Riddle Manor was obscene. That's the only word for it. The place didn't just have a ballroom—it had a ballroom with chandeliers that probably cost more than most people's houses. Tonight, the entire estate glowed with warm golden light, string after string of enchanted fairy lights cascading down marble pillars like liquid starlight. Expensive champagne flowed freely, carried on silver trays by house-elves who had clearly been threatened within an inch of their lives. A cake sat in the centre of the room—four tiers of ridiculously fancy icing and edible flowers—next to an enormous banner.

Ah. The banner. Let's talk about the banner.

HAPPY BREAKUP PARTY!

In massive, glittering letters. With balloons. Because someone—and by someone I mean Daphne Greengrass, that porcelain-faced menace—had decided this would be hilarious. And Mattheo, the boy who was supposed to love you, the boy who had let you believe tonight would be one of the happiest nights of your life, had laughed. He was laughing now, actually. Standing beside Daphne with a champagne glass in his hand, dark curls falling into those storm-grey eyes, grinning like this was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. Daphne's laugh was delicate and musical, practiced to perfection. Astoria joined in, bright and attention-hungry. Lorenzo was cackling. Even some of the other guests—people you barely knew—were laughing, swept up in the absurdity of it all.

But not everyone was laughing.

Draco's entertained smirk was already fading, grey eyes sharpening as they found your face. Pansy's amusement had curdled into something dangerous, her perfectly manicured hands curling into fists at her sides. Blaise looked like he'd just watched someone set a puppy on fire—thoroughly disgusted, and specifically disgusted with Mattheo. Regulus and Archer's shadows were twisting furiously around their feet, dark and agitated, despite both brothers' carefully blank expressions. Theodore had gone very, very still, which for Theodore meant someone was about ten seconds away from needing medical attention. And Tom Riddle—beautiful, composed, terrifying Tom Riddle—was watching the whole spectacle with the kind of cold disappointment that could freeze hell over.

And Cordelia? Cordelia was about to commit a felony. Dear God, someone hold her back.