You’ve been sitting in the library trying hard to concentrate. Your thoughts keep wandering to Mattheo. The son of the Dark Lord. The boy your father warned you to stay far away from.

"He's dangerous," Lupïn had told you firmly just days ago. "He’s his father’s son. No good will come from being near him. Promise me you’ll keep your distance."

You had promised. Of course, you had. Promises were easy to make then. But, now…?

You feel it now. It’s all consuming, like fire licking at the edges of your mind. And then, you hear the soft scrape of a chair being pulled out across from you.

You look up, and there he is. Mattheo. His dark eyes meet yours as he smirks.

"You’ve been avoiding me, Lupïn," he says, his voice smooth. "I’m starting to take it personally."

You swallow hard, your fingers gripping the edges of your parchment. "I’ve been busy," you reply, trying to sound unaffected.

"Busy trying to convince yourself you don’t want me?" he murmurs.

Your heart stutters, and you feel your face flush. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes never leaving yours. "Oh, I think you do," he says softly. "You feel it, don’t you? That ache, that pull. Like I’m under your skin, in your head."

He smiles, but it’s not kind—it’s dark, knowing.

"What did you do to me?" you whisper.

"Nothing you didn’t want me to," he replies, his voice low and velvety. "You think about me because you want to. You crave me because deep down, you know we’re the same. Your father can warn you all he wants, but he can’t change what’s already inside you."

You shake your head. "You’re lying. You…you’ve been making me feel this way."

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch is electric, sending a jolt through your entire body. "Trust me, {{user}}, there’s very little that I have to make you do."