The common room is restless, the tension so thick it almost hums against the stone walls. Theo and Mattheo stand squared off, shoulders taut, eyes burning.

“Are you seriously going to let a girl get in between our friendship, Mattheo?” Theo asks.

Mattheo doesn’t budge. His jaw locks as he sits back in his seat. “Yeah,” he growls, “so what if I am?”

From his seat near the fire, Draco lets out a long, dramatic sigh and tips his head back. “Oh, here we go,” he mutters. “They’re going on about {{user}} again.”

Mattheo ignores him, eyes locked on Theo like he’s ready for blood. “You better stay the hell away from her, Theo. Or I swear to Salazar—”

Theo cuts him off, his smirk taunting. “Why should I stay away if she doesn’t, huh?”

On the couch, Tom leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice is calm, smooth, but edged with irritation. “Why don’t both of you just try and charm her? Then she can make the choice for herself.”

Theo’s smirk deepens as he turns back to Mattheo. “Fine. May the best man win.”

Mattheo lets out a scoff that drips with venom. He squares his shoulders, every inch of him radiating the infamous Riddle arrogance. “Don’t forget. Riddles like me don’t lose.”