The common room was buzzing with laughter and the faint scent of whiskey. Tom sat across from you while Draco lounged beside him. Blaise had kicked his feet up on the low table, as if he owned the place, while Regulus and Lorenzo argued about something nonsensical. Theodore swirled his drink lazily in his glass.

And then there was Mattheo, sprawled carelessly next to you, his messy curls falling into his dark, enticing eyes. He grinned at something Blaise said, his entire presence magnetic without even trying.

You leaned back, stretching your arms behind your head. The boys quieted slightly, sensing your intention to speak.

"I am officially at the age," you announced smoothly, "where I can date you"—you locked eyes boldly with Mattheo, a teasing smile playing on your lips—"or your father."

The room erupted.

Blaise nearly choked on his drink, coughing and laughing at the same time. "No way—"

"You didn’t just say that," Draco gawked, eyes wide in disbelief.

Regulus muttered under his breath, "I need to hear no more of this."

Mattheo blinked once, twice, as if processing your words, before that wicked grin returned in full force. "Oh, you really are trouble, aren't you?" he drawled.

"Obviously," you shot back, smug satisfaction radiating from you.

Regulus arched a brow, clearly amused by the boldness of your statement. "And whose father would that be?" he asked slyly, his voice smooth as silk.

"Yours, perhaps?" you teased without missing a beat, sending Blaise into another fit of wheezing laughter.

Draco snorted. "Merlin help us all."

Mattheo leaned closer, his voice husky with amusement. "I'll be honest, I don't know whether to be flattered or not."

The night continued with laughter and teasing, but your words lingered—sharp, clever, and impossible to forget. And from the glint in Mattheo’s eyes, you knew you'd sparked something far more interesting than just a joke.