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the-half-blood-heir · 2 years ago

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Just a Moment (between Tom and Verena - 1)

It was late when Tom returned to the Slytherin Common Room, much later than all the other prefects, but having been a top-student and prefect who had the most number of reports for a total of two years already, no one expected anything bad or mischievous from him. Except, well, Verena Rowle, who was seated with her back to the orange flames that rose high in the fire place, casting a heavenly glow around her as she was half-hunched over the table, her head laying down on her arm as she scribbled her quill loosely across the parchment.

She only regarded Tom's appearance with a stare - her hand stopping its motion, as she focused her entire concentration on him. His eyes, mainly. The dark colour of it. It seemed black in the dark. But it should have been brown - it had to be, because Verena had never seen a person with black eyes, but when she heard of such people, others always claimed that it was really, really dark brown. Very much like her purple eyes - they weren't actually purple, she realised, but a unique mix of light blue and grey. An imperfection, but one she loved.

Tom didn't sigh where he stood, regarding her with the same concentrated eyes - but he let his eyes move from hers, quickly tracing over her, taking her in, and then turning to the work at the tea table she made her own desk.

Her hair was combed, but sat flat on her head in a way that made Tom think she either had a shower, or stood under the rain the showered the castle not a moment earlier, and for a short moment too. It was a quick downpour, and left as soon as it came - so Tom decided that the chances of Verena wetting her hair from that was more likely than her washing it in the Prefect's bathrooms. Because Verena was also a sensible person - and she was still wearing her uniform from the day, only, her sweater had been removed and the button at the collar of her neck was undone, and her tie had been loosened and hung limply around her neck.

So, Tom decided, taking a seat directly in front of her, she didn't shower, for there was lack of clear evidence (Tom knew Verena, not as well as he would have liked to, but he knew her mannerisms and her routines).

Something was wrong -

He looked at her eyes, and found that they were dull, blinking slowly as she looked to him, blinking once more before she released her grip on the quill - it didn't drop to the table, but only lay limply in her hands, before she closed her eyes for a moment and lifted her head, putting the quill down slowly, brows rising in a flinch when there was a sound made (which told Tom she hadnt meant for it, even if the sound barely reached his ears, it must have reached hers, for it was... closer to her than it was to him), before she shut her eyes tighter and put her head down on the table.

Tom regarded her once more, only wondering what had happened to have her behave so - strange.

No, not strange. Weak. She appeared weak in that moment.

And perhaps she was, for fatigue can surely render the greatest of soldiers, the weakest.

"Stop," came her low voice, and Tom wondered if she was about to fall asleep -

"Stop thinking. Please." Tom raised a brow and tilted his head at her. It wasn't like Verena to ask someone to do something - she usually told or demanded for things, making her words sound sweet, so as to give others the impression of having a choice when it came to serving her.

"It's the thoughts again, isn't it?" He asked, ensuring his voice remained low, so as to not interfere with her anymore than his entrance already had.

Verena merely nodded her head, keeping her head down on the tea table.

Tom hoped she wouldn't sleep there, because if she did, then he hoped she didn't expect him to be a chivalrous sort of gentleman and carry her to her bed. Because he wasn't chivalrous. But he was a gentleman - and the least he could do, having seen her nearing slumber, was -

"No," was all she said, and then she shook her head, looking up to him. "Not me - you - blanket. Not needed."

"So you won't sleep, then?" He asked.

"No," she said, scrunching her face and then putting a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes tight as she rubbed at it, "no it isn't... not nice. Not at this moment. Not when I'm in this... state."

And what a state she was - for if Tom Riddle thought of weakness, never would he have associated it with Verena Rowle, the Princess of the Castle, as so many had called her. (But she didn't want to be their princess, he remembered, smiling at his thoughts, she wants to be their queen.)

"Tom," she said, opening her eyes and looking at him.

She was looking at him in a mix of disappointment and irritation - like a mother to a child or a professor to their student after they did specifically what they were told not to do.

And Tom rolled his eyes at her, kicking off his shoes and stretching his legs.

"Don't get comfortable," she said, her voice pleading for him to listen to her - as he always did.

But she hadnt said please, this time, and by the time she said it, in a groan, Tom had already made his way to her side, sitting beside her and peering over her arm that rested on the parchment, trying to read the -

Well, there weren't any words, he realised, only scribbles, and he asked, "Which subject is this essay for? Runes?"

"I don't take Runes," she mumbled, putting her head back down on the table, and looking at him, focusing on his eyes once more, then his nose, then jaw, and lips. Anything to distract her mind - anything at all.

She'd previously been focusing on drawing continously perfected circles in loops - thinking of time and how it was circular, along with life and so many other things that were so very round -

But she wasn't very good at it, what with her hands growing tired, and the ache at her forehead only growing.

It made her want to cry, and she considered writing to her parents, to ask for them to send her more sleeping draughts or pain-relieving tonics, small ones, to treat the really bad migraines she'd get, when everyone's thoughts would suddenly get too loud, and reach her without her touching their skin. (Because that was how her magic worked - her legilimens - it worked by mainly her touching skin, which gave access to their mind... but recently, she'd been so stressed, that she'd accidently picked up on everyone else's emotions (and stress) and let it affect her.)

But she didn't write to her parents - because when she tried to write, she found it to be very sloppy, and knew it would only worry her mother (and brothers, who didn't know the meaning of privacy, and had a tendency of opening letters addressed to anyone, so as to ensure there'd be no bombs in them.)

"Well you should," Tom said, take Runes, "because these are terrible."

And if Verena had taken Runes, she would have known, and it would have troubled her so, because she was a perfecrionist.

But seeing as she hadnt taken the subject (a small thing that started to irritate her, because she now wanted to take it, like Tom), Verena didnt really care much about the state of it.

Especially since they weren't Runes.

Verena only sighed, and Tom said, "You could take it up now and I could Tutor you, if you're ambitious enough." Merlin, Verena wanted to smack him across the face, and she opened her eyes to glare at him, but found his eyes trained on the parchment. "Your marks will start off low, but with my help, you'll be getting your O's in no moment."

Verena only breathed out and looked at him, ignoring his words on taking up Runes - which she smiled at, knowing he must have been trying to distract her... and if he did it unknowingly, then it still amused her, his attitude regarding himself as being "all-knowing".

Tom found her eyes on him, and looked at her, taking in the lazy smile on her face. It was very small, and he thought that this must have been how she smiled when she slept or dreamt of something nice. He wondered if he could smile like that. So lazily. So freely. Without any worry. And for a moment, he loathed Verena, for the easy life she had.

Until she said, "It hurts," her voice soft, eyes closing for a moment, before she opened them, and Tom found there were tears lining her lashes.

He hoped she wouldn't cry, but in case she was focused on the look of his eyes, he said, "Don't cry." Because he didn't want to deal with her after his long day.

Verena's smile grew, and she closed her eyes, and a tear fell, and panic seized Tom's chest as it did so -

"It's the weekend. You can stay up as late as you want. Sleep in as well. I," Tom swallowed, "I won't judge. There's no need to cry," he said, lifting his hand awkwardly - not knowing how to comfort her, before he settled on patting her head, twice.

Pat, pat.

It was awkward, and his movements were stilted, but - Verena found comfort in that slow, stilted rhythm of his.

And she said, "Again," voice sounding like she was in a dream, and Tom looked at her with mild confusion in his eyes.

"My head," she said. "Your hand. Pat, pat. It feels nice." Comforting, she would have said, had that word not scared Tom to the muggle world and back. (In the way Tom knew Verena, Verena knew Tom - perhaps even better, but Tom would never admit that, regardless of how the truth burned against him.)

"No, I'm not your keeper," he said, even though her acted it - Verena would have snickered had she not craved his touch that provided her much needed comfort.

So instead, she just looked up at him, she cheeks slightly red, and tired, watery eyes staring into the dark depths of his soul (or maybe the darkness was just his eyes, Verena liked to think so.)

"Don't cry," he said, and Verena only frowned at him, bringing him to glare at her, before he looked around the common room for any eyes - even looking at the Portraits, some of whom turned the other way, pretending they were blind and couldn't see, or doing anything to hide from his piercing gaze.

"Fine," he hissed, sounding as angry as a snake, looking it a little too as he sneered at her, before he added, "If it'll stop you from crying."

And then he pat her head twice, before he did it again after a moment of waiting, and found that he quite liked thumping his palm against her head - which brought the corner of his lip to rise, but it fell immediately when Verena reached for his wrist and stopped his hand from reaching her head.

"You're not doing it nicely," she said, voice soft. "You're making it worse."

"Well I'm sorry -" he went to say, but was cut off by Verena's small, vulnerable voice.

"I want you to make it better," she sounded entirely helpless. And her eyes - oh, they looked to Tom as if he were the only one who could help her.

And Tom wondered if he truly was - were it any person other than Verena, he would have wholly believed that they needed his care, his help, him. But this was Verena - Verena Rowle, and Verena was usually the one that everyone needed, not the other way around.

And Tom went to hiss at her, about to pull his hand back, before Verena pulled in response, her grip tightening around his wrist, before his hand stilled at registering her touch and the sudden power behind it, bdfore she lowered his hand to her head, and covered the back of his with hers, her thumb stroking against the back of his hand, never closing her eyes or straying her gaze from his as she said, "Please."

Was it a need, or was it a want that made Tom Riddle stay with Verena Rowle?

Simple.

It was both.

On Verena's side, it was more so a need than a want - a need for comfort, as a single person would comfort her at home when the world would get too loud, often shooing everyone away, and casting spells to make her comfortable, before lulling her with a song or a story -

But on Tom's side, it was a want. A want to give her comfort, and his protection, and the burn of his own skin against hers, like a branding of sorts - to make her his, if only for a short moment.

But not only was it that -the want to appease the sensual part of Tom, but it was the want to be bigger, greater, more powerful than everyone else. The greatest wizard in the world - Verena told him - you have the potential. Now you just need the tools.

I can help you there, if you'd like, she said, and Tom decided, fine, if his kindness and somewhat honesty was the payment she required, then he would give it to her -

Especially since, at that moment, she expressed what Tom thought to be another weakness of hers - him, in that moment, and his touch.

And Tom wanted to take advantage of it, but he hadn't exactly known how, because the minute he felt the slightly damp hair on her head, and then when she brought his hand down to her cheek, the bottom of his palm touching her lips, and then her eyes had opened and looked at him, taking him in, Tom found himself at a loss. He hadn't known exactly what he was doing - what he was thinking - what he should have been doing -

Before Verena whispered, "I can't see your thoughts. I won't. I'll only see you."

And Tom leaned closer to her, and she closed her eyes, and he did the same, before pressing his forehead to hers.

A moment passed, and Tom said, "It's quieter in there." And Verena smiled at him, allowing her walls to close a little more, but Tom could still see in, which had him furrowing his brows, looking to her in concern more so than confusion -

"Your walls have no cracks. No - not cracks. There's chasms of space in there." His thumb pressed into her cheek, and she breathed in deeply, brfore breathing out.

"It happens sometimes. That's how everything gets too loud."

Tom looked at her. "So it wasn't me getting better." (He meant prodding into her mind - getting past her defenses, but he didn't understand that... he was getting better, because -)

"You are," she whispered. "If you weren't getting better, you wouldn't have seen the chasms. You would have thought it was yourself. So you actively looked into my mind, and you found... something."

And something he did. Comfort, she found, from his touch.

And what a strange thing it was, he thought, his touch turning gentle, thumb no longer pressing into the soft of her cheek. Comfort?

Like a sunset, he saw in her mind, and as he continued to stay there, eyes closed, forehead leaning into hers to feel it once more - that warmth, that gentle touch... the vulnerability, but not his, never his - but hers, entirely, shown only to him. It left him like that, head against hers, for a moment longer. Before he saw and felt the sun turning hazier, and he felt his eyes growing heavier, did he say,

"Don't go to sleep."

And Verena only hummed an, "Okay," breathing him in.

"I mean it," he said, and Verena smiled - he just knew she was smiling at him, even as she nudged her nose against his, bringing his to twitch and bump hers back, harsher, as he said, "I won't take you to your room."

"Oh, I know," she hummed, her entire mood seemed to change, with him near her, in her space, in her mind, "I recall you not being - what was it? Chivalrous?"

Tom only breathed her in, putting his arm around her, and lacing his fingers in the hair at the base of her neck.

"But you are a gentleman," she said, and she opened her eyes, looking at him, and he did the same - finding her eyes to be a little lighter, not as dull or tired, even though sleep was close to claiming them both. "And I must thank you, kind Sir," she smiled, "for the pain is a little less, now that I am in your company." Tom thought she would have said 'now that you are in my company' and found himself feeling far more superior, with the importance she had given to him.

"I'm glad," he only said, before he scratched his fingers along her neck, bringing her to arch her head in a strange way, bringing him to stop, before she shivered, and sighed, looking at him, before she reached her hand out and hesitantly touched his cheek.

Tom let her, knowing that her touch would mean access to his mind -

And she had it, bringing her to say, "I only want to feel you," softly, eyes looking into his with an intensity that made him burn. And he knew she burned as well, from his touch. But pain? There was none of it on his side - and only a little on hers.

"How does it happen?" He asked. "With everyone asleep."

She knew what he meant- the pain. How did their thoughts affect her even when they were sleeping.

"They dream. And some people dream loudly and - its like we're in a glass bowl. And the mercreatures are out there, awake when we are not."

And she breathed in, closing her eyes. "But it is not so bad now. Just a little heavy. I'll need to remember to write to my parents. My mother, to make more tonics for the pain, what with OWL's coming up... everything's going to get more... tense, and... strained -"

"Don't think about it," Tom interrupted, immediately feeling what she spoke about, a small glimmer of pain erupting in her mind. "Focus on something else."

And he let his fingers twist into her hair once more - feeling that the roots were less damp than the strands at the top if her head.

"Did you take a shower in the rain?"

Verena smiled. "You know me without question."

Tom's lips curled, pleased with her, entirely. "Still," he said, "tell me more."

"That requires talking," Verena said. "Im not entirely in the mood to do any talking."

Tom looked at her, gaze intense. "Then show me," and with the slightest tilt of his head, he leaned further into her touch, eyes never closing even when she brought her face closer to his, foreheads only a fraction apart, as she closed her eyes.

And then Tom followed suite, feeling her prodding into his mind, a gentle, subtle thing, like the caress of her hand on his cheek, or the nudge of her nose against his, or even the gentle touch of her forehead against his... Tom found it very difficult to let her stay there, having access to his mind, feeling entirely weak, entirely unlike what was natural for him...

But her voice in his mind was clear, and calm, and soothed him a little, before images flashed in his mind, and his grip on Verena tightened as he grasped onto a basis of understanding how her pain came about.

His eyes remained closed for a moment, grip still tight on her as she released him, once giving him the information he desired - as was normal for the two of them, except, well, now... they were so close, and when Tom's eyes opened, he found them on her own light eyes, and then the point of her aquiline nose, and then her lips.

And Tom didn't want to let go of her just yet - even if he hated the proximity of their bodies, their minds... even if he secretly craved it, and would continue to do so, more now than ever, for he had had a taste of her -

Because while they shared thoughts with each other... it was always Tom, stretching his hand over to her, and she would take it with an earnest smile, before she would concentrate on accessing every part of his mind - and she would give him the answer he sought. (Which almost always, was her - her thoughts, her words, her opinions, and advice.)

But now - she had let him into her mind, and not in a formal setting as he would always do to her - now, everything seemed all too... close. Tight... exciting, perhaps, and he couldn't help but wonder if he hated it, or liked it.

And maybe Verena could still read his mind - after all, he was still holding her close to him, by her hair (not that it sounded very clmfortable, which only brought him to loosen his hold, but even then, his body didn't stray from hers), and she said, "This feels a little..."

And there was silence, before Tom looked away from her lips and to her eyes.

"Strange," he said, and Verena tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowed as a playful smile appeared on her face.

"That wasn't what I was thinking," she said.

Tom only blinked at her, but found her smile begin to dip as she blinked at him back, eyes narrowing in the slightest, trying to figure him out.

"What were you thinking?" He asked.

"I just showed you," she said, pausing before she shrugged one shoulder.

Tom let a breath out his nose, and having known him for so long, Verena always took it as a well-hidden laugh.

"Well," he said, inching closer to her, noses brushing once more as he nudged into hers purposely, removing his hand from her hair before trailing it down her neck, and then settling it on her side. "What are you thinking of right now?"

She swallowed. He breathed in.

His eyes closed. Hers, open.

"This feels..."

And her words were a whisper, but as she said it, he breathed her in. The scent of rain clung to her skin, and he wondered how long she must have stayed in the cold for it to settle in her bones... if she was cold, that is.

But when he opened his eyes, he found her light skin darken to a rosy shade, and he only said, nonchalantly, "Intimate."

Verena swallowed, not entirely sure why she was shaking her head, or what she was saying, because the words already tumbled out of her mouth, "Yes, no - no, yes. I mean - I was going to say..." and she stilled her tongue as she found the word on the tip of it, but Tom only looked at her, before slowly raising a brow, encouraging her to continue. (Encouraging... not daring, or edging. There was no malice or irritation or amusement on his face. Only... was it curiosity? No. Verena wasn't sure what it was, only biting her tongue before she spoke, her words shy as the blush on her cheeks.)

"...domestic."

Tom only looked at her, and Verena remembered to steel her nerves - she remembered who she was, never apologetic, and she stared back at him.

"I," Tom said, and Verena's eyes lit up momentarily, "dont... know what that means."

Verena's brows furrowed, and she asked, "What do you mean by that?"

Tom's words were cold, as they always were, and cut sharply between the gap that was now present between the two, "Must I repeat myself for you?"

Verena's eyes widened, and she only responded, "More than once, please."

Tom only breathed out through his nose, looking to the side before he shook his head and moved away from her.

He stood up and said, "The late hour is affecting your comprehensive skills."

Verena only raised her brow at him, before sighing as she watched him turn, bringing her to hurriedly stand, and nearly trip over the table - bringing Tom to quickly turn and catch her by the arm.

Verena, of course, took advantage of him and used her other hand to grasp onto his shirt.

This little shit, she thought. A little shitty coward, really.

"And it is clearly affecting your co-ordination," he said, looking her up and down, before he released her arm once she got her footing.

"I only wanted to reach you in time," she said, hoping the honesty shone through her words - it made it easier, manipulating people, hen they thought you to be honest. But in truth, that was what Verena spoke - and she hoped that if Tom didn't believe her words, then it would have at least appealed to his ego and pride, that she, Verena Rowle, desired to be so close to him once more as he left her presence. (Verena wanted to gag, and had Tom known her thoughts, he likely would have rolled his eyes and named her Mad.)

Tom merely looked at Verena. They both knew what she truly wanted - alright, fine, to be close to him. But also to hear his words again - did he not know the meaning of domestic? He must have been pulling her leg, or telling a sort of secret joke that Verena should have understood, but didn't. And Verena, if anything, wanted to understand.

"Are you upset?" She asked, straight out. Not bothering to beat around the bushes - she never did, and she knew that it was that thing about her (among many other things) that Tom appreciated. Her brutality in stating the truth.

"If you are, then you're an idiot," she said, shrugging, releasing his sweater.

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling a slight chill up her arms. "But if you are an idiot, then there's no shame in hiding it, so long as you know your idiocy, and don't claim otherwise."

Tom only narrowed his eyes at her, and Verena waited for him, as she always did, to finish his thinking before he spoke to her.

His words were always carefully chosen, and sometimes, she appreciated it, finding it to be a little game, to find whatever poison was hidden in his sweet words. But now, at this point, she was irritated at Tom not speaking his mind to her - especially since they had both seen each other... into each other's minds.

That was an intimacy not many could have, and Verena wanted him to know that - that it would be foolish to continuously guard himself against her. She wouldn't hurt him... at least, not if it wouldnt benefit her. (And it wouldn't.) But there were no hard feelings regarding that, because Tom would have done the same. (She supposed, or, well, he could hurt her for the sake of being a stupid boy. Their kind were always so... thick-headed. Verena would know, what with being brought up with over five men at home.)

"I'm not an idiot," he settled on saying, and Verena couldn't help the laugh that left her lips, nor the smile that refused to leave as she blinked her eyes at him, not quite believing that those - those were his words.

(In truth, she expected them to be harsher... crueller. Such was a normal thing for her to expect from Tom Marvolo Riddle.)

"Sorry," she apologized almost immediately, taking note of the taughtness in his jaw. "I didn't mean to laugh - it wasn't done in ridicule, or spite, only surprise. I - I expected colder words from you. Harsher. Anything but your very words."

Tom only looked at her, brow furrowing as if hearing her words for the first time, and then second time through some magic recorder.

"Why?" He asked, words sudden and quick, not quite catching Verena off-guard, but surprising her.

"I - well, I didn't- you don't exactly... answer in the way you do. In defense, I suppose - you're always on attack, or you play deflection." Verena shrugged. "I was surprised, and then I laughed because of my surprise. And if that offended you, then I'm sorry my laughter brought you offense."

Tom's face changed entirely - flickering to visible confusing, misunderstanding, as he looked at Verena. "O-offense? Why would - I be offended by your... laughter?"

Verena looked at Tom.

"You take offense to everything."

Tom opened his mouth, but when he saw Verena smile, knowing his words before he said them, he closed his mouth quickly, refusing to utter another word.

"You took offense to my saying that our moments earlier were intimate and domestic." She would have blushed - she even felt that twisting in her stomach as she was reminded of it, that moment, their moment - oh, and Tom, so close to her, his senses invading hers, so close, his touch, so rough, and yet, it only filled her with a feeling of warmth, and hunger and safety. Strange... what with all of those sensations coming from Tom.

But she pushed it all down - the sensations and the memories of it and all the thoughts she had. Thoughts that were entirely focused on Tom and his proximity to her and -

She couldn't exactly remember what happened after that, except that her heart was beating fast and loud and Tom was so close... and then, so far.

"I didn't- " he caught himself, changing the topic. "Intimate and domestic?" It sounded ridiculous... or did it? She never truly thought of Tom as the domestic type - neither herself. She always saw herself doing what she did best... playing checkers, while everyone else played chess.

Verena only shrugged. "It sounds a little ridiculous, but I supposed it fit in that moment." And oh, it did. Verena was a bit ill, and Tom somewhat took care of her - to put it simply, the end.

And Tom only looked at her, confusion lighting his eyes, before the curiosity that was always at the back of his eyes (or was that just his nosiness?) won out and he asked, "What part of it was domestic?"

That question caught her off-guard.

"Huh?" She scrunched her face. What type of question was that?

"What part of it - between us," he explained. "I understand what you meant by the intimacy. Our nearness - our body's proximity to one another, not to mention our touching. Skin-on-skin contact -" Verena only blinked, colour returning to her face, slowly blooming like a pink rose in snow.

"Yes, I understand - now - stop talking about the intimacy of it - what do you -"

Tom glared at her interruption, before he said, "Which part of it was... domestic?" He made a face at it - was it disgust? Perhaps it was irritation, the type a child showed when he could not understand how a game worked.

"I," Verena asked, before blinking as she looked at Tom, the colour fading a little from her cheeks, but it was still there, like a stain of washed-out rouge on the cheeks.

Verena breathed in, considering his question.

Only fucking Tom Riddle would dissect a beautiful moment until it was... ugh. Embarrassment. Verena wanted to die - okay, not die, but disappear. Get as far away from Tom as possible, and possibly not see him ever again. She wondered what would happen if she killed him... but decided then that it would be too much work, trying to get rid of his body and the traces of it.

"You want to know which parts were domestic?" She asked.

"That is what I asked."

Now it was Verena's turn to glare.

She sighed, before she shrugged and bit a small part of her lip, as she tried to convince herself to go through with the embarrassment-

It was only herself and Tom. No one else around. Save for the portraits. So no one would hear a thing regarding this, especially if she cast a silencing spell on them, and threatened to have them removed and stored away in a black void-like bag, which hadnt seen daylight in decades.

That would scare them into silence.

So she nodded (mentally) to herself, and tried to explain as best as she could, "I - usually, when my father comes home from a long day, and he's a headache, or - or when I get my headaches at home, and the house elves did their service to me," she thought, "then my mother would come to me where I lay and would take my hand and talk to me. About anything. Everything. Sometimes, nothing at all." Verena shrugged, missing her mother a bit. "She would speak French, and then English - and would switch between the two, so that I'd have to keep up, focus on that instead of anything else... only her, and her voice, and what she was saying. And when the pain would be too much for that, then she'd hum me a song and would climb into bed with me and pat me to sleep."

Verena shrugged at the end of it, saying, "I suppose... you reminded me back there, for a moment, of him. My hair - when you touched it, my mother used to do the same, or something similar. Not as... intimate. Or sensuous, as you did," and Verena watched as Tom went rigid at that, a part of her throwing a party on the inside, "but it's all the same. Skin-on-skin. Questions and Stories - everything was a distraction, and -"

She realised what Tom unknowingly did for her, so she looked at him, and said, "Thank you... for helping me."

Tom only furrowed his brow - and before he could formulate a question , Verena answered, "You reminded me of home. Intimate and domestic. Side-by-side, back-to-back. Two and one, and the same."

And Tom looked at her, chest moving in the slightest as he breathed, stating, "I... understand now." And Verena felt a bit of guilt gnaw at her, when she realised that - perhaps, what she thought to be intimate and domestic, together, would entirely be different to Tom's thoughts, what with their upbringing's being contrasts of the other.

She nodded, swallowing, wanting to apolofise once more, but didn't, as Tom thanked her, saying, "Thank you."

And Verena only nodded her head, before saying, "It - you don't have to thank me. I - didn't do much. Only gave you my... interpretation of a thing."

"No, no you taught me something," he said, and Verena looked at him, eyes showing a little more of what she felt - some of her guilt, and a little nervous at how he would act, how he would feel...

"And I must thank you for that. Sincerely," he nodded his head to her. "I mean it."

And Verena nodded, swallowing, before she said, "Thank you as well, for - helping me, when I needed it."

And Tom nodded, saying, "It was not a problem." A polite pause. "You should head to your dorm. Rest after today. Your hands will be sore from all that..." He looked at her doodles. "Scribing."

Verena smiled, nodding her head as she looked at the ink and the parchment, before saying, "I will. Thank you, once more." She looked at him then, letting him know - I mean it.

And Tom nodded, before he paused, contemplating something, before saying, "I should head back as well. I've work set out for tomorrow."

The weekend? That didn't surprise Verena, who only nodded and said, "You best get to it," and was the first to turn away, moving carefully to the low table to put away her things.

When she looked up, she found her eyes on the form of Tom Riddle, moving further and further from her.

#tom riddle #tom riddle × oc #oc: verena rowle #verena rowle #moment 1 #just a moment (1)

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