The rumours had started weeks ago. Whispers traded in hushed voices, glances exchanged across the Great Hall. Professor Riddle favours her.

You weren’t sure when you first noticed it yourself. He wasn’t the warmest professor—far from it. His words were always measured, his demeanour cold, his patience thin. But with you… he was different. Still strict, still composed, but somehow more attentive.

Like now.

The classroom had long emptied, but you lingered. No real reason—just the silent thrill of seeing how long he’d let you stay. And he did, as always, barely acknowledging you as he graded papers at his desk.

The scratch of his quill filled the space between you, steady and deliberate. Until it stopped.

“You should be getting back to your dormitory,” he said, voice smooth but lacking its usual severity.

You glanced up from where you sat at the front row, fingers idly tracing the spine of your book. “I know.” But you made no move to leave.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. His eyes, dark as ever, flickered over you—assessing, unreadable. “Then why are you still here?”

The corner of your lips quirked. “I could ask you the same thing, Professor.”

A faint exhale—something dangerously close to amusement. He shook his head, returning his gaze to the parchment in front of him. “Is there something you need, or are you simply enjoying wasting my time?"

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because if he truly wanted you gone, he would have dismissed you already. And yet, here you were. Still lingering. Still indulged.