The Slytherin common room was thick with warmth from the fire, shadows dancing against green-draped walls. Blaise stretched out across the couch, smirking.

“New game,” he declared. “It’s called hear me out. You say the name of a girl, and we decide if you’ve lost your mind or if she’s worth it.”

Theo groaned, but the glint in his eyes betrayed curiosity. “Fine. But this is ending in blood if someone says something stupid.”

Blaise leaned forward eagerly. “I’ll start. Hear me out—Astoria Greengrass.”

Draco arched a brow. “Acceptable. Predictable, but acceptable.”

Theo shrugged. “Not bad. Could be worse.”

Next, Theo smirked. “Hear me out—Susan Bones.”

Draco scoffed. “A Hufflepuff? Merlin.”

“She’s cute,” Theo argued.

Blaise laughed. “Unexpected, but I’ll allow it.”

Evan leaned in, grinning. “Hear me out—Marietta Edgecombe.”

The boys groaned in unison. Blaise hurled a cushion at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Oi, her hair’s nice,” Evan protested.

“Pathetic,” Draco muttered, before smoothing his tie. “Hear me out—Pansy Parkinson.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Predictable. Next.”

Everyone’s gaze shifted toward Mattheo, lounging in the corner chair, half in the shadows. He hadn’t spoken once, just listening, a flicker of something sharp in his expression.

“Go on then,” Blaise prodded. “Your turn.”

Mattheo tilted his head, dark eyes catching the firelight. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, deliberately, he answered.

“Y/N.”

The room froze.

Theo’s head snapped up. “What?” His voice was tight, dangerous.

Mattheo’s lips curved into a lazy smirk. “You heard me.”

“You’re joking,” Theo spat.

Mattheo leaned back, arms draped casually over the chair. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Blaise choked on a laugh, tension crackling in the air. “Bloody hell, this game just got interesting.”

Theo pushed forward, fists clenching. “That’s my sister. Say her name again, and I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Mattheo cut in smoothly, voice low. “It’s hear me out, Nott. Don’t act like you didn’t want honesty.”

Before Theo could lunge, another voice cut through the room—calm, cool, and sharp as glass.

“Enough.”

Tom Riddle had appeared silently near the hearth, his presence pulling every gaze like a tide. His eyes swept the scene, calculating. “Petty games and empty threats. Pathetic.”

Theo stiffened but didn’t look away from Mattheo. “He said—”

“I heard,” Tom interrupted. His gaze lingered on Mattheo, unreadable. “And I don’t care for it.”

Mattheo met his brother’s stare without flinching, though the smirk never quite left his mouth. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission to speak my mind.”

“You don’t,” Tom said evenly, stepping closer, his shadow long across the firelight. “But you’d do well to remember who you’re speaking about.”

The silence was thick, Blaise watching with barely contained amusement, Draco tense, Theo bristling.

Mattheo only leaned forward slightly, voice a murmur edged with defiance. “Maybe that’s exactly why I said it.”

The fire crackled. No one moved.