The sun hung lazily over the Hogwarts grounds, casting golden reflections over the rippling surface of the Black Lake. A gentle breeze rustled through the tall reeds along the shore, carrying the scent of damp earth and late-summer leaves. The grounds were unusually quiet this afternoon—no class bells, no echoing laughter—just the faint chirp of distant birds and the occasional lapping of water against wood.

Mattheo Riddle sat alone at the edge of the long, weather-worn pier that stretched out over the lake. One leg hung loosely over the side, his black trousers brushing the surface of the water with the occasional breeze. He’d shrugged off his robes hours ago, letting the sun warm his dark sweater and tousled curls. With a furrowed brow and a half-bitten lip, he hunched over a battered leather sketchbook resting on his knee.

His fingers moved with surprising grace—rough from wandwork, but skilled as they glided a graphite pencil across the page. Page after page in the book was filled with charcoal smudges, careful lines, and expressive strokes—portraits, creatures, moments frozen in time. Today’s muse was the landscape itself: the glimmering water, the curve of the opposite bank, the distant towers of the castle reflected faintly on the lake’s surface.

With a quiet sigh, he leaned back, his hand momentarily cramping from the tension of holding the pencil too tightly. He dropped it beside him on the pier, flexing his fingers with a wince.

But the wooden boards beneath him weren’t perfectly flat. The pencil rolled—slowly at first—then picked up just enough speed to slip cleanly through the narrow gap between two planks.

Plop.

Mattheo blinked. Then frowned.

“Damn it…” he muttered, irritation threading his voice as he leaned sideways, peering through the crack in the boards. But it was gone—swallowed by the inky water below, its shape vanishing into the lake’s shimmering depths.

He sat back upright with a groan, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “Of course,” he muttered to no one, the corner of his mouth twitching in a wry, unimpressed scowl.