the devil's redemption [tom r.]

43|| Trauma.

"Don't-"

"No, let me finish. What if she was murdered as a threat to Samantha? What if Grindelwald didn't know that I killed her, and he just thought that she was fleeing from him?" She was desperately trying to analyse the situation. But either way, she had something to do with it, and that was even more distressing.

"But we always have the possibility that Willow was also working with Grindelwald. It's plausible that she wasn't abducted from Diagon Alley. She simply lied to her grandfather about it. She was initially going to see Grindelwald, and when he couldn't get any information from her, he killed her," Tom explained, and she felt confused all over again. Both of their theories made perfect sense, but both of them are related to the death of Samantha, which Rosalind was guilty of.

"I need some sleep." Tom understood that she wanted to be left alone, so he quietly left the tent, not even trying to comfort her once.

Rosalind cried herself to sleep that night.

***

Rosalind woke up to find Tom long asleep beside her. She could tell it was really early in the morning. She spent the following few minutes staring at his face, trying to memorise every detail of his features. She liked the way his hair was a curly mess. She liked his perfectly defined jawline. She liked his straight nose, his chapped lips. She loved the way their bodies were pressed against each other.

His mere existence beside her made her completely forget her best friend's murder, which was highly unsettling to her.

It wasn't long until his blue eyes were open, staring at her. He had woken up, not protesting about their proximity.

"I want to go to the funeral," she whispered, her hand simultaneously stroking his bed hair.

"This isn't going to be easy, Rosalind. We still have a week left of the holidays and we have nowhere to go," his voice was hoarse as he spoke for the first time that morning, his eyelids almost drooping back to sleep.

Rosalind bit her lip anxiously. It was getting too much. The stress that was being induced on her was too much for her to handle. Why couldn't she have been just like any other normal teenager, whose biggest worries was his potions assignment?

"We can't go to my house, can we?" She suggested, although she knew quite well that it was too risky.

Tom tutted, "Of course not, the ministry will be certainly watching your house now that both your mother and Samantha are nowhere to be found, especially after Willow's murder."

"I don't care Tom, I want to go. The least I can do is attend her funeral," Rosalind reasoned, although she was sure he would neither relate, nor agree.

He sighed, closing his eyes for a few moments while she continued playing with his hair. She watched him as he tried to relax, and the sensation of butterflies all over her body bothered her greatly. Her love for him was just another heavy burden to add to the stack.

"Noah once told me that his parents own a hotel near Yorkshire," she spoke suddenly, causing Tom to open his eyes and glare at her.

"Absolutely not, I'm not staying at this half-blood's polluted residence," Tom grumbled, rubbing his eyes as he changed his position into a sitting one.

She rolled his eyes at his usual prejudice, "Think about it, Tom. We have no other choice. I'm sure we can't afford staying in another hotel for a week, and Noah will totally understand that."

"That filthy dunce will be ecstatic to see you there," he glared down at her, causing her to almost smile at his inability to hide his jealousy. She couldn't smile, however.

"Don't call him that. Besides, I think he'll get the message when I show up with you," Rosalind was in no energy to argue that morning. She just wanted to get everything over with. She wanted to go back to Hogwarts and try to relax for the few months she had left in Britain.

He sighed begrudgingly, "Fine, we have no other choice, anyways."

She sat up, "Splendid, I'll get packing." She was getting up when Tom grabbed her arm, halting her instantly.

"Wait, we still have to find a way to leave here."

"What?! You came here not knowing how we'll leave in the first place?" She was surprised that Tom would let such an important detail slip under his nose. She couldn't help but feel astonished. Tom was always prepared for everything.

"That's not it, Rosalind," Tom stood up and headed to the satchel he'd been carrying around, sticking his hand inside and fiddling with whatever laid in there. "Look," he handed her a small vial, a golden liquid shining within. 

"Slughorn awarded me this once, it's Felix Felicis," he continued as she inspected the tiny glass container before giving it back to him with a furrowed brow.

"I'll drink this, so we can find a way to go back to Britain," he opened the vial, about to take a gulp before pausing, "Oh and by the way, the portkey would take us back to London, and from there we'll have to head to Yorkshire, which might take us a few hours. At a pace like that, you'll miss the funeral. I'm telling you this just so you know that I'm always prepared for everything, I just didn't see your friend's death coming."

He drank half of the contents of the vial after his short speech. They heard a ruffle in the woods at once, which caused them to exit the tent quickly to find the source of the noise.

What she saw outside left her beyond astonishment. Her favourite creature stood ahead of them, fluttering its skeletal wings occasionally. The Thestral was dark and enigmatic, and it looked identical to the ones she'd conjured in her Patronus or her duel with Tom.

"Wow," was all she could say. Tom was staring with twinkling eyes at the fascinating being. Feeling the usual connection between her and the creature, she approached it slowly. Her hand stroked the top of the thestral's head gradually and cautiously, causing it to lean into her soft touch.

"What's with you and thestrals?" Tom questioned, averting his eyes from the beautiful creature to the even more mesmerising one standing next to him.

"I don't know. They're just. . incredibly interesting, I guess. The fact that you can't see something so beautiful unless you witness something so terrible just stuns me," She explained, and the way she always seemed to word her thoughts perfectly astonished him.

He liked how intelligent their conversations were, and how they always left him thinking even hours after they'd ended. He soaked up the words from her radical mind. This was one of the reasons he'd become so attached to her.

"I think I lo-" Tom blurted out, but he was quick enough to hold his tongue. Rosalind, as observant as ever, raised and inquiring eyebrow at him.

He stuttered, "I-I just think we should start packing."

Rosalind nodded, petting the thestral once more before heading to the tent once again. The moment she was out of sight, Tom let out a relieved sigh, although not completely sure she believed him. He internally scolded himself for letting his tongue slip, especially that he knew what he was about to say was untrue. Or so he thought.