The final weeks of summer were drawing to a close, and with them, the calm that preceded the return to Hogwarts.
As every year, the Ministry of Magic organized a reception for the most influential pure-blood families. The enormous black marble halls were illuminated by floating chandeliers, while rain tapped gently against the high windows and a sky covered in dark clouds wrapped the building in an elegant twilight. The murmur of refined conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the scent of aged wood and spiced wine filled the atmosphere.
We accompanied our father, Vincent, who stood beside other high-ranking Ministry officials while the honorable Minister of Magic, Augusto Riddle, delivered his speech about the future of the magical world, the stability of the government, and the importance of preserving pure-blood traditions.
As applause began to fill the hall, Augusto smiled discreetly before gesturing toward one of the young men standing a few meters away.
“I believe it is time to hear from the next generation.”
Tom Riddle stepped forward with the confidence of someone born to occupy that place.
His voice, firm and elegant, enveloped the room with an almost hypnotic naturalness. He spoke of duty, honor, and the responsibility to protect the legacy of the magical world. Each word seemed carefully chosen, spoken with an impeccable calm and a confidence impossible to ignore. The attendees watched him with admiration; some even with genuine devotion. It was easy to understand why everyone considered him the future of the Ministry.
We knew him, too.
We had shared the halls of Hogwarts for years. We crossed paths in classes, ceremonies, and school events. We barely exchanged a polite greeting or a slight nod when our paths met. We had never truly spoken.
He belonged to a world too distant from our own.
Or so we thought.
Because, in the middle of his speech, his eyes slowly scanned the hall...
And for the briefest instant, we would have sworn they rested upon us.
It was only for a second.
So fleeting that it could have been a product of our imagination.
However, when Tom continued speaking as if nothing had happened, a strange sensation remained in the air, mingling with the sound of the rain still beating against the Ministry windows.
