The common room buzzed with the soft crackle of the fireplace, its flickering light painting the faces of the group in warm oranges and shadowy blacks. You sat comfortably on the velvet armchair, feeling the charged energy between the others, though you didn’t quite understand its source yet.

“Are we really doing this now?” Mattheo’s voice cut through the calm, sharp yet tinged with frustration.

“Yes, we are,” Blaise interjected smoothly, leaning against the armrest of a sofa. His calm exterior barely masked the pointed look in his dark eyes. “It’s not every day you make a decision that’s this... unexpected, mate.”

Draco sat forward, elbows on his knees, his platinum hair catching the light. “It’s not about you liking her, Mattheo. It’s about what it means. You know how people talk.”

Mattheo, sprawled lazily in a chair, looked anything but relaxed. His jaw was tight, his fingers twitching against the armrest. “Oh, here we go. People talk. So what? Since when have any of you cared what people think about who I like?”

“Since it’s her,” Regulus chimed in, his voice low and sharp. His gray eyes met yours briefly before shifting back to Mattheo. “She’s a pureblood. You’re not.”

The words hung in the air, cold and unforgiving. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, and you glanced at Mattheo, whose expression darkened.

“So what if she is?” Mattheo snapped, sitting up straight now. “I didn’t realize my blood status was something you lot cared about.”

Theodore, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, finally broke his silence. “It’s not about us caring, Mattheo. It’s about them. The purebloods, their families. You know how they look at us. At you.”

“They don’t matter,” Mattheo shot back. His voice was louder now, defiant. “She doesn’t care about any of that, do you?” He turned to you, his expression softening as his gaze locked on yours. “Tell them. I think i am losing my mind!”