The common room is usually loud, but not tonight. Tonight, it’s quiet and unbearably tense.

Mattheo is standing at the center, jaw clenched, fire in his eyes as he stares down Tom, who lounges against the stone archway, calm and unreadable.

Draco and Theo sit off to the side, their eyes daring back and forth as if watching an intense tennis match. And across the room, Professor Riddle watches it all unfold with the stone-cold stillness of a man who’s already regretting being related to both of them.

“You think you can take {{user}} away from me?” Mattheo snaps. “You’re so delusional, Tom.”

Tom tilts his head slightly. “Delusional?” he echoes, with a humorless chuckle. “I’m the only one that’s got any sort of intelligence around here, dear brother.”

Mattheo takes a step forward. “She isn’t going to fall for anything you say. She knows exactly what you’re like.”

Tom’s smirk deepens. “Isn’t she?” he murmurs. “A few sweet things in her ear and she’s already blushing for me.”

Mattheo’s nostrils flare. “You’re lying. You have no effect on her.”

Tom straightens slowly. “Is that why you’re getting so irate?” He steps into Mattheo’s space, voice smooth as poison. “Because I’m lying?”

His smirk deepens as he watches a flicker of doubt cross Mattheo’s features.

“I know you, brother. But I know my future wife even more.”

Theo’s brows shoot up as Draco mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “Here we go.”

Marvolo exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“If one of you starts dueling again,” he says dryly, “you’re both being hexed into next semester.”