The candlelight in the Slytherin common room cast flickering shadows across the stone walls, the corners of the room heavy with quiet chatter and the faint smell of ink and parchment. The seven of them were gathered near the fireplace, some lounging, some pacing, but all eyes inevitably kept drifting toward Mattheo and Tom.

Mattheo leaned against the mantel, arms crossed, brow furrowed in that look of mock seriousness he always wore when he wanted to provoke a reaction. “Which curse do you think is worse,” he asked, his tone casual but loaded, “Cruciatus or Avada Kedavra?”

Tom didn’t even blink. His dark eyes glimmered with that same calm, sharp edge that made everyone uneasy, and his voice dropped low, deliberate. “I’d say ask Lily Potter or Alice Longbottom,” he said smoothly. “But both aren’t able to answer you.”

The room went still. For a moment, even the fire seemed to pause.

Theo’s jaw dropped, and he threw up his hands. “You did not just say that.”

“Merlin, Tom,” Mattheo muttered, running a hand through his hair, a mix of exasperation and disbelief in his voice. “That was uncalled for.”

Draco, ever the picture of icy composure, finally shook his head and crossed his arms. “I think it’s time for a health check, Tom,” he said, voice deadpan, though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his attempt at amusement.

Tom’s lips quirked in the tiniest smirk, entirely unfazed. “Health checks are for those who fail to understand reality,” he said softly, eyes glinting like polished obsidian. “Some lessons are learned the hard way.”

Theo muttered something under his breath, clearly muttering a curse at Tom’s lack of tact, while Mattheo pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, tired sigh. “Honestly,” he muttered, mostly to himself, “you’re impossible sometimes.”

Draco leaned back in his chair, letting the silence settle again like a cold weight over the room, his gaze flicking to the fire as though deciding if the evening was already ruined—or just beginning.

And Tom, as always, remained perfectly composed, eyes fixed somewhere past the others, already planning his next calculated remark.