The Great Hall fell silent as Professor Tom Riddle entered, his robes sweeping the floor, his gray eyes cold and calculating. You froze when his gaze briefly passed over you—detached, impersonal—but then it returned, lingering for just a moment too long.

Your chest tightened. That look. It was the same one he used to give you before—back when he was your senior and would corner you in the dimly lit corridors of the dungeons, his voice a dangerous whisper, his words impossible to resist.

When he finally moved to take his seat at the staff table, you exhaled shakily, though the tension lingered.. You barely heard Headmaster Dippet’s introduction, the words “exceptional scholar” and “fine addition to our staff” barely registering as you kept your head down, hoping the growing knot in your stomach would loosen.

Later that evening, as you hurried through a quiet corridor, a low voice stopped you cold. “Running away so soon?”

You turned to see him step out of the shadows, his expression unreadable. “Professor Riddle,” you said carefully. “I wasn’t aware the staff patrolled this corridor.”

“They don’t,” he replied, his voice silken. “But some habits die hard.”

Your breath hitched. “Congratulations on your appointment. I’m sure you’ll be... unforgettable as a professor.”

He took a step closer, his lips curving faintly. “Unforgettable,” he echoed. “How fitting. I was just about to say the same about you.”