You would watch him as he walked past in the hallway, when he sat with the his friends in the common room, and couldn’t help but be absolutely in love with him.

Tom knew of this little fascination you had with him. He found it funny that a fifth year could be so hopelessly held over heels for an eighth year, and didn’t see why he couldn’t take advantage of it.

He had been speaking to you more frequently, wrapping you around his finger. Tom approached you in the common room one night and leaned over the back of the couch to stare down at what you were reading, his hand placing itself on the crook of your neck to get your heartbeat going and your breathing quickening. "What are you reading?"