There she was again, at his table.
Everyone else knew that Tom preferred the table nearest the Restricted Section. Even the first years were told or warned at some point, because they steered clear. The only one who didn't was the girl currently seated there – she had been told, Tom knew, and she choose to sit there regardless.
To her credit, she was always immersed in writing her assignments or reading some volume thicker than her wrist. Most of the time, he found himself becoming interested in the book she'd chosen. He'd noticed that she studied topics far beyond the scope of what they were learning in class... much in the same way he did, seeming to want to know the theory and the method behind the magic.
The cover of her book this day said, "Time Travel; Methodology and Practicality."
Often, she would shoot him a polite smile as he approached. Sometimes, she would genially inquire on the assignment he was working on. Today, however, she was so engrossed in her reading that she didn't notice him approach, set his books down, and seat himself squarely across from her.
Time was so fickle. He had hardly had any use for it. At least, not yet. Ironically, there weren't enough hours in the day to keep up with classes, cultivate his little group, and study any more recreational topics. At any rate, living forever negated the need to bother with reversing time. If he never died, then he'd have all the time in the world. Still, he wondered what methods the book entailed and what about the topic drew her to it.
Unbidden, he found himself asking, "What rule-abiding Gryffindor studies time travel?"
"You're one to talk," she replied, setting the book down to give him her attention.
"What do you mean?" Tom pretended to look puzzled. He almost didn't have to pretend; the way she looked through him was reminiscent of Dumbledore.
Hermione gestured to one of his books, arching a brow and giving him a knowing smile. He hated the expression instantly.
Thinking back to one of their debates from Potions class, Tom softly opined, "Magic itself is neither light nor dark."
"The intent is all that matters, " she finished for him, nodding. "I agree."
Their agreement on anything seemed to unsettle her, for she gave him a long, troubled stare. When he returned her gaze, she fidgeted and finally mumbled an excuse to leave... something she hadn't done before. Anyone but her could be run off by a dangerous glance from him. She was the exception. Except, apparently, when she wasn't.
Tom felt a peculiar sense of disappointment in that thought.