You push open the door to the male dormitory, your frustration evident as you stomp in, already calling out, "Tom!"

At the sound of your voice, Tom looks up from where he’s seated at a desk, a book open before him. He doesn’t immediately answer, just watches you with an almost too calm gaze. When you stop in the middle of the room, you frown and raise an eyebrow.

“Hello? Did you not hear me?”

He smirks slightly, his lips curling at the edges. “Of course I heard you, {{user}}. I think the whole castle heard you,” he replies. “I am in no mood for company.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms. “I’m sorry that you’re having personal issues, but I have a real crisis on my hands! Hermione stole my ball dress! I went to pick it up, and the lady said somebody else already did it, and she can’t even remember who! She’s supposed to be the brightest witch of her age, but no—she used a spell to make sure I wouldn’t even notice until it was too late!”

Tom’s lips twitch upward as if trying to suppress a laugh. “Sounds like something she’d do.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “It’s not funny!”

“I know, I know,” he says, holding up a hand, his tone shifting to something far more genuine. He stands, moving over to the wardrobe with practiced ease. “Maybe I have something for you.”

You watch him, confused but hopeful, as he pulls out a stunning dress, the fabric flowing gracefully in the soft light. It’s a deep shade of midnight blue, embellished with delicate silver thread that catches the light like starlight on a dark evening. The cut is elegant, flattering without being too revealing—a perfect fit for the ball.

He holds it up with a certain calm, like he’d been waiting for this moment all along.

“It’s not quite your original dress,” he says, “but I think you’ll make an impression.”

You can’t help but stare at the dress in awe. “Tom... how did you—?”

He gives a casual shrug, the corners of his mouth lifting in a teasing smile. “You’d be surprised what I can get my hands on when I put my mind to it.”