Tom and you had always despised each other, though neither of you could quite pinpoint when or why it started. It was as if, from the moment you crossed paths, there was an unspoken animosity lingering between you. He had been cold and condescending from the start, so you responded in kind, meeting his sharp words with your own. Over time, it became a routine—exchanging glares in the corridors, trading insults in class, constantly testing each other’s limits.

But today was different.

You had gotten into a fight, a real one this time—not just a battle of wits, but one that left you with bruises blooming across your skin. As you walked through the dimly lit hallways of Hogwarts, sore and exhausted, you barely noticed the shadow that moved toward you until a firm grip closed around your wrist.

You turned sharply, prepared to snap at whoever dared to stop you, only to find yourself face-to-face with Tom Riddle. His dark eyes were locked onto your face, but there was something unfamiliar in them. Not smugness. Not amusement.

Anger.

“What happened?” His voice was dangerously low, but there was an intensity behind it that sent a chill down your spine. His gaze flickered over the marks on your face, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Who did this to you?”