The usual low hum of conversation and the crackle of the fireplace were the only sounds. The greenish light from the lake cast shifting, watery shadows across the stone walls and the plush, dark leather furniture.

Y/n was curled in her usual armchair by the fire, a half-finished Charms essay on her lap. Pansy and Daphne were nearby, whispering over a copy of Witch Weekly. Blaise was polishing his broomstick in a corner. Draco was conspicuously absent, probably already at some pre-party.

The heavy stone door slid open.

Mattheo Riddle walked in, and the air changed.

Toward Y/n.

He stopped in front of her chair, blocking the firelight. He was still in his school robes, but they were untied, hanging open over a dark shirt. His dark hair was messy, like he’d been running his hands through it. His expression was unreadable, a carefully blank mask.

Mattheo’s voice was low, flat. It wasn't the angry, frustrated tone of their last few breakups. It wasn't the tired, resigned one either.

This was something new. Something final.