𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 | Tom Riddle

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 8

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 8

The next morning, the atmosphere at Malfoy Manor was deceptively calm. The sun streamed through the large, ornate windows of the dining hall, casting a warm glow over the long, polished table where the Death Eaters were gathering for breakfast.

Ange shuffled in, still groggy and overwhelmed by the previous night's events. She wore black silk pyjamas and still had bed hair, but it looked perfectly messy. She didn't even need to brush her teeth because her breath was naturally minty.

Her eyes widened when she saw Alden standing at the head of the table, wearing a ridiculous apron emblazoned with "Kiss the Chef" and a towering chef's hat. He was busy flipping pancakes with surprising skill, filling the room with the mouthwatering scent of warm butter and maple syrup.

"Morning," Alden called out cheerfully, without looking up from his griddle. "Pancakes are almost ready. Everyone's getting a stack."

Ange's stomach growled in anticipation as she took a seat, glancing around the table. Rosier was already there, looking far too pleased with himself, while Travers sat nervously at the far end, fiddling with his napkin. Oddly enough, Travers didn't seem to be quivering in fear like he usually did, though he still radiated an aura of anxiety.

Alden began distributing pancakes, handing a plate to each person at the table with a smug smile. Rosier's stack was perfectly golden, with a pat of butter melting just so. Travers' pancakes were equally perfect and he'd received a few more than everyone else.

When Alden finally reached Ange, however, his expression turned cool, and he breezed right past her without a second glance, moving to serve himself instead.

Ange blinked in surprise. "Excuse me, where's mine?"

Alden looked up from his plate, feigning innocence. "Oh, did you want some? I thought you only liked crepes. My mistake."

The room fell silent as everyone turned to watch the exchange. Ange's eyes narrowed, anger bubbling up inside her. "You could have asked, maybe? I'm the one person at the table who actually appreciates good food!"

Alden shrugged, his smirk growing wider. "Maybe I didn't think you deserved any. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I realized that you didn't exactly thank me for saving your skin last night."

Ange's face flushed with anger. "I didn't need your help, Alden! And let's not pretend like you did it out of the goodness of your heart. We both know you're just trying to mess with me."

Before the argument could escalate further, Rosier stepped in, placing a hand on Ange's shoulder. "Hey, relax. I can make you some pancakes, Ange."

Ange turned to Rosier, a bit surprised by his offer. "You cook?"

Rosier nodded, sliding off his chair and heading toward the kitchen, strumming his guitar as he went. "Of course. How hard can it be?"

A few minutes later, Rosier returned with a plate of pancakes that, while edible, lacked the same golden perfection as Alden's. Ange took a bite, trying not to grimace. The pancakes were a bit burnt around the edges and far too thick in the middle. She glanced over at Alden, who was watching her with an amused expression.

"Not bad, right?" Rosier asked, oblivious to Ange's disappointment.

Ange forced a smile. "Yeah, thanks, Rosier."

As she tried to choke down the pancakes, she noticed that Travers wasn't quivering as much as usual. Intrigued, she leaned over to him. "Hey, Travers, you seem... less jumpy today. Feeling okay?"