The night dripped with darkness. The kind that clung to skin, thick and watchful, whispering through every corridor of Hogwarts like a living thing. Halloween. The castle’s favorite sin. Ghosts stirred freer than usual, portraits whispered warnings, and somewhere far below, laughter and music bled from the courtyard. But here—in the maze—silence reigned.

Mattheo Riddle stood at its entrance, jaw painted white like bone, grin split sharp across his face. His skeleton makeup cracked at the edges, the smudges making him look more ghost than boy. His hair was a careless mess, his eyes alive with something cruel and hungry. He loved this night. The chaos. The drinks. And gods—he especially loved when girls ditched the “fright” for the “delight.” Lace, silk, and short hems that made sin seem seasonal.

But most of all, he loved the dark. The dark always told the truth.

The maze had been Headmaster-approved, a “safe scare” for students. Idiots. It wasn’t safe. The hedges rose high, their branches knotted like old veins, their shadows swallowing the weak light of the few floating fairy lamps that barely glimmered through the fog. It was damp, cold, and quiet—the kind of quiet that hummed with the promise of a scream.

But tonight, the thrill came with a target. Her.

He wasn’t even sure when it had started. Maybe in class, when she’d laughed at something he said instead of shrinking from his name. Whatever it was, it had lodged beneath his skin and stayed there, burning.

And she was in there. Alone.

He saw her slip into the dark before anyone else, her laughter faint, her figure vanishing behind the green walls. His friends had seen the look in his eyes.

"Bet time?” one of them asked with a grin.

“If I find her, and catch her, I kiss her,” he’d said.

“And if you don’t?”

He’d smirked. “Then I clean the dorms for a week.”

They’d laughed. But Mattheo was already gone.

The maze swallowed him whole, the air thick as breath. He moved quietly, boots pressing into damp earth. Every corner twisted tighter, every sound echoed too long. Somewhere ahead, faint footsteps. Quick. Light. She was running.

She didn’t know it was him. That made it better.

He let her hear him—sometimes. The deliberate crunch of a leaf. The faint drag of fingers against a hedge wall. A low laugh that might have been the wind. He wanted her to feel it, that rising panic, the delicious rush of fear before the reveal. She’d know someone followed her, but not who. Not yet.

The fairy lights flickered, weak and distant, making the path bleed between shadow and illusion. A whisper of fog licked at his boots. The air smelled like rain, earth, and adrenaline.

He could hear her breathing now, quick and uneven. Close. She turned a corner. He followed slower this time, savoring it—the hunt, the heat beneath the fear. He imagined her glancing over her shoulder, seeing nothing but dark. Wondering.

He brushed past the hedge, branches scratching against his sleeve. The sound made her gasp somewhere ahead. Perfect.

He grinned, though she couldn’t see it. “Run,” he murmured under his breath. "Run, pretty thing"

The maze twisted again, tighter, darker. She was just ahead now, a flicker of movement, the soft scuff of her shoes. The air was electric with it—terror and thrill blending into something exquisite. Every breath she took sounded louder. He could almost feel it against his throat.

He let his pace quicken, his footsteps heavier now—loud enough to let her know he was coming. The game was ending. She didn’t scream, but he heard the sharp inhale, the stumble, the desperate turn.

The last corner opened like a trap. She spun, back pressed to the hedge, eyes wide in the half-light. Mattheo stepped out of the fog, the bones painted across his face glowing faintly in the dim. The silence cracked like glass between them.

He tilted his head, a slow, dangerous smile curling his mouth.

“Found you,” he said softly.

The words slipped through the dark like a spell, low and intimate, a promise and a threat all at once.

The night, it seemed, had chosen its monster.