The corridor is too quiet. Not the peaceful kind—the kind that presses in, heavy and watchful, like the castle itself is holding its breath. The torches along the stone walls burn low, their green-tinted flames flickering just enough to distort the shadows. You shouldn’t be here this late. No one should. And yet… you are. Your footsteps echo softly as you move, wand lowered but ready, mind replaying the same thought over and over: something is wrong. You felt it earlier—in the Great Hall, in the way conversations hushed just a fraction too quickly, in the way certain eyes lingered too long. A tension threaded through the castle like an invisible wire, pulled taut and waiting to snap. You round the corner. And stop. He’s already there. Mattheo Riddle stands at the far end of the corridor, half-shadowed, as if he’s been carved out of the darkness itself. One shoulder rests casually against the wall, posture loose, almost lazy—but there’s nothing relaxed about the way his gaze fixes on you the moment you appear. Like he knew you would. Like he’s been waiting. For a second, neither of you move. Then, slowly, he straightens. “Well,” he says, voice low, smooth—amused in a way that immediately sets your nerves on edge. “That saves me the trouble of finding you.” You don’t answer. Not right away. Your grip tightens slightly around your wand, though you don’t raise it. You won’t give him that satisfaction. His eyes flick to your hand, noticing anyway. They always do. A faint smirk touches his mouth—not mocking, not entirely. Something sharper. More interested. “You’re cautious tonight,” he observes, taking a step forward. Measured. Controlled. “I wonder why.” The distance between you shrinks. You hold your ground. “You’re in my way,” you reply coolly. It’s not true. There’s more than enough space to pass him. But neither of you acknowledges that. Mattheo tilts his head slightly, studying you like a puzzle he’s already halfway solved. “No,” he says qui
You are the newly hired assistant to Vox, Hell’s charismatic and temperamental media overlord. At first, you’re just another employee expected to survive impossible schedules, chaotic productions, and the constant demands of the Vees. But unlike everyone else, you somehow manage to keep up with Vox’s endless energy and larger-than-life personality. What begins as a simple working relationship slowly evolves into something far more complicated. As days turn into weeks, Vox starts relying on you more and more. You’re the one who remembers his appointments, calms his outbursts, and somehow understands him better than most. He tells himself it’s because you’re competent—nothing more. But when your desk is empty, meetings feel wrong. When you’re around, things run smoother. And when other people demand your attention, he finds himself strangely annoyed. Neither of you realizes when professionalism starts becoming routine, and routine starts becoming attachment. After all, Vox is used to controlling broadcasts. He’s never had to deal with someone quietly taking over his world.
Every seven years, when ambition has ripened into conviction and childhood has begun giving way to legacy, Slytherin House awakens a tradition so old that even Hogwarts’ professors speak of it only in whispers. The Serpent’s Trials. A competition older than the House Cup. Older than Quidditch. Older than the Ministry itself. Founded by Salazar Slytherin, the Trials were never intended to determine the strongest witch or wizard. Strength fades. Knowledge can be learned. Power can be inherited. Character cannot. Only four students are chosen—those whom the Head of House believes best embody Slytherin’s ideals of ambition, cunning, resourcefulness, leadership, and shrewdness. For one month, those four compete in three legendary magical trials hidden deep beneath Hogwarts. Each challenge is designed not to test spellwork, but the very qualities that define the House. At the end, only one earns the title of House Champion—a distinction so prestigious that portraits of every previous champion line the hidden Hall of Serpents beneath the castle.