On Thursday evening, Tom prepares for patrol in his room. He steams his uniform with his wand after dinner to make sure he looks impeccable. Malfoy and Mulciber are downstairs sleeping. They know they will be up late tonight and want to catch up on their sleep.
The Knights of Walpurgis convene at midnight.
Tom dons his robe and pins his shining Head Boy badge to his lapel in front of the mirror. He practices his wandless magic by using his fingers to carefully smooth his thick waves into an elegant side part. He watches an invisible force comb each hair into place. When he is finished, he examines his appearance with a critical eye. Clean, handsome, composed.
Tom is pleased with his wandless skills. He knows that he is better than any of his peers by far. Malfoy cannot even perform wordless spells. But then again, he is not focused as Tom is. He has no reason to be. Only Tom knows the kind of trash he is forced to put up with during the summers. His only refuge is that he can still use wandless magic, as the ministry can only track spells cast with a wand—not your very being.
Still, wandless magic is draining. Tom tries to practice a little each day to build his tolerance and strengthen his bond with his magic. There are somethings in life that money cannot buy. True power is earned through pain and perseverance.
This is why Malfoy serves him, and not the other way around.
That's not to mean money doesn't have its uses. Tom knows that powerful names like Malfoy and Mulciber can be extremely useful to one's cause.
No, Tom is not a rich boy. Indeed, this is the first time in his life he has not had to share a room. Even now, with his popularity and devoted Knights, his possessions are minimal. His room consists of one school-issued bed, one desk, one chair, and one small wardrobe to hang his uniform. A small empty trunk sits under his bed. He only uses it from summer to summer to carry his books. His clothing consists of two uniforms, school issued pajamas, and one pair of impeccably kept black shoes. If it were not for the school's charity, Tom could not afford to be here. He resents this fact.
Satisfied that he is presentable, Tom walks down to meet Wilkens. The common room is lively this evening. A group of third years are loudly arguing about Gamp's Law of elemental transfiguration. Normally, this would never draw Tom's attention. But tonight, Hermione Birch is mediating the debate.
"Shut it, Thorne, you've said enough. And frankly, almost none of it made sense. It's Ellewood's turn to argue." She tells Tabitha Thorne, a third year girl with overly large ears, with authority. Thorne's face turns sour, but she complies. Ellewood beams at Birch, her smile practically shining as she stands, ready to make her counter argument.
Tom is genuinely confused for a fraction of a second before he catches a shadow move in the far corner of the room.
Carrow.
He's sulking in his chair, pretending to read a book. Tom is certain he must be pretending as he is holding the book upside down and throwing frequent caustic glares at Birch. The news of her creative revenge must have spread throughout Carrow's year. In true Slytherin fashion, the third years were besotted with Birch's clever scheming and quiet vengeance. The girls especially, long teased and bullied by Pravus Carrow, were desperate to be close to Birch, as if breathing her expired air would make them acquire her cunning as well.
Tom does not like that she is gaining a following, even if they are mostly third year girls. Tom is not stupid. In four years, they will be adults too, and with names like Davies and Ellewood amongst them, they will be powerful allies.
He knows he should break up their gathering, but he is determined to avoid the girl. She is starting to become more than a passing interest. Someone so ordinary—plain brown hair, brown eyes, and freckles on her nose for God's sake—could never be worthy of him.
He passes through the common room portrait without sparing her a passing glance.
He is certain he can feel her eyes follow him out of the room.
xxxxxx
Wilkens is waiting for him at the main entrance, in front of the Great Hall. She has her skirt rolled up at the waist to show more of her legs, and the first three buttons of her blouse are conveniently undone. When she sees him, she smiles and bends over to tie her shoes. It gives Tom a full view down her shirt, which is indeed the intended result. Tom looks away.
He hates cheap tricks.
When Wilkens straightens up, she does not hide her disappointment that Tom is facing the opposite direction. Tom continues to inspect the floor until she clears her throat.
Tom turns as if just remembering she is there. He asks, "Shall we get going then?" and motions for her to walk ahead politely.
They walk in silence. Normally, Tom would attempt to maintain conversation for civility's sake, but today he is too annoyed about Wilkens' lie in Divinations to be gracious toward her. He tells himself he is bothered about what she said, not about to whom.
Wilkens clears her throat again, and starts asking him about the Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. He does no more than the occasional nod in acquiescence. She is persistent, however, and when he does not reply, she chatters on with the occasional pause to see if he will interject.
He doesn't.
Halfway through their rounds, she wants to pause in the Astronomy tower to watch the stars.
"Oh, Tom! The stars are just so beautiful tonight, can we take a quick break?" She asks breathlessly, leaning over the railing with her head craned upwards, sticking her arse out very purposefully.
Tom considers pushing her over.
"I'm afraid we can't." He snaps. Then, catching himself, he smiles and softens his tone, "I still have Arithmancy homework to do," he lies.
She sighs and exaggerates looking up at the night sky one last time, as if she hasn't had her fill just yet, before joining Tom on the stairs. They head down in awkward silence. Right before they pass Gryffindor Tower, Wilkens starts to cough.
At first, Tom assumes she is clearing her throat again. But she continues to cough with more vigor, and Tom is forced to stop to ask her if she is alright. She tries to nod, but her eyes are watering from her hacking. She finally gives in and bends over, heaving in earnest. Tom hesitantly pats her back, but that seems to increase her convulsions until she is gagging on her own saliva. Seriously concerned she is about to vomit; Tom conjures a glass of water. She is shaking too much to accept the offered drink. Tom begins to urge her to sit down, or go to the infirmary. Unable to vocally respond, she seems to accept the second option and simply runs away.
Tom is left utterly bewildered by her sudden fit and subsequent absence. He watches the end of the hallway long after she is gone, imagining he can still hear the faint echoes of her choking gasps.
Just when he decides to continue his rounds alone, he hears a loud smacking sound behind him. Tom turns to see Birch, leaning against a castle window, blowing bubbles with her gum. She is watching the same spot as Tom, as if she witnessed Wilkens' disappearance. When he turns, she meets his eye, a small smile playing at her lips.
"What are you doing here?" Tom accuses. He does not think Wilkens sudden decline in health and Birch's unexpected appearance are at all unrelated.
"Just taking a walk," She lies easily, crossing her arms over her chest and turning her head to look out the slender window. The moonlight bathes her face in an almost angelic glow, revealing a strange sparkle in her eye before she turns back to face him again, eye now shrouded in darkness.
"After curfew?" Tom asks, examining her. She is still wearing her school uniform. Her skirt, in contrast to Wilkens, is not rolled up. It is too long on her petite frame, engulfing her knees which are already covered by her thick wool socks. Her white button down is fastened up to her neck, and her sleeves cover her arms past her wrists. She is the picture of modesty. Tom thinks she is surely not here for seduction, no matter how loudly she smacks her bubblegum.
She makes a show of checking her wrist. She is not wearing a watch. "Oh dear! I didn't notice the time." She's sarcastic. She blows and pops another bubble.
Insolent girl.
"You realize I'll have to punish you?" Tom asks, moving closer to her.
Birch observes him for a moment, as if to examine him more closely before carefully asking, "Why? You could just give me a warning." In her words is the silent statement: nobody knows about this but you and me.
"It wouldn't be fair." Tom replies, even though he has never cared about justice; never been on the receiving end of justice his whole life.
She seems to consider this before launching herself off the window ledge she had been leaning against and walking away from him. Tom watches her until she pauses to turn around and say, "You aren't following?"
Tom doesn't move.
"The common room is that way," he points in the opposite direction.
She stares at him again before asking, "Are you going to punish me anyway?"
Tom pretends to think about it.
"Yes."
"Then I might as well make it worth it."
She leaves, heading towards the Astronomy tower. She passes the Gryffindor portrait hole without notice. She wouldn't know it to be that, of course. Tom feels torn. He dearly wants to follow her to teach her a real lesson, to give her a real punishment, but he also cannot afford to be brash. Just because he suspects that she sees through his façade, does not mean he can put himself on full display. Since opening the Chamber, he had at last learned to be careful.
To let her walk away as if his censure is meaningless cannot be permitted either. She already has the third years wrapped around her little finger with one simple trick. This thought fuels Tom's final decision, and he starts walking at a brisk pace to where he last saw her. He turns the corner at exactly the right time to see the swish of her skirt disappearing up the Tower stairs.
He supposes he could just wait at the bottom of the tower. Eventually, she would have to come down. Unless she has found a way to break the anti-apparition ward around the school. Tom smirks at his own private joke. After a brief moment of wavering, he decides to follow her against his better judgement.
She leans over the railing when he arrives at the landing, not far from where Wilkens stood only minutes ago. She isn't looking up however, but down at the dizzying fall below.
He approaches her silently, close enough to feel the push and pull of her breathing, but not touching her.
"Long way down." He remarks casually, his voice low, almost in a conspiratorial whisper. She doesn't flinch.
"Yes." She agrees, turning to look into his face. She is brazen as she examines his appearance, her eyes moving slowly from his brows to his nose to his cheeks, examining the short shadows on his chin due to the rough growth of dark hair starting there. Tom runs his fingers down his jaw, as if tracing the path her eyes take across his stubble. His hand falls limp at his side.
She breaks the silence. "Would you like to see pretty piece of magic?"
Tom does not respond. He has never heard anyone but himself use the phrase before. She seems to take his silence as permission. She points her wand to the sky. Tom is not sure what he is expecting. Perhaps a spray of sparks, or maybe a patronus.
He does not expect her wand to pull what looks like a velvet shroud of darkness from thin air, which falls heavily over them. Tom feels weightless. For a moment, he sees nothing, not even the outline of his own hand trying to cast a lumos which produces no illumination.
Slowly, so slowly, small pin points of light begin to emerge, each of varying sizes, glittering in what starts to reveal itself as a moving tapestry of the night sky. As the constellations before him change, planets move to signify autumn, then winter, then spring and summer, before starting the cycle yet again.
It is mesmerizing. It is incontestably bewitching.
Until suddenly, it all ends. Tom finds his feet still firmly planted on the floor of the Astronomy Tower. Birch is lying flat on her back on said floor. When their eyes meet, she says in way of explanation, "I find it's more enjoyable this way."
There is a pregnant pause before Tom answers. "That was… quite beautiful."
Her expression brightens. She hoists herself off the floor and on to her knees before him, and looks up at his face with a grin. Tom sees stars and planets still dancing in her eyes.
"Am I forgiven then, for my indiscretion?" she asks.
Tom enjoys the look of her on her knees, asking for his forgiveness. He pretends to consider it quietly before turning around and walking toward to exit. She does not move to follow, but he feels her eyes tracking him, waiting for his judgement.
Before he takes the first step on the stairway, Tom inclines his head so she can only make out his profile in the dim light of the moon.
"Detention with Slughorn tomorrow night. And fifteen points from Slytherin."
Tom doesn't have to look back to know her expression darkens.