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GILDEROY LOCKHART WAS, WITHOUT A DOUBT, ONE OF THE MOST PECULIAR PROFESSORS ROSIE HAD EVER ENCOUNTERED.

From the moment he waltzed into the classroom, his dazzling smile and theatrical presence left an impression that was hard to ignore. Rosie, however, remained unconvinced by his charm. She prided herself on being fair-minded and willing to give new teachers the benefit of the doubt, but something about Lockhart unsettled her. Perhaps it was the endless stream of anecdotes about his supposed heroic exploits, each one more outlandish than the last, or maybe it was the way his perfectly styled hair seemed to glisten unnaturally under the classroom lights. Whatever it was, Rosie couldn't shake the feeling that Lockhart was more showman than scholar.

She tried not to let her suspicions cloud her judgement. After all, Defence Against the Dark Arts was a subject she respected deeply. It was fascinating, complex, and above all, essential for survival in a world where danger often lurked in unexpected places. Rosie had spent countless evenings in the library, buried in tomes detailing dark curses, forbidden spells, and counter-jinxes. The idea of being unprepared in the face of danger terrified her, so she made it her mission to be as knowledgeable as possible. She didn't just want to pass the class — she wanted to master it.

But Lockhart's lessons left her feeling frustrated. Instead of delving into defensive techniques or practical applications, he seemed more interested in reliving his so-called adventures. He spent more time signing autographs than teaching spells, and Rosie couldn't help but notice how easily he deflected difficult questions. Whenever a student asked for clarification or challenged one of his claims, Lockhart would smile brightly and spin the conversation back to himself. It was infuriating.

What bothered Rosie most, however, was the effect Lockhart had on the rest of the class. Many of her classmates, particularly the girls, hung on his every word, their eyes wide with admiration. They giggled at his jokes and praised his talent, even when his demonstrations failed spectacularly. Rosie tried to focus on the lessons, but it was hard to ignore the nagging suspicion that their professor wasn't nearly as competent as he wanted them to believe.

Despite her reservations, Rosie resolved to make the best of the situation. She took diligent notes, practiced spells on her own time, and sought out additional reading material whenever she felt Lockhart's lessons fell short. She couldn't control who taught the class, but she could control how much effort she put into learning. Rosie knew that knowledge was power — and in a world filled with dark magic and hidden threats, she was determined to be prepared for whatever came her way.

As Rosie sat in class, doing her best to tune out Lockhart's endless rambling, Stacey leaned over and nudged her, whispering far too loudly in hear ear, "Just imagine how attractive he must've been when he was younger. I mean, he's still hot now, but god —"

Rosie barely managed to stifle an eye roll. Stacey had been her friend for as long as she could remember, but sometimes, their priorities couldn't be more different. While Rosie was deeply focused on her studies, Stacey had always been more boy-orientated and loved a good party. It wasn't that Rosie didn't care about having fun, but there was a time and a place for everything, and Defence Against the Dark Arts class certainly wasn't it.

"What are you talking about, Stace?" Rosie asked, trying not to sound too exasperated as she shot her friend a quick glance.

"You weren't even listening, were you?" Stacey replied, folding her arms and giving Rosie a pointed look that only deepened Rosie's annoyance.

Rosie sighed, closing her textbook briefly, "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I was saying," Stacey began, her tone slightly irritated, "how absolutely gorgeous Lockhart is. Honestly, I bet he was a heartbreaker back in his day. Probably had girls falling over themselves for him. I mean, look at him now. That smile! Those robes!"

Rosie didn't bother to hide her lack of interest. As much as she adored Stacey, Rosie could not care less about how attractive her friend found Lockhart. In fact, she thought the man's constant bragging made him significantly less appealing. Her thoughts began to drift again, her attention half-pulled back to Lockhart, who was in the middle of another elaborate story about how he single-handedly defeated a banshee in Ireland. Rosie doubted the tale's authenticity but kept that opinion to herself.

Before she could lose herself completely in her own thoughts, Stacey interrupted again, "Why is Tom looking over here?"

Rosie blinked and followed Stacey's gaze. Sitting a few rows back, Tom was indeed staring at her. His piercing eyes seemed to cut right through her, and though she tried not to let it show, Rosie felt a shiver of unease run down her spine. Tom Riddle wasn't the kind of person you wanted attention from. He was charismatic, yes, but there was an underlying darkness to him that left Rosie wary, and yet, he always seemed to find a way to focus on her when she least expected it.

"I have no idea," Rosie said with a shrug, doing her best to dismiss the unsettled feeling twisting in her stomach. She turned back to her textbook, pretending to be engrossed in its contents, though it was difficult to focus when he mind kept drifting.

Lockhart, oblivious to everything else happening in the room, continued to drone on about his so-called achievements, his voice filling the classroom. Rosie tried her hardest to concentrate, but her patience was wearing thin. As much as she wanted to enjoy Defence Against the Dark Arts, she was starting to lose hope that they'd actually learn anything useful this year. Between Lockhart's endless stories and Tom's unnerving attention, Rosie couldn't shake the feeling that this class was going to be far more complicated than she'd anticipated.

The classroom buzzed with quiet whispers and stifled giggled as Lockhart's exaggerated gestures and tales dominated the air. Rosie glanced around, her sharp brown eyes noting how most of the girls sat spellbound, their gazes fixed on the professor. A small smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. Her skepticism of him had simmered beneath the surface for weeks, and now, without fully thinking, she raised her hand.

Lockhart's animated recount of battling a banshee faltered as he noticed her. He turned with a gleaming smile, his teeth practically sparkling under the enchanted classroom lights, "Yes, Miss —?"

"Rosalia," she replied coolly, her voice steady even as every head in the room turned toward her. The air grew tense, the faint scribbling of quills ceasing entirely. Tom let out an audible scoff, likely amused by her choice to use her formal name.

Lockhart's grin widened, delighted by the attention, "Rosalia, what a lovely name! What can I do for you, my dear?"

Rosie leaned back slightly, her posture relaxed but her tone sharp. "What exactly can you teach us about dark curses?" The question hung in the air like a dropped pin, the boldness of her words striking a chord of shock through the room.

"Rosie," Stacey hissed in disbelief, elbowing her hard enough to jostle her. Rosie barely managed to keep her balance, but she didn't flinch. She kept her eyes locked on Lockhart, who, for the first time since class began, appeared slightly rattled.

"Well, er ... dark curses, you say?" Lockhart stammered, adjusting his absurdly vibrant robes. "Why, of course! My experience in the field is unparalleled, as you know. The Dark Force Defence League —"

Rosie cut him off, her eyebrow arching, "So you've personally encountered dark curses? Fought them? Cured them?" Her voice remained steady, though the weight of the classroom's collective attention pressed down on her. A ripple of whispers began to spread, punctuated by stifled laughter from the back, where Tom sat. Rosie didn't need to turn around to know he was enjoying every second of her pointed interrogation.

Lockhart's forced smile twitched, "Why, naturally! I've faced all manner of —"

"Could you share a specific example?" Rosie pressed, her tone polite but unwavering.

Lockhart sputtered, fumbling for an answer, before he cleared his throat loudly, his bravado returning, "Miss Hart, if you're so inclined, perhaps you'd like to demonstrate your grasp of Defence Against the Dark Arts? I'm certain your classmates would benefit from such a show."

Rosie froze, her mind briefly racing. "Fine," she said finally, standing and making her way to the front of the room. She could feel the stares of her classmates, but she kept her steps measured and steady.

"Mr Riddle," Lockhart called, his tone overly chipper, "why don't you assist Miss Hart?"

Rosie's stomach twisted as Tom stood, his movements deliberate, his expression one of amusement mixed with intrigue. He sauntered to the front, his dark eyes meeting hers as he drew his wand.

"Don't worry, Doll," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with mockery. "I'll be gentle."

Rosie clenched her jaw. "Don't call me that," she muttered, raising her wand and squaring her shoulders.

Tom's smirk widened, and with a lazy flick of his wand, he cast a non-verbal spell. Rosie reacted instantly, her shield charm materialising just in time to deflect the spell. It ricocheted harmlessly, but the force of her defence left an audible hum in the air. A flicker of surprise crossed Tom's face before he masked it.

"That the best you've got?" Rosie challenged, her confidence surging.

"Not even close," Tom replied, his voice quieter now, more focused. His next spell came faster, more precise. Rosie's shield held, but she could feel the tension in her arm from the force of it. The two continued their silent duel, the classroom falling into awed silence as spell as spell collided with Rosie's barriers. Tom's movements grew sharper, his attacks more calculated, yet she met each with precision.

Finally, Tom lowered his wand, his expression as he nodded slightly, "Impressive."

Rosie raised her chin, her breathing steady despite the faint tremor in her arm, "I told you, there's a lot you don't know about me."

Tom's lips twitched into a faint smirk, though his gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he turned and walked back to his seat. Rosie followed suit, her heartbeat slowing as she sat down, avoiding Stacey's wide-eyed stare.

For the rest of the lesson, Rosie kept her eyes on her textbook, but her mind churned with the strange undercurrent that had passed between her and Tom. The tension, the unspoken challenge — it left her uneasy, yet inexplicably exhilarated.

When the class finally came to an end, Rosie wasted no time packing up her books. She shoved her quill into her bag and slipped out of the classroom before Lockhart could corner her with another one of his self-aggrandising stories. Her shoes clicked against the stone floor as she hurried down the corridor, hoping to avoid any lingering stares or whispered comments about her confrontation with the professor, but just as she turned a corner, a voice called out behind her.

"Rosalia."

She froze mid-step, her spine stiffening at the sound of her name in that familiar, smooth tone. Turning slowly, she found herself face-to-face with Tom. He leaned casually against the wall, his wand twirling between his fingers, but there was something calculated about the way his eyes fixed on her.

"What do you want, Tom?" Rosie asked, crossing her arms. She kept her voice steady, though her pulse quickened under his intense gaze.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied her, his expression unreadable, before finally speaking. "Why did you ask about dark curses?" His voice was even, yet there was an unmistakeable edge of curiosity — maybe even suspicion — beneath it.

Rosie arched a brow, feigning indifference, "Why not? I just wanted to see if Lockhart had anything worth teaching. Not that it matters, considering he's clearly a fraud."

Tom's lips twitched, almost as if wanted to smirk but restrained himself, "You didn't ask because you wanted answers. You asked to see how he'd react."

"And what if I did?" Rosie shot back. "Why do you care?"

"I don't." His reply was immediate, too smooth, and yet something in his voice — something calculated and sharp — told her he wasn't being entirely truthful.

They stared at each other for a moment, and for the briefest second, Rosie thought she caught a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. Curiosity? Amusement? She couldn't tell. Whatever it was, it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

Without another word, Rosie turned and walked away, her steps brisk as she headed toward the Great Hall. She tried not to think about the way Tom's gaze lingered on her, but the echo of his voice stuck with her, needling at her thoughts.

When she entered the Great Hall, the clamour of voices and clinking of goblets washed over her. Her eyes instinctively scanned the Hufflepuff table until she spotted Genevieve animatedly chatting with a friend. Rosie smiled and gave a small wave, earning a cheerful grin and wave in return.

Her gaze drifted over to the Slytherin table as she walked over to the table to sit down, landing on her younger brother, Oliver. Unlike Genevieve, Oliver barely acknowledged her presence, his focus firmly fixed on the plate in front of him. Rosie hesitated, her smile faltering. The strained relationship between them had never fully healed, and she doubted it ever would. Years of misunderstandings and mistrust had created a chasm that neither of them seemed willing — or able — to cross. She wished it were different, but Oliver had always been guarded, distant in ways that Genevieve never was.

"Alright, what was that all about?" Stacey's voice snapped Rosie out of her thoughts. Her friend slid into the seat across from her, leaning forward with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes.

Rosie blinked, reaching for her goblet of pumpkin juice, "What was what about?"

"You know exactly what I mean," Stacey pressed. "That little stunt in class. You practically humiliated Lockhart in front of everyone."

Rosie shrugged, taking a sip before setting the goblet down, "I just don't believe a word that man says. For someone who's supposed to be an expert, he couldn't even give me a straight answer."

Stacey raised an eyebrow, "And since when are you so interested in dark curses? Or do you just like picking fights with professors now?"

"I'm interested in learning," Rosie said firmly, leaning back in her seat. "Real learning, not fairy tales wrapped in vanity. If Lockhart's the best Hogwarts can offer, we're all in trouble."

"Alright, Miss-Know-It-All," Stacey teased, though there was a hint of unease in her voice. "Just don't go getting yourself into trouble. You know the Defence Against the Dark Arts position is cursed. No professor ever lasts more than a year. Maybe Lockhart's just another placeholder."

"Or maybe Hogwarts needs someone who actually knows what they're doing," Rosie replied before she glanced down the Slytherin table.

Sure enough, Tom was further down the table, seated among some of their housemates, but his focus wasn't on them. It was on her. His sharp, calculating eyes followed her movements, and Rosie felt an unwelcome shiver crawl down her spine.

"Speaking of trouble," Stacey muttered, noticing Tom's gaze. "He's still staring at you."

Rosie quickly turned back to her plate, pretending to focus on her food, but her mind was elsewhere. She had given up trying to get close to Tom years ago. He had made it clear, more than once, that he wasn't interested in forming friendships — or relationships of any kind. His walls were too high, his demeanour too cold, but now, something had shifted.

The way he looked at her wasn't the same as before. It wasn't disinterest. It wasn't even amusement. It was something else entirely — something Rosie couldn't define, and it unsettled her.

"Let him stare," Rosie said quietly, though she didn't sound as confident as she wanted to. She forced herself to look up, meeting Tom's gaze across the table.

He didn't look away.

Neither did she.

Rosie's heart thudded in her chest as the unspoken tension between her and Tom stretched across the Slytherin table. She held his gaze for several seconds, refusing to be the first to look away, but her confidence wavered under the weight of his sharp, calculating eyes. There was something about the way he studied her — like she was a puzzle he was determined to solve — and it made her stomach twist in ways she didn't care to admit.

"Rosie." Stacey's voice pulled her back to reality, and Rosie finally dropped her gaze, breaking the invisible battle of wills. She exhaled softly, gripping her fork to ground herself.

"Let him stare," she muttered again, though the words felt more like an attempt to convince herself than anything else.

"Easy for you to say," Stacey replied, leaning closer. "You didn't see the way he looked at you in class. It wasn't normal. It was —" she paused, lowering her voice. "It was like he was impressed."

Rosie frowned, "Impressed?"

"Yeah, and that's what's weird about it." Stacey chewed her lip, glancing down the Slytherin table. "Tom Riddle doesn't get impressed, not by anyone."

Rosie forced a laugh, trying to brush it off, but the unease twisting inside her wouldn't let go. She risked another glance in Tom's direction, only to find that he was no longer watching her. Instead, he leaned closer to one of the boys sitting near him, speaking in hushed tones that made Rosie's skin prickle with suspicion. Whatever they were talking about, it didn't look like idle conversation.

"Maybe he's plotting my untimely demise," Rosie joked, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork.

Stacey rolled her eyes, "Or maybe he just can't figure you out, and let's be honest — neither can I."

"Good." She pushed her plate aside, suddenly losing her appetite, "I'd hate to be predictable. I need some air."

"Rosie —" Stacey began, but Rosie was already moving, weaving through the crowded hall and ignoring the curious stares that followed her. She didn't stop until she reached the cool, empty corridor just outside the hall.

Leaning against the wall, she exhaled and ran a hand through her hair. Her mind kept replaying the way he had asked her about her interest in dark curses. He had seemed ... intrigued, and that bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

"Rosalia."

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. She turned to see Tom emerging from the Great Hall, his expression unreadable but his stride deliberate.

"What now?" Rosie asked, trying to sound annoyed, though her voice came out quieter than she'd intended.

Tom stopped a few paces away, his eyes never leaving hers, "You're avoiding me."

"Maybe I don't like being interrogated."

"Or maybe," Tom countered, "you're afraid of what I might find out."

Tom straightened, squaring her shoulders, "And what exactly do you think you'll find out, Tom?"

His gaze darkened, making Rosie feel uneasy, "i don't know yet, but I will."

She swallowed, refusing to let him see her falter, "Keep looking, then. You won't find anything."

Tom's lips curved into a faint smile — one that sent shivers down her spine, "We'll see."

Without another word, he turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Rosie sitting there with her pulse racing and her thoughts spinning.

She wasn't sure what unnerved her more — Tom's sudden interest in her, or the fact that a small part of her didn't want him to stop.

Rosie stormed into the Advanced Potions classroom after lunch, still replaying her earlier conversation with Tom in her head. She was determined to focus, but as soon as she spotted the empty seat beside her, dread prickled at the back of her neck. She should've known better. Sure enough, moments later, Tom slid smoothly into the chair next to her, setting his books down with an infuriating sense of ownership.

Her eyes narrowed, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Taking my seat," he replied casually, leaning back as though he belonged there.

Rosie crossed her arms, "It's not your seat."

"It is now." Tom tilted his head slightly, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes.

Before Rosie could argue further, the door creaked open, and Professor Snape swept into the room, his robes billowing behind him. The room fell silent instantly as Snape made his way to the front, his sharp gaze sweeping over the students.

"Settle down," he said in his cold, clipped tone. "The person sitting beside you will be your partner for the remainder of the year. Choose wisely — though, given the seating arrangements I see, many of you have already made your decisions."

Rosie's stomach dropped. She didn't need to look to know Tom was smirking beside her.

"Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath.

"Don't sound so disappointed, Doll," Tom whispered, leaning just close enough to make her skin prickle. "I'm not thrilled about this either."

"Then why did you sit here?" She hissed.

"Because I knew it would bother you," he answered smoothly, flashing her a wicked grin.

Rosie clenched her jaw, turning her focus to Snape as he began explaining their first assignment — brewing a highly complex poison antidote. She straightened in her seat. This was her chance to prove she was more than capable, partner or not.

"I'll get the ingredients," she said curtly, pushing back her chair and stalking toward the storage cupboard.

When she returned, Tom had already set up their cauldron and lit the fire beneath it. For a brief, fleeting moment, Rosie felt impressed by his efficiency, but she quickly pushed the thought aside.

"Here," she said, setting the ingredients down.

They began working in tense silence at first, each movement precise and deliberate, but as the steps grew more complicated, the inevitable bickering began.

"You're adding it too quickly!" Rosie snapped, slapping Tom's hand away from the vial he was pouring.

Tom arched a brow, clearly enjoying her frustration, "And you're being too cautious. Potions require intuition, Rosalia. Something you apparently lack."

"I follow the instructions because they're there for a reason!"

"And yet, I'm the one who's been ahead of you this entire time."

Rosie's eyes flashed dangerously, "You're infuriating."

Tom smirked, "And you're predictable."

Despite the tension between them, their potion steadily took form, its shimmering emerald hue a sign of near perfection. Rosie hated how effortlessly they fell into rhythm — how their talents seemed to complement each other.

When Snape finally approached their table, his sharp gaze scanned their work. He didn't say a word at first, but Rosie saw the faintest flicker of approval in his expression.

"Perfectly executed," he said at last, his voice low but firm. "Five points to each of you. I expect the same level of precision moving forward."

Rosie exhaled slowly, feeling both relief and satisfaction, but before she could fully enjoy the moment, Tom leaned in and murmured, "Told you so."

She shot him a withering glance, "Don't get used to this. It doesn't mean we're friends."

Tom's smirk deepened, "Who said anything about friendship?"

Rosie bristled, turning away from him and focusing on cleaning up their station, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease — or the irritating thought that working with Tom might not be the disaster she'd expected.

As students began packing up, Rosie hurried to gather her things, eager to escape, but just as she reached the door, Tom's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"You know, Rosalia," he said, his tone lighter than before, "for someone who claims to hate working with me, you didn't seem too upset when we got top marks."

She spun around, eyes narrowing, "Don't push your luck, Riddle."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, his expression maddeningly unreadable.

Rosie didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. She turned on her heel and strode out of the classroom, her heart pounding faster than she wanted to admit.

By the time classes were over, Rosie felt utterly drained. The weight of the day's tension — from Lockhart's ridiculous lesson to her infuriating partnership with Tom in Potions — pressed down on her. She made her way to the Great Hall for dinner, but even the lively chatter and clinking of silverware couldn't distract her from the lingering frustration. After picking at her food, she decided she needed something more soothing to clear her head. The Prefects' bathroom was calling her name, promising a long, warm soak to melt the stress away.

Rosie didn't waste time. She slipped out of the Great Hall and headed straight for the bathroom, grateful for the perks of being a Prefect. The massive, enchanted tub with its dozen of taps was one of her favourite retreats, and tonight, she needed it more than ever. She closed the door behind her, sighing in relief at the quiet solitude, not realising she had not locked the door behind her. After turning on a few taps, releasing streams of scented bubbles and colourful water, she began undressing, already imagining the comfort of sinking into the steaming bath.

But just as she stripped off her last article of clothing, the door creaked open.

Rosie froze. Before she could react, Tom stepped into the room like he owned the place.

Her eyes went wide in horror. "What the hell, Tom?!" She screeched, scrambling to grab the nearest towel and wrapping it tightly around herself.

Tom's smirk was immediate, sharp and smug as his gaze swept over her. "Relax, Princess," he drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe, "Did you forget that I have access to this bathroom too?"

Rosie's face burned. Her grip on the towel tightened as she glared at him, "That doesn't mean you can just barge in!"

His eyes glinted with amusement, "You didn't lock the door properly. That's hardly my fault."

"You're impossible," she snapped, taking a defensive step back as if it would put more distance between them. "Get out!"

Tom didn't budge. Instead, he took a step closer, his tall frame making her feel even more vulnerable. "Why do you always get so flustered around me?" He asked, his voice low and teasing.

"I am not flustered!" She shot back, her voice betraying her as it wavered slightly.

Tom's smirk widened, "Right, and you're definitely not blushing either."

Rosie scowled, her cheeks heating even more, "Why are you even here? Don't you have your own bathroom in the Slytherin dorms?"

"I prefer this one," he replied smoothly, his tone far too self-assured. "It's bigger, nicer, and far more entertaining, apparently."

Her jaw clenched, "Entertaining?"

Tom chuckled and took a step back, finally seeming to sense that he'd pushed her far enough. "Calm down, Rosalia. I'll leave you to your bath." He turned toward the door but paused just before exiting, "Oh, and you might want to double-check the lock next time. Just a suggestion."

Before Rosie could even think of a retort, he slipped out the door, leaving her standing there, clutching her towel and fuming.

It took her several minutes to compose herself. Even as she finally sank into the warm water, her thoughts refused to settle. Tom Riddle had an uncanny ability to get under her skin, and the worst part was that he seemed to enjoy it.

After her bath, Rosie threw on her pyjamas and returned to her dormitory, determined to put the entire incident behind her. She grabbed one of Lockhart's books, and flopped onto her bed, hoping it would distract her, but as she flipped through the pages, her frustration with Lockhart resurfaced.

The more she read, the more inconsistencies she noticed in his stories. Dates didn't line up, events felt exaggerated, and his accounts of battling dangerous creatures seemed too rehearsed to be genuine. She couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that there was more to his so so-called accomplishments than he let on.

Rosie set the book down, staring at the ceiling. Lockhart was hiding something. She was sure of it.

Her mind buzzed with questions. Was he lying about his past? If so, why? And how had no one else noticed? She couldn't be the only to see through him — could she?

Determined to find answers, Rosie made a mental note to start digging deeper. She'd visit the library tomorrow, comb through old records, and see what she could uncover about Lockhart's past.

But even as she planned, her thoughts drifted back to Tom. His smug expression, the way he'd looked at her in the bathroom — it lingered far longer than she wanted it to.

Rosie shook her head and turned out the light. Lockhart was the mystery she needed to solve. Tom Riddle was just a distraction — a frustrating, arrogant distraction.

At least, that's what she told herself as she drifted off to sleep, but even in her dreams, she couldn't quite escape the sharp, knowing gleam in his eyes. 

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Let me tell you one thing, Rosie dislikes Lockhart even more than she dislikes Tom at this present moment 🤣

Enjoy! Xo

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