Seven Devils ★ T.M.R ★

Chapter Thirty-Nine

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THE THAW
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SHE HELD THE basilisk fang in her hand and Tom stood in front of her. He looked tired, drawn, shadows under his eyes and his shoulders sagging like he could barely muster the energy to stay standing.

"Marina," he said, exhausted.

She shook her head as he came closer. "No," she croaked.

"I'm sorry," said Tom softly, watching her as his fingers closed around her wrist. "I'm sorry that you were ever pulled into all of this in the first place."

"It's okay," she said quickly, whisperingly, trying to resist as he gently lifted her hand holding the fang but finding herself unable to do so. "Please, Tom –"

He just placed the fang in her hand against his chest and pushed it hard. She could only watch helplessly, already crying as ink flowed out around the fang, washing over her hand in a cold black wave, staining her skin and running down her arm. She fell with him as he dropped to his knees, her hand still trapped on the fang buried in his chest.

He took shaky breaths and then met her eyes. "Marina, it'll kill you," Tom whispered, ink spilling down his chin.

She frowned. "What do you –"

"Do you resent me?" he murmured, staring at her.

"For what?"

His eyes dropped a bit, and Marina looked down, too. Her stomach lurched.

A basilisk fang was buried in her chest, Tom's hand still holding it. Blood was washing over his hand in a hot red wave, staining his skin and running down his arm –

Marina woke with a long, rasping gasp, seizing at her chest in terror as she sat bolt upright. It ached as if he'd really stabbed her, so painful that tears erupted in her eyes – but she wanted to cry anyway. The sobs began at once, wracking her body as she heaved in breaths and leaned forward over her knees. If the noise woke the Weasleys, they did not come to talk to her – she had long since asked them to leave her be when the nightmares came.

When she regained control of her breathing, Marina opened her tired, swollen eyes and stared at the bed under her. Her hand still clutched at her chest where the fang had jutted, the top of the pale yellow T on Tom's black jumper balled up and distorted in her fist over her heart. She'd hoped that wearing it would help with the nightmares. She'd been wrong, but she wore it anyway.

Marina forced her hand out of its fist and drew her arms around herself as she lay back down, her lips pressing together hard, and tears welling up in her eyes again as she pulled the duvet over her shoulders. It was the 31st of December today. Tom's birthday.

He could be dead. He could be dead right now and she wouldn't even know, Voldemort might have seen the truth in his mind and killed him –

She grit her teeth. No, Voldemort wouldn't kill him, not when doing so only harmed himself. Much more likely Tom was locked in the cellar of Malfoy Manor with Luna and Ollivander, or had been thrown in Azkaban, or Voldemort was torturing him to insanity like he had the Longbottoms –

Her chest ached again, so hard that her ribs fell and a weak breath was pushed out from between her lips. It had nothing to do with the nightmare.

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Marina sat down heavily at the kitchen table, leaning forward and exhaling slowly. It was just past seven in the morning, and there was still an hour before the sun would come up. She pushed her fingers against her temples, closing her eyes, breathing in the smell of her coffee before her.