It’s a week away from graduation, the weekend hours stretching on, parties sparking to life across the castle and echoing through its corridors for the seventh-years. The final classes linger at the start of the week, while looming tests press closer, demanding knowledge and skill—ensuring witches and wizards enter the world beyond as sharpened, responsible individuals.

During the earlier part of a Saturday evening, you make your way down the corridor toward Professor Riddle’s office. The door stands cracked, lamplight spilling across the stone floor.

Just as you near, the telephone on his desk rings. A faint creak of leather follows as he shifts in his chair, his voice—smooth as silk—filling the quiet as he greets the caller.

You don’t know who he’s speaking to, only that the weight of it hangs in every word.

“Yes, once everything is settled here for the close of the school year, I will prepare for what comes next,” he says, tone firm.

Curiosity presses you closer. Through the narrow gap, you see Professor Riddle reclining, one ankle crossed over his knee, the phone cord coiling around his fingers as he slowly turns the chair to the side.

You listen intently, ear angled toward the door.

“Mhm… most preparations are complete. Only a few loose ends remain, and then I’ll meet with my bride-to-be in two weeks to ensure everything proceeds smoothly. I have no patience for obstacles,” he states, his tone measured, clipped with authority.

The words strike like a blow. He wasn’t just your professor—he was your boyfriend, a secret you were forced to keep, the one you believed would never betray you. Disbelief crashes through you, your heart thrumming with the sharp sting of disappointment. In your shock, you stumble against the door—its hinges groaning open with a slow, torturous creak.

A gasp escapes you, breath faltering as tears shimmer in your eyes.

His head lifts. “We'll speak later. I have another matter to attend.” He lowers the receiver with a sharp snap.

“Come in… close the door,” he says, voice low and measured, beckoning you inside with the faintest curl of his fingers.

Your throat constricts as you obey, the click of the door behind you sounding final.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that yet…” he sighs, the faintest trace of weariness slipping into his tone as he rises, pushing back his chair. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought what we had was real…” you murmur, voice trembling, gaze lowered.

“As real as it ever could have been,” he replies evenly, voice low and steady, stepping out from behind his desk with deliberate calm. “I loved you in the time we had, darling—but I was never naive.” He pauses, each word lingering in the silence like a verdict. “To think we could be more than a fleeting story, a short-lived tale between the pages of a forbidden romance… that was always a daydream.”

You don’t speak again, brow furrowed with the ache of knowing your last week here won’t be what you expected—your future spiraling into the unknown.

He halts before you, fingers tilting your chin, forcing your tear-bright gaze to meet his as his thumb brushes a slow, tender line across your skin. “I know you believed we were destined, but that isn’t the case,” he says, words cutting deeper than any wound. “I always knew how it would end, though I never let you see it. You were everything to me—and nothing, all at once.” His tone carries a chill of detachment, final and unyielding.

A tear slides free as one of your hands clutches at your chest.

“You must understand—I have a duty that must be fulfilled. Whatever we felt, it was never going to end with us. By this time next month, I’ll be bound to a woman of status, someone chosen long ago to stand at my side,” he admits, voice low, tinged with reluctant regret.

In the end, it was always tied to duty. He was destined to inherit the Dark One’s mantle, to lead, to walk the path set before him. But what you never expected was that he would become your greatest heartbreak. And the cruelest part? You were his risk, never his future.