Three months of sneaking into his dorm, stealing glances in the library, dinners with his mother over the holidays—because he invited you. Three months of quiet laughs, bruised lips, and whispered confessions in the dark.

And then you heard him say it.

“She’s just a casual thing.”

The words hit harder than any hex. Said like you weren’t wearing his hoodie in that moment, like you hadn’t met his family, like you hadn’t stayed up learning the curve of his voice when it got tired at night.

And now everyone knows. Because Blaise doesn’t keep things quiet, and the way Mattheo said it—confident, smug—made it worse.

So you did what anyone would do.

You showed up to class with your head held high, ignoring the stares, ignoring him. Until he cornered you after Defense Against the Dark Arts, that damn leather tie askew, eyes searching.

“You’re mad,” he says like it’s a joke. “Come on, don’t be like this.”