Leah Labelle has spent most of her years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the shadows, always present but never quite noticed. She often felt caught between not being ugly enough to be bullied and not being captivating enough to seiz...
I sit by the long wooden table, the heavy oak beneath me feeling like a ship lost in a storm, tossed and turned by forces beyond my control. The rest of the Death Eaters surround me, a mix of dread and anticipation filling the air like smoke. Draco is seated next to me, his expression one of indifference, though I can hear the shallow cadence of his breath, a telltale sign that he wishes to be anywhere but here, in this oppressive chamber. It's as if the walls themselves are closing in, thick with the stench of fear and death, memories of the lives extinguished in this very room.
Bellatrix bursts in, skipping with a kind of manic energy that contrasts sharply with the dark ambiance. Her smile is as wide as a crescent moon, and I can't help but think that it must have come at the cost of someone else's misery. "Is there a problem?" Voldemort's voice slithers through the air, making my skin crawl like a thousand tiny insects racing across my flesh.
"No, not really," she chirps, her hair bouncing with each enthusiastic movement. "We might need another chair though." The words hang in the air, innocuous yet laced with an underlying threat.
And then it happens. I can feel the atmosphere shift like the tides, a palpable energy that coils around me, tightening like a noose. My body senses her before my mind can process it, a sixth sense that screams at me to run, to hide. But I'm frozen, rooted to the spot, as if the very ground beneath me has turned to quicksand. Leah steps into the room, and Mattheo follows closely behind her, his expression a turbulent mix of defiance and desperation.
Seeing Leah here feels like being struck by lightning. My heart lurches in my chest, a visceral response that takes my breath away. The very air seems to thicken, turning to molasses as my mind races. What the fuck is she doing here? My thoughts are a chaotic storm, swirling with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings.
I can see the way her eyes dart around the room, taking in the dark figures seated at the table, the oppressive energy that suffocates the space. She stands tall, yet there's a tremor in her stance, a fragility that belies her outward composure. For a moment, the world around us fades into the background, and it's just her and me—two souls caught in a web of danger and uncertainty.
Mattheo looks protective, almost possessive as he stands by her side, yet I can sense the tension radiating off him, the fear of what might happen next. The Death Eaters watch her with a mix of intrigue and malice, their intentions hidden beneath masks of indifference. I know how they are, how they revel in chaos, and my blood runs cold at the thought of what they might do to her.
"What the hell is she doing here?" I can't help but mutter under my breath, anger bubbling beneath my skin. I want to protect her, to pull her away from this madness, but the weight of the situation keeps me pinned to my seat, shackled by the unspoken rules of this cursed world.
"Maybe she's here for an introduction," Bellatrix croons, her voice dripping with mockery. "How delightful! A chance to meet the Dark Lord himself."
Voldemort's gaze sharpens, and I can feel it like a blade slicing through the tension. Leah stands frozen, uncertainty etching lines across her face, and I want nothing more than to reach out and reassure her, to tell her that everything will be okay, even if that's a lie.
"Take a seat," Voldemort demands, his voice a low hiss that chills the air.
Mattheo glances at Bellatrix, his posture stiff, though he tries to keep his voice calm. "We're just friends," he says, but the weight of his words is deliberate. I know exactly why he's saying it—he's trying to downplay Leah's importance, to protect her. Because in this room, in front of him, if they know how much she means to him, she'll be more than a pawn—they'll use her to control him.
"Take a seat," Voldemort repeats, slower this time, and the temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees, the very air tightening around us.
I watch as Mattheo reluctantly pulls Leah toward the long wooden table. They sit down, Mattheo directly across from me, and Leah across from Draco. I avert my eyes, trying not to look at her, but it's impossible. I'm furious. Furious with Mattheo for bringing her here, for allowing her to get this close to the heart of something so dark. But I'm just as angry with Leah—how could she come here, knowing what's at stake?
My focus drifts as Voldemort begins speaking, but I can't hear his words. They float past me, meaningless whispers drowned out by the rising storm in my mind. My eyes keep finding their way back to Leah, flickering up to her like an involuntary reflex. She's staring at me, her gaze unwavering, as if I'm the only thing in the room she can look at.
Damn it, Leah. You shouldn't be here.
Suddenly, a loud slam shakes the table, jolting me from my thoughts. My heart skips a beat, and it takes a second to realize what's just happened.
One of our Hogwarts teachers lies motionless on the table. Her voice cuts through the room like a blade, pleading—desperation etched into her every word, her eyes wide with terror. She looks at each of us—me, Draco, Mattheo, and Leah—as if she still sees us as her students, as though we have any power to help her.
Leah flinches at the sight of the teacher's life being taken from her, in a brutal display of Voldemort's mercilessness. She tries to regain her composure, sitting straighter, but I can see the light in her eyes flicker out. Something inside her dies with that teacher, and when she looks at me again, it's different. It's not just fear or shock anymore. It's like she's blaming me—like she holds me responsible for this nightmare.
My chest tightens as the thought crosses my mind: Is she here because of me?
I can't ignore the shift in her demeanor. The Leah I've known for the past few months fades away, replaced by the girl I knew last year—the one who didn't carry this weight in her eyes. She looks like she's trying to piece something together, something I don't want her to figure out. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat growing louder in my ears, drowning out Voldemort's voice. He's speaking directly to her now, though he doesn't address her by name, his words creeping around her like shadows.
But he hasn't crossed the line yet. Not yet.
The moment Voldemort dismisses us, I spring from my seat, moving on autopilot. My body is rigid, my mind racing with anger, with fear. The fury inside me boils over, and I can't control it anymore. I want to slam my fist into Mattheo's face so hard it changes the shape of it—because he is the reason Leah is here. There's no one else who could have told her where to find us.
He's the reason she's been dragged into this hell.
And I can't forgive him for that.
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