A WEEK LATER,

Alexandrina’s steps were soft as she wandered through the castle, the late hour casting long shadows on the stone walls. The lullaby she had sung to her children seemed to linger in the air, a quiet echo of memories she could hardly hold onto. She had always cherished the moments with her son, Thomas, how he would drift off to sleep without a fuss, his gentle nature making him a joy to raise. Delphini, her wild toddler, was another story entirely—but she was just a child, and her wild energy was endearing, even if exhausting.

Her thoughts, however, drifted to the night a week ago—the night she had confronted Marvolo. The words he had spoken to her still hung in the air, fresh and unsettling. His voice, low and insistent, had sent a shiver down her spine when he whispered, "If I cannot solve this riddle, then I'll turn you from a metaphorical riddle to a real one."

Those words haunted her. Marvolo Slytherin, so bold in his words and actions, thinking that she wouldn’t see through him. It had been a game to him, playing with the threads of her fate as though he held all the strings. But she was no fool. She had understood exactly what he meant. He had laid himself bare in that moment, and though she had thrown his challenge back at him—"We shall see, Tom Marvolo Riddle"—she couldn’t shake the weight of the tension that had crackled between them.

That moment still lingered, as vivid as if it had happened only moments ago.

Alexandrina’s steps faltered for a moment as she moved through the corridors, the echo of her own soft footfalls a distant reminder of how little she truly wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Delphini’s restless energy was still fresh in her mind, and the lullaby she had sung to both of her children felt like a fragile thread to the past—one that now seemed to slip away from her grasp with every passing day.

Her thoughts, however, continually returned to him. Marvolo. The name clung to her like smoke, never quite dissipating. How different he had become—no longer the monster, no longer the embodiment of cold, cruel darkness that she had once known. Now, he was a man, with all the sharp edges and raw hunger of one. And gods, how dangerously aware she was of it.

It had taken only a few minutes, only a few breathless moments, for everything to shift. To feel the weight of his presence as it wrapped around her, like an insistent shadow, pulling her under even when she tried to fight it. It was strange, this feeling—this... pull. Back then, when he had been Voldemort, when he had been a creature of nightmares, it had been easy to keep her distance. He was monstrous, a thing to be loathed, feared, and eliminated. But now?

Now, he was too human. Too real. She had seen the darkness in his eyes—had always seen it. But there was something else there now. Something that twisted in a way that unsettled her, something that made her skin prickle and her heart beat far too quickly. It was hunger, that’s what it was. An insatiable, raw hunger that flickered in his gaze whenever it landed on her. And gods help her, it was personal. He wasn’t just watching her now—he was coveting her.

She could feel it in every step, in every lingering moment between them. She had always thought that she was capable of handling men, of managing emotions, of keeping her composure. But this? This was different. This wasn’t the sweet, harmless kind of attraction that she could brush off. This was an obsession—an obsession that had somehow grown in the quietest of ways, until it had taken root deep within her.

And she hated it. Oh, she hated it.

But there was a part of her that feared she might not hate it enough. That part of her, the part she had buried for so long, was starting to stir again, like a long-forgotten flame that now threatened to engulf her. And she was allowing it, bit by bit. The longer she spent around him, the more difficult it became to keep her distance. He had a way of looking at her—so intensely, so impossibly present—that it felt as though every fiber of her being was being pulled toward him.

His body had loomed over hers, just as she had remembered it, tall and commanding. There was no trace of the monster, no trace of the nightmare she had known. Instead, there was the man—the man—and it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain any sense of composure. His words were low, dangerous, and wrapped in that same unnerving charisma. But it wasn’t just his words. It was everything about him. The way he moved. The way he was always so present, always so dangerously close. It wasn’t just his proximity that made her heart race; it was the way he saw her—like she was the only thing worth looking at in that moment. The way his eyes seemed to strip away every layer of protection she had carefully wrapped around herself, leaving her feeling exposed.

And the hunger in his gaze? It was so damn obvious. So unmistakable.

It was not the hunger of a man looking for power or dominance. No, it was something more intimate. More... personal. It was the hunger of someone who wanted her. Not just her mind, not just her strength or her loyalty. He wanted her. And that realization hit her like a blast of cold air, freezing her in place.

Gods, it was like a fire she couldn’t put out. And she feared it, feared it like nothing else. Because she knew what could happen if she let herself fall for it. If she let herself slip, even just a little, she would burn.

This wasn’t her “Roman Empire”—as she liked to say in a sarcastic little quip to deflect the deeper emotions she wouldn’t let herself admit. She wasn’t some foolish woman, she wasn’t going to let herself become one more casualty of a man’s power. He’s not a man, he’s a monster, she reminded herself. He was the monster.

But as she thought about the way he had stood so close to her, the way his scent had mixed with the air around them, the way his eyes had never strayed from hers for even a second—she couldn’t quite stop herself from wondering: What if she was wrong? What if, just this once, she allowed herself to feel something other than the constant, gnawing need for control?

Gods, please don’t let it be her Roman Empire. She’d rather throw herself into a fire than let him be that for her.

She had been pulled out of her sulking over the discoveries when a soft voice called her name. Turning, she saw none other than Lyra Malfoy. The sight of the girl made her chest tighten—it wasn’t just her striking resemblance to Draco but also the way her presence stirred memories Alexandrina would rather not dwell on. Lyra had Draco’s sharp, aristocratic features, his haughty elegance softened only slightly by a feminine grace. It was as if Draco himself were standing there, reminding Alexandrina of times she’d long tried to forget.

For a moment, Alexandrina hesitated, but she quickly pushed her emotions aside. "Miss Malfoy, what are you doing out of your dorm so late? It’s barely half an hour before curfew starts."

Lyra smiled shyly, tucking a stray strand of platinum hair behind her ear. "I know, Professor, but… I really wanted to talk to you about something. It’s important. If you don’t mind, could we have a quick chat?"

The sweetness in her voice melted Alexandrina’s heart. She had always found it hard to resist her students, but Lyra had an innate charm that made her especially endearing. Lyra was also, according to Alexandrina’s knowledge of this timeline, particularly close to Alex Evans—the persona Alexandrina had adopted.

"Of course, my dearest," Alexandrina replied warmly, motioning for Lyra to follow her. "Come to my office, and we’ll talk."

Once inside the cozy room, Alexandrina brewed a quick cup of tea, handing it to Lyra as they both settled into chairs. The gentle clink of the teacup in its saucer broke the silence before Alexandrina spoke.

"Now, speak, child. What’s on your mind?"

Lyra hesitated for only a moment, then met Alexandrina’s gaze with determination. "I’ve been thinking… I want to pursue a mastery in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Alexandrina raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. "A mastery in Defense Against the Dark Arts? That’s quite ambitious, Lara."

Lyra tilted her head, a small smirk playing on her lips. "I’m a Malfoy, Professor. What else would you expect?"

The proud answer brought a smile to Alexandrina’s lips, a nostalgic ache pulling at her heart. It was so very Draco—a mixture of pride, confidence, and the unspoken need for validation.

"Touché," Alexandrina replied with a chuckle. "Ambition suits you, Lyra. Tell me, what draws you to this path?"

Lyra’s face softened, her smirk replaced by a thoughtful expression. "I want to be prepared for anything, Professor. This world… it’s not always kind, and I want to be strong enough to protect the people I care about. Defense Against the Dark Arts feels like the first step."

Alexandrina nodded, her respect for the girl deepening. "That’s a noble goal. If you’re serious about this, I’ll do everything I can to help you prepare. But know that it’s not an easy path—it requires discipline, determination, and sometimes sacrifice."

Lyra’s silver-gray eyes gleamed with resolve. "I understand, Professor. I’m ready for it."

"Good," Alexandrina said with a nod. "Then let’s get started. We’ll discuss a plan during your free time, and I’ll recommend some advanced texts for you to study. But for now, you should head back to your dorms, it's already pretty late, I'll give you a pass so that you aren't caught!"

Lyra smiled, finishing the last sip of her tea before standing. "Thank you, Professor. I won’t let you down."

As Lyra left, Alexandrina leaned back in her chair, a small smile lingering on her face. The girl’s drive and determination were admirable, but what struck Alexandrina most was her heart—a heart that reminded her of someone she’d once known, loved, and protected fiercely.

That was how the night had ended, on a perfectly good note, with her first Mastery student lined up. Alexandrina had been quite excited as she drifted off to sleep, a sense of accomplishment filling her. Little did she know, however, what awaited her the very next day. It was going to be a day that would create a mess—one she couldn’t yet imagine. But for now, that wasn’t something she had to worry about. Not that she realized it yet.

The morning came crashing in with the subtle grace of a Hippogriff in a china shop. Alexandrina had barely managed to hold it together as she made her way to the office, her patience already stretched thin by the weight of the world—or, more accurately, by the weight of her new, highly unpredictable life as a Professor, she was really starting to understand why Snape was frustrated all the time, dunderheads, the lot of them And now, here she was, preparing tea for an absolute mess of a situation she would rather avoid entirely.

The office was cloaked in an uneasy quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. Alexandrina stood by her desk, her hands carefully arranging two cups of tea. Her movements were smooth, almost methodical, but her grip on the teapot betrayed her simmering rage. It was the only outlet she allowed herself for now—anything more would set fire to the room, to the castle, to the entire world.

Lyra Malfoy sat hunched in the chair across from her, her face pale, her hands trembling as she clutched a cup Alexandrina had placed in front of her moments earlier. Alexandrina studied her out of the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable. The sight of the girl—so determined to carve her own path, so spirited despite her family’s weight—sitting there, crushed and fragile, made Alexandrina’s fury burn hotter than Fiendfyre.

She finally turned to face Lyra, leaning back against the desk with her arms crossed. "So," she began, her voice low and clipped, "would you like to tell me exactly what happened? And please—don’t leave out any details. I find I’ve developed an unfortunate distaste for ambiguity this morning."

Lyra hesitated, her lips trembling as she struggled to find the words. Alexandrina’s gaze didn’t waver; it pinned her in place with the kind of calm intensity that could flay a person alive. The girl took a shaky breath and began to recount the incident in halting words, her voice cracking as she spoke of Brutus Weasley’s grotesque attempt at… what? Seduction? Alexandrina’s jaw tightened, but her expression didn’t change. She let Lyra finish, her silence stretching longer than it needed to, deliberate and oppressive.

When Lyra finally fell silent, Alexandrina’s eyes flicked toward the corner of the room. Brutus was still lying there, crumpled on the cold stone floor like a discarded rag doll. A faint, humorless smile curved her lips—a smile so cold it could have frozen fire.

"I see," she murmured, her tone as dry as parchment. "It seems Mr. Weasley has an… interesting interpretation of courtship. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. That level of stupidity doesn’t just happen overnight—it’s clearly a family tradition."

Lyra’s lips twitched into a weak, involuntary smile, though tears still glistened in her eyes. Alexandrina uncrossed her arms and stepped closer, crouching slightly so she was at eye level with the girl. Her movements were slow, measured, and yet they held an edge, as though the wrong word might shatter her composure entirely.

"Listen to me," Alexandrina said, her voice soft now, but with an undercurrent of steel that made it impossible to ignore. "This—what he did—is not your fault. It doesn’t matter what he said, what he thought, or what absurd little fantasies he had spinning around in that empty skull of his. You are not to blame. And I promise you, Lyra, he will regret this. Deeply. Profoundly. Permanently."

Lyra’s tears broke free again, and she reached out, clutching Alexandrina’s sleeve as though it were the only solid thing in a world collapsing around her. Alexandrina didn’t flinch. She didn’t soften. Instead, she gently placed a hand over Lyra’s and squeezed, her touch firm and grounding.

"Now," Alexandrina said briskly, straightening and smoothing down her robes, "we’re going to do this properly. No half-measures. No leniency. Hogwarts might be a place of learning, but there are some lessons that require a far sterner hand."

She waved her wand, summoning a house-elf, who appeared with a soft pop, their wide eyes immediately darting to Alexandrina’s face. Whatever they saw there made them shrink back slightly.

"Fetch Professor Slughorn," Alexandrina said, her voice as cool and crisp as winter air. "Tell him it’s urgent. And inform him that I’ll expect his presence here in no more than five minutes."

The elf disappeared instantly, and Alexandrina turned back to Lyra. "Do you have someone you’d like to call? A family member, perhaps?"

Lyra nodded shakily. "My brother. Abraxas. He’s in Hogsmeade."

"Good," Alexandrina said, nodding once. She pulled a jar of Floo Powder from the mantel and set it on the table in front of Lyra. "Go ahead, then. Take your time."

As Lyra moved to the fireplace, Alexandrina returned her attention to Brutus’s crumpled form. She tilted her head, studying him with a clinical detachment that was far more unsettling than open hostility.

"You poor, unfortunate fool," she murmured under her breath. Her voice was so quiet that no one could have heard her, but the contempt dripping from each word was tangible. "You really have no idea what you’ve unleashed, do you?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ANY GUESS ON WHAT BRUTUS THE FOOL DID?

TENSIONS ARE RISING AND YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, UNRAVELING EMOTIONS AND SECRETS.

WHAT DO YOU THINK IS GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT?

HOW DO YOU THINK BOTH TOM'S ARE GOING TO REACT? AND WHAT ABOUT LITTLE'S TOM'S MISSION?

LOVE YOU ALL

XOXO

YOUR AUTHOR

AnjaniManda8