We're slowly creeping towards the beginning of the end, folks; for now, they'll get all the happiness they realistically can.
Also, it's review reply time.
Love . Fiction . 2018 - Thanks!
HisRedRose123 - Thanks a lot for all the praise! As a fanfic author, I do write for myself, but I also write for my readers, and it gives me tremendous pleasure when I receive feedback of any type. I myself have a policy of leaving a comment/review on almost every fanfic I read, because I know how happy that would make me.
TotalZayaGirl14 - Here it is :D Things are not ending well for her, true, but we still have time until that happens. For now, this small bubble of happiness is here to stay for a while.
munnukumar - That was a notion I had entertained at some point while laying down the basics for this story. But that is not a route I want to take - it is one that feels less true to Riddle's character and reduces him and Kate down to a fanfic trope.
It's strangely beautiful.
Kate observes the patchwork of bruises on her neck once she steps out of the shower, red and bright from the previous night. She would have presumed they would look ugly, but it looks like a necklace of flowers blooming on her skin.
She's fully dressed once she steps into the bedroom, and for once, she notices that she is out of bed before the man she shares it with. Tom is still asleep, shirt and vest still discarded on the floor. For a short moment, she simply stares at his sleeping form, a slow smile building on her face. She bends down to kiss the exposed skin, stepping back almost immediately once she realises exactly what she has done.
It's nothing out of the ordinary, but it's the ease and spontaneity with which she feels those emotions that takes her aback. So far, he had been a good friend, then a support system to fend off the grief of her father's passing, and then they had progressed to a strange relationship not quite a school fling, and not quite a monogamous union.
But last night had slightly changed things for her, as much as she loathed to admit it.
He had trusted her with topics he clearly did not discuss in ordinary company or in friend circles, and she had wanted him in more ways than one.
There was this previously unexplored physical aspect, which she chalked down to her blatant lack of experience with anyone. She had asked him, almost teetered on begging him, to continue touching her like that. She had dragged her nails across his back, not wanting the thrill coursing through her body to stop.
And he looked at her like she was some deific figure, an odd mix of desire and adoration. Then there was the time after that - for someone very rough and aggressive in their pursuit of passion, he was unexpectedly gentle with her. And in that one moment as they looked at each other lying down on her bed, an odd feeling of completeness and warmth had filled her.
All of that confuses and scares her.
If this is love, I don't want it. Not now. She barely knows the man properly for not even a year, and to make herself that emotionally vulnerable to him would be utter foolishness. They have barely begun to exchange secrets and weaknesses, and until the scale is even and heavy, she will not allow herself to fall in love.
He gives her a sleep-laden smile as he extends a hand, and Kate takes it. Tom pulls her down upon him as his lips reach for her neck (a favourite spot of his), but two can play at this, Tom. So she straddles him, leaning in close enough before pulling back at the last second. At that, she receives a wicked smirk before the tickles hit, and she collapses upon him in a heap of laughter, her hands batting his away.
He finally captures her lips with his, his hands sliding down to her waist as he kisses her fully, and she lets hers find their way to his face. "Good morning," a croaky baritone greets her after that. "And I will leave for Borgin's a lot later now, because that cantankerous old prune certainly does not greet me this way." Kate grins at him before getting up, leaving to prepare for her day.
For now, this will do.
He leaves for work, and she gets to her daily routine. In a month, Kate joins the Ministry of Magic to formally begin training as an Auror, and the prospect fills with excitement and a tiny bit of fear.
The rest of the day passes in the blur of routine, and the only break in her monotony comes when Tom returns, the two of them returning to training before they sit down to talk about more personal topics, like family.
"My mother had apparently sought help from Borgin at some point in her stay in London. Merlin alone knows what that old bat had to offer." This jolts a memory in her brain, and Kate slowly pieces together the information she had collected that rainy day.
"Your family is related to the Slytherins, aren't they?" To that, he raises an eyebrow, face a mix of caution and intrigue.
"What of that?"
"Borgin has a locket in possession that I suspect belongs to Salazar Slytherin. I questioned him about the item almost a fortnight ago, and all he told me was that a young and heavily pregnant woman sold him this locket almost two decades back."
"Well," he considers this, "I don't suppose I could charm Borgin out of it. He is unsurprisingly immune to my wiles."
"Especially not when he's waiting for a fortune to be paid for it." The two contemplate the issue in silence, Kate hitting a brick wall in the ways she could help Tom retrieve that piece of family history. I certainly cannot ask a friend in the Magical Artifacts department, because they will impound the object and send it over to Hogwarts. "I can't see any legal way to get it back at this point. Unless you can get your dear friend Malfoy to call in a favour, the locket is stuck with Borgin."
"I could try with Abraxas, but the success of that venture might be limited - that family has never been keen on getting their hands dirty for anything."
There is an idea - an idea that hinges mostly on an easily won-over personality, Tom's charm and the blatant exploitation of his tragic backstory, but it could work.
"How about you ensure the locket gets sold to the right person?" She sees her companion's eyes light up with intrigue, him leaning forward. "You scout out and plant a particular client in Borgin's mind; one that is both rich and a sympathetic personality. Then, you visit this buyer after the sale. You use your family history, charm and sentimental connections to the locket, and they offer it to you solely because it means so much to you and they can find another beautiful thing to covet with their money."
Tom has something akin to admiration etched on his face. "A Slytherin after my own heart; I could kiss you."
"You do that plenty often, Riddle," she smirks at him, donning her running shoes as she heads for the door, "find new ways to express your admiration." That's a fitting exit line, and Kate jogs out the door and into the cool night air, French braid swinging like clockwork as she runs to an imaginary beat.
The neighbours are almost all asleep, with the exception of a few houses. Someone sits by the window lamp reading the evening paper in a home three houses down from hers. Another has a light on in the kitchen, a lady bent over the sink finishing the day's washing. A few houses down, she hears the high pitched giggle of small children, and she runs laps around these buildings until her legs are ready to give out. Somewhere in the journey to that state, the kids have gone to sleep and the lady has finished her washing, and Kate slows down as she approaches the small, slightly secluded garden that she usually sits in after such a run.
The wind gently moves past her face and through her sweat-soaked shirt and pants as she trots over to an old oak. The tree is shady and perfect to lie under, but yesterday's thunderstorm has left the grass and soil below it too sticky and muddy to lie or sit in.
"Lucky I have an appropriate army tarp to sit on, then." The voice breaks the quiet spell, and she has to resist the urge to whip out her wand as she turns her head to look at the speaker.
"That wasn't very polite."
"So isn't risking your better half falling asleep in wet and muddy grass, but six of one."
"If I'm the better one, then you should expect better of me as well."
"I do," he begins, "because while I said you would be risking falling asleep, I would definitely fall asleep in muddy grass after such an exhausting routine. So, what are we doing here?"
"As of now, I'm sitting here until I finally feel the urge to leave."
"And when would that be?"
She flops down on the tarp as he sets it down, shrugging as she looks up at the thankfully clear sky. The moon is waning but still bright enough to provide decent visibility, and Kate picks at her t-shirt as she leans against the tree's trunk. "This goddamn war has forced all of us to grow up way faster than I like."
"Some of us had to grow up quicker anyways," he says before taking a bite of his apple, passing her one. Kate's face reddens, realising a boundary she might have crossed.
"Sorry," she says into the air, not looking at him. It was inconsiderate and thoughtless of her to say that without keeping in mind the individual beside her, and her fidgeting increases. A warm hand encloses her free one, and he moves to sit in front of her.
"I should be the one apologising - I didn't intend the statement to come off as critical of you." Before she can counter back with a statement of her own, he picks up her free hand, pressing it to his cheek. "You are right - it has forced everyone to take on roles that clearly were meant for later in life for them. We're not playing a game of 'who's had it worse' here, Kate, and I don't want you to censor your thoughts because you think it might offend me."
"I can frame them better," she mutters to herself. At that, he chuckles.
"Dressing it up better doesn't change the contents of the message, and we are both well aware of that. You should be brash, and you should be especially brash with me; heaven knows I need someone to show me my place from time to time."
"Please," she scoffs, "don't ever get the impression that I'm scared of you in any form. Because I can and will hand your arse to you if necessary."
"And she's back."
"You're pretty good at this."
"Specify 'this', love." At the last word, she bristles a little, but doesn't let it show.
"Being honest and charming at the same time."
"Years of practice."
They sit in silence after that, Kate letting her mind finally wander for once - she might not still be fully comfortable voicing everything she thinks to Tom, but they're getting there.
And that's good enough for now.
Read and review!