The fire crackles softly in the common room. You sit curled up in an armchair, fingers idly tracing patterns on the fabric as your mind drifts—again—to Mattheo. His laugh, the way his eyes gleam when he’s up to no good, the way he leans in just a little too close when he teases you. It’s ridiculous how much space he’s taken up in your thoughts.

Pansy watches you with sharp amusement. She tilts her head and suddenly asks, “What is she thinking?”

The question barely registers at first, but then the room goes quiet. You blink, realizing all eyes are now on you.

Draco smirks from his spot near the fire. “Mattheo,” he answers.

"Obviously Mattheo," Blaise echoes, stretching his arms behind his head. “She’s got that dazed, love-struck look. Tragic, really.”

Theodore taps a long against his chin. “Completely gone,” he murmurs, his deep voice laced with dry humor.

Your cheeks burn. “I—what?”

Pansy leans forward, a smirk playing on her lips. “I knew it. You’ve been staring at nothing for the past ten minutes. Probably imagining him doing something ridiculous.”

You open your mouth, scrambling for a retort, but before you can even form a coherent thought, a familiar voice cuts through the air.

"Imagining me doing what exactly?"

Your stomach flips.

Mattheo stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his usual cocky smirk in place. He’s wearing his usual white shirt, the top few buttons undone, his tie loosened like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it.

Blaise lets out a low whistle. “And there he is. Speak of the devil.”

Mattheo’s gaze flicks to you. "Well?" He tilts his head slightly. "Go on, then. What were you thinking about?"

You freeze. Your heart is practically hammering against your ribs. Pansy looks absolutely delighted, Blaise is grinning like this is the best entertainment he’s had all week, and Theodore just watches with his usual unreadable expression.

You could lie. You could brush it off. But with Mattheo looking at you like that—like he already knows—you’re not sure you can.