"You're absolutely infuriating." He breathed out, pressing her body against the bookshelf with his own. His dark eyes brewed with irritation, and another emotion she couldn't quite decipher.
"Trust me." She said, her chest heaving with every bre...
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March 11th, 1947
Cerys stared at Tom, her breaths coming out short and shallow as her shoulders spasmed. Wide-eyed and mouth agape, he held on to the bed opposite to her. For the first time, Tom Riddle was mortified. She noticed the ripple of his neck as he swallowed.
As their harsh breathing faded out, the atmosphere remained thick with tension. It didn't take a genius to realize Tom had used legilmency on her. How was she supposed to react? She was still trying to figure that out and it seemed Tom was trying to do the same.
Tom was the first to break eye contact. He felt... disillusioned. His throat tightened, as if someone had wrapped a rope around it. What...?
Step, step, step... Their heads snapped in the direction of Madam Arthrow's office. Tom pressed a finger against his lip to signal Cerys to remain silent before he scrambled to his feet and rushed back to his bed and close his curtain just in time for the door to creak open.
"Oh? Miss Grahamm, you're awake! Is everything alright?" It was a miracle that the woman couldn't feel the tension in the air. It was thick enough to slice with a knife.
"Yes..." it had felt like ages since he heard her voice. It was more hoarse than the last time and weaker, as if the life had been pulled out of her over the past few weeks. "I was just... hoping for some water?"
"Of course, of course! Do you feel any better?" Athrow was quick to help and Tom could hear the faint clicking of glasses.
"I'm still tired. Could I get another strengthening potion by any chance?"
"Oh, my dear, I would..." foot steps and then a pause. He heard a brief 'thank you' from Cerys. "But we can't have you developing resistance against them and it could possibly turn into dependence."
Silence. How many potions had Cerys been taking until now for Arthrow to be concerned about resistance?
The conversation continued in no particular direction until he heard the matron's steps make their way to her office once again. Tom waited a few moments before he pushed the curtain back but remaining seated on the edge of the bed. The initial panic to hide from Arthrow had worn off and his mind was back at the situation at hand.
What was he supposed to say to Cerys? He had yet to work through what he had seen let alone talk to her about it. His eyes drifted up to her. She sat up in bed with her legs propped, her head in her hand.
As if feeling his gaze, her eyes snapped up to his and he couldn't find it in him to look away. Something in her eyes seemed far less... herself. Whatever of her she had, it felt so distant, so murky and it made Tom almost uncomfortable.
Tom opened his mouth but he couldn't find the words to explain what he wanted to ask. There were so many questions, too many, and for the first time, he was contemplating if we wanted answers.
