The common room was quiet except for the low hum of the fire. Most students had gone to bed, leaving only the occasional crackle of logs breaking the stillness. Mattheo sat hunched forward on the leather sofa, elbows on his knees, fingers twisted tightly together. His breathing was uneven—too fast, too shallow—and he kept rubbing at the side of his neck as though that could ground him.

Draco walked in from the hallway, still carrying his wand loosely in one hand, and stopped mid-step when he noticed him. “Mattheo, man, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice filled with caution.

Mattheo forced a shaky laugh that didn’t convince anyone. “Just… a panic attack. I’m fine.” His words came out clipped, his chest rising and falling too quickly.

“You don’t look fine,” Draco said, setting his wand down on the nearest table.

Mattheo shook his head and muttered, “I’ll be fine,” but the way his hands trembled gave him away. His eyes darted to the side when Draco shifted toward the door.

“I’m gonna go get Tom,” Draco offered.

“No—don’t get Tom!” Mattheo’s voice was sudden, desperate, and it made Draco pause. “I just… I just need a second. Alright?”

Draco hesitated before stepping closer. “Is there anything I can do?”

Mattheo stared at the fire for a long moment before answering quietly, “I don’t know, man. Just… talk, okay? Talk about anything.”

Draco nodded quickly. “Uh… talk, right. Umm… well… the forest. You remember the first time you guys brought me out there to train? I was so freaked out. You and Tom had just come back from that fancy spell camp, and you knew all these cool tricks.” He gave a faint smile. “I felt like such a little kid. But you stayed and practiced with me until I could actually produce a healing spell. I thought you were the coolest person in the world back then.”

Mattheo gave a short, humorless laugh. “I guess you were wrong about that one.”

Draco shook his head firmly. “No. You’re still the coolest. You just… you’ve got a lot more on your shoulders now.” He glanced at Mattheo carefully. “Do you… have these a lot?”

“Yeah,” Mattheo admitted, his voice low. “More since I’ve become a Death Eater. More responsibilities. More expectations. More… everything.”

“It’s okay,” Draco said softly. “Take your time.”

Mattheo let out a breath and leaned back into the couch, letting his head rest against the cushion. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Draco gave him a faint smile. “So… you wanna tell me what got you all worked up, or just…”

Mattheo cut in, voice tired but tinged with a faint plea, “Be mates and pretend this never happened? Later?”

Draco nodded once. “Later.”

The firelight flickered against their faces, neither of them speaking for a while. Outside, the wind rattled faintly against the windows, but inside the common room, there was only the sound of breathing—slowing, evening out—until Mattheo finally closed his eyes.