Novel & Cerita Professor Tom Riddle

No names. Just a stranger who helped me forget for one night. On Monday morning, I’m five minutes late to Renaissance Art, the elective I’m only taking because David said it would “round out my CV.” I quietly sit in the back row, avoiding everyone’s eyes. My whole body feels tired, and my heart feels empty. The professor is writing on the board with strong, sure strokes, his back turned. “Professor Mateo Sandoval” a student called. He turns around, about to answer the student and our eyes meet.

I chipped away at the golden image everyone saw. But now..now she was slipping through my grasp again. She had the janitor looking at her like she was worth protecting. Like she was the only one worth saving. And worse…the professor. That man. Professor Black. I noticed it. The way his gaze darkened when she entered a room. The way his voice dropped when he spoke her name. That wasn’t a teacher’s look. It wasn’t discipline. It was something primal, something dangerous. Something I wanted for myself.

Any hints of seduction stopped from that point on. Or, at least, the more obvious hints stopped. I still got the stares. I still got the promiscuous flirting. Especially from fucking allison vaughn. Thank god she's out of my class. Finally, “Mr. Keller, may I stay after class to speak to you about the assignment?” Elizabeth Garner, one of Allison's friends, asks me, standing from her seat as the rest of the class begins to pack their bags. “What assignment, Lizzy?” Allison asks her, arms crossed and flames practically coming out of her ears as she stares at her friend in anger.

I quickly opened the school’s forum and began to type. MissCaptainOfAll: I need help ASAP! This is a case that should be handled as an emergency. Does anyone know who the professor handling Data Analytics for year three is? He is somewhat anonymous but I really need to know who he is right now. If you have emails or some type of way to reach him, reply to this post!

“Is the board that bored? How can I be getting summoned for pictures that have most likely been tampered with? Does everyone else get summoned when they use their pictures for memes and stuff?” “We have key witnesses, Miss Harrington.” My false bravado faltered for a second. “And did those key witnesses tell you that the Professor and I were doing student and teacher research? Which is why we were together?” “I’m one of the key witnesses, Miss Harrington.” The man in the middle finally spoke, and unlike others who showed hostility in their tone and facial expressions, he remained neutral. My throat ran dry, he saw us? I can’t remember him. “What do you mean Mr..?”

He was trying to act like he didn't care, but his eyes were full of fire. I reached for my chalkboard. I like the view here, I wrote. Huxley chuckled. "A woman of few words. I like that. But I prefer to hear a lady’s voice. Tell me, is the Professor treating you well? Does he let you leave the house?" I just pointed to the "Junior Fellow" badge on the table. "He’s very protective of his work," Huxley said, looking at Caspian. "Maybe too protective. You know, Blackwood, there are rumors that this isn't a research project at all. People are saying you’re just hiding a scandal."

Soon. If ur freee… les… figure something out. Orr don’t. 8ll unders5and. But… yeah. D I blinked, rereading it twice. “What’s that face?” Lila asked, peering over. “Some drunk guy emailed me.” “Who?” I, grinning now, tilted the screen toward her. “I think Professor Dalton is very drunk… Trying to reach some girl?” Lila giggled. “Or maybe it’s fate. You have secret admirers now.”

Beside him sat a man I had never met before. “This is Professor Daniel Reed from Northlake University,” Dr. Ford said. “He’s the external reviewer for the joint project. Maya, walk him through your research design.” I looked at the man across the table and lost half a second. Daniel Reed was nothing like Ford. Ford was sharp, severe, and impossible to relax around. Reed was quieter, but his presence was harder to ignore. He wore a dark shirt beneath a clean-cut jacket, his sleeves turned back just enough to reveal long fingers and a spare silver watch. He looked composed in the way some people looked dangerous without trying.

“Oo-hello. I plastered a smile on my face and extended my hand to him. A strange electrical energy sizzled along my veins. The air around us suddenly became thick and heavy. My stomach turned, and not from anything I'd eaten. What was happening to me? The patrolman was hot, but he wasn't Tom Hiddleston or anything. Why did I feel as nervous as a doctoral candidate about to defend his thesis? “Welcome to DownMoor Caverns. I'm Allora SanDiir from the University of Loamshire. I would be happy to show you... He looked down at my hand held out in front of him, an expression of cruel disdain crossing his handsome features. “No thanks,” he said, looking me up and down, his frown deepening. “I don't

– he asked one of the spectators “He needed a ride.” – the man in orange shirt said The professor nodded and walked towards Damon. He couldn’t deny it. Seeing what just happened, he knew who the leader of the pack was. It was this man in front of him. And it was his curiosity that wanted to have a connection with this man. “Hello, sir. My name is Professor Jonathan Dela Cruz. I teach Folklore at a university. If you need anything, I’m ready to assist you.” Damon frowned. Folklore?