"she was the type of person who'd explain how she was going to stab you in the front before she actually shoved the knife in... and you'd let her.
she'd probably even pass the knife to you so you can shove it in your own chest...and you would."
tom...
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t o m h a d become preoccupied with his seventh-year classes. One of the first times since meeting Evelyn that he had truly no thought about anything else but his own legacy. In the time not devoted to his studies or Head Boy duties, he concentrated entirely on his Death Eaters. He had been recruiting more and more students to his name, and he had been preparing his inner circle to go forth after graduation and do more. More for him and his campaign for power.
For he had no plans of leaving Hogwarts after this year. He had always wanted to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He had always loved the class, of course, but it wasn't his desire to learn that drew him to professorship. It was the influence professors had over the younger generation. They thoroughly shaped children's minds on what was right and wrong, and he, well, when he wanted them to support him in whatever he decided to do. He planned on asking Dippet closer to the end of the year. He didn't want whatever the answer was to sway him from his planning. He honestly didn't know if he could talk his way into the job since he hadn't ever known a professor as young as him before.
And in the weeks he plotted and planned, he didn't spend a second of time worrying about Evelyn. They talked in classes, but the conversations had little to do with anything other than her teasing of him about magic that she had learned long before Hogwarts. She wanted nothing to do with his schemes for collecting more "dogs," as she kept referring to his new followers. In fact, she seemed to want nothing more to do with any of his schemes anymore; she seemed almost as if she had faded back into whatever blurry in-between world she had first emerged from.
Tom had only stopped once to consider her odd behavior. And it was only when she had told him that her seventh-year spellwork had been mastered at the age of eleven. It was the same year she had started Hogwarts, and yet it was as if she had already been there. He had guessed for Evelyn that learning advanced magic had been the highlight of her miserable childhood. He wondered if in the years she had been watching him before she had let herself be his greatest annoyance, if she had been excited to constantly remind him just how much more skilled at magic she was than he was. And even then, she held back; he knew she did, in their dueling lessons, she still had him pinned. He grew tired of losing, but never tired of watching Evelyn perform. That was what class was to her, a grand performance that only he knew she was acting in.
Tom was tired of his own act at school. He was tired of charming everyone around him into worshipping him. It was almost relieving when he would hang out with Evelyn. They didn't hide who they were from each other. He needed a break from it all. In some sick way, he guessed he missed her. Not that he would ever admit that.
When the end of October rolled around and the grand hall had been decorated for Hallowe'en, Tom was actually looking forward to the first Hogsmeade weekend. He had arrived early to his Transfiguration class the Friday before, almost giddy to ask Evelyn to attend with him, and as he sat down, he thought about hexing some sense into himself. He should be enjoying this time without her; he would be rid of her soon anyway, so it was better to start now. And yet, when Evelyn walked in, he took every inch of her in, replacing his self-hatred with admiration at how effortlessly she made a room stand still.
