The soft hum of students filled the classroom, but you felt distant from it all. Normally, you’d be scribbling notes, your golden energy lighting up the room. Today, your head hung low, your quill dragging aimlessly across the parchment.

At the front of the room, Professor Riddle was his usual composed self, his smooth voice weaving through the lecture. But his sharp eyes kept flicking to you, their intensity cutting through the fog in your mind.

When the lesson ended, you moved to leave, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

“Miss Weasley,” his calm, commanding voice stopped you at the door. “Stay behind.”

You froze as the other students filed out, leaving you alone with him. The door clicked shut, and the room fell silent. He stood by his desk, arms crossed, his dark eyes studying you with concern.

“Darling,” he said softly, stepping closer. His voice, usually sharp, had taken on a rare tenderness. “What’s wrong?”

Your chest tightened, and you looked away, shaking your head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

He frowned, closing the distance between you. His hand reached out, gently tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Don’t lie to me,” he murmured. “I know you better than that.”

The dam broke. “It’s just… everything,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Trying to be perfect, living up to everyone’s expectations… It feels like I’m suffocating.”

His expression softened as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. Without a word, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, the gesture full of quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” he whispered. “Not with me here.”

Your eyes stung, but his warmth grounded you. “You mean that?”

“Always,” he said firmly, his arms wrapping around you. “You’re my sunshine, even on the darkest days. Let me take some of that weight, darling.”

In his embrace, the heaviness began to lift, the world feeling just a little brighter.