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ATHENA stared at the couple she had found in the broom closet during her patrolling hours with Riddle.

Correction: Riddle had found them.

Lucinda flinched under the weight of Athena's gaze, her own eyes dropping to the floor, but her lips parted in a soft, almost apologetic whisper. "Athena—"

"Don't. Even. Start." Athena's voice was low, a biting precision to each word. She didn't need to look at Lucinda to make it clear how little she cared for an explanation. Instead, her gaze flicked to her brother, cold and piercing.

Abraxas swallowed.

The words didn't come easily; the weight of the silence was heavy between them.

When Athena's eyes landed on their intertwined hands, her nostrils flared with a quiet fury. Her voice broke through the stillness, the words wrapped in disbelief. "When were you going to tell me?"

Riddle leaned against the doorframe with a casual indifference, his arms folded across his chest. He barely acknowledged the tension in the closet, content to observe, his expression flat and disinterested. This was clearly an amusement to him, though he said nothing.

"When it seemed like the right time," Abraxas muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, but the guilt was unmistakable in his tone. When his sister scoffed, he said, "Athena, you think we wanted to hide our relationship for four whole months—?"

"Four months?" Athena's lips parted in disbelief. She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, her lips twisting into a scowl. She wasn't interested in his excuses. "The right time?" she repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism. "Four months? Four months, Abraxas? And you still waited for 'the right time'?"

"Athena, I love her." Abraxas stepped forward, not letting go of Lucinda's hand as he stared into his twin sister's eyes. Eyes that were looking at him in betrayal, and he knew why. Shaking his head, he repeated quietly, "I'm sorry, Athena."

The apology made Athena freeze, her mind whirling with explanations to what it could mean. When it all clicked, she took a step backward with wide, panicked eyes.

"No." Athena shook her head in panic, her voice cracking.

Abraxas remained unmoved. He looked at Lucinda and squeezed her hand once, as if to offer some sort of reassurance. Then, he turned to his sister and said, "Yes."

Lucinda remained quiet, her eyes on the floor, unable to meet the betrayed look in her friend's eyes.

Love could not be stopped.

She finally had it, and she felt the same for him. For months, she had to act like she didn't. For months, she had to act like she wasn't sneaking out of the dorm room late at night and fall asleep the next day in classes because of being with him so late.

Riddle, leaning against the doorframe like an indifferent spectator, furrowed his brow slightly, processing the sudden shift in the air. For a fleeting moment, the usual mask of disinterest slipped from his face, replaced by a brief flicker of understanding, of realization, before he leaned back, his posture more guarded now.

His gaze flitted between Abraxas and Lucinda, and then to Athena.

Abraxas took a breath, steeling himself, and then delivered the final blow. "I'm getting betrothed to her." His voice cracked just a little at the last words, and Athena could hear it—the vulnerability beneath the confident declaration. He wasn't asking for her approval. He was telling her. He had made up his mind. "I already asked for her hand from Lord Avery."

Lord Avery. Lucinda's older brother—Edmund Avery.

The one who had gotten betrothed over Yule break.

Clearing the path for his younger sister to also get betrothed.

Athena continued to shake her head in disbelief, tears of anger prickling in her eyes.

If Abraxas got betrothed, then her turn would be next immediately. Both of them knew just how ready their mother was to hand Athena to Lestrange the previous summer—as if wanting to be rid of her as soon as possible.

So him getting betrothed so early when he had until the end of seventh year to do so...

"I love her," repeated Abraxas as if it would be enough to stop the ache of heavy betrayal that settled in his sister's chest.

Athena's eyes flashed, her heart pounding as she searched her brother's face for some trace of the twin she had once known so well, the twin who wouldn't have done this.

Who wouldn't have betrayed her like this.

She didn't mind him finding love—in fact, she would be happy for him, if not for the selfish fact that if he got betrothed, then so would she. As soon as the betrothal was announced, it would be her turn. And unlike Abraxas, she would have no choice on who she wanted to get betrothed to. She would be forced by her parents to get betrothed to whomever they choose.

Her chest tightened, her breath catching in her throat as Abraxas' words echoed in her head.

I'm getting betrothed to her.

The weight of Abraxas's choice hit her in a way she hadn't anticipated. This wasn't just about them, about him and her.

This was about Athena losing control of the very course her life was on.

It wasn't the fact that they were in love—though that had caught her off guard—but the simple fact that Abraxas's betrothal meant her future would be decided for her now, too.

There was no way she would get out of it. If he married Lucinda, then by the unspoken rules of their world—their family's world—she would be next. Some stranger would be placed in her life, someone she didn't love, someone chosen by her parents.

And that... that was the thought that twisted inside her chest, sharp and bitter.

She didn't even realize she had stepped back until the cool air brushed her face, but by then, she was already distancing herself from the scene. Her eyes stayed on the ground, her thoughts scattered and frantic.

"Athena," he said, but the way he said it was too soft, too guilty.

Abraxas shifted closer, his hand moving toward hers, but Athena took another step back, shaking her head. "Don't. Don't try to fix this."

She felt the sting of unshed tears, but she wouldn't let them fall. Not yet.

She needed to be angry first. Angry at the situation, angry at the way things had spiraled out of her control.

She needed to feel like she had some semblance of power before the inevitability of it all closed in on her.

"Abraxas," she whispered, her voice thick with frustration. "If you're betrothed to Lucinda, then I'm next. You know that."

Abraxas became quiet and merely swallowed. His eyes remained locked in Lucinda's, and that was all it took for Athena to see what was written in his eyes.

He chose love.

He chose love over family.

For once, Abraxas chose himself.

Athena shook her head. Taking another step back, she only said, "I can't." with a cracked voice before rushing away.

Riddle, who had been quiet the entire time, watched as she left. He turned to the couple, eyes flickering between the quiet and guilty-looking girl, and the defiant boy.

Even when Lucinda put a hand to her mouth, tears rushing to her eyes as she tried to blink them away, Abraxas pulled her to his arms and rubbed her back comfortingly, trying to soothe her guilt.

"You really are the most selfish human I have ever come across," said Riddle quietly. Too quietly. When Abraxas glanced at him, Riddle continued in disappointment, "I thought you loved your sister more than anything, Malfoy."

"I do," replied Abraxas with a sneer, letting the girl in his arms choke out a sob.

The door closed on them, and Abraxas did not need to ask Riddle where he was going, because he already knew. Riddle had followed his sister.

A part of Abraxas, somewhere deep inside, felt the pull of something else—a guilt, perhaps, or a faint glimmer of regret. But it was fleeting, buried beneath the overwhelming weight of his own choices.

Lucinda was still in his arms, her sobs muffled by his chest. He kissed the top of her head, offering what little comfort he could. He didn't know what was going to happen next. But this was his choice. He had made it.

And there was no turning back.

"Don't listen to him," he murmured to Lucinda, his fingers tangling gently in her hair. "Riddle can think whatever he likes, but I know what I'm doing."

Lucinda sniffled against him, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry, Abraxas. I didn't mean to—"

"Shh," he interrupted, pressing a finger to her lips. "It's not your fault."

He could feel the storm brewing inside of him—the storm that had nothing to do with Lucinda, but everything to do with the weight of his family, his obligations, his future.

This wasn't the easy choice. It wasn't the safe one. But it was his.

And as long as she was in his arms, he would hold onto her. No matter what happened next.

Tom Riddle rushed through the dark, dimly lit corridors of the Hogwarts castle with one person in his mind.

One person that seemed to be in his mind more often than not.

"Lumos." He used his now-lit wand to light up the corridor that he passed through, brows furrowing as he searched for the girl.

His heart beating faster, he continued rushing through corridor after corridor, cursing himself inwardly for staying a moment longer than he needed to.

He should have followed her the second she left. He shouldn't have let her leave alone so late at night.

She had been upset—no, angry. Righteous fury was etched into her every step as she walked away, but it wasn't just the betrayal that had sent her storming off. It was the realization, the one he knew far too well, that her life was about to be decided for her. That her future, her choices, were being stripped away by someone else.

By her brother.

By the very person she had once trusted above all others.

"Lumos."

The light from his wand flared brighter as he quickened his pace, rounding the next corner, his mind set.

She would be somewhere close. The castle wasn't that large, not when you knew its labyrinthine halls as well as he did. He could feel the pressure building—like something was about to snap.

Tom paused, the tip of his wand casting a long shadow against the stone walls. His brow furrowed as he slowed, realizing he wasn't thinking straight anymore.

What the hell was he doing? Why did it matter to him?

Why did she matter to him?

His feet carried him forward, anyway, despite the rising confusion. He couldn't answer the questions swirling in his head—he was never good at admitting when he was unsure of something. But there was something about Athena's pride, the way her expression had shifted between anger and hurt, that made him want to understand her.

He rounded another corner and—there, at the end of the hall—he saw her.

Athena stood still, her back to him, her figure barely outlined by the faint light from the nearby window. Her shoulders were hunched, as though she was carrying the weight of something heavy.

She didn't hear him approach, and for a moment, he just stood there, watching her, sensing the deep tension in the air.

The words that followed came out quieter than he expected, but they felt like they held more weight than they should. "You shouldn't be out here alone."

Athena stiffened at the sound of his voice, her body tensing before she turned slowly, her eyes sharp with suspicion. Her gaze narrowed when it landed on him, and there was no hiding the flicker of disdain in her eyes.

"What do you want, Riddle?" she asked, her voice like ice, her words cold enough to match the chill in the air.

Tom took a step closer, not quite closing the distance but making it clear that he wasn't going anywhere. The subtle defiance in her posture, the way she squared her shoulders, told him everything he needed to know. She was still angry, still hurt, still carrying that weight. But her walls were up.

"I—" he opened his mouth and was about to tell her that he understood her, that his offer would be worth it, but when he noticed the bags under her eyes... her pale face...

The fact that she held onto the wall behind her as if to give herself something to hold on to.

And when her eyes fluttered, Tom's heart gave an unexpected, sharp lurch in his chest.

He froze, watching as Athena's breath caught in her throat, her pale face even paler under the soft light of his wand. Her grip on the stone wall tightened, but it was obvious—it wasn't enough to hold her up.

Her knees started to buckle beneath her. Her grip on the stone wall faltered as if she was barely holding herself together. The reality of it hit him like a slap: she wasn't just tired. She wasn't just pretending to be strong. Something was terribly wrong.

Her eyes fluttered, but they didn't focus on him. Her whole body trembled, as though it couldn't support the weight of whatever she was carrying. His heart skipped, a tight knot forming in his chest.

"Ravena," he muttered, reaching out instinctively to steady her.

Her name barely left his lips before her body sagged into him. Her head lolled back against his chest, eyes fluttering shut, her legs no longer able to hold her up.

And then, without warning, her body went limp in his arms.

Tom caught her effortlessly, but the shock still hit him hard. Her head tipped against his shoulder, her breath shallow and uneven. His hand pressed against her back, holding her up, but for a moment, it was as though she wasn't even there—just a weight in his arms.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

Damn it.

Everything inside him screamed to fix it, to find a way to make this right. But how? She was barely conscious, barely aware of him, of anything. He could feel her pulse thumping weakly against his palm as he adjusted his hold on her, trying to keep her stable.

"Ravena," he said again, this time softer, his voice strained with something he couldn't name. His heart was hammering in his chest. He shifted her in his arms, but she was completely unresponsive.

With a quick glance around, he realized how badly he had misjudged the situation. Her exhaustion wasn't just from staying up late or the weight of her usual burdens. Something deeper was wrong—more than she let on, more than she had let anyone see.

He shifted, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing, though her limp form was all too real in his arms.

"You should've let me help you sooner," he muttered to himself, the words harsh but knowing.

He could feel her soft, irregular breathing against him, and it drove home how fragile she really was in this moment.

He didn't wait for an answer. His arms tightened around her slightly, the protective instinct rising without thought. He had to get her to the hospital wing. Now.

But just as he took a step forward, her fingers weakly grasped at his shirt, her voice a barely audible whisper:

"Please..."

He didn't need her to say anything more. It was enough.

Tom's steps quickened, moving through the hallways with urgency now, his mind flooded with a thousand questions, none of which mattered. All that mattered was getting her to safety.

But he still couldn't shake the feeling that this moment, with her in his arms, vulnerable and trusting in a way he never imagined she'd be, was one he would never forget.

"I'm fine," she murmured weakly, but her words were hollow, as if she didn't believe them herself.

Tom's jaw clenched as he saw the tremor in her hand when she pressed it against the wall, the way her knees were barely holding her up. Fine? She was anything but fine.

"No," he muttered, his tone quieter now, but with a firm undercurrent of something more protective than he'd meant. He didn't let go of her as he carried her bridal style through the corridors, rushing to the hospital wing. "You're not."

She stirred slightly, and he heard her whisper, barely audible, "Riddle... let me go."

Tom paused, not because he was considering her words, but because he had no idea how to answer them. Her body was too fragile in his arms for him to let go, even if he wanted to. He'd never been the kind of person to give in to someone else's weakness, but here—now—he found himself unwilling to put her down.

"No," he replied shortly, his voice low but firm. "Not until I get you to the hospital wing."

Athena's grip on his shirt was weak, her fingers trembling where they rested against his chest. Her body felt almost weightless in his arms, as if she wasn't even there. This wasn't Athena Malfoy, the girl who never let anyone see her cracks.

This was something else.

Tom exhaled sharply through his nose as he continued walking down the corridor, his gaze focused ahead, though part of him felt the weight of her head against his shoulder, the feel of her breath against his skin. There were too many questions now, too many things that didn't add up in his mind, but for once, he wasn't concerned with them.

He was just focused on getting her to safety.

Her faint whispers continued, and though he couldn't catch all the words, the tone of them—distant, almost confused—told him that she wasn't fully aware of what was happening.

"I don't need this," she muttered, the words slurring with fatigue.

Tom couldn't help the faint curve of his lips. "If you think that's true, then you're more stubborn than I thought."

Her lips trembled, and she tried to turn her head, but she lacked the strength to do anything but fall deeper into his hold.

"Please," she whispered, as if begging for something he couldn't give. "I'm fine."

But Tom could hear it—the break in her voice, the way she was still fighting the reality of her condition. The words felt wrong, even to her, and he knew, deep down, that she didn't believe them. She had never been fine.

He didn't respond to her again. He didn't need to.

He only focused on his steps as he moved through the darkened corridors, his grip firm but gentle around her, as if he could hold her together long enough to get her help.

Tom wasn't sure if it was his own unease that had pulled him into this moment or something else, but whatever it was, he couldn't seem to shake the sense that this—her, in his arms, on the edge of collapsing—was something he would never forget.

And when he finally reached the hospital wing, he laid her down gently on one of the empty beds and told the concerned nurse that Athena Malfoy had just fainted in the middle of their patrolling duty, not explaining anything further. It wasn't his place to do so.

And thankfully, the nurse didn't ask anything else before shoving potions down the fainted girl's throat.

And Riddle stayed.

Throughout the night, he stayed by Athena's side.