The cozy common room buzzed softly with the sound of crackling firewood and the faint murmur of conversation. Mattheo lounged casually on the couch, his legs draped over the armrest, his usual smirk playing on his lips. Across from him, you sat perched in an armchair, a book resting forgotten on your lap. The rest of the group scattered around the room, engaged in their own low-key activities, occasionally tossing comments across the space.

Mattheo tilted his head, catching your eye. “Damn, you do need friends who aren’t Draco.”

You rolled your eyes, already prepared for his teasing. “I have friends who aren’t Draco.”

“Uh-huh,” Mattheo said, sitting up slightly with an exaggerated expression of skepticism. “Like who? And don’t say me.”

You hesitated for the briefest moment before blurting out, “You.”

A grin spread across Mattheo’s face, and he leaned back again, clearly delighted. “Alright, what friends have you got, Mattheo? And don’t say me.”

Mattheo’s response was immediate and smug. “You.”

Your brow lifted, mirroring his earlier playful skepticism.

He laughed, a warm, unrestrained sound that filled the room. “See? Neither of us have friends.” His chuckling softened as he added, “But we’ll survive.”

Draco, seated near the fire with Blaise, glanced over at the two of you with a knowing smirk. He nudged Blaise before addressing the group. “They’re soon going to realize they’re madly in love with each other, right?”

Mattheo’s head snapped around, his grin fading into a pointed glare. “Shut up, Draco.”

You frowned, catching only the tail end of the exchange. “What did he say?”

Mattheo turned back to you smoothly, his expression all charm and mischief. “Nothing, darling. Don’t worry about it.”

From the corner of the room, Theo snickered softly, hiding it behind a cough, while Blaise exchanged an amused glance with Lorenzo. Regulus shook his head, his smirk subtle but unmistakable, as if silently placing bets on how long it would take for the inevitable.