As the dark night stretches ahead of them, the mood in the car is tense. Tom grips the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, focused on the road. Draco sits in the passenger seat, silent and brooding, eyes staring straight ahead. In the back, Mattheo is restless, leaning forward and tapping the seat in front of him.

“Tom, c'mon, turn on the radio,” Mattheo says, his voice full of mischief.

Tom ignores him, his focus unwavering.

“Seriously, Tom, it’s too quiet. Just turn it on,” Mattheo insists again, louder this time.

Draco sighs, rolling his eyes but remaining silent. Tom clenches his jaw, finally stopping in his tracks. “Fine,” he snaps, his patience wearing thin. "But if it's rubbish, I swear—"

To everyone’s surprise, Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy” fills the car, loud and cheerful. There’s a brief moment of stunned silence before Mattheo grins widely.

“Oh, this is a classic,” Mattheo says, and without hesitation, he starts singing along at the top of his lungs. “Oh, when you walk by every night, talkin' sweet and lookin' fine...”

Draco shoots him a withering look, eyebrows furrowing in irritation. He exhales sharply but says nothing, staring out the window as if trying to mentally escape the scene.

"Sweet, sweet fantasy baby!" Mattheo belts out.

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every decision that led him to this moment. He glances at Tom but doesn’t say anything, too annoyed and resigned to even bother.

Tom, on the other hand, is fuming. He mutters under his breath, “I’m going to Avada Mattheo the second I get the chance,” though he doesn’t stop the music or Mattheo’s off-key serenade. He just shakes his head in disbelief.

Mattheo, completely oblivious to the brewing tension, continues to sing with pure enthusiasm, even going as far as to point at Draco and Tom during the chorus. “Fantasy! You’re my fantasy!”

As the song plays on, Tom’s eye twitches. “One spell,” he mutters to himself, “just one, and we can finish this mission in peace.”