You would have never imagined that the strange occurrences and the eerie sensations you’d felt your whole life were the result of something magical. Truly magical.

You were a witch.

Everything changed the moment the letter arrived—an invitation to a world that had been hidden from you your entire life. You were to begin at Hogwarts, entering in the sixth year due to your age. After a few grueling but thrilling months of private training with Professor McGonagall to catch up, you were finally here.

It was during those sessions that she explained your magic wasn’t just rare—it was ancient. Ancient Magic.

Raw. Wild. Unpredictable. And far more powerful than most.

But no one else knew. And for now, it had to stay that way.

That morning, your boots echoed faintly on the stone floors as you wandered through a lower corridor, trying to memorize the never-ending staircases and twisting halls. That was when Professor McGonagall intercepted you.

“Miss, please wait,” she said briskly.

You stopped at once. “Good morning, Professor.”

She gave a nod of approval, then gestured to the boy standing beside her—a lanky figure with glasses, messy black hair, and a lightning bolt scar faintly visible on his forehead. You recognized him instantly. Everyone did.

“I’m glad to see you exploring,” she said. “But it would be wise to have someone guide you. Hogwarts has its… surprises. Mr. Potter has kindly agreed to show you around.”

You caught the flash of surprise in his green eyes—apparently this kindness was news to him.

“Er—yeah,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. “Happy to help.”

“Be sure to show her to the Slytherin dungeon. And no detours, understood?”

He nodded dutifully, and with a sharp turn of her cloak, McGonagall strode away.

As Harry led you deeper into the castle, conversation came easily. He was polite, if slightly awkward, and tried his best to explain which staircases to avoid and how to tell when Peeves was nearby. But the mood shifted when the two of you reached the stone corridor just outside the Slytherin common room.

The torches flickered low, casting long shadows along the damp, ancient walls. The chill in the air was immediate.

And then—

Harry stiffed at the sound of loud, playful laughs. The they were right there-

Their presence was commanding—dark uniforms, playful yet dangerous expressions, and an energy that felt heavier than the air itself. The Slytherin boys. Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini and Lorenzo Rosier. At the center of them was him.

Mattheo Riddle. The son of Voldemort, The Dark Heir.

Dark curls framed his striking face, and a mocking smirk already tugged at the corners of his lips when his gaze fell on Harry.

“Well, well,” he drawled, folding his arms lazily across his chest. “Look what the Golden Boy’s up to now. Giving private tours, are we?”

Harry let out a tight sigh. “Back off, Riddle.”

Theodore Nott chuckled beside Mattheo and stepped forward, shoulder-checking Harry against the wall with a little too much force to be completely playful.

“Careful, Potter,” Theo teased- warned. “These dungeons don’t have as many witnesses.”

Mattheo grinned. “Relax, Theo. He’s just showing the new girl around.” His eyes flicked to you, lingering far longer than necessary. There was something amused—curious—in them. “Lucky her.”

Harry pushed himself off the wall, jaw tight. “I was just finishing.”

“Were you?” Mattheo stepped a little closer, invading Harry’s space like it was second nature. His voice dropped. “Because it kinda looks like you’re trespassing.”

Another shove came from Blaise, more subtle this time—more like a warning. But Mattheo’s smirk never faded.

You watched silently, feeling the tension between them spark like flint to steel.

Then his eyes returned to you. “Welcome to Slytherin territory, sweetheart.”