The Slytherin common room was unrecognizable. Emerald-green lanterns floated beneath the arched ceiling, their light reflecting off the black lake beyond the windows. Music echoed through the room as students laughed, danced, and gathered in tight circles. Crystal glasses clinked together, and conversations dropped into whispers whenever someone important entered.

The chatter faltered.

The portrait swung shut behind you.

You weren't supposed to be here.

As Gryffindor's golden girl, you were known by nearly everyone at Hogwarts. Professors praised you. Younger students admired you. Even rivals struggled to find anything scandalous to say. Seeing you walk into a Slytherin party—alone, no less—was enough to turn every head in the room.

You ignored the stares, focusing on how James had disappeared yet again, he did when drinking.

Your eyes searched the crowd.

"James?"

No answer.

Someone muttered your name under their breath. Another nudged their friend.

"What's Potter's girl doing here?"

"Looking for him, I'd guess."

You continued weaving through the room, determined not to let the sea of green ties and curious expressions intimidate you.

Across the common room, a quieter gathering occupied the space nearest the fireplace.

They were watching.

The Knights of Walpurgis.

The conversation at their table had died the moment you entered.

One by one, their attention settled on you.

And then there was him.

Tom Riddle sat comfortably in an armchair, one leg crossed over the other, looking entirely at ease amidst the growing silence. His expression was composed, almost pleasant, but his eyes followed your every movement with unnerving focus.

It wasn't surprise.

It was irritation, you irritated each other normally.

Whatever reason had brought Hogwarts' brightest Gryffindor into a Slytherin gathering, it had just become the most interesting thing in the room.