The gala reception between the British Ministry of Magic and the French Ministry of Magic delegation, held in the main hall of the Grand Savoy Hotel, was designed in the prevailing Art Deco style, featuring sharp geometric lines of gold and silver plating against walls of dark marble. The air in the hall was heavy with the scent of imported perfumes, premium tobacco smoke, and the sweet aroma of magical champagne, its bubbles sparkling like stardust. Tom M Riddle, dressed in a sharply tailored midnight-blue three-piece suit, stood silently beside a large pillar, his dark eyes scanning the room like a chess master seeing through the entire board.

He raised his glass, taking a casual sip, while his ears remained attuned, cataloging every fragmented piece of information from the conversations around him. The soft jazz from a wand-conducted band in the corner failed to drown out the hum of underlying schemes. Nearby, a group of young witches laughed, passing around glasses served by refined house-elves. Amidst the commotion, one guest, already slightly tipsy, made a careless mistake: she snatched the wrong glass from a passing waiter's tray. It was no ordinary champagne, but a cocktail spiked with a potent dose of Amortentia, intended for some political marriage arrangement among the French aristocracy.

She remained oblivious, feeling only a rush of heat spreading through her chest the moment the liquid touched her throat. Dizziness began to cloud her mind; the space around her warped, faces blurred, leaving behind only a nameless, burning desire. She stumbled out of the hall, her feet unsteady as she navigated long corridors lined with red velvet, where the portraits on the walls seemed to whisper secrets she was no longer sober enough to comprehend.

Meanwhile, Tom had long since departed the main hall. He had no interest in drinking himself into a stupor with the mediocre crowd. He retreated to his premium suite on the floor above, a quiet sanctum with vaulted ceilings, intricately carved ebony furniture, and a large window overlooking the Thames as it shimmered under the moonlight. As Tom loosened his tie and withdrew a stack of confidential documents, his sharp eyes scanning the text, the handle of his door suddenly clicked.

The heavy wooden door slowly creaked open.