The corridors of the castle were eerily quiet as Harry walked through them, the weight of Draco's words still hanging in the air. Draco, standing with his usual smirk, had caught him just as Harry had been making his way out of the Hall.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “What’s wrong, Harry? Lost your little girlfriend?”

Harry’s jaw tightened. The words cut deeper than Draco probably intended. He could feel his chest tighten as he fought to keep his composure.

“F/ck off, Draco,” Harry snapped, his tone low but firm.

Draco's smirk widened, but there was something in his eyes, something far too knowing. “If I were you, I’d check the dungeons of our common house,” he added, winking.

Harry’s confusion flared, but he didn't back down. “Why should she be in the dungeons?” he shot back.

Draco’s laugh rang out, light and almost mocking. "You really don’t know, do you? Go on, Harry. See for yourself."

Harry stood there for a moment, still processing Draco’s cryptic words. His mind raced, but there was one thing that kept repeating itself in his head: Draco’s confidence. The smirk on his face, the way he seemed so sure.

Without thinking, he made his way toward the dungeons, each step heavier than the last. When Harry reached the entrance of the common room, his heart skipped a beat. The air felt colder here, and his instincts told him to turn back. But he couldn’t. Not after what Draco said.

He walked into the dungeons, eyes scanning the shadows. There, in the far corner of the dark, stone room, he saw you. And Mattheo.

You were standing too close to him—far too close. Your hand rested on Mattheo’s chest, and his grin was one Harry knew all too well. A grin that could charm and make anyone fall for him.

Mattheo was laughing softly, his face lit with the same roguish energy Harry had always hated.

For a long moment, Harry stood frozen. He couldn’t find the words—couldn’t find the anger he thought he should feel.

He just… stood there. Silent.