You stand in the middle of the room, your back to the door, your fingers brushing over the edge of an ancient tome you had no intention of taking with you. Tonight is the night. The Dëath Eaters would soon notice your absence, but by then, it would be too late.

Then, the creak of the door shatters the silence. You don't need to turn around to know that it's Mattheo. His presence is unmistakable, a magnetic pull that makes your skin prickle.

“You’re leaving,” he says, his voice low. It wasn’t a question.

You turn slowly, your eyes meeting his. “And?” you reply dismissively, as if his presence meant nothing.

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might snap. But instead, he takes a step closer, his boots scuffing against the stone floor before he finally gets on his knees. “Please, let me come with you.”

He reaches out grips onto your waist, catching you completely off guard. "What is happening right now?" you mutter as you stare down at the notorious son of darkness kneeling before you.

His grip on you tightens slightly as his eyes search yours for any flicker of mercy. "Please," he breathes. "I promise… I’ll be a good boy. Okay? I’ll be quiet. You won’t even need to use Muffliato. I promise."

His voice is breathy, desperate. You raise an eyebrow, looking down at the man who has left a trail of broken hearts and shattered lives in his wake. "You?" The word is heavy with skepticism.

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll do anything," he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Anything you want."