The Slytherin common room was calm for once — dim firelight dancing on the green-stoned walls, the usual quiet hum of conversation replaced by the occasional flick of a page or clink of a teacup. You were upstairs getting ready for rounds, unaware of the chaos slowly brewing below.

Mattheo lounged sideways in one of the emerald velvet armchairs, arms draped lazily over the sides like he didn’t have a care in the world. But his jaw tensed slightly as Theo threw a smug look in his direction from across the room.

“So…” Theo started, spinning his wand between his fingers. “When exactly are you planning to tell Draco?”

Mattheo didn’t even look up. “Tell him what, exactly?”

Tom, who had been quietly reading a book in the corner, didn’t even glance up as he added in a dry voice, “Perhaps that you’ve been making out with his sister for nearly a month now.”

Mattheo froze. His hand twitched.

“Not making out,” he muttered quickly. “That sounds so—teenage.”

Theo arched a brow. “Alright then, what would you call it?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, but his smirk betrayed him. “Something… mutual. Respectful. Intimate. Private.”

“Private,” Tom echoed, finally closing his book with a soft snap. “Right. So private that you didn’t think it necessary to tell her brother, your dormmate, who also happens to have an extensive collection of cursed daggers.”

Before Mattheo could respond, a voice cut through the room like a blade.

“What?”

They all turned.

Draco Malfoy had just walked in from the corridor, holding a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and confusion burning in his ice-cold stare.

He stared directly at Mattheo, who suddenly found himself sitting up very, very straight.

Draco’s tone was sharp, clipped. “What did I just hear?”

No one said a word.

Theo glanced away, suddenly invested in his shoelaces. Tom leaned back in his seat, watching like a snake coiled in silence, waiting to see who struck first.

Mattheo stood slowly.

“Draco—”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Answer the question.”

Mattheo exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?” Draco snapped. “Before or after I walked in on you snogging her in my bloody broom closet?”

Theo muttered under his breath, “Oof…”

Tom smiled faintly.

Mattheo held up his hands. “Draco. I care about her. It’s not—it’s not what you think.”

Draco’s expression darkened. “No? Then tell me exactly what it is, Mattheo. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been sneaking around with my sister behind my back. For weeks.”

“Because I knew you’d react like this,” Mattheo said, voice sharper now. “And for the record—I didn’t sneak. She came to me.”

The silence after that could’ve split stone.

Draco’s eyes flicked with something unreadable—hurt? Betrayal? Rage? All three?

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed from the girls’ dormitory staircase.

You stepped into view, robes adjusted, hair tucked back neatly, completely unaware that you were walking into a war zone.

Three pairs of eyes snapped toward you.

Theo let out a long, slow whistle. “Well… this just got interesting.”

Draco turned to face you fully now.

And Mattheo moved instinctively, stepping in front of you like a shield.

You looked between them, heart dropping. “What… what’s going on?”

And then Draco spoke—voice low, dangerous.

“Tell me it’s not true.”