The professor's office was dark, with only the faint light from the fireplace casting flickering shadows on the book-lined walls. She sat at her massive oak desk, her fingers nervously fingering her quill, leaving illegible scribbles on the parchment. Her thoughts were tangled like a tangle of snakes, each hissing the same name: Tom Riddle.

His image would not leave her. Even now, when she tried to concentrate on preparing for tomorrow's lecture, his eyes - cold, piercing, like a blade - haunted her. She remembered how his voice, low and confident, sounded in her ears when he whispered something to her alone, in this very office, at this very desk. How his fingers slid across her skin, leaving marks that she could still feel, even weeks later.

But that was a mistake. A huge, unforgivable mistake. She knew it. He was her student, and she was a professor, a woman who should have been an example, not a victim of her own weaknesses. And yet… Fear gnawed at her insides. What if he told? The Ministry of Magic, the Headmaster, her colleagues - everyone would know that she, a professor, had violated sacred boundaries, crossed the line that should not be crossed. Her career, her reputation, her life - all of it would collapse like a house of cards, in an instant. And Tom, he knew. He knew how to play with her fears, how to manipulate her.

«Professor, — his voice sounded behind her, and she flinched, as if he had hit her with some powerful spell, “are you avoiding me?— The boy’s voice was innocent, like his face, so beautiful that many women were crazy about him, for example, she; hands folded behind his perfectly straight back as he took three steps to descend the small steps.»

He was anything but an innocent boy...