AM

Everyone looked at Tom Riddle and saw something cold and dangerous. They looked at you — his sister — and saw only grace, wit, and effortless charm. You were the brightest, most captivating person in the castle. Professors ate out of your palm. Students followed you like you were sunlight. They whispered that one day you’d be the youngest Minister for Magic in history — beloved, brilliant, destined to lead. They didn’t know that every smile was calculated, every word carefully chosen, every person you won over another piece on your chessboard. You weren’t kind — you were charming. And that was far more dangerous.