Seven Devils ★ T.M.R ★

Chapter Forty

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THE VERY BAD IDEA
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CW: Some salaciousness (and some toe-curling amounts of fluff thrown in for good measure). You've been warned.
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MRS WEASLEY LEANED forward and flicked off the radio, sighing deeply. Fred and George had guested that evening's Potterwatch with Lee Jordan, and their very rambunctious game of 'kiss, marry, kill' with various combinations of Death Eaters had clearly exasperated her just as much as it had entertained Marina. Even Tom had smirked when George and Lee had declared Lucius Malfoy 'more kissable' than either Severus Snape or Bellatrix Lestrange, sparking a rather heated debate with Fred that had only ended when they had agreed that they would ultimately prefer killing all three.

"Well, at least there was no one to report missing for once," Mrs Weasley said stiffly, shaking her head in disbelief. "For Merlin's sake, how they get away with all that I will never know..."

"Laughing at the Death Eaters is the best thing they can do on that show," Charlie snorted. "It's a form of warfare in itself considering half of You-Know-Who's scare tactics revolve around making them seem all-knowing and all-powerful."

"It certainly renders them more human," Tom said dryly, leaning back on the couch next to Marina and drawing her gaze for quite some time with his rather captivating nonchalance. "They lose quite a lot of mystique when one is arguing over who would make a worse spouse."

"They should be more careful," grumbled Mrs Weasley, standing and aggressively folding the blanket that she'd had on her lap. "It's the sort of thing they should handle with a bit more sensitivity –"

"If anyone's looking to Fred and George for sensitivity, they're very much barking up the wrong tree," said Charlie with a scoff, standing and rounding up onto the stairs.

"Not so fast, young man," Mrs Weasley said sharply, waving her wand at the cupboard in the corner which instantly spat out a series of thick blankets and folded sheets. "I need you to help bring up the linen for Tom –"

Charlie took an armful of the blankets from the air and shot Marina a cheeky look from behind them. "Which room is he staying in, mum?"

"Fred and George's, dear."

"Are you sure?" Charlie smirked quietly, winking at Marina.

She leapt to her feet, cheeks hot. "Well, I'm going to bed," she said loudly. "See you in the morning."

Marina bypassed Charlie with a very well-timed jab to his ribs that nearly made him drop the blankets, and closed the door to Percy's door behind her – she had relocated there after the holidays, since Ginny's room was still prone to the occasional snowfall and had remained a good five degrees colder than the rest of the house. She sighed deeply, flopping onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. Disappointment and relief that the day had passed without talking to Tom about Christmas Eve raged in her chest, and neither seemed likely to be gaining the upper hand any time soon.

Marina changed into her pyjamas, wrangled her hair into a braid, and had just pulled on her woolliest socks when she heard the light knock at her door. She froze. There was a strangely loaded silence before she slowly approached it and cracked it open. Her heart immediately started beating in double time.

"Hi," she said, very much not meaning to whisper. Tom was wearing that same grey shirt and she had to physically restrain herself from staring at where the collar had slipped down again.

"Hello," he said, lips quirking a bit in amusement.

"I was wondering if I'd ever get a chance to talk to you," Marina smiled, managing to sound half-normal.