The library was nearly empty, the air thick with the scent of parchment and candle smoke. Curfew was an hour past, but that never seemed to bother Tom Riddle.

He sat at one of the corner tables, sleeves rolled, quill moving in quick, precise motions as he annotated a page that already looked like it belonged in the Restricted Section.

Amora hesitated at the end of the aisle. She’d come here to study, she always came here to study, but she hadn’t expected anyone else to be here. Especially not him.

“Riddle,” she said quietly, setting her stack of history books down across from him.

He looked up, dark eyes flicking toward her. “Amora,” he greeted, voice smooth and measured. “Should I assume you’re breaking rules for the sake of knowledge too?”

She smiled faintly, sliding into the seat across from him. “I’d say that’s the only acceptable reason.”

His quill paused midair, then he smirked, just slightly. “I’m beginning to think you were sorted into the wrong House.”

“Ravenclaw is perfectly fine for me,” she said. “Not everyone wants power for its own sake.”

Tom tilted his head, curiosity sparking behind his composed expression. “And what do you want?”

Amora met his gaze evenly. “Understanding. Answers. To know how things work, why people do what they do.”

He studied her for a long moment, eyes unreadable. “You sound like you want to dissect the world.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, lips quirking. “You sound like you want to control it.”

He didn’t deny it. “Control is a form of understanding.”

“Or a fear of the lack of it,” she countered, flipping open her book.

For the first time, his calm faltered, just slightly. Then he leaned back, intrigued, and watched her continue her book with her quill making notes.