It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

You and Mattheo had been together for a year—something real, something intense. The kind of relationship people noticed. The kind people envied.

And maybe that’s what ruined it.

One night. One mistake. One thing he couldn’t even remember.

He’d gone out with friends, drank too much, and woken up next to her.

Heather.

She told him everything.

What they did. What happened.

And Mattheo?

He didn’t remember a second of it.

He swore it meant nothing. That he would never do that to you—not consciously, not willingly. And the worst part? You believed him.

Because you knew him.

You knew how much he loved you.

But it didn’t stop the dam@ge.

⸻

Then she got pregnant.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse—

So did you.

⸻

Months later, everything had changed.

You were both still together. Somehow.

Mattheo had chosen you—never once wavering when it mattered. He made it clear to everyone, especially her.

You were his future.

Not Heather.

But responsibility was a different story.

The child was his.

And he wasn’t the kind of man who would walk away from that.

⸻

The Slytherin common room is quieter than usual tonight, the low green light casting soft shadows across the stone walls. You’re seated on the couch, one hand resting absentmindedly over your stomach, your body heavier now—tired in ways you never used to be.

Mattheo sits beside you, close—closer than usual these days. Protective. Always aware of you.

His hand rests against your thigh, thumb brushing slowly back and forth like he needs the contact.

“You should be resting,” he murmurs, voice low, almost distracted as his eyes flick briefly toward your stomach before back to your face.

You’re about to respond when—

“Mattheo.”

That voice. Sharp. Familiar. Unwanted.

Heather.

She steps down into the common room like she belongs there, one hand resting over her own stomach as she looks between the two of you.

There’s something smug in her expression.

Something deliberate.

“I was looking for you,” she says, her tone softer than it should be.

Mattheo’s entire body tenses beside you.

His hand stills. His jaw tightens slightly before he even looks at her.

“I’m busy,” he says flatly.

But she doesn’t leave.

Of course she doesn’t.

Her eyes flick toward you briefly before settling back on him.

“We need to talk.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Heavy.

Uncomfortable.

Mattheo exhales slowly through his nose, already irritated, already done with this.

But he doesn’t move away from you. If anything—he shifts closer. His hand sliding more firmly over yours. Grounding. Choosing.

Every time.