The silence of the castle was oppressive, thick with centuries of secrets and unspoken things. Tom Riddle lay on his bed, the threadbare sheets beneath him cold and stiff, the air around him too still. His first night at Hogwarts should have felt like the beginning of something-something important-but instead, it felt like a hollow waiting.
The room, still unfamiliar, stretched into shadowed corners where flickering candles dared not venture. It was nothing like the orphanage. No more loud voices or the scent of stale bread. This was a place of power. Magic was in the very stones that made up these walls. It should have felt like home, but instead it pressed on him like a weight he couldn't shift.
His eyes flickered shut.
The dream came quickly.
He was standing in a chamber of ancient stone, vast and cavernous, the walls aged. A faint greenish light bled from the runes carved deep into the floor, illuminating the space just enough for him to see.
At the center of the chamber lay a glass coffin.
It shimmered softly, enchanted glass catching the dim light and bending it into something unreal. Inside lay a girl.
She looked asleep-not dead, not frozen-
waiting. Dark hair spilled around her shoulders like ink, her face pale and serene. Something about her made the air feel tight in his chest, like he'd stepped too close to a truth he wasn't ready for.
His feet carried him forward without permission.
When he was close enough to see her clearly, his breath caught.
Her eyes were open.
They were hazel-amber, deep and warm, the kind of color that shifted when the light touched them-brown at first glance, then suddenly gold, molten and luminous, as if they held something older than fire.
They fixed on him.
Recognition flared-sharp, impossible.
Tom froze.
No one had ever looked at him like that.
Not afraid.
Not impressed.
Not judging.
Knowing.
His fingers hovered inches from the glass, not quite touching. The surface thrummed faintly beneath his hand, as though it recognized him too. A pressure built behind his ribs, a pull that had no name, no logic.
He leaned closer, heart hammering.
The gold in her eyes brightened.
The dream shifted.
He was no longer in the chamber but standing in a long, dark corridor of the castle. Moonlight poured through tall gothic windows, pooling silver across the stone floor.
She stood at the far end.
Not trapped in glass now-standing, whole, real.
Her hazel eyes caught the moonlight and flared gold again, brighter this time, reflecting something ancient and watchful.
"You came," she said softly.
The sound of her voice went through him like a spell he hadn't learned yet.
"Who are you?" Tom demanded, though his voice betrayed him. He already knew the answer wouldn't be simple.
She smiled-not kind, not cruel-but familiar.
"I'm waiting," she said.
He took a step toward her.
The castle groaned.
The light fractured.
Stone walls twisted, shadows lengthened, and suddenly he felt something huge stir beneath the floor-something old and coiled and alive.
Her gaze sharpened, urgent now.
"Not yet," she whispered.
The gold in her eyes dimmed.
The corridor shattered.
Tom woke with a sharp gasp, his heart pounding violently against his ribs. His sheets were tangled around him, his skin damp with sweat. The dormitory was dark and silent, the other boys breathing softly around him.
It took him several long moments to realize where he was.
Hogwarts.
A dream.
Just a dream.
Except-
When he closed his eyes, he could still see them.
Hazel-amber.
Gold in the light.
And the certainty, cold and undeniable, that he had not imagined her.
She was real.
And somehow-
She was waiting for him.