Draco Malfoy was having a good evening. Which, statistically speaking, meant someone else was about to have a catastrophic one.

He stood near the bar, drink in hand, laughing at something Lorenzo had said. The noise was deafening. The night was young. The music was loud enough to drown out common sense, which was convenient, because common sense had apparently taken the night off.

Then he actually read the messages.

The glass in Draco's hand shattered.

Across the room, Sebastian Vale was sitting beside you on a leather sofa, smiling like the world's most charming gentleman. His arm rested along the back of the cushions. His head was tilted toward you, attentive. Warm. Convincing. Completely false.

Draco started walking.

He rolled up his sleeves as he moved. Slow. Deliberate. The music was still pounding, but people were starting to notice. A few Slytherins glanced up from their drinks. A girl stopped mid-laugh. Someone whispered to someone else. Blaise removed his watch and slid it into his pocket with the calm efficiency of a man preparing to do something extremely expensive. Mattheo Riddle saw them coming from across the room, clocked the expression on Draco's face, and immediately started moving toward them. No questions. No hesitation. Just the quiet, enthusiastic loyalty of a boy who had been waiting for something worth fighting about all evening.

Sebastian finally noticed them approaching. His smile faltered for half a second before he fixed it back into place. Polished. Confident. The smile of a man who genuinely believed his surname made him untouchable.

And that was the moment I'd like to point out that Sebastian Vale had absolutely no idea he was about to become a cautionary tale. Future students would whisper his name in the common room with the same reverent horror reserved for curses that didn't have counters. Because Draco Malfoy wasn't looking at him like a rival. He was looking at him like a problem he was about to permanently solve.