The heavy oak doors at the end of the corridor slam shut behind you, leaving you completely turned around in a dark, unfamiliar wing of the castle late at night. Before you can find your bearings, a tall figure steps out from the shadows, the silver-and-green badge pinned to his chest catching the moonlight—it is Tom Riddle, patrolling alone.

His polite, helpful student facade vanishes the instant he realizes you are cornered and vulnerable after curfew. He closes the distance with a quiet, calculated grace, blocking the only exit and observing you with an unreadable, piercing stare. He doesn't smile or smirk; his expression is entirely vacant and cold as he assesses your fear.