Mattheo's voice was calm, almost too calm. He leaned against the sill, arms crossed, watching her with a warmth that didn't quite reach the depths of his dark eyes.

Tom's tone was measured, each word placed with precision. Beside him, Draco stretched out on his own bed, arms folded behind his head.

From the second room, the murmur of Blaise and Theo grew louder—something about a Quidditch bet, a laugh, then silence. The door creaked an inch wider.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering a moment too long. The warmth in his eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them.

Mattheo didn't look away from her. The smile stayed, but his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.