The Hogwarts library was supposed to be closed. It wasn’t. Not really.

Candlelight pooled low between the towering shelves, throwing long shadows across rows of ancient spines and dust-heavy tomes. The air smelled like old parchment and ink—quiet, serious, important. The kind of place where secrets felt like they might crawl out of the margins if you stared too long.

You and Tom Riddle had claimed one of the long tables near the back hours ago.

Both of you sat opposite each other, books open, elbows resting on polished wood. Two prodigies. Two minds running faster than the rest of the school could even comprehend. If anyone had walked in, they might’ve thought it was intimidating—too quiet, too focused. Like watching two chess masters mid-game.

Tom looked… composed. As always. Dark hair neat, posture perfect, eyes scanning lines of text with surgical precision. But every so often—so subtle no one else would catch it—his gaze lifted. Just briefly. Just enough to check if you were still there.

You were. Curled slightly forward, completely absorbed, fingers tapping the edge of the page as your brain devoured information faster than most people breathed.

He closed his book softly. Not enough to echo. Just enough to exist.

“You know,” he said casually, breaking the silence like it was nothing, “if you turn three pages ahead, the author contradicts himself.”

You didn’t look up.

Tom waited.

“…Page two-hundred and twelve,” he added, smooth, mildly smug.

That did it.

You finally lifted your head, eyes sharp, interest sparked instantly. “He does not.”

The corner of Tom’s mouth twitched. Victory.

“He does,” he replied, leaning back slightly in his chair, fingers steepled. “It’s subtle. But the theory collapses under its own logic. Sloppy, really.”

You flipped pages fast, scanning, rereading—then paused.

Silence.

Tom watched you carefully now, heartbeat steady but mind buzzing. He lived for moments like this. Not because he was right—but because you were thinking. Because he’d pulled you out of your world and into his.

“…Huh,” you admitted finally, lips pursed. “That’s—annoying.”

His smile was faint. Dangerous. Soft in a way no one else ever saw.

“Disappointing,” he corrected. “I expected better from him.”

You snorted, closing your book halfway. “Merlin, you’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” Tom said lightly, eyes locking onto yours now, “you keep sitting across from me.”

There it was. That look. Intense. Curious. A little too focused for just besties studying late in the library.

You didn’t notice.

You just smiled, shaking your head as you reopened the book. “Only because no one else here can keep up.”

Tom’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

“Oh,” he thought quietly, watching you drop back into your reading like nothing had happened. If only you knew.

The candles flickered. The library stayed silent. And Tom Riddle went right back to pretending his heart wasn’t absolutely losing a war it had never planned to fight.