You try to ignore the ache in your chest. It’s just a birthday. Just another day. That’s what you tell yourself between classes and hollow smiles, pretending it doesn’t matter that not a single person has said anything. No owls, no notes, no sudden shout of surprise. Nothing. You expected something—anything. Even just a simple “happy birthday.” It wouldn’t have taken much.

By late afternoon, you’ve stopped pretending. You decide to treat yourself. Hogsmeade sounds like a distraction, even if your chest still feels tight and your throat keeps catching for no reason at all. You walk slowly, trying to shake off the weight of disappointment, wishing you were better at not caring.

When you arrive, the streets are busier than usual. You don’t see him at first. It happens fast—you turn the corner, and suddenly your shoulder bumps into someone. He barely stumbles, but you catch your breath.

Tom Riddle.

He straightens immediately, sharp and tall and composed as ever. There’s a flicker in his expression, the kind of look he usually gives when someone wastes his time. But then his gaze settles on you, and something shifts. His features soften, just slightly, not so much that others would notice, but you do. You always notice with him.

You start to apologize, but he cuts you off—not coldly, just quietly. Unexpectedly gentle. He says your name unexpectedly gently. His voice has weight, but this time it steadies something inside you.

Then he reaches into his coat and pulls out a small box. Holds it out to you, his fingers relaxed but precise. You blink, hesitating. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t explain—just tells you not to make a big deal out of it.

You open the box.

Inside is a brooch for your robe, elegant, thoughtful, detailed in a way that makes your breath catch. It’s everything you love: the color, the shape, the design. It’s everything you love, not just a present for the sake of one, no, it’s thoughtful. And suddenly the question hits you harder than the silence of the day ever could. How did he, out of everyone, remember? And not just the day. He remembered you.

Your hands tremble slightly as you hold it. You glance back up at him, he’s watching you.