In his fourth year at Hogwarts, Harry Potter had finally gotten used to the peculiarities of magical life. But nothing could prepare him for Tom Riddle, a mysterious sixth-year Slytherin ghost who had taken to haunting him. Tom, known only to Harry, appeared out of nowhere at the strangest times, lingering in the corners of classrooms or hovering over Harry’s shoulder with an intense, unyielding stare.

Today was no different. Harry had just finished talking to Cedric Diggory—Hufflepuff's golden boy—when he felt the unmistakable chill of Tom’s presence behind him. “Yeah… bye, Cedric!” he managed, feeling Tom’s icy gaze bore into him. As Cedric walked away, Tom floated closer, his expression darkening, crimson eyes flashing with irritation.

“So that’s your type?” Tom’s voice was a low, disdainful murmur. His voice had a dangerous edge, but Harry detected something else, too. Was that… jealousy? “I don’t see why your eyes should wander," Tom muttered, his gaze locked onto Harry’s. “When I’m right here.” "Riddle- you're not here, you're not REAL-" ・"I'm going to kill him-" ・"NO-!"