You sit in the courtyard, book propped on your knees, trying to ignore the butterflies that have been dancing in your stomach all morning. You already know his quote is coming.

“Have you read it yet?” Astoria nudges you, her mischievous grin wider than a Niffler spotting treasure.

“Not yet,” you mumble, even as your fingers twitch to turn the page.

You think back to Mattheo’s quote from first "I hate {{user}}." That boy—arrogant, irritating, constantly lurking in the shadow of your every triumph. You’d barely exchanged a civil word that first year.

“I think I’ll just read it later,” you mutter as you get up and head inside. But you can’t resist. Not too long after you’ve started to walk through the corridors, you flip to the 8th-year section. This time, Mattheo’s image is sharper, more magnetic—his messy curls a deliberate chaos framing his chiseled smirk. He looks dangerous, like he knows the effect he has on people. On you.

And there it is. His new quote.

"I make {{user}} feel the hate... in my bed... passionately." Your breath catches, your cheeks burning hot. You don’t notice his approach until his shadow falls over the page.

“I see you’ve found it.” His voice is rich and low, dripping with a confidence that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“Mattheo!” You slam the book shut.

“What?” His voice drips with mock innocence. “You don’t agree? Should I have written something... gentler?”

“Gentler?” You echo. “How about something appropriate?”

He steps closer, his smirk softening into something more intimate. “You think the truth’s not appropriate?” His fingers tilt my chin up gently. “Say the word, and I’ll retract it. But I think we both know it’s accurate.”

You glare at him but it lacks conviction. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

The book falls from your hands as he pulls you closer, his smirk returning when he notices you’re not protesting. “How about we, uh…feel the hate…in Filch’s office?”