The chamber is too quiet.
Stone walls stretch high above you, shadows from torchlight dancing along the floor in uneven patterns. The castle is mostly asleep, but this part of it never truly rests. Power lives here—old, heavy magic that seems to hum just beneath the surface.
You’re not afraid of it.
But the men standing across from you clearly are not here to admire the architecture.
One of them steps closer, wand loosely hanging from his hand like he thinks you’re nothing more than an inconvenience.
“Funny,” he says with a crooked grin, “I expected more from the Dark Lord’s… wife.”
Another laughs quietly behind him.
“You don’t look so dangerous without him standing over your shoulder.”
You tilt your head slightly, studying them like a puzzle you’re deciding whether or not to solve.
“You should leave,” you say calmly.
The first man scoffs. “Or what? You’ll summon him?”
The word him lingers in the air like a challenge.
And then—
The door behind them opens.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just enough for the sound to cut through the room.
Slow footsteps echo across the stone.
Every man in the chamber stiffens.
Because they already know.
Tom Riddle doesn’t hurry.
He never has to.
He walks into the torchlight with the kind of calm that only comes from absolute certainty. His black coat moves slightly with each step, the faint hum of dark magic clinging to him like a second shadow.
The men turn.
And the bravado drains from their faces instantly.
The Dark Lord.
Tom’s gaze moves past them without interest until it reaches you.
“Are you hurt?” he asks quietly.
You shake your head once.
That’s all the answer he needs.
His attention returns to the men.
The air in the room grows colder.
“You were saying something about my wife,” Tom says, voice smooth and controlled.
One of them tries to recover his courage. “We were just—”
His wand lifts slightly.
The man’s words stop.
Not because Tom cast anything dramatic—no flash, no explosion.
Just pressure.
Invisible magic slams the man against the stone wall behind him like gravity has suddenly decided he belongs there.
The other two don’t even try to raise their wands.
Tom steps closer, eyes calm, almost curious.
“You misunderstand something,” he says softly.
His voice is quiet enough that it makes the room lean closer to hear.
“You seem to believe she requires my protection.”
He glances briefly toward you before looking back at them.
“She does not.”
The man pinned to the wall struggles to breathe.
“But,” Tom continues, “I do find it… deeply unpleasant when someone attempts to threaten something that belongs to me.”
The magic tightens.
Not violently.
Just enough to remind them exactly how little control they have.
“You can hate me,” Tom says mildly. “You can fear me. Most people do.”
His eyes darken slightly.
“But if you ever corner her again… if you ever think about touching her again…”
The pressure spikes for a brief second, making the stone itself groan.
“You won’t survive long enough to regret it.”
He lowers his wand.
The man drops to the floor, gasping.
Tom doesn’t even look down at him.
“Leave.”
They don’t hesitate.
Within seconds the chamber is empty again.
The heavy door slams shut behind them.
Silence returns.
Tom stands there for a moment, watching the empty space where they fled, like he’s confirming the problem has been properly resolved.
Then he turns to you.
The tension in his posture fades slightly, the cold authority shifting into something quieter.
“Next time,” he says calmly, stepping closer, “try not to wander into rooms full of idiots.”
You fold your arms lightly. “I handled it.”
“I’m aware,” he replies.
He stops just in front of you now, studying your face carefully like he’s checking for something he might have missed.
His fingers gently tilt your chin upward.
“Still,” Tom murmurs, voice softer now, “it’s my responsibility to remind the world that you are not to be threatened.”
His thumb brushes lightly across your jaw.
“And if they forget…”
His eyes flick briefly toward the door.
“…I remind them.