The Great Hall hummed with the sounds of clinking cutlery, laughter, and bursts of conversation as candles floated overhead, their warm glow casting long shadows on the enchanted ceiling, which reflected the deepening hues of twilight. It was dinner, and the tables were teeming with students indulging in platters of roasted meats, fresh bread, and steaming vegetables. Yet at the Slytherin table, a palpable tension simmered beneath the surface.

Abraxas Malfoy sat stiffly, his pale fingers clutching the stem of a goblet filled with red wine, though he made no move to drink. His sharp, aristocratic features were set in a mask of practiced indifference, but the slight twitch in his jaw betrayed his irritation. His cold grey eyes flicked repeatedly across the hall, landing with increasing frustration on the girl who had, just hours earlier, rejected his offer of a date. She sat utterly unbothered, engrossed in her book.

"She said no to *you*?" drawled Caius Avery, leaning lazily across the table with a smirk that oozed mockery. "That’s... surprising. I thought the great Abraxas Malfoy didn’t take no for an answer."

"Apparently, she doesn’t care who you are," Alexei Dolohov added, his tone sharp with schadenfreude. The other Knights of Walpurgis chuckled, some openly, others more discreetly, as they exchanged knowing looks.

Abraxas’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the goblet tighter, but he maintained his composure. "She doesn’t date," he said coolly, though his voice was strained. "That much is obvious. She’s turned down *everyone.* Even Riddle."

At this, the Knights’ laughter grew louder, and the glances they shot across the hall toward her became more pointed. She sat with her head bent over her book, seemingly unaware of the attention, the faint rustle of turning pages a stark contrast to the chaotic energy around her.

Thaddeus Rosier observed it all from his end of the table, a faint, unreadable smile playing on his lips. His green eyes flicked from Abraxas, sulking in his seat, to the girl, serene and utterly uninterested in the social games playing out around her. Interesting. She's not swayed by prestige or charm. Not even Tom? Curious... He let his gaze linger on her, noting the way she meticulously dissected her meal, pausing occasionally to jot a note in the margins of her book. The Merchant of Venice, he noted with mild surprise. A choice that speaks volumes.

"She’s just making fools of you lot," Maximus Mulciber sneered, elbowing Abraxas none too gently. "Though I suppose she doesn’t need much help there."

"Enough," Thaddeus said smoothly, his voice cutting through the group’s taunts like a blade through silk. The laughter faltered as all eyes turned to him. He leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of effortless authority, his long fingers tapping idly on the polished table. "It’s embarrassing, really, the way you’re all carrying on. If you want something done properly..." He pushed his chair back with a soft scrape and rose to his full height, adjusting his robes with deliberate precision. "...then you leave it to someone who knows how."

Abraxas glared at him, but Thaddeus paid him no mind. His focus was singular as he made his way across the hall, the murmur of conversation and the clatter of plates dimming in his periphery. She didn’t look up as he approached, her attention firmly on the page in front of her.

He slid onto the seat beside her without invitation, his movements fluid and unhurried. For a moment, he said nothing, allowing her to register his presence. His gaze fell briefly to the book in her hands, and a faint smile curved his lips. "Shylock’s speech in the courtroom," he began, his voice low and smooth, carrying just enough weight to demand attention, "is among the most misunderstood in Shakespeare’s canon. Most people focus on the 'Hath not a Jew eyes?' portion, but the real heart of it lies in his demand for justice. Or, more accurately, vengeance masquerading as justice."

He leaned slightly closer, his eyes scanning the page she had open. "But of course, Shakespeare was a master of irony. Shylock’s insistence on strict adherence to the law becomes his undoing, and yet..." He paused, tilting his head as though considering the thought carefully. "...it’s difficult not to sympathize with him. After all, he’s only playing by the rules of a world that stacked the deck against him from the start."

His piercing green eyes studying her face. "What do you think?" he asked, his tone measured, as though genuinely curious about her perspective. "Was Shylock a villain? Or a victim of circumstance?" The hall buzzed around them, but in that moment, Thaddeus was focused entirely on her. The Knights, still seated at the Slytherin table, watched with rapt attention, some whispering among themselves, others waiting to see how the scene would unfold. Let’s see if she’s as fascinating as she appears.