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...
The dimly lit library hums with unspoken tension, thick as fog creeping through every corner of the castle. Albus Dumbledore —usually a sanctuary of wisdom and calm—now seems like a battleground of silent fears. The flickering candlelight casts eerie shadows on the stone walls, and outside, the wind howls softly, as if the world itself is whispering of danger.
I stand before Dumbledore, a flicker of something darker lingering in my thoughts. Has he finally uncovered the truth about my presence here? The question flits through my mind, but it's not fear that grips me. No, not fear—anticipation. He can't prove anything. Not yet.
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Across the room, Dumbledore, the so-called beacon of hope for the wizarding world, paces restlessly. His movements betray the calm mask he wears for his students, revealing the truth beneath—he's worried. And that, more than anything, amuses me. Albus Dumbledore, scrambling for answers, desperate to keep his fragile world from crumbling.
He turns toward me, his gaze searching, the wise old man full of quiet contemplation. But I see beyond the warmth and the rehearsed calm. His wisdom is flawed. His eyes drift toward Eva, sitting by the window, bathed in the cold glow of moonlight. She has changed since the attack on the third floor—her gaze, more weighted, more haunted. She hasn't told Dumbledore everything, of that I'm sure. Her mind is a labyrinth of secrets, and I intend to uncover them all.
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But why does she intrigue me so? It isn't just the fear in her eyes when she looks at me. There's something more—something raw and unspoken. Curiosity, yes, but something even deeper. A hunger. A thirst for power she may not yet fully understand. I can feel it simmering beneath the surface, even if she denies it. Would she be worthy of standing by my side when the time comes? The idea tempts me, more than I care to admit.
Dumbledore stops pacing, and for the first time, his eyes truly rest on me. There's something else in his gaze now—pity, perhaps, or regret.
"I must tell you something I hoped never to say." His voice breaks the silence, solemn and heavy. "Gellert Grindelwald has escaped."
