A/N: Been while, hasn't it? I had major block with this one but I think it turned out all right in the end. Thanks again to all those who have reviewed, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.
The Years that Followed the Morning After.
by Flaignhan.
He opened the door to her bedroom and walked in, though his usual stride was noticeably absent, replaced with a tired and well hidden (though not to Emily's eye) limp. He closed the door behind him and went over to her bed, sitting down on the purple satin sheets, letting out a shaky breath. He was paler than usual, his eyes even more bloodshot than they had been when he had seen her earlier on in the evening.
"It's late, why are you still working?" he said, his voice slightly muffled as he pressed his face into his hands.
"What happened?" Emily got up from her chair and went to sit next to him on the bed, pulling his hands away from his face so she could inspect the already ruined features.
"It seems I rather underestimated the Prewett brothers. Very talented wizards, the pair of them."
"Did you kill them?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, though it took rather more effort than I imagined," he heaved another breath.
"Are you hurt?"
"Worn out," he said, "I'm an old man these days, after all."
"No you're not," Emily argued. "You're only a little bit older than me."
He chuckled, turning his head so he could see her properly. "Maybe I should have got a boomerang for myself."
Emily smiled. "Anything I can do?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I just need to rest. Don't tell the others."
Emily rolled her eyes. "As much as you might not like it, you are still human, you know."
"Never." He moved further back onto the bed, and settled himself onto the overstuffed pillows, closing his eyes.
"D'you want me to go?"
He shook his head, and Emily put her hands in her lap, staying still for a moment before she got up and went back over to her desk. She sat down and pulled her chair in quietly, wincing as the legs scraped on the wooden floor, breaking the silence. She picked up her quill, tapping the excess ink off into the ink jar and paused, frowning as she tried to find her place in the book she had been looking at before he had arrived home.
After ten minutes of brushing the feathery end of her quill against her face and flipping boredly though pages of spells created by misinformed wizards, she shut the book quietly, glancing over her shoulder to check she had not disturbed him.
He was laying, perfectly still with his hands resting on his stomach, long pale fingers laced together. His eyes were closed, and the flickering candlelight just caught the shape of his bleached out eyelashes, resting gently against his prominent cheek bones.
Emily turned away. There was a time when he had had eyelashes that she considered to be wasted on a boy. Now, however, he was just a mess, worn out and damaged, bearing no resemblance to the handsome teenager she had once been crazy over.
The door opened and Emily spun around on her chair, touching her sock-covered feet down on the floor once she was facing her uninvited guest.
She was standing in the doorway, her heavily lidded eyes narrowed as she looked between him and Emily. Her lips were fixed in their usual haughty pout, her thick shiny hair perfectly straight and tucked behind her ears.
"Bella," Emily said, not even bothering to plaster a fake smile on her face. It was too late in the day to be troubled with false niceties. "Always a treat..."
"What have you done to him?"
Emily tutted. "How about you knock before you burst in here?"
"I knock only for the Dark Lord," Bella retorted. "What have you done?"
"I've done nothing. He's sleeping, Bella."
"Sleeping!" Bella hissed, disbelievingly. "The Dark Lord does not sleep."
"No, he does not, Bella."
Both women started at the unexpected noise and turned towards the bed. He was still laying there, in exactly the same position, eyes closed, lips pressed together as though they had not spoken a word since he had laid down.
"He does not, but he would if you weren't bursting in here making such a racket. Now get out, and stop being a bother."
Emily smirked and turned to Bella.
"And you are wrong. You knock for the Dark Lord and you knock for Miss Pranghurst as well, do you understand me?"
"Yes, my Lord," Bella looked at her feet, her bony hand resting on the wooden door frame.
Emily's smirk became more pronounced and she turned back to her desk, moving a large bundle of scrolls aside. She slid her latest issue of Transfiguration Today towards her, opening it to the contents page, her finger trailing down the list of articles until she found one that didn't sound like it would bore her to tears.
"You're still here, Bella," he reminded her. "Close the door behind you."
Emily clamped her lips shut to keep herself from laughing and she turned the pages of her magazine, as though she wasn't even listening. She glanced at the window, Bella's glaring reflection disappearing from view as she pulled the door shut with more force than was necessary.
"She doesn't like me," Emily said after moment, more amused than concerned by the matter. "She can't keep away from you though."
"You were like her once," he said. "An infatuated child."
"Yes, but I was fourteen and you were good looking," Emily replied defensively. Bella was in her twenties, and still acting like a petulant teenager. Emily had grown up long before then.
He laughed. "That's true. Though while my looks may have gone downhill, my greatness has multiplied exponentially. Some women are more attracted to power and intelligence than they are to handsome faces."
"Those women are only after a piece of the power," Emily said. "Don't give it to her."
"As if I'd give her anything other than work," he said, mild indignation altering his tone. "She can't be left alone without finding something to kill, I'm not going to go ahead and give her power. You must think I'm mad."
"So she is too messed up, even for your tastes?"
"What kind of tastes are we talking?"
"Any."
He paused. "Yes, she is rather. But I suppose she does have her uses, and she is faithful."
Emily yawned and stood up. She walked over to the bed, lifting up the pillows that he wasn't resting his head on and taking her pyjamas out from underneath. She went quietly into her bathroom, and changed quickly.
There was a time when she hadn't cared about changing in front of him. Even though he would watch her with his grey eyes creased at the corners in something that was almost concentration, his lips smirking all the while, she hadn't minded. He wouldn't bother opening his eyes now, not because she had got any less beautiful, or because he cared any less, but because he was no longer Tom.
She blew out the candles and climbed under the duvet, pulling it up so it was tucked below her chin.
"Good night, Emily."
"Good night."
When she awoke, early next morning, he was gone.
She opened the door to her bedroom, eyes straying over to her dressing table as she went over to her desk, ready to continue with her research. She froze, halfway across the room, and turned her head slowly.
There was an empty space on her dressing table, conspicuous due to the fact that a large, curved piece of birch wood should have been sitting there.
Emily crossed the room in a hurry, peering under the table, to see if it had fallen, glancing around, first at her desk and then her bedside cabinet to see if she had accidentally put it down elsewhere.
Her blood began to pump rigorously through her veins, and she was very aware of the sound of her heart, thudding in her chest. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her wand.
"Accio Boomerang," she said, her voice shaking a little.
No boomerang appeared.
Emily repeated the charm half a dozen times before she threw her wand down in a shriek of frustration, dashing over to the mirror to check her reflection.
Were those wrinkles around her eyes? Was it just the low light or did her skin look weathered? Those bags under her eyes hadn't been there yesterday...
She looked down at her hands and they seemed bonier, and shakier. Her nails looked dry and brittle. She looked away, lifting her hand to run it through her hair. It felt thin.
Emily shoved the door of the dining room open and it crashed against the statue of Salazar Slytherin that he had insisted be put there.
"My boomerang's gone."
Everyone was looking at her, three dozen sneering, pale faces, with him, sitting in the centre, examining her appearance with narrowed eyes.
"We'll look for it later," he said quietly, turning his attention back to a piece of parchment that he had flattened out on the table in front of him.
"No," Emily argued, "We'll look for it now. I'm getting older by the second," she glanced at the window, tearing her eyes away when she saw her reflection.
"The Dark Lord said," Bella stood up, glaring at Emily.
"Yes, thank you, Bella," he hissed. "Emily is quite aware of what I said. She is, after all, neither deaf, nor an idiot."
"My Lord, she disobeys your every command," Bella protested. "She acts like a spoiled child if she does not get her way!"
"She is merely distressed because her most treasured object is missing," he said, standing up, staring at Bella so hard that she shrank back into her seat without even thinking about what she was doing. "I do not command her. She has not taken my mark, she is not my servant. She is my guest."
"She should respect your instructions," Bella mumbled.
"Well here is an opportunity for you to set an example. Be quiet. This matter is none of your concern. Emily, we will find your boomerang after I have finished here, it can't have gone far, though if it is gone, I will be able to enchant another one. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter," Emily said sulkily, "I want that one, not a replacement."
He opened his mouth to speak, but Arcturus and Abraxas entered the room, the former holding a sodden red handkerchief to his nose. The boomerang was in his hand, a few splashes of mud marring its surface. Abraxas was sniggering.
Emily snatched the boomerang from Arcturus' leather covered hand and began to polish the surface with the sleeve of her robe, brushing off the dirt not resting until it was completely clean.
"Why did you take it?" she demanded, rounding on Arcturus. "It's mine, don't touch it!"
"I don't want it anyway," Arcturus said, in a voice that would have been dismissive, were it not for the fact that all he could manage through his broken nose was a thick mumble.
Emily hit him in the chest with it and he winced.
"Arcturus is rather fed up of getting grey hairs," Abraxas informed the room, his lips forming a delighted smirk as he spoke. "He believed the boomerang would work for him in the same way in which it does for Emily. It took at least eight throws for him to realise that it was only ever going to hit him in the face and not make him any younger at all."
Emily clutched the boomerang to her chest, resting her chin on the tip. "Don't you dare touch it again," she said dangerously.
Abraxas smirked again and Emily thwacked him on the chest as well. He coughed at the sudden force, one hand flying to his chest and rubbing the area where she had hit him.
"What in the name of Merlin was that for? I didn't steal it! He did!"
"You watched!" Emily shrieked, her hysteria only slightly eased by the return of her boomerang. "You stood by and watched while he took my boomerang and started messing around with it!"
Emily turned to the rest of the room. "Mark my words," she growled. "Should any of you even think about touching my boomerang, I will personally see to it that you die a slow and painful death."
She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
"I think Miss Pranghurst has made herself quite clear, now, if we can return to our business," he sat back down in his chair – the largest and most extravagant of all the ones crowded around the long oak table.
He took a deep breath, one long finger tapping the parchment at the point he had got up to in the discussion. He opened his mouth to speak, though said nothing. Instead he looked up at Arcturus.
"For Merlin's sake, will you stop bleeding all over the carpet?"
Abraxas smirked, again, though his amusement vanished when a bottle of ink hit him squarely between the eyes.