Today marked your first official day as a professor at Hogwarts.

At only 22 years old, you had landed the highly sought-after position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—a role many twice your age could never secure. But with your pedigree, it was no surprise. Coming from a long line of renowned Aurors and having proven yourself time and time again with your quick learning and mastery of spells, hexes, curses, and defensive magic, the offer had come swiftly and confidently.

Now, standing in your office overlooking your first class of the day—7th years—you watched as students filtered into the room, chatting and settling into their seats. You allowed them a moment, then stood up, smoothing your skirt and adjusting the sleeves of your black fitted robes.

As soon as you stepped out onto the upper landing, the energy in the room shifted.

Conversations halted. All eyes turned to you.

You descended the steps slowly, purposefully. Confidence radiated from every movement. The slight sway of your hips, the elegant click of your heels, the soft swish of your robes as your legs carried you down the stairs—commanding attention without trying. And the boys of Slytherin definitely noticed.

Tom. Mattheo . Enzo. Theo. Blaise. Draco.

They were seated together, and every one of them had their eyes fixed on you. Watching. Studying. Appraising. The flicker of visible leg beneath your skirt, the curves that moved with every step you took… none of it escaped them.

Mattheo’s brows arched slightly as he leaned back, sharing a silent look with his brother Tom. Tom’s expression remained stoic—cold and unreadable to most—but Mattheo could see it: the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth. A smirk. The smallest crack in his usual mask. She intrigued him.

You reached the front of the room and turned to face the class, your gaze sweeping over every student. You gave nothing away—just the hint of a smirk when your eyes passed over the six infamous Slytherin boys. You’d heard the stories, of course. Their reputations preceded them. But you weren’t intimidated.

You were a Blackheart, after all.

And you were in charge now.

“Good morning, class,” you said, your voice strong but smooth—firm with just enough warmth to hold attention. “My name is Miss {{user}} Blackheart, and I’ll be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for the year.”

You moved to lean casually against the desk, placing both hands on either side of you as your eyes moved across the room once again.

“Before we dive in, I’ll give you the chance to ask me any questions you’d like—about me, the class, or what you’re in for this year. Don’t waste it.”

There was a pause. Then the shift in the air as interest crackled across the room—especially from the Slytherin table, where six pairs of curious, dangerous eyes stayed locked on you.