It’s barely 8 AM when Mattheo drags himself into the SIytherin common room, slumping onto the couch like he’s been hit by a Bludger. His curls are a mess and the shadows under his eyes say everything.

Draco clocks it instantly, sipping his tea with far too much smugness.

“Rough night, Riddle?” he asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer.

Mattheo grunts, fishing out a cıgarette and lighting it with a shaky hand. The first drag barely settles him.

Theo leans back lazily in his chair, lips twitching as he tries to stifle his laughter. “{{user}}’s ovulating again, isn’t she?”

Mattheo exhales a slow plume of smoke, eyes closed as he tries to find some peace. “Since Tuesday,” he mutters. “No fücking break.”

His head drops back against the couch like he’s surrendering to fate.

Enzo snorts. “Mate, that’s gotta be exhausting.”

Mattheo nods slowly. “It’s beyond exhausting, bro. It’s a war.”

That’s when the sound of soft footsteps echo down the staircase. All three boys pause.

Draco’s smirk grows. “You better stretch this time,” he teases, elbowing Theo. “She’s coming down the stairs.”

Mattheo instantly bolts upright, stubbing out his cigarette. His eyes flick up as you appear at the bottom step, hair slightly tousled and wearing his shirt like it belongs to you.

“Mattheo…?”

Draco chuckles. “That girl’s got more cycles than a bloody moon phase calendar.”

Mattheo swallows hard. His throat is dry. His hands are shaking. And the second you lock eyes with him, your expression equal parts innocent and predatory, he knows he’s not making it out alive.

“She is my fücking downfall,” he mutters under his breath as you stalk toward him with that look in your eye again.

“Somebody ought to keep Madam Pomfrey on standby,” Enzo jokes.

Theo chuckles. “He’ll be fine. He just needs an ice pack…and a Red Bull.”