"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 k n e w the moment he pounded on the deep mahogany door that there was no going back. He thought of how pale his hand looked compared to the mighty entryway and hoped that Evelyn would take pity on his sickly state.
He didn't plan to end up at the Maeve manor, but the moment he tried to apparate to somewhere safe, he had ended up across the border in Wales; then again, he ended up in the countryside, and finally, on his third try, he was at the border of the grand estate.
There was a moment when he hovered between the rod-iron gates and the sprawling garden that led up to the house, where he considered going somewhere else, but he couldn't think of anywhere better than here. The gardens seemed to whisper to him; a haunted feeling of need had pushed his legs forward. Past the praying angels and the overgrown vines of ivy that held their wings together. He could have sworn they had watched him as he had stumbled through the path.
The chilly summer air ruffled his curls, and he pulled his cloak closer to his still-recovering frame. He should have rested another night, but he hadn't been able to spend another night on the stone shore of his cave.
Tom thought about knocking again when the door was pulled open. He had to place his hands over his ears physically when screams like no other broke through the silent night.
He winced when he brought his eyes up to meet the girl's infront of him. She looked hollowed out; the bruised circles under her eyes looked cavernous. Her eyes roamed over him, an irritated little frown pinching at the corner of her pale lips. Tom observed her while he waited to be let in. She wore a dark nightgown that reached the floor and dipped low, exposing the jagged scar on her chest. It was the first he had seen it since the night he had learned of it. When she noticed his stare, she clutched the silk robe, that pooled at her feet, around herself tighter.
Evelyn stared at him like he was a ghost more than the boy she had come to know so well. Tom was sure she would have guessed that there was no one else he trusted more than her, but with the blood-curdling screams that rose around them, he wondered if this was not the same Evelyn who walked the halls of Hogwarts.
Tom stepped back, sure that she was going to turn him away. The action made her step back as well, and whether it was the hollow in his cheeks or his hesitation to enter her home, she opened the door wider for him to come inside.
The house was unnervingly still as he stepped inside. If it weren't for the screams, Tom would have guessed that there wasn't anyone else in the entire building except the two of them. And although the entryway was spotless, and there wasn't a speck of dust, the place felt neglected. He wondered when the last guest had arrived before him. The polished floors seemed to reflect his answer back to him, years and, just like him, he was sure they weren't expected.
No words were exchanged as Evelyn led him to the grand staircase at the opposite end of the room. He watched as she ascended the steps, her robe trailing behind her like a waterfall flowing back up a mountain face. Her pace slowed as she neared the top of the stairs. She looked back at him as if she was making sure he was even there. Her hair was down, and Tom marveled at how ethereal she looked with her curls completely unstyled, the frizzy hairs catching the glow of the moon through the windows that surrounded the room.
