The Great Hall buzzed with soft conversation and flickering candlelight, the ceiling above mimicking a calm, star-dusted sky. You sat with Daphne, Blaise, and Draco at the Slytherin table, the four of you caught in easy conversation, laughter mixing with the clinking of silverware and low hum of chatter.

From across the room, Mattheo’s eyes found you.

He wasn’t even trying to look for you—his gaze just gravitated toward you like a magnet. There you were, tucked beside Draco, a soft smile on your face as you leaned in at something he whispered. Mattheo’s grip on his goblet tightened, knuckles paling as his jaw clenched.

He saw it—the way Draco’s fingers brushed your arm casually, the way your head tilted back in a laugh that used to be his favorite sound. That laugh, that light in your eyes—it used to belong to him.

And now, it didn’t.

Memories flooded his mind—your fingers in his hair, the way you used to curl into his side by the fire, the late-night talks when you told him things you’d never said out loud. You’d been patient. Loyal. His first real relationship. His first taste of being loved not for his name, but for who he was underneath the chaos.

And he ruined it.

Flirting with other girls like it didn’t matter. Disappearing with Theo like you’d just be waiting when he got back. Theo warned him. Said he was pushing you too far.

But Mattheo hadn’t listened.

He thought you’d stay.

He’d been wrong.

He’d tried to go back to his old ways—parties, girls, late nights—but none of it worked. None of it filled the hole your absence left in his chest. Every time he turned around, it felt like a ghost of you lingered—your scent on his hoodie, the way his name sounded different when you said it.

He looked down at the cup in his hand, breathing through the ache in his chest. The pain of seeing you now—thriving—was like swallowing broken glass. This wasn’t what he wanted.

When you laughed again, his head snapped up involuntarily. Draco’s hand was on your shoulder now, and though you weren’t dating him, the way Draco leaned in, the ease of his presence near you—it made Mattheo’s blood simmer.

Draco knew exactly what he was doing.

Mattheo’s stare burned across the room.

No. He couldn’t just sit here and let this happen.

He slammed his cup down a little harder than necessary, the sound causing Theo beside him to glance over.

“Don’t,” Theo said lowly, already reading the tension on his face.

Mattheo didn’t respond.

Instead, he stood—slowly, deliberately—his eyes never leaving you.

“I need some air,” he muttered under his breath.

But his feet didn’t move toward the door.

They moved toward you.