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    Summary

    “You smell divine, Professor,” Harry heard Riddle growl, his eyes fluttering open to stare intensely into Harry’s own, breath fanning across Harry’s lips.

    The boy’s pupils were blown—the black so intense that Harry could not discern where the chocolate of the boy’s irises began and where they ended. Harry felt like he was being swallowed up by the gaze, a hunger so thick in them that Harry could only gape.

    And then Harry recalled just what the potion was meant to do.

    Oh Merlin no.

    “I can practically taste you on my tongue.”

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