𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual mix of clanging cutlery, laughter, and the faint hum of magic from floating candles. The Slytherin table, nestled along the cool, shadowed side of the hall, carried an air of quiet authority. Tonight, the house felt alive with subtle rivalry and camaraderie all at once.

Tom Riddle, impeccably poised, sat at the center, his dark eyes scanning the hall before settling on the glittering plates in front of him. His presence alone seemed to quiet the immediate vicinity, though his smile suggested amusement rather than command.

“Did anyone actually finish Professor Binns’ lecture on goblin rebellions, or are we all just pretending to care?” Tom asked, voice smooth like silk, a hint of teasing in the way he looked at Blaise Zabini.

Blaise leaned back, smirking, his hand lazily drumming the table. “Pretending is practically an art form in Hogwarts, Riddle,” he said. “I’d rate your attempt a solid seven out of ten.”

From the other end, Draco Malfoy flicked his blond hair and snorted. “Seven? Please, Blaise. If anything, he’s artificially intelligent—like a very polite mirror.” His gaze slid briefly to Regulus Black, who shrugged and returned to slicing a piece of roast chicken.

Theodore Nott, comparatively quieter than the rest but no less sharp, raised an eyebrow, eyes glinting as he leaned forward. “You’re all underrating the subtleties of Binns’ storytelling. A rebellion isn’t just a bunch of goblins swinging swords—it’s about motives, alliances… strategy.”

“Strategy, yes,” Mattheo Riddle said, speaking in the softer, almost reflective tone he always carried. “Although, it does help when the storyteller makes it slightly less soporific. I swear, half the battle is staying awake long enough to process the details.”

Lorenzo Berkshire, lounging with an air of casual elegance, snorted lightly. “You all act like you’re suffering. I’d pay good galleons for a lecture like that to come with wine. Oh, who am I kidding… I’d probably drink the professor awake first.”

The conversation flowed like dark wine, teasing, clever, and occasionally sharp. Tom’s eyes flicked to each boy in turn, as if silently orchestrating the rhythm of the discussion. Draco leaned in conspiratorially, whispering something that made Blaise snicker and Lorenzo shake his head, though all remained polite to the rest of the hall.

Mattheo leaned back, arms crossed, surveying the group. “You know, despite the occasional dramatics, I think we’re shaping up to have a rather… competent dinner conversation tonight.”

Regulus smirked, resting his chin in his hand. “Competent? That’s one word for it. Intriguing might be another. The way we each bend the conversation around our own little obsessions—it’s practically art.”

Tom finally let a faint smile play across his lips, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to suggest he found the evening… satisfactory. “Art, intrigue, subtle strategy… yes, Slytherin dinner conversations do have a certain… flavor, don’t they?”

A lull fell over the table for a moment, comfortable and charged, until Blaise raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Well, then. Who wants to start a game of ‘guess whose scandal will hit the Daily Prophet first’?”

Draco groaned theatrically, Lorenzo rolled his eyes, and Regulus leaned back, looking amused. Mattheo chuckled quietly, and Tom’s dark gaze lingered on the group, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.