The sky above Hogwarts was veiled in clouds, a soft rain pattering against the ancient windows of the castle, blurring the lines between reality and dreams, corridors were silent, but the echo of your footsteps seemed deafening in the stillness as you made your way toward the dimly lit library, it had become your haven on nights like these—when the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled desires pressed too heavily on your chest.

You were not alone in your search for solace. Tom Riddle, enigmatic and dangerous, had always been drawn to the darker corners of Hogwarts. As a fellow professor, you had crossed paths countless times, your interactions polite and professional. But there was always something lurking beneath the surface, a spark that ignited every time your eyes met across the room.

And now, as you stepped into the library’s sanctuary, there he was—seated at a table by the window, the glow of a single candle casting shadows across his sharp, angular features, his dark hair fell slightly into his eyes, but he made no move to push it away, his gaze fixed on a book that lay open before him, you knew he wasn’t reading, tension in his posture, the way his fingers tapped absently against the edge of the table, gave him away.

The air felt thicker with his presence, charged with something unspoken. You hesitated at the door, but it was too late to turn back now⎯His gaze lifted, locking onto yours with that same intensity that always made your pulse quicken. He didn’t smile, but there was something in his eyes⎯a flicker of recognition, of acknowledgment⎯that made your breath catch.

“Couldn’t sleep, dulcet?.”

His voice was soft, almost velvety, but it carried the weight of the question in a way that felt more intimate than it should have, Tom never failed to send tremors to your core every time he called you with a rare nickname that you had never heard from any other man's tongue, your beauty, men's eyes fly like bullets around you, you are used to honeyed kisses and sweet worship of your appearance.