The Room of Requirement felt cozier than usual, its soft firelight wrapping around the two of you like a cocoon. You sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by books and loose parchment, furiously scribbling down notes and flipping through pages. Somewhere amidst the chaos, you had to find the answer to the curse.

Tom, on the other hand, was no help at all.

He sat across from you, legs stretched out, a book open on his lap—but he wasn’t reading it. His attention was entirely fixed on you. His dark eyes, usually cold and calculating, were impossibly soft now, warm in a way you couldn’t reconcile with the Tom Riddle you knew. He wasn’t sneering, wasn’t commanding, wasn’t distant. Instead, he looked… tender, even fond.

You tried to ignore it.

“Stop staring at me,” you muttered, keeping your focus on the book in your hands.

“I’m not staring,” he said, his voice smoother than you’d ever heard it.

You glanced up to shoot him a glare, but the look he gave you in return completely disarmed you. His expression was gentle, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world. Your breath hitched, and you forced yourself to look back down at the page in front of you.

“This curse is ridiculous,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s making you act like this. We just have to find the right counter-spell.”

He moved closer, the sound of his footsteps soft against the floor. Before you could react, he knelt beside you, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. The touch was light, careful, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Tom,” you warned, your voice trembling.

“Yes?” he murmured, his hand lingering for a moment before falling away.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. “This isn’t real,” you said, your words rushed and uneven. “It’s just the curse making you feel this way.”

“Maybe it is,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Or maybe it’s forcing me to feel things I’ve been too afraid to acknowledge.”