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She was born amid Spring, 1927. When the crowfoot and marigolds opened their buds to bloom in a kaleidoscope of colors that surrounded the sea-side cottage. They named her Hermione Thea Selwyn after her pureblood father, and gaelic muggle mother.

The prized daughter after a half-dozen miscarriages, hidden away behind several layers of muggle-repellant and protective wards that barely kept the war from their doorstep. Anthea Lios refused to leave her ancestral home, and Hermes Selwyn refused to leave his family.

Hermione grew up with sea-salt in her hair and magic on her lips. She barely took a breath when she began to control the world around her. A blanket tucked a little tighter around her infant body, a teddy-bear summoned from a shelf to her arms, a tiny blue-bell flame to brighten the darkness of her bedroom. To be expected, Hermes comforted his wife one night after she witnessed her baby girl force every flower around her to bloom, just so she could play with them. Every Selwyn child had near perfect magic control. Their daughter was to be expected. Better than normal, exceptional.

She was five when the nightmares started. But they didn't start as nightmares at all. Just blurry images of a boy with glasses and a ginger with freckles that called her name from the dark. Sometimes they sounded happy to see her, other times the agony in their voices made her cry. She found herself standing in the midst of a battlefield more than once, bodies upon bodies lay around her. It was through her dreams; she learned the meaning of death. Of how pale a body that has been bled out looks like, or the hoarse screaming of torn vocal cords from the Cruciatus sounded, or how quick an Avada Kedavra killed. And she was always there. Standing, watching, waiting.

Until a quick flash of green left her among the bodies.

She grew up with these dreams, and she no longer feared them. Sometimes they even became comforting. This battlefield became a second home to her, stepping over bodies with familiar faces. The screams a melody in her ears. She found herself searching for that man that killed her once. His abnormally pale skin, and smooth face. Dark eyes that didn't have an inch of warmth and made her shiver.

But she never did find him, even after years of searching.

Precisely at 9 in the morning on her 11th birthday, her letter came. And it made Anthea furious. How dare they think they can take her daughter, whisk her away to a boarding school, away from her safe arms?

Hermione sat up many nights, curled up in the corner of her bed listening to her parents argue. Her father promised, swore, that their daughter would be safe. Safer than the island where the war was inching closer to their doorstep. That Hogwarts was an elite school and would make her strong. Make her powerful. She needed friends her age, she needed to expand her world.

But this was Anthea's baby. Her blood. Her only child. There is no safer place in this world than with her. And she cried. She wasn't ready to let her daughter go, but she knew that she couldn't give her only child what she needed anymore. Anthea had never been upset about being a muggle because her husband loved her non-magical self. But it was in this moment, she never wished for anything more.

The train was bustling with more people than Hermione had ever seen in her life. She clutched her trunk a little bit tighter. Bodies kept pushing past her as she stood near frozen in the hallway. The chattering was loud. Some looked like her, lost and unsure. Others, older and bigger, slipped through the crowds into cabins quite easily, even kicking out younger kids.

Taking a step forward, she checked cabin by cabin, each more full than the last. Growing up nearly isolated, since corpses in dreams don't count, had made her a little bit shy. She could talk the petals off a flower, but another child? It made her nervous.

There was a warning sound of the train, and she started. She needed a cabin. But the further she walked, the less likely she would find an empty one, or semi-empty one seemed impossible. Until she reached the very back of the train. The last cabin on the right. There was only one boy inside.

She slowly pulled the door open, his attention snapped to her immediately. Dark eyes were narrowed at her suspiciously, eying her up and down. From her dainty little Mary-Jane's, to her plain black dress, to intricately plaited hair. She tried to smile.

"Can I join you?" Her voice was small and timid, and it seemed to put him more on edge. His fists tightened up, pressed into his legs. His clothes were clean, mostly, a few stray threads at the edges. His hair was black and fell into his face and when he turned his face a little more to her, she saw the darkness of a bruise around his eye. "… The other cabins are full…. And I'm not really good with crowds."

She could feel her hand starting to shake. Were many other people like him? Cold and distant? She could only remember her mother's warm smile and open arms. Great, now she was homesick and the train hadn't even left yet.

"You can come in." He gruffed, loosening his fists and turning his focus back out the window. She let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding and stepped in, sliding the door shut behind her. Tucking her trunk into the corner of the rack, she settled into the opposite window seat, her eyes never leaving him.

"Thank you… um…?"

He scowled, pressing himself further into his seat. As if those precious few centimeters away from her made a difference.

"I'm Hermione. Um, Selwyn. Hermione Selwyn. I've never been on a train before. I live on an island with my parents and we never traveled anywhere except Diagon Alley to get my school supplies."

Dark eyes slid from the window to her, narrowed with annoyance, his lip twitched. "Do you always talk so much?"

Hermione laughed nervously, wringing her hands together. "I-I talk a lot when I'm nervous and you're the first person my age I've talked to."

He didn't reply, and the silence grew until there was the final horn of the train and it slowly began to move. Her attention immediately shifted to out the window, the scenery rushing by faster and faster. She had her hands pressed up against the cool glass, watching the world flash by.

"It's so fast." She whispered, trying to focus on a single tree but it disappeared too quickly. She tried to keep up with the scenery but found it only gave her a headache.

"My father went to Hogwarts," she said, trying to spark up a conversation. But the boy ignored her, and it sort of reminded her of when she used to speak to the trees. They never moved or replied but they listened. Maybe he was like that. "He said he was in Slytherin. I don't know much about the other houses because father said Slytherin was the only good house to be in. It was for the ambitious. And they were more loyal than any Gryffindor."

His eyes flicked from the outside to her before moving back. He was listening, so she continued. She talked about anything she could. About the island, the cold salty ocean she played in, napping in hammocks in the flower fields, her pet cat, her hopes and dreams.

She even offered him half her lunch that her mother packed. He never said anything, but accepted it, eating it slowly. The sleeves of his jacket that was too big on his slipped up his arms, and she saw more of those dark bruises littering his skin.

It confused her. Did he play too hard? Or did he fall? She wondered if it hurt. Slipping her hand into her sleeves, she pulled out her wand and found herself pinned against her seat with his wand at her throat. His eyes were blazing and angry, his teeth bared as he straddled her. He reminded her of the cornered fox she saw one time in the forest, his foot trapped between the roots of a tree. He growled and snapped at her when she got close, and he didn't realize she just wanted to help him. She did get bit, but he got free and never looked back.

She took a shaking breath in. "Y-you have… bruises. They look like they hurt. I-I can heal… heal them for you." The wand pressed deeper into her throat and she tried to relax. "I don't have any salve with me, but I can heal it with my wand. My father taught me."

Then slowly the pressure was released, and she sat up, rubbing a hand against her throat. He had settled back into the seat, watching her with wary eyes.

"Why."

She moved slowly, inching to the edge of the seat, her knee knocked against his and he flinched. Every movement she did was slow, almost painfully slow. She reached for his arm and he gritted his teeth at her touch.

"Because I want to," she cleared her throat, pushing up his sleeve and lowering her wand to his skin. Her eyes met his and she gave a quirk of her lips. "Episky."

The bruises and cuts on his skin melted away, leaving pale and clean skin behind. He seemed to shiver at the feeling, his eyes never leaving hers. Her wand tip rested against the arch of his cheekbone and she whispered the spell again, watching the bruise disappear.

He then showed her every other bruise and cut he had, and she healed them one by one. She was on the last one when the warning bell that they were arriving soon rang, startling them both. He had retreated back into the corner of his seat and her head spun.

It was her first time using so much magic at one time. She always played roughly in the forests, coming home injured and bruised. Her father couldn't keep up with making bruise healing paste for her, instead choosing to teach her a few quick healing spells to use.

The pair changed quickly into their robes as the train pulled in. Tucking her wand away, Hermione took her trunk down and opened up the door.

"Lysander."

Confused, she turned around to come face to face with him, he was barely an inch away from her and she could feel his breath on her face. His eyes, which looked much lighter now, searched. For deception? For trickery? Until he let out a slow breath. "My name. It's Lysander Mulciber."

She grinned. "It's nice to meet you, Lysander."

A/N: Hello, welcome to my Tomione fic! Thank you for taking an interest in this.

I've read many Tomione fics, and honestly they all were just SO amazing that I wanted to take a shot at creating something.

I think this will be a bit of a longer fic because I want to take Hermione through her school years, and even afterwards.

Obviously, her and Tom will find each other as they will attend school together, but I want to explore into the creation of a Dark Magic world. Because 'not all white magic is good, and not all black magic is bad'.

If you're interested, I have an aesthetic board for this fic on pinterest. Find me as Adonisia on pinterest. The board is named Into The Dark and complete with boards for all the major characters. I really want to give them lots of personality.

Again thank you! Leave a review on your way out!