Seven Devils ★ T.M.R ★

Chapter Thirty-One

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THE LAST DEVIL
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MARINA STAUNCHLY AVOIDED Tom for the rest of the day, unable to avoid the fact that something about him made her feel strangely uncomfortable. She threw herself into her tasks with such fervour that the ghoul in the attic was munching on fresh rat carcasses and the beds in the twins' room were changed before Charlie even got around to finding her to help. When she passed the stairs, she could hear Tom downstairs talking softly with Mrs Weasley, and had decided on the spot that they might as well do all the bedrooms whilst they were at it. Charlie – who was less enthusiastic about the plan – spent the next three hours feigning a very dramatic and theatrical sullenness as they went from room to room hauling fresh sheets and baskets of old ones, but Marina was just glad to have something to keep her mind occupied by something other than their guest.

She opted to bypass lunch, seizing an apple instead and escaping into the garden to pull carrots for their dinner – only to just so happen to notice that the herb garden was looking a bit shabby. Marina managed to sink an additional two hours into weeding and tidying it until Charlie came out and began teasing her mercilessly for trying to brush all the dirt from the grout between the bricks of the path. However, Tom's lingering presence meant that the ground floor was still struck out-of-bounds, so Marina furiously scrubbed the dirt from her nails in the kitchen sink, seized a huge basket of clean clothes from the laundry, and lugged it upstairs at a record pace.

Too soon did the sky fall dark, and the kitchen door banged shut announcing Mr Weasley's return home. Marina shot Charlie a surprised look where he was helping her sort and fold the laundry on the floor of her temporary bedroom.

"Is your dad home on time?" she asked in disbelief.

Charlie glanced at his watch, frowning. "Yeah he is – Merlin, I can't remember the last time dad was actually here for dinner."

"Just my luck," she grumbled, aggressively folding the shirt on her lap. Mr Weasley's arrival meant only one thing – her hiding had been finally forced to come to an end.

Charlie peered at her suspiciously. "What's your problem with Tom?"

"I don't have a problem," Marina replied, managing to keep nearly all the defensiveness from her voice.

Though evidently not all of it – Charlie raised an eyebrow and Marina had to avoid his gaze as she stood and brushed off her pants, putting on a very good show of nonchalance. "Let's go then," she said bracingly.

Charlie followed her downstairs where they found Mr and Mrs Weasley already sitting with Tom in the lounge. Mr Weasley's work robes were crumpled and his hat had been knocked on an angle, but he looked uncharacteristically lively for having just returned from work, with alert eyes and an intent lean. Mrs Weasley was sitting straight-backed and tight-lipped on the settee beside the fireplace, her creased brow betraying the gravity of their conversation, and Tom was positioned in the same yellow chair that he had taken that morning. One of his long legs was crossed over the other and he had propped an elbow beside him to let his hand linger thoughtfully beside his face, his other hand draped lazily down the arm of the chair. His demeanour only accentuated the naturally regal quality of his features, the fine angles, dark blue eyes, and high cheekbones over which the light from the fireplace danced elegantly. He looked like he was sitting on a throne, not a tatty armchair.

Don't stare, Marina thought suddenly, and she wrenched her eyes off Tom to fix them safely on the Weasleys.

"Not starting without us, are you?" Charlie asked jauntily, sitting next to his father.