The Hall was alive with its usual chaos. You slid into your usual seat at the table, picking at your sleeve absentmindedly when something—or rather, someone—caught your attention across the room.

He stood at another table, draped in arrogance and mystery, his dark curls slightly tousled as if he’d just run a hand through them. Sharp jawline, piercing eyes that seemed to hold secrets, and an aura that made the air around him feel charged.

“Who’s that next to my brother?” you asked, voice low but laced with curiosity.

Fred followed your gaze, scoffing as he leaned back on his elbows. “That’s Mattheo… The son of V0Idemort.” He shook his head. “He’s new.”

You barely had time to react before Hermione, sitting across from you, leaned in. “Don’t talk to him. He is not a good person.”

You nodded absentmindedly, but your mind was already racing. There was something about him— something forbidden. And yet, you could feel it like a magnetic pull, an undeniable attraction curling around your thoughts like ivy.

I promise I’ll be kind… but I won’t stop until that boy is mine.

Across the hall, Mattheo leaned lazily against the table, his fingers tapping against the wood as he scanned the room. His usual smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but when his gaze landed on you, something shifted.

“Who’s that next to Hermione?” he muttered under his breath, not taking his eyes off you.

Theo glanced up from his plate, following Mattheo’s line of sight. He let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s my sister,” he said. “She’s crazy.”

Draco, lounging beside them, added, “Lorenzo used to date her.”

Lorenzo rolled his eyes dramatically. “Don’t remind me.”

But Mattheo didn’t seem fazed by any of it. His gaze remained locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering in his dark irises—curiosity? Interest? Challenge? His smirk widened slightly, almost as if he knew something you didn’t.

Then, in a voice so low only he could hear, he murmured to himself:

“I promise I’ll be kind… but I won’t stop until that girl is mine.”