"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 that this would be the first Christmas he would be truly happy. This thought made him pause to watch the sunrise over the Great Lake. The greenish light danced across his skin, and even though there was a chill in the dungeons, it made him feel warm.
That is what Tom loved most about the Slytherin Dormitories. No other house common room was under the lake. No other students could say that their rooms glistened with the movement of water. The slow forms of the sun through the waves moved across the room like what Tom thought magic might take form as.
There was a sweetness to the air; Tom thought, still a bit delirious from his late night about with Evelyn. It made his steps light as he dressed in a dark turtleneck and trousers, an outfit from home. He normally would hate being out of his school robes, mostly because he feared being looked upon like muggle trash, but today he wanted familiarity over formalities.
He hadn't stopped thinking about Evelyn long into the night. There was something sinister in the way he respected her now. Like one thinks about an especially decadent knife. And then there were the horrid memories when she had held him through the hallways and had kissed his cheek so delicately.
Tom actually found it hard to find a time when he wasn't thinking about her. Even in the months that he had been with Calista, he often compared things she did to that of Evelyn. He had even bought her a gift at Hogsmeade at the beginning of the month. A little paintbrush that didn't need any water to work just thought of color, and it would appear. He hadn't even known if Evelyn painted, but he had remembered the drawings she had shared with him over the summer and had thought she might like it. It had been one of those times that Calista had bugged him over and over about who the paintbrush was for. He had kept saying it was for him, but she hadn't believed him for a second. It had been a painful week after that, too much snogging.
He picked up the thin box he had wrapped it in and made his way downstairs. Right before he came fully down the stairs, there was always a moment when he could stop and watch the common room floor without being seen by those below. This is where he stood now, hidden by an intricate ceiling design, and looked at Evelyn without her knowing.
There was something about seeing Evelyn so relaxed that made Tom want to lay down any worries he had of his own. She was also dressed in muggle fashion, a tight top and loose grey slacks, but there was something more homey that Tom liked. Her feet swaddled in large wool socks, and her face half buried in an oversized cardigan made Tom want to pull her into himself and never let go.
Seeing the stiffness gone in someone so controlled made Tom realize he had never let go. There was always this need to perform for him, and he liked not having to perform for Evelyn.
He walked down further, his eyes finding Evelyn's small cat curled in her lap, and the large Christmas tree in the corner with a single wrapped present underneath. Evelyn must have heard his approach because she looked up at him, her eyes bright and warm.
