Author's Note:
Not sure where this came from. I've always liked the Tom/Hermione pairing but most fics I've read have some sort of time travel element to them. I wanted to try to get away from that and so here we are. This little idea wormed it's way into my brain and wouldn't shut up until I wrote it down. I'm kinda just throwing it out there to see if there is any interest. If not, I have about a million other things that I should be writing. Haha.
This story is set in 1930s-1940s England. Forgive me if some of the historical facts are a little iffy.
Oh, and, you know. Nothing that you recognize is mine. No money is being made. Yada yada.
. ... .
These violent delights have violent ends
-Shakespeare
March 15th, 1936
London
Hermione Granger was always a peculiar child. She had begun walking and talking within the first year and a half of her birth, and began learning to read by the time she reached her third birthday. To her parents, who were both academics themselves, it was a blessing. They were ecstatic that their daughter was so academically gifted, and as result made it their mission to give their daughter every opportunity that they could.
They were both dentists; they had worked at separate clinics for years before meeting, and were each successful in their own right. After they met and fell in love, they each pulled out of their individual clinics and started their own practice together. Before long, they had successfully climbed out of the desperate struggle of owning your own business and started bringing in profits. Year after year they gained more clients due to the friendly atmosphere and professionalism that they strived to attain at their practice; all this kept them successfully in the black.
As a result, they were quite wealthy, and no expense would be spared for their beloved Hermione. She was their miracle child, as they had once been told that Helen Granger was unable to carry a child to full term. Tutors were hired for Hermione, as she was still too young to begin primary school.
At first, the tutors seemed reluctant to teach a child so young. Most of them, worn down and bitter after teaching snot-nosed, arrogant brats for a majority of their adult lives, simply could not believe that a four year old child could possibly succeed in the courses they were hired to teach. French, German, Spanish and Latin. Arithmetic, Civics, basic science and English studies. However, money was money and the Granger's were willing to pay a lot of it; more, if Hermione tested up to their standards at the end of their tutelage. And so Hermione began her studies.
Where once her tutors doubted, they were soon proven wrong. Hermione took to her studies like a duck to water; in fact, one of her tutors, an old woman known to Hermione as Madame Vicksburg who was particularly tight-lipped when it came to praise, mentioned privately to Hermione's parents that it was almost like she wasn't teaching Hermione at all, rather simply reminding her of information she had already known but had forgotten.
By the time Hermione reached the age where she could enter the public schooling system, her parents decided against enrolling her. She was doing very well with her private studies and they felt no need to disrupt her schedule. They were also worried what would happen if they were to enroll her amongst other children her age; they were not oblivious to how children reacted to anyone that wasn't similar to them. With Hermione's constant need to succeed academically and her tendency to spout off random knowledge, it wouldn't take much for Hermione to be considered condescending. The last thing they wanted was for their brilliant daughter to be harassed over her intelligence.
It wasn't until after her ninth birthday that Helen Granger got an inkling that there was anything special about their daughter other than her immense intelligence.
It was an unremarkable day. They were on one of their many excursions to London, and had stopped at a remote bookstore at Hermione's insistence. Apparently, the last time they had been in London, Hermione had seen it and hadn't stopped thinking of it since.
Helen had remembered their last trip; it had been for a conference for more advanced tutors for Hermione. Though Helen and Liam kept it a secret from their daughter, she was starting to become known by members of London's elite academics. Some were amazed by her test scores and by the excellent recommendations from her previous educators. Others were not so impressed. Hermione's lack of formal education was against her, and though all of her previous tutors had been certified and correctly licensed, some were calling for more strict supervision and prestigious licensing in order to prove the validity of Hermione's marks. It was important for Hermione to be present in these interviews, as whomever was selected would be spending a lot of time with Hermione. Hermione's opinion would definitely hold sway as to who would be chosen.
The trip hadn't left too much time to explore as they normally did, so Helen felt compelled to grant Hermione's request this time around. Liam was at a meeting with a supplier for their practice, so it was mother and daughter that walked down the almost deserted street that the aforementioned bookstore was on. Hermione had stopped suddenly, her brown eyes wide and her mouth open in delight.
"Mum, there it is! Isn't it magnificent?" she had asked, but Helen looked at her daughter in confusion. Where Hermione was gesturing to, she saw nothing but a broken down building that looked like it had once been a store. Now, the glass in the windows was smashed and left unrepaired, and the door was barely hanging on by its hinges. It screamed of disrepair and dangerous conditions, and Helen's first instinct was to leave, walk away with her daughter in tow and never come back.
"Hermione, I don't see anything," Helen said hesitantly. Her daughter was never one to lie, and Helen had seen the look her daughter was currently sporting a thousand times before. It wasn't a look of deceit, but of eagerness and awe at the thought of new knowledge.
"But mum, it's right there!" Hermione insisted, grabbing Helen's hand and tugging on it impatiently. As soon as their hands touched, Helen gasped. Before her eyes, the building that was once so torn down and battered became a respectable looking, with fresh paint and fine finishing. The windows were intact, and in them were some ancient looking tomes on display, beautifully bound in leather. Helen understood why her daughter had been attracted to it, but she continued to feel like she should leave, turn around and walk away. It was only Hermione's persistent pulling and chatter that made Helen enter. She held on to her daughter's hand tightly.
When they entered the store, Hermione inhaled deeply. It smelled like parchment, treated and aged over many years. It was a smell she was fond of, bringing back countless memories of good times in her life that she had been around books. Her eyes went everywhere at once, and she pulled herself free from her mother's grasp in order to explore.
Books were arranged in neat rows, but the shelves seemed impossibly high. Hermione craned her head upwards and saw that the ceiling seemed much too high compared to what it looked like outside. As if somehow there was more room than building.
Hermione soon became aware that this shop also had a very different selection than she normally browsed. Titles like Transfiguration in Everyday Use and Practical Potions, a Guide for Simple Household Mixes stood out in her mind, and she looked over to her mother in confusion. She saw her mother looking down at the same titles with an odd expression on her face, her skin a sickly pale color.
"Hermione, dear, I think we should go," her mother said, anxiety leaking into her voice.
"Hello," came a mysterious voice from the other side of the room. Hermione's eyes snapped to the source of the sound and found herself staring at a small woman standing some distance away from them, paging through a thick tome. The first thing Hermione noticed was the woman's strange clothing. She wore a billowing cloak that looked several sizes too large for her, and it was a periwinkle color with glittering stars at the bottom. Hermione's eyes traveled up to her face, taking in her large spectacles and frizzy hair. "Is there anything I can help you ladies with?" the woman asked, never looking up from her book.
"No, we were just -" Helen started before getting interrupted by her daughter.
"These are strange books," Hermione observed as she picked up the one titled Accessing Your Magical Core: A Beginners Guide. "Forgive me, madam, but is this a shop for the occult?" Hermione asked politely. While Helen seemed disgusted and uncomfortable, Hermione seemed genuinely curious, not an ounce of horror in her tone.
The woman lifted her gaze, adjusting her thick glasses on her face gaze to see them properly for the first time. Her eyes widened as she took in the mother and daughter's appearance. "Oh my," she breathed. "You lot are muggles! Muggles! Wanderin' into my shop! Told the Ministry that me wards were getting low, no one listened, of course!" she went on nervously, her voice low enough that Hermione had to strain to hear.
"Pardon me, madam," the girl spoke calmly, precisely. To Helen's surprise, the woman even stopped mumbling enough to look her daughter square in the face. "I saw this shop many weeks ago, the last time my parents and I were in London. We hadn't the time to visit then, but your displays are so beautiful," Hermione explained, her voice wistful. "My mum agreed to take me this time. I'm sorry if we disturbed you." Helen was surprised at how collected her young child could sound; she spoke eloquently and confidently. She sounded much older than her nine years, and Helen felt proud despite her uneasiness.
The strange woman hesitated, looking at Hermione closely. "Oh! I see," the woman said quietly. "Child, what is your name?"
"Hermione Granger, madam," the young girl replied with little hesitation.
"Hermione," the woman repeated. "Fine name. Yes, very lovely. Shakespeare, is it not?" she asked in a distracted sort of tone, looking very fidgety. Hermione nodded, watching the woman closely. The more Hermione stared, the more she was somehow able to physically see the strangeness of the woman. It was a glow of some sorts, emanating from what must be inside the woman herself. It gave her skin a sort of shimmer that Hermione was entranced by.
What was it?
Helen Granger considered herself to be a woman far ahead of her time. She had a college degree and worked for a living, which was simply unheard of in the year of 1936, especially since she was a married woman and a mother. Her daughter had some of the finest educators in Great Britain. Though she had been raised religious, her and her husband tended to put more faith in science than anything else. Still...the books she was seeing in this store weren't scientific or religious. They didn't seem to be fictional literature. They seemed to be...spellbooks. Witchcraft.
"Hermione, dearest, let's get going. Your father-" Helen started, pulling on her daughter's arm. She was interrupted by the strange woman pulling something from her sleeve. It was a long, smooth stick and she waved it at Helen sharply. Suddenly, Helen forgot what she was worried about. She felt strangely...blurred.
"Mrs. Granger? I think the book you were looking for is just over there, in the gardening section," the woman informed Helen pleasantly, with a smile.
A look of realisation swept over Helen's face, "Oh, of course! Thank you! I'll go look!" she exclaimed before bustling off towards where the strange woman had motioned.
Hermione had watched the whole interaction, wide eyed. The strange woman had made some motion with a stick of wood and suddenly her mother, who had just been making excuses to leave, needed some book about gardening of all things.
Hermione supposed she ought to feel frightened. That woman had waived her stick and her mother was somehow manipulated into doing something completely out of her nature by leaving Hermione alone with a stranger.
Hermione felt no fear. Only endless, burning curiosity.
"What is your name?" is all the young girl asked.
"Isolde Bagshot, child. I'm awful sorry about your mum," the woman apologized sincerely. "You seem a bit young. Probably haven't even got your letter yet, have ye?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to, Madam Bagshot," Hermione replied, though the statement was carefully laced with a question.
"Why, your Hogwarts letter, of course!" the woman looked Hermione over carefully. "You should be getting it in the next year or so, I reckon. Until then, it would be a waste to call the Ministry blokes for this. You've got the spirit to be a powerful witch, you know. I can see the power in you," the woman went on, her voice serene.
"What is Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, nose wrinkling at the strange word. The word 'witch' hadn't triggered any reaction. She was in an occult shop, after all. What could she expect?
"Why, it's a school, dear. A school where young witches and wizards go to learn how to control their magic," the woman replied, as easily as if they were talking about the weather. "You, Miss Granger, are what we call a Muggleborn. A witch or wizard who is born to non-magical parents."
Hermione didn't say anything. Even as a child, Hermione prided herself on being highly logical. Everything that had come out of Isolde's mouth since their arrival was highly illogical, but when Hermione categorized the evidence, she was finding that most likely this woman was speaking the truth. The fact that she had practically been forced to drag her mother past the entrance, despite her mother having already agreed to take her. Her behavior had seemed very strange, though Hermione had been too distracted at the time to really pay attention. Then there was the book selection, with all sorts of magical and other-worldly titles. Hermione had visited more libraries than she could even count and never had she seen titles such as these. And then, most damnably, was the act that she had witness Isolde do to her mother.
"What exactly did you do to my mum, Madam Bagshot?" she asked lightly.
"Oh, just a mild confundus, dear. Nothing damaging, I promise. I'd never take advantage of a muggle, poor things," she waved her hand distractedly. "Your mum can't know anything about the magical world until Hogwarts contacts you. Strictly speaking, neither can you, but you look like you can keep a secret, can't you dear?" Hermione nodded quickly and the woman winked. "That's a good girl. It's a shame they wait so long to notify muggleborns. Something special about you, though, dearie. Come, come, I've got some books."
Predictably, and also perhaps foolishly, the promise of books and the knowledge that lie within them had Hermione following the woman without further question. The woman grabbed books along the way, humming to herself. Hermione followed silently, questions burning inside of her that she had to force to keep silent. Books were on the line, after all. And Hermione had the feeling that these books in particular were a once in a lifetime chance.
"There we go, that should be a good start," the woman said suddenly, stopping at an oddly placed table to deposit her selection. Hermione's eyes widened at the titles. Achievements in Charming, Charms of Defense and Deterrence, Dark Arts Defense: Basics for Beginners, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, A History of Magic...the titles were amazing. Hermione stopped at the last one.
"A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot," Hermione repeated, looking up at Isolde. "Is she your relation?" she asked curiously.
"Ah, yes. My grandmother's sister. Widely accomplished historian. Mind you, she's lived through most of it," Isolde replied distractedly. Hermione took the knowledge in silently, watching as the woman pulled out her long stick once more and waved it at the books.
"What is that?" Hermione questioned, pointing at the stick.
"A wand, dearie. You'll get one once you receive your letter. Ollivanders is where you'll get yours, I suspect," she spoke with a smile. "Here you go, dearie. I've charmed these so that they'll look like normal, muggle books. To your parents, mind you. A witch or wizard will be able to see them as they are."
"Fascinating. Magic can do that?"
"Magic, my dear," the woman smiled, looking over her glasses at Hermione, "can do anything."
"Now, take these books and grab your mum, dear. She'll be a little dazed, but once she's back onto the street she'll be fine," the woman explained.
"But don't you need payment? I have my purse-"
"Oh, none of that, none of that, dear. It's a pleasure. Feel free to return if you happen upon my shop. Next time perhaps without your parents, no offense, dear. Ministry would love to slap down some fines if they knew I allowed Muggles to walk about my shop," the woman offered.
"Yes, Madam," Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "Thank you so much."
"Mmm. Run along now, love. I've got to sort new inventory," she waved her off disinterestedly.
Hermione gathered her mother and left, acutely aware of the weight in her bag that hadn't been there moments prior.
. ... .
September 22nd, 1936
London
Over the next six months, Hermione managed to return back to the store a handful of times. She devoured the books with a vicious intensity and made a point to visit the shop every visit to London. A whole newworld had been opened up to her, one that only her fiction books had hinted towards.
It wasn't as difficult to hide the books from her parents as she had thought it would be. The whole country seemed to be distracted; Hermione knew that a war was looming with it's origins in Germany. Her parents tried to spare her from the worst of it but Hermione was an intelligent girl and had heard about Adolf Hitler, who called himself Führer of Germany. Her parents thought he was a dangerous fanatic and Hermione was inclined to believe them. There were whispers of something called concentration camps, where people were forced to live and work in horrible conditions. Of course, no one really knew the truth, since there was a lack of media presence in the country.
At the present moment, she was sitting on the steps of an old orphanage in a rather seedy part of London, one of the aforementioned books open in her lap. Her parents, ever the ones for charity, had offered to visit this orphanage and give all the kid's teeth a cleaning. Her parents often brought her along for visits such as these; they said it was so that she could see how other kids had to live, and how blessed she was for her station. Hermione understood the significance of it, but most times she found the odor of the places agitated her nose. They smelled of filth and general abandonment, as if no one had given the halls a decent scrub down in recent memory.
So she sat outside, nose deep in her book titled Advanced Rune Translation, one of the books she had picked up during her most recent visit. Isolde had said it might be too difficult for her but Hermione found it positively enchanting. It was so interesting that Hermione was not aware that perhaps the most significant moment of her life was about to occur.
"What kind of book is that?" a voice interrupted her reading.
Hermione raised her gaze and came face to face with a boy who couldn't be older than she was. He was a rather handsome boy with dark brown hair and clear, large blue eyes. He was dressed in shabby clothes, patches obviously visible on the knees of his trousers. He wore a coat two times too large for him and it was dirty and shabby, like it hadn't been washed since he owned it.
"Wh-What do you mean?" Hermione asked cautiously, unsure how to respond. She knew that Isolde had charmed the books to look differently to muggles and had been confident in her spellwork; no one had ever mentioned them before.
"Advanced Rune Translation?" the boy asked, eyebrows raising. "Is that one of those loony people books?" he asked, condescendingly. Despite how handsome he had been moments before, his sneer made him look ugly.
"You can read the title?" Hermione asked, ignoring his rude tone. She realized that this boy was a wizard, just as sure as she was a witch. Excitement corsed through her.
"Of course I can read the title. I'm not stupid, you know," he sneered.
"Oh, no, I'm sorry!" Hermione quickly interjected, horrified by his assumption. Of course, being raised in an orphanage meant he hadn't the same opportunities as her but to think that he was under the assumption that she thought he couldn't read! "That's not what I meant at all! I was just surprised that you could see them for what they really are. Muggles see a medical science journal, you know."
The boy looked at her through narrowed eyes. "You really are a nutter, aren't you?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes right back at him, "If I'm a nutter, why are you still here?" she shot back. "Don't you have better things to do than talk to some barmy girl on the steps of your home? Why don't you go bugger off?"
The boy looked surprised, his eyes widening. He paused for a moment before seeming to look more closely at her. Finally, he spoke, "So...what are Muggles?" he asked, picking up on the strange word first.
Hermione hesitated, not sure whether or not to trust the boy. He seemed like he was a brat. However, he was the only other magic person she had met beside Isolde. She couldn't contain her enthusiasm.
"Do you have anywhere we can go that's private?" she asked quietly. "Somewhere close but so that no one will overhear us. Muggles aren't supposed to know about magic."
The boy's eyes flickered at the word magic. "Here, come on," he motioned, heading around towards the back of the building. There was a gated area in the back that looked like it had fallen into disrepair, perhaps it had once been a backyard for the orphanage. Now it looked more like a junkyard with pieces of scrap metal lounging about haphazardly.
That's where Hermione sat down, carefully spreading her skirts about her to keep her skin from touching the dying grass. The boy lounged more carelessly, looking much more relaxed than Hermione.
"What is your name?" Hermione asked.
"It's Tom," he responded gruffly.
"I'm Hermione," she told him with a smile.
When he didn't respond, she began to tell him all she knew about the wizarding world. She told him all about magic, how a witch or wizard used a wand to cast spells and charms. She told him about the magical creatures that prowled about, unseen in the muggle world. She had just begun to explain Hogwarts when Tom interrupted her for the first time.
"A magical school?" he asked, eyebrows perking up.
Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! It's a place that children go to learn how to use our magic. There are four Houses that you can be sorted into; Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. There's apparently a test that you go through when you arrive that sorts you based on your strongest personality traits. The book is very vague on how that process happens, though," Hermione trailed off.
"But how do you get in?" Tom asked eagerly.
"You just have to be magic," Hermione informed, enjoying the fact that she was able to share her knowledge. "Apparently, on your eleventh birthday, a representative from the school will visit you and offer you a place. You have to promise to act surprised," Hermione insisted, "You're not supposed to know any of this."
"How do you know about it, then?" Tom asked.
"I met a witch in town," Hermione informed. "She owns a bookshop. My mum and I went in one day, although I found out that my mother couldn't see what it really looked like until she went inside. It's got an anti-Muggle ward around it," Hermione told him, enjoying that look of fascination that rested on Tom's face. "She broke the rules and gave me these," she told him, opening her bag.
The bag carried much more than should be possible. Isolde had made it for her when she had realized how voracious a reader the young girl was. She was able to take more books at a time, something that Hermione had thanked the older witch for enthusiastically.
Tom marvelled at the books and reached for one, but just before he touched the spine of one, he pulled back, a dark look crossing his face. Hermione frowned, a wave of intuition crashing over her. Tom lived in an orphanage. She doubted he owned many personal items. Though he obviously knew how to read, she doubted that he owned any books of his own.
"You know, I have too many," Hermione said lightly, trying not to be too obvious. She knew that boys could be rather silly about their pride, especially when the person that might be doing the offending was a girl. Her mother had had many conversations with her about how women like them were ahead of their time, but in order to be successful they had to learn how to manipulate the men around them. "There are a couple I've read hundreds of times. I have them memorized by now," she went on, trying her best to keep her voice disinterested. She looked at Tom, who was staring at her intently. "Would you like to have some?" she offered quietly.
Immediately, Tom narrowed his eyes and looked at her distrustfully. "What do you want for them?" he asked, his voice low.
Hermione's eyes widened, "Oh no, nothing! I don't want anything, I swear," she was quick to say. "I just figured, well, since I have so many, I should give some to you. You are a wizard, after all."
"I don't need your pity," he ground out, quickly rising to his feet. "You're just some rich bint with a nutty head," he threw at her, his face going red. He went to turn away. Hermione could almost feel the shame radiating off him.
"Wait!" Hermione quickly stood, reaching for his hand. As soon as her small hand came into contact with his slightly larger one, the boy stilled. He didn't turn around and she couldn't see his face, but the fact that he had stopped was a good sign and Hermione went with it. "I don't pity you, Tom," she said quickly. "You're the first person I met that was like me. I know that we have different backgrounds but...I don't much care about that. You seem intelligent. And it's wasteful for me to horde books I have when I've already read them," she trailed off. The boy didn't move to turn around or continue walking, he just stood there, his hand entwined by hers. Hermione continued hesitantly, "I didn't even pay for the books, Tom. She just gave them to me. Why shouldn't I give them to you?"
Her last words seemed to trigger something in the boy and he turned to look at her, "So you'll just give them to me, just like that? No questions asked?" he repeated.
Hermione nodded emphatically, slowly pulling on his hand. Surprisingly, he didn't struggle against her and she led him back to the area that her bag was resting. She began to pull a couple out of her bag, mostly the ones that Isolde had given her during her very first visit. She handed the half dozen or so over to the boy, who took them reverently.
"You don't have to do this," was all the boy said. Hermione interpreted it as his way to say thank you. She smiled at him.
"I know."
The boy blinked at her, eyebrows furrowing. He stood again. "We should get you back. You've stained your dress," Tom pointed out. "Mummy and Daddy are probably worried sick."
"I suppose," Hermione breathed, pulling herself up. She looked down at her skirts and saw that indeed, there was a rather large green stain on the fabric. She looked back up to Tom. "You want to see if we can magic it away?" Hermione asked with a grin, feeling mischievous.
"Don't we need a wand?" Tom asked lazily, raising a single eyebrow.
"Most of the time, yes. But a wand just focuses our magic. It's still there, even without a wand. Come on, let's just try," she insisted. She grabbed his hand, holding it tightly in her own. He made a show of trying to pull away this time but Hermione only clasped harder. "Now, close your eyes," she ordered softly, closing her own. "Try to concentrate on your magic, focus it on making the stain disappear," she went on.
"What if I don't care about your stupid stain?" he retorted.
Hermione cracked an eye reproachfully. Despite his careless tone, his eyes were closed, much to Hermione's delight. She closed her eyes again, feeling herself grin. "Well, you should care about the stain. How else are you going to make it go away? Now focus."
She concentrated on her magic, and soon enough she felt it. It was a reservoir of light in her stomach, and she could feel strands of power spreading from it all throughout her body, from her fingertips and all the way to the ends of her hair. "Do you feel it?" she asked.
"Yes," the boy said quietly. Suddenly, he pulled on Hermione's hand yanked her towards him. Hermione's eyes flew open and she found herself in extremely close proximity to the young boy. He was staring at her heatedly, eyes wide and pupil's dilated. Both were silent for a moment and Hermione felt a blush rise to her face.
She had never had much interaction with children her own age. What experience she did have, it certainly wasn't with boys. Her parents were firm believers in the separation of the sexes, so any friends that she might have had were definitely other girls. Hermione hadn't really thought about Tom's gender until this moment, much too excited about finding another person who could do magic, but it was very much apparent now. Especially when said boy was inches away from her face.
"I can feel your magic, Hermione," he said softly, and Hermione felt his breath on her face. "It's very pure. Very light. Would you like to feel mine?" he asked, and Hermione found herself wondering how it was possible for someone to have such crystal blue eyes. They stood in contrast to his very dark hair and lightly tanned skin, and Hermione couldn't help but stare into them, speechless.
Unsure of her voice, she simply nodded, closing her eyes.
A sensation similar to pins and needles spread up her arm and Hermione gasped. The numb feeling soon changed to heat that quickly surged through her. It was like the time that Hermione had held her hand above a candle for just a second too long, and her skin had tingled in a way that danced the line between pleasant and painful.
Hermione wasn't sure if she liked it.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, the sensation changed again. The edge of pain dissolved into something strange and unknown. The heat was still there but instead of pain it was a kind of spark that latched on and ignited her nerves. Hermione gasped again, her eyes flying open. Tom was staring back at her, a twisted smirk on his face. Hermione ripped her hand away.
She desperately tried to ignore the strange, throbbing sensation that flared between her legs.
Hermione threw herself away from the strange, wicked boy that she had just spent her entire afternoon with. She didn't know what Tom had done to her, but it was nothing good. She reached down and grabbed her bag, holding it close to her chest as she ran away, through the clutter and over the fence that they had climbed over on the way in. She scrapped her hose on the way over and she saw a hint of blood, but that didn't slow her down. She made her way around to the front of the building, where her parents were just walking out the front door.
"Hermione, dear, what happened? You're filthy!" her mother cried upon the sight of her ruined dress.
"Are you hurt, sweetheart?" Liam asked, his eyes flying to the scrape on her leg.
"I'm okay, mum, dad," she said, nodding to each of them. "I just-I was just exploring. There's some of London's oldest architecture in this community, did you know?" she asked, slipping into her voice she normally used with her professors.
"Oh, sweetheart. Come, let's get you in the car," her father took her shoulder and ushered her to the automobile.
Hermione followed, trying to ignore how her legs trembled as she walked. They were safely inside the car when Hermione saw Tom through the front windshield. He stood off to the side of the building, slightly hidden by the corner Hermione had flown around so hastily only moments prior.
He stood with his arms wrapped around the books she had given him, his face an unreadable mask. Hermione stared as they reversed into the road, unable to tear her eyes away from the boy. Noticing her stare, he smiled and lifted his hand in a wave.
Hermione looked down at the grass stain on her dress, unable to fight the blush that made her face flame.
. ... .
What did you guys think?
