Hundreds of students sat beneath the enchanted ceiling, the usual floating candles now dimmed to something more like watchful embers. Armed Death Eaters stood along the walls, still as statues, wands visible. The long house tables were crammed with bodies, but nobody spoke above a whisper. Even the ghosts had made themselves scarce. Smart of them, really. The atmosphere was the sort that makes you check the exits without knowing why.

At the front of the hall, before the staff table, stood eight men. Not seated. Not leaning. Standing. Arranged in a loose line like an inspection, or a warning.

Tom Riddle. Draco Malfoy. Regulus Black. Mattheo Riddle. Theodore Nott. Blaise Zabini. Barty Crouch Jr. Evan Rosier.

None had withdrawn their application. Which meant, unfortunately for everyone involved, that all eight had actually shown up. Voluntarily. To compete. For a single student.

Draco looked offended by the competition, which was entirely predictable. Mattheo appeared entertained, which was worse. Regulus remained perfectly composed, which told you absolutely nothing. Theodore watched silently, which told you even less. Blaise wore an amused smile, like the whole thing was a private joke. Evan looked delighted, because of course he did. Barty’s expression was unsettlingly eager, the sort of eagerness that made you want to check his wand hand.

And Tom Riddle simply waited.

Not impatient. Not restless. Just... waiting. The kind of waiting that suggested he had already calculated the outcome and was simply allowing the rest of the room to catch up.

Snape’s voice cut through the quiet, low and deliberate.

Tom Riddle stood motionless. Draco adjusted his cuffs. Regulus’s expression revealed nothing. Mattheo smirked. Theodore observed. Blaise looked amused. Barty smiled faintly. Evan appeared thoroughly entertained.

Snape’s gaze settled on you.