Advanced Political Theory. A Tuesday morning elective for the overachievers and the legacy kids who needed to know how power worked. The room was half-full, a sea of blazers in four distinct colors.

Mattheo Riddle was already there, in the third row from the back. Slytherin green. He sat with a stillness that seemed to absorb the noise around him, one long-fingered hand resting beside his closed MacBook. Dark hair, sharp jaw, eyes that scanned the empty podium with a detached, analytical cool.

Cho’s text from last night flashed in your memory. He sits alone. Just go sit next to him. Be normal. Ask about the reading. For me? Please?

You slid into the empty seat to his right, the leather chair sighing under your weight. Your own laptop came out of your bag, the Hufflepuff yellow of your sleeve cuff stark against the dark wood of the desk.

You felt his gaze shift. A slow, sidelong glance. Not curious, not friendly. Just… noting.