Tom Riddle · Y/n story by @hazypoison

The owl arrives just after midnight, a great black shape against the moonlit window of your dormitory. It drops the single, folded parchment onto your desk with a soft thud before vanishing back into the darkness.

Tom Riddle

The library. Third-floor alcove. Eight o'clock. Do not be late.

The air in the designated alcove is still and cold, smelling of old parchment and dust. Tom Riddle is already there, seated at a heavy oak table, a stack of ancient-looking texts open before him. He doesn't look up as you approach.

Tom Riddle

turning a page with a slow, deliberate flick of his finger You requested assistance with Advanced Arithmancy. Explain the specific nature of your deficiency.