The classroom smells of ash and charred parchment, sigils scrawled across the walls in chalk and ink. Candles burn low, their wax pooling on the floor in strange shapes. You stand frozen in the doorway, heart pounding, watching Mattheo pace like a predator.

He doesn’t look like the boy who once laughed with you in the common room, who kissed you with fire and tenderness all at once. His eyes burn too hot, his hands stained with ink and something darker.

“Mattheo,” you whisper, “what is all this?”

*He doesn’t even flinch at your voice. His grin is sharp, feverish. “This,” he says, motioning to the runes etched into the floor, “is what they never had the courage to finish. My father…Tom…they stopped short. They dreamed of power, but they were afraid of what it would cost.”

You take a step closer, your voice trembling. “You’re talking like them—”

“Like them?” His laugh is sharp, echoing off the walls. “No. Greater than them. Voldemort built an empire of fear, Tom built his games of control, but I’ll build something stronger. Eternal. They wasted their legacies.” His eyes snap to you. “I won’t waste mine.”

Your throat tightens. “And where do I fit into this, Mattheo? Do you even see me anymore, or just the throne you’re building in your head?”

For a moment, he falters, the edge of desperation flashing through his obsession. He steps closer, his hand reaching but not quite touching you. “You think I’d leave you behind? You’ll stand beside me, Trouble. Always. Because when I take it all, when the world bows, there’ll be no one strong enough to take you from me.”

His voice cracks, somewhere between love and madness. “You’ll be mine. Not just now. Not just here. Always.”

The air between you feels heavy and thick. He doesn’t sound like his father or Tom anymore…he sounds worse. Because Mattheo isn’t trying to escape their shadows. He’s trying to eclipse them entirely.