Kill of the Night by Gin Wigmore
He insists on being the one to apparate them to dinner, and when they arrive she immediately realizes why. He has taken her to the same restaurant she and Cain were supposed to be dining at tonight. A favorite of the pureblood upper class, a considerable segment of which is certain to be inside on a Saturday night.
"Fuck you," she mumbles under her breath as they walk up the steps to the door.
"Again?" he answers nonchalantly.
She does not say anything else while he checks them in or as he takes her arm and walks them toward the table, sure that whatever she snipes at him will be returned by an inappropriate comment at an inappropriate volume. Already, she has caught the eye of Nott - with some date she does not recognize hanging off his arm - sitting at a table near the entrance. She hears a suspicious cough beside them as they are walking and turns her head to see Lestrange staring pointedly at Tom's arm around her.
Drinks are already on the table when they arrive. A glass of red wine for him and a gin and tonic for her. Cassandra picks hers up as soon as she sits, taking a large sip and praying it will be enough to dull the feeling of eyes on them. They are seated in a semicircle booth, and Tom is quick to place himself much too close to her and wrap his arm around her again as he sits.
What the hell was she thinking agreeing to this? The gossip about it is sure to be on everybody's tongue by Monday, and it is not nearly as easy to conjure an excuse about being seen with Tom like this in public as it is for the way he behaves at private parties. The rest of the drink disappears down her throat in a matter of seconds. A waiter comes up to them with menus and another drink for her. Tom rattles off orders for both of them and waves him off.
Cassandra tries to fill the silence between them, "I am meeting with the liquor distrib…"
He cuts her off, nose brushing against her cheek as he hisses, "We did not come here to talk business, Cass."
"I agreed to go to dinner with you, not what topics to discuss during it," she fires back, pulling her face away as far as she can manage and taking another drink.
"We can reserve such topics for our regular meetings. I would like tonight to be different, Cassandra," he says.
After she does not answer for a few seconds, he tries to start their conversation. It takes him a few seconds to think of something to say. He hasn't exactly done this much, not really. Not counting the ones he'd only taken out as part of a ploy, not ever.
"What's your favorite kind of magic?"
"Now that is a question I have never been asked," she says with a laugh, too taken aback to watch her words, especially with the alcohol slamming into her. Maybe downing two strong drinks in the span of ten minutes was not such a good idea. "I am sure everybody just assumes it is the secret murder kind."
Well, that is his favorite kind, he thinks. He tilts his head at her, signaling he is still waiting for a real answer. She looks away as she says, "It's… I can't say really."
He chuckles, "You think I am going to judge you, Cass?"
Her tongue flits between her teeth, weighing the situation before she decides to answer.
"Blood magic," she says truthfully. "It's powerful, and old, and hard to break."
"And mostly illegal," he says, raising an eyebrow. He wants to kiss her but he knows she wouldn't allow it. Just the two of them being here together is already scandalous enough.
"Mostly," she agrees, a smirk on her face. "Yours?"
"Legilimency. Not surprised?"
"It's not nice to play with people, Tom."
"Yes, but it is fun, isn't it?" he says, leaning in toward her again.
"We could probably have this entire conversation in our heads," she jokes.
His fingers play with her hair and she can feel his breath on her cheek as he whispers, "But then we'd deprive everybody of their ability to speculate about what we are discussing, and where would the fun be in that?"
Her eyes narrow, a warning that he is pushing too far. He pulls away and the waiter takes it as a sign it is finally safe to deliver their food. She looks around and sees Lestrange still watching them, no doubt already crafting another letter in his head. Perhaps he will be wise enough not to actually send it this time. Perhaps he will think she will be kind enough not to tell Tom about it this time. She turns back to Tom as they start eating and scrambles for something to keep him occupied so he does not act out again.
"Did you read the article on unassisted flight in -"
"I did. The ramblings of an amateur, it seemed. To think that something so simple wouldn't have been tried and tested earlier -"
"Simple? Have you tried slowing down on any of your apparitions? If anyone was able to execute it, I am sure it would work. It makes sense, theoretically. Apparition cannot defy the laws of matter. It cannot be that the world is shrinking, or that one is atomizing in one place and re-atomizing in another. It's just movement through space, like everything else. Incredibly, imperceptibly quick movement. Thus, if one was able to perceive it, then one may be able to control it, and at least approximate the experience of flight."
"Yes, theoretically perhaps it makes sense. Perhaps it is merely that no one that has attempted has ever been powerful enough to control their apparition to such an extent. Or perhaps it is simply uncontrollable, and that is the reason no wizard has succeeded before."
"But you think you are the best, strongest wizard that has ever lived, don't you? Don't you at least want to try? To see if you could?"
"Apparition is already risky enough. I am not going to go experimenting with it and get splinched in half just to disprove some scholar's theories."
"I could do it, if I wanted to."
"For everyone's sake, please don't try. I'm sure the people who your body parts appeared in front of all throughout Europe would be scared for life."
"Well, at least there would finally be another reason for my fame," she quips.
He laughs. The sound is so shocking that she freezes, her glass hovering in the air as she stares at him. He has never laughed in front of her before, not like that - no condescension to it, no irony, bright and carefree and unaffected.
He puts down his own glass and raises his now-free hand to tuck a loose hair back behind her ear, fingers lingering across her face. Her eyes are wide, her surprised expression practically screaming not here. He leans forward, his lips brushing against her skin as he whispers in her ear, "Just once, my little harpy. You can give me that, can't you?"
Everything else fades at the tone of his voice and the insistence in his eyes. When he looks at her like that she feels like the center of the universe. She feels like she could do anything, be anything, say anything and that look would still not disappear. Like he is not the slightest bit scared of the truth of who she is, like everyone else has been.
His lips sweep over her cheek and his fingers maneuver her mouth to his, gripping her jaw hard while pulling her in for a kiss that is nothing but soft. The suddenness of the contact and the contrast of the two gestures has her moving her mouth against his without even thinking about it first. All she can think about is how smooth his lips are and how he tastes like the red wine he is drinking. The fine Burgundian kind that is all oak and strawberries with hints of vanilla and mint, nuanced and layered yet undeniably delicious. All their previous kisses had been a contest, a race to the sack. This one is different, a give and take that feels more like surrender than possession.
His lips leave hers and the clink of silverware and muffled conversation comes back to her. She looks to the side and tries to pull away. When he does not let go of her jaw, she hisses, "People are watching, Tom."
"Don't worry, they'll pretend they weren't," he says with a smirk before dropping away.
She sincerely hopes he is correct, because they have moved from hard to explain to unexplainable. Cain will take it in stride, she knows - but she would rather not make him have to.
They go on debating various other new theories throughout the meal, sitting and arguing for nearly an hour about subjects ranging from transfiguration to herbology - which it turns out is the least favorite subject of both of them, neither having ever cared enough for other living things to bother themselves about keeping them alive except when useful to do so.
The owner comes over to check on them at the end of their meal, and Tom's smile and charm is in full force. It is a wonder, really, watching how he plays with other people. All politeness and praise, but never quite kindness or approval. Just enough to make them like him. Just enough to remind them he is superior.
Tom offers a hand to help her up from the table, pulling too hard at the last minute and sending her crashing into him. He reaches to steady her, his other hand landing too far down her back for it to be accidental. She just raises an eyebrow at him, smirking. A warning which he promptly ignores by squeezing her hip anyway, drawing a glare.
They walk out and Tom leads them around the block. She does not protest. She is enjoying the crisp night air. He leans against the wall of a nearby alleyway, pulling out a cigarette and placing it to his lips, eyes still constantly watching her as she looks up at the sky.
"I hate London. There are not nearly enough stars here," she mutters under her breath.
"So your place then?" Tom asks, knowing she is avoiding the topic. Regardless, she did make a bet, and now it is time to pay up.
She looks at him again and he sees the no written on her face, sees just how much she doesn't want him there. She just says, "I have to go back to the casino to check if Macnair found the older books, since things don't quite add up with the current one."
"And then?"
"We can stay there."
"As enjoyable as fucking you over desks has been, I think a change of scenery would inject a little more excitement into our evening, Cass."
"There's rooms upstairs. A dozen or so. Already had them made up and was planning on inspecting them in the morning anyway. You can have your pick of scenery. Hell, we can try more than one if you're feeling adventurous. It's not far if you want to walk," she offers.
He knows what she's talking about. The rooms upstairs reserved for special guests and their mistresses and whores. For transitory trysts and paid-by-the-hour pleasures. It's not the same as what she promised him and she knows it - but it is technically all she promised him and he knows it. He just nods. They walk in silence for a few minutes before she speaks up again.
"Do you like London?"
"No."
"Then why do you live here?"
"There are parts of London I like. As a whole, though, most of it is awful."
"Where's the part you don't like most?" she asks, knowing she is pushing into territory he does not like to discuss and he may not respond. It is clear the parts he likes are the wizarding parts, and she can guess the part he doesn't like most is the part he grew up in.
"Vauxhall," he answers flatly.
"Do you ever think what would have happened if you weren't…" she trails off, leaving the question hanging in the air.
"Do you?" he snaps. "Or do you just assume that's something that must cross the mind of those of us who did not have the luxury of growing up in pureblood high society?"
"Life is not a suffering contest, but if it was I would hardly say my upbringing was any more luxurious than yours, Tom."
"Right, you had magical parents, but I had an alcoholic orphanage matron who thought I was possessed by the devil. Whose to say which one of those is better?" he spits out sarcastically.
She connects the dots to the scars on his back and nearly flinches imagining the punishments muggles would have thought appropriate for such a condition. If he'd gotten them as a child, that would explain why he hadn't been able to heal them away - they would have already been too old, too ingrained in his skin by the time he learned the magic to do so.
"It must have been awful to be so underestimated. Clearly, you are the devil, not merely possessed by him," she jokes before rolling her eyes. "Muggles will come up with all sorts of ways to vilify what they don't understand."
He drops his cigarette and puts an arm around her instead., "I probably would have been blown up on a field somewhere in Europe."
"And I probably would have been dead before that," she responds, letting herself lean into him. He can guess what she means and suddenly feels a wrench in his gut at the fact he had assumed having magical parents was always better than not having them at all. She is still smiling anyway as she quips, "Thank Merlin for magic, right?"
"Don't underestimate yourself, Cassandra. Plenty of people have magic, but few of them are able to use it the way you can. A weaker witch would have led a much less interesting life."
"Interesting, hmm? I like that word for it. Interesting. That's exactly how I would sum you up too, Tom," she says, a slight smile appearing on her lips. They reach the darkened doorway and she mumbles the phrase she'd spelled to unlock it since she'd already told Macnair to leave for the night on their way out.
Tom lingers behind, muttering protection spells at the threshold, while she wanders over to the office to see if the books are waiting for her to take home in the morning. They are, but so is something else she didn't expect to be leaning against the desk.
"Sorry to startle you, Cass. Macnair let me in on his way out and said you'd be back soon. I just wanted to check if you needed any help with…" Cain starts, halting as Tom walks up behind her. "I can see that's already taken care of. My mistake."
She ignores the staring contest going on between the two of them, walking over to her desk and pulling forward the thick stack of ledgers and receipts to check the dates on them. When Tom refuses to offer an explanation, she does instead.
"Yes, Tom was just helping resolve some discrepancies in the accounts and we stepped out for dinner while Macnair found the rest of the records for us, as you can see," she answers, face still tilted toward the books. "I think we have a handle on things."
She knows Cain can read her just as easily as she can read him, especially after that many drinks. In case he can't, she is sure the scent of the gin and the smell of Tom's soap is already radiating off of her, revealing how thin her excuse is.
"Apologies for keeping her late, Cain," Tom chimes in. "You know how Bagman is. He'd rather keep up appearances than keep up with his debts. Lot of work to do to sort everything out, unless she wants to reopen to half of the wizards in Britain claiming they're owed something."
Tom's wide smile screams Of course I'm telling the truth. I wouldn't dare fuck your girlfriend, would I? A question both of them know the answer to is yes, he definitely would. Though Cain's smug expression as he leans toward her indicates that he still thinks he hasn't.
"I understand, Tom. Business is business," Cain answers amiably. She looks up at him finally and he pecks her on the lips, "I'll see you at home later, Cinderella?"
"This is going to take a while to finish, Cain. I don't want to keep you up."
His smile falters for barely a second before it is back and his voice is sweeter than ever, "Never a problem, Cass. But I don't want to impose if you have things to take care of. Tomorrow?"
"Of course. I'll owl you," she responds with her own smile before giving him a short kiss in return. Tom lingers in the doorway, forcing Cain to go past him on his way out. He waits until he hears the front door close again before approaching her, bending over her as she continues to lean over the desk looking at the papers.
"Cinderella," Tom mocks with a chuckle, his breath in her ear. Her fingers tense against the edge of the table and he retreats, leaning against the wall behind her instead. "How… charming."
She does not raise her head to respond, "It's an inside joke."
"That you hate."
"Hate is a strong word."
"I thought you were going to slap him when he said it."
"He likes it."
"He likes pretending he is taking care of you. And you like letting him think he is."
"Please, do tell me more about your psychological analysis of our relationship. I'm sure you would make an amazing couples therapist."
"At the very least, I thought you were going to slap him when he said home, with the way you cringed. Sadly, you seem to lose all your fire around him, little harpy. No wonder you were so bored that you basically begged for me to show you what it is like to be with a real wizard."
"You were imagining that."
"No, I wasn't. It's not your home, is it?"
She turns to him, an eyebrow raised, "Neither is this, is it?"
Tom chuckles, "If you don't trust him as much as you don't trust me, than I think perhaps a couples therapist is in order."
She answers his accusation with a scowl on her face, "That is not what I meant. I do trust him. You, on the other hand…"
"You think Cain Rosier is any better than me? We are both bad men, Cassandra. Just bad men of different kinds. You fault me for using my brain to get what I want from you and everyone else, just like everyone faults you for using your looks. But men like him who inherited everything - nobody cares how they keep it, do they? Because its theirs, their legacy. They have a right to it, a right to their place in the world, while people like me and you have to earn and constantly justify ours."
"Don't compare. There is none. Cain is the most trustworthy person I have ever known. He would never hurt me."
"You do know how you ended up in our little arrangement, don't you? Surely, you are smart enough to have realized by now that his invitation to reunite was not extended of his own accord. And yet, you haven't held it against him like you do me for more than a minute, have you? You trust him after he practically delivered you into my arms, knowing I could hurt you."
"He didn't have a choice. You would have…"
"He had a choice, Cassandra. He could have refused. Instead, he brought you to me, over and over again, every time I asked, no matter what I did."
"And what would you have done if he didn't, Tom? Just moved on?"
He does not take her bait, refuses to get angry or try to defend the things he has done. The story of how they got here is not exactly a fairytale, he knows. What matters is that they are here, and he is never going to let them go back again. So he tries to get her to focus on the future, not argue about the past.
"There is nothing I would have done to him that even approaches what I would do now if he - or anyone else - should ever hurt you again."
"That is not what I asked, and I don't need you to protect me considering the only person I need protection from is you."
"Well clearly he's not capable of providing it, or fulfilling any of your other needs," Tom fires back, still avoiding her question. "You need me, Cassandra."
It is his eyes that convince her he has no intention of letting her keep Cain, not really. The way they burn into her skin, the stubborn hardness of his gaze. It is not just that he wants to be first. It is that he wants to be only. Yet again, she'd underestimated Tom and how ferocious his appetite is. She had thought she had enough self-control to control him, a mistake she has been making since just about the day they met.
"Remember our deal, Tom," she warns with a false smile.
What does she think this is, selling off a piece of herself for peace from him? His fingers flex in his eagerness to throw her on the desk again and make her admit this is not a commercial transaction. That her decision to let him have her is more than just a rational bargain. That she is here not because she cares about his safety, but because what she says when they are alone together is true.
"I thought we had moved past that, my little harpy," he hisses, stepping closer to her.
"We will move past that when I am sure you aren't planning on hurting him or worse the second you think you can get away with it," she answers, crossing her arms in front of her to show just how stubborn she is. It is a promise she knows he will never be able to rise to making her keep.
Tom wants to laugh. He wants to say Cass, that is not all I am doing and not all I will do.
What he is doing is trying to drive Cain crazy, or at least into people thinking he is. Simple little suggestions. A shadow on the street. Gone when he looks again. The air shifting in his bedroom. A muffled sound, barely anything at all. Lights turned on and no one else there. Waking up to things in different places. Being sure he'd put her nightgown in the closet and then finding it on the floor. Books open to lines he didn't remember reaching yet. At some point, Tom had even shifted the furniture in his sitting room by a few inches. He is sure Cain suspects him of all of these things, but he is also sure there is a part of Cain that thinks he is just imagining it out of his fear of him, and he is going to play on that part until Cain falls apart.
Instead, he just smiles and closes the distance between them, pulling her arms down so he can wrap his around her. She purses her lips and turns her head to the side, lips pursed. She would probably push him away if he hadn't taken her hands with his, locking them in his grasp behind her back.
"Look at me, Cass," he whispers, forcing his expression to soften to give off the impression of vulnerability. She does meet his gaze, her eyes still narrowed and on fire despite the apparent calm on his face. "Would you really leave me now? With everything we are building together? With everything we can be together?"
"Make no mistake, Tom, I would. It has never been you keeping me here," she says, her voice steel and her face set in stone. "If any harm should befall Cain - a scrape, a cold, even a bad dream - I will assume it was by your hand or your order, and whatever is between us will cool instantly."
He is tempted to tie her down right there and remind her who she belongs to, who makes her whimper and beg, who she wants - but he knows she would do far more than try to push away if he did that. It takes all of his self-control to keep a smile on his face and not call out her words for what they are. Lies. Aspirational ideals she has never been able to keep. Ways she wishes she felt but does not really.
"Don't be ridiculous, Cassandra. Why would I hurt him when I already have you?"
His tone is so soothing she almost believes he is sincere, almost begins to doubt her earlier assessment of the situation. If he really wanted to separate her from Cain, why would he have lied so convincingly to him earlier? He could have easily said something more revealing - or nothing at all - and left the obvious explanation hanging in the air. He could have easily ordered Cain to break up with her sooner, could have made up countless excuses for Cain to give from her refusal to ever answer his proposals to her already too busy work schedule.
Except, of course, he would have known she never would have believed them. He knew that if Cain left her, the string he had her hanging on could snap and he could lose control. He knew that he would need to convince her he did not already know that for her to believe him, so that when the string was cut she could just fall into his arms thinking he was blameless.
"The fact that you had that defense ready on the tip of your tongue proves my point. Is it any wonder that I don't trust you?"
He steps away, his jaw twitching as he glares down at her. He did not expect this strategy to fail so spectacularly, or so early. He had needed more time to reel her in before deploying it. Needed to have her more used to the idea of them. Needed to have her spending less time with him. Yet again, Cain had ruined his plans.
If she does not leave now, he knows he will not let her leave again. It would be so easy to hold her jaw open, tilt her head back, and force the amortentia he has been carrying around in his robe pocket since their visit to the potions lab down her throat. To hold his hand over her mouth and make her swallow. An automatic victory, almost. He would be all she could think about. She would be helpless to disobey him.
But it wouldn't be real. It wouldn't be her. Just a shell, no thought, no feeling. And, of course, there was always the danger that it would wear off or she would build up an immunity, and what would she think of him then? How far would she go to escape him then?
He lets his anger flare as he hisses, "If you are going to keep berating me, perhaps you should go back to your perfect little prince - since you can't seem to find any fault in anything he's ever done."
Her eyes widen. He can see she is hiding a smile. Hiding her relief. Despite this, she says, "We made a deal. I don't want you to use this as an excuse to hurt -"
"Go, Cassandra," he orders through gritted teeth. "I've never spent the night in a prostitute's bed, and I would rather not now. Go home."
She looks at him, the puckering of her mouth and flaring of her nostrils making it clear she is about to spit something back. A few seconds pass before she shakes her head and bites her lip, apparently deciding better than to scratch at his sensitivities just like he had at hers. She picks up the red cloak she had discarded on one of the armchairs upon her arrival that afternoon and throws it over her arms before going for the door.
Tom waits until he hears the front door shut before clicking his fingers to spell the fireplace at the end of the room lit, turning off the rest of the lights, and sinking into her chair, his head in his hands.
He'd almost forgotten. For the moments between leaving for dinner and arriving at the office door again, his mind had been clear of Cain and the knights and every fucking thing but her. He'd felt… normal. Normal wasn't really the right word. It wasn't normal for him, but he imagined that's how ordinary people acted. Ordinary couples.
They aren't ordinary, and when he'd seen Cain waiting for her he'd remembered they sure as hell aren't a couple. No, when he'd heard her lie he'd remembered they sure as hell aren't a couple. When he'd seen how she looked at Cain and how she looked at him, practically begging him to convince him for her. When she'd just smiled at Cain despite the fact that if Tom ever treated her the same way - like a fragile little princess - she'd probably curse him halfway to hell for it.
Was he naive to think things would be different now? That she would realize he was the right one for her instead of that pretentious prat once she gave in to her desires, once she experienced what they could be like together? Without him, without the arguments, without the ruses she worked so hard to keep up? That what she said - what she did - was real instead of just a calculated effort to keep the only person she really cared about safe? That what was between them was more than just a deal by now?
The evening had given him a crystal clear look into her mind, and he did not like what he had found. As much as he tries to convince himself Cain is only a tool to her, he has seen them together enough to know that is not the whole truth. She still wants Cain. Still cares about him. Still prefers him. And she always will - no matter what he has done, no matter what Tom does.
Tom looks up only to see a present wrapped in red and silver on her desk. He doesn't bother to open it and see what Cain had gotten her to celebrate her new venture. No doubt something obscenely expensive and completely unnecessary. He just lifts it up and tosses it into the fire, watching it burn, imagining lighting Cain's townhouse on fire.
He just isn't sure whether he wants to do it with or without her in it.
Cain though - definitely inside, preferably already dead.
He will make her his, no matter what it is she wants.
A/N: This story will be on hiatus until mid-August. Other things in my life need my attention more urgently and, honestly, I am feeling burnt out and uninspired when trying to write at the moment. Hopefully, stepping away will give me time to organize my ideas so that writing the rest of the story comes as easily as writing up to this point did. My goal is to start posting again around August 15.
To everyone that has read this far, thank you for supporting my work! I hope you have enjoyed the story. I will keep checking back here, on AO3 (WorstofAllEvils), and on tumblr (hogwartsmeangirls) and would love to interact with anybody about the story, fandom, or life in general.