Tags: Angst, Drama, Fluff, TimeTurnerAU

"Remember, this is supposed to be safe," Abraxas reminded the two rather nervously as Hermione raised her wand and glared at Tom. In return, Tom ignored Abraxas and focused on the Mudblood standing at the other end of the area they had sectioned off they were dueling in. Abraxas narrowed his eyes onto Tom before he ran a hand through his combed back platinum blond hair as his nervous tic and stepped out of the way and into the crowd behind him.

The two walked up to one another, their wands raised to their noses.

"Are you sure you want to duel me, Granger?" Tom asked with a dark half-smirk set to his lips.

Hermione said nothing and kept on a glare, her brown eyes glaring daggers into Tom's and her face crunched into almost disgust, before they turned their backs to each other and put a proper and fair distance between them. The moment they turned to face each other, Hermione yelled, "Expelliarmus!" only for Tom to block it gracefully, as if it were no hard task at all. Tom sent a stun her way, but she had just as good of reflexes as he did and blocked with another stun sent his way.

The crowd of wide-eyed students crowded around the area, gasping and standing stiff with anticipation as each sent numerous spells at one another, failing to win this duel for minutes that ticked by too slowly for them.

They weren't even supposed to be dueling, not without an adult's supervision...but Tom wasn't one to cower away from a daring chance at showing he was the best in front of more than half of the school's student population, especially when it included Hermione Granger.

But being out of practice was what had dragged Hermione down. A spell sent her way, when she failed to dodge it, had sent her falling onto the ground with a tear in her jumper at the left shoulder, stinging horridly and gashing with fresh blood.

Shocked at what had just happened, everyone stood staring, almost lifeless, quiet. Even Tom.

Hermione dropped her wand at her side and moved a hand to touch the wound, testing out just how bad it was, but immediately, she retracted her hand. The pain was too great. She cried more out of frustration than pain with being so determined on winning against the young Dark Lord.

When Tom's mind had registered what had just happened, he hurried over to Hermione and dropped to his knees, his light green eyes wide and practically emotionless.

"Miss Granger, I didn't think-" The apology in his voice was what made her cut him off.

"Oh I'm sure you didn't!" She cried as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand and managed to get to her feet after dodging Tom's outstretched hands.

Slowly, awkwardly, the watching students dispatched and headed to their common rooms while Hermione had grabbed her wand and hurried out of the courtyard and inside.

"Let me escort you to-"

"I'll take care of it myself!" Hermione hissed at Tom as he followed her closely.

He had followed her to the Prefect's bathroom where she knew she wouldn't be anymore disturbed by the others as she already was with Tom.

"Let me help!" Tom pushed. His angry voice echoed in the large grand bathroom as Hermione stood by a sink and shrugged out of her jumper. It fell to the damp floor, her Prefect's badge making a ting noise as it hit the tile. She was left in her sleeveless dress, which was now ruined with blood.

She managed to find a sponge as she ran it under cold water to wipe away the blood around the wound for a closer look.

"Hermione," Tom pushed further as she grabbed her wand.

She glared at him in the mirror's reflection. Telling him to bug off would surely do nothing.

"I get it Tom," she hissed. "You're powerful. Bravo. There's no need to pretend you're sorry about this."

She looked down at her shoulder. A clean slice sat open to show how deep it was—straight to the bone. It didn't faze her as she cast an advanced healing spell, and then a cleaning spell on her dress. Memories of her wounds from the Battle of Hogwarts were the only wounds she'd get shaky over.

She turned around and he was so close. She looked up, trying to be angry with him. But the expression he wore kept her from shoving him out of her way. It was hard to be mad at Tom when he was this close and Hermione could see the golden flakes in his light green eyes, even the faint freckles that brushed across the bridge of his nose, or the fight she saw in his eyes. He always seemed at a war at himself, and it was so hard to hate him for it.

If she tilted her face up, their lips would touch.

Tom gently touched her shoulder, right where the gash had been moments before—almost caressing it. His touch made her shiver as she looked away from him, almost ashamed to feel what she was feeling for him. She just wanted to be mad at him.

The moment she looked away from him, he had captured her chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing her to look up at him. She looked at him reluctantly, and frozen when he crushed his lips against hers almost as if it were a form of an apology. His apology. He trapped her face between his large, slender, cold hands.

Trying not to kiss him back, she gripped at his blazer and tried to push him away from her, but it was no use. He was too strong.

For a moment, he retracted from this kiss to look down at her with darkened eyes and a surprised expression, but pulled her against him when an arm snaked around her torso.

"Kiss me Hermione. I know you want to," he whispered to her against her lips to where his lips were about to kiss her, but held back for a moment, almost a form of a tease. It made her shiver again.

When his lips were on hers again, she couldn't help but give in, kissing him back with an intensity that shamed her.

In seconds, she forgot about the bad things Tom would do in the future and focused on his taste, the softness and tenseness of his lips, how desperate he seemed to kiss—almost as if he had been wanting to do this for a very long time. His hand gripped at her waist with an almost bruising force and she made a groan against his lips.

Her hands found his blazer's collar, pulling him closer and refusing to allow him to let go of the kiss. He gripped her waist tighter and pulled her up so that she could sit on the edge of the sink behind her, her legs wrapping around his hips with her hands in his hair and one hand leaving her waist to grope her breast. A squeal left her, but their kiss soon turned fevered, striving to make up for what they had secretly been starved off—this very kiss.

Moments ticked by quickly and they were still kissing with her ruined jumper laying wet on the tile floor beside the bloody sponge.