The rain softened to a drizzle as Hermione sank to the jagged stones at the shore's edge, her soaked cloak clinging to her like a second skin. The cold seeped through her bones, but she no longer cared.
She let the waves wash over her thoughts, the gray sky pressing down like a weight and, somehow, a release.
Her breath slowed. The chaos inside her ebbed as memories—long buried—rose without resistance. The jeers at school, the whispered curses at home, the sharp edges of rejection and fear.
Pain, yes. But also strength.
She whispered into the wind, "It's okay. It's okay to feel broken."
The storm outside mirrored the storm inside her—a tempest no longer fought but accepted.
Far from the shore, Draco pushed through the rain-drenched forest toward the beach, desperation lending urgency to each step.
Suddenly, a hand gripped his shoulder with crushing force. He spun around, wand drawn—but found only his father's cold, cruel gaze.
"Thought you could run from your legacy, boy?" Lucius snarled, shoving Draco backward.
"No," Draco said, voice hard. "I'm done running."
Lucius laughed, dark and low. "Then fight. Like a Malfoy."
But this was no duel of spells. Lucius was older, stronger—more ruthless.
Magic was useless here. Draco dropped his wand.
They clashed in the mud—fists, knees, gritted teeth.
Lucius's blows landed hard, fueled by years of hate and entitlement. Draco took them, fueled by something fiercer: love, desperation, the need to protect his family and himself.
Blood mixed with rain as the fight spiraled—a raw, brutal dance of survival.
Finally, with a desperate surge, Draco slammed Lucius to the ground.
Panting, bruised, and shaking, he held his father down, eyes blazing.
"I'm not your shadow anymore."
Lucius spat in the mud, defeated but alive.
But Draco barely registered the victory.
His chest heaved—not with triumph, but with the heavy weight of what the fight had cost him.