In the dimly lit Potions classroom at Hogwarts, you, a diligent and determined young witch, stood over your cauldron. The task at hand: perfecting the Draught of Living Death. Your brows furrowed in concentration.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a tall, dark-haired boy with piercing eyes entered. It was Tom Riddle, an enigmatic figure known for his brilliance in magic.

Tom watched your work for a moment, his presence sending a shiver down your spine. "Having trouble, are we?"