The Great Hall buzzed with life—students laughing, chatting, and clinking goblets over heaping plates of food. Everything was normal until the sharp crack of a plate hitting the floor silenced the room.

Mattheo Riddle and Harry Potter stood at opposite ends of the Hall, glaring daggers at each other.

“You’ve got a death wish, Potter,” Mattheo growled, dark curls falling over his forehead, sharp jaw set with fury. His sleeves were rolled up, tattoos curling around his forearms, and his wand was already in hand.

Harry’s green eyes burned with defiance. “Better that than turning into you, Riddle.” His messy hair stood on end, glasses reflecting the enchanted ceiling’s flickering light as he gripped his wand tightly.

Mattheo’s smirk twisted into something cold. “Coming from the boy who can’t keep anyone alive? Pathetic.”

Harry’s wand snapped up. “Say that again.”

Mattheo took a step forward, wand steady, his voice low and mocking. “Did I hit a nerve, Chosen One? Must be hard carrying that many ghosts around.”

Girls around the room whispered, eyes darting between the two. Even in their fury, both boys looked impossibly handsome—Potter with his fierce, wild energy and Riddle with his dangerous, controlled arrogance.

“This is better than dessert,” Pansy whispered, leaning toward Blaise.

Blaise smirked, swirling his pumpkin juice lazily. “Ten Galleons says Riddle wipes the floor with him.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “You’re on. Potter’s got more fight than you think.”

At the Slytherin table, Theo Nott leaned in with a smirk. “Hope they blow something up. Makes dinner more exciting.”

Mattheo’s wand sparked with magic, the hum of energy filling the hall. “Come on, Potter,” he taunted. “Show me if you’re half as good without Dumbledore holding your hand.”

Harry’s grip tightened, eyes blazing. “You’ll regret this, Riddle.”

Mattheo’s grin only widened. “I’ve been waiting for this little prick.”