You felt your heart shatter as you watched him introduce himself. Say his name. Show his face, his beautiful, perfect face, with impeccable composure and grace.

Until he found you between the dozens of desks in front of him. He attempted to he subtle. Cleared his throat, commanded the students to open their books in a specific page.

He couldn't forget the color of your eyes or the scent in your clothes. He couldn't forget the mundane conversation you had together, a few days back, how you had promised him you would see eachother again.

Apparently, you were right. But the circumstances were far different from what you expected.

It happened during a rainy evening, in which you found solace in a local bar, mostly empty, with hazy grunge music playing in the background. That day wasn't a good day, and you had foolishly decided to take out your sadness in alcohol.

Tom was there for the same reason. Yet, he was fortunate — or not, to find you there. A beautiful person with longing eyes, puffy cheeks and lips.

He offered to pay for your drink. Then another. And you began talking. He didn't say he was a wizard, neither did you. You couldn't. The only thing you were looking forward to, the one thing that could put you out of your misery, was the fact that your last year at Hogwarts would be starting soon.

Tom had said he would be starting his first year as a professor. But he hid the magic away from you too. After all, in his eyes, you were a muggle.

You had no idea.

More glasses were needed, more drinks were consumed, not to the point of dizziness. No, you were sober, somehow. But you ended up in the bathroom, wrapped up in his arms while his lips caressed your own, his body pressed you against the sink, chilling your bones.

He drove you home. Kissed you goodbye, tenderly. Promised he wouldn't forget you, that he would find you, whenever he could.

But then classes began, and you got in the train towards Hogwarts, unaware of whether he called or not.

The first Defense Against the Dark Arts class came up, and you sat in your usual seat. The students murmured about the new professor; attractive, famous, once a Slytherin.

And now, an hour or so later, class was dismissed, and you took a little longer to grab your things. You knew he was thinking the same thing. How could this happen?

Tom spoke first. "Turns out we did meet again after all," he said, carefully lowly, shoving down his tension, while cleaning up the board.