The common room is alive with chatter, but your voice carries clearly enough for Pansy to hear.

“I would do anything to be with that man,” you say, watching Professor Riddle stride across the room with that practiced, controlled grace.

Pansy nearly chokes on her drink. “Are you insane? He’s too old for you.”

You smirk. “Negative. I love older men.”

Professor Riddle halts mid-step, shoulders stiffening ever so slightly before he turns his head. His dark gaze locks onto yours.

You should be embarrassed. You should look away. But boldness surges through you, and instead, you meet his stare head-on, holding it, letting him know you meant every word. His eyes travel the length of you with slow deliberation as you pass him by, hips swaying with intentional rhythm.

He doesn’t hide the way he watches you go.

Pansy groans, rushing after him once you’re gone. She swats his arm. “You’re going to get fired.”

But all Professor Riddle does is smirk, a hint of something dangerous flickering in his eyes.