⋆𝐃𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠⋆ - 𝐓.𝐌.𝐑

𝟎𝟑𝟒 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐎𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

"Prewett had the grand idea of describing to me in detail what he would've done – had he been there beside you, in my place."

A repressed part of Elizabeth burned, with shame, with hurt – a different part sang to the tune of war drums, recalling the verses that the nuns skipped over, but she read in her room after curfew fell.

'And if thine eye causeth thee to stumble, pluck it out, and cast it from thee...'

Not her fault, not her fault, not her fault.

Notherfaultnotherfaultnotherfault.

"What did you do to him?" and her voice didn't shake, because she knew Thomas now – and he was a vindictive, vicious bitch.

"...It is good for thee to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes to be cast into the hell of fire," Thomas lilted, his tongue lapping at the sermon with righteous mocking as though the devil talked through him. "Given that he is the heir to an unfortunately esteemed house, I could not kill him – but mutilation is simple enough to make seem accidental, and I made sure it'll never quite heal."

"Matthew 18:9, fitting," they shared a glance – each trying to glare the other into admitting how they knew the bible by heart, sinners as they both were.

"I'm glad you approve," he breathed – his face neared hers, a now familiar, titillating pressure building. "You won't have to see him during your shifts, I know how you loathe nursing our victims – his family came to recover him, he won't be around for a while."

How considerate.

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile softly at his macabre way of caring, "thank you... Father Riddle."

What?

Biblical punishments screamed of God complexes, she had to prod at it.

Thomas bowed his head forward, lips fluttering against the hollow of her cheek as he groaned before chuckling breathily, when he spoke again, his posh accent slipped. "Fuck you calling me Father, as if it doesn't turn you on just to say it."

Oh.

Well...

Elizabeth exhaled slowly, lifting her chin as she stared at him with admission – awaiting judgement; a noose at her neck, or a hand.

Brown met blue, the oceans and the earth assessing and appraising and adoring. He bent his head more and she tilted her own further, their lips met tentatively – brushing, once, twice -

-kept apart by a millimeter, by a thousand secrets-

-by a raucous crush that occurred in a classroom nearby, which jarred them apart fully.

Jesus fuCKING CHRIST.

The windows of the corridor showed the night sky as much darker than when they departed for the patrol, stars glittering brightly with the nearing of a new moon in the lunar calendar.

Bloody hell, they were the worst prefects ever.

Barring Hornby, of course.

Elizabeth was nearly ripped away from observing the stars by Thomas' grip on her wrist pulling her towards the offending classroom. A spark passed through where their skins touched, which made them jolt apart again and glare at one another accusingly, the scent of ozone saturating the air.

Shaking her head, she kept striding, and he fell into step alongside her as they stalked the castle halls, pissed out of their minds.

Another crash sounded, which alerted them to the exact classroom they needed to raid, this one was followed by rabid growling – which was followed by frantic shushing.