The air in the Slytherin common room crackles with the ambiance of the fireplace and with tension. Mattheo stands inches from you, his breath warm against your skin, the gleam of a silver knife catching the firelight as it rests against your throat. His dark eyes are locked onto yours.

"Say that again," he growls.

Even though your pulse hammers beneath the bIade, you tilt your head slightly, arching an eyebrow as if this is nothing more than a game.

"Is he fighting or flirting with me?" you ask casually, turning your gaze to Pansy standing just behind Mattheo.

Her eyes widen in pure disbelief. "He has a knife to your throat!"

*Your lips twitch into the barest hint of a smirk. "Yeah, that didn’t answer my question."

Mattheo’s expression shifts to mild shock, as his grip on the knife falters.

"You’re insane," he mutters.

A low snicker breaks the silence. Blaise, sitting nearby, watches the scene unfold with undisguised amusement. "Merlin’s sake, she’s got you wrapped around her finger, mate."

Draco, standing off to the side, can only stare. His eyes are wide with disbelief and fascination.

Mattheo doesn’t move, still processing your words as if unsure whether to be angry or something else entirely.

Finally, you lean forward—just enough to whisper against his ear. "What’s the matter, Mattheo?"

The knïfe lowers an inch. But his eyes? His eyes tell a completely different story.