The Slytherin common room is quiet, the fire crackling low in the hearth, shadows stretching long across the green-lit stone. You’re seated near Mattheo, your book open but forgotten in your lap, your mind restless.

Mattheo notices before you do—the way your gaze drifts across the room, pulled like a tide toward the figure standing there. Tom Riddle. His posture relaxed yet commanding, his dark eyes watching with that unreadable calm that always seems to strip away defenses.

Mattheo’s jaw tightens. He leans closer, his voice a low warning, rough with something between protectiveness and frustration. “You’re looking at my brother again. Don’t do it to yourself. Trust me, he’s only going to manipulate you.”

His words cut sharp, but they feel muffled somehow. Because the second Tom’s eyes lock with yours, the rest of the world blurs. His stare is unwavering, steady, like a tether wrapped around your ribs.

Your fingers curl slightly against your book. Every rational thought tells you to look away, to listen to Mattheo, but your body betrays you. It feels like moving through water—inevitable, slow, unstoppable. You rise from your chair without a word.

Mattheo straightens, watching you like he already knows how this ends. His frustration sharpens into a bitter edge, but he doesn’t move to stop you—he knows it wouldn’t matter. Not with him.

Your steps are measured, quiet, but each one carries you closer across the room. Tom doesn’t move to meet you, doesn’t beckon, doesn’t even break his calm expression. But when you’re close enough to feel the weight of his presence, his voice cuts softly through the silence.

“Come here.”

It’s not loud. Not commanding. But it coils around you like silk, impossible to resist.

You stop just in front of him, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. For a heartbeat, the world feels suspended. His lips twitch in the barest hint of a smile—amusement? Triumph? Something darker?

Mattheo exhales sharply through his nose, muttering under his breath, voice tight with resignation. “…And she’s gone.”

The fire pops, sparks flaring in the silence, and the weight of your choice settles heavy in the room—between brothers, between loyalty and temptation, between warning and want.