In the dim glow of the Hogwarts common room, Tom Riddle sat in the corner, poring over an ancient tome with an intensity that could melt stone. Shadows curled around him like a dark cloak, and the usual hum of laughter and chatter from other students seemed to retreat at his presence. He was a figure of fear and admiration, a complicated mix that kept everyone at a distance—except for you, his sister.

You stepped into the room, your brow furrowed with disappointment. “Tom,” you began, trying to sound casual, “did you hear about the prom? Everyone’s buzzing about it. Except me, of course. Not a single invite.”

“Why do you care?” he replied, his voice laced with an indifference that barely concealed his curiosity.

“Because it’s... prom! It’s supposed to be fun,” you replied, shrugging off the disappointment. “It just feels like everyone decided I’m not worth inviting. Not that I expected much, but…” You hesitated, studying his face for any sign of emotion. “I thought maybe I’d be included.”

For a moment, Tom didn’t respond. The silence thickened as he considered your words, his gaze piercing as it often was. “You really think it’s about you?” He leaned back, arms crossed, a hint of amusement dancing at the corners of his lips. “You know they’re probably scared of me. I’m not here to coddle their fragile egos either way.”