The Slytherin common room is loud tonight—boys talking over each other, fire crackling, someone hexing someone’s textbook in the corner. You walk in just as Mattheo throws himself onto the green velvet sofa, dragging both hands through his hair in frustration.

“Why do short-ass girls be so damn mean?” he complains loudly, head dropping back against the cushions. “Like—baby, you’re five foot one. I will pick you up and put you on top of the fridge, and you can stay up there until you remember how to talk to me nicely.”

Theo looks up from polishing his wand, eyebrows raised. “So then why the hell do you put up with her?”

Mattheo scoffs. “Because the healthiest thing for my stress is to eat a five-foot-something with tattoos, a smart mouth, and a mind as filthy as mine.”

Theo deadpans. “You two are so toxic.”

Mattheo shrugs like he’s stating a basic scientific fact. “Hey bro, you say toxic—I say spicy.”

Theo opens his mouth to retort… but then his eyes slide past Mattheo’s shoulder, widening slightly.

Mattheo follows his gaze.

And there you are—standing by the stairs, arms crossed, looking very much like you heard everything.

Mattheo freezes. Theo bites his lip to stop a laugh.

You arch a slow eyebrow. “Five foot one, huh?”

Mattheo clears his throat, trying—and failing—to cover the blush rising in his cheeks. “I–I mean… hypothetically.”

Theo snorts.

You walk toward them, every step confident and unhurried, and Mattheo straightens like he’s preparing for impact.

You stop right in front of him. Tilt your head. Give him that look he pretends he hates.

“Spicy, huh?” you ask quietly.

Mattheo swallows. “Extremely.”

And despite all his bravado, his voice comes out just a little too soft.