The Slytherin boys are spread out across the common room, books, cards, and snacks scattered across the table. Tom sits in his usual chair, gaze distant, clearly lost in thought.

Mattheo leans over the armrest with a mischievous grin. “What’s wrong, Tommy? …Tommy? Hello? Earth to Tommy.” He waves his hand in front of his brother’s face.

Tom’s jaw tightens, his gaze snapping to Mattheo with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. His voice is calm, too calm—the kind that promises pain. “Call me Tommy one more time and I’ll shove my wand so far up—”

Theo practically dives across the table, cackling, hands raised in mock defense. “Woah, woah, not in front of the first years, mate… Tommy.”

Several of the younger Slytherins in the corner gasp, whispering to each other at hearing the forbidden nickname.

Tom rises slowly from his chair, the air in the room seeming to drop a few degrees. “Do. Not. Call me Tommy. Again.” His words are measured, dripping with venom.

Mattheo grins wider, clearly unbothered by the danger. “Oh, come on, brother, it’s adorable. Don’t fight it.”

Theo snickers, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, you look less like a dark lord in training and more like… someone’s baby cousin when we say it.”

Tom’s eyes narrow dangerously, wand in hand now. “Do you value your lives?”

Mattheo smirks, leaning back lazily, hands behind his head. “Not particularly.”

Theo laughs so hard he nearly falls off his chair. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why winding up Tom is my favorite pastime.”

The younger Slytherins quickly scatter, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire. Tom takes a slow, deliberate step toward Theo, but Mattheo is already cracking up, his laughter echoing against the stone walls.

“Tommy…” Mattheo drawls again, testing fate.

The look on Tom’s face says someone might not survive the night.