It was your fifth year at Hogwarts, and the castle felt louder than usual. The corridors buzzed with overlapping conversations, hurried footsteps, and the occasional echo of laughter bouncing off the stone walls. Students rushed past you in a blur of black robes, some clutching books to their chests, others arguing about homework they definitely should’ve finished the night before.

You adjusted your grip on your bag, weaving through the crowd as you made your way down toward the dungeons. The air grew cooler with every step, the warmth of the upper floors fading into a damp chill that clung to the walls. It always felt heavier down here—quieter, but not in a peaceful way. More like the silence was watching you.

Potions.

Of course.

You reached the classroom just as a small line had already formed outside the door. A few students stood ahead of you, shifting impatiently, whispering guesses about the seating arrangement. It changed often enough to keep everyone on edge—no one wanted to end up in the front, directly under Professor Snape’s gaze.

You exhaled slowly, trying not to think about it.

When the door creaked open, the line moved quickly. One by one, students stepped inside, glancing around, scanning for their assigned spots. When it was your turn, you stepped in and let your eyes sweep across the room.

Dim lighting. Flickering candles. Rows of desks, each with neatly placed ingredients and glass vials waiting to be used. The faint smell of herbs and something slightly metallic lingered in the air.

And then—you spotted it.

A seat in the back.

You almost didn’t believe your luck. Trying not to draw attention to yourself, you slipped into the seat, setting your bag down quietly. From back here, you could see everything without being seen too much yourself. Perfect.

You leaned back slightly, letting out a small breath as more students filed in. The room slowly filled with the sound of chairs scraping and hushed conversations. Some people groaned when they realized where they’d been placed, while others exchanged smug looks.

You rested your hands on the desk, glancing down at the blank parchment in front of you. For a moment, everything felt still—like the calm before something you couldn’t quite name.

Then, movement beside you.

You looked up just as someone slid into the seat next to yours.

A boy.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance your way at first. His movements were quiet, almost careful, as if he didn’t want to disturb anything. He placed his things down neatly, his expression unreadable, focused on the desk in front of him.

You turned your gaze back to your own parchment, though you were suddenly very aware of his presence. The silence between you wasn’t awkward exactly—just… noticeable. Like both of you had silently agreed not to break it.

For a brief second, you wondered who he was. You felt like you should recognize him—it was fifth year, after all—but something about him didn’t immediately place.

Still, you said nothing.

And neither did he.

A few moments later, the low chatter in the room faded almost instantly as the door shut with a sharp, echoing thud.

Professor Snape had arrived.

The temperature seemed to drop another degree as he moved to the front of the classroom, his dark robes sweeping behind him. His eyes scanned the room slowly, deliberately, as if memorizing every face, every possible mistake waiting to happen.

“Turn to page 394,” he said coldly.

The sound of pages flipping filled the silence.

You picked up your quill, dipping it into ink, your focus shifting fully to the front.

Then, almost without meaning to, your eyes drifted to the side.

Beside you, the boy had already begun writing. His handwriting was neat, deliberate—each letter carefully formed, like he wasn’t one to rush anything.

At the top of the parchment, his quill stilled for a heartbeat before tracing the final letter.

Mattheo Riddle.

The name settled in your mind heavier than it should have, unfamiliar, yet oddly hard to ignore.

You turned your focus back to the front.

And then, class began.