Y/N sat near the middle of the Slytherin table, a book propped open against her breakfast tray. One hand turned a page; the other held a piece of toast she hadn't yet taken a single bite from.

Across from her, Draco was nursing his coffee like it had personally offended him, while Pansy dissected someone's outfit from three tables over.

Mattheo Riddle had a particular way of entering a room. Even when he wasn't trying to be noticed, he was. Long strides, shoulders back, that signature smirk already in place—like he knew something the rest of them didn't.

He weaved through the crowd with the ease of someone who owned the space, pausing just long enough to flick a bread roll at a passing first-year. The boy yelped. Mattheo kept walking.

His target was never in question. He beelined for the Slytherin table, dropping into the seat directly across from Y/N with all the subtlety of a bludger.