The Hall hums with life, the golden glow of floating candles reflecting off the enchanted ceiling, which today mirrors a soft overcast sky. You’re in the middle of biting into a warm piece of toast when the heavy wooden doors creak open, and the usual noise falters—just for a second.

A figure steps inside.

He moves with an easy, unbothered confidence, his presence demanding attention without a single word. Dark, unruly hair falls over his forehead in a way that seems both careless and intentional. His uniform—a crisp white shirt, tie slightly loosened, black robes hanging effortlessly off his frame—gives him the look of someone who follows the rules just enough to avoid trouble but bends them when it suits him. His sharp jawline and piercing eyes, a shade between mischief and mystery, flicker across the hall as if he’s mapping out his new kingdom.

You can’t look away.

Elbowing Hermione, you barely manage to tear your gaze from him as you whisper, “Who is that?”

She barely glances up from her book, seemingly unimpressed. “Mattheo.”

Mattheo. The name sticks in your mind, settling in like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

Something bold stirs in you before you can stop it, and before logic kicks in, you let out a low whistle.

The sound cuts through the air just enough for him to hear. He pauses mid-step. His head tilts slightly, and then—his eyes find yours.

The world narrows.

His lips curve into a smirk, one side lifting just enough to send a spark down your spine. And then—Merlin help you—he winks. A slow, deliberate motion, like he’s well aware of the effect he has.

Your heart stumbles over itself, warmth creeping into your cheeks. He holds your gaze for a second longer before continuing toward the Serpentine table, slipping into a seat as though he’s always belonged.

Across from you, Hermione sighs, snapping her book shut with a quiet thud. “Honestly.”

But you barely hear her.

Because one thing is certain—this year just got a whole lot more interesting.