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...
I squint as the morning sunlight pierces through the curtains, stinging my eyes. Already? It feels as though I've only just dozed off. Two hours. That's all the rest I managed after a sleepless night of swirling thoughts. It's my first day of teaching, and I already feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me. But my grandmother's tea sits waiting, promising to revive me. I rise from the armchair where I'd napped, the chill of the stone floor waking me fully. A quick wash, a splash of cold water to the face, and I should be ready to face the day ahead. Two classes—that's all I have to survive today.
Just as I lift the teacup to my lips, a sharp knock shatters the peace. Who could possibly be knocking at this hour? I approach the door cautiously, wand held discreetly at my side.
I open the door to a surprising sight—Albus Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling, stands before me.
"Ah, Miss Orlov," he greets warmly, as though this early-morning visit were the most natural thing in the world. "Apologies for interrupting your tea. I was delayed yesterday and need a moment of your time. If you grant me two minutes, I'll share a delightful recipe," he adds, nodding toward my teacup with a slight smile.
I blink, still trying to shake off the fog of sleep, but I manage to nod and step aside, letting him in. The door closes softly behind him with a flick of my wand. His presence is calm, yet there's an underlying urgency, something that doesn't quite match the man I knew from my student days. Dumbledore always had a certain air about him—an inscrutable calm masking a mind constantly at work.
"Good morning, Professor," I greet him, setting my tea aside.
He corrects me with a small wave of his hand. "I'm no longer your professor, Miss Orlov. You may call me Albus. But I'm not here to discuss titles." He pauses, pacing slowly, his face growing more serious. "You've encountered Professor Riddle, haven't you?"
The question catches me off guard. I nod slowly. "Yes... sir."
Dumbledore doesn't smile. Instead, he draws his wand, casting a silencing charm around the room. He glances toward the door as if checking for something—or someone. His tone drops, serious and laden with a gravity I've never heard from him before.
"Misses Orlov, it's imperative you understand—my absence as headmaster this year is no accident, nor is Mr. Riddle's presence at Hogwarts a coincidence." His blue eyes, usually so warm, now hold a weight of centuries-old secrets. "I've exhausted numerous strategies to contain him, but none have succeeded. This... this is my final attempt."
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A chill crawls up my spine. "I—I don't understand," I stammer, feeling the thread of normalcy slip away from the room. "What does this have to do with me?"
Dumbledore's gaze sharpens, his voice low and pressing. "You are tasked with monitoring Mr. Riddle. I cannot reveal the full reasons, but trust your instincts. Beware of his charm. He is more dangerous than you can imagine. Will you do this for me?"
