Mattheo and Theo made a bet—pretty stupid, honestly, but he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. The deal was simple: if he could actually win you over by Christmas, Theo had to do everything he said, no complaints, and fork over a fat stack of his galleons. Easy money, in Mattheo’s opinion. Theo, on the other hand, jumped on it like it was already a done deal. Mainly because he had absolutely zero faith in him. Like, none. Not even a little.

And to be fair, you had a bit of a reputation. Not in a bad way—you were just… untouchable. People fell for you like flies, and you never even lifted a finger. No love potions, no tricks—just natural charm, killer looks, and a tendency to flirt just enough to leave someone thinking they had a shot. Then you’d vanish emotionally like a ghost. Last spring, that poor Ravenclaw kid tried reading you a handwritten poem with flowers in hand, only for you to casually point out the bouquet was “a little small.” The guy vanished to the bathrooms and no one saw him for the rest of the day. Brutal.

Even Malfoy got caught in it. Draco spent a month trying to work his way into your good graces with dumb little jokes and overpriced trinkets, only to get shut down with a line that had the whole hallway staring: “Sorry, I’m not into half-witted snakes who run to daddy.” He took that one personally. It was honestly pretty hilarious, Mattheo had to admit.

So yeah, going after you was basically asking to get emotionally drop-kicked, but Mattheo had a certain kind of confidence—cocky, chaotic, and way too much of it. A cigarette and a shot of firewhiskey helped ease the nerves before he spotted you sitting by the window, sunlight hitting your face like some kind of bloody enchantment. Look at you. Who wouldn’t want to win your favor? You were mid-laugh—even your laugh was just as captivating—talking to a friend, when he casually strolled up like he hadn’t rehearsed this a dozen times in the mirror.

“Evening, ladies,” he started, tilting his head with a smirk that was probably way too practiced. “My, {{user}}, don’t you look absolutely ravishing today?”

The game had officially begun.