Readers POV:
You are Eva Orlov, Hogwarts' newest history professor-and you're not alone. Tom Riddle, enigmatic and brilliant, begins his tenure as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. From the moment you meet, an undeniable pull draws you to...
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As the clock strikes 10 p.m., I find myself standing outside the door to Professor Slughorn's private quarters, my hand poised to knock. The hallway feels unnervingly quiet, save for the faint hum of voices inside.
I hesitate, wondering briefly if it's too late to turn back, but I draw a deep breath and push open the door, stepping into the warm glow of candlelight.The room is alive with chatter, laughter, and the soft clinking of glasses. The festive atmosphere clashes with the discomfort curling in my stomach. I scan the room, seeking Slughorn's familiar face among the sea of guests, but instead, my eyes lock onto someone else.
Sitting in the corner, half-hidden in the shadows, is Tom Riddle. His gaze is fixed on me, unblinking, intense, as though he'd been expecting me all along.
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What is it with him?His stare unsettles me.
I pull my eyes away, feigning interest in the nearby conversation, though the words drift past me, meaningless. The evening presses on, and I find myself pulled into conversations I have no true interest in, nodding and smiling at all the right moments while my mind wanders elsewhere.
Every so often, I feel Tom's eyes on me. His presence seems to cast a shadow over the room, even as his charm brightens it.
At some point, I find myself inexplicably caught in a conversation with him. He speaks in that calm, hypnotic voice of his, discussing the intricacies of wizarding history, his knowledge deep and extensive. I should walk away, make my excuses. And yet, I stay. His words are like a spell, and I, unwilling or unable to resist, listen as though under a trance. He speaks with a wisdom that belies his years, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity as he leans in, his voice low and persuasive."You've always had an interest in history, haven't you, Eva?" he asks, his tone soft but commanding attention.
"The way past and present are woven together, guiding our future... It's fascinating, isn't it?"I nod, my breath catching at the sound of my name on his lips.
"It is," I admit, surprised at how easily he's drawn me in. "It's like... everything leaves its mark, shaping what's to come. Even when we don't realize it."
A slow smile curls at the corners of his mouth. "Exactly," he murmurs, his dark eyes gleaming. "And those who understand that, those who learn from history, are the ones who control the future."His words linger in the air, and I feel a shiver run down my spine.
There's something dangerous in the way he speaks, something that hints at far more than just an academic interest in the past.
