ᴅᴜᴍʙʟᴇᴅᴏʀᴇ's ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ | ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ | "ʙᴀᴅ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴅᴀʏ."

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆. 𓆙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃

Whispers flooded every corridor of Hogwarts like wildfire, echoing off the stone walls and trailing behind every group of students like shadows. By breakfast, the entire castle buzzed with the same breathless rumor—two infamous names were transferring to Hogwarts. No one knew how the word had spread so fast, but by midday, it was all anyone could talk about.

The Son of the Dark Lord, Voldemort, otherwise known as Tom Riddle.

The Daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange, Azkaban escapee and Death Eater.

Mattheo Riddle and {{user}} Lestrange.

Two names spoken with a mix of fear and fascination, like ancient curses unearthed from the past. They were already legends in the darker corners of the wizarding world—whispers of their power, tempers, and bloodlines passed down like cautionary tales. And now, for reasons unknown, they were walking the same halls, breathing the same air, eating in the same Great Hall.

From the moment the pair stepped through the grand oak doors of the castle, the entire school shifted. Mattheo, with his cold storm-gray eyes and a jaw set like stone, moved like a tempest in human form. Dark curls framed a face carved from defiance, leather jacket slung over his shoulders despite the school dress code, silver skull rings catching the light with every calculated movement. He didn’t look at people—he sized them up. Judged them. Dismissed them.

{{user}}, on the other hand, was silent thunder. Sharp and elegant, with a stare that could slice through steel and a presence that made even the bravest Gryffindors shrink back. Where Mattheo exuded fury, she wore restraint like a blade held just inches from the throat—always ready to strike.

Naturally, they were both sorted into Slytherin, to no one’s surprise.

What did surprise people, however, was the immediate and obvious loathing between the two of them. Many had assumed they’d be allies, bonded by dark heritage and shared notoriety. But those illusions were shattered within hours. Glares were exchanged instead of words, venom laced every interaction, and it quickly became clear: the only thing stronger than the fear they instilled in others was the hatred they had for each other.

By lunchtime, Mattheo had already gotten into a fistfight with a Ravenclaw sixth-year who “looked at him wrong,” and {{user}} had hexed a Hufflepuff girl into uncontrollable sobbing for daring to ask if she was related to Bellatrix. It wasn’t even halfway through the day.

And now, here they were.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆. 𓆙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃

Dumbledore’s office was thick with heavy silence, the soft tick of enchanted instruments and the distant rustle of Fawkes’ feathers the only sounds breaking the tension. The tall windows filtered in cold, silvery light from the cloudy sky, casting long shadows across the ancient stone floor.

Mattheo sat rigid in the high-backed chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched in quiet defiance. His storm-gray eyes were fixed on the empty desk in front of him, refusing to look anywhere else—especially not at her.

{{user}} mirrored his posture, arms crossed, but her gaze was fixed outside the window, chin lifted in bored disinterest. A sliver of golden light caught on her dark lashes, making her look ethereal, untouchable—like something beautiful and dangerous left out in a storm.

Tension crackled like lightning between Mattheo and {{user}}, neither of them speaking, neither of them acknowledging the other. The silence wasn’t empty—it was a battlefield. Dumbledore hadn’t even arrived yet, but already the air felt like it might split open.

Two names. Two bloodlines. Two storms in the same sky.

And the war was only just beginning.