"Katie!" Tom slipped his hand into mine and walked with me to dinner. He didn't seem to care that everyone watched and whispered, and to be honest, neither did I. For two months Tom and I had been together now, and those two months had easily been the best of my life.
"Listen, I want to take a little detour before dinner." He whispered in my ear. I giggled and allowed him to drag me out of line and down an empty stairway to a vacant room. After many kisses and teasing remarks, we were sitting in the corner of the room, Tom's back against the wall, as I sat between his legs leaning against his chest. His arms were both around my stomach, one holding each hand. I sighed with satisfaction. These stolen moments happened far too often, but I adored them.
"Is it true you've been hanging out with that Myrtle girl?" Tom asked at last. I groaned, knowing that would get back to him.
"Tom, she's really a nice girl. She doesn't have many friends and needs someone to talk to."
"Leave that to the Hufflepuffs, they're the friendly useless ones." I shook my head. Sometimes he could be so difficult.
"Tom, you know that's a stereotype. You shouldn't say things like that."
"Kate, Slytherins don't have any real business associating with mudbloods." My shoulders tensed and I let go of his hands, shifting my body so I wasn't leaning against him and I could see his face.
"You're such a hypocrite. Myrtle is a sweet girl, and in case you've forgotten, both my parents are muggles."
"But you're different from them, Katie."
"Them?" I stood and began walking to the door. Tom jumped to his feet and came after me. He held one of my arms, holding me back, and turned me to face him.
"I'm sorry Katie, I'm just looking out for you. I don't want you getting attached to people like her." I opened my mouth to protest but he stopped my words with more kisses. Somehow he managed to hold me against him with one hand and hold both my arms hostage behind my back to stop me from pushing against me. I told myself it wouldn't work. I promised myself I wouldn't give in. But in the end, I always did. His passionate kisses smoothed my anger and pushed our argument far from my mind. It wouldn't be until late tonight when I was alone in bed that the dark questions would creep into my mind. Why was he distant lately? He kept saying he was busy, was he seeing someone else? He hated mudbloods but claimed to love me. None of it made sense. But confronting him didn't help. One kiss and I was gone, completely subject to him, and he knew it. Part of me wonders, if we couldn't show physical affection for each other, how long would this relationship really last?