The dorm was quiet except for the faint crackle of fire in the hearth and the soft scratch of Tom’s quill against parchment. You sat propped against the headboard of his bed, book in hand, though you’d been on the same page for nearly ten minutes.

Across the room, Tom sat at his desk, hunched over a stack of thick tomes. Not textbooks—not the kind Slughorn handed out. These were older, heavier. You’d caught glimpses of their titles before, words that made your stomach twist. Curses. Rituals. Darker things pulled straight from the Restricted Section.

You tried to bury yourself in your own book, but your eyes kept straying to him. To the way his expression never changed—focused, sharp, as if whatever he was reading mattered more than anything else. You’d been dating for three years now. Three years, and still he kept this part of himself locked away from you.

He flipped a page with steady precision. You sighed without meaning to and looked back down at your book.

“Do you need something?” Tom’s voice broke the silence, calm but edged with curiosity. He didn’t even glance up.

“No,” you answered quickly. “I don’t need anything.”

This time, his dark eyes lifted from the page, fixing on you with unnerving accuracy. “Then why did you sigh? I know you, and I know that sound. It means you’re either holding back a question… or something is eating at you. Which is it?”

Your throat tightened. You hesitated, then closed your book with a soft thump. “I’m just… worried about you.”

One brow arched, his interest piqued. Slowly, he set his book aside, giving you his full attention for the first time that evening. “And why is that, darling?”

You straightened, heart beating faster. “I’ve seen the titles of those books, Tom. They’re all about dark magic. Why do you have them?”

For a long moment he didn’t move, didn’t speak—just studied you, as though weighing how much truth to offer. Then he rose, deliberate and graceful, and crossed the room.

The mattress dipped as he sat beside you. His hand lifted, fingers brushing your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His thumb traced lightly along your bottom lip, his touch deceptively gentle.

“Nothing to be concerned about, love,” he murmured, eyes glittering in the low light. “It’s only research. Knowledge. Power.” His smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Surely you wouldn’t deny me that.”

You swallowed, torn between pressing him further and melting into the distraction he was so carefully offering. His gaze held yours, daring you to choose.