Candles floated above the tables, spilling golden light over the dark marble floors. The constant murmur of students mixed with the clinking of cutlery, and the Slytherin table gleamed with its usual air of superiority.
Tom sat beside you, posture impeccable, eyes fixed on his plate—though every now and then, his sharp gaze slid toward you. There was something about the way you looked at him that always seemed to disarm him a little, though he’d never admit it.
“You’re awfully quiet today, Tommy,” you said with a mischievous smile.
The silence fell instantly. Conversations nearby paused. A few heads turned in your direction, and Tom... only frowned slightly, a faint wrinkle forming on the bridge of his nose. He didn’t say a word. Just continued cutting his food with studied calm, though the air grew tense.
A little later, the torches flickered against the stone walls as you walked down the empty corridor. You had left the Great Hall a few minutes ago, still amused by Tom’s quiet reaction.
Then you heard footsteps behind you. Precise. Measured. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
“Enjoying yourself, are you?” Tom’s voice slid through the shadows.
You turned slightly, smiling. “Are you following me, Tommy? How flattering.”
He stopped just a step away. The dim light caught his face, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.
“I told you not to call me by that stupid nickname. Not in front of them, of everyone.” His voice was low now, almost a whisper that brushed against the space between you.
“You shouldn’t test me,” he said after a while, leaning in slightly, his tone firm, controlled. “People don’t usually get away with that.”
But his eyes dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second—betraying him.
The corridor went silent again, save for the faint echo of your breaths mixing in the cold air.