I made my way down to the stables, my heart still pounding from the argument with Mattheo. My emotions were all over the place, and I needed an escape—something to clear my mind. Riding always helped.
As I reached the stables, my horse perked up at the sound of my footsteps. A small smile tugged at my lips despite everything. He always seemed to know when I needed him most.
"Hey, boy," I murmured, running a hand over his soft coat. "Let's get out of here for a bit, yeah?"
I quickly tacked him up and led him out to the open field. The second I swung into the saddle, I felt lighter. With a gentle squeeze of my legs, we were off, galloping across the field. The wind rushed past me, the cool air biting at my skin, but I didn't care. The weight on my chest lessened with every stride, the frustration slowly fading away.
For a while, I just rode—letting the rhythmic movement of my horse soothe me, the steady beat of his hooves grounding me. I practiced a bit of liberty work with him, just like always, feeling the bond between us strengthen as we moved together.
Eventually, I slowed him to a stop and slid off, leading him to a nearby tree. I sat down, leaning back against the trunk, closing my eyes for a moment. The quiet was comforting. No drama, no expectations—just me, my horse, and the open sky.
I exhaled deeply. Maybe I should just stay out here forever.
I sighed, running a hand through my wind-tousled hair as I led my horse back to the stables. The ride had helped, but reality was already creeping back in. I knew I couldn't hide out forever.
As I made my way back to the castle, my stomach dropped when I spotted Professor Snape standing near the entrance, his arms crossed, his usual unreadable expression in place.
"Miss Malfoy," he said in that slow, deliberate tone. "Your presence is required in the Headmaster's office. Your parents have arrived."
I froze. My parents? Here? Shit.
Snape didn't wait for a response. He simply turned, expecting me to follow. My heart pounded as I walked behind him, my mind racing with possibilities. They had to know about something—but what? The party? My fight with Mattheo? The smoking, the drinking? Or maybe... maybe it was everything.
By the time we reached Dumbledore's office, my hands were clammy. Snape gave me one last look before stepping aside, leaving me to push open the heavy wooden door myself.
Inside, my parents sat in front of Dumbledore's desk. My mother's expression was tight with worry, but my father's was unreadable—though the sharpness in his eyes sent a clear message.
"Ah, Miss Malfoy," Dumbledore greeted, his voice as calm as ever. "Please, have a seat."
I swallowed hard and stepped forward, bracing myself for whatever was coming.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. My hands curled into fists in my lap as I looked between them all.
"I understand," I said, my voice firm but laced with frustration. "I know I can do things no one else can. I can do magic without a wand, I can feel spells before they hit, I can control things I shouldn't be able to—" I exhaled sharply. "But this... this isn't what I want."
My father's expression hardened. "It's not about what you want. It's about what must be done."
I shook my head, biting the inside of my cheek. "So that's it? I don't get a choice? I just have to become some weapon for this war?"
"You were never meant to be just anything," my mother said gently, but I could hear the weight behind her words. "You are extraordinary. And extraordinary people don't get to live ordinary lives."
I looked away, my chest tight. I wasn't stupid—I knew this war was real, I knew the danger that lurked ahead. But was I really supposed to just accept that my life wasn't mine anymore? That I had to become whatever they needed me to be?
Dumbledore's voice cut through the tension. "No one is forcing you to become something you are not. But denying your power will not change what is coming."
I exhaled, my throat burning. I was trapped. No matter what I wanted, this war was coming, and apparently, so was my role in it.
My father says "you need to start taking care of yourself, I don't know how many times we need to tell you this before you're actually going to do something about it."
I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Oh, so now you care?"
My father's eyes darkened. "Don't be ridiculous. We've always cared."
"Really?" I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. "Because it sure doesn't feel like it. You only seem to care when it affects your perfect reputation or your war plans."
Narcissa sighed, her gaze softer than my father's but just as firm. "We are not blind. We've seen how you've been living—how little you eat, how much you drink, how you rely on things that will only destroy you."
"You think I don't know that?" My voice cracked slightly, but I forced myself to stay composed. "You think I want to be like this? I'm trying to cope!"
Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing my attention. "And yet, your coping mechanisms are only leading you further from yourself." His blue eyes were piercing, filled with something I couldn't quite place—pity? Concern? "No one is asking you to be perfect. But if you are to stand against what is coming, you must first learn to stand for yourself."
I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling slightly. "So, what? You want me to just magically fix everything overnight?"
Lucius narrowed his eyes. "We want you to start. You cannot fight a war when you are already losing a battle with yourself."
I let out a slow breath, feeling cornered. I wanted to argue, to push back, but deep down, I knew they weren't wrong. I just didn't know if I was strong enough to fix it.
"I'm too damaged to be your fucking weapon" I said anger in my tone
Lucius' lips pressed into a thin line. "You are not damaged. You are powerful."
I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. "Oh, really? Because last time I checked, powerful people don't wake up from nightmares every night. They don't drown themselves in alcohol and cigarettes just to feel something. They don't break down at the thought of water touching their skin." My voice cracked, but I refused to let the tears fall. "If all I am to you is a weapon, then you're screwed, because I'm a broken one."
Narcissa's face softened, but she didn't argue. Dumbledore, however, sighed, his expression unreadable. "You are not broken. But you are hurting. And you will not be able to fight—truly fight—if you don't allow yourself to heal."
I scoffed, crossing my arms. "And how exactly do you expect me to do that?"
Lucius looked at me with the same cold authority he always had. "By accepting what you are and training. The war isn't waiting for you to be ready."
I shook my head, my body tense with frustration. "And what if I don't want to fight?"
Silence.
Dumbledore gave me a look filled with something like understanding. "Then the war will come to you anyway."
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. It didn't matter what I wanted. It never had.
I turned on my heel and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind me. My head was spinning, my chest tight with anger and frustration. I didn't stop walking—I couldn't. I needed to get away from them, from their expectations, from the weight they were trying to shove onto my shoulders.
I barely noticed where I was going until I found myself outside, the cool night air hitting my face. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but it didn't help. My hands were shaking, my mind racing.
I wasn't ready for this. I didn't even know if I wanted to be ready.
I pulled out a cigarette with trembling fingers, lighting it quickly and taking a deep drag, hoping it would calm me down. The smoke filled my lungs, but it didn't do much to quiet the storm inside me.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't hear footsteps approaching.
I tensed when I heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind me. My instincts kicked in, and I exhaled a slow breath of smoke before turning my head slightly.
"Thought I'd find you here."
Mattheo.
His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—hesitation, maybe regret. I didn't turn to face him. I just took another drag and stared out into the darkness.
"What do you want?" I asked, my voice flat.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, I heard the rustle of fabric as he moved to sit on the stone ledge beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance at my cigarette but say nothing about it.
"I heard you storm out of Dumbledore's office," he finally said. "Figured you'd want to talk."
I let out a bitter laugh. "Talk? That's funny, considering the last time we spoke, we were screaming at each other."
Mattheo sighed, running a hand through his curls. "Yeah... I know."
Silence stretched between us. I flicked the ash off my cigarette, my fingers still slightly shaking. He must have noticed because he spoke again, quieter this time.
"They want you to train, don't they?"
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Yeah," I muttered. "They think I'm some sort of... weapon. A tool to win their war." I shook my head. "It's all I am to them."
Mattheo didn't argue. He didn't try to tell me I was wrong. And maybe that's why I didn't push him away.
Instead, he just said, "That's not all you are."
I finally turned to look at him, searching his face for any sign of a lie. His brown eyes held nothing but honesty.
I wanted to believe him. But I wasn't sure if I could.
I looked away, taking another slow drag before flicking the cigarette onto the stone floor and stomping it out with the heel of my boot.
"They think I need to start taking care of myself better too," I muttered, a humorless chuckle escaping me. "Like that's so easy."
Mattheo sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "They're not wrong," he admitted. "You don't eat. You barely sleep. And you—" He gestured at the cigarette.
I shot him a glare. "Don't start."
He held up his hands in surrender. "I'm just saying. You've been through hell, and you're still standing, but if you keep going like this..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
I scoffed. "What, I'll break? Already have."
"No," he said firmly, turning to look at me. "You haven't."
I swallowed, gripping the ledge beside me.
He was wrong. I was broken.
But instead of arguing, I let out a breath and whispered, "I don't know how to fix any of it, Mattheo."
He didn't say anything for a moment. Then, softly, "You don't have to fix it alone."
His words settled something deep inside me.
I looked over at him again, and this time, I didn't turn away.
"I wish none of this had ever happened," I whispered, my voice barely carrying over the quiet hum of the night. "I wish I was never kidnapped. Never told about the wizarding world. Maybe then I could've been normal."
Mattheo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. "You don't mean that."
I turned to face him fully, my expression hard. "Yes, I do. If none of this happened, I wouldn't have these nightmares. I wouldn't be scared of water. I wouldn't—" My voice cracked, and I clenched my fists. "I wouldn't feel like I'm barely holding myself together."
His jaw tightened. "I get it," he said quietly. "I do."
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "No, you don't."
"I do," he insisted, his gaze dark with something unreadable. "I know what it's like to wish things were different. To wish you were different. But this—this is who you are now."
I swallowed, looking away.
"I just want to be normal," I muttered.
Mattheo sighed, shifting closer. "Maybe normal's overrated."
I let out a breath, my shoulders slumping. "I just... I don't know how to live like this."
He was quiet for a moment before finally saying, "Then let me help you figure it out."
I didn't respond, but for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel entirely alone.