this is one of my favs tbh

The door to Borgin and Burke's creaked and groaned on its hinges in wild protest of being opened, but Tom barely batted an eye at the eerie sound. Maribel was right on time, as always.

She was the worst part of his day and they both knew it. For he made it painfully obvious and she was far too observational of how people felt about her.

"Good day?" Maribel always asked the same question, only two words, yet they inspired such irritation within him that his jaw would clench. Since he always kept his head down, in between the pages of a book or his work, he was oblivious to the small smirk that pulled at her lips.

 Maribel knew Tom would never answer her question, he never had, but most of her days were so slow and weary that his reaction to her words always lit a spark of joy within her. Of course, she felt slightly wicked in doing this but never enough to ever stop.

And then, because it always seemed to ruffle his feathers a great deal more, she would make as much noise as possible while walking past him into the back of the shop. A cough, some cheerful whistling, clattering with any object she had on her, "accidentally" knocking over an artifact from a shelf. Any noise that would bother him as he tried to work.

Later, after delivering the objects, when it came time to walk past Tom again, this was truly the most infuriating part of her visit for him. Because she couldn't just perform the same circus of acts that she did while walking in, oh no, that would be much too bland. As she walked past him for the second time, Maribel always felt the need to keep him on his toes.

Sometimes she'd creep up silently behind him and simply stand and stare at his work until he sensed her breath and sent a spiteful glare over his shoulder. At other times, she would pull up a stool by his desk and chatter about her day as if they were life-long companions. From time to time she would even apparate from the back of the store right in front of his desk, producing a loud crack that almost always caused him to jolt. A common one that seemed to be her favorite, was picking up various artifacts from around the store and pestering Tom about how much they cost, what their function was, and "Can this kill anyone?"

Maribel could rarely anger him enough to get a verbal response out of him, however, in the light of staying positive, she concluded that this made the few times he did snap at her or make an exasperated remark or even yell, so much more wonderful.

The first time it happened was a complete accident. She had been carrying far too much in her arms, and in walking past his desk, had knocked his ink all over his paper and his pants. She couldn't remember Tom's exact words but it was something along the lines of bothersome, incompetent wanker. His face had even turned a marvelous shade of crimson and the veins in his forehead and neck had bulged out.

When he heard her muffle a laugh with her sleeve, his face dropped back into a stony expression and he scourgified his pants, then the desk, and took a new piece of paper from a cabinet. Maribel had left the shop grinning so widely her cheeks hurt and Tom was left to fume silently in the shop

From then on out she only increased her efforts to vex him.

Every day without fail they performed this show, each playing their respective parts of annoyed and annoyer. It brought Maribel a sort of evil, though mostly harmless, glee. And it made Tom want to hex her into oblivion.

On July 18th of 1946, after a long day of trying to focus through a sweltering heat unusual for England, Tom was dreading Maribel's visit more than usual. He was already on edge and as much as he despised her, he hated it even more when she could get a rise out of him. And unfortunately, that was an immense possibility today.

It was torture when the door didn't scrape open on time. Would she come in a minute? An hour? Never? Tom had never felt so impatient in his life and every second that the door didn't open his focus declined and his restlessness grew. He had thought it would be peaceful bliss if she decided not to come one day. How could he have been so dense? This was far, far worse.

Two hours later, when it was time to close the shop and Maribel still hadn't made her appearance, Tom was ready to strangle someone. He had spent the last two hours looking up at the door every couple seconds, anxiously awaiting her arrival as his nerves wore thinner and thinner.

Merlin, he was going to kill her the next time she came. Part of him was convinced this was just another one of her twisted tactics at being a bothersome gnat to him, but he wasn't fully convinced. He had talked to Mr. Borgin and Mr. Burke but they were similarly clueless as to where Maribel was. For months she hadn't missed a single day, and now there wasn't a trace of her to be found.

Part of him, as in about 98% of him, wished she would stay gone and that yesterday was the last time he ever had to deal with her incessant nagging. 2% of him was delusional and wanted her to continue their daily schedule because it was some of the only human interaction he got, even if it was mostly one sided.

Tom's mind was filled with her, and he loathed it. His thoughts wouldn't stop wandering away from sensible topics to questions of where she was and what she was doing and if she would come by the shop tomorrow. He tossed and turned endlessly, trying to fall asleep, and woke up the next morning with larger than usual dark circles under his eyes.

The three coffees he drank before work weren't doing him any favors as his leg bounced beneath the desk and his nerves felt even more aflame than before. Was Maribel going to come today? The question kept flashing through his head.

Merlin, he hated himself so much for thinking about her. He had, well technically she had, now ruined almost an entire day of work since he could not snap out of whatever freakish haze Maribel had put him in by deciding to disappear spontaneously.

For an hour before she was supposed to arrive, his head whipped upwards and towards the door at every passerby, every customer, and every creak of the old shop's walls.

Maribel never came.

She didn't come the day after that either, or the day after that, or the day after that.

For two weeks that seemed almost miserably long for Tom, his eyes were trained on the door for the better part of his last two hours at work. He tried to enjoy the newfound peace, he really did, but he couldn't get his mind to shut up about Maribel.

Tom liked routines and set schedules, and he hated the unknown. And no one, not a single soul, seemed to have any knowledge about Maribel's whereabouts. Borgin and Burke were useless as always, and the sellers in the Diagon and Knockturn Alley markets all said the same thing when he asked for her, no one had seen her for two weeks. She had essentially vanished without a trace. If Tom hadn't been so annoyed, he would've been impressed.

At 6pm sharp one day the door was clumsily opened and Tom's head shot up once more, fully expecting Maribel to walk into the shop. Alas, it was only Malfoy.

Merlin's beard, Tom couldn't deal with him today. If he didn't need Malfoy for the money and connections he would've long severed ties with him.

"Tommy, this is where you hole yourself up all day? It's so dark and cramped, Merlin. I'd go insane here."

As if Tom chose to work in this shithole, but it was the only place that allowed him access to so many old artifacts in a suspicion free manner.

"We aren't due to have a meeting until next week. What's so important that you had to disrupt my day?"

Tom clenched his jaw as Abraxas sauntered around the store, picking up practically every object he came across, seemingly deaf to Tom's question.

"Abraxas. Why are you here?"

"Merlin, why do you always speak so coldly, I should've brought an extra coat."

Tom was actively restraining himself from cursing Abraxas but his face remained expressionless as he stared at him.

"I just wanted to invite you to my ball tomorrow evening, I was going to invite people who might know anything about the founder's relics."

"You couldn't just have sent an invitation?"

"If you give me a piece of parchment and a quill I will write the invitation right this second and then find an owl to deliver it, if that's what you want."

"No, that is not what I want. I'll be at the ball, get out of the shop."

"Do you mind if I take a little look around, I might fancy buying something?"

"Abraxas I swear to Merlin I will-"

"Alright! I'm leaving!"