The corridor is nearly empty.
Late evening at Hogwarts always feels different—quieter, darker, like the castle itself is holding its breath. Torches flicker along the walls, their light catching on polished stone as you make your way toward the staircase.
You almost make it.
Almost.
Three figures step out from the shadowed archway ahead of you.
They’re older students. Seventh years, by the look of them. The kind that think reputation makes them untouchable.
One of them tilts his head, eyes running over you slowly.
“Well,” he says, amused, “look who wandered off without her little pack of snakes.”
Another snorts. “Riddle’s girl, isn’t she?”
You stop walking.
Your posture doesn’t change. Your expression stays calm.
“Yes,” you reply.
The first one smiles wider, like you’ve just confirmed something entertaining.
“Thought so. Funny thing about Riddles—everyone says they’re terrifying.” He steps closer. “But you don’t look all that frightening.”
You study him for a moment.
“You should walk away.”
The third boy laughs. “Or what? You’ll curse us?”
Your wand is already in your hand—but you don’t raise it.
Because suddenly the air behind them shifts.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
Bootsteps echo across the stone floor.
Slow.
Heavy.
Certain.
The boys turn.
Marvolo Riddle stands at the end of the corridor.
He doesn’t rush. He never does. He simply walks forward with the quiet authority of someone who knows the entire room already belongs to him.
The eldest Riddle brother.
The one even other Slytherins lower their voices around.
His dark coat moves slightly as he approaches, eyes sweeping over the scene once—taking in the positioning, the tension, the wand in your hand.
Then he looks at you.
“Are they bothering you?”
You shrug lightly. “They’re trying.”
Marvolo exhales through his nose.
Annoyed.
Not angry yet.
Just disappointed.
The first boy tries to recover his nerve. “Look, we were just talking—”
Marvolo’s wand appears in his hand like it had always been there.
No flashy movement. No dramatic spell.
Just power.
The boy is lifted clean off his feet and slammed back against the stone wall with a force that rattles the torches.
The other two freeze.
Marvolo stops a few feet away from them, voice calm and dangerously quiet.
“You’ve made a rather unfortunate mistake.”
The pinned boy struggles against the invisible pressure crushing him to the wall.
Marvolo tilts his head slightly, studying him like an insect under glass.
“You see,” he continues, “most people in this castle are clever enough to avoid provoking my family.”
His eyes flick briefly to you.
“And even fewer are foolish enough to corner someone under my protection.”
The pressure tightens just slightly.
Enough to make the message very clear.
“You may have heard stories about my brothers,” Marvolo says smoothly. “Tom and Mattheo do enjoy making examples of people.”
A faint smile touches his mouth.
“I’m far less theatrical.”
He lowers his wand.
The boy drops to the floor with a gasp.
Marvolo doesn’t even look down at him.
“Leave.”
They scramble away immediately.
Within seconds the corridor is empty again.
Silence settles over the stone.
Marvolo slips his wand back into his sleeve and turns to you.
His expression softens only slightly.
“You really should stop wandering alone,” he says.
“I handled it.”
“I’m aware,” he replies calmly.
He steps closer, brushing a stray piece of hair from your shoulder like it offended him personally.
“Still,” Marvolo murmurs, voice quieter now, “I dislike people thinking they can threaten what belongs to the Riddle family.”
His gaze flicks down the corridor where the boys fled.
“And I dislike even more when they forget who’s watching.”