chamberburied:

^{a girl like a storm, impossible to analyse ; with decisions and mindsets changing almost flowingly, softly. something so uncharacteristic to her, face buried in the other’s chest and small hands holding on to the warmth of the other body.   ❛   i’m cold.     ❜   she states temperature to be the reason but they both know it’s something else, something small that broke inside her and made her crave physical contact even if just for one second.}

appalled silence renders him mute, if only for a moment, as he stands (deathly still, not moving, not blinking, & not unlike a statue) & her words fall to the stone floor, disregarded. 

       “ miss weasley, what is the meaning of this? ” he snaps, and upon hearing the tone in his own words the memory pauses (look sharp, tom) and collects himself before carrying on. for he, in whose veins run the blood of the great salazar himself, is so unused to affection & displays of sentiment that he finds himself lost, unsure of how to free himself from the young witch’s grasp before she thinks to dig her claws into his skin. “ it’s alright, ginny. you’re safe. tell me what happened, ” he says (implores, no – more like demands, in the soft & gentle tone he’d perfected at an alarmingly young age; i’ve always been able to charm the people i need.) 

       “ you’re my closest friend, ” he murmurs. and he’s not entirely dishonest – his true family is scattered all throughout the world, he wagers, and with all he has invested in the witch (he devours her story, spilled ink across the pages of his journal – dear tom, dear tom) she is most IMPORTANT to him, as any wizard respects his wand or scales or cauldron; a tool, through which he will unlock his full potential. she is most useful to him, at the immediate moment, in the absence of his followers. “ you can trust me. ”