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LONELY.

That was the overwhelming emotion that consumed Rosalia Hart as she stepped into her dorm room at Hogwarts. The door creaked shut behind her, sealing her in a bubble of silence that felt heavier than ever before. She stood still for a moment, letting the quiet wash over her. Sixth year had just begun, and she had expected to feel the familiar buzz of excitement, the thrill of returning to a place that had been her second home for the past five years, but instead, all she felt was an aching sense of isolation. The room, which once radiated comfort and warmth, seemed cold and unwelcoming.

Rosie let out a long, weary sigh, her brown eyes scanning the blank walls and neatly made bed. Her trunk sat untouched at the foot of it, its contents waiting to be unpacked, but the mere thought of doing so felt exhausting. This was supposed to be a fresh start, but it felt more like a reminder of what she had left behind. She missed Genevieve. Her little sister had been a whirlwind of chaos and light over the summer, filling their house with noise and mischief. Genevieve had always been there — a constant, vibrant presence who made even the dullest days bearable, but now, for the first time, Genevieve was here too, a first-year at Hogwarts, though her presence felt worlds away. They no longer shared a room, no longer started their mornings with playful arguments over stolen hairbrushes or borrowed clothes.

Rosie crossed the room and perched on the edge of her bed, her fingers tracing the embroidered crest on her robe. "You're on your own now, kid," she muttered to herself. Her voice echoed slightly in the empty room, a hollow reminder of her solitude. She tried to shake off the heaviness in her chest, reminding herself go her goals. Sixth year was supposed to be a turning point — a year of ambition and success. She had every intention of topping her classes, excelling in her prefect duties, and perhaps even positioning herself for Head Girl next year. That should have been enough to keep her focused, to distract her from the ache of missing the life she'd left behind.

With a determined exhale, Rosie stood and began unzipping her suitcase. She pulled out neatly folded robes and placed them in her wardrobe with practiced precision. The mundane task was grounding, giving her a brief reprieve from the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind. Just as she was reaching for a stack of textbooks, a sharp knock at her door startled her. Frowning, she hesitated before crossing the room, her hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment. When she finally pulled the door open, her heart sank.

Leaning casually against the doorframe was Thomas Riddle. His dark hair fell artfully into his sharp, calculating eyes, and his expression was unreadable as always. The casual arrogance he carried seemed to fill the hallway, and Rosie's stomach twisted at the sight of him. Of all people, why did it have to be him?

"Rosalia," he greeted, his voice smooth and calm, like the surface of a frozen lake.

"Thomas," she replied curtly, folding her arms. "What are you doing here?"

"I was passing by," he said, his gaze drifting into her room as though assessing every detail. "I thought my dorm might be empty, but clearly it's not."

Rosie felt her cheeks flush with irritation. "I haven't unpacked yet," she snapped. His eyes lingered on her a moment longer than necessary, and she could feel the weight of his scrutiny. "If you don't mind, I'd like to finish in peace."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and Rosie's irritation deepened. "Of course," he said, his tone laced with mockery. "I'll leave you to it. See you around, Rosalia." He turned on his heel, striding down the corridor with the same infuriating confidence he always exuded. "I look forward to beating you again this year," he added over his shoulder, his voice carrying the faintest edge of a challenge.

Rosie stared after him, her fists clenching at her sides. He had always been her rival, the one person who consistently matched — and sometimes surpassed — her in every subject, but lately, there was something different about him. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it unsettled her in a way that made her stomach twist.

Closing the door with more force than necessary, Rosie leaned against it and closed her eyes. The encounter had left her rattled, her thoughts spiralling as she tried to make sense of his visit. She knew Tom never did anything without purpose. What reason could he possibly have for coming to her door?

Shaking her head, she pushed the thoughts aside and returned to unpacking. Sixth year was supposed to be a new beginning, a time to focus on her goals and leave distractions behind, yet, as she placed her books on the shelf, her thoughts kept circling back to Tom. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that her rivalry with him was about to take a turn she wasn't prepared for.

Once Rosie finished organising her belongings, she smoothed down her robes and left her dorm, heading toward the Great Hall. The corridors buzzed with the excited chatter of students returning to school, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. As she approached the hall, the warm, golden glow of its enchanted ceiling greeted her, casting a comforting light over the long tables already filled with familiar faces. The aroma of a feast yet to come lingered in the air, but Rosie's thoughts were elsewhere.

She entered the Great Hall, her eyes immediately scanning the crowd. Among the sea of students, her focus settled on the group of nervous first-years gathered near the staff table. Genevieve stood among them, shifting from foot to foot, her face pale but determined. Rosie's heart tightened with a mix of pride and nostalgia. She remembered her own sorting so vividly — how her palms had been clammy as she clutched her robes, how desperately she'd wished for the Sorting Hat to place her in Slytherin, like so many generations of the Hart family before her. The relief she'd felt when the hat had granted her wish was something she'd never forget.

Rosie slipped into her seat at the Slytherin table, but her attention never left Genevieve. She leaned forward slightly, watching as her sister approached the stool. The hall grew quiet as Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat gently on Genevieve's head. Rosie held her breath, her pulse quickening. Any moment now ...

"Better be ... Hufflepuff!" The hat shouted, its voice ringing clear across the hall.

Time seemed to freeze for Rosie. Hufflepuff? Her breath caught, her mind reeling. The Harts had always been sorted in Slytherin. It was more than tradition — it was identity, a family legacy. Generations of ambition and cunning were embodied in their family crest, and to see Genevieve placed elsewhere was nothing short of a shock. Murmurs rippled through the Slytherin table, and Rosie caught a glimpse of Oliver, her younger brother, seated a few places down. His face twisted into an expression of disbelief, his brows furrowed in irritation.

But as Rosie's initial surprise faded, it was replaced by something much stronger — pride. She watched Genevieve make her way to the Hufflepuff table, her steps tentative, her wide eyes scanning the room for a friendly face. The applause from the Hufflepuff students was warm and welcoming, and Rosie felt a surge of gratitude toward them.

"Isn't that your sister?" Stacey Bates, one of Rosie's closest friends and a fellow Slytherin, asked as she slid into the seat beside her.

Rosie nodded, a small smile forming. "Yeah," she said softly, still watching Genevieve. "She's the first Hart to break tradition."

"Hufflepuff, huh?" Stacey's tone was laced with curiosity, her eyebrows raised. "How do you think your family's going to react?"

Rosie shrugged, glancing at Oliver, who now looked as though he was barely restraining a scoff. "Oliver doesn't seem thrilled," she muttered, her lips curving into a wry smile. "But honestly? It doesn't matter to me. Gen's my baby sister, and I couldn't be prouder of her or happier for her."

As the Sorting Ceremony drew to a close and the tables magically filled with food, the hall erupted into its usual symphony of laughter and conversation. Rosie picked at her dinner, her appetite dulled by her swirling thoughts. Her gaze kept drifting to the Hufflepuff table, where Genevieve sat, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. She seemed to be holding her own, nodding politely as a boy with curly brown hair spoke animatedly beside her. Still, Rosie couldn't shake the worry gnawing at her. Was Genevieve feeling out of place? Would she miss the sense of belonging in the Hart family that came with being a Slytherin?

Rosie resolved to check on her sister as soon as the feast ended. For now, though, she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Genevieve had a chance to do something that no Hart before her had — she had the chance to forge her own path, and Rosie couldn't be prouder.

After dinner, the corridors hummed with the chatter and laughter of students making their way back to their common rooms. Rosie had attempted to go and talk to Genevieve, but she had been almost immediately whisked away by one of her fellow Hufflepuffs and although she'd been disappointed, Rosie promised herself she would talk to her sister the first chance she got and had decided to make her way back to her own common room. Rosie walked briskly, her steps quick and purposeful, but her mind remained tangled in thoughts of Genevieve's sorting. She had smiled and clapped, doing her best to mask her surprise and pride, but the weight of what it meant — that her sister had broken generations of tradition — still lingered. She wondered how her parents would react when they received the news. Surely once they found out, it wouldn't be long before the owls came flying in, bringing questions and maybe even disappointment. Rosie shook her head. No, Genevieve had nothing to be ashamed of, and Rosie wouldn't let anyone — including her family — make her feel otherwise.

The entrance to the Slytherin common room loomed ahead, concealed behind a stretch of cold stone. She murmured the password, and the wall slide aside to reveal the familiar green glow and shadows that danced along the walls, reflected by the low flames crackling in the fireplace. It was quieter inside than the bustling halls — students had either already retreated to their dormitories or gathered in smaller clusters to chat about the start of the year.

Tom was there.

He sat in one of the tall-blacked emerald armchairs by the fire, his dark hair falling neatly into place and his sharp features highlighted by the flicker of the flames. A book lay open on his lap, his long fingers drumming idly against the edge of the pages. He didn't look up right away, but Rosie knew better than to assume he hadn't already noticed her. With Tom, nothing ever escaped his attention. Her stomach gave an involuntary flip, and she immediately cursed herself for it. She had hoped to avoid him tonight, but that clearly wasn't going to happen.

"Rosalia."

His voice cut through the low hum of conversation like a blade, smooth and deliberate, making Rosie stiffen. Hardly anyone called her that — no one except her parents and Tom, and he always said it like a game he knew she hated but played anyway. She turned reluctantly, already bracing herself.

"What do you want, Tom?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he closed his book with a sharp snap and rose from the chair. Rosie's eyes followed him as he stood to his full height, his presence immediately commanding the space around him. The dim light seemed to stretch his shadows across the walls, making him appear even taller. She swallowed hard and forced herself to meet his gaze.

"I didn't expect your sister to be sorted into Hufflepuff," he said at last, his voice calm, almost conversational, but there was an edge to it.

Rosie crossed her arms, her defences already rising, "Why do you care?"

Tom tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes gleaming as though he found her reaction amusing. "The Hart family has always been Slytherin," he said, taking a slow step closer. "It's ... interesting."

"Interesting or not, it's none of your business," Rosie shot back.

Tom's smirk deepened, and he stepped closer still, closing the space between them. "Everything is my business," he said softly, his voice dropping just enough to make the words feel heavier. "I make it my business to know."

Rosie's heart pounded, but she refused to back down, "You're wasting your time if you think knowing about my family gives you any kind of advantage over me."

For a moment, he didn't respond. His gaze lingered on her, studying her in that unnerving way he always did, like she was a puzzle he was determined to solve. Rosie felt her pulse quicken under his scrutiny, but she held her ground, keeping her chin raised and her eyes steady.

Then, without another word, Tom stepped back. The tension that had stretched between them didn't snap so much as coil, tightening like a rope left waiting to be pulled.

"Maybe," he said finally. "But time is something I have plenty of."

He turned and strode toward the far corner leading to the boys' dormitories, leaving Rosie standing there, her thoughts tangled and racing. She let out a slow breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, but the tension in her chest didn't ease.

Even after he disappeared, the weight of his words lingered, twisting uncomfortably in her mind. Tom never spoke without purpose. Every word, every glance, was calculated, and tonight had been no different. He wasn't just curious about Genevieve's sorting — he was interested, and that interest unsettled Rosie more than she cared to admit.

Pushing away the thought, she made her way toward her own dormitory, trying to focus on anything else — the start of classes, or the ridiculous stories Stacey had been telling her over dinner, but as she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, the silence of the room seemed to magnify the echo of Tom's voice.

She climbed into bed, pulling the curtains of her four-poster shut, but her mind refused to rest. She kept replaying the conversation, the way he'd looked at her, the way his words had hung in the air like a warning, and beneath it all, no matter how much she tried to push it away, there was a whisper of fear.

Tom Riddle didn't waste his time on meaningless things, and if he was paying attention to her sister, then something was coming. Rosie just didn't know what.

Hours later, as the castle settled into a silence, Rosie was brushing out her hair and preparing for bed when a sudden knock echoed through her dormitory door. She froze, the hairbrush slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the desk. Her pulse quickened. No one ever came to her room this late unless something was wrong.

With a frown, she crossed the room and pulled the door open. Standing there, nervously wringing her hands, was a young Hufflepuff girl, her yellow-trimmed robes slightly rumpled as if she'd run the whole way.

"Are you Rosalia Hart?" The girl asked, her voice trembling.

Rosie's stomach dropped. "Yes," she said quickly. "What's wrong?"

The girl swallowed hard, her eyes darting around as though she feared getting in troubled for being there. "It's your sister. She's in the infirmary. She's asking for you." 

Before the girl could say anything else, Rosie grabbed her robe and bolted past her, her feet pounding against the cold stone floors. The hallways stretched endlessly in the dim light, shadows flickering in the corners of her vision as her thoughts spiralled. What had happened? Had Genevieve been hurt? Was she sick? Rosie didn't stop running until she burst through the doors of the infirmary, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

There, sitting on one of the white hospital beds with her knees pulled up to her chest, was Genevieve. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, her cheeks streaked with dried tears. The sight made Rosie's heart lurch.

"Rosie," Genevieve sobbed the moment she spotted her.

Rosie was at her side in an instant, sitting on the bed and pulling her little sister into her arms, "Hey, Gen. What happened? Are you hurt?"

Genevieve shook her head, burying her face against Rosie's shoulder as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "I—I couldn't sleep," she choked out between sobs. "I tried, but then I started thinking about how I'm not in Slytherin, and I'm all alone in a new dorm, and I got scared when I realised you weren't there. I know it's silly, but I just —"

"It's not silly," Rosie interrupted, her voice soft but firm as she rubbed soothing circles on Genevieve's back. "It's not silly at all. It's a big change, Gen. It's scary, and it's okay to feel that way, but listen to me —" She gently tilted Genevieve's chin up, forcing her to meet her eyes. "You're going to be okay. I promise, and I'm always just a staircase away."

Genevieve sniffled, clinging tightly to Rosie, "I miss sharing a room with you."

Rosie's chest ached at her words. "I miss it too," she admitted, brushing a strand of hair out of Genevieve's face. "But you're strong, Gen, and I know you'll be fine. You just need time to get used to it."

Genevieve sniffled again and managed a small nod, "I feel better now. I just needed to see you."

Rosie smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her sister's head, "Anytime, okay? No matter what time it is, if you need me, you come find me."

"Okay."

After helping Genevieve to her feet and promising to check on her again the next day, Rosie insisted on walking her back to the Hufflepuff dormitory. The journey through the castle was quieter this time, though Rosie couldn't shake the uneasy feeling still curling in her stomach. Once Genevieve was safely inside, Rosie lingered by the entrance for a moment before finally turning back toward the dungeon.

The halls felt darker than before, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows along the walls. Rosie tried to focus on her footsteps, counting them to keep her nerves at bay, but her thoughts raced too quickly to keep up. Genevieve was putting on a brave face, but Rosie knew how hard the adjustment would be for her. It made Rosie want to shield her from everything — even the whispers and stares she was sure her sister would face in the days to come.

So lost in thought, Rosie didn't notice someone else in the corridor until she collided with a solid figure. She stumbled back, her heart leaping into her throat.

"Watch where you're going, Rosalia," came the smooth, mocking voice she instantly recognised.

Her stomach tightened. "You're the one who bumped into me," she snapped, looking up to meet Tom's sharp gaze. He stood in the dim light like he belonged there, shadows curling around him as though drawn to his presence. "What are you doing here?"

Tom's smirk widened, "I could ask you the same question."

Rosie folded her arms, her irritation flaring, "I was walking my sister back to her dormitory. What's your excuse?"

He chuckled softly, the sound low and almost unnerving, "I have my reasons."

Rosie's eyes narrowed, "You're always so cryptic, Tom. Why can't you ever give a straight answer?"

"That would take the fun out of it."

She rolled her eyes, already exhausted by his games, "Well, I'm heading back to my dorm now. You can carry on being mysterious elsewhere."

Tom's expression shifted slightly, his smirk fading, "Let me walk you back."

Rosie blinked, caught off guard by the sudden offer, "What? Why?"

"You shouldn't be walking the halls alone this late," he said simply, his voice softer than before.

Rosie hesitated, but against her better judgement, she nodded. Tom fell into step beside her, their footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. The silence between them was heavy, and Rosie couldn't tell if it was awkward or just charged. She hated how aware she was of his presence, how the air seemed thicker when he was near.

When they reached the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory, Tom stopped and turned to face her.

"Goodnight, Rosalia," he said, his voice low and smooth, but this time it lacked its usual edge.

Rosie stared at him for a long moment, her thoughts swirling. There was something about him tonight — something she couldn't place. "Goodnight, Tom," she said at last, watching as he disappeared down the corridor.

She slipped into her dormitory and crawled into bed, but sleep didn't come. Instead, her mind replayed their encounter over and over, analysing every word, every glance. She didn't trust him — she knew better than that — but part of her couldn't stop wondering what he was thinking.

And worse, she couldn't ignore the faint flicker of curiosity that burned in her chest, no matter how much she tried to smother it.

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I can't tell you how excited I am to be writing this book and sharing it with you all! This storyline, these characters, just everything about it I absolutely love.

Enjoy! Xo

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