Imortality unveiled ~Tom Riddle x Reader

Misses Orlov... - Chapter 4

~Your POV~

I squint at the sunlight hitting my face. I dozed off just two hours ago. It's my first day of teaching and I already feel drained. Thankfully, my grandmother's tea will soon revive me. Rising from the armchair where I napped, I head to the bathroom to prepare for the day ahead. With only 2 classes scheduled, it should be a doable day.
Before sipping my tea, a knock interrupts me, prompting a cautious approach to the door.
>Who knocks before school? I ponder silently.
Upon opening, a surprising sight awaits me - Albus Dumbledore stands there, catching me off guard. "Ah, Miss Orlov. I apologize for disrupting your morning tea. I was delayed yesterday and need a moment of your time today. If you grant me two minutes, I'll share a delightful recipe," he remarks, eyeing my tea cup with a hint of amusement.
Still dazed, I nod, creating space for him to enter, softly closing the door with my wand. Albus Dumbledore within his usual calm aura, it is something I always enjoyed when he was teaching.
"Good morning, Professor," I greet, setting my cup aside.
He corrects me with a gentle shake of his head, "I'm no longer your Professor, Miss Orlov. You may now address me as Albus. However, my visit to your private chambers isn't about my name." Before I can respond, he paces through the room, revealing, "You must understand, my absence as headmaster this year is no accident. You've encountered Professor Riddle, haven't you?" I affirm, "Yes, sir," as Dumbledore casts a silencing charm, assuming a secretive demeanor. "Misses Orlov, it's crucial you realize Mr. Riddle's presence isn't coincidental either. I've exhausted numerous strategies to no avail. This is my final attempt. If this fails, I'm uncertain of the next steps.. I must try." Puzzled by his words, I sense a touch of madness in his tone.
"Sir, what—" I begin, only to be cut off, "You are tasked with monitoring Mr. Riddle. I can't disclose the reasons, but trust your instincts. Beware of his allure. Proceed cautiously. Will you do this for me?" I gaze at him, now questioning his sanity, "Prof—Albus... I don't understand.. What is this about..?"
Albus fixes me with a solemn gaze, his piercing blue eyes holding a weight of centuries-old wisdom. "Miss Orlov, the fate of many rests on your discretion. Trust in your abilities, for they may be the key to unraveling the darkness that threatens to engulf us all."
His words linger in the air, a heavy silence settling between us. With a final nod, he turns to leave, his long robes billowing behind him. "Albus, what.-" I repeat but the door clicks shut, I am left alone with a sense of foreboding, a newfound weight upon my shoulders.
Taking a deep breath, I pick up my tea cup, the warmth seeping into my hands. I had one more hour before my first lessons, and  the events of the morning replay in my mind, the mystery of Professor Riddle and Albus Dumbledore's cryptic warning swirling together in a tangled web of uncertainty. 

Time went by and I made my way to my first class. It is an upper class, meaning the students will already have some knowledge by the age of 17, it will either make things easier or harder I think...
As I enter the big classroom the voices of the students slowly mute. Reaching my desk I slowly face them. "Good morning, class. Please take your seats. I am Professor Orlov, and I will be guiding you through the history of the wizarding world. You may as well call me Eva please." I pause to see each students face, walking a bit through the rows I continue, "I understand that many of you may not hold much interest in the history of magic as a school subject, but let me assure you—it will assist you in mastering spells. And if all of you show interest and learn well for the ZAG exames, I will be willing to tell you about ancient magic and eventually, about the use of it in the following years. This is the difference compared to the past years teaching. The following year will be 50% theory an 50% practice, but only for those of you I see potential in."
I noticed that the students began to pay attention as soon as I mentioned ancient magic, and I knew this would inspire them. Ultimately, that is my hope for them: to be well-read and intriguing young witches and wizards, prepared for the world. One student raises his hand and I signal for him to speak, "Yes.. Mister.." The student gestures, "Rabastan, Professor O-Eva."
I can tell by his demeanor that he is a determined slytherin student. "What is ancient magic..?" He inquires. I gaze out the window, considering my response, "Hmm.. What is it not, Mister Rabastan." I allow the corners of my mouth to turn upwards slightly, "You see, ancient magic can be anything and it can be anywhere. For those who are gifted and capable of mastering this intricate magic, it is a blessing. For those who do not comprehend it, it may seem like a frustrating and useless thing. And I assure you, we have both types in this class. Some of you will be able to master it, and some of you, if not most, will not. In fact, few witches and wizards since the 19th century possess knowledge of this kind of magic. The wisdom has been passed down through my family from generation to generation, and you will not find many outher sources these days. So I hope all of you will appreciate my efforts to bring it to light once more."
I observe that all the students are looking at me with fascination and interest, which is exactly what I aimed to achieve. Students who are eager to learn make my job enjoyable.

As the class progresses, I delve into the intricacies of ancient magic, captivating the students with tales of long-lost spells and enchantments. Their curiosity fuels my enthusiasm, and I find myself immersed in the joy of sharing knowledge with these young minds. The hours slip by unnoticed, the classroom filled with a sense of wonder and discovery.
As the final bell rings, signaling the end of the day, the students linger, eager to ask questions and discuss the day's lessons. I smile, realizing that perhaps, in this small classroom, I have planted the seeds of curiosity and ambition that will blossom into greatness in the future.
With a sense of fulfillment, I bid the students farewell, their faces alight with newfound knowledge and excitement. As I gather my belongings and prepare to leave, I can't help but feel a surge of anticipation for the days and lessons that lie ahead.

The students exited the classroom, I gather some papers left on the table. "Seems like the students are eager to learn new things," a familiar voice says behind me. Glancing at the doorway, I see Tom Riddle standing there, holding old books, he is almost as tall as the archway, quite intimidating. I nod once, "I know how to motivate them; I figured it would be easier if they had reasons to learn history." I say while fixing the papers on my desk, watching the man approach me. "Will you share your tricks with me, Misses... Orlov?" Did he just point out my marital status, or am I paranoid? I glance up at him for a moment before continuing, "Being kind and willing to pass on knowledge they can't find in books. Most of our knowledge comes from the mind. So I believe." Pointing to my temples with my wand, I gesture once more. He eyes me with interest as he lifts his chin. "Hmm... What a great task you follow, Misses..." Okay, enough. What is he on about? "Excuse me if I am blunt, but why do you call me that twice in a row?" I cross my arms as he teasingly raises an eyebrow at me. "Call you what...?" I tilt my head, trying to remain professional, but he makes it difficult. "Misses..." I almost glare. -"Am I mistaken about you being Misses Orlov?" He says without changing his expression. I swallow, looking aside and back at him, "I am. But-" He doesn't let me finish as he continues, "Do not explain yourself. It is none of my concern. " He smiles egotistically. His demeanor is awful. Who acts like that? He thinks he is the best. "Mister Riddle, I beg your pardon, but you-" He interrupts me again, leaning on my desk, jerk. "Misses Orlov, I am well aware of your background. No need to continue speaking. Besides, do not say anything you may regret telling me." He touches my sleeve out of nowhere, causing me to take a small step back, gesturing, "You do not do a great job with the healing charm, Misses Orlov." He says and I glance at him as he lifts my sleeve, revealing blue marks on my underarms that I had not noticed before. Theodore caused this, I shamefully have to admit it to myself. I pause for a moment. Did he really pay that much attention last night? He seemed bored talking to me most of the time. Was it just an act?

I hesitate to answer, "I-" I can't even speak a word. He eyes me, and now I fully close my mouth. What is he doing to me? .. - "Like I said... There is no need. Just a reminder. I am certain a witch of your knowledge and bloodline knows how to defend herself if needed." He says, I slowly nod, still shocked at how easily he reads me, not noticing how close we had become, our faces just centimeters apart. As he leans in closer, his gaze intense and unwavering, a chill runs down my spine. The air between us crackles with an unspoken tension, his presence commanding and unsettling. I can't shake off the feeling of being under his scrutiny, his piercing eyes seeming to unravel the layers of my being, leaving me uncomfortably comfortable.
In that moment, I realize the gravity of his words and actions. Tom Riddle, with his enigmatic aura and inscrutable motives, holds a power that transcendes mere intimidation. It is as if he can peer into the depths of my soul, extracting secrets I hadn't even dared to acknowledge.

As I stand here, locked in a silent exchange with the enigmatic figure before me, a sense of unease creeps over me. I can't deny the unsettling allure of his presence, a dangerous magnetism that both intrigues and repells me. With a subtle nod, he straightens up, the tension dissipating as quickly as it had emerged. "Until next time, Misses Orlov," he murmurs, his voice a low whisper that lingers in the air like a haunting echo.

He turns to leave, his figure fading into the shadows of the hallway.
With a deep breath, I gather my composure. As I watch the last remnants of his presence fade away, a single thought echoes in my mind: the mysteries that surrounded Tom Riddle is far deeper and darker than I could have ever imagined. Was that the reason Albus spoke to me this morning? What is all this about?