Mattheo’s voice, usually smooth and teasing, is sharp and filled with anger, as your argument with him fills the room.

“You think I’m not good enough for you,” Mattheo shouts.

“That’s not what I said!” you fire back.

“You look at me like I’m some monster, like you can’t trust me because of what I’ve done.”

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice calm. “You’re not like them.”

His laugh is bitter. “Oh, so there’s a ‘them’ now? I’m a Death Eater, but not that kind, right?”

You scoff silently, exasperated. “You know what I mean. You’re not… one of those that—”

“One of those that what?” he interrupts, stepping closer, his eyes darkening. “The kind that needs to be watched? The kind that makes you think you always have to keep your hand on your wand, just in case?”

Your gaze falters. He was right; even if you tried to hide it, you had been cautious around him when you first met, uncertain of what he was capable of. He had noticed everything.

“Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice that little action the first time we met,” he says, his voice softer now but filled with hurt. “So, let me ask you a question: are you afraid of me?”

You glance back at him, your defenses crumbling as his words sink in. “Mattheo, no—”

“Do you think I might go nuts like my mother or power mad like my father?” he presses, his voice rising again, his emotions spiraling. “Do you think I’m going to end up in Azkaban? Do you think I might try to—” He lunges toward you, his movements sudden and aggressive. “KILL YOU?”

Your instinct takes over before you can think, and you whip your wand out, pointing it at him in a moment of pure panic. The look of hurt that flashes across his face is immediate, a raw wound exposed between you.

“Mattheo, I’m—” your voice cracks, your hand trembling as you lower your wand. “I’m sorry.”

He stares at you, his chest heaving, eyes brimming with betrayal. “Save it, {{user}},” he says quietly, his voice breaking. “I know what you really think of me now.”