Author's note: Hello lovely people, I totally apologise for the delay, it's entirely my fault, I was on holidays and just couldn't find the time to update and now I feel like this chapter is very meh but well, I wanted to post anyway so here it goes! Thank you so much for the support and the comments, it is really rewarding! Next chapter we'll go back to Harry in 1997 but now a bit more about Annabel and Tom. Next update next week (on the weekend)
August 1943 - Trust
"Trust: to believe that someone is good and honest and will not harm you, or that something is safe and reliable"
- Cambridge Dictionary
Annabel Sybil Selwyn had a secret. Something trivial, really, just a memory she cherished and that kept her entertained. Especially during the long hours she was forced to spend in the company of the various suitors she had begun to meet, distraught young men who seemed as unwilling to be there as she was.
In such moments, when she was sitting very upright on her parents' couch, a cup of Earl Grey in hand and a smile plastered on her face, Annabel recalled the night she had shared with Tom.
The scene played on a loop in her mind, turning up unannounced at random moments of the day. And that very morning, when the girl emerged from her drowse, alone at her parents' house, Tom's warm body that had lain next to her was all Annabel could think about.
Her mind began to wander. And so did her hand.
She relived the scene, how she had suddenly felt cared for, seen and heard, accepted even, as he had listened to her sob that night, how he had allowed her to be safely vulnerable with him. She remembered his voice, deep and velvety as he had lulled her like a child, making her feel strangely serene…
She recalled how he had pulled her towards him, held her until dawn, how powerful his arms had felt around her, how uncompromising his embrace. She remembered how pliable she had been next to him, how malleable her body, adapting to his. If she was water, he was the earth on which she flowed. For he was stable, steady.
Strong.
She had realised that night that she could not escape his grasp even if she wished to, only to find out that she did not want to run away, and such a contradiction made her feel both defenceless and exposed, yet sheltered.
The girl recalled Tom's lean muscles against her, how his hand had firmly pressed her body against his, his able fingers combing her hair in a soothing touch. She could almost breathe his smell as if he was lying right next to her again, his scent, pleasant, manly, weirdly intoxicating. And when the memory of his lips brushing the skin of her forehead came back to her, Annabel could not help but blush as she imagined Tom's mouth elsewhere. Where her hand was heading.
Her fingers ran down, circled her belly button. She remembered how the young man's deft digits had dried her tears. How delicate his palms had been on her body, soft and skilled. There was nothing sexual in that gesture, it was only because she was crying, wasn't it? Or?
Was it still about comfort when on the next morning she had tried to unglue herself from him but he had kept her locked in his arms? Was it still about soothing her when his hand had run down, slowly, gently, until it had reached her lower back? Until his fingers had begun to play with the hem of her shirt, as if he was dying to slide his hand under, to further investigate her skin? Was she mistaken when she had believed that his hand was not anymore a comforting hand, rather the hand of a lover?
She trembled in anticipation, imagining Tom's fingers instead of hers as they moved down. Annabel approached onanism as an act of rebellion. It was a reclaim of her body, her path to heal.
She heaved a soft sigh when her hand was about to slide under the elastic band of her knickers, when some pecks pierced the silence of her room.
Blood rushed to her face when she spotted the owl that stared at her through the window... She well knew animals could not care less about what she did in her spare time, but Annabel still carefully avoided to look at the yellow bulging eyes of the creature when she stood up.
She unfastened the letter and opened it, blinked a few times as she glanced at the turquoise ink and round handwriting.
"Can we talk?"
—
"I'm sorry for that unexpected meeting"
"It's all right. I was meant to meet Alastair here anyway"
Gleams of sunlight reflected on strands of the girl's very blond hair while the smell of coffee filled the air. Annabel drank a sip of her ginger lemonade while she peeked through the stained window. Puddles of rain water were scattering the streets of Diagon Alley that young wizards and their parents were skilfully avoiding with folded umbrellas under their arms.
"Are we still friends?"
Annabel widened her eyes at the incongruous question and stared at the blond girl whose sorrow hit her like an unforeseen wave.
"Of course we're still friends" she replied softly.
"But you're still angry with me"
It was a statement and Annabel found herself taken off guard. She was not angry but she was upset, yet not as much with her friend as with herself. She wondered how she could have missed such a thing.
Annabel pinched her lower lip between two fingers as she recalled her time in Northern Yorkshire. Once she had left Little Hangleton, Annabel had headed to her friend Elena for a week of sleep ins and hearty food. Everything would have been perfect if she had not learned on the last day that her friend was secretly seeing Leonus Nott.
"I'm not angry. I'm hurt…"
"I'm sorry" winced Elena.
"I cannot believe that you told Margaret before me"
"I had no choice. She almost blackmailed me into admitting it. Contrarily to you, she has an incredible sixth sense for hidden romance"
Annabel seized her glass and took another sip of her drink, her eyes wandering without settling on Elena's face.
"You've been seeing him for almost a year"
"I know… I've been meaning to tell you for ages but… I initially thought it was simply a crush. And then once things materialised, Sophia was always around. You know how much she hates the Slytherins"
"I'm not so fond of him either" grumbled Annabel as she remembered how the boy used to pick on her when he was her partner in Potion class a while back.
The blond girl bit her lower lip.
"To be completely honest that's also why I've been dreading to tell you" admitted Elena with her face lowered. She played with the multicoloured straw that floated inside the glass of her sparkling rhubarb juice.
"For what it's worth, he did admit that he had been unfair towards you during the first year"
Annabel wanted to reply that "unfair" was an understatement and that more than once the girl had dreamed of cursing that insufferable boy again, just like that one time she had done so in the Hogwarts Express. Yet, she only heaved a small sigh.
"The only thing that matters to me is that you're happy" she said, trying to conceal the doubts in her voice which almost disappeared when Elena's bliss blossomed in her chest.
The two girls were soon interrupted by a young blond man who entered the cafe and weaved in and out between the tables towards them. Alastair Rosier flashed the Ravenclaws a bright smile, already asking the group of old ladies behind them if he could borrow one empty chair when Elena said she actually could not stay, for she had an appointment in Gringotts with her mother.
"I'm so relieved that we settled this out" she hugged Annabel and gave her a small peck on the cheek before she left, waving at them once more on the threshold before she disappeared through the door.
Annabel glanced at her glass that was still half-full.
"You seem concerned" stated Alastair as he sat down on the chair the blond girl had deserted.
"Elena is dating Nott" she sighed.
He nodded.
"You knew?!" she let out, stunned.
"You didn't?" he raised an eyebrow before he pursued with a shrug.
"We share the same dorm. She slept in his bed more than once"
She shook her head while Alastair grabbed her glass and took a sip. He nodded in approbation and placed the same order.
Annabel sulked.
"Nobody ever tells me anything"
He laughed fondly and asked her about her holidays. They chatted for a while, exchanging news about their respective summers. Annabel told him how the Quidditch captain had cowardly broken up with her by letter right after the end of the school year.
"Bless be Merlin that you didn't have sex with him" he interjected, to which Annabel bit her lip.
"Well that's precisely the reason why he dumped me. He 'could not promise me he would be faithful under such conditions'" she recalled out loud with a finger in the air and Alastair shook his head in disbelief.
"What a dork"
—
"Tom gave me something for you…" announced Alastair once they stood in front of the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron, ready to head back to where they were awaited, arms heavy with the many items they needed for the beginning of the school year.
The Slytherin took out a small package from the back pocket of his trousers.
Annabel frowned, and seized what Alastair handed her. She weighed the object in her palm, wondering if she had forgotten anything in the pub's bedroom. Swiftly, she teared the brown paper to find a notebook. Small but thick, slightly larger than her palm with a beautiful leather cover and a golden frame.
She turned the pages of what seemed like a private diary, noticing the dates for that year and the next, the space under each of them as an invitation to set her thoughts down on paper.
She reached the first page where she recognised the elegant handwriting of Tom.
"For nightmares, writing helps"
The girl smiled and she caught herself pressing the prefect's gift against her chest.
"Oh, I have something for him too" she remembered as she handed her friend a kraft paper bag.
"Please, thank him for me. For that too" she smiled, raising the gift she still had in hand and Alastair shot her a baffled glance but took the bag.
"I hope one day you or Tom will finally tell me what the hell is going on between you two"
—
Tom was absentmindedly playing with the ring that adorned his index finger. He was sitting on an armchair in the middle of the room, not slouched, but not upright either, simply in a position that suggested that he was at ease, in his element. Young wizards surrounded him, his usual crowd of Slytherins as well as other students, from Hogwarts but also elsewhere, a few school kids from Ilvermorny and Durmstrang, some connections of his friends.
Tom observed the young boy in front of him, who stood in the dim light among the luxurious furnitures.
It was about three weeks that Tom had temporarily relocated at his friend's place, after a little visit to his uncle and father.
This summer, he had agreed to extend his circle, for Cillian kept pestering him about having his cousins join them. There were conditions, though, and Tom had indicated that he wished to submit everyone to a battery of tests in order to assess their abilities. Would they prove worthy of his knowledge, the new members would be allowed to join the Knights of Walpurgis for some of their activities. Yet, the enthusiasm of the applicants had been so great that what was initially meant to be nothing more than a few days of recruiting turned into a quasi military training.
And just like that, Tom found himself teaching a bunch of eager kids about the Dark Arts inside the Lestrange manor.
"Try again" Tom issued despite the fidgety fingers and the drops of perspiration that began to show on the pale forehead.
Next to him, Leonus Nott was on pins and needles.
"Flipendo" shouted the blond boy as he pointed his wand towards the dummy that did not budge. Nott had initially offered to providing them with his family's old house elf, for his parents intended to replace it soon enough, but Tom had found it unwise to display such propensity for violence in front of new and perhaps dishonest members.
"By Merlin, this is just a stupid jinx Malfoy! If you can't even succeed at this, how do you expect to be usefu-?!" Leonus finally barked before he stopped the very moment Tom raised his hand. An elbow resting on the arm of the armchair and an affected frown on his face, the prefect stared at the Malfoy boy who seemed on the brink of tears.
He understood Nott's frustration, truly they were at it for what seemed like hours, but Leonus was too aggressive for the younger ones.
"Abraxas" Tom intervened, his voice soft, tempered. "You're too tense. This is why the jinx won't work. Nobody is here to judge you. You're doing well, you just need to practice more but we'll get there. Now take a deep breath and try once more whenever you're ready"
The boy shot him a desperate look but fought back the tears and nodded. He inhaled courageously before he tried to jinx the mannequin one more time, which, at least, was pushed a few inches to the side. Abraxas Malfoy's features softened and he peeked at the young man in relief.
Tom exchanged a knowing glance with Dolohov who stood in the dim-light near the window.
The Malfoy boy was not much of a fighter.
"Much better" he nodded nonetheless before he noticed Alastair Rosier who was standing on the threshold of the room.
"We'll stop here for today" Tom announced before he stood up and walked over to the young man.
—
"I did not mean to interrupt…" apologised Alastair in the kitchen.
"You didn't"
Tom drank a sip of water.
"How was your friend?" he asked, falsely detached.
"She's good. She gave me this for you" he mentioned as he indicated the paper kraft bag Annabel had given him that now stood on the kitchen counter.
"She was happy about your present"
"It's more of a service I'm doing her" Tom rectified as he left his glass on the drain near the sink and seized what the Slytherin was handing him. He headed towards the door that he pushed open and glanced one last time at Rosier on the threshold.
"About tomorrow's teaching, I'll assign some of the newcomers to you and Dolohov. Malfoy and the others won't survive Nott's training"
—
Tom ran a hand on his bare chest, feeling the taut muscles under the skin. He was sore due to the previous weeks of the intense training he had submitted himself and his friends to, a necessary condition for the Slytherin to fall asleep at night. His journey in Little Hangleton had left him agitated, and he had found himself more edgy than usual, struggling not to loose his cool in multiple occasions.
The young man turned around in the dim-light, feeling restless. He stood up and walked towards the adjacent bathroom, leaned against the porcelain sink. He turned on the tap and cupped some water with one hand that he splashed on the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes, enjoying the refreshing liquid that trickled down his back.
He walked back into his room and his eyes met the kraft bag that stood on the floor next to his bed. He reached for the cotton pyjama he had lent Annabel and unfolded it, grazed the fabric with care. The clean scent of washing powder tickled his nose and he felt a stab of disappointment at the thought that the soap had washed away her smell. Yet, he racked his brain for the memory of her and soon enough, a bouquet of roses and peonies permeated the air.
Tom remembered how he had woken up with Annabel still clasped in his arms a few weeks back. He recalled how he had struggled to unglue himself from her on the next morning, once the sun was shining on their faces. She had sighed in her drowse, as he had disentangled his fingers from her hair to peek at his watch, and that sound had made him think of all the different ways he could have her sigh like that again, preferably bare and consenting.
He desired her, of course, who would not?
And yet, something had prevented him from flipping the girl on her back and spreading her legs.
Suddenly, Tom remembered how he had wished for her trust once back in November, when Annabel had fallen asleep in his common room after that after-game party. He recalled how she had rested her head on his friend's shoulder and closed her eyes, how she had looked so peaceful and serene against Alastair's body, how he, Tom, had watched her sleep. He recalled how he had wondered what it would feel like, that very night, to exchange places, to be that blond boy she relied on. He had wondered what it would feel like to be the one she trusted so entirely that she could fall asleep with ease in the middle of a crowded room, what it would feel like to be the one to care for her, the one in charge.
And the thought struck him, just like a lightning.
He knew, what it felt like. Because wasn't it because she trusted him that she had followed him out of the woods and waited for him outside the cabin, despite the rain and the assault? Wasn't it because she trusted him that she had let him take the lead inside that pub, waiting for him to deal with that Muggle and find them a place to sleep? Wasn't it because she trusted him that she had let him share her bed? And when she had let him wrap his arms around her, held her tight, when she had let him soothe her, wasn't it because she trusted him?
And Tom could not help but smile as he lay back to bed and turned to the side, holding the shirt he had lent her against his chest.
He knew what it felt like.
It felt good.