Most of the group was scattered around in the common room, lounging on the plush couches, their laughter and murmured conversations blending with the comforting hum of the room. Mattheo was perched on the armrest of a chair, his dark curls falling messily into his face.

You stepped in, the faint chill from the dungeon corridors still clinging to your skin, but you were wrapped snugly in something warm—Mattheo’s sweater. It hung slightly oversized on you, the faint scent of cedar and something uniquely him lingering in the wool.

The chatter around you quieted, just for a beat, as Mattheo’s eyes immediately locked onto you. His roguish grin faltered for a second, replaced by a flicker of something unreadable.

“Can I have my sweater back?” His voice was low, teasing, but his smirk betrayed the challenge behind the words.

You stopped just a few steps in, raising an eyebrow as you met his gaze head-on. The corner of your lips tugged upward as you fired back without missing a beat, “Can I have my v/rginity back?”

The room froze.

Draco choked on the sip of firewhiskey he’d just taken, while Blaise leaned forward, a grin slowly spreading across his face. Theodore let out a soft laugh under his breath, shaking his head.

Mattheo’s confident smirk faltered, his cheeks flushing the faintest shade of pink—a rare sight for someone so effortlessly composed. He blinked, caught completely off guard, before the grin returned, wider and sharper this time.

“Touche,” he said. “Well played.”

“Thanks,” you replied airily, walking past him to claim an empty seat, the sweater still firmly yours for the moment.

As the laughter around you slowly died down, Mattheo’s eyes lingered on you, the hint of a smirk still tugging at his lips. If the firelight wasn’t playing tricks, you could’ve sworn you saw something else in his gaze—a mix of pride and amusement, with a touch of something deeper.