𝘋𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏 𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚 𝘛𝘐𝘌𝘋/𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 (English version)

Chapter 62

Snow was falling thick beyond the windows, muffling every sound of the castle.
The sky was a dull gray, and the wind howled through the towers, making the old glass panes creak. The cold crept through the corridors, seeping through the cracks in the stone walls and wrapping everything in a biting chill.

Inside the Room of Requirement, however, time seemed suspended in a muffled limbo.
The fire burned slowly in the hearth, casting flickering lights on the stone walls and projecting dancing shadows that stretched and contracted like restless spirits. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood, a warmth almost unreal compared to the frost outside.

Sarah was sunk deep into the couch, her body exhausted and her mind far too alert.
She had spent days organizing the new recruits of "Dumbledore's Army," planning strategies, trying to keep a fragile balance among the students.
The responsibility was crushing her, an unrelenting weight that never seemed to give her a moment's peace.

And then there were them, always there. Always close.
Those she had once seen as friends... and Tom.
The same Tom who knew, and who now watched her along with the others. During lessons, during meals.

She could feel him, even in the most insignificant moments.
When she bent down to tie her shoes, when she brought the goblet to her lips in the Great Hall, when she lowered her gaze to a book pretending not to notice their presence...his presence.

Sometimes it was subtle, almost imperceptible.
A quick glance from Theo from behind a book, Blaise turning away a second before she could catch him in the act, Draco always strangely a few rows behind her: too close to be a coincidence, too far to seem deliberate.

Other times, it was more obvious.
Like that evening, in the corridor.
Pansy and Enzo had passed her just outside the Room of Requirement, lips tight, eyes fixed, a silence heavier than a thousand words. But they hadn't done anything. In fact, Pansy had walked past Sarah and entered the room as if nothing were out of place.

Sarah had felt her heartbeat quicken, unable to tell whether it was fear, frustration, or something else—something more insidious.

She clenched her jaw, letting her gaze lose itself in the dancing flames, searching for an anchor, a fixed point in the chaos swirling inside her.
The only moment she truly felt safe was this one—when she was alone.

"For someone who's hiding, you have quite the talent for being the center of attention."

The voice caught her off guard,low, enveloping.

Sarah tensed, breath caught in her throat. A shiver ran down her spine before she even turned around.

Tom was there. Leaning against the doorframe, his body relaxed, hands tucked into the pockets of his cloak, he looked perfectly at ease in the disturbance he was causing.
The fire lit up his face with a play of light and shadow, carving every line with cruel precision, making his gaze even more enigmatic.

Sarah stared at him for a long moment, trying to ignore the shiver crawling up her spine. Then, with apparent nonchalance, she turned her eyes back to the flames.
"I'm not hiding."

Tom stepped further into the room, not making the slightest sound. "No?"

She clenched her jaw. His tone was light, almost uninterested, but she knew his nature too well: Tom Riddle never said anything by accident.
"I just don't like being watched, that's all."
He gave a slight smile, tilting his head just so. "That's a shame, then."

Sarah let out a huff, shooting him a sideways glance. "Is that your big threat? Stare at me until I stop breathing?"
Tom let out a soft laugh, the sound low and resonant.
"It works on most people."