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Chapter 39
The Thaw
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SHE HELD THE basilisk fang in her hand and Tom stood in front of her. He looked tired, drawn, shadows under his eyes and his shoulders sagging like he could barely muster the energy to stay standing.

"Marina," he said, exhausted.

She shook her head as he came closer. "No," she croaked.

"I'm sorry," said Tom softly, watching her as his fingers closed around her wrist. "I'm sorry that you were ever pulled into all of this in the first place."

"It's okay," she said quickly, whisperingly, trying to resist as he gently lifted her hand holding the fang but finding herself unable to do so. "Please, Tom –"

He just placed the fang in her hand against his chest and pushed it hard. She could only watch helplessly, already crying as ink flowed out around the fang, washing over her hand in a cold black wave, staining her skin and running down her arm. She fell with him as he dropped to his knees, her hand still trapped on the fang buried in his chest.

He took shaky breaths and then met her eyes. "Marina, it'll kill you," Tom whispered, ink spilling down his chin.

She frowned. "What do you –"

"Do you resent me?" he murmured, staring at her.

"For what?"

His eyes dropped a bit, and Marina looked down, too. Her stomach lurched.

A basilisk fang was buried in her chest, Tom's hand still holding it. Blood was washing over his hand in a hot red wave, staining his skin and running down his arm –

Marina woke with a long, rasping gasp, seizing at her chest in terror as she sat bolt upright. It ached as if he'd really stabbed her, so painful that tears erupted in her eyes – but she wanted to cry anyway. The sobs began at once, wracking her body as she heaved in breaths and leaned forward over her knees. If the noise woke the Weasleys, they did not come to talk to her – she had long since asked them to leave her be when the nightmares came.

When she regained control of her breathing, Marina opened her tired, swollen eyes and stared at the bed under her. Her hand still clutched at her chest where the fang had jutted, the top of the pale yellow T on Tom's black jumper balled up and distorted in her fist over her heart. She'd hoped that wearing it would help with the nightmares. She'd been wrong, but she wore it anyway.

Marina forced her hand out of its fist and drew her arms around herself as she lay back down, her lips pressing together hard, and tears welling up in her eyes again as she pulled the duvet over her shoulders. It was the 31st of December today. Tom's birthday.

He could be dead. He could be dead right now and she wouldn't even know, Voldemort might have seen the truth in his mind and killed him –

She grit her teeth. No, Voldemort wouldn't kill him, not when doing so only harmed himself. Much more likely Tom was locked in the cellar of Malfoy Manor with Luna and Ollivander, or had been thrown in Azkaban, or Voldemort was torturing him to insanity like he had the Longbottoms –

Her chest ached again, so hard that her ribs fell and a weak breath was pushed out from between her lips. It had nothing to do with the nightmare.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina sat down heavily at the kitchen table, leaning forward and exhaling slowly. It was just past seven in the morning, and there was still an hour before the sun would come up. She pushed her fingers against her temples, closing her eyes, breathing in the smell of her coffee before her.

It had been nearly three weeks since Tom had left, and the world seemed to be slipping away. They'd heard that Voldemort had been spotted at Godric's Hollow on Christmas Eve, and that the Lovegood house being destroyed in some sort of accident, swarming with Death Eaters just before the end of the year. Marina did not know how to interpret this in the slightest – both these events were, according to her memory of the Deathly Hallows book, directly because of Harry looking for the sword of Gryffindor and investigating the Hallows respectively. She supposed neither of these really had anything specifically to do with hunting for Horcruxes so it wasn't necessarily so surprising that they were still happening – but the fact that events were still apparently tracking the book so closely deeply unnerved her.

Marina started to wonder how much they'd actually managed to change. Horcruxes were a pretty big part of the book… but had it been naïve to think that things would be totally different just because they had altered that one facet of the story?

She sighed again, cracking her eyes open and letting her forehead fall into her hands as she stared at the octopus on her mug playfully twisting its tentacles around the base of the ceramic handle. If things really were so unchanged, did that mean she should warn them as to what would happen next? About the trio getting kidnapped by Death Eaters? Voldemort getting the Elder wand? The Battle of Hogwarts?

Marina went cold, as she always did when her thoughts wandered to the Battle. Tonks, Lupin, Fred…

"You alright?"

Marina's head shot up. Charlie was standing right opposite her, frowning as he surveyed her. She hadn't even noticed him coming down the stairs.

"Yeah," she said tiredly, sipping her coffee. "Just… you know."

Charlie nodded, mouth going tight as he fell into his seat. Right as he did so, there was a muffled feathery sound as an owl swooped down and landed on the windowsill above the bench. Charlie gave a loud sigh of exasperation.

"I just sat down," he groaned.

Marina smirked. "Don't say I never do anything for you," she said with a smile as she got up.

"You're a saint," Charlie said blearily, pouring himself some tea from the pot on the table.

Marina scooped up a Knut from the little coin dish on the bench and slipped it into the pouch on the owl's leg before pulling the Daily Prophet from its string. The owl flew off at once, and Marina threw the paper on the table, sitting down after it and seizing her coffee again.

"Don't know why you bother," muttered Charlie, giving it a disapproving look, "the Prophet's all pro-regime propaganda these days."

"If there's one thing I learned from that History minor, it's that you can learn just as much from something's bias as the text itself," Marina replied, peering at the front page. "What people decide to include and how they choose to say it tells you just as much as what's not there."

"Yeah, but you still have to read all that utter drivel," Charlie snorted.

On the front page was a fairly standard sight – a huge flashing headline reading 'ANOTHER MUDBLOOD FOUND GUILTY OF STEALING MAGIC,' and a photo underneath of an ashen-faced young man in an Azkaban jumpsuit, flanked by Dementors, eyes wide and jaw trembling. She grimaced – and then paused. Her attention had been snagged by a much smaller line of text at the very top of the page. Sunday 11th January 1998. She blinked.

"It's my birthday," she said, surprised.

Charlie's brows shot up. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Marina looked up at him, amused. "Wait – do you think I'm actually a year older? I don't know how long its been since my last birthday because of all the time travel."

"Too complicated," Charlie smirked. "Just roll with it."

"I'm twenty-five then, I guess," she said somewhat blankly, feeling strange.

"Well happy birthday," he grinned. "Merlin, wait until mum finds out…"

"Reckon she'll make me that apple crumble if I ask really nicely?" Marina said, smiling dreamily.

"She'll make you anything you like," he snorted, "bit late to get you a present isn't it? She'll definitely try to compensate with food."

"Not complaining," Marina snorted. "I don't really mind not getting –"

There was a sound from the lounge and Marina's head whipped around. It had been a crisp little snap, like a bone cracking underfoot. She was out of her chair and racing around the corner into the lounge in the blink of an eye, but –

Marina's eyes fell upon Mr Weasley lifting his foot to peer down at the twig he'd stepped on, fallen from the woodpile.

"Oh – morning, Marina," Mr Weasley said with a weary smile, looking up at her.

"Morning," she said thickly, shoving down her disappointment so that it didn't pool as tears in her eyes. "Going to work?"

"Coming back," he said grimly, "Ministry's been nuts recently…"

Marina nodded numbly as Charlie rounded the corner too.

"Go get some sleep, dad," he frowned at once. "You look like death propped up."

"Excellent plan," Mr Weasley said heavily, making his way to the stairs. "See you at dinner, you two."

Charlie watched as Marina walked over to the couch and collapsed onto it, staring blankly at the coffee table.

"He'll be back," said Charlie gently. "Don't you wo-"

"If you tell me to not worry, Charlie, I swear to god," Marina said fiercely, resting her head on her palms.

He didn't reply, he only came over and sat next to her on the couch. She felt his arm around her shoulders and let out a deep sigh, leaning against him.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"It's alright," said Charlie, giving her a squeeze. "I get it."

"I hate this," whispered Marina, staring at the lounge absently.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Marina's lungs were screaming, her legs aching, her face red and sweaty, but she kept running – past the line of trees at the boundary of the property, past the orchard, past the creek with the Murtlap infestation, and past the fence she always went to sit on to watch the sunrise. As she rounded onto the little hill that led up to the Burrow, Marina grit her teeth and forced herself into a full sprint. She felt her body protesting and pushed through it with relish, driving herself forward as fast as she could, one step after the next, eyes fixed on the Burrow in front of her.

She didn't let herself stop until she reached the side of the house, almost running straight into it and catching herself hard on the wall with both arms. She leaned forward, heaving in breaths as her heart thundered in her chest. Dragging the hem of her shirt up to wipe her face, Marina turned and fell heavily against the wall, letting her head fall back against it with a thud.

After her breath had deepened out again, her eyes fell upon the pile of uncut firewood before her with the axe jutting from the chopping block next to it. Marina's chest ached hard and she forced herself off the wall, turning away abruptly as she made her way around to the door. She pushed it open with her foot and beelined for the sink, filling up a glass with water and downing it quickly, then filling it up again. As she sipped at it, Marina turned and leaned against the bench, feeling her body slowly begin to cool after the intense exercise.

The Prophet was on the bench next to her. She stared stony-faced at the date at the top as it told her what she very well knew but would rather not be reminded of – it had been exactly a month since Tom had left, and they had heard absolutely nothing from him. Not a word on Potterwatch, not a single possible hint in the Daily Prophet, not an owl or a whisper from the fireplace – nothing.

Marina's fingers tightened on the glass. Something in her began to whisper horribly, wondering if she would ever see Tom again.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

February came and Marina had never been less happy to see it. Valentine's Day passed and the days slowly started to fill up with more sun and less rain, leading to her spending more and more time outside just to escape the suffocating heaviness that followed her around the Burrow. She started tending to the garden every day for hours at a time, small things at first like pulling the weeds from around the bean poles and spraying the big apple tree for lacewing flies, but as the frosts grew milder and the garden bounced back from winter, Marina only increased her efforts.

There was something incredibly cathartic about the simplicity of it – plant something, tend to it, watch it grow. The plants didn't know that Voldemort was in power, or that the Daily Prophet included supplements instructing people on how to 'identify Mudbloods on sight' and to report them immediately, or that Xenophilius Lovegood had gone missing. The plants didn't care that Marina was sleeping less and spending more and more time wondering if she should go against Dumbledore's most resolute rule and all of his pleading advice, if she should tell people what she knew of the possible future. If she should try to save the lives she knew might be lost in the coming war. If doing so would throw things so far off track that it would cause more harm than she'd avoid. All the garden knew was that it was sunnier every day as March grew closer and that Marina kept it weedless and well-watered. That was all it needed to know to grow.

"Ouch!" Marina hissed, pulling her hand back and staring at the garden gnome latched onto her hand. Its needle-like teeth had sunk straight through Charlie's rather frayed dragon-skin gloves and into her flesh, and she let a terse sigh through her nose.

"Excuse me," she said irritably to the gnome as it dangled there. "Do you fucking mind?"

The gnome gave her a rude hand gesture that she could only assume Fred and George had taught them over the holidays. Marina poked its ribs with a stick and it let go with a furious yelp, cursing loudly as it scurried off.

She pulled the glove off to inspect the bite. It wasn't bleeding much (even though it stung something horrible) but she still pushed herself up and dusted the dirt off her knees to go inside – gnome bites would get infected in a heartbeat. Marina picked up the basket next to her that contained the last of the winter onions and a huge pile of green pea pods before turning back to the Burrow, absently reminding herself to ask Charlie to help her set up a cover over the herb patch to stop the Flitterby moths munching on the new leaves.

There was a shriek from inside and Marina froze, panic flooding her body. Her thoughts raced to Death Eaters and Snatchers and the people from the Ministry coming to take them away – but the next second she heard Mrs Weasley's delighted cries, rapid footsteps coming down the stairs, and Charlie's voice joining the thrum. Another thought occurred to her, a hopeful, insane, impossible thought that made something shaky flutter in her chest. She tentatively stepped forward, staring at the window as she passed it. Her stomach twisted when she caught sight of Mrs Weasley hugging someone in the lounge, someone tall, someone with dark hair –

Marina's cheeks went hot and her pulse thundered in her ears as she slowly rounded the corner of the Burrow with her legs feeling like they might give out beneath her. She pushed through the kitchen door with trembling hands and stopped in her tracks.

Tom looked around from Mrs Weasley, who had both her hands on his cheeks and was in the middle of interrogating him about his wellbeing with equal parts fondness and stringency. Marina stared back at him, her eyes wide, her skin burning. Mrs Weasley caught sight of her too and ceased her interrogation, stepping back from Tom with a very knowing smile on her face.

"Apologies for the delay," Tom said evenly, almost hesitant as he watched her from across the living room.

Marina very much felt like laughing at this rather monstrous understatement, considering he'd been gone for more than two months (nine weeks and three days if she were to be precise). She felt like saying something about how he really needed to figure out the definition of the word 'soon,' or making a joke about how he'd missed her birthday, or asking him if he was okay, or demanding to know what the fuck happened to keep him away him for so long. She felt like bursting into tears, or maybe she felt like smiling uncontrollably – but there was one thing she felt like doing that utterly eclipsed everything else, something she'd felt like doing for a very long time.

The basket fell from her hands to the floor with a light thud and she was stepping towards him with long, hasty steps that closed the distance between them in a flash. Tom's expression flickered and he turned towards her as she came and then –

Marina threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his collar and hugging him so hard that her feet came up off the floor thanks to him being nearly a foot taller than her. His arms closed tightly around her at once and she squeezed her eyes shut against her prickling tears, barely able to believe that he was really there. She tightened her arms, relishing in the feeling of him, the heady, stupidly good smell of him, the fact that he was really back after so long. His arms tightened too and she nearly went dizzy at how good it felt.

It was some time before Tom gently leaned forward and her feet touched the ground again, but neither of them pulled away. His arms felt wonderful around her, his head bowed over her and his cheek pressing against her temple. Marina inhaled deeply, holding her breath before letting it go, her face still pressed into the crook of his neck. Slowly, it was as if the tension and fear and worry of the past two months was dissipating, and she was growing more and more relaxed as reality was setting in. He was back, he was back, he was right there, he hadn't been discovered by Voldemort, he was alright –

Her thoughts suddenly snagged.

Was he alright?

Marina reluctantly pulled away a bit and slid her hands from around Tom's neck to each side of his jaw, her eyes raking across his face anxiously. She distantly registered that both Charlie and Mrs Weasley had vanished from the lounge and that she could hear noises and voices from the kitchen where they had resumed preparing lunch.

"What happened?" asked Marina, her voice a lot shakier than she'd been expecting. "Are you alright? What – why were you –"

"I'm fine," Tom said quietly, eyes on hers. "It was not possible to leave without drawing unwanted attention until now."

Marina nodded quickly, her hands fluttering somewhat restlessly against his jaw. "I thought he'd – I thought you'd been –"

"I'm fine," he said again, his expression softening.

She nodded again, pressing her lips together hard and not trusting her voice to stay even to speak again.

Tom blinked, then his head slowly fell and he lightly rested his forehead on hers. His eyes closed and he took a long breath, his shoulders dropping a bit as he visibly relaxed. Marina could only look up at him, slightly mesmerised by the sight. He looked very tired – she could see shadows under his eyes like little bruises – but he was as unignorably beautiful as the last time she'd seen him. Her eyes lingered on his dark lashes, the elegant angles of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw beneath her fingers, his full lips –

Tom's eyes cracked open and he caught her staring. "Marina," he said shrewdly, the corner of his mouth curling. "What are you doing?"

"I haven't been able to look at you for some time," she replied, a smile fluttering on her own lips. "Excuse me for enjoying the privilege of being able to do so all of a sudden."

Tom huffed his little breath of a laugh and Marina's heart clenched, not having realised just how much she'd missed hearing it.

As she stared at him, something between them seemed to shift. All of a sudden, Marina could only think about his arms around her waist, how he was barely a breath away, how her palms were still softly holding his face, how his eyes dropped to her mouth for a split second before returning to hers, dark and hooded –

"How long are you back for, Tom?" Charlie asked conversationally as he rounded the corner into the lounge.

Marina dropped her hands from Tom at once, hastily stepping backwards out of his arms and viscerally aware that she was blushing furiously.

"Oh, sorry," Charlie grinned smugly, looking deeply amused. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's fine," Marina said quickly, not quite able to look either of them in the eye. "I should – I dropped the –"

She sped over to where the basket still lay by the door, seized it, and retreated into the kitchen without looking over her shoulder. Mrs Weasley gave her another knowing smile from where she was charming boiled potatoes to mash themselves, and Marina felt like sinking through the floor. She set about shelling the peas at absolute lightning speed, and resolutely did not look up as Tom and Charlie came around the corner.

"We've got him for two days," Charlie said triumphantly, sitting down and giving Marina a surreptitious wink. She shot him a deadpan glare and returned to the peas.

"Only two days, Tom?" Mrs Weasley asked slowly, looking concerned.

"The Dark Lord is conducting an interrogation somewhere in Austria," Tom said quietly, "he is searching for something, though he has trusted no one with the knowledge of what."

Marina's lips pressed together and she frowned at the bowl of peas before her.

"Why did he come back before Christmas?" asked Charlie seriously.

"I believe that his snake nearly captured Harry Potter," murmured Tom.

The pot of mashed potatoes crashed loudly into the sink as Mrs Weasley spun on her heel.

"He was unsuccessful," Tom said quickly, "his anger at that failure lasted for quite some time afterwards…"

"Oh," Mrs Weasley breathed in relief, flicking her wand at the pot and sending it careening over to the waiting serving dish. "Merlin's beard Tom, you scared me half to death…"

"He has now fully resumed his previous search," Tom continued thoughtfully, "though he has been returning to the Manor much more frequently."

"Hence you only staying two days," Charlie said matter-of-factly, nodding.

"Indeed," said Tom, a smile playing on his lips.

Mrs Weasley waved her wand at the bowl of peas in front of Marina and they streamed upwards, flinging themselves into a boiling pot of water on the stovetop. "We'll have you for however long we can," she said briskly as plates flew from the cabinets in front of each of them. "You're very welcome to stay whenever you're able."

"Thank you," said Tom quietly.

Marina sat down opposite him and Charlie, seizing the large, very colourful pot of tea from the centre of the table. "Don't wait nine weeks next time though," she mumbled.

"It was not by choice," he replied smoothly, watching her pour tea into her octopus mug and spoon in a considerable amount of sugar afterwards. "Nor my preference."

"Marina, what in Merlin's name happened to your hand?" Charlie asked exasperatedly, reaching forward and grabbing it to inspect the bite.

"Oh," she said blankly, "I forgot about that."

"Did you get bitten by another gnome?" he said, raising a brow.

"Yeah, they must have a den somewhere near the pea plants," Marina yawned as Charlie turned her hand over.

"Better get that seen to, dear," Mrs Weasley said seriously, setting down a sizzling cast iron pan of sausages in the middle of the table. "Remember that first time."

"What happened the first time?" Tom asked at once, sounding pre-emptively disapproving.

"She got a bite and didn't tell anyone because she didn't reckon it looked bad," Charlie snorted, shaking his head, "ended up in bed for two days with an infection."

Tom levelled Marina with a very flat look. "Give it here," he said monotonously, indicating for her hand.

Marina rather nervously offered him her hand which he delicately took in his long fingers, drawing his wand. A shiver passed across her skin at his touch, and she must have blushed because Charlie gave a muffled snort of laughter. She kicked him under the table.

"I have a gnome bite linctus upstairs, Tom," called Mrs Weasley as she bustled away to fetch the peas.

"I know a spell," he said quietly, waving his wand across the little constellation of pin-prick wounds on Marina's skin. They immediately stitched together and stopped stinging. She glanced up at him, impressed.

"What spell's that, Tom?" Charlie asked curiously, finally having stopped snickering at Marina. "Bites like that don't heal easily."

"I enjoy inventing spells," replied Tom evenly, stowing his wand as Marina drew back her hand to admire her healed skin. "Healing magic is especially challenging and thus the most rewarding. That particular spell will work on most bites."

"Clever one, aren't you?" said Charlie pleasantly. "Can see why Marina likes you so much."

"God, Charlie," she said loudly. "One more word out of you and I'll tell them that story you let slip about a certain incident involving a bottle of firewhisky and pile of Peruvian Vipertooth dung –"

"Alright, alright," he interrupted quickly, raising his hands in surrender. "I yield… Merlin's beard, you're ruthless."

"I think perhaps we can gather what occurred based on those elements alone," Tom smirked.

"You really can't," snickered Marina.

It was Charlie's turn to kick her under the table.

After lunch, Marina very much wanted to try to talk to Tom but Mrs Weasley sent him away with Charlie to deal to the nest of doxies that had set up residence in the main chimney, and she was tasked with cutting firewood for the evening. Potterwatch was expected to run that night, and Mrs Weasley was visibly anxious about what she might hear. Her hands were already trembling as she charmed the dishes into a soapy tempest in the sink, so Marina obeyed her at once, not wishing to add to her troubles.

As she made her way to the door, she passed Tom and Charlie where they were both peering up into the fireplace with wands in hand. She caught Tom's eye, and their gaze lingered a second. Marina wondered if perhaps he'd been thinking along the same lines as her when a sudden huge explosion of ash from the hearth and the teetering of angry doxies drew his attention, breaking the moment and letting Marina push out the door with warm cheeks.

She was nearly finished with the wood when she heard the door swinging shut and turned to see Tom surveying her, his hands in the pockets of his trousers and his face smeared with ash.

"You look a treat," Marina snickered, swinging the axe hard into the log before her and watching in satisfaction as it split perfectly in two with a gratifying woody clunk.

"What happened to the privilege of looking at me?" Tom smirked, cocking his head.

Marina rolled her eyes at him and lined up another log. "Your personality finally caught up and ruined it," she said teasingly, nudging the wood forward with the tip of her shoe.

"What a cruel thing to say," he drawled, expression unchanged.

"Don't take it to heart," she said nonchalantly. "I'm just mad at you for missing my birthday."

"Did I?" asked Tom, voice slightly quieter.

"Yes," she grinned, swinging the axe. "I'll never forgive you."

"How old are you now? A hundred and seven?" he said casually, pulling his wand from his pocket and twirling it absently between his long fingers.

"Jerk," Marina scoffed. "You know I'm only two years older than you. God, you're as bad as Charlie."

"Charlie certainly enjoys antagonising you," Tom said humorously.

"Charlie's a little shit," Marina muttered. "Hey – are you going to talk to the Order about the last few months?"

"What do you mean?" Tom frowned.

"All the shit you've seen, being around You-Know-Who and stuff. I'm surprised the Order isn't all over you," she shrugged, splitting another log.

"I doubt they will ask," Tom replied thoughtfully, wand still twirling in his fingers. "Arthur implied very early on that I should keep what I've seen to myself - if the Death Eaters start to suspect that they have someone leaking information to the Order, it will only endanger my position and the success of my plans."

"And – Luna – is she –"

"She is remarkably well, all things considered," he said wearily, "as is Ollivander. Their wellbeing is somewhat secured by the fact that they both serve purposes to the Dark Lord."

Marina nodded, tight-lipped as she left the axe embedded in the block and crouched to stack some logs. She remembered Ollivander saying something along those lines when they'd been locked in the cellar together. "Good, I suppose," she said curtly, standing with her arms full.

She turned to take the logs back to the house and nearly dropped them in surprise – Tom was suddenly right behind her.

"Jesus Christ, Riddle," Marina exclaimed, jumping. "We gotta get you a bell."

"A bell?" he repeated derisively, quirking a brow.

"Yeah," she said blankly, staring at him. He was very close and her cheeks felt warmer at once. "So you… so you don't sneak up on me."

Tom slowly shook his head with a sort of impassive amusement. "Would you like a hand?" he asked quietly, lips slightly curved in a smile.

"Huh?"

"With the firewood," he added, little smile growing.

"Oh," she said stupidly, "sure – thanks."

Marina handed over the armful of logs, wiped her hands on her shorts, and glanced up at him. Her heart lurched – Tom was already looking back at her. A ringing moment passed where she thought perhaps they were both considering saying something about the elephant in the room. Tom's brow furrowed ever so slightly and a little thrill of exhilaration went through her as he opened his mouth to speak when –

"Merlin's beard, can you two just snog each other and get it over with?" Charlie said exasperatedly from where he'd rounded the corner of the house and found them staring at each other again. "If this is what it's going to be like every time you're back from now on, Tom –"

Marina seized the top log off the pile in Tom's arms and lobbed it full force at Charlie who had to duck back behind the house to avoid it – though it did not have the intended effect.

"Mum wants that wood now, please," Charlie said, poking his grinning face back around the corner, "if you two could stop gazing longingly at each other for five seconds and –"

"Charlie," Marina snarled, threateningly bearing another log.

"Alright! I'm going!" he smirked, though they could hear him snickering as he retreated.

"I'm sorry about that," Marina said hastily, crouching again and stacking more logs into her arms at breakneck speed. "He's not half as funny as he thinks he is."

"Actually I'm rather enjoying of Charlie's sense of humour these days," Tom said smoothly as she stood.

Marina stared at him incredulously. He gave her a ridiculously attractive smirk before turning to lead the way back to the Burrow, leaving her slightly stunned and with a heart rate that rivalled the time she'd drunk six pots of jasmine green tea in two hours because she hadn't realised it was caffeinated.

The way things were going, the war would already be over and she'd be in a constant state of arrhythmia before she had the chance to properly talk to Tom again.

.•° ✿ °•.
A/N: We have another double whammy team. Next chapter will probs be out either in a few hours if I'm onto it or tomorrow! (I was away from wifi for a while in the past week and went a bit ballistic on writing). Let's just say I'm extremely excited about posting the next one ;)
°•. ✿ .•°