The Transfiguration Courtyard was bathed in a soft amber glow, the kind that made everything look hazy and dreamlike—until you stepped closer and remembered the sting of the cold. Winter had wrapped its pale hands around Hogwarts, frosting the edges of windows and biting noses red. But here, in the corner where the Slytherins liked to gather, the cold didn’t matter. The chill was second to the heat they all brought with them—heat from bloodlines heavy with legacy, danger, and dark promises.

The air buzzed with low laughter and idle murmurs. Mattheo Riddle was leaned back lazily against the courtyard wall, legs spread slightly, his green-and-silver tie loose around his neck. Between those legs stood you—his girl, the daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange. Regal and wicked in all the right ways. His fingers toyed with the hem of your coat as you casually leaned in, murmuring something only he could hear.

Across the stone yard, Draco Malfoy was sprawled on a bench like a prince in exile, Theo Nott leaned against a pillar with a cigarette hanging from his lips, and Blaise Zabini sat cross-legged on the ground, lazily flipping through a deck of enchanted cards. They were Slytherins through and through—untouchable, too beautiful, too dangerous, too rich in name and blood.

Mattheo’s hand crept under your cloak, splayed against your lower back as he leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss just under your ear. You tilted your head with a small smirk, and his lips trailed down your neck slowly, teasing. When he squeezed your bottom with an unrepentant grin, you gave a soft laugh and lightly smacked his chest.

From across the courtyard, she watched.

Hermione Granger. Book clutched too tightly in her arms. Mouth a thin line. Hair frizzing more by the second. She was standing by the archway, not even pretending to hide how she stared at Mattheo—like she’d been doing for days. Always watching him. Always lingering just a little too long in Potions. Always looking when you walked in holding his hand.

The boys noticed first.

Theo gave a snort. “Merlin, she’s at it again.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Does she think we don’t see her? Honestly.” Blaise grinned without looking up. “Someone should remind her who Matty belongs to.”

Mattheo didn’t even glance in her direction—his attention was completely on you. His mouth brushed your jaw, the chill of his rings biting your skin as his hand came up to cup your waist. His voice was low and shameless against your ear, “You’re freezing, baby. Want my robe?” He nuzzled your temple like you were the only thing that mattered. Because to him, you were.

But then—Hermione snapped.

With a frustrated growl, she slammed her book shut and stormed across the courtyard. “Mattheo!” she barked, fury lighting her features. Ron and Harry—who had been chatting a few steps behind—both stumbled into motion, eyes wide.

“Hermione—Hermione, don’t,” Harry hissed, grabbing her elbow. “Mate, leave it,” Ron added. “He’s hers. He’s always been hers.”

She didn’t stop.

You turned slowly, lips still tingling from Mattheo’s kiss, as her footsteps echoed like thunder on the stone. The boys all sat up straighter now, suddenly amused, eyes sharp with anticipation. Theo exhaled smoke. Draco arched a brow. Blaise smiled like this was the best part of his day.

Mattheo stood lazily behind you, sliding his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, his smirk growing wider as Hermione neared. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. The way he pulled you tighter against him, the way he let his nose drag along your cheek before kissing it slowly… it said everything.

He was yours. Unapologetically.

And now the whole courtyard was about to watch Hermione Granger learn that the hard way.