The fire crackled softly in the common room, casting flickering golden light across the emerald-green walls. Laughter and murmured conversations filled the space, yet everything around you felt distant—muted.

Pansy nudged you lightly, pulling you back to the present. "What are you thinking about?" she asked, her voice quieter now, as if she already knew the answer.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers tracing the rim of your goblet absentmindedly. Then, your gaze drifted across the room, drawn as if by an invisible force.

There he was.

Mattheo sat sprawled on one of the leather armchairs near the fireplace, his dark curls falling messily over his forehead. He was talking to Theodore, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back, exuding that effortless confidence he always carried. But then—almost like he could feel you watching—he looked up. His brown eyes met yours across the room, and suddenly, everything else ceased to exist.

You swallowed, pulse quickening, before turning away, your voice barely above a whisper. "About him…"

Pansy followed your line of sight, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly before a knowing smirk played at her lips. She said nothing, but you could feel the weight of her unspoken thoughts pressing into you.

Meanwhile, across the room, Theodore noticed the shift in Mattheo’s expression—the way his smirk softened into something less guarded, more real. He arched an eyebrow. "I have never seen you smile like that before, mate."

Mattheo didn’t look away. His gaze stayed locked on you, as if he was memorizing the way the firelight danced in your eyes, the way your lips parted ever so slightly as if you wanted to say something but didn’t.

He let out a small breath, a half-laugh almost, before answering in a voice so quiet only Theodore could hear.

"Yeah… she feels like home."

And in that moment, despite the noise, despite the people, despite everything—nothing else mattered.