CHAPTER FOUR
❝ SKYFALL❞
TRIGGER WARNINGS || Language,, Death,, Violence,, Mild Gore,, Mentions of Seizures,, Mentions of Death

________________________________

THE DORM room was dimly lit, the cheap lamp on Silas's desk flickering every few seconds. The small space smelled faintly of old books and cigarette smoke - Clyde's bad habit, despite Silas's constant complaints. The window was cracked open, letting in the cool night air, but it did little to rid the room of the lingering tension between them.

Silas sat on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up slightly, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. Clyde, on the other hand, lounged in his chair, arms crossed, watching him with that ever-present smirk.

"You ever think about them?" Silas asked suddenly.

Clyde blinked, looking up. "Who?" His brows furrowed.

"The Death Eaters."

Clyde tensed. The name alone made his stomach twist. He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. "Why would I?"

Silas shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Because they're everywhere. They always have been. And whether you like it or not, they've got a way of pulling people in."

Clyde let out a shaky breath, eyes darting toward the window. "You know too much for someone like you." Silas furrowed his brows, scoffing with his brows. "And why is that a problem? S-Someone like me?"

"That's the problem, Silas." Clyde leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice was low, almost coaxing. "You're too invested in some bullshit like that. Makes them any less powerful."

Silas frowned. "I don't care about power."

Clyde chuckled. "Of course, you don't." His tone was amused, but there was something else beneath it - something sharper. "You just want to keep your head down, right? Stay out of trouble?"

Silas nodded quickly, his heart pounding.

Clyde tilted his head, studying him. "You know, that's exactly the kind of person they like." Silas froze. "What?"

Clyde leaned back again, stretching his legs out in front of him. "The ones who are easy to convince. The ones who don't fight back." He smirked. "The ones who are afraid."

Silas's breath hitched. "I-I wouldn't..."

Clyde cut him off with a quiet laugh. "Relax, I'm not saying you'd join them." His smirk widened. "I'm just saying... it's interesting, isn't it? How fear makes people do things they never thought they would."

Silas felt cold all over. He knew Clyde was playing with him - he always did - but there was something about the way he said it, the way he looked at him, that made his skin crawl.

Clyde stood, stretching lazily. "Anyway," he said, heading toward the door. "Just something to think about."

Silas didn't say anything as the door clicked shut behind him. But long after Clyde was gone, he sat there, staring at the flickering lamp, unable to shake the feeling that he had just stepped too close to something dangerous.

________________________________

Lola hesitated before speaking, fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. Roman had just sat down across from her, his shoulders squared, gaze flicking between his breakfast and the clock. He wasn't much of a morning person, but she had to ask before he disappeared for the day.

"So... you're coming home for the holidays, right?" She tried to keep her tone light, casual.

Roman's spoon clinked against his bowl as he paused mid-stir. His jaw tensed. "Lola," he muttered, already exasperated.

"What?" she asked, feigning innocence. "It's just a question."

"It's not just a question." His voice was tight as he pushed his bowl away. "You always bring this up like it's some simple thing. Like it doesn't matter."

Lola frowned, shifting forward in her chair. "It does matter. That's why I bring it up." She searched his face, hoping he'd soften, but his expression was already closing off. "Mum and Dad want to see you. I want to see you."

Roman let out a slow breath through his nose. "I just-" He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "You know it's different for me."

Lola set her cup down, tilting her head. "It doesn't have to be."

Roman scoffed, standing up abruptly. "You don't get it."

"Then help me get it," she pushed, standing too. "You act like being home is some kind of punishment. But it's not. It's-"

"It's exhausting," he snapped, voice sharp enough to cut. "Pretending everything's fine, pretending I don't feel like a stranger in my own house. If you want to go back to playing happy families, be my guest, but don't drag me into it."

Lola flinched, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and uneasy. Then Roman exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. His face was tight with regret, but he didn't take the words back.

Lola swallowed, forcing herself to hold his gaze. The sharpness in his voice had settled, but the weight of his words still hung between them.

"I'm not trying to drag you into anything," she said, softer now, careful. "I just..." she exhaled, gripping the edge of the table. "I don't want to spend Christmas pretending you're not missing."

Roman's jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Lola challenged, her voice quieter but no less firm. "You keep saying home doesn't feel like home to you, but do you know what it's like when you're not there?" She let out a shaky breath. "It's just - quieter. Heavier. Like something's missing. And I hate it."

Roman looked away, lips pressed together in a hard line. Lola stepped around the table, cautiously closing the space between them. "I know Mum and Dad aren't perfect. I know they don't always get it right." She hesitated, watching his face carefully. "But I also know they miss you. Even if they don't say it the right way."

Roman let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" she pushed.

Roman inhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "That every time I go back, it feels like I have to shrink into something I'm not anymore," he admitted, voice lower now, but raw. "Like I have to be the version of me they're comfortable with." His fingers curled into fists. "And I can't do that, Lola. I won't."

Lola's chest tightened. She understood now. Or at least, she understood enough.

"Then don't," she said simply.

Roman blinked, his guarded expression flickering.

"Don't shrink yourself down," she continued. "Don't pretend, don't fake it. Just be there." She bit her lip. "For me, if nothing else."

Roman exhaled, his posture loosening just slightly. He didn't respond right away, and Lola could see the war in his expression - logic fighting emotion, reluctance fighting something deeper.

Finally, he ran a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. "I'll think about it."

It wasn't a promise. But it wasn't a no.

Lola nodded, accepting it for now. "Okay."

Roman hesitated for a second longer before turning for the door. As he walked away, Lola sat back down, wrapping her hands around her now-cold tea, hoping thinking about it would be enough.

Roman walked down the dimly lit corridor of the dungeons, his footsteps careful, measured. He glanced over his shoulder - no one. Good.

His fingers tightened around the charmed coin in his palm, its surface unnaturally warm. It had arrived in his bag that morning, slipped between his books, the etching of the familiar serpent barely visible in the candlelight. He'd thought about ignoring it. He should have ignored it.

But here he was.

He stopped at the third pillar past the Potions classroom, pressing his hand against the cold stone. A whisper of magic pulsed under his fingertips, and the stone shifted, revealing a narrow crevice just big enough for a parchment slip. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the small, carefully folded note.

I'm listening. What now?

His handwriting was tight, precise. He slid the note into the crevice, and as soon as his fingers left it, the stone swallowed it whole. Gone.

Roman exhaled sharply, stepping back. He hated this - the secrecy, the waiting. The fact that he was even doing this at all. But the alternative? Being left in the dark, powerless, unprepared.

The coin in his hand grew hot. He flipped it over, watching as words etched themselves onto the surface, appearing in deep, dark strokes.

Midnight. Owlery.

Roman's pulse quickened. They were making him move now. No more notes, no more whispers in the walls. This was real.

He swallowed, sliding the coin into his pocket, then turned and walked away, leaving no trace that he had ever been there.

________________________________

The envelope sat on Axelle's nightstand, unopened. The handwriting on the front was unmistakable - sharp, neat, careful. 'Dad.'

They had seen it as soon as they entered their dorm, a small weight pressing against their chest at the sight of it. Part of them wanted to ignore it, let it sit until it became just another forgotten thing buried beneath schoolbooks and discarded parchment. But another part - the smaller, guiltier part - knew they wouldn't.

With a sharp breath, they sat on the bed and tore it open.

'Axelle,

I know you're busy, but I just wanted to write. We miss you. Ginny especially - she keeps wondering if you're eating properly, and you know how she gets when she worries.

I won't make this long, but I found these and thought you might want them. Maybe they'll make you smile. Or maybe you'll just roll your eyes at me. Either way, I wanted you to have them.

Write when you can.

Dad'

Axelle swallowed, fingers tightening around the parchment as a few small, glossy photographs slipped from the envelope, landing in their lap.

They hesitated before picking one up.

The first was a picture of Harry and Ginny, standing outside the Burrow. The camera had caught them mid-laugh - Ginny was nudging Harry, and he was grinning at her like she was the best thing in the world. Axelle felt something twist in their chest.

The next one was worse.

A much younger Axelle, barely five, perched on Harry's shoulders, their small hands gripping at his hair. He was holding onto their legs, eyes crinkled with laughter as he looked up at them, pure warmth in his expression. Ginny was beside them, shaking her head fondly at whatever nonsense was happening.

Axelle stared at it, their chest tightening.

They should have felt happy. Nostalgic, maybe. But instead, something else bubbled up - hot and restless and uncomfortable.

Why is he sending me these?

Why now? Why pretend things were simple, that they were the same family as before?

He got to be Harry Potter, the hero, the father that everyone assumed was perfect. The one who always tried. And yet, Axelle was the one who had to carry his name, his expectations, the weight of a legacy they had never asked for.

They exhaled sharply, shoving the photos back into the envelope before tossing it into the back of their drawer, deep enough that they wouldn't have to see it again.

Or at least, not for a while.

Axelle had just started unwinding for the night, stretching out on their bed with their guiyar balanced on their stomach, when the door to their dorm slammed open.

Dante burst in like a hurricane, hair a mess, eyes wide with barely contained panic. "I'm doomed."

Axelle barely blinked, tuning the strings. "Uh-huh. What's the crisis this time?"

Dante flung himself onto their bed, limbs sprawled dramatically. "I think I just asked a Hufflepuff out."

Now that got Axelle's attention. They set the guitar aside and raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

"I don't know, it all happened so fast - one second I was talking, the next, words were coming out of my mouth, and suddenly I might have asked them to Hogsmeade." He groaned, pressing his palms into his face. "What if they say yes? What if they say no? What if they don't even remember who I am?"

Axelle snorted. "Trust me, everyone remembers you. You're loud."

Dante peeked at them between his fingers. "Not helping."

They rolled their eyes, sitting up. "Okay, first of all, why are you acting like this is a bad thing? You flirt with literally everyone. I thought this was your thing."

Dante let out a distressed noise. "Yes, but it's different when I actually like them! I can't be cool and flirty when my brain is short-circuiting every time they smile at me!"

Axelle smirked, leaning back on their hands. "Wow. So you do have feelings. Who knew?"

"I'm having a crisis, and you're mocking me?" Dante sat up abruptly, grabbing a pillow and smacking them with it. "I came here for emotional support!"

Axelle caught the pillow before it could hit them again. "You came here to spiral over the fact that a Hufflepuff might actually say yes to your ridiculous, impulsive invitation."

Dante flopped back down with a groan. "It's terrifying."

Axelle snickered. "It's adorable. Who is it?"

Dante hesitated before mumbling a name into the pillow.

Axelle grinned. "Ohhh...her?"

Dante groaned louder. "Yes, them. And now I need to figure out how to not make a complete fool of myself on this date - if it even happens."

Axelle patted his shoulder, barely containing their amusement. "Don't worry, you'll be charming. Or, at the very least, mildly tolerable."

Dante groaned again. "I hate you."

Axelle smirked. "No, you don't."

________________________________

The castle grounds were quiet, the night air cool against Clyde's skin as he took a slow drag from his cigarette. Smoke curled from his lips, drifting lazily into the darkness as he walked along the tree line. This was his favorite time - when the world shut up for a bit, when no one expected anything from him. Just silence, the burn in his lungs, and the crunch of leaves beneath his boots.

But then, something disrupted the quiet.

A sniffle.

Clyde frowned, pausing mid-step. He turned his head, following the sound until his gaze landed on a small figure hunched beneath a tree. The dim moonlight caught strands of familiar hair, and his stomach did something stupid when he realized who it was.

Lola.

She was curled in on herself, knees drawn to her chest, fingers twisting at something in her hands. Even from a distance, he could see the tremble in her shoulders.

Clyde sighed, already regretting what he was about to do. He took one last drag, then flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot before making his way over.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" His voice came out rougher than intended, but it was better than sounding...concerned.

Lola jumped slightly, quickly wiping at her face as she looked up at him. "Nothing," she muttered, her voice thick. He arched a brow.

Clyde exhaled through his nose and sat down beside her, stretching his legs out in front of him. He glanced at the thin chain in her hands, the empty space where something was clearly missing.

"What happened?" he asked, his tone almost - almost - gentle.

Lola sniffled, staring at the necklace. "I lost my ring."

Clyde frowned. "The one you always fidget with?" She nodded, lip wobbling. "It was my mum's."

Something in his chest twisted at that. He didn't know much about Lola's family, but he knew enough to realize this wasn't just about a lost piece of jewelry.

For a long moment, he was quiet. Then, with an almost imperceptible sigh, he muttered, "I'll get you a new one." Lola blinked, turning to look at him. "What?"

"You heard me." He kept his gaze forward, acting like this wasn't a big deal. She studied him, eyes still glossy from crying. "Why would you do that?"

Clyde scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Because you're insufferable when you're upset." A beat of silence, then softer, "And because I want to."

Lola stared at him for a long moment, like she was trying to figure him out. Then, to his absolute horror, a small smile tugged at her lips. "That was almost sweet." He scowled. "Don't push it."

She let out a watery laugh, and Clyde felt an unfamiliar sort of relief settle in his chest. He stood abruptly, brushing the dirt off his pants. "Hogsmeade trip this weekend," he said, glancing down at her. "We'll find you a new one."

Lola tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you...inviting me somewhere?"

Clyde scoffed. "Obviously."

Her smile grew, and for once, he didn't feel the immediate urge to glare at it. She wiped her face one last time before getting to her feet. "Yay!"

Clyde shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking back toward the castle, muttering something about how ridiculous this all was. But Lola saw the way his shoulders weren't as tense, the way he didn't walk quite as fast.

And for the first time that night, she felt just a little bit better.

________________________________

The infirmary smelled like antiseptic and old parchment, a mix Zelda had become far too familiar with over the years. She sat on the bed, legs swinging idly over the side, arms crossed as she watched the nurse bustle about, scribbling something onto a clipboard.

"Y'know," Zelda started, a lopsided smirk playing on her lips, "I think I should start getting a rewards card for this place. Maybe a free galleon after my tenth stay?"

The nurse - Madam Rosier, a stout woman with kind but no-nonsense eyes - huffed, not looking up from her notes. "You say that as if I'm thrilled to have you here so often, Miss Zelda."

Zelda placed a hand on her chest in mock offense. "You wound me, truly. I thought we had something special."

"Special would be you not scaring the life out of half the castle with one of your episodes," Madam Rosier retorted, finally glancing at her with a raised brow.

Zelda shrugged, forcing her smirk to stay in place. "Hey, I like to keep people on their toes. Gotta keep life exciting somehow."

Madam Rosier gave her a look - one of those knowing, slightly exasperated looks that only someone who had seen past Zelda's bravado a hundred times before could give. "You don't have to joke about it, you know."

Zelda's fingers curled slightly around the edge of the infirmary bed. "I'm not joking," she said breezily. "I'm just, you know, embracing the whole 'walking hazard' thing. Might as well own it."

The nurse sighed, setting the clipboard down before folding her arms. "Zelda." Zelda looked away, suddenly feeling like the infirmary was far too quiet, too still. "What?" she mumbled.

"You're allowed to be frustrated. You're allowed to be upset." Zelda scoffed, the sound a little too sharp. "Why? Not like that's gonna change anything."

Madam Rosier didn't push, but she didn't back down either. "No, it won't. But making a joke of it won't, either." Zelda exhaled heavily, letting her shoulders sag. "Yeah, well... joking's easier."

There was a pause, and then Madam Rosier's lips quirked into a small smile. "You do realize that if you keep this up, I'll start charging you galleons, yes?" The nurse joked with a hum, lips pursed.

Zelda let out a short laugh, grateful for the shift in tone. "Oh please, at least let me negotiate. Maybe a discount if I promise to cause less chaos?" Madam Rosier shook her head fondly. "I'll believe that when I see it."

Zelda grinned, but this time, it was just a little softer.

As soon as Madam Rosier left the infirmary, Zelda let out a slow breath, listening for the soft click of the door shutting behind her. The moment she was sure she was alone, she reached under her pillow, fingers brushing against the worn leather cover of the book she had stashed there earlier.

It was old - ancient, really. The spine cracked faintly as she pulled it into her lap, the cover unmarked except for a deep, almost unnatural blackness, as if it swallowed light instead of reflecting it.But this wasn't just another prank, another scheme to keep herself entertained. Dark magic. The kind she wasn't supposed to have, the kind Roman was getting tangled up in.

And it was forbidden.

She ran her fingers over the pages, feeling the weight of the ink, the strange symbols that seemed to shift if she stared too long. Dark magic. The kind she wasn't supposed to touch, especially as a Muggle.

Her stomach twisted, but she ignored it.

She hated feeling powerless - hated knowing that no matter how long she stayed at Hogwarts, how much she learned, there would always be that invisible line between her and everyone else. If he thought she wouldn't notice what he was up to, he was wrong. If he thought she would just stand by while he sank deeper into their hands - the same hands that had taken her mother from her - he was dead wrong.

Zelda wasn't naive. She knew what the Death Eaters had done, what they still did in the shadows despite claiming otherwise. And she knew Roman, too. Knew that once he got pulled into something, he wouldn't stop until it consumed him.

So, if she had to play along - if she had to walk the same dangerous path just to get close enough - then so be it.

Her fingers hovered over a passage, her heart thudding. 'To weave oneself into the fabric of the dark, unseen but never powerless.' She traced the words, inhaling sharply.

Roman wanted to be part of their world.
She wanted to burn it to the ground.

________________________________

The common room was nearly empty, the crackling fireplace casting long shadows across the stone walls. Axelle and Atticus sat huddled over an old, weathered book, its pages yellowed and edges curling with age. The text was dense, full of historical accounts and tactical analysis of how the Death Eaters had once ruled through fear - not just through brute force, but by making fear itself a weapon.

'Fear is the most effective means of control. When a society believes resistance is futile, it ceases to fight back. Compliance is no longer enforced - it becomes instinctual.'

Atticus exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the parchment. "They didn't just attack people. They got inside their heads. Made them believe there was no point in resisting." He looked up, his expression dark. "Sound familiar?"

Axelle's jaw clenched as they traced the passage with a finger. "History's repeating itself." They closed the book with a quiet thud, glancing toward the window where the moon hung high over the castle grounds. "We can't just sit here. We need answers."

Atticus nodded. "Our parents lived through this. If anyone knows the signs, it's them." He grabbed a fresh piece of parchment from his bag and dipped his quill in ink. "And we need to write to the Ministry. If they don't see what's happening, they need to."

Axelle leaned in as Atticus started writing, their voices hushed but filled with urgency.

'To the Ministry of Magic,

We are writing to express our growing concern about the resurgence of Death Eater influence in our world. Fear is being used not just as a weapon, but as a method of control, much like it was in the past.

People are becoming too afraid to fight back. They are being conditioned into silence.

The signs are all there - whispers of disappearances, families too scared to speak out, rumors spreading like wildfire but never reaching those with power. We have studied history, and we refuse to let it repeat itself.

If action is not taken soon, it will be too late.

We hope you listen before fear consumes us all.

Sincerely,
Axelle Potter & Atticus Weasley'

Atticus sealed the letter with a flick of his wand, watching as the ink dried. "Do you think they'll listen?"

Axelle sat back, crossing their arms. "I think they'll ignore us." Their voice was quiet but firm. "But they won't be able to for long."

Atticus met their gaze, nodding. "Then we'll make them listen." Before he could press ink to parchment, the portrait hole swung open with a soft creak, and the low murmur of conversation drifted into the common room. Silas and Clyde stepped inside, their robes slightly damp from the mist outside.

Atticus barely registered Silas before his gaze settled on Clyde - the way his dark curls were tousled from the wind, the casual ease in which he carried himself, the slight smirk playing at his lips as he said something to Silas.

Atticus swallowed, feeling his ears go warm. He quickly looked down, but it was too late. Silas had noticed.

Silas had been watching Atticus for weeks now, waiting for something - anything - that would give him a sign. And there it was. The way Atticus's fingers twitched against the parchment, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when Clyde laughed at his own joke.

Silas had felt that same hitch before - whenever Atticus laughed, whenever he tucked his quill behind his ear in thought, whenever he got that determined glint in his eye. And now, watching Atticus look at Clyde like that, realization settled like a stone in his stomach.

Atticus had a crush on Clyde. And Silas had a problem.

________________________________

Zelda found Roman at the edge of the forest, where the castle lights barely reached. Roman stood with his back against a tree, arms crossed, his expression unreadable in the shadows. He must have known she was coming - he always seemed to know. "You took your time," he said, voice light but edged with something sharp.

Zelda ignored the bait. She stopped a few steps away, just far enough that if he reached for his wand, she could move first. "I know, Roman." His smirk didn't waver, but she saw the flicker of tension in his posture. "You'll have to be more specific, Noire. You think you know a lot of things."

She clenched her jaw. "I know you're involved with them. With the Death Eaters. I know you've been messing with dark magic." She took a step closer. "And I know you're lying to your sister about it."

That wiped the smirk off his face.

His fingers twitched at his side, but he didn't move. "Lola doesn't know anything because she doesn't need to," he said, voice low. "And you're going to keep it that way." Zelda exhaled through her nose, steadying herself. "So it's true, then?"

Roman stared at her, and for a long moment, she thought he might try to deny it. Pretend she was grasping at shadows. But then something in his expression shifted, and he let out a slow breath. "Yeah," he said simply. "It's true."

The air between them was heavy now, thick with something unspoken. He wasn't taunting her, wasn't smirking or twisting his words to dance around the truth. He was just telling her.

She should have been more afraid.

"You're not surprised," he said, watching her too closely. "No," Zelda admitted.

He tilted his head, studying her. "So what happens now? Are you here to turn me in? Run off and tell Lola?" She hesitated for just a second. "No."

That made him pause. "No?"

"I want in."

Roman blinked. Then he laughed. "You? In?" He looked her up and down like she'd lost her mind. "Zelda, in case you've forgotten...you're a-"

"A Muggle?" she finished for him, her voice cold. "Yeah, I know." He shook his head, still smirking. "Then you should also know this isn't a game. The Dark Lord doesn't take in strays."

Zelda took another step forward, voice steady. "I don't need him to take me in. I need you to." Roman's smirk wavered just slightly. He was listening now.

"You want power," she continued, "and I want to be on the side that's actually doing something. You and your kind look at people like me and think we're nothing." It was a gamble, pushing him like this, but Roman had always thrived on defiance. He liked control, liked thinking he knew everything. And right now, she was throwing something in his face that he couldn't quite predict.

His expression was unreadable as he studied her. Then, after a long pause, he asked, "Why?" Zelda forced herself to keep her voice even. "Because I don't want to be powerless anymore."

A half-truth. One he would believe. Because if he knew the real reason - if he knew this wasn't about power at all, but revenge - he'd never let her get close.

Roman was quiet for a long time. Then, finally, he smirked. "You really are full of surprises, aren't you?"

"You have no idea."

He tilted his head, considering. "I'll think about it."
The pause stretched between them, thick with tension. Zelda could hear the distant hoot of an owl, the rustling of the wind through the trees, but all she focused on was Roman - on the way he was looking at her now. Like she was something new. Something intriguing.

She knew she had him. Almost.

Roman tapped his fingers against his arm, considering. Then, with a sigh, he pushed off the tree and took a slow step toward her. "Let's say, for a second, that I believe you. That you actually want this and you're not just playing some stupid game." His voice dropped lower. "What makes you think you're worth my time?"

Zelda forced herself to smirk. "If you didn't think I was, you wouldn't still be standing here." That earned a chuckle, quiet but genuine. "You've got nerve, Noire. I'll give you that."

He circled her slightly, forcing her to turn to keep him in her sight. It was a subtle power move, but she refused to let it intimidate her. She'd known Roman for a bit, had spent most of that time either arguing with him or trying to ignore him, but this was different. This was a game of something much bigger than their schoolyard rivalry.

And she had to win.

"Alright," he said after a moment, stopping in front of her again. "You want in? Prove it." Zelda lifted her chin. "How?"

Roman's smirk deepened, but there was something dangerous in his expression now. "You're a Muggle," he said, as if she could've possibly forgotten. He took a step closer, close enough that she had to fight the instinct to move back. "So let's see what you do have."

She narrowed her eyes. "Meaning?"

"You want to run with the people I run with?" His voice was almost mocking. "You need to show you're capable of something more than just talking." Zelda clenched her fists at her sides, ignoring the way her pulse spiked. "What do you want me to do?"

Roman watched her carefully, then, after a moment, pulled something from his pocket. A vial - small, filled with something dark and swirling. "Take this," he said, holding it out to her. "Slip it into someone's drink. Any drink. Your choice."

Zelda's breath caught. "What is it?"

Roman just smiled. "Consider it a lesson in trust. You want to be part of this world? Then you don't get to ask questions." Her fingers twitched. This was it. The first real test. She could feel it.

And she wasn't going to fail.

Zelda reached out and plucked the vial from his hand. It was cool against her skin, the liquid shifting ominously inside.

Roman's smirk returned, but his eyes still held that sharp, calculating glint. "Let me know when it's done," he murmured. Then, before she could say anything else, he turned and disappeared into the darkness. Zelda exhaled, staring down at the vial in her palm.

Now, she just had to figure out how to make it work without becoming the very thing she hated.

________________________________

Deep within the Ministry of Magic, the halls were nearly silent, save for the occasional murmur of enchanted quills scratching against parchment and the faint hum of magical wards reinforcing the grand structure. It was late - long past the bustling hours of the day, when witches and wizards flooded the atrium with hurried steps and anxious whispers of politics, security, and governance. Now, only a few remained, scattered across different departments, working under the flickering glow of enchanted lanterns.

In the Minister's office, Kingsley Shacklebolt sat alone at his desk, his broad shoulders slightly hunched as he skimmed the latest reports. Even after all these years, the weight of leadership had not grown lighter. If anything, it pressed down heavier than ever. The world had known peace for years, but Kingsley was no fool - peace was fragile, and the shadows of the past had a way of creeping back when left unchecked.

With a weary sigh, he reached for the next document. His fingers brushed over an envelope that stood out among the usual bureaucratic paperwork. The parchment was slightly crumpled, its seal unevenly pressed, as if it had been handled with urgency rather than formality. His sharp eyes flicked to the names signed at the bottom.

'Axelle Potter. Atticus Weasley.'

A frown creased his forehead. He had known Harry's children and the Weasleys to be outspoken, but this...something about it felt different. Urgent. His instincts, honed through years of war and experience, told him to read it immediately.

He slipped his finger beneath the seal, beginning to pry it open-

Then the lights flickered.

A chill swept through the room, unnatural and suffocating. The fine hairs on Kingsley's arms stood on end. It was the kind of cold that didn't just seep into the bones - it slithered into the soul.

His wand was in his hand in an instant. Years of battle had made his reflexes sharp, precise. His gaze snapped toward the door, scanning the dimly lit corners of the office.

Silence.

And then a whisper, soft as a dying breath.

"Avada Kedavra."

A burst of sickly green light erupted from the shadows. Kingsley barely had time to turn. The curse struck him square in the chest, and for a brief moment, his world froze. His body jerked backward, his eyes widening - not in fear, but in the briefest flicker of recognition. Then, all at once, everything slipped away. His limbs slackened, his grip on the letter loosened, and with a final exhale, Kingsley Shacklebolt collapsed lifelessly against his desk.

The parchment, the urgent plea for help, fluttered from his fingers and landed on the polished floor, unread. The office remained still, bathed in eerie silence. The only movement came from the lingering shimmer of green light, dissipating into the air like smoke.

From the darkness, a figure emerged - a presence draped in shadow, their features obscured beneath the deep hood of a cloak. They stood over Kingsley's fallen body for a moment, watching, as if ensuring their work was done. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, they flicked their wand once more.

The letter, the damning piece of parchment, ignited in dark flames. The edges curled and blackened, the ink vanishing in a wisp of smoke, until nothing remained but ash. The hooded figure turned sharply, stepping into the shadows. And as suddenly as they had come, they were gone.

The Minister of Magic was dead...and no one had seen it coming.

________________________________

Zelda ran the curling wand through a section of Lola's hair, watching the strands wrap around the barrel before releasing them into soft waves. The dormitory was quiet except for the occasional pop of the fire in the common room below and the rhythmic hum of the wind against the castle walls.

Lola sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Zelda, her head tilted slightly as she examined her nails. "So, Clyde's buying me a new ring!" Zelda's fingers paused for just a second before she reached for another strand of hair. "Yeah?" she said, keeping her tone casual - not really believing her at first.

Lola let out a sigh, twisting a bare finger where a ring used to be. "Clyde said he's getting me a new one." She repeated with a huff. That made Zelda pause. She turned the curling wand away slightly, giving Lola a skeptical look. "And he just...offered?"

Lola huffed a laugh. "Well, not offered exactly. More like, I mentioned losing it, and he just said, 'I'll get you another one.' Like it was the most normal thing in the world." Zelda blinked. "Okay, but why?"

Lola twisted to look at her. "What do you mean why?"

"I mean Clyde isn't exactly the thoughtful gift type," Zelda pointed out. "He's more of the stare at you like you're annoying him until you go away type."

Lola snorted. "True, but... I don't know. He didn't make a big deal out of it. Just said he'd get me another and moved on." She paused, twisting her fingers. "It was kind of nice, actually." Zelda narrowed her eyes. "You like that he's buying you a ring."

Lola scoffed. "I like that he listened, okay? That he noticed."

Zelda raised an eyebrow. "And you're sure he won't hex it first?"

Lola laughed, rolling her eyes. "Merlin, you sound like Roman." Zelda smirked but said nothing. She knew Clyde well enough - or, at least, as much as anyone could. He wasn't loud or cruel in the way some of the other Slytherins were. No, Clyde was the kind of quiet that made people uneasy. The kind that made it impossible to tell whether he was bored, annoyed, or planning something that would get someone expelled.

And yet, he'd bought Lola a ring.

Zelda let that thought settle as she wrapped another section of hair around the wand. "Guess he's not a total asshole, then," she murmured.

Lola huffed. "Oh, do not say that about him. But I dunno... it was kind of sweet, in a weird way." She turned the finger where her ring would go over again, studying it. "He didn't even make some smug comment about how careless I was."

Zelda didn't know what to make of that. Clyde wasn't the kind of person who did things for free. But Lola didn't seem concerned, so Zelda forced the thought away.

"Maybe he's in love with you," she teased, just to see the way Lola scrunched up her nose.

"Don't even joke about that," Lola said, attempting to ignore the heat rising to her cheeks. "Besides, Clyde doesn't do love. He barely does eye contact!"

Zelda laughed, shaking her head. "Fair point." She finished the last curl and reached for a bottle of hair serum, running a bit through Lola's waves to smooth them out.

"There," she said, leaning back. "You look disgustingly pretty now." Lola grinned, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "Thank you!"

________________________________

AUTHOR'S NOTE
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter 🫶 I had fun lowk writing this chapter, the angst omll but two more chapters until Act One ends!!!