider this your initiation," the figure said. "A test of loyalty." Roman clenched his jaw. They were watching him. Waiting.

His fingers tightened around the dagger. His heart pounded against his ribs. And in that moment, he realized something.

He had never been more trapped than he was right now.

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Freya stood before the tall mirror, smoothing out the delicate folds of her lavender dress. The soft chiffon fabric shimmered under the boutique's golden lights, its floral embroidery catching the light with every tiny movement. She turned slightly, examining the way the skirt fluttered around her ankles.

Lola, perched on a plush velvet ottoman, sipped her iced tea with a thoughtful expression. "It's beautiful," she mused, tilting her head. "But I think the blue one might be even better. It'll bring out your eyes."

Freya sighed, half in amusement, half in exhaustion. They had already gone through half a dozen dresses, each one more charming than the last. But this tea party wasn't just any gathering - it was an afternoon affair in a sun-dappled garden, complete with porcelain teacups, delicate pastries, and an air of effortless elegance. She wanted something perfect.

With a playful twirl, she disappeared behind the dressing room curtain, calling over her shoulder, "Alright, alright! But if this one isn't the one, you're trying on the next dress!"

Lola laughed, setting her tea aside. "Deal."

As they wandered through the boutique, Freya's excitement grew. The perfect dress was only the first step - now came the finishing touches.

Lola led the way to a display of elegant shoes, running her fingers along the rows of dainty heels and ballet flats. "Something simple, I think," she murmured, scanning the options. "Maybe ivory?"

Freya reached for a pair of pale satin pumps with delicate lace trim. She slipped them on and took a few careful steps, feeling how they hugged her feet just right. "These?" she asked, looking to Lola for approval.

Lola studied her, then nodded. "Yes, those are perfect. You'll float across the garden like a dream."

With the shoes decided, they moved to the jewelry counter, where glass cases gleamed under soft lighting. Freya traced a finger over a pearl bracelet, its creamy luster catching her eye. She fastened it around her wrist and smiled. "Simple, classic, and tea party appropriate," she said.

Lola grinned. "Now for your hair." She picked up a delicate silver hairpin adorned with tiny crystal flowers. "This, right here. Just imagine it tucked into soft waves."

Freya held the pin between her fingers, turning it in the light. It was exquisite - subtle yet beautiful, the final touch to tie everything together. "Alright," she said with a satisfied sigh. "Now I'm officially ready."

Lola linked her arm through Freya's as they walked toward the register. "You're going to be the most stunning person at the party."

Freya nudged her playfully. "Second most stunning. You still have to pick your dress."

Lola gasped in mock horror. "Oh no! We got so caught up in your outfit, we forgot about me!" She spun dramatically toward the racks of dresses. "Alright, my turn. Let's find something that'll make me look just as dazzling."

As Lola flipped through a rack of floral dresses, the boutique door chimed, and Zelda strolled in, her hands tucked into the pockets of her sleek robe. "Oh no," she said flatly. "What have I walked into?"

Lola gasped dramatically and clutched Freya's arm. "Zelda! Perfect timing! You need a dress." Zelda blinked. "Do I...for your silly tea party?"

"Yes," Lola said firmly, already grabbing a handful of options. "You can't wear your usual dark and brooding  colors to a tea party. It's practically a crime." Freya smirked from her seat, sipping her iced tea. "I'd actually love to see you in something floral - I'm sure it's cute!"

Zelda exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You two are ridiculous." But before she could make a break for it, Lola was already shoving a pale pink dress into her hands. "Try this one!"

Zelda held it at arm's length like it might bite her. "Lola, be serious." Lola rolled her eyes and swapped it for a deep emerald green gown. "Fine, this. It's dramatic, mysterious - very 'dangerous heiress at a garden party.'"

Zelda studied the dress, then sighed in exaggerated defeat. "If I do this, will you both shut up about it?" Freya and Lola exchanged a look. "No promises," Freya said, grinning.

With an eye roll, Zelda snatched the dress and disappeared into the dressing room. A few minutes later, she stepped out, her usual air of disinterest still intact - but even she had to admit, the dress looked incredible. Lola clapped her hands in delight. "Oh my god, you look like a princess!"

Zelda crossed her arms. "I look like someone who got tricked into this nonsense." Freya grinned. "And yet, you haven't taken it off."

Zelda huffed but turned back to the mirror, adjusting the fabric slightly. "Fine. Whatever. I'll wear it. But if anyone at this tea party spills tea on me, I'm killing them." Lola linked arms with her and Freya. "Deal. Now, let's get you some heels."

Zelda groaned. "You're pushing it."

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Clyde had felt something was off for days. Dante had been avoiding him - keeping conversations short, slipping out of rooms the moment Clyde entered. It wasn't just guilt. It was fear...and Clyde had a sinking feeling he knew why.

He found Dante alone in an empty corridor, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His expression was unreadable, but Clyde could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged like the weight of something unbearable was pressing down on him.

Clyde didn't bother easing into it. He had no patience for games. "What did you do?" His voice was cold, steady. Dante didn't look at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Clyde grabbed his arm and yanked him forward, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Don't play dumb. You've been acting off for days. I know you did something." His grip tightened. "Tell me now."

Dante hesitated, jaw clenching. Then, finally, he exhaled sharply and muttered, "I got Roman involved." Clyde felt the world tilt beneath him. His grip on Dante loosened, then dropped entirely.

"You what?" His voice came out hoarse, disbelieving. Dante finally looked at him - guilt-ridden, exhausted, defeated. "I had no choice."

Clyde barely heard him. His mind was already racing, a fire burning beneath his skin. Roman, Lola's brother. Clyde's chest tightened, his hands curling into fists.
"You dragged Roman into this shit?" Clyde's voice was dangerously low now, barely restrained fury. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Dante swallowed hard. "My grandfather - he's been on my back, pushing me to prove my loyalty. I tried to resist, but then he..." His voice wavered. "I didn't know what else to do. It was either give them something or risk them looking at me instead."

Clyde let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "So you sold out Lola's brother instead?" His eyes were burning now, his whole body tense. "You know what that would mean for her....for him? And you still did it?"

Dante flinched. "I thought-I thought I could control it. That I could keep him from getting too deep-"

"You don't get to decide that!" Clyde snapped, stepping closer. "You don't get to gamble with someone else's life and pretend you can keep them safe." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You're a coward, Dante." Dante's face twisted with something- shame, anger, regret - but Clyde didn't care.

"You better pray I can fix this," Clyde muttered, his voice ice. "Because if something happens to Lo-Roman, I swear, you'll wish it was your grandfather you had to deal with."

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed off. Clyde found Roman near the staircase leading to the common room, flipping through a book absently, completely unaware of the storm heading straight for him. Roman barely had time to react before Clyde grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the stone wall of the corridor.

The torches flickered from the force of it, shadows stretching long across the empty hallway. Roman let out a low chuckle, unfazed. "Well. Someone's in a mood." Clyde's grip tightened, his usually composed expression hardened with anger. "Don't." His voice was low, sharp. "Don't act like this is a joke."

Roman raised a brow, as if unimpressed by the display. "That depends. What exactly are we not joking about?" Clyde's jaw clenched. "The Death Eaters, Roman...I know."

For a split second, something flickered in Roman's eyes - something unreadable. Then, just as quickly, he smirked. "You know what exactly?"

"That you're getting involved with them. That you're already too deep in." Clyde shoved him again, but Roman barely moved, his stance loose, unconcerned. "Do you even know what you're doing?" Roman sighed, as if bored. "You make it sound like I've signed my soul away."

"Haven't you?" Clyde's voice was sharper now, disbelief threading through his anger. "Do you even realize what you're aligning yourself with? The kind of people you're dealing with?" Roman tilted his head. "You say that like I don't already know."

"Then why are you doing this?" Clyde demanded. "You're not stupid, Roman. You know what they've done - what they do."

Roman's smirk faltered just slightly, his expression cooling. "Maybe I just don't care the way you do."Clyde stared at him, searching his face. "Bullshit."

Roman's fingers twitched at his side, but his smirk was back in place, easy and sharp. "You always were the moral compass, weren't you, Clyde?" He exhaled, shaking his head. "You're wasting your time."

"No," Clyde said, voice low. "I'm wasting yours. Because I know you, Roman. I know you're reckless. I know you like pushing boundaries. But this-" His grip tightened again. "This isn't a game."

Roman's gaze darkened. "Who said I was playing?"

Clyde's expression was unreadable now, his fury simmering into something heavier. "Lola doesn't know, does she?"

Roman stilled, that silence was answer enough.

Clyde's grip loosened, just slightly. "Are you planning on telling her?" Roman exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back against the wall. "And what exactly would I tell her, Clyde? That her brother's a lost cause?"

"That her brother's being a bloody idiot," Clyde shot back. "Because whatever you think this is, it's going to cost you more than you realize." Roman was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he shrugged. "Maybe it already has."

Clyde took a step back, shaking his head. "You don't have to do this." Roman's smirk returned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I do."

Clyde clenched his jaw. "Why?" Roman didn't answer. Instead, he adjusted his collar where

Clyde exhaled sharply. "I swear, if something happens to you or her because of this, I'll never forgive you or Dante." His voice dropped lower. "And neither will she."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Roman standing there, the weight of what he'd done finally settling in.

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The Gryffindor common room was nearly empty, save for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the rustle of parchment as Axelle flipped through another brittle newspaper. The scent of aged paper and ink clung to the air, mixing with the faint traces of wood smoke. Atticus sat across from them, his quill tapping anxiously against the open spine of a thick, leather-bound book. The article in Axelle's hands was dated nearly three decades ago. The words leapt out at them in faded ink:

'MUGGLE FAMILY SLAUGHTERED—NO WITNESSES, NO SUSPECTS.'

They exhaled sharply. "It's the same pattern," they muttered, sliding the article across the table. "A whole family wiped out. No one sees anything. No survivors." Atticus skimmed the text, his brow furrowed. "And no one was ever caught," he said bitterly. "The Ministry just... let it go cold."

Axelle reached for another paper, their fingers ghosting over the edges. They had spent hours scavenging through old editions of the Daily Prophet, tracing the dark threads of history, looking for patterns - proof that what was happening now had happened before.

And there it was. The same story, over and over again. Muggle families disappearing. Their homes burned. No suspects. No leads. No justice.

Atticus ran a hand through his hair, frustration written across his face. "This isn't random," he muttered. "It wasn't back then, and it isn't now." He turned to the thick book beside him, its spine cracked from age. 'Dark Legacies: The Unrecorded Crimes of the Death Eaters.'

He skimmed through the yellowed pages, his finger tracing the text. 'Fear is the greatest weapon. It is not enough to kill - we must make them believe resistance is futile. The strongest army is the one that does not have to fight at all.'

Atticus's grip tightened. "They wanted control," he murmured. "This wasn't just about killing Muggles. It was about making an example of them." Axelle clenched their jaw. "And if history is repeating itself..." they glanced at the article again, then at the books stacked around them, the weight of knowledge pressing down like a curse. "Then someone is doing it again."

The thought sent a cold shiver through them. Atticus shut the book with a quiet thud. "The Ministry covered this up before," he said, looking up at Axelle. "They'll do it again."

Axelle met his gaze, their expression steeled with determination. "Then we don't give them the chance." Atticus nodded, pushing aside the papers and reaching for another book. They still didn't have all the answers.

But they weren't going to stop until they did.

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The dungeon classroom was thick with the scent of Amortentia, curling in the air like something alive. Each cauldron shimmered with the pearlescent potion, reflecting candlelight in waves of soft pink and silver. Zelda had smelled it the moment they stepped in - smoke, old parchment, something sharper, like storm-churned air.

She hated that she knew exactly where it came from.

Roman sat beside her, his usual smirk in place, but there was a weight to it - something unreadable in his expression as he leaned over his own cauldron. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose, his eyes flickering toward Zelda.

Axelle, across from them, didn't miss a thing. They watched them carefully, arms crossed, their gaze sharp beneath the flickering light. Something was off.

"Alright," Axelle drawled, tilting their head. "I'll bite. What do you two smell?" Roman was the first to answer, too casual, too smooth. "Smoke, cinnamon, something irritating." His smirk grew as he tapped his fingers against the table. "Wonder who that could be."

Zelda rolled her eyes. "Probably your own ego burning up."

Axelle's gaze darted between them, unimpressed. "And you?" Zelda hesitated. She could feel Roman watching her. It made her want to lie, to deflect - but Roman was too perceptive for that.

"It doesn't matter," Zelda muttered. "Oh, it definitely matters," Axelle countered, narrowing her eyes. "Especially when both of you are acting weird over a love potion."

Zelda tensed, but it was Roman who laughed first. "Relax, Potter," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe Zelda just doesn't like what she smelled."

Axelle's suspicion only deepened.

This wasn't just tension between enemies. This was something else. Something calculated.

And suddenly, they weren't just suspicious of whatever was going on between them. Their fingers tapped against the wooden table, their mind racing.

Roman had been secretive for weeks now. Zelda had been restless, her mood shifting, her silences longer than usual. And then there were the whispers, the rumors, the disappearances.

Axelle's stomach turned. This wasn't just about the Amortentia. It was about what they were hiding.

________________________________

Clyde fastened the last button on his vest, rolling his shoulders as he glanced at his reflection. The tea party wasn't exactly his idea of a good time, but Lola had insisted. And when Lola insisted, it was usually best to listen.

He ran a hand through his hair, making sure he looked at least somewhat presentable, when a sudden, sharp thud against the window made him pause. His eyes flickered toward the sound.

An owl. It perched on the ledge, its yellow gaze unnervingly still, wings ruffling slightly as it clutched a piece of parchment in its beak. The wax seal was black. Clyde's stomach twisted. He took a slow step toward the window, unlatching it with careful fingers. The owl didn't hesitate - it hopped inside, dropped the letter onto his desk, and within seconds, it was gone, vanishing into the night.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the parchment. The candlelight flickered over the darkened seal, making the insignia pressed into it all too clear. He swallowed, The Death Eaters.

Clyde exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to stay calm. He reached for the letter and broke the seal, unfolding the parchment with careful hands. The writing was sharp, elegant, deliberate.

'Your silence has been noted. Consider this your final warning.

You have two choices: join us, or watch someone you care about die.

The decision is yours, but do not mistake this for an empty threat.

We are watching. Choose wisely.'

Clyde clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the letter. His breath came slow, controlled - but beneath it, his heart was pounding. They weren't bluffing.

His mind raced through every possibility, every name that could be at risk. His father? His uncle? No - if they wanted to use leverage, if they wanted him to feel the weight of this choice...Lola.

His stomach turned. Of course. Of course they knew.

His hand shook slightly before he forced it still, folding the letter with precise, practiced motions. This was it.

There was no more avoiding it, no more pretending he could stay neutral. He had to make a choice. Clyde took a deep breath, smoothing his expression before slipping the letter into his pocket.

He had a party to attend, and after that? He'd have to decide how far he was willing to go to keep the people he loved alive.

Clyde adjusted his cuffs as he strolled into the courtyard, his expression schooled into something relaxed, despite the sharp weight of the letter in his pocket.

The scene before him was almost ridiculous - a picture - perfect gathering straight out of a society magazine. The long wooden table was set beneath the willow tree, draped in pastel cloth, lined with mismatched teacups, an unnecessarily extravagant spread of cakes and pastries, and an ornate teapot that probably cost more than Clyde wanted to guess.

Lola sat in the center of it all, a vision of effortless grace, carefully pouring tea with a regal ease that suggested she could host high tea in a war zone and still keep her posture flawless.

Freya was sprawled in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, tapping her nails against the rim of her teacup, looking amused. Axelle, predictably, looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. And then there was Dante.

Clyde's gaze flickered to him, just a fraction too long. Dante sat comfortably, fingers drumming against the table, looking for all the world as if he hadn't a care. Which was a lie, of course. Axelle caught Clyde's lingering glance and narrowed their eyes just slightly.

Clyde smirked and pretended not to notice. "Ah, our final guest has arrived!" Lola declared, handing him a cup as he slid into a chair.

Clyde took the tea with a sigh, lifting it slightly. "To forced socialization."

Freya grinned, clinking her cup against his. "To glitter dresses and heels!"

Axelle muttered, "To leaving early."

Dante grinned. "To the biscuits!"

Lola huffed. "Must you be so hungry?" The girl giggled with a pout.

"Must you invite people who have clearly never experienced joy?" Dante countered smoothly, throwing a pointed look at Axelle and Clyde.

Axelle didn't even dignify that with a response, which was probably best - Clyde merely sipped his tea.

He could feel Axelle watching him. Not obviously. Not in a way that anyone else would notice. But he felt it. They knew he was off. And they weren't the only one.

Dante was playing it cool, but Clyde knew how he worked. The way he held his cup, the lazy way his fingers traced the rim - Dante was watching too. Not just him, but Axelle.

"So," Freya drawled, oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface. "Which one of you is going to attempt small talk first? Because I refuse."

Lola sighed dramatically. "Fine! Axelle, how has your week been?"

Axelle, still visibly resisting the urge to stab something, exhaled slowly. "It was fine."

Dante snorted. "You're a natural conversationalist."

Axelle shot him a look before forcing a too-sweet smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want me to start describing my innermost feelings? My deepest regrets? Perhaps a monologue about the meaning of life?"

Dante hummed. "Actually, that last one sounds fascinating."

Axelle scowled. "Pick another target, Malfoy."

"Why? You're so easy."

"You're so insufferable."

"And yet, here we are."

Clyde shook his head, finally speaking up. "I would personally love to hear Axelle's monologue on the meaning of life." Axelle turned their glare to him. "Not you too."

Lola, blissfully unaware of the underlying glances being exchanged, simply smiled as she poured more tea. "See? This is lovely. Good conversation, good tea, good company-"

"Debatable," Axelle muttered.

Lola shot them a look

Clyde never cared much for tea parties. Too prim, too forced, too much effort to pretend everything was fine. But he stayed.

Partly because leaving early would only raise questions. Partly because Axelle, sharp as ever, was already watching him too closely. And partly because of Lola.

She was the only one at the table who wasn't tangled in shadows, the only one who still believed in a world without knives hidden behind every word.

So when she tilted her head and smiled at him - all warmth and ease, as if he wasn't carrying a death threat in his pocket - he let himself smile back. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked, voice light, teasing.

"Immensely," he replied dryly, taking a sip of his tea. Lola laughed, her eyes crinkling slightly at the edges. It did something to him, the way she looked at him like he wasn't a walking catastrophe waiting to happen.

He cleared his throat, setting his cup down. "And you? Having fun playing hostess?"

She sighed dramatically. "It's exhausting, truly. Keeping Freya from touching someone's hair, keeping Axelle from stabbing someone, keeping Dante from choking on the sugar cubes-"

Dante lifted his cup in mock offense. "You wound me, Scammander."

Lola ignored him, resting her chin in her palm as she looked at Clyde again. "But I suppose it's worth it."

Clyde raised a brow. "Because of the company?"

"Because of you," she said simply.

His stomach tightened.

For a second - just a second - he forgot about the letter in his pocket, about the eyes on him, about the world he was about to step into. She was looking at him like she meant it.

He hated it. He loved it. He had no idea what to do with it.

Before he could answer, Axelle not-so-subtly cleared their throat from across the table. Clyde turned his head, catching her pointed stare.

Lola, oblivious, simply poured him another cup of tea. Clyde took it without a word. If the Death Eaters ever came for her - if they ever tried to use her as leverage, the way they'd promised in that letter - he knew exactly where he stood.

He would join to protect her from the one thing he would become.

________________________________

Silas had always been good at Charms. It was the one class where he felt steady, where he could get the spell right on the first try and not second-guess himself too much. But today? Today was different.

Because today, he was paired with Atticus.

"Alright, class!" Professor Watt's cheerful voice rang through the room. "We'll be practicing the Summoning Charm. Partners, take turns summoning objects to each other. Nice and steady - no launching things across the room, please!"

Silas swallowed hard as Atticus slid into the seat next to him, plopping his book onto the desk with a bright grin. "Looks like you're stuck with me," Atticus teased, nudging his shoulder against Silas's.

Silas let out a breathy laugh, nerves fluttering in his chest. "I-yeah, that's... that's fine." Atticus tilted his head, eyes twinkling. "You sure? You look like you just saw a dementor."

Silas immediately straightened. "I-no! I mean, I'm fine! Totally fine."Atticus chuckled. "Alright, alright. No need to panic, partner." His voice was so warm, so effortlessly gentle, and Silas was pretty sure his heart was about to explode.

"Okay, you go first," Atticus said, leaning his cheek against his palm as he looked at Silas expectantly. Silas nodded, gripping his wand tightly. "A-Accio quill."

The quill from the desk across the room zipped toward him, and he caught it - barely - before it hit him in the face. He felt his cheeks heat up. "Oops." Atticus laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Smooth."

Silas buried his face in his hands. "I'm usually better at this," he muttered. Atticus reached out, gently tugging Silas's wrist so he'd lower his hands. "Hey, you still got it to come to you. That's what counts." His touch lingered just a second longer than necessary before he pulled back, smiling. "Now, watch the master at work."

Silas barely had time to recover before Atticus waved his wand effortlessly. "Accio book!" A book from the other side of the room sailed through the air - graceful, controlled - landing perfectly in his outstretched hand.

Silas blinked. "You're really good at this." Atticus smirked. "Of course. I have to be, or else Flitwick will keep me after class for 'extra practice.'" He wiggled his fingers dramatically. "My poor, overworked brain."

Silas let out a small giggle before he could stop himself. Atticus turned toward him, resting his chin on his hand again, eyes softening. "I like it when you laugh."

Silas's heart nearly stopped. He stared, wide-eyed, scrambling for a response. "I...thank you."

Atticus smiled knowingly, as if he could read every single flustered thought running through Silas's head. He tapped the book lightly against Silas's arm. "Alright, one more round. If you can summon something without looking like you're about to pass out, I'll share my secret candy stash with you."

Silas swallowed, gripping his wand tighter. "D-deal."

And if he managed to cast the spell perfectly this time maybe it was because he really wanted that candy. Or maybe it was because Atticus was smiling at him like that.

Either way, he wasn't going to question it.

He cleared his throat. "A-Accio ink bottle."

The ink bottle slid across the desk toward him, smooth and controlled this time. No near-disasters, no last-second catches. It just worked. Silas let out a small sigh of relief, glancing up. "There. No passing out."

Atticus gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "Oh no, now I actually have to share my candy." He grinned, tilting his head playfully. "Guess you're full of surprises, huh?" Silas ducked his head, his fingers twitching against his wand. "I guess so."

Before Atticus could say anything else, Professor Flitwick clapped his hands. "Excellent work, everyone! That will be all for today - remember, practice makes perfect!"

Chairs scraped against the floor as students gathered their things, chatting as they moved toward the door. Silas reached for his bag, still hyper-aware of Atticus beside him, when suddenly - a warm hand wrapped around his wrist.

Silas froze. "Hey," Atticus said, his voice lower now, softer. "You did great today."

Silas swallowed. His skin felt like it was buzzing under Atticus's touch. He glanced down at their hands, then up at Atticus's face - at the way his smile was a little lopsided, a little knowing. "I-It was just Charms," Silas mumbled, trying not to sound like his heart was hammering in his chest.

Atticus's grin widened. "Yeah, but I like seeing you confident." He gave Silas's wrist a gentle squeeze before finally letting go. "Come on, let's go before Flitwick assigns us homework just for lingering."

Silas nodded quickly, grabbing his bag and trying very, very hard not to combust on the spot.

They walked side by side out of the classroom, the hallway buzzing with students. Silas was still replaying the way Atticus had touched his wrist - had smiled at him - when Atticus suddenly nudged his shoulder.

"You forgot something," Atticus said, pulling a small wrapped sweet from his pocket. "Candy, as promised." Silas blinked. "You-you actually had candy on you?"

Atticus wiggled his brows. "I always come prepared."

Silas hesitated for a second before taking it, his fingers brushing against Atticus's in the exchange. "Thanks." Atticus grinned. "Anytime, partner."

And as they made their way toward the Great Hall for lunch, Silas let himself smile - just a little.

Because maybe, just maybe, Atticus liked being his partner for more than just Charms.

________________________________

Zelda didn't stop until the distant sounds of the Great Hall faded, swallowed by the empty corridor. Her heartbeat had finally settled into something steady, controlled. She told herself it wasn't nerves. It wasn't regret. It was just the aftershock of crossing a line she could never uncross.

And then she saw him.

Roman leaned against the cold stone wall like he had all the time in the world, arms crossed, dark eyes already on her. He was waiting, expecting. She slowed her steps but didn't stop. Didn't speak. Let him be the first to break the silence.

"You slipped out quick," he murmured, tilting his head. His voice was low, edged with something close to amusement. "Didn't want to stay for the show?" Zelda stopped just a step too close, the air between them taut, charged. "Didn't need to."

A slow smile curved at his lips. He uncrossed his arms, pushing off the wall with an easy, deliberate movement."Cold," he said, studying her like she was something new. Something unexpected. "I like it." She arched a brow. "Was that the test? Whether I could stomach it?"

"Something like that." Roman let his gaze drift - just for a second - to the pocket where she'd stashed the empty vial. His voice dropped lower, smooth as smoke. "And yet, you kept a souvenir." Zelda's lips curved, but there was no warmth in it. "Maybe I just don't like leaving loose ends."

Roman hummed, as if considering her answer, then took a step closer. Just enough to crowd her, to let her catch the faint scent of something sharp and smoky on his skin. His fingers lifted, slow, deliberate, brushing the fabric of her sleeve before ghosting over her wrist. The touch barely registered, but it sent a current sparking through her veins nonetheless.

Zelda held his gaze, unflinching. "Testing me again?" she asked, voice quieter now, edged with something dangerous. Roman's smile deepened, but there was something sharp behind it. "Would you like that?"

Zelda let a beat of silence stretch between them. Not touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, hear the measured cadence of his breathing. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she said, "I know my scent was in your Amortentia potion."

His brows lifted, amused. "Oh?"

"I'll tear you apart limb by limb if you get closer."

For a long moment, he just watched her, his dark eyes gleaming in the low torchlight. Then, instead of stepping back, he reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles just barely grazing her jaw.

"I think," he murmured, his voice dipping into something quieter, rougher, "I'm willing to take that risk." Zelda didn't move. Didn't flinch. Instead, she let her lips curl, just enough to be a challenge. "Then don't say I didn't warn you."

For a second, it felt like something might break - like one of them might tip over the edge first.

But then, just as easily as he'd closed the space between them, Roman pulled away, stepping back with a slow, knowing smirk. "Come on," he said, turning toward the stairwell. "We've got more work to do."

Zelda exhaled, steadying herself, then followed. But she didn't miss the way he glanced back at her, just once, like he already knew this wasn't over.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE
Second to last chapter of Act One 💔 I've enjoyed writing this applyfic so much and I PROMISE Act Two will be so much more interesting - the next act will be PACKED with action and angst. New characters (ocs) will be introduced, new secrets will come to light ;)