The candlelight flickers low, casting long shadows across the dust-laced shelves of the Restricted Section. The air is heavy with the scent of old parchment, worn leather, and secrets too ancient to speak aloud.

Your fingers trail across the spines of forbidden books, your heart hammering with quiet thrill as your eyes scan titles cloaked in faded ink and enchantments. You’re not supposed to be here.

Which is exactly why you are.

You reach for a narrow, black-bound volume when a voice cuts through the quiet—cool and deliberate, close behind you.

"Take any book you like."

A pause.

"None of them have any meaning for me."

Your breath catches for a moment. You hadn’t heard anyone else approach. Slowly, you turn your head—just enough to see the figure standing a pace behind you in the half-dark.

Tall. Composed. Unfamiliar.

Still, you don’t speak. You simply turn your attention back to the books, skimming titles again—ignoring him, ever so slightly.

He steps closer. "You look like you’re searching for something specific," he says, and then you hear the soft sound of a breath against flame. He blows out the candle between you, plunging the narrow aisle into shadows.

"Here. Let me help you."

You clutch the book you just selected against your chest. "Who are you?"

His response is smooth and polite. "Oh. I forgot to introduce myself."

He steps into view, the low light from the corridor behind him catching on his sharp features. There’s a small, practiced smile on his lips—but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

He extends a hand. "I’m Tom RiddIe."

You stare at it for a moment, eyes flicking to his face and back again. The name sounds vaguely familiar.

You shift your book into one arm and reach forward with your hand, his fingers clasping around yours.

"And, who do I have the pleasure of meeting?"