After breakfast, Tom returns to the Room of Requirement, entertaining through the door the moment it appears in the wall. He hand no time to waste. He needed the book translated soon, if he wanted to find that spell.

He was thinking about finding a dictionary on the language, before he stops in his tracks. His dark brown, almost onyx, eyes narrowing at the unexpected sight before him: you, asleep in one of the lounge chairs. Again.

Do they ever sleep in their own bed? he thinks silently, as his head tilts.

You lay sprawled comfortably, your hair cascading messily over the arm rest. The book he needed sitting open and forgotten on your lap, its pages slightly crumbled.

Stepping closer, his wand resting comfortably and firmly in his hand; he uses it to gently push back a lock of hair from your face. The movement causing you to stir slightly, a quiet tired breath leaving your lips, but you stay asleep.

Tucking his wand away with a huff, the heir of Slytherin picks up the book from your lap, and closes it with a loud thud. The noise echoing through the large and quiet room, making you startle awake.