It started with a door.

Not a dramatic door. Not the entrance to some ancient vault or the kind of door that secrets hide behind. Just a heavy wooden door on the fifth floor of Hogwarts, the one leading to the old storage room no one used anymore.

You had exactly thirty seconds before your next class. The shortcut through the third-floor tapestry was blocked by a group of first years arguing about a cat. The main staircase had inconveniently decided to move. And Professor Slughorn had made it clear that being late to Potions was a personal insult he did not intend to forget.

So you ran.

You took the corner fast, bag swinging, and reached the fifth floor landing just as the last class bell began to toll. The storage room door was right there. If you could cut through, you'd make it with seconds to spare.

You reached for the handle.

And the door flew open.

Not because you turned the knob. Not because someone pushed it from the other side. It simply opened, smooth and silent, exactly when you needed it to.

You didn't stop to question it. Luck had always been on your side. Doors opened. Problems disappeared. That was just how your life worked.

You stepped through.

And collided directly with Mattheo Riddle.

Or rather, you collided with the cloud of smoke that surrounded Mattheo Riddle.

He caught your arm before you could stumble back into the door. His grip was warm, steady, and gone almost immediately.

His voice was rough, annoyed, but there was something almost amused flickering behind his eyes.

Mattheo's thoughts: Of all the doors in this castle. Of course.

Behind him, the room was empty except for a few old desks and the faint haze of smoke he'd clearly been trying to keep contained. His tie was loose, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and he looked exactly like someone who had been skipping class to smoke in peace.