Two prefects, imperfect behavior.

Tom was taught to be ruthess, impartial, fair, logical. He learned the hard way, with rough truths and sacrifices. So many that his heart wasn't intact, and instead, it went cold.

He grew up wanting to be the best, and so far, he was it. He wasn't bothered that the other students found him intimidating, as if it was wrong to simply look at him. If he was being sincere, he might even enjoy it, knowing how much influence he had over the others.

Being the prefect of his house always had perks. He was already privileged by being adored by the professors — good behavior, excellent grades, getting whatever he wanted.

Then, of course, he found competition. Which was something he was not used to, since he didn't have anyone to compete against.

He was the best, no questions asked, no further discussion. Until he wasn't anymore.

Tom had never spoken to you in his entire life. You had to reach your last year in Hogwarts for him to notice you, the perfect little student who had the honors of being elected prefect. Now he watched as you took charge, noticed your intelligence, your knowledge, and he absolutely despised it.

He found himself in the library, as the moon and the stars shone in the pitch black darkness that enveloped the school grounds. And there you were, in a lonely corridor... searching.

Tom stopped next to you, hands warmly tucked in the pockets of his long coat.

"Good evening," he said lowly, roughly — not to be sweet. He'd get to the point sooner or later.