The heated argument takes place in the grand, dimly lit halls of Malfoy Manor, the tension between you and Tom fills the room. Tom attempts to explain himself, but you’re not having it.

He starts to speak, but you immediately cut him off. “No, I’m speaking,” you declare, your voice sharp and unwavering. Tom’s eyes narrow, frustration creeping onto his face.

He takes a deep breath, clearly trying to remain calm. “If you would just liste—”

“No, I’m speaking!” you interrupt again, more forcefully this time, your hand slicing through the air. Each time Tom opens his mouth, you don’t let him get a word in edgewise, asserting your stance over and over.

Mattheo, Theo, and Enzo, standing at the doorway, exchange knowing glances, smirking at the scene before them. They’ve seen Tom handle all manner of challenges, but seeing him utterly stonewalled like this is new—and almost amusing.

Tom, meanwhile, grits his teeth. His usual composure is fading fast. “You don’t understa—” he tries again, but you’re quicker.

“No. I’m speaking! No. I’m speaking! No. I’m speaking! No. I’m speaking!!!” Your voice grows louder, echoing in the room.

Voldemort, observing from the corner with an air of complete indifference, mutters dryly, “Salazar save me.”

Finally, with a heavy sigh, Tom throws his hands up, visibly exasperated. “Fine. I give up,” he says, his tone defeated, clearly realizing he’s lost.