Dating Tom is something that’s always been interesting.

Not sweet. Not easy. But interesting.

There’s something fascinating about being loved by someone like him—someone who speaks more in silences than confessions, someone who sees the world like a chessboard and you like the one piece he refuses to risk.

He gives you compliments no one else would dare to call romantic.

"You’re the only reason I haven’t hexed half this school." or "If anyone else spoke to me like that, they’d be unconscious."

Unhinged. All of it. And yet, from him, it felt like the most honest thing in the world.

Tom doesn’t trust people. Not the students, not the professors, not even the walls of Hogwarts. But he says he trusts you.

And you believe him—at least, most of the time.

Tonight, you’d needed space. The castle had felt heavy. Loud. So you slipped out and climbed—past curfews and corridors and corners, until you reached the Astronomy Tower. It had always been your quiet place. A place to breathe.

But when you finally returned to the Slytherin common room, long after most had gone to bed, he was already there.

Sitting in his usual armchair by the fire. One leg crossed. One hand resting over his mouth, elbow on the armrest. Watching the door like he knew you’d come through it eventually.

He didn’t look surprised when he saw you.

“Where have you been?” he asked, voice calm. Too calm.

You hesitate. “Nowhere.”

He studies you for a second, then speaks like he’s stating a fact. “The Astronomy Tower.”

“How—”

“A simple trace charm,” he said, like it was nothing. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You stare at him. “You—Tom, you can’t just trace me without—”

“I need to,” he interrupts gently. “For moments like this.”

You blinked.

“I know you only go to the Astronomy Tower when something’s wrong. You always have. The first time was after that letter from home. The second, after Slughorn humiliated you in front of the class. You think I don’t notice?” His voice lowered, threading with something quieter now. “I always notice.”

You stare at him, unsure what to say—unsure how to feel. There’s a flicker of something in your eyes: disbelief, frustration, something else you can’t name. But he sees it. Of course he does.

He always does.

His gaze softens, only slightly.

Then—without a word—he lifts his hand. Two fingers. A silent command.

“Come here,” he says.