The fire in the Slytherin common room burned low, its glow spilling across the green-tinted stone walls. Shadows shifted with every crackle, casting jagged shapes that climbed over the carved arches. The boys were scattered around the room—Theo stretched lazily across an armchair, Blaise leaning back with his hands behind his head, Enzo by the window, Draco pretending to read though his eyes flicked up now and then.

Theo broke the stillness first, his voice casual but probing. “So, how did she get away?”

Mattheo sat forward on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, dark hair falling into his eyes. He hesitated, almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it aloud. Finally, he muttered, “I let her go.”

Theo’s brows rose. “You let her go? That doesn’t sound like you.”

Mattheo’s jaw tensed, his hand flexing against his knee. “Yeah. Because it got… weird, alright? I had her cornered. We were fighting—same as always. Nothing unusual. Wands out, adrenaline high, back-and-forth like we’ve done a hundred times. And then—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair.

Theo leaned forward. “And then what?”

Mattheo exhaled slowly, voice dropping. “My hand ended up around her throat.”

The room went silent. Even Draco lowered his book, his gray eyes flicking toward him with sharp interest.

Mattheo’s gaze drifted toward the fire, his words coming slower, heavier. “She looked me dead in the eye. Not afraid. Not trying to run. Just… staring right into me. Straight through me, like she could see everything I’ve ever tried to bury.” Theo frowned. “And?”

Mattheo let out a dry, humorless laugh. “And she says… harder.”

A beat of stunned silence followed. Blaise actually sat forward, blinking. “Wait. She what?”

Mattheo’s lips curved into a tight, almost disbelieving smirk. “Harder. Like it was nothing. Like we weren’t even fighting. And I just froze, because what the hell do you even do with that?”

Theo let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “That’s not normal.”

Enzo grinned faintly from the shadows. “Sounds like you finally found your equal.”

Draco snapped his book shut, arching a brow. “Or she’s completely mental.”

But Mattheo wasn’t laughing. He leaned back into the couch, jaw clenched, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. “For the first time, I didn’t know who had the power—me, or her. And I couldn’t figure out if that terrified me… or something else entirely.”

The fire popped loudly, filling the tense silence.

Theo tilted his head, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “So what now? You just let her walk away?”

Mattheo’s gaze lingered on the flames, then flicked toward you, the smallest challenge hidden in his expression. “Yeah. For now. But something tells me it’s not over.”

He leaned back, waiting—like he knew someone would have something to say about it.