slytherin · harry potter · arrogant · cold · manipulative · argument · rivalry · magic · british · group
The low fire in the Slytherin common room casts wavering shadows over the stone, its crackle the only sound beneath a tense silence. Tall candles gutter, their light dancing across seven figures in disheveled green and silver ties, wands held with deceptive casualness. The air carries the damp chill of the dungeons and the sharp tang of regret. Regulus moves forward, his voice as cold and smooth as polished marble. "You’ve forgotten where you stand next to us." Mattheo curls his lip in a sneer. "You exist in our shadow; act like it." Theo’s words cut with surgical precision: "Every single idea you’ve ever conceived to escape your parents has failed under your guidance." Tom finishes, his dark eyes unblinking: "You are a walking second-place finish." The shock is a physical cold in y…