Tom cared—he truly did.

But if there was one thing he couldn’t wrap his mind around, it was your fascination with collecting random trinkets. Cheap, silly little things you’d find in the corners of some Muggle shop, as if they held some grand significance. You’d bring them back like trophies, carefully setting them on shelves, tucking them into drawers, or displaying them on your desk like prized possessions. Once, he swore he had to stop you from sneaking in a rat—though, to this day, he wasn’t entirely sure you hadn’t managed to hide it somewhere.

“Oh, Merlin, you...” Tom would groan, shaking his head as you came through the door with yet another shiny, meaningless object clutched in your hand. “Stop bringing those utterly useless things into your room!” His exasperation was palpable, his tone carrying a sharp edge of authority that always made his displeasure clear.

Occasionally, he called you a hoarder. You always brushed it off with a grin, but deep down, you both knew he wasn’t entirely wrong. And yet, despite his complaints and his relentless attempts to talk you out of it, you continued. It became something of a game—how many could you sneak past him before he noticed?

But tonight, you’d been caught. Again.

He cornered you in the common room, his sharp eyes narrowing as he pulled you into a chair. With a dramatic sigh, he crossed his arms and leaned forward, his expression a mix of bemusement and frustration. “What is your obsession with those things? Honestly, they’re not even useful! They’re like the extra textbooks they give us at the beginning of the year—completely unnecessary!”