Author's note:
Good evening!
Here is a new chapter!
I never thought I would join the ranks of those who quote songs at the beginning of their chapters (not that I had any specific thoughts about it though, I actually think it's pretty cool) but that song was on the radio last week and I thought the chorus was pretty fitting, so here you go.
Thank you so so much for reading and following that story!
I hope you'll enjoy that chapter too!
With love 〜
November 1942 - Coexist
"I try to say goodbye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it, it's clear
My world crumbles when you are not near"
- Macy Gray
Tom watched the librarian's assistant leaf through the manual situated before her, her stubby finger grazing at the instructions that contained the library user's guide. She frowned as she reached the end of the page, turned it and kept scrutinising the next one.
It must have been ten good minutes that Tom was standing rooted to the spot, waiting for that coarse woman to inform him whether she could grant his wishes or not.
"I cannot find any reference to it" she forced out and shot him a dull glance. Tom thought that on top of her unfortunate physique, that woman was terribly incompetent.
He sighed, trying to keep his cool, and he glanced at the note that permitted him to access the Restricted Section. His demand per se was not the problem, he had obtained Slughorn's authorisation with a disconcerting ease. What the issue was, was that the librarian's assistant ignored whether she should go fetch whatever he wished, or whether the young man was allowed to roam freely through the alleys of the Restricted Section on his own - which he hoped, and which she was now trying to figure out in the library user's guide.
For ten long minutes.
Oh, how much he missed Annabel Selwyn in such situations. She would have easily overstepped any user's guide instructions to get him what he needed. He had spotted her earlier, sitting at one of the library's desks, and he flirted with the idea of finding a cheap excuse to give her a detention and send her right back behind that counter.
"I will have to ask Mrs Runereader when she's back" declared the woman.
"Or you can simply grant me access to the Restricted Section" he smiled cordially in an attempt to win her over.
"I'm not sure I am in the position to do that" she hesitated while glancing around uneasily. "It is written nowhere that students are allowed to access the Restricted Section unaccompanied"
The woman's obstinacy gave him a headache.
"It is also not mentioned that they are required to be" he insisted, leaning to come closer to the woman before him. "Look, Dorothy. The library is clearly understaffed and I have the authorisation of the Head of the Slytherin's House. What more do you need?"
"But here it says that-"
"I know what it says" he interjected, his hands furiously gripping at the edge of the counter.
The woman with oily hair blinked compulsively behind her jam jars and Tom let his head fall with a chuckle once he realised that he would go nowhere with her. This woman was driving him crazy, and not in a good way.
He exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose as he shut his eyes. He stepped aside when he noticed that she was making a hand gesture to the person behind him, as if to indicate they should move forward. It was getting late and she needed to get going. Tom looked absentmindedly at the Charm's textbook a Second Year from Gryffindor wanted to borrow before he asked, finally giving in.
"When will Mrs Runereader be here?"
"On Monday"
"Monday?!"
He had expected this issue to be settled before the weekend.
He had come across a name about a week before, associated to the House of Gaunt in an old edition of the Daily Prophet. Someone named Morfin had been imprisoned in Azkaban in 1925 for his repeated attacks on Muggles. He knew, thanks to his many readings, that some of the Ministry's archives had been relocated to Hogwarts's library about fifty years back, due to the lack of storage in the London building. Which partly justified the school's obligation to keep away the students from the Forbidden Section. With some luck, the archives contained more information about that Morfin Gaunt. He could be anyone, a cousin, an uncle.
The familiar smell of Damask roses permeated the air and jolted him out of his thoughts. He glanced to his right, only to find Annabel Selwyn stand next to him. She hoisted a very impressive pile of books on the counter before she fiddled with one copper bracelet that adorned her left wrist. He stared at her brazenly, but he knew she would not reciprocate his look. She had grown fairly distant in the last two months and he barely saw her anymore, despite that one Herbology class they shared. And then, even when their path crossed on their way to the arboretum, or when they met in front of the cabinets that contained the many garden tools inside the greenhouse, they did not peek at one another. He had found it strange, the first time he had looked at her over a potted plant, about a week after he last spoke to her, how she had skilfully averted his gaze, only to act with him like if they were by no means acquainted.
She smiled at the librarian's assistant with a small "Thank you" as the woman began to write down the books the Ravenclaw was meaning to borrow on the girl's library card. Annabel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and he could not help but let his gaze wander on the bare skin of her neck, on the shape of her ear.
Tom heard someone cough and he noticed for the first time the young man standing next to her. The Captain of the Gryffindor's Quidditch team. Tom felt his jaw clench as he recalled the rumours that had it, that the two of them had been seen at Madam Puddifoot's a few weeks back. They hadn't been holding hands or anything of the sort, from his friends' recollection, but Tom had felt his stomach hardening at the thought of the young man enjoying Annabel's company. The feeling had surprised him, and he had managed to convince himself that he was only jealous of their carelessness while he was drowning in work…
Yet, whether he dared to recognise it or not, he had been upset, so much so that he had asked Dolohov to go fetch him that one Slytherin that he knew was infatuated in him for years now, so she could keep him entertained for a few hours, just enough so his mind would stop dwelling on Annabel and that boy. He had been cruel, with that girl, bossing her around even though he knew she was inexperienced, and as he had pressed his body against hers on the cold tiles of the Prefect's bathroom, taking her in an imperious and unloving fashion, he had wondered what the hell was going on with him, for the sex had appeased him only for a short while before the thought came back, all the more tormenting.
He heard Annabel's voice break into the silence of the library's entrance as she began to pick one by one the many books that she had previously put on the counter:
"By the way, Dorothy, students are usually not allowed to access the Restricted Section on their own…" she informed the librarian's assistant before she reached for the last book and added it on top of the pile.
"… but Mrs Runereader always makes an exception for prefects"
—
Annabel was walking along one row of bookshelves with difficulty, a dozen monographs concerning the International Warlock Convention of 1289 stacked before her. She was only half-listening to the boy blathering next to her and could not help but make a mental note that he did not offer her a helping hand, despite the heavy load she was carrying. She also could not help but think that other-boys-she-knew would have had the gallantry to carry them for her… She frowned.
She was not meant to think about him.
Ever since he informed her that he could not train with her any longer, she had managed to kept him at bay, and she well intended to keep doing so.
Annabel stopped half way through the section dedicated to non-British history of the wizarding world and searched for the comprehensive dictionary of Sardinian wizards. She squeezed the pile between her chin and one hand, the books wobbling as she reached for the publication that she skilfully added on top of the other volumes.
The boy was now discussing some obscure Quidditch tactics, something she was not even remotely interested in, but she nodded nonetheless, interjecting with some quiet "oh really" and "this is fascinating" in a timely manner to keep up the illusion.
She shot a sideways look at the one book the boy was holding, something about Quidditch, naturally. She had befriended him a few weeks before, after he had walked up to her while she was enjoying the last days of sun in the park with her friends. He had been confident at first, uneasy once she asked him who he was. It was a Thursday evening and she had been in a sour mood. He had wished to invite her on a date, which had startled her, and she had found herself acquiescing, mainly because she did not know how to refuse. They had met in Hogsmeade on the next Saturday, and the boy had been excessively garrulous. They had met a few times since then, she listening, him talking, and Annabel still hadn't figured whether this was what dates were supposed to be, girls politely listening to boys in order to sustain their fragile ego.
She headed towards the front of the library, the boy following her close, and she desperately tried to ignore the many irate glances they received, for the boy seemed to have a limited understanding of what "whispering" meant.
They reached the reception, contemplating the unusual line that originated from the front desk.
"Next weekend is Slytherin versus Gryffindor. Will you attend the game?" she heard the boy ask, but a voice filled the air, exquisitely deep, that made her shiver and that she would have recognised anywhere.
She stopped, suddenly incognisant of the Quidditch Captain who gave her a quizzical glance.
She saw him standing out in the flickering lights of the torches, one elbow resting on the counter.
Annabel swallowed, the last time she had been alone with him imposing itself on her, how she had bursted into tears afterwards, grotesquely. She still could not make sense of the contradictory feelings she had felt that day, why his announcement had made her feel like he was forsaking her, why her pain had been so sharp, so acute that she had weeped at night again, in the quietness of her bedroom, feeling miserable and wounded, and in her despair, she had concealed the boy in that part of her brain where she kept hidden all sorts of unpleasant thoughts she was unwilling - or unprepared - to face.
It worked, most of the time, but if her mind allowed her not to dwell on the pain, it provided no solution for such impromptu appearances, and Annabel found herself having to fight against that urge to meddle in Tom's affairs, again, which she did, inevitably, once she heard him ask the librarian's assistant for a favour. And just like that, a second later, as she stood next to him, she felt herself giving in to that impulse, lying shamelessly to the librarian's assistant for Tom's sake, to satisfy whatever sordid affairs he was getting himself into, just like when she was in cahoot with him a while ago.
She picked up her books, expertly piling them up in the nook of her arm, well aware of the boy's insisting glance, yet deliberately avoiding it, until she heard him address her, which he hadn't done since that time in September.
"Do you need help to carry this?"
And she could not help but turn her eyes to meet his gaze, her chest swelling under his words, but she caught herself before she fell, and with a measured voice, she replied back a curt "No thank you" before she turned around and exited the library, the Quidditch Captain behind her, to whom she responded with a false smile that of course she would attend the game. And cheer for him.