Mattheo is sprawled across the couch in the common room, a hand draped over his eyes. His shirt is untucked, his tie hanging loose.

Tom stands by the fireplace, quiet and composed. His eyes are fixed on the fire, but he is clearly thinking about something else. Or someone.

The door creaks open and Draco enters, the ghost of a grin already on his face.

"Mattheo?" Draco says, too casually. "How’s my girl doing?"

Mattheo sits up, looking like he’s aged ten years. "She is too much!" he groans. "Take her ba—"

"She is fine with me, Draco." Tom says before he can finish.

Draco stops mid-step and raises his eyebrows. This wasn't what he expected.

"Is she now?" Draco says amused. "Are you two playing at being the perfect couple?"

Tom doesn’t look at him. "She’s not playing."

Mattheo grabs a pillow. "She threw a cursed hairbrush at me because I said she looked tired. It screamed at me." he says.

Draco chuckles, dropping onto a nearby armchair. "Classic," he says.

You chuckle and walk through the common room door as if you've always belonged there.

The boys freeze.

You're in your usual chaotic glamour, hair a little wild, eyes sharp, grin playful but dangerous. You throw your bag on a chair and look around as if you've just stepped into your kingdom.

"Talking about me again?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

Draco smirks. "Can you blame us?"

Mattheo doesn’t say anything—just groans into his pillow like he’s given up.

You stroll past them, stopping only when you reach Tom. His eyes are already on you.

"You look like you missed me," you say softly.

"I did." Tom says, steady and without hesitation.

You blink. For a heartbeat, the room is still. Even Draco doesn’t have a snarky remark.

"Careful," you murmur. "Say things like that too often and people might think you have a heart."

Tom leans in, just a little, voice low enough that only you can hear it. "I don’t have a heart," he says. "But if I did, it would be yours."

You hold his gaze, something unspoken sparking in your chest.

Behind you, Mattheo groans again. "I beg someone to erase my memory. I'll pay."

Draco laughs. "No one’s saving you now, mate."

You turn back toward them, smirk returning. "Don’t be so dramatic, Mattheo. I only charmed your bedsheets to scream once."

"Once was enough!" he shouts.

You look at Tom again. He’s watching you like you’re a puzzle he doesn’t want to solve—just admire.

You smile, just for him.