The fire in the Slytherin common room burned low, throwing gold and green shadows across the stone walls. Mattheo sat slouched on the edge of the sofa, staring into the flames, but his mind wasn’t in the room. It hadn’t been for months.

He barely noticed when Pansy walked in until her voice cut through the silence, trembling but sharp. “Did three months mean nothing, Mattheo?”

He blinked, turning toward her. Her eyes were glassy, but there was steel behind them.

“Did you flip a switch and erase me from your memory?!” she continued, stepping closer. “It took you a year— a year—to get over her!” Her voice cracked on the last word. “Did you ever love me at all?”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, guilt flashing across his face before he could stop it. The way she said her hit something deep inside him, a wound he thought he could ignore if he just stayed busy enough—if he just replaced the ache with something else.

“Pansy,” he said quietly, standing now, running a hand through his messy curls. “Don’t do this.”

She laughed bitterly. “Don’t do what? Ask if the boy I’ve been dating has been in love with a ghost this whole time?”

He didn’t answer, because she wasn’t wrong.

He still saw you in his dreams sometimes — the way you laughed, the way you’d throw something at him when he was being cocky, the way you’d disappear into the castle’s shadows when you needed space. But then one day, you didn’t come back. No note. No word. Just gone.

He’d searched. Merlin, he had. But after a while, everyone told him to let go. That you were gone. That maybe you’d wanted it that way.

So he tried. He told himself that loving Pansy might fill the void. She was smart, beautiful, loyal — everything he should want. But she wasn’t you.

“Do you still think about her?” Pansy whispered now, her voice small, breaking the silence.

Mattheo’s throat tightened. He looked away, down at his hands, at the small burn on his knuckle he’d gotten from the last fight he’d been in — the one he’d started because someone had mentioned your name.

“Every damn day,” he admitted softly. “I don’t know where she went, or why she left. But I can’t stop wondering if she’s okay.”

Pansy’s tears finally fell, but there was no anger left in her, only exhaustion. “Then why me, Mattheo?”

He finally looked up, his brown eyes heavy with regret. “Because you made it quiet. For a while.”

The fire popped, and Pansy let out a shaky breath, nodding as if she’d expected that answer all along. She turned toward the dorms, pausing just long enough to whisper, “I hope she was worth it.”

When she was gone, Mattheo sank back onto the sofa, staring into the dying fire. He whispered your name under his breath — once, softly — like maybe the flames would carry it to wherever you’d disappeared.

And for the first time, he wondered if you’d ever think of him again.