Author's note: Hello everybody. I totally apologise for the delay! I've been so extremely last week that I did not manage to update until now. Thank you so much for the comments and for following and favouriting this story, it is sooo rewarding! I wish you a great week and I hope you all are well!
August 1943 - Hold me tight
"I'll do the talking" Tom indicated once the two of them were facing the pub. Annabel nodded silently, secretly grateful that he took the lead for she felt completely unable to form any coherent thoughts in her head.
A pleasant warmth and the sound of muffled chatter and clinking glasses reached Annabel's ears the moment she and Tom pushed the door open. The place was almost empty, to the exception of a few customers who darted them nosy glances. Behind the counter stood an old yet sturdy man. He watched them approach in an icy silence that made the girl hunch her shoulders.
Annabel had little experience with Muggles. Her entire life she had spent in a tight-knit community of wizards between London and Cairo. The closest she ever got to non-magical beings was whenever she fled from her grandfather's house. Every time she heard the old man come home in a huff, she knew she should better run away as far as her legs could take her. During such clandestine walks, she strolled the streets of the Khan el-Khalili bazaar. They were kind, the Muggles. They used to buy her food as they thought she was just another orphan, from her strange get-up and the terrified look on her face.
"What can I do for you?" asked the old man with narrowed eyes as he kept wiping the glass he had in hand.
"We need some place to spend the night"
The man stared them down for long seconds before he turned around to tend to other businesses.
"We're fully booked" he replied curtly.
"Really? Where are the other customers?"
The man casually shrugged, palms facing up in a disdainful manner and Annabel felt Tom's fingers tighten around her palm.
"We can pay upfro-"
"I told you, I don't have any room for you"
The hostility in the man's tone jolted Anna out of her torpor. She eyed Tom warily. He seemed to be in a very sour mood, with his clenched jaw and threatening air. The young man inhaled, in evident displeasure but he did not get flustered. He let go of her hand instead and took a step closer, resting his elbow on the counter.
"My wife and I came for the fair. We heard it was happening this year again sir?"
Annabel widened her eyes at Tom's plea.
What on earth was he talking about?
Only then did she notice the yellowing billing that hung behind the counter near the other posters. In bold letters, it read: "North Yorkshire Fair August 1939 - Great & Little Hangleton - Each year since 1874"
The fact that Tom managed to keep his cool was one thing. That he noticed such things so quickly was outstanding…
"The fair?" scoffed the man as he turned around and stared them down, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"We don't do that no more. Since that happened" he pursed his lips, knocking on the military propaganda poster against the wall.
Tom shook his head in obvious affliction.
"What a shame, we did such a long journey… Those Jerries will end up taking everything away from us"
"Tell me about it! I fought against the Fritz twenty-five years ago. Can't believe we're into this shite again"
"Where were you?"
"Jutland"
"An impressive battle" stressed Tom.
To Annabel's great surprise, the man flashed him a proud smile. He leaned on the counter, began to confide in the young man about his time in the Navy. With a tilt of the head, Tom indicated her the closest bar stool. She sat down, in utmost confusion.
She was depleted. Soaked, hurt. Her damp shirt was gluing to her skin in a way that was both unpleasant and far too revealing… Oh, how much she wished she was allowed to apparate right now, leave that dump and make it home, where she could curl up near the fireplace in her bedroom. She wished for every single employee of the Ministry of Magical Education to find death in atrocious pain.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, in a desperate attempt to self soothe. She watched Tom, who was surprisingly patient, prompting the old man to reveal more. She heard words she never heard before, some Muggle jargon she was unaware of.
Whatever the young man was doing, he was doing it well, for the bartender fumbled behind the wooden counter, took out a suspicious bottle. He poured them a drink, offered them one, then two, indulging in a few shots himself.
After a while, the girl stopped counting. Her head was heavy, her tongue furred. She saw Tom's face change, as if he was suddenly saddened by some circumstance she was ignorant of. He whispered, unveiling:
"I'll be deployed in September"
The man's features softened up before he placed a compassionate hand on Tom's shoulder.
"I'm sorry to hear, son"
"We got married just a few weeks ago" he added, his head lowered.
The man turned his glance to Annabel, glanced at her as if she just got there. He seemed moved. Finally, he turned around, and called for someone through the back door.
"Mary, go prepare a room for these two"
—
"What are the Jerries?"
"The Germans"
"And the Fritz?"
He sighed.
"The Germans"
The key was jangling in her hand as they were climbing the stairs up to the second floor of the pub. The girl turned to her right, guided them along a corridor.
Their clothes were almost dry by now. At least, the so-called "Mary" had had the decency to fix them something for supper. Only did they have little choice but to eat downstairs, all the while listening to the old man's endless jabbering… Tom had abhorred having to pretend that he was interested in the owner's drivel, which he was not in the slightest. Worse, he had hated having to prompt him to talk further, encouraging him in his gibberish, only to secure them a place to sleep. Oh, how much had he abhorred having no other choice but to display that he was so literate about something that insignificant as non-magical world's problems… Especially in front of her.
In general, Tom hated being well-versed in all-things Muggle. He despised being able to direct himself in the tube, know how to book a train ticket. He loathed being able to differentiate a penny from a pound, to know what to wear, how to talk, in order to go unnoticed among non-wizards. The young man hated the dichotomy of his life, something the universe seemed well decided to remind him every time it could. Too often, Tom felt stuck between two worlds. One that he so dearly yearned belonging to. Another that he seemed unable to escape, no matter how he hard he tried…
The revelation about his father suddenly crossed his mind. He could not believe that his mother had shamelessly corrupted the greatness of her lineage by mating with a Muggle.
"You look just like your father" had smirked the brute inside the shack.
Tom will make him pay for his impertinence.
Tomorrow.
Alone…
Before him, Annabel paused as she stood in front of a dark wooden door. She slid the key inside the keyhole, pushed the door open. Yet, she did not move forward and Tom almost bumped into her. He peeked within the room, finally understanding the cause behind her halt.
Of course there would only be one bed.
—
Tom was lying down on the mattress, his head resting on one fluffy pillow. His eyes took in the room, surprisingly spacious for such a place.
He had initially told the girl that she could have the bed. She had refused, explained that she had already shared a cot with Alastair countless times when they went camping. That she did not fear sleeping next to him. If he did not care as well. After all, wasn't it to him that she owed the luxury of sleeping in a dry place that night, she had said.
She was grateful and it had pleased him. Because it was certainly not for himself that Tom had moved heaven and earth just to secure them a place to sleep… He ran a hand through his dark hair, absentmindedly listening to the sound of the shower in the adjacent bathroom. Outside, the rain was still pouring, trickling against the windows.
The appalling discovery of the day reared its head again and Tom found himself suddenly agitated once more.
Thankfully, Annabel's voice pierced the silence, diverting his thoughts.
"Uh, Tom?" she called hesitatingly. He turned his eyes to her, inviting her to ask her question. She was peering in the bedroom through the half open door.
"You… erm… do not have spare pyjamas by any chance, do you?"
He could not help but raise his eyebrows at her unexpected query.
"I entirely forgot that the nightgown I took is fairly… see-through. I did not think it would be a problem since I was supposed to go on holidays only with girls…" she explained awkwardly.
He gazed at her, watching her cheeks become redder the longer he stared.
"Please?" she pleaded with a high-pitched voice.
He turned to the side and rummaged through his suitcase that lied next to the bed to get her what she was asking for.
"Here" he simply said. She trotted about in the room, her arms crossed against her chest.
"Thanks" she whispered, seizing the clothes before she cleared off.
Tom did not tell her that she had a point about the transparency of her nightgown, for he caught sight of the colour of her knickers when she turned around.
"Well, at least everything is much concealed now" he observed with a sneer at the sight of the girl who was swimming in his clothes as she walked into the room. He always imagined Annabel rather petite and flat chested, which he could now officially confirm.
She ignored his comment, walked over to the bed.
"You may switch off the light now" she issued.
—
Annabel slid under the duvet right next to him. She knew she was being curt, but she could not pretend any longer.
In the darkness, she touched her neck, where the attacker had wrapped his fingers earlier. She had desperately tried to get rid of the smell of the man on her skin, scrubbing her body until the flesh turned red in the shower.
The attempted assault was one thing.
She would survive it.
What baffled her was something else. Something worse, oh far worse.
Her magic had failed her.
When she was lying face down in the forest, the man's calloused hands against her mouth to muffle her screams, when she tried to jinx the man, eject him hundreds of feet away from her… Her magic had failed her.
How? By what downfall? Had her powers ever deserted her before?
She racked her brain in the search of answers, down the maze of her mind. Soon enough, the smell of a damp cellar resurfaced as childhood memories threatened to topple over her sanity. Blurred visions of bodies and breaths resurfaced. Movements. Sweat. Touches like insects that crept under her skin. Pain, sharp and stinging in her guts.
No, lower…
When Annabel was eight years old, she understood that adults could take everything away from her. Everything but two things: her thoughts, secret, freed; her magic, forceful, steady. Reliable.
Or so she thought.
She dug deeper into her souvenirs. She found herself staring at the darkness on top of the staircase of her soul. It called her, sometimes, a plaintive chant of groans down the basement. She always found herself indecisively standing on the first step. Would she place a hesitant hand on the banister rail and walk down the stairs? Or would she rush headfirst, let the obscurity swallow her.
"Are you scared to peer at who you truly are?" she heard the old voice of her grandfather rasp from below. She peeked hesitantly at the misty staircase before her.
"Come on baby girl, nobody else is waiting for you up there"
She felt her eyes prickle. She stood still on the first step, pushing around some dust from the tip of her foot. What if he was right? What if no one else was waiting for her up there.
Slowly, very slowly, she took a step down.
"Annabel?"
She paused. Someone called her name. A voice deep and calm. A glint of hope beyond the darkness.
"Anna?!"
She startled. The staircase morphed into a room, the chant in pouring rain. She suddenly recalled the young man that lied next to her.
"Are you crying?"
Annabel brought her fingers to her face, to find the skin damp on her cheekbones.
"N-no" she replied, reconnecting bit by bit with the mattress that supported her weight, with the fresh linens that covered her body. Soon enough, shame gripped her and she felt the sudden urge to collect herself. She wiped her tears with the back of her palm, steadied her voice when she answered:
"I think I simply dozed off" she began, but a hiccough came, knocking off any of her desperate attempt at composing herself.
Tom was very still next to her, and she wondered if she had upset him.
"I'm sorry, it's just that… A lot happened" she whispered.
"I… uh" she sniffled, exhaling very slowly in order to overcome how overwhelmed she was feeling.
"I'm sorry if I woke you up. It's just that I… I don't know if I'm all right" she added, her voice breaking. Tears ran down her cheeks, salty lines of pain. As if she had opened the dam, her throat let out a sob. She whimpered openly now, incapable not to yield in to her emotions. She trembled at the edge of the bed, her small body convulsing. She wanted to bring her knees to her chest, in a poor attempt to self soothe, but something seized her, pulled her towards the middle of the bed.
Capable hands flipped her with ease, strong arms wrapping around her back. She was facing him now, and the air filled with his smell as Tom buried her face inside his chest. He cradled her, gently, his chin resting on the top of her head.
"I was scared" she disclosed, her tone woeful. "I was so scared"
He held her tight, her lithe body pressed firmly against his.
"It's over" he whispered, his fingers running through her hair in a soothing gesture.
"I'm here now" he whispered in her ear, his breath warm, consoling. He kissed her, a feather-light touch against her forehead.
Yet, she could not stop and words began to rush past her lips in a flow of incoherent sentences. She wailed, loudly. She heaved terms without any logical connectors, about how terrified and defenceless she had felt, how vulnerable and exposed she had been. About how much she would have liked him to be there, because he would have protected her, right? He would have protected her.
"I would have. Of course I would have" he claimed as he lulled her, his tone low as if pained, and she believed him, because of his strangled voice, because she needed someone to lift her up, out of the darkness. For the first time, ever since the man pushed her on the ground that day, Annabel finally felt safe.
And as Tom wiped her tears, deft fingers that grazed her damp skin, he promised he would always be there.
He would always be there.