Author's note:
Hello hello,
I hope you are doing well, and if you live in Texas I hope you are not personally affected by that abominable tragedy that occurred this week... All my thoughts went to the families that got caught in such tragic event.
On a much lighter note, thank you so so much for following this story. It means the world!
I also heard students are taking finals at the moment, so whoever you are dear reader, if you're swamped with work and feel like you cannot even hold a pen anymore, I'll keep my fingers crossed for you!
Lots of love
November 1942: Girls Like Me
It was around ten o'clock and the party was in full swing. The chafing smoke of cigarettes was clouding the room, a record playing swing music in the background. He located her immediately, as if he could feel her even before he saw her.
He found it odd, that she came, because of her association with that Gryffindork, who had kissed her in the middle of the pit earlier that day. He did not know why it had upset him, to watch that scuzzy dunce claim her in front of the entire school, but he did fantasise of cutting that boy's head himself, letting the players use his decapitated skull in lieu of a Bludger.
Tom looked at her for a few seconds, slowed in his descent by her sight, and there he stood half-way through the staircase that led to the common room. He gazed at the delicate frame of her shoulders, covered by Rosier's arm, her hair that she had arranged in a complicated fashion. He found that his previous ecstasy was tamed by her sudden appearance, but she did not turn around to look at him, and he found himself wondering whether she thought about him as much as he thought about her.
He walked the last steps down and entered the room, welcomed by Dolohov who offered him a whiskey and a cigarette. He rarely smoked but accepted it nonetheless, to regain his composure, and to sedate the frenzy that had returned, now that he had looked away from her. He would share his discovery with his friends later. Tonight was for drinks and fun, and he intended to let himself be entertained.
—
Annabel slurped the melted ice that lied at the end of her glass before she finally paid attention to her protesting bladder. She unglued herself from Rosier, making her way to the door she assumed concealed the bathroom. She stood in the queue, glancing at herself in the mirror over the range of sinks once she got closer to the stalls, ignoring the distrustful looks some girls were shooting her. "Slytherins being Slytherins" she thought, even though she assumed that having kissed the Captain of the opposite team did not contribute to make her seem less suspicious. She rubbed her eyelids, where her mascara had smeared, and she headed to the first available toilets. She touched up her lipstick once sitting on the latrine, pulling out the tube from her dress, for the latter had pockets, something she remembered she should thank Elena for.
She exited the bathroom and passed in front of the sitting corner again, briefly glancing at Rosier who was now talking to a handsome blue and silver young man. They exchanged a knowing smile when she saw the Ravenclaw come closer to whisper something in his ear and she made her way to the back of the room, in search for something to tame her freshly returned thirst.
It was when she saw him stand there, chatting with a group of Slytherins near the staircase. Her pace slowed down mechanically and she could not help but stare, acknowledging his upright posture and pompous air, the way he was leaning against the pillar to look at that one girl who was talking, his arms crossed against his chest, sleeves rolled up, as if he was affected and terribly bored all at once. Anna's glance lingered on his svelte figure, on the lack of tie and the top button undone. Once again it startled her, how aristocratic he did look, even tonight, despite his slight slovenliness.
Excitement unfurled in her chest with a devastating force, stemming from where he stood, as if the two of them were connected by an invisible thread. It was beguiling, fierce, and she let herself sink in that enticing thrill, the young man's bliss making her own heart race.
He lifted his eyes to glance at her and she looked away, quickly, her face reddening. She headed towards the improvised bar, her head lowered. Annabel always felt voyeuristic when she let the emotions of others freely flow inside her, like if she was prying on people's inner lives, stealing their secrets and sensibility.
She finally reached the table, making her way through the gathered students in front of it and absentmindedly stared at the countless bottles in search of something to drink.
"I wasn't expecting to seeing you here" a deep voice raised from her left.
Annabel almost jumped at the sight of Tom standing right next to her. She remained quiet, her eyes wandering on the large collection of bottles that stood on the table, determined not to have him believe she was willing to engage in a conversation.
"You look ravishing. I am sure it means a lot to Alastair that you came"
"How did you like the game?" he asked, as if he well intended to get her out of her stubborn mutism.
"I'm not really into Quidditch" she finally answered artlessly, her voice slightly hoarse.
"What a shame" he shook his head in false affliction. "What do you and your boyfriend talk about then?"
"He's not my boyfriend"
"He's not?!" he feigned with a shocked voice.
"It's not what it looked like earlier" he added with an amused smile and she felt her features tighten.
He reached for that one bottle of gin that was already opened and placed his glass on the table. His long fingers unscrewed the bottle before he poured himself a generous amount of alcohol. He took her glass from her hand unceremoniously and placed it next to his, pouring her some of the transparent liquid too.
She realised only in that moment the cigarette he was holding between his fingers and she could not help but blurt.
"You smoke?!"
"Sometimes. Sporadically though. Do you?"
She shook her head. Many students began to smoke in the past few decades, a despicable habit that came from Muggles, even though some advocated the druidic herbal pipe smoking as the main origin for tobacco use among wizards. Her father smoked too, although never at home, and she recalled with accuracy how he made it look like cigarettes were one of those things that belonged to the domain of adulthood, like hosting dinner parties or owning an overly priced watch.
"Have you never tried?"
"I'm not that innocent" she replied and from the corner of her eyes, she saw him smirk.
"Ice?" he asked, and he dropped two ice cubes inside her drink before she could even respond. He placed himself behind her, to grab the tonic water that he could not reach from his spot. He circled her, his hand grasping the edge of the furniture near her hipbone to stabilise himself while the other extended to reach for the bottle on the other end of the table. She felt how he pressed his body against hers, forcing her to bend over as his chest bowed, her rump now squeezed against his hips in a position that she thought was terribly suggestive. She tried to look unfazed but she could feel her cheeks redden and her back tingle as he stepped aside once he finally seized the bottle.
He added some tonic water to their beverages and handed her one glass.
She accepted the drink, trying to pacify her shaky fingers. She expected him to leave her on her own but he stayed rooted to the spot beside her and she felt a bit gauche in the middle of the room, aware of the many pairs of eyes that were observing them. She recalled with irony how popular he became, and the gazes made her feel like she was keeping the Slytherins' precious prefect away from his green and silver friends, after she had already stolen that day the attention of not one but two of the school's favourited Quidditch players.
She made a step in the direction of the sitting corner, willing to run away from the nosy glances.
"I met your friend Sophia earlier. They changed the patrolling schedules and we'll be surveying the corridors together" Tom said in an attempt to make small-talk as he walked beside her.
"I must say I cannot wrap my head around why they did not offer you the prefect's position"
"They did" she confessed, distracted by a boy who stumbled next to her, only to realise a second later what she just admitted.
Tom came to a halt and glanced at her in obvious surprised.
"I refused" she added with a feigned indifference, yet chewing the inside of her cheek in apprehension of the questions she knew would follow such a confession.
He shot her bewildered look.
"Why?"
"I'm just not fit for being a prefect" she shrugged.
He lifted his head, now towering over her and she acknowledged how tall he was. He stared at her for long minutes, his piercing gaze looking her up and down, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to see right through her.
"You're lying" he finally said and she avoided his gaze.
"You're an outstanding student. Whatever you intend to do as a career, your CV would have greatly benefitted from you being a prefect" he added before he asked with a greater insistence:
"What are your plans once school ends?"
She glanced at the condensation forming on the edge of her glass, the ice cubes sluggishly floating inside the colourless liquid.
"I suppose I'll get married" she simply replied and he laughed.
"You mean sign up for a lifetime of servitude?"
She shot him a murderous glance. If looks could kill, he would already be six feet under.
"You're not being serious" he whispered in disbelief and she looked away once she realised he had truly assumed she was joking.
"Why, marriage is what is expected of girls like me"
"Girls like you?" he repeated sarcastically and she shot him another nasty look.
"Girls whose blood is meant to be carried on to the next generation" she explained with a disdainful tone and he raised an eyebrow.
"Is that your own wish or your parents'?"
"It's mine" she lied, and the words stung her tongue when she pronounced them. She was too proud for her own good, but what else could she do if not save the remnants of her wrecked dignity?
"Very well then. I would have never thought that girls like you, who deliberately break the most fundamental laws of the Ministry by practicing the dark arts would aspire to such a dull existence"
"By 'dull' are you referring to a well-ordered life?"
He sneered.
"Indeed. But if that is the extent of your ambition, who am I to judge? I only hope you'll find bliss in changing diapers"
"I'm sure I will" she curtly replied before she turned around to find Rosier gesticulating on the couch, issuing them to join and she left Tom behind, determined to enjoy the party and stop squabbling with that insufferable boy.
—
The room had emptied, to the exception of a few remaining students that were huddling up together on the dark leather chesterfields, their silhouettes standing out in the dim light casted by the fire inside the hearth. It was past two o'clock and Tom had disregarded the armchair he usually sat on to take place in the middle of the couch, facing Rosier and a sleeping Annabel, who had refused to leave around midnight when the older prefects brought the cohort of non-Slytherins back to their respective dorms. She had claimed she was ready to party until the next morning, only to fall asleep thirty minutes later, her head bobbing against Alastair's shoulder. It was theoretically not permitted, for students from other houses to spend the night outside their dorms, but he had seen how Alastair could not say no to her, and Tom had promised they would make an exception. After all, that girl Leonus was seeing was probably still in their dorm, sleeping in his friend's bed, not that anyone really cared, for it was not the first time lovers bent the school regulations to satisfy their body-urges.
His thoughts drifted and he recalled how he had irked her earlier that evening, which had not been his intention, but he had been so entirely baffled to learn that she planned nothing but to get married after school, that she willingly aspired such a plain and ordinary life, despite how brilliant she was, that he had had to interfere. He knew girls like her were meant to marry and bear children, for the family line to persevere. Somehow what he learned just earlier that evening was the proof that the institution of marriage had undeniable benefits, for he might have as well not been there if his own family had not bothered to have children, but he had not expected this to be her sole and unique wish. She was outstandingly good, following him very close in grades, far beyond their classmates. She was especially gifted in Potion and Herbology, and he often considered, when he saw her hand rise inside the glasshouse, answering even the most arduous questions of the teacher, that Slughorn suggesting her to becoming a healer was in fact very fitting. Such abilities rendered her lack of ambition all the more disheartening and he tried to picture her baking biscuits in an apron, a horde of whiny kids clinging to her, before he finally dismissed that thought, for his jaw was clenching already, his knuckles turning white against the glass he was holding. He recalled the kiss that imbecile had given her earlier that day and he dearly hoped in such instant, that this boy was not the one she intended to marry.
Tom took a sip of his drink, absentmindedly listening to the story Avery was narrating, something meaningless that happened at the party while he was still upstairs, learning about the greatness of his own lineage. He tried to dispel his sudden displeasure, until Annabel let out a small sigh, her lips parting ever so slightly as she moaned. Her entire self was nothing but contentment and serenity in that very moment, and he found himself relaxing at the sight of her peaceful face.
He watched her doze for a while, unaware of those who went to bed, leaving only a handful of them inside the common room. He was struck by how naturally the girl had fallen asleep in a room filled with strangers, despite the agitation, the music and the crowd. It strangely puzzled him to see her so unbothered in her abandon, surrendering to Morpheus' arms with such ease, trusting in people's intentions, and he wondered if she was gullible, or if she was comforted by her childhood friend's presence. He found himself envying Alastair's position, which was unprecedented and absurd, for he knew the boy had no romantic interest in her, and in the female sex in general, yet he wondered what it would feel like, to be the one left with such responsibility of caring for her, to be the one she trusted enough to fall asleep in the middle of a crammed room, her head resting on his shoulder.
It was oddly intimate, to know now what she looked like once asleep, and her beauty fascinated him, how her long lashes grazed the soft skin of her cheeks, how strands of her chestnut brown hair delicately brushed her forehead. He remembered with a yearning how he had pressed his own body against hers, to reach for that bottle of tonic water earlier that evening. He could still feel the contour of her shoulder blades against his chest, her bones sharp but her waist supple, when she had bent over the table under his weight, in a way that he had not want provocative, but maybe had been, and he wondered if his body had simply betrayed how alluring he thought she was in that red dress of hers as she stood there in the middle of his common room. He hoped he had not vexed her, for her face had been flushed once he had stepped aside, yet, she had not moved away, and Tom hoped to see in such gesture a proof of their acquaintance, for even if it did not validate any intimacy, it betrayed nonetheless an inclination, or maybe even an appeal. He had found her blushed cheeks sort of charming, even if he had not want to torment her, and he found himself feeling strangely elated, from the alcohol, perhaps, or from something else, a longing, a greed that originated from somewhere deep inside him.
And Tom thought, as he observed her sleep, that he had to beware, for the girl was gaining ground in his mind.