The corridor just outside the common room is relatively quiet. You lean against the cool stone, gathering your courage, and finally blurt out to Draco, “I think I’m in love with Mattheo Riddle.”

Draco stares blankly at you. “Any thoughts?” you ask.

Draco’s reaction is immediate and unexpected. He folds his arms, tilts his head, and simply states, “And prayers. You will need them.”

You quirk an eyebrow, crossing your own arms in disbelief. “Prayers?” you echo. “What do you mean by that?”

Draco lets out a dry, humorless chuckle, eyes drifting over your shoulder as if checking to ensure no one else is listening. “Mattheo’s… well, let’s just say his latest escapades have been a bit more than any sane person would willingly get involved in,” Draco murmurs, a hint of smugness in his tone.

You shift your weight, curiosity piqued and a touch of worry rising in your chest. “Like what?” you press.

Draco shrugs, as if it’s all trivial, but the glint in his eyes says otherwise. “Where to begin? He charmed the suits of armor on the third floor corridor to dance the can-can at midnight… led Goyle into a trap so he could toss ink balloons on the visiting Aurors last week… and, just yesterday, convinced a group of first-years that the Whomping Willow was friendly if you talked sweetly to it.”

Your mouth falls open a fraction, torn between amusement and concern. “He did all that?”

“Indeed,” Draco replies, lifting his chin. “Mattheo doesn’t do anything halfway. He’s either passionately charming or spectacularly chaotic. And you’re thinking of loving a bloke who sees life as one grand dare?”

Your heart flutters despite the warning. You’ve seen the charming side, the warmth beneath Mattheo’s smirk. But Draco’s words plant a seed of caution. “So… you’re telling me to be careful?”

Draco smirks, turning on his heel to leave. “Careful?” he tosses over his shoulder. “I’m telling you to brace yourself. Love might be a battlefield, but with Mattheo Riddle, it’s a full-on war zone.”