Tom watched Hermione as pinned her essay. With her nose to the parchment, her hand covered in black ink, and her hair pulled into a haphazard bun that threatened to pop free, she looked like the most innocent schoolgirl he'd ever seen. Anyone who stopped their analysis there would be fooled, but Tom was not; he knew her well enough now to know that behind her studious image was a girl who was much more than some book-smart teachers pet.
In fact, Tom knew a great deal about Hermione Granger...
He knew that she enjoyed chocolate eclairs more than anything in the world.
He knew she loved all animals a ridiculous amount but preferred cats.
He knew she chewed her lip when she was concentrating.
He knew that if he leaned too close, then she would startle no matter how innocent it was... and that she only did that with him.
Tom had no idea what he needed any of this knowledge for. She knew him too well and he had retaliated by gathering as much knowledge about her as he could. He now found himself in a state of closeness with a girl whose blood was dirtier than even his – not that it mattered, of course, Tom had long ago written her off as an exception to those ideals.
The idea was that the more he learned, the closer he came to figuring out how Hermione Granger knew as much as she seemed to. Hers was a mystery that didn't need to be solved but one that Tom took on simply for the fun of it. Like a treat, he savored each taste of intrigue like a child might slowly devour a rare dessert.
Patience wasn't one of his virtues, but for this he found no need to rush.