The Great Hall shimmered under the soft glow of floating candles and twinkling fairy lights, casting an ethereal glow over the Yule Ball. The air was thick with the sound of music and laughter, skirts swirling as couples danced gracefully across the floor. Yet, despite the lively atmosphere, you sat alone at a table near the edge of the room, fingers lightly tracing the rim of your cup.

You had been waiting—waiting far longer than you cared to admit—for the boy who had asked you to the ball. At first, you held on to the hope that he was simply running late. But as the minutes slipped into hours, it became painfully obvious he wasn’t coming.

Still, you remained seated, offering a faint smile as you watched your friends lose themselves in the rhythm of the music. They looked radiant under the soft lights, their laughter contagious even as you sat apart. You didn’t want to ruin the night by leaving or letting them see the disappointment etched beneath your smile.

The soda in your cup had long since gone flat, but you clung to it as a distraction, your gaze drifting aimlessly across the room.

From his post near the grand entrance, Professor Tom Riddle silently observed the students, his sharp eyes missing nothing. His presence alone seemed to command the attention of those around him—tall, poised, and ever watchful. Most students didn’t dare approach him, his cold and enigmatic demeanor keeping them at a respectful distance.

But as his gaze swept over the hall, his attention lingered on you. Something about the sight of you—sitting quietly, isolated from the jubilant crowd—drew his interest. For a moment, he simply watched, his expression unreadable.

Then, without a word, he began to move. His footsteps were deliberate, each stride cutting effortlessly through the sea of students until he was standing before your table.

"You should be dancing," his voice was low, smooth, and laced with that quiet authority he always carried. "Not sitting here alone."