“We have a problem.” Tom’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

“Oh, just one?” Mattheo scoffed. “I thought we were collecting them at this point.”

“Let me guess.” Draco folded his arms. “Some deranged cult wants to user her baby's power to trigger an apocalypse.”

“Close,” Barty interjected. “It's worse.”

Tom’s gaze darkened. “They want to own it. Control it. Shape it into whatever twisted weapon they believe it can become. This isn’t about stopping a threat anymore. It’s about creating one.”

Silence.

Then, Mattheo exhaled sharply. “Who are these a//holes?”

Tom’s expression was unreadable. “The remnants of V0Idemort’s most devoted. The ones who still believe in his legacy.” His voice lowered. “They see this child as unfinished business. A power that should be theirs. And they will stop at nothing to claim it.”

“Over my de4d body.” Mattheo’s voice was ice.

“Oh, I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem for them,” Barty muttered.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fantastic. Another crisis.”

Barty held out an envelope. “Show him the letter.”

Mattheo snatched it from his hand. Tom’s voice echoed in his mind as he read:

"The D4rk Lord’s legacy must not be left to fate. Such power is not to be wasted."

His grip on the parchment tightened. “I’ll f/cking k/II anyone who even thinks about touching her. Or my daughter.”

Draco arched a brow. “Speaking of touching…” he drawled. “Shouldn’t you be at Pansy’s party making sure Theo keeps his hands off her?”

Barty grinned. “And here I thought tonight was going to be boring.”

Mattheo clenched his jaw. “One wrong move and I’ll shove my wand down his thr-.”

Draco smirked. “And if he does more than that?”

Barty’s grin widened. “Then it’s gonna be a h3ll of a funeral.”

Tom gave Mattheo a pointed look. “You should go.”

Mattheo didn’t hesitate. He stormed out, boots echoing against the stone corridor.

Then—

Sever/s's voice, cold and deliberate, stopped him in his tracks.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t end you where you stand, Mattheo.”