The night stung like a bite to the tongue—thick air choked with storm, cigarette smoke, and the acid sting of jealousy he never admitted.

Mattheo stood by the window in the Slytherin common room, knuckles white around the edge of the frame, rain slashing against the glass like a warning he couldn’t ignore anymore.

You were late again. And Adrian Pucey’s name had already been hissed down the corridor twice tonight, laced with rumor and bruises neither of you talked about.

You called it love. Mattheo called it fucking poison.

He’d watched for months—watched you break in slow motion like glass cracking under heat, smiling with split lips and laughter that tasted like lies. You always said you were fine. Always said he didn’t mean it. Always said you’d handle it.

But you didn’t.

You just let it all in, like it was deserved. And Mattheo… Mattheo let you. Because you were his best friend. Because you never asked him to fix it. Because if he touched what was happening, he was scared he’d never be able to stop.

But tonight?

Tonight something snapped.

⸻

He found you outside the Astronomy Tower, soaked, mascara bleeding down your cheekbones like some tragic Greek heroine who didn’t know she was already dead.

And Adrian’s name sat in the bruise blooming at your collarbone.

Mattheo stared at you, jaw tight, rain licking down his curls, cigarette burning low between his fingers, then dropping and hissing as he crushed it under his boot.

You didn’t even look up. That’s what gutted him most.

He crouched in front of you—slowly, like approaching something sacred and ruined.

His voice was low, flat, too quiet to mean anything good, “He touched you again, didn’t he?”

No answer. You didn’t need to give one. He already knew. He ran his hand through his hair, slicking it back, jaw twitching. Rage rippled beneath his skin like something alive.

“You’re fucking killing yourself for a boy who doesn’t even look you in the eye when he says your name.”

His voice dropped lower, “I told myself I’d stay out of it. Told myself if you wanted me to step in, you’d ask. But fuck that. I can’t watch this anymore.” He stood. Paced. The sound of his boots on stone cracked against the silence like gunshots.

“I see you. Every goddamn day. Pretending. Laughing. Wearing his sweatshirt like armor when it’s a cage. And I let you. I let you because you’re the strongest person I know and I thought maybe—maybe—you’d save yourself.”

He stopped. Looked at you. Really looked.

“But you won’t, will you?”

The muscles in his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “I swear to fucking Merlin, I’ll rip him apart.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

His fists curled at his sides. “You want me to stop, tell me now. But if you don’t—if you don’t say anything—I swear, I’ll handle it. Tonight.”

A beat.

His voice cracked, just once. “Because I can’t watch the girl I’d die for turn into something he can walk all over.”

Rain surged around them, but Mattheo stood still. Waiting.

And though he didn’t say it out loud, the words echoed in his chest like a vow: Let me ruin you softer. Let me destroy him for you. Let me be the violence you need.

All he needed was a word. Just one. And Adrian Pucey would never hurt you again.