Prompt: Swing

High on a hill stood a single tree, older than most of the people who lived in the tiny village of Hogsmeade that lay below it. From the tree, hung an old rope swing, tired, dilapidated, but just about functional.

She leant back on the tiny wooden seat, hands gripping the rope on either side of her tighter, closing her eyes to let the feeling of flight overtake her. Quidditch and general broom-riding had never been for her, she felt far too unstable being that detached from solid ground. A soft breeze rolled over her face gently as she soared back and forth. The blue of the sky melded together with the mellow white of the clouds as she sped through the air, rhythm steady like a pendulum. Hermione had always loved swings and the feelings they brought. As a child she had always headed straight to the swing set when she had frequented the school playground. It was a rare occurrence to find Hermione out of the library, but she found solace and peace on occasion listening to the wind whistling past her ears and the cold air beating against her cheeks. Just as she began to enjoy herself, the ride was halted abruptly. Something pulled against the left rope, thrusting the tiny swing round to the right, before stopping entirely. Hermione kept her eyes focused on the ground, recognising the presence now beside her. She could imagine him, hand clamping tightly around the rope, standing tall over her. His eyes would be glinting, cheekbones defined sharply in the sunlight, dark curls ruffling gently in the breeze. She couldn't quite picture his expression - he was fairly unpredictable in his emotions.

"I didn't think you'd show your face," he said, voice quiet. She had always admired his tone, deep and velvety, it had a way of making everything seem perfect. One kind word from him would bring happiness to the surliest soul, equally, one curse could end your life.

"I'm a Gryffindor, I'm meant to be brave," she replied, finally turning her head to look up at him. Tom stood just as he'd pictured him, face expressionless and passive.

"Still."

He stepped forward, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his dark trousers, chin raising slightly to look at the village below. Hermione couldn't gleam what his intentions were now, she knew better than to think him peaceful. Tom Riddle was nothing but a threat to her.

"I'm still not joining you," she said, staring at his back.

"I know."

The sun was starting to set over the little hill, causing his figure to cast eerie shadows on the grass at her feet. As he turned slowly, she pulled herself off the swing, her head tilting upward to meet his gaze. They watched each other intently - she, waiting for him to throw a killing curse at her for her final refusal, he, mulling over his next move.

"So, are you to kill me now, Tom?" she asked, watching him wince at her use of his name.

"Only you call me Tom anymore," he said, tone still strangely soft.

"That's because you are - Tom, I mean," she replied, voice shaking slightly.

He let out a short laugh, moving closer to her. Her body shook slightly, he observed, though her face showed nothing but resilience. Hatred. He could never bear that look in her eyes, the way she frowned at him. His hands skimmed over her shoulders, moving up around her neck to gently stroke her skin.

"You know I love you," he breathed, leaning down to brush his lips against her. He could feel her hands against his chest, pushing him away. He leant back, one hand running through her hair to grip the strands tightly. She looked shocked, her eyes bulging widely in her head, a whimper escaping her lips. "Hermione, why do you deny me everything?"

"Because you deserve nothing."

"Do you not realise that I love you?"

"I do, and there is nothing more torturous to me," she snapped back, just ask he leaned into her once more. His lips ghosted over hers, causing then to tingle gently. She wanted to kiss him, but she knew that there would be no turning back if she gave into him.

"There is no way that you would consider accepting me?" he whispered, pressing his kisses lightly around her jaw. The girl shuddered in his arms as he moved back to take her mouth, both hands running through her hair, lovingly. He leant back, eyes twinkling with hope. She knew under that hope was manipulation, hate, a wolf in disguise.

"No, Tom. No more," she whispered, pressing her hands into his chest. His beautiful eyes clouded, the irises melting into an alluring shade of ruby.

"But I loved you. I absolutely adored you - I would have given you everything, Hermione," he hissed, hands tightening in her hair. She winced at the feeling.

"You can't have everything To-" she was cut off when he violently twisted her head. A loud crack resounded across the landscape, followed by a small thud as her body slithered out of his grip, flopping onto the ground. He gazed at her for a moment, hating the way her neck stuck out at an odd angle, before turning from the scene. As he walked down the hill, hands stuck back in his pockets, he kept his eyes wide open, refusing to blink. He knew if he did, the tears he felt brewing in the corner of his eyes would fall.