The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet that evening, the firelight throwing long, jagged shadows across the stone walls. A low tension buzzed in the air like static. Cards and chess pieces sat forgotten on the table as two boys faced each other, neither willing to back down.

Mattheo Riddle leaned back in his chair, smirking, his dark curls falling into his eyes. He tossed a playing card onto the table with a sharp flick of his wrist. “You think you can beat a Riddle in these games, Draco?” he drawled. “Think again.”

Draco Malfoy sat opposite him, pale eyes glinting under the flicker of green firelight. He didn’t even look at the cards anymore — his attention was fixed solely on Mattheo, his voice calm but edged like a blade. “I already have, Mattheo.”

The room stilled. Theo Nott glanced up from where he lounged on the sofa, a book open on his lap, but said nothing. Tom, leaning against the mantle with his arms folded, watched silently — his expression unreadable, dark eyes flicking between the two boys.

Draco’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping lower. “Can’t you see that she prefers me over you? Chose me over you. And still chooses me every single day over you. Anything else you tell yourself is just your ego and your delusions talking.”

Mattheo’s hands tightened on the edge of the table. “You know nothing, Malfoy,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“Oh, but I do,” Draco countered smoothly, leaning back in his chair like a king on a throne. “I know that I’m about to go pick up my future wife and pay for dinner. And you can’t even do that, can you?”

Theo gave a low whistle under his breath, snapping his book shut. “Alright, this is getting good,” he muttered, but neither boy heard him.

Mattheo stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched. “Careful, Malfoy,” he said softly — too softly — “because one day you’re going to say something you can’t take back.”

Tom shifted slightly, finally speaking, his voice cutting through the tension like cold steel. “Enough,” he said, calm but commanding. “Both of you.”

But even as Tom’s gaze pinned them both, the air between Mattheo and Draco stayed heavy — a silent war being fought with nothing but words and looks. Theo just grinned faintly from the sofa, clearly enjoying the show.

And above them all, Tom’s expression was impossible to read. He was watching, calculating, as if already deciding what to do about the storm building in his House.