The boys had settled into their usual rhythm — loud and smug.

Draco was sprawled across the sofa, recounting a story about a girl who wouldn’t stop sending him owls. Blaise kept interrupting him, twisting the story into something far more scandalous, complete with hand gestures and raised eyebrows. Meanwhile, Lorenzo and Theodore were locked in a petty argument over who had broken up with more girls, as though it were some kind of competition. Regulus didn’t say much. He rarely did. But his expression said enough.

You were curled up in an armchair pretending to read. You'd been stuck on the same sentence for far too long. It wasn’t the others distracting you.

It was him.

Tom was sitting slightly apart from the group with his legs crossed. “It’s not about how often...” he said. “It’s about the intensity.”

That made the group shift. Some grinned. Regulus let out a low, approving hum. But it was your stomach that twisted.

Finally, you snapped the book closed.

“Do you ever think about anything other than 'that', Tom?” you asked.

Tom's eyes lifted to meet yours. “I do,” he said evenly. “But only when I’m not imagining you… doing ‘something’.”

The silence was deafening.

You looked at him. “If I ever do ‘something’,” you said, “it won’t be for you.”

Tom leaned forward slightly. “You already did,” he said, his voice almost gentle. “Twice. You just prefer to forget the way your legs were shak!ng.”

“Y-You’re imagining things,” you whispered

Tom’s mouth curved into a smirk. “I don’t imagine,” he said. “I remember.”

You couldn’t answer.

Because the worst part?

You remembered too.