It's good to return to writing after a long semester. Hope you like this update!
Something's blocking the sun.
Kate is usually hit by a full blast of sunlight when she wakes up in the morning, so finding that it is instead being blocked by something is a little disorienting. "What is the time? And what have you been doing, propped up on your elbow?"
"It is a little over 6:30 in the morning," Tom replies, smiling crookedly as a hand runs through her hair, which now looks like something he takes great pleasure in. "And I have been watching you sleep."
"What, pray tell me, is so interesting about a curled up motionless human that you spent time in looking at it so intently?"
"The fact that said human is free of worry and pain in their sleep, and it gives the watcher great comfort that this person, on whom they place great importance, gets to be free of their problems and pains for that short period. It also doesn't help that you look more beautiful while you sleep, impossible as it seems."
"I told you about my policy for compliments."
"Don't worry - I will not let you get accustomed to them. And as much as I want to stay in, I need to fetch groceries and prepare breakfast."
"It's not even seven yet," she grins at him, pushing back the painful memories that begin to creep back to centerstage. "We have nothing to do as of now - surely you can stay in." At that, Tom bites his lip in contemplation, glancing at the alarm clock by the bedside.
"Well, it is just six forty eight," a grin forming on his face, "and Frank's doesn't open till seven. So I suppose we can have some fun," before she knows, she's laughing giddily, sides tingling with all the tickling.
"Enough, enough," she swats at his hands but he only changes the site, fingers wiggling under her chin, peals of laughter echoing across the room. "I'll get back at you."
"If you get away, that is."
"Oh shut up, Riddle," she wheezes in between laughs.
"Make me."
"Should I be inferring something from this sentence?"
"Every sentence is meant to be derived an inference from."
"Okay then - silencio." The wiggly digits retreat and Tom sits up, hands folded in his lap with a penitent expression on his face. She gets up and walks over to the door, picking up her wand from the nightstand on the way.
When she returns from the washroom, the bedroom is empty - so Kate gets to cleaning up the room and making the bed, and then heading outside to tend to the overgrown garden. It's small and mostly weedy, but in between the unwanted plants are lilies and peonies she dare not try and uproot, so she starts with clearing the backyard first.
It takes one sweaty, muddy hour and I have a wheelbarrow full of crabgrass, so taking a shower is the best course of action now. She hears clanking in the kitchen, so he's at it now, god knows what and how he cooks, but it doesn't stop on her way to the washroom.
As inviting is the smell of juniper inside the shower, the smell of baking mushrooms and cheese is even more enticing, and she follows it to the source, taking a deep whiff before giving a smile filled with surprise. "Who taught you?"
"The elves," he quips, readjusting the baking gloves on his hands.
"Never thought a young man like you would look handsome in a flowery apron."
"Never thought a young lady like you would look comely in army pajamas." Tom glances at the egg timer, then takes out the skillet, quickly heating oil upon it. "Ten more minutes till breakfast."
"Since we both have nearly nothing to do so far," she begins, Tom hmming in agreement, "I had a proposition - dueling matches and lessons. I will be enrolling for Auror training in September, so it seemed fitting that I was well-prepared beforehand." He doesn't answer, pulling out plates, forks and knives.
"And where and who will be conducting these?"
"Here - in the basement. Just the two of us."
"Auror?"
"Fits my temperament and skillset."
"I earned a job at Borgin and Burkes." She takes a while to formulate a response to that, the two seated across the other. Kate understands his reasons and knows that someone with pride like Tom's would never ask for help in such matters, and she knows exactly why he's telling her that. Just because he works for those men doesn't put either of our future careers in jeopardy.
"Doesn't matter," she looks straight at him, "you stay here as long as you want. I'll provide you a letter of character before you join wherever, and I'm certain the Malfoys and Blacks will be more than willing to help you with that."
"So it doesn't perturb you in the slightest that I'm taking up work at a shop that specialises in the sale and procurement of charmed and/or cursed objects, more towards the Dark Arts?"
"Perturb, yes - antagonise, no. It does not change my perception of you." He gives her a small, genuine smile, rising from his seat.
"I would very much like to do something."
"And what is that?"
Tom lifts her off the chair and her feet, putting her down on the kitchen counter. "You do know you are shameless by current societal standards, don't you?"
"You love that about me." Fingers creep up her sides as he leans closer, and her pulse picks up at the heat meeting her shower-cooled skin. Somewhere in the distance, lightning flashes, and Kate counts the seconds until the sound of rumbling thunder to slow her racing heart. Sixteen kilometres to the storm.
She presses her lips to his as she slides off the counter, trying to marshal her thoughts into an orderly formation. "Work first."
Basement would be an inadequate term.
The room is more akin to an air raid shelter, a wall lined with all supplies essential for survival. The other end, however, is a polar opposite - best resembling a mini wizarding dueling arena, it is equipped with dummies bearing scorch marks and what looks like Muggle training equipment.
"My father left her side of the place untouched while transforming the other half into a carpentry station and then a shelter," Kate explains. "We, as you can clearly see, will be using the wizard half of the place." She looks around the room before pointing to a spot, the two taking their places. "Okay - begin."
He fires an easy spell first - Diffindo - which she deflects with ease, smirking haughtily at him. It was foolish to assume this woman would ever start from the ground up. The next is a little more dangerous - Relashio - but she ducks and fires back with a protective charm, throwing him off his feet.
He lifts himself off the floor, firing hex after hex; she twists and dodges and parries back with hexes of her own - he misses a particularly nasty one by a hair's breadth. Tom retaliates with a Stunning Spell, and even though she successfully blocks it, the impact throws her into the stone wall, and Kate gets a cut on her cheek that is now steadily bleeding.
Tom steps forward but she rises before he's within arm's reach, a challenging smile on her face. "Again." He waits to ensure that she isn't joking - that wait is costly, because he's now bound by thin, tight ropes, cutting into his arms. "We're opponents here."
"It is still my duty to ensure you're not terribly injured."
"That is my duty, Riddle. Yours is to try to beat the living hell out of me." A look at her wristwatch and she turns back to him, cutting the ropes free. "We have been here for over four hours and I am sure we both can dearly use a bath and lunch."
"And you can use some antiseptic and a bandage." They emerge on the landing, the cloudy sky now replaced by thunder and rain.
"All in due time."
He can barely hear the sound of the shower over the thunder, letting the water drip through his sweat-slick hair and itchy back. Dueling practices now seem like a good idea, especially if he plans to obtain certain objects off of certain individuals. Last I heard, Gellert Grindelwald holds the key to unlimited wizarding power in his palm - a Hallow. And not just a Hallow - the Hallow itself. A few months at Borgin and Burkes ought to set me right for the journey.
"Lunch is there if you want it."
"Three minutes." Like the idiot that I sometimes am, Tom has left his shirt on the bed, and he steps out to find said clothing being waved in front of his face.
"You told me you never indulged in sports." He looks back and forth, then back at himself in order to answer her question. Not exactly a sport.
"No." He smiles at her, amused. Three guesses, Summers.
"Patrol duty cannot give a person such a physique."
"It cannot." His smile grows.
"I've never seen you run around the grounds of the castle."
"I did, but you do need to keep yourself in shape for peak performance each week." When she doesn't get the drift, he steps closer, slowly backing her into the wall. "It isn't exactly a sport - if it was, it would probably be the oldest in human history."
When she eventually does catch on, Kate blinks slowly, words dying in her mouth as she shakes her head, cheeks flooded with red. He runs his thumb along her parted lips. "I'm-I'm not taken aback by the what, more by the frequency," she manages to let out. Tom hums in agreement, prying his shirt out of her hands with his free one, the other still playing with her hair. "You are joking."
"To a fair extent," he hooks a finger under the neck of her T-Shirt, lightly pulling it - Kate's eyes widen, "and not." Time to put my theory to the test.
Kissing her feels just as intoxicating as that Christmas Eve and he has to fight with his instincts to observe her reactions. Tom tosses the shirt away, the hand now gripping her wrist, holding it against the wall. Her pulse is so much more elevated than usual.
Her face is flushed when she looks back at him, confused and hesitant before she speaks. "You know, most women dream of being in such situations with men like you."
There is always one. "But?"
"As much as I am attached to you, I still don't. This," she points at them, "the kissing and all is fine, but I don't know if I can ever see myself going beyond that." So this is the grand answer. Her answer relieves him greatly - Tom was worried she would become sexually attached as well as emotionally, but this girl is off any spectrum, queer or otherwise. Which makes two of us, because as much as Tom brings people into his bed, it is nothing but a physical impulse, a thing he wants to jettison out of him as soon as possible. He knows he can live without it, and will never form an emotional bond with any of his partners.
But whatever he has with her - this strange intellectual and literally magical bond (he suspects) that they have - he can tell that it goes deeper than skin and flesh, for better or worse. So he decides to ditch the laboratory conditions and simply enjoy the experience, letting the lightning flow through his veins once more as their mouths collide.
The explanation is for another time.
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