𝘋𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏 𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚 𝘛𝘐𝘌𝘋/𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 (English version)

Chapter 68

The clock embedded in the stone wall showed it was past one.

In the Slytherin Common Room, no one was sleeping. No one even had the strength to pretend they wanted to. It would've only meant tossing and turning in bed.

The greenish light filtered through the tall window facing the bottom of the Black Lake, and the fire in the hearth crackled faintly, burning out in silence.

Tom had been standing for over an hour. Motionless. Hands clasped behind his back, shoulders tense, gaze lost beyond the glass.
Outside, abyssal creatures moved slowly.

The others were scattered around the room: Theo lying on a sofa, one arm over his eyes; Blaise leaning against a column, staring at an undefined spot on the floor; Mattheo next to the fireplace, arms crossed and jaw clenched; Enzo on the windowsill, tapping his fingers on the wood with a restlessness that betrayed an only apparent calm. Draco sat farther away, stiff, hands clutching the edge of the couch as if trying to hold on to something that was slipping away.

It was Tom's voice that woke them, drawing all their attention to him. His tone was low, deep.
The perfect form of the news he was about to deliver.
"He sent a letter."

Seven words. Seven blades. Six for them. The last, honed to perfection, was for Sarah.

Theo slowly lifted his gaze, like someone who already knows what they're about to hear, yet still clings to hope of a mistake.
Blaise didn't move, but his fingers, interlaced behind his neck, twitched in a nervous spasm.
Mattheo, who had been staring blankly at the flames just moments before, turned abruptly toward Tom.
Enzo ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, as if trying to wake up from a dream too long.
Draco squinted, leaning back, lips pressed in a tight line.

Tom turned. His face was expressionless. But the silence that followed said everything.
"It's been too long," he said. "We're no longer credible. The Dark Lord demands action. Now."

It was the confirmation they had all feared.

Theo was the first to break the silence, with a crooked smile that held no amusement.
"Brilliant. Taken. Snatched from Hogwarts like it was nothing. A stroll in the park, right?"

"You won't do it," Blaise said, staring at Tom. It was a statement, not a question. "We all know that."

Tom didn't deny it. Didn't make excuses.
"I can't." He said it coldly. The decision made, hoping it was the right one.

"But if none of us does it... he'll kill us himself."

Draco ran a hand down his face.
"What were you thinking?" he murmured, with desperate softness. "That he'd forget our little field trip here? That he'd let it go just because you..."

"Because I what?"
For an instant, Tom's voice cracked. Barely. But it was enough.
They all heard it. They all understood.

Draco lowered his gaze. The words weighed heavy in his throat.
"Because you love her."

Tom remained still, eyes downcast. He didn't know what to say, how to respond to what was simply the truth.

Theo stood. His movements slow, heavy, almost menacing.
"It was never just your problem. We're in this too. And I think we're all of the same mind."

Mattheo pushed away from the fireplace with a nervous jolt, his face twisted in frustration.
"And if we don't do it? If we find a way, a fake, a lie... something."

"There is none," said Blaise. His tone was calm, but in his eyes burned a bitter awareness. "With every day that passes, he feels it. He knows we're stalling. That we're playing games. And we all know what he's like when he loses patience."