TY

You stepped onto Platform 9¾ with your trunk in one hand and your owl’s cage in the other, back straight, chin high—exactly how a Riddle should carry themselves. You didn’t need anyone’s help, you never had. Behind you, Mattheo hovered close, his fifth-year robes swishing as he scanned every face like he expected trouble around every corner. Tom walked at his side, seventh-year composure slipping just a little as his eyes darted to anyone who stepped too near you.