Mysterious. Secretive. Dangerous. The scent of his cologne haunts you.

A new professor takes the vacant post for Defence Against the Dark Arts. He is always impeccably polished, dressed sharply, his hair slicked back with precision. And while everyone else remains dazzled, oblivious, you sense who he truly is.

Running away becomes your usual habit. As a professor of Herbology, seeking silence in the greenhouse is what you do to avoid the gaze of those green eyes, because, whenever he has the chance, he only looks at you. Your sanctuary is always lit at night by the silvery glow of enchanted moonstones, nestled in the soil of pots. The air is filled with the scent of damp moss, freshly turned earth, and the subtle, rich sweetness of night roses.

But tonight, the air feels different. Thick. Poisonous?

A single footstep brushes softly against the stone floor of the glasshouse.

“Still tending the garden in the dead of night?” His voice is like silk laced with smoke, winding around you in the cool air, caressing your skin with its chilling touch. That dark, velvety cadence can only belong to Todd Voriam Morell… or rather, Tom R. Your curiosity, it seems, has led you astray⎯into a truth you were never meant to discover.

“Do you seek company in the dark, Professor?” He steps closer. “Or are you running from the truth?”

Your fingers tighten around the shears, knuckles paling as you continue to trim the Fanged Geranium. You try to steady your breathing, but it's no use; your heart races, its wild rhythm pounding against your ribs.

“Careful, dear,” comes the soft warning, and once more the rustling of his suit's fabric signals he is already closer than you would like. “Some truths aren't meant to be uncovered.”

You finally turn to face him. His lips curl into a sly smile as he tilts his head, studying you. “Fear is such a fascinating emotion,” Tom muses. “It can be a warning or an invitation.” His hand reaches forward, fingers trailing from your wrist up your arm. “What do you think, Professor? Which is it?”