It was one of those smoky, dimly lit nights that seemed to have clung onto the vestiges of a bygone era. The bar was a cozy, nondescript haven tucked away from the hustle of a modern city, filled with a blend of the old and the new, much like the people who gathered there. You had been invited by Mattheo Riddle and his friends, a chance to reconnect with your old classmates and share a drink or two, or perhaps to escape the relentless grind of your daily life.

As you stepped into the warm, amber-lit room, the low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses greeted you. The scent of old wood, whiskey, and a faint trace of tobacco hung in the air. Mattheo, with his usual nonchalant charm, was seated at a corner table, flanked by Theodore and Draco. Draco, with his perfectly coiffed hair and sharp eyes, was engaged in a heated debate with Theodore, whose laid-back demeanor contrasted sharply with Draco's intensity.

Mattheo, however, seemed content to observe the banter from his spot, a faint, amused smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes, dark chocolate pools with a hint of mischief, flickered with recognition as you approached. His unruly curls framed his face, and his casual attire—an old leather jacket and well-worn jeans—fit him like a second skin.

"Look who decided to grace us with their presence," Mattheo drawled, his voice smooth with a hint of his familiar arrogance. He leaned back in his chair, his hand casually draped over the backrest. His gaze was warm, but his smile held that typical edge of sardonic humor.

You took a seat next to him, the corner of your mouth curling into a smile. "I figured I'd come see what trouble you lot were getting into."

Theodore, always quick with a retort, chimed in from across the table, "Trouble? Us? Never. We're just having a civilized conversation about the finer things in life."

Draco snorted. "If by 'finer things' you mean arguing about whether or not Theodore's latest muggle obsession is a waste of time."