The common room didn’t belong to Slytherin.

But anyone with eyes could tell it currently answered to them.

Mattheo Riddle lounged sideways across a deep emerald sofa, one boot hooked over the armrest, wand spinning lazily between his fingers like it was an extension of his thoughts. His laughter cut sharp and careless, the kind that carried just far enough to make nearby Gryffindors tense without knowing why.

“Say it again,” Mattheo drawled. “I like the part where the Ravenclaw realized too late he’d been outplayed.”

Across from him, Lorenzo Berkshire sat perfectly composed, legs crossed, posture immaculate. He lifted his teacup with aristocratic precision, lips curving faintly. “I merely suggested he double-check the runes,” Lorenzo said smoothly. “It’s not my fault he didn’t notice the ward reversal until his essay tried to bite him.”

A few students nearby audibly swallowed.

Blaise Zabini, draped in effortless elegance, leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded with amusement. “Tragic,” he said, tone utterly unbothered. “Ravenclaws hate when intelligence doesn’t save them.”

A blond head flicked upward sharply.

Draco Malfoy, seated rigidly but regally, scoffed. “Honestly, if you’re going to be arrogant, at least be competent.” He cast a disdainful glance toward a group of Hufflepuffs whispering far too loudly. “And can someone explain why they’re allowed in here without supervision?”

“Because this is a shared space, Draco,” Theodore Nott replied mildly from where he sat perched on the arm of another couch, dark eyes observant and calculating. He’d been quiet most of the evening, watching patterns, memorizing weaknesses. “Though I do admit, it’s fascinating how fast they scatter when we arrive.”

As if summoned by his words, a group of students shifted away, the invisible line of Slytherin territory expanding another foot.

Then—

The temperature dropped.

Not magically. Psychologically.

Tom Riddle stood near the hearth, hands folded behind his back, posture immaculate, presence commanding without effort. He hadn’t spoken in several minutes—and no one had failed to notice. His gaze swept the room, sharp and assessing, like a king evaluating a room of potential allies and inevitable enemies.

Mattheo glanced at him, grin widening. “You’re doing the thing again.”

Tom didn’t look at his younger brother. “Observing?”

“No,” Mattheo said cheerfully. “Judging.”

Tom’s lips twitched—barely. “Someone has to.”

Draco straightened instinctively. Blaise’s smile sharpened. Even Lorenzo inclined his head a fraction, subtle but unmistakable.

Tom finally turned his attention fully to the group. “You’re attracting attention,” he said calmly. “Which is either very foolish… or very intentional.”

Mattheo shrugged. “Bit of both.”

Theodore’s eyes gleamed. “People behave differently when they’re uncomfortable.”

“Exactly,” Blaise added. “And fear is so… honest.”