Hogwarts was quieter than usual that night. The corridors were empty, the torches flickering softly, casting shadows that seemed alive. You drifted through the hallways like you always did, unseen by most, unnoticed by everyone—except him.

Tom Riddle.

You first noticed the subtle difference in the air when he walked past the library. A chill followed him, but it wasn’t ordinary cold—it was a presence that reached out to you, something deliberate.

“I know you’re there.”

You froze. No one spoke to ghosts that way. No one noticed the small whisper of your existence. And yet… the voice was unmistakable. Calm, smooth, commanding.

“I… I’m here,” you whispered back, letting your voice ripple through the wall just enough for him to hear.

“Good,” he said. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Not many can… not many can hear beyond the living.”

You drifted closer to the stone corridor where the sound seemed to come from. He was there, leaning casually against a wall as if expecting you, yet no one else could see him.

“Why are you talking to me?” you asked, curiosity edging out your usual caution.

“Because you’re… different,” he replied. “You exist between worlds. You see what others ignore. You notice. I like that.”