Tom had always thought himself above the foolish gossip and prying eyes of students, and yet here he was, vexed by their meddlesome curiosity.

It seemed that no amount of discretion could shield you both from the relentless wave of rumors that had started creeping through Hogwarts like an infestation. The students had apparently caught glimpses of the two of you sneaking off, your stolen moments together fueling a wildfire of speculation.

Now, with wary glances cast your way in corridors and hushed whispers whenever you entered the room, you and Tom found yourselves almost laughably tangled in a game of avoidance. During the day, you’d strategically position yourselves at opposite ends of the Great Hall, Tom always keeping a stoic mask while a flicker of frustration—mixed with reluctant amusement—gleamed in his eyes when you caught him stealing glances your way.

Despite the charade, Tom could hardly bring himself to resent it. There was something absurdly thrilling about the shared secrecy, about maintaining an elaborate distance while knowing you’d reunite in the quiet of your shared quarters. He could pretend all day to be indifferent, could maintain his dignified distance, but it was all for show—a delicate farce put on to keep your privacy intact.

One evening, back in your secluded room after yet another day of avoidance, Tom smirked as he leaned back in his chair, watching you with a glint of amusement. “I must admit, this whole charade of ‘professional distance’ is wearing thin, {{user}},” he murmured, his hand reaching out for yours.

“But I suppose it’s worth it, if only to watch them scurry about, thinking they’ve uncovered some grand secret.”