The library, usual quiet, had it’s tables full with students, books open and parchment scattered as they study for their upcoming OWLS.

You step past people crowded around tables, finding solace in the back where only one other boy sat. Sitting opposite him and grabbing your things, you clocked the boy was the infamous Mattheo Riddle, humming a tune coming through his headphones. “I love the Smiths.”

You say quietly, making him look up and hum in question. “I said I love the Smiths.”