You weren’t supposed to follow him. He told you not to.

But lately, Tom had grown colder—always disappearing after curfew, always brushing off your questions with that careful, calculated smile.

So you followed him. Down the dungeons, into the abandoned bathroom. You whispered some Parseltongue on instinct. The sink slid open, stone grinding against stone.

And when you reached the Chamber, breathless and afraid, he was already there. Standing before the serpent statue, his wand glowing faintly.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Not at first.

He turned slowly, his face unreadable—until his eyes met yours.

"You shouldn’t have come."

You flinched at the ice in his voice. But then it cracked, just slightly.

"You never listen," he murmured, stepping closer, his hands clenched. "But you—" his voice broke off for a second, then steadied. "You're the only one who matters. The only one I didn’t want to see this side of me."

His fingers brushed yours.

"And now you know."