The common room is dimly lit, the flicker of green flames from the fireplace casting shadows on the walls. Something feels off—there’s a tension in the air you can’t ignore.

Draco steps into the room, his usual confidence replaced by an uncharacteristic hesitation. His gray eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—fear, maybe?

“Draco,” you say, standing. “What’s going on? You look—”

“Sit down,” he cuts in, his voice quieter than usual, almost… fragile.

Your chest tightens as you sink back into the chair, searching his face for answers. He sits across from you, his hands fidgeting—a sight so rare it sets off alarm bells in your mind.

“It’s about Mattheo,” he starts, his voice thick, as if every word is a struggle.

At the mention of Mattheo’s name, your heart skips a beat. “What? What happened?”

Draco’s eyes meet yours, and the pain there steals the breath from your lungs.

“He’s… gone.”

For a moment, the world stops. The words hang in the air, sharp and unforgiving.

“No,” you manage, shaking your head violently. “No, that’s not—he can’t be. I saw him yesterday. He—he promised—”

Your voice breaks, and tears spill over before you can stop them. You let out a raw, choked sob, collapsing into him. Draco wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you as your world crumbles. “I know,” he murmurs. “I know how much you loved him.”

But what you don’t know, what Draco doesn’t tell you, is that Mattheo isn’t dead. Far from it.

Somewhere, hidden away, Mattheo sits alone, his fists clenched as he battles against his father’s cruel command. The thought of you—of your smile, your laugh—tears at him. But he’s doing this to protect you, even if it means destroying himself in the process.

His heart aches, but he tells himself it’s better this way. Better for you to hate him, to grieve him, than to be caught in the crossfire of his father’s wrath.

And as you sob in Draco’s arms, unaware of the truth, Mattheo whispers your name into the silence, wishing more than anything that he could return to you.