"Just call me Cho." Cho's smile was soft, her voice as gentle as the morning light. "It really is quite the coincidence. I hardly ever come to the library this early—and then I run into you."
"I don't come here often either," Tom replied, shrugging as he sat across from her. "Madam Pince doesn't like the speed I flip through books. She always thinks I'll ruin them."
Cho couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, I've heard about that. You've earned yourself the nickname 'the page-flipping maniac' of the library."
Tom blinked. "Who's so bored they'd make that up?"
"I don't know for sure… but Marietta told me." Cho lowered her voice and glanced nervously toward the entrance. Sure enough, Madam Pince's hawk-like gaze was locked in their direction.
Leaning forward so Tom could hear her better, Cho let slip a faint fragrance, something light and fresh—different from the sweet perfumes most witches favored.
Tom made a mental note: Marietta. Got it.
"You don't need to whisper," Tom murmured casually. "I put up a Silencing Charm. She can't hear us."
Cho froze, then sat back quickly, her cheeks tinged pink. "You could've told me earlier."
Tom spread his hands innocently. "You didn't ask."
Cho gave him a mock glare. "Riddle, you realize saying things like that will get you punched someday?"
"Unlikely. No one can actually beat me," Tom said matter-of-factly.
It wasn't arrogance—it was simply true. At his current level of power, only a suddenly unhinged Dumbledore could pose a threat. Even Snape had started speaking to him more softly, though Tom suspected that had less to do with fear and more to do with Snape's own calculations.
"Sure," Cho teased, "you even dare hit professors. And since the school rules had no precedent for it, you practically made Hogwarts history."
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Still, I think your version of Journey to the West was more entertaining."
Tom coughed lightly, feeling a flicker of embarrassment. "That was just… an attempt to blend into the culture here."
"Well then, next time Daphne wants to tell the story, don't interrupt her," Cho said knowingly. She had noticed perfectly well that Tom had tried to change the subject that day.
Tom waved it off. "As long as I'm not there, you're free to enjoy whatever you like."
"I never thought I'd get to experience Journey to the West at Hogwarts," she said with a soft laugh.
The way she smiled—gentle, understated—was a stark contrast to the rumors swirling around Tom. After Lockhart's very public beating, students were divided between admiration and fear of him. Rumors painted him as violent, temperamental, dangerous.
But after just two days of speaking to him directly, Cho found the truth far different. He was calm, almost relaxed—even playful at times. Clearly, Hogwarts' rumor mill had exaggerated again.
"I've read more than just Journey to the West, you know," Tom said suddenly. "All of the Four Great Classics, in fact."
Cho tilted her head, intrigued. "Which one's your favorite?"
It was a natural question from a Ravenclaw. Some students ended up in the House because of cleverness, others because of their hunger for knowledge.
Cho liked books—not the way Hermione did, with a relentless hunger for facts, but for the feeling of calm they gave her, the way a story could dissolve time.
They chatted a little longer before Tom finally rose to fetch the books he had come for. From the Restricted Section, he pulled out ten volumes, no more. Wilkinson's pass was valid for a full month—no need to exhaust his quota all at once.
Carrying one particularly old tome on advanced Transfiguration, Tom returned to Cho's table. Neither spoke. They simply sat in companionable silence, reading.
The warm sunlight slanted through the windows, setting Cho's hair aglow like strands of silk. From beyond the library walls, faint cheers echoed—the sound of students dueling Megatron or battling on the giant chessboard.
It was peaceful. Almost too peaceful, Tom thought, save for two irritations: the ban on drinks inside the library, and Madam Pince herself.
What he wouldn't give for a steaming cup of coffee, or some sharp, citrusy potion to sharpen his mind while he read.
And as for Pince—Tom was convinced she suffered from a psychological obsession. Her protection of books bordered on mania. Heaven forbid you flip too quickly, or whisper to a classmate. She demanded absolute silence, as if that were the only proper way to study.
You're a witch, aren't you? Tom thought with irritation. Cast a simple Silencing Charm over one section for absolute quiet, and let the rest be normal. But no—you'd rather dictate the whole library like a tyrant.
When he became Dark Lord—no, when he became Hogwarts' invisible headmaster, the library would be reformed.
Thus ended a tranquil weekend.
When the new week began, McGonagall and Wilkinson wasted no time curbing distractions. The chessboard and Megatron would only be allowed out on weekends.
Still, Wilkinson had earned respect. His performance had proven him a competent professor—at least capable of teaching.
Meanwhile, his lecture on Muggle weaponry—especially firearms—was sparking debate across the castle.
Professor Charity Burbage of Muggle Studies was the first to erupt in protest.
"Do not be alarmed by Professor Wilkinson's fearmongering!" she cried indignantly. "His description of firearms is entirely inaccurate! I have seen them in action—every shot must be reloaded by hand, and a match cord ignited. Their workings resemble potion explosions, primitive and crude!"
She waved a flashlight for emphasis. "Students, what you should focus on in Muggle society are their innovations, such as this—an electric torch!"
Word of her rebuttal reached Wilkinson by evening. He didn't argue. He didn't waste his breath correcting her.
He only smiled—a cold, dismissive smile.
And that very night, without a word to anyone, he left the castle.