The Slytherin common room is unusually quiet, the fire in the hearth flickering as though it senses the tension in the air. Mattheo lounges near the stairs, but even he seems uneasy, fingers drumming against his wand. The other boys—Theo, Draco, Blaise, Enzo, Regulus—linger in small clusters, whispering in low tones, glancing toward the portrait hole every so often.

Tom’s figure appears at the far end of the room, eyes distant, glowing faintly as magic crackles around him. It isn’t the usual controlled shimmer that hums at his fingertips—it’s jagged, dark, wild, and somehow almost alive.

Mattheo stiffens. “Something’s…wrong,” he mutters, eyes narrowing as he watches his older brother.

Theo raises an eyebrow. “That’s…not just a little moody, is it?”

Before anyone can answer, the portrait hole swings open and you step into the room. Your presence is casual, unaware of the tension, hair brushing your shoulders, wand tucked into your hand at your side.

Then it happens.

A sudden burst of dark energy arcs from Tom, uncontrolled and jagged. It slams into you the instant you cross the threshold.

Time fractures.

The world tilts as the magic strikes, burning through the air like black fire with edges of silver. Your knees buckle, wand clattering to the floor. The Slytherin boys leap forward, shouting, but the force of the magic pins you in place, searing along your arms and chest. The pain is immediate, shocking in its intensity, like nothing you’ve ever felt.

Mattheo is at your side in an instant, hands gripping your shoulders, eyes wide with panic. “Lexi! Stay with me! Stay with me!”

Tom’s face contorts with horror as he steps forward, voice breaking. “No…no! I didn’t—Lexi, I didn’t mean—” His hands are out, shaking as the dark magic pulses uncontrollably around him. “It’s unstable! I—Gods, I didn’t—”

You gasp, chest heaving, pain and burning power radiating through you. Your vision flickers, and you realize it’s not just physical—the magic has left a mark, lingering in your veins, a deep, dangerous hum that feels permanent.

Mattheo’s eyes burn with rage and fear. “Tommy—look at what you’ve done!” His hands tighten on your shoulders. “Get it under control! Now!”

The other boys move instinctively to form a protective barrier around you, wands drawn, faces pale but determined. Blaise mutters, “That’s…that’s not going to be easy. He’s…he’s too far gone.”

You try to lift your head, voice weak but steady. “It’s…okay…he didn’t mean it…”

Mattheo presses his forehead to yours, murmuring, “Don’t you dare move. I’ve got you. Just…hold on.”

Tom stumbles backward, clutching at his temples, magic crackling chaotically around him like a storm breaking apart in the room. His eyes, normally so precise and terrifyingly calm, are wild with fear and guilt. “I…never…wanted this…”

You feel the hum of dark magic embedded in you, a permanent echo of his instability. Your body aches, but your mind latches onto Mattheo’s steady presence like a lifeline.

“You’re going to be okay,” Mattheo whispers, voice sharp and protective. “We’ll fix this. We’ll—” He glares at Tom, every inch of him coiled and dangerous. “We’ll fix this, Tommy. You hear me? Stay away from her until you can control it!”

The Slytherin boys tighten their circle, eyes flashing with warning, as Tom sways, the residual magic sputtering around him, a dangerous storm barely contained.

And in the middle of it all, Mattheo’s hands never leave yours. “You’re safe,” he hisses, almost feral. “I’ve got you. No one touches you. No one.”

The fire in the hearth pops, reflecting off the eyes of everyone in the room—fear, anger, and a burning determination to protect you at any cost.