𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 - 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

✯ 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 ✯

"I told you to pack lightly," Tom commented, noting that her suitcase was big enough to reach her upper hip. 

"I did," she replied loftily. "I also wanted to be prepared for anything we may face. Plus, we are staying there for a week. Are you planning on wearing the same clothes every day?"

They both glared at each other, Tom not wanting to admit that he didn't even have that great of a selection of clothes to wear. Daisy didn't want to admit that 40% of her closet was borrowed from her very generous friends. 

They stood in silence then until the train came billowing in, crowds of people starting to push the witch and wizard forward hastily. After some pushing and shoving of their own, Tom managed to snatch a compartment for the both of them and ushered Daisy in. 

"So, explain to me please what your plan is once we arrive," Tom stated calmly once they had settled into their seats. 

"Well, first things first, we're going to find someplace to stay for the 5 nights. I reckon we'll get their pretty late into the evening, so we won't do anything until tomorrow morning. My mother's family were apparently Purebloods, so I think we should start there. I saw that she has a sister and am planning on asking around to see whether Maeve still lives there."

"You think Maeve will know how your mother died? And you're hoping that somehow leads to answers about you?" Tom questioned, and Daisy nodded. 

"You really didn't have to come you know," she repeated her earlier words again. 

"Yes, I did," he corrected. "This is not a friendship anymore Kennedy, not that it ever really was one. I am accompanying you only to make sure you don't hide anything from me, and to see if you are of any use to me."

"You keep saying that," Daisy said in annoyance. "What do you mean? You're bloody 17 years old, Tom. Why do you sound like you're planning bloody world dominance?"

"You think I'm not serious?" there was an edge to his voice. "You forget that I've killed."

Her blood chilled. She had forgotten. For one stupid second she forgot what he was capable of, what he had already done. She looked at him now, looked at his slender delicate hands, and wondered how on earth those hands had blood on them.

Tom's words had effectively stopped their flow of conversation, and they spent the rest of the few hours reading or sleeping, occasionally gazing out of the window to look at the rolling green hills, small villages, and fields of flowers. 

Tom felt sick to his stomach for unidentifiable reasons. Every time he articulated that he was only in this for the objective desire of power, and not for her, he felt nauseous. He assumed it was because of those swarming feelings he experienced whenever he thought of her. The hatred. But he didn't understand why it was so intense and so vehemently almost painful. 

He observed her sitting across from him, a big book in her lap and her head drooping down as she was slowly falling asleep. Her shoulder's were hunched and her hair was messy, nails bitten down and grey rings under her eyes. She shouldn't have been beautiful, no she shouldn't have. 

He closed his eyes so that he did not have to look at her, feeling absolutely disgusted with himself. He needed to control himself. He needed to reestablish his emotions. 

He felt nothing for Daisy Kennedy. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"I wish I had a camera on that ship," Daisy sighed, lugging her suitcase on the dirt road. "There were so many pretty pictures I could have taken."

Tom rolled his eyes and said nothing. For the past 30 minutes of their walk she had been incessantly chattering and he was about to perform the silencio charm on her for a moment of peace.