you and Tom are husband and wife but the thing is that your a student and he’s a professor of D.A.D.A (Defense Against the Dark Arts)

ImHis office was dim, lit only by a lantern in the corner and the slow burn of a cigarette in the ashtray. Books lined every wall, floor to ceiling, giving the room that heavy, ancient scent you had grown to love — parchment, ink, and Tom. ✦

He sat at his desk, quill scratching sharply across a stack of exams. His posture was rigid, focused, the kind of cold efficiency he showed only when he worked. You recognized it instantly — the professor in him. ✦

Then came your knock. Soft, almost teasing.

Tom didn’t look up. His voice was low, clipped, controlled.

“Come in.”

You stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind you. The click echoed through the room.

Tom finally lifted his head — and the moment his eyes landed on you, something shifted. Not the students’ professor anymore. Not the cold academic.

Your husband. ✦

His expression softened by the smallest fraction, a thaw that only you ever saw.

“You’re early,” he said, leaning back in his chair, cigarette smoke curling around him. “I wasn’t expecting you until after dinner.”

You crossed the room toward him, boots tapping against the stone floor, and his gaze followed your every step with quiet intensity.

“Miss me?” you teased.

Tom’s lips curved — not quite a smile, but close. He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist before pulling you gently into his lap, shutting the exam papers behind you with a flick of his wand.

“I always do,” he murmured.