Tom riddle was a professor you have watched for many months. He was unlike any other professors at Hogwarts. Many teachers of yours were old or frail, something that you have never liked to encounter. Tom was a different soul, a different person. During your free time you tend to find him strolling in the corridors, his long strides and dark black hair seem to be invisible to the wind as he glides through the marble. You can't help but watch him, he's mysteriously intriguing. He was relatively quiet and it bothered you that you could never find out what is going on inside his head. He was closed off, of course to you. He was your professor after all.
It was a cool November morning and you had just finished getting ready. Your morning routine consisted of fantasizing about Tom, he was so wonderful. You put on your skirt and button up your shirt while getting your makeup done and stroking your mascara along your lashes. You have dada class and want to not be too late, something you seem to fail at everyday.
'Good morning y/n, thank you for joining us.' You expect Tom to say, but he doesn't. Because he doesn't care. He doesn't look up at you or see you come in at all. He's cold and dark and frankly annoying. How could he not see your effort. How could he not see that you try so very hard to peer into his life. It's hard going un noticed.
By the end of class, you have just about had enough. He walks up and down the aisles for hours and his cold sickening voice would have you on your knees in seconds if he would ever notice your beckoning stares.
"Class, we will pick this up tomorrow. I expect you to all have your work done and done right." Tom says with his dark black pupils staring at no one, yet everyone. You wince at his demeanor. He sits into his chair and fiddles with the papers on the desk.
Students start filing out of the class, gossiping about their newest kiss and their classmates botched nose jobs. (Those done by wands aren't very pretty.)
You walk on towards toms desk. Your heart beating a million miles an hour. You brush your dark hair out of your face and continue to walk, as he fails to notice you.
Here goes. "Um, hello professor?" Your heart jolts and the fluttering pain in your stomach increases.
He looks up, slowly and patient. His dark sexy eyes make you crumble so silently.
"Yes?" He says, not moving an inch of his body, holding his smoldering glare.
"I just wanted to say that I am really sorry for being late Sir. I promise I will be better tomorrow." You stare into his eyes and flicker a little bit, hoping to muster up some lust within him.
"Make sure that you are on time tomorrow, Miss y/l/n." He says, the corner of his mouth going up into the slightest smirk ever to be known.
"Of course sir. Thank you." You smile, and turn around swiftly, an idea popping into your head. You are well aware that your skirt is short. You are also holding books, ones with quills. You drop a quill.
As you bend down to pick up the quill you just dropped, you can feel the sudden breeze of the cold classroom sliding against your thong. You breathtakingly hope he saw.
When you stand back up, you turn around hoping to give a sorrowful smirk, and to your simple surprise tom is staring directly down at you. His eyes are not meeting yours. You know why. The sorrowful smirk will have to wait for when he is not lusting at what he just witnessed.
