Mattheo stood with his back against the cold wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He'd found you here hours ago, or maybe it had only been minutes—time bent strange when you were around. His gaze traced the curve of your jaw as you laughed at something Blaise had said before he'd wandered off, leaving just the two of you in the hollow quiet.

You always laughed like that. Bright. Free. Like you didn't know how it buried itself under his skin and stayed there, burning slow and constant.

He watched you lean against the opposite wall, your arms folding across your chest like armor. Earlier, the conversation had drifted to love—Ginny had been going on about Harry, about how she'd known from the first moment, and you'd laughed that same easy laugh and said something sharp about fairy tales.