Chapter 3
I
She was sitting outside in the sun feeling miserable about herself.
Part of her wanted to run after Harry, explain what was going on, that it was all a misunderstanding, but she couldn't. She would probably do the same to him if she had been the one asking him in marriage and he would say no, only to come back one day to see the love of her life standing in a t-shirt with someone half-naked sitting in front of them in their bed.
She took the firewhisky glass to her lips with a sigh.
She would probably do the same, but she wasn't aware of any Dark Lady around for Harry to be caught in bed with.
Sort of in bed with.
"I am kind of impressed that you can drink that many firewhisky without ice," Tom said somewhere behind her. She looked at him, balancing the glass on her knees and smirked.
"I am trying to grow hair on my chest, like a real man." She could see him frown and press his lips in a line of resignation while muttering a 'hmm'. He was wearing her dad's old classic Ray Ban's, his new eye didn't like the sun that much. "Do you want a glass?"
"Is there any left?"
"In the cabinet…"
He came back with a glass of ice and another bottle of the amber liquid and put it on her garden table.
"I see you are not a real man." She told him joking and he returned her a smile.
"I am happy with the amount of hair on my chest." He put his feet up, freezing for a second when the table seemed to sway to one side and then relaxed when the whole thing didn't crash under his legs. "Who was that guy before?"
"No one for you to worry about," Ginny replied, annoyed that he asked. It was bound to be, but she didn't want to discuss it with him.
"I am not worried, just curious." He replied, staring at the trees that surrounded her garden. When she didn't reply he focused on her. "You know you can tell me everything, right? Aren't we friends?"
Ginny stared at him in silence and she couldn't hold her tears. She cursed under her breath and left him looking surprised at her. She went into her room and closed the door behind her.
She hated that sentence. If they weren't friends? She thought. Those were the words he used to take out of her everything she didn't want to tell him.
"Can't you knock?" She asked turning around to face him when he entered. "Can you just leave me for a second?" It was not a question, she didn't want a reply. Tom ignored and walked to her. She was standing by the window, a tissue in her hand.
"I didn't want to upset you." He said. Another staple, she would have closed the diary in that moment, but he was well outside the diary, he was not going away.
He closed the distance between them and pulled her into an embrace.
"Tom…" She struggled, her body tense under his touch, and she tried to move away, tears in her eyes. "Just let me be…"
"Shh…" He muttered into her hair, not moving away, just pulling her even closer. "Who was him?" This turn he was not just asking, he was demanding, she knew that tone; she knew he would not give up.
"My fiancé to be…"
"I am really sorry, Ginevra." He told her, caressing her hair.
"I am here." He said, he moved away to see her face, he slid his thumb through her cheek, cleaning her tears.
"I think you never really left." He kissed her forehead and pulled her head against his shoulder again.
She cried on his arms until there were no more tears in her.
Ginny had not let him go to his room the night before. He had stayed with her, sleeping over the covers. It was not the first time, they had done it before when she was in Hogwarts. She would run shut the curtains of her bed and he would stay with her, help her with her homework, tell her one story or other about his time in the school.
It was something preserved in her mind has innocent, even now, being quite sure that he was only being able to materialise because she was so willing for him to be there. He was sucking her energy just to be able to give her a smile and she, naïve, had been more than happy to provide it to him.
He was sleeping turned to her. His handsome face relaxed in his sleep. Not even the horrendous scar was able to hide his looks. She wondered if people would have looked differently at him, at his views and goals, if he had managed to preserve his appearance.
Instead of stirring fear, he would have attracted love.
Sad but true. Beautiful people were always seen has righteous, always listen better too.
She touched the scar on his face, tracing it down his eye where it was now a faded brown and grey and continued down his cheek. He was taking painkillers regularly and that might explain his good mood and trustiness on her. She was not sure. She had never understood him quite well and she was sure it wasn't going to be now that she would.
"Are you feeling better?" He asked suddenly, making her jump and hide her hand under the covers.
"You were awake?" She asked feeling her face going red and pulled the covers higher to hide, at least, her cheeks.
"Your hand is really cold." He opened his eyes and stared at her. As if a switch had been turned on, his eyes warmed up and he smiled at her.
"I am sorry, I shouldn't have touched you that way." She turned and sat on the bed. He didn't say it was okay, or that he didn't mind. When she looked at him, Tom had moved onto is back and had closed his eyes. One elegant hand resting on his stomach. She threw her half of the covers over him and got up.
"Thanks." He said, and she left, closing the door behind her.
II
Another week went by and they had found their routine.
Tom had returned to his own room.
They would wake up, shower, when Ginny was ready she would knock on his door. "Come in." He would say, and she would enter, pick the bowl with the oily balsam and spread it on the scar that spliced his back into what was in front of her. It was closing on his right side, it had already left his shoulder and was now on his arm and the scar on his hand was well above his wrist.
Then, they would have breakfast, whatever she felt like cooking, with coffee, and in her case a little touch of firewhisky to spice up her brew. He didn't say anything and she was grateful for that.
On that particular day, Tom was rearranging her books.
He had already read half of her tinny collection and rearranged them every couple of days. She observed him from the couch, a smile on her lips as he muttered something under his breath. He had already complained about her small collection, and how she needed to buy this or that book because they were essential to any wizards. The first time, she told him that she didn't really like to read that much and was, actually, a professional Quidditch player, he had been genuinely shocked and had not been able to hide it.
She had not laughed, just appreciated in silence the cultural shock of a man raised in the 1940's, learning that a woman was playing Quidditch.
Ginny was starting to wonder about it, the cultural shock. He said he only remembered things up until he left school, more or less. He had certainly noticed that things were different, that she was wearing jeans and sleeping on t-shirts.
She didn't ask him about it. She knew she should but had not come out with a good way of asking without him raising any more questions.
There was a lot she wanted to ask.
She poured down another glass of the firewhisky, wondering if she had entered a point where she was just walking around the house speaking to herself and he had already left her days ago.
"Turn them with the spines against the back of the shelf." She told him, putting her feet on the coffee table. He looked at her as if she was mad and she just moved her finger in a loop to emphasise what she wanted him to do.
"Why?" He asked with disdain.
"Just because and they are my books. Do what I say will ya?" She told him with a smirk. "Do you want a drink?"
He rolled his eyes and went back to the books, ignoring her. Ginny got up and walked behind him. She pressed herself against him, putting the glass on the shelf beside her head. "Spine to the back." She said, careless, taking the book from his hand, turning it, and pushing it against the others, spine first.
Tom turned and she picked her drink and took a swing. "Yeah, I like it like that."
"You are drunk."
They stared at each other, Ginny lost her balance for a second and he put his hand on her waist to keep her steady.
She was the one getting on her tips to press her lips against his.
Tom pulled her to him with a sigh and she crossed her arms around his neck. The drink almost pouring out of the glass still in her hand. "Finally…" she heard him mutter against her mouth in one of those few moments they parted to breathe.
He was intense, the kiss was intense and she felt getting lost in his arms. He was kissing her like he had not kissed a woman in decades and she could taste his hunger.
When he took the glass from her hand, she dropped her head, pressing it against his chest.
"My family is coming tonight." She whispered.
"What?" Tom put the glass on the shelf behind him and put his arm around her again. "What do you mean?"
"It's my birthday today." She grabbed the glass he had put away and took a step away from him, turning away in one fluid movement and drank the rest of the firewisky. "Happy birthday to me!" She shouted and started to laugh maniacally. With hobble steps, she picked the bottle and poured another glass.
"Are you sure about the drink?" Ginny asked with a wild smile, as he hid his face in his hand.
III
Ron had sent her a very angry letter expressing how disgusted he was with what she had done some time ago. Which meant that he wasn't coming for her birthday. If Ron wasn't coming, then Hermione was not coming.
She would probably be fine.
She gave a small to Tom that was sitting on the table behind her that she hoped was reassuring, as she gulped her third glass of water.
There were zero chances of someone in her family recognizing him. She was pretty sure. She was 110% sure. 120% sure.
She couldn't ask him to hide without him asking why. It would also be quite rude of her. She couldn't have any of that.
Ginny drank another glass of water.
It was not the water that was going to make her sober up after the amount of alcohol she had. Why was she even trying to sober up? It was her birthday! She had Lord Voldemort sitting in her kitchen watching her have a meltdown and her family was coming over.
Her family.
And Fred's murderer was sitting in her kitchen.
Not his murdered murderer. That one was dead ages ago, but still, the main person to blame for all of it.
If it wasn't for the wizard in her kitchen, her brother would still be alive.
She turned around and grabbed a beer from the corner where they were floating, in their cold suspension, and cracked it open against the counter's stone.
"You seem nervous," Tom said, following her around with a frown.
She looked at him, cleaning her mouth with the palm of her hand.
"My house is not ready." She said.
"Your house is fine." He replied, she noticed, almost bored.
"My family thinks I am having an affair." She looked at him sideways. She had not meant that. Maybe they were right, she had kissed him, and she had not been able to stop thinking about it.
She was regretting it badly, cringing under the knowledge that he had wanted it as much as her.
"I am just a colleague from Hogwarts." His tone was innocent, a simple fact. It wasn't a lie, but it also wasn't the right kind of truth.
"I bet that excuse exists since Hogwarts was founded."
"If it is about today…" He started, getting up from the chair and walking to her.
She raised a hand and he stopped mid track. She closed her eyes, dropping her head, pain in her face. "Yes… no… no, Tom, it's not that…" She gave a breath in and turned her back to him, putting a hand on the table beside her to hold herself up. "Do you think that this will taste good if I add firewhisky to it?" She asked looking at the bottle.
Tom sat down on his chair. "I never tried it." He said. She turned to him, there, being non-judgemental of what she was doing, legs crossed, looking at her while biting his thumbnail. "Let me have a taste if you go with it."
He was annoying her, and she let her breath out in frustration.
What was she going to do with him?
She should tell her family what was going on. She should call Harry, she should call the Order… something… this was not right. She was just nursing him back to health and then what? What was he going to do once that scar was gone?
"Do you remember anything new?" She asked in a whim, the beer speaking for her. She hadn't asked him the question since they first spoke about what had happened to him.
Only she knew it had been hard to control herself.
"I wish…" He laid against his chair and looked away. "Are you asking because you want to know if I have anywhere to go?" He remitted.
Great. She thought.
"No, Tom. It's not that." She walked around the table and put her hands on his shoulders. "I am just worried about you. About what you are going to do."
He put his crossed leg down and hold her hand, pulling her around him and catching her out of the guard, he puller her into his lap.
"I am not going anywhere…" He said, his tone low. She guessed he wanted to sound reassuring but he came out as a warning. "At least for now."
"Did you had to sit me on you to tell me this?" She asked with a cold stare.
"It would not be same thing." He smiled deviously.
"Meh…" Ginny pushed away, and he pulled her down again, kissing her, when she opened her mouth to protest, to tell him to stop, he took the chance to explore her mouth. "Tom…" she sighed between kisses, pulling his shirt as his hand disappeared under her top into the small of her back, the scar in his forearm scratching her skin has he moved up, tentatively and painfully slowly.
He stopped when he started to feel the salt of tears in his mouth.
"I shouldn't…" She said, looking to some point besides his head.
"Then don't kiss me back." He pushed her up and away from him. "I am going to my room. Enjoy your party."
IV
Her house was full of people.
Ginny hadn't really noticed before how small the cottage was in relation to the Burrow, of course, it was smaller, but the difference was massive. She had to bring all the chairs from around the house and there were still people sitting in her couches and armchairs. Her luck was the living room being connected to the kitchen. None of those two divisions had enough space on their own to put everyone in.
Harry had not come.
Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, but that was understandable.
They were very close. If you hurt one, all would feel the pain. She had been a bit annoyed by that organicity during school. There where only them and it was hard to push through and be part of the group. She understood, after all they went through, but she couldn't help but feel left out from time to time.
She was in the garden, speaking with Charlie. Her older brother had been the only person so far to ask her what had happened with her. If what Ron was saying was truth. Quietly she explained that no, it was nothing like that. Tom was just a colleague from Slytherin, he used to hang around the library a lot and was mostly sick and away. They had been more or less friends through the time and she had invited him to stay with her for a bit and recover from his accident.
She could see that Charlie was not quite believing her story, but was not questioning it, which she was thankful for. Her family would come and go from their little corner, and when she returned inside, to her utmost horror, Tom was speaking with George. Bill was in the group as well, both laughing at something he was saying.
She walked to them as calmly as she managed, one part boiling of rage, the other in deep fear of what could happen.
"We found your friend." George said with a wink, as Tom simply shrugged and gave her a small smile.
Her mother quickly took her away, maybe she didn't want her near Tom, it might make her remember what she had done to Harry, her unspoken son. She put a plate of food in her hand and took the glass of wine away, passing it to her dad.
There was a glimpse of concern in his eyes as well.
If she payed enough attention to every person in her home, she would see it in their eyes too. Hiding away behind their smiles, their laughs, making them swollen their food a little bit harder than it should.
And having Tom there, among them, the people she loved the most, speaking with George, still half-broken to an extent they were not sure he was going to recover from.
The Dark Lord, looking like he was 25 years old, with memory or lack of it, was still the fucking Dark Lord and he was in her living room, speaking with her family, making them laugh, making excuses on why his face was scarred and half white. No one had a clue, no one knew but her and it was eating her up.
The feeling of regret was just eating on her and she wanted to cry, scream, make the feeling go away somehow. She took a bit of the food to her mouth. Some sort of pasta that tasted bland in her tongue. She forced it down, looking around for the wine to help her put it down her tight throat.
She looked at the time. 7pm. Only 7pm.
Charlie came back to her.
"Are you sure you are ok?" He asked, concerned. "You are kind of pale."
"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" She replied with a smile and feed him a couple of bites from her plate. "It's my birthday." Charlie kissed her temple and gave a broad smile. There was nothing much he could do but that.
Time passed slowly, and she kept herself away from Tom. She would give him furtive stares from time to time and when he caught her looking, she would turn, trembling. She was ignoring him, they both knew that, but what would they speak about if they were together?
Ginny didn't want her family to remember her standing next to him. She kept her distance.
He would have questions, she was sure of it. She had no idea of what to tell him once everyone was away. Maybe she would make something up, after all, what was going on in her home, as she realized, was completely obscuring what had happen with Harry.
She had been drinking, it started to keep herself calm, then it went into keeping what had happened with Harry at bay.
Numb.
That was how she was. She was numb.
Not that night. There was to many people around to not make her realize how deep she had gotten in her hole.
Not that night at all.
Ginny helped herself to another beer and seek Charlie again. He was a safe port, he hid is concern well.
