The common room was bathed in a golden, flickering glow, the fire in the hearth crackling softly against the stillness of the late hour. Tom leaned over a thick tome, his brow furrowed in deep thought, while Theo lounged in the far corner, his long legs stretched out as he idly leafed through a book he didn't appear to be reading. Blaise and Draco were engaged in a conspiratorial murmur over a game of chess, while Lorenzo and Regulus sat near the window.

Mattheo, ever the restless one, had been sprawled on the couch, until you—overcome by the soothing warmth of the fire and the late hour—leaned your head on his shoulder.

The moment your head touched him, Mattheo froze. His dark eyes darted down to you, taking in the way your features had softened in sleep. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, warmth rising up his neck.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Draco drawled. “What’s the matter with you?”

Mattheo glared at him,. “Shut it, Draco,” he hissed under his breath, careful not to disturb you.

Blaise smirked, one eyebrow raised. “Is Mattheo blushing? This is a rare sight. Somebody write this down.”

“I am not blushing,” Mattheo shot back, though his face was clearly betraying him.

“You’re definitely blushing,” Theo’s voice chimed in.

Mattheo rolled his eyes but couldn’t help glancing back down at you. His hand, almost on instinct, moved to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. He swallowed hard, his expression softening as he took in your peaceful features.

“Shut up, all of you,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “You’re going to wake her up.”

“How chivalrous of you, Mattheo. Truly heartwarming,” Regulus said.

Mattheo scowled, but there was no venom in it. “I’ll hex the lot of you,” he threatened half-heartedly, though his hand had shifted slightly to rest protectively near your shoulder.

The teasing persisted, of course, but Mattheo hardly noticed anymore. His attention was fixed on you. For once, he was content to sit still, the chaos of the world around him fading into the background.