Chapter 1.


"I wasn't quite as desperate as that." She smiled in derision, throwing back her bushy curls as she stood up and walked over to the window.

She pouted and looked outside.

The handsome boy scrutinised her face silently, his eyes giving nothing away as he watched her movements.

"But it was," he countered. She turned to him, her hands folded across her chest and she tilted her head to the side. "You were almost on the verge of… begging in the streets."

It was dark outside.

A single lantern hung by the damp ceiling. The wallpaper, frayed and disappearing in places, made the soft summer evening look bleak.

"Be that as it may, Tom… I see no reason for us to discuss this further," she replied.

An oblique smile crawled over the boy's lips as he watched her intently and nodded slightly, acquiescing for the time being.

"If it bothers you so, I shall not refer to it again…" He looked to his right and stared at the cupboard in her room. "I shall, however, require your word that you trust me, Hermione. I have had to construct an extended veil of lies just so that Mrs Cole would accept you here. It greatly saddens me to see that someone I consider a friend does not believe me."

Hermione bit her lip and looked down at her shoes.

"It's not that I don't trust you, Tom… even though I have known you for a short while—two weeks at most…" She shook her head. "I just… I don't know, okay. I don't have answers to your questions. I simply don't. I don't know where I came from. I don't know who or what my parents were or what I did for the last sixteen-seventeen years of my life… It's just… It's driving me to the brink of insanity, alright… I would rather not think about it all…"

She ran a shaking hand through her hair, disentangling the bushy mane as much as she could in repeated motions but to no avail.

Meanwhile, the boy had started scratching the paint off her iron-framed bed. The strange, squeaky sound of nails running hard over iron echoed off the walls in that sparsely furnished room.

"Stop that!"

She had squeezed her eyes shut.

His silvery eyes flickered towards her.

"If it bothers you," he remarked casually and stood up, ready to leave. "I'll call you for dinner?"

She nodded slightly, wiping the sweat off her face and sighed.

"If you must."


"Tell that story again, Lily," Clara, a blue -eyed fifteen year old with curly blonde hair goaded. "Tell Mark what you did to Jim."

Hermione ate her soup in silence.

Beside her, two six year old twins were arguing over who had a bigger nose. They were rather adorable, with identical freckled faces and pointed noses.

Next to the twins sat surly Tim, eating quietly and not bothering to pay attention to the conversations around him. Lily and Clara sat across Hermione and next to them sat four people from the first floor. Hermione wasn't particularly well acquainted with them.

It was a table set for twelve people.

The cook had served the dinner and retired for the day. The washing of the dishes was left to the children.

The chatter quietened considerably as soon as the door that led to the hallway flew open and Tom entered. His eyes swept over the gathered crowd and he tilted his head in acknowledgement when he noticed Hermione.

She gave him a short smile, ignoring the pooling despair of non-identity in her heart and went back to her dinner.

He sat next to her and poured himself some soup.

"That's an odd ring," she remarked on noticing the ugly ring sitting on his finger.

His hands stilled.

Clara and Lily looked at him warily out of the corner of their eyes. Mark's jaw was set and he held his knife too fast.

"Is that so?" He took a sip out of his glass of water and turned to her. "I paid a great price for it, mind you."

Hermione snorted. "Someone obviously duped you then. It is the ugliest little thing I ever saw."

He stared at her for a few seconds before going back to his potatoes.

The rest of dinner was an unremarkable affair at the end of which Hermione got up to help Clara with the dishes. It was her turn that day.

"Where are you going?" Tom asked when she turned to leave.

"To do the dishes," she replied in confusion. "It's our turn today."

He blinked twice.

"Wait," he said and turned towards Mark. "You wouldn't mind, Mark, would you?"

Mark lowered his eyes, fixing them intently upon the end of his spoon and nodded slowly.

Hermione viewed this exchange with curiosity.

"I don't think it's fair that he has to do my chores, Tom… We could discuss whatever you want after I am done with work…" she interrupted.

His silver eyes met her brown.

"This cannot wait."


"It's cold out here," she remarked, drawing her arms around the middle and hugged herself close. He had led her out of the orphanage building, past the string of shops that graced the rundown neighbourhood. The cold prickled her exposed skin.

Tom walked on silently, paying little attention to most the things around them. His pale hands shone brightly in the hallowed moonlight. It was brief and strange but Hermione thought she heard him whisper something when he stopped near a trash can.

Something that sounded like a different language altogether.

Strange.

"Where are we going, Tom?"

He glanced at her briefly and turned his eyes towards the opposite lane.

"Down there," he pointed at a dilapidated, ancient looking building that might be a mill of sorts.

She rubbed her palms together once more and followed him to the crumbling wooden door.

"It's locked," she said, turning the thick iron lock over in her hands.

It was cold to touch.

He gave her a brief glance, void as his eyes were of any human emotion, and frowned.

"I know."

Gently clasping the said iron lock in his own hands, he whispered something incoherent.

Something

The lock clicked open.

Hermione's eyes widened and she could not help the brief shudder that escaped her body.

What did he do?

It was a thick, utilitarian lock.

He didn't break it.

How did he manoeuvre the inner mechanisms to open up?

He flung open the doors and stepped inside softly.

As she had expected, it was ancient and full of musty smell. It was too dark to make out much but she could see huge lumps of deteriorating stocks piled here and there.

"Why are we here, Thomas?

Tom smiled crookedly and turned his finger to the closest pile of straws. A sudden flash of light and the pack lit up, engulfing her in warmth and light.

"I have… things to experiment with…" he said charmingly and gave her half a grin. "And you are part of it. A very important part."

That did not feel right.

"How are you doing this, Tom?"

It was his turn to smile now.

His teeth stood out grotesquely against the dark of his mouth.

"Watch," he whispered.

In slow motion, it seemed to her, he withdrew a pale stick from his pocket and snapped his fingers.

The building lit up—without any source of light—and she could see every nook and cranny exposed to her sight.

He flicked it again—the stick—and with a strange whoosh, blue-green strands of light flew away from the tip and began to circle the beam overhead.

They crinkled and spluttered for a few moments before bursting into showers of tiny stars that fell upon he ground, covering her and Tom in their dazzle.

She watched open-mouthed.

"Fuck," she whispered to herself as the light turned green and the beam turned to dust; the ceiling still held somehow. She looked at him in wonder and cursed again, "Fuck."

He snapped again—his pale fingers rather spidery—and everything vanished.

They stood in a cold, dusty mill once more; everything was normal again.

"Hold it." He offered her the pale stick. "Just this once."

His face looked so calm; this was either a very disgusting dream or a very real phenomenon.

After some initial hesitation, she did take the proffered object though.

She was too curious.

"I know you have questions; this demonstration was so that you would hold off your curiosity for now." The wood—it was made of woodand not plastic—she thought she felt the organic texture rather deeply-it felt alive to her touch. "Do you trust me so far?"

She couldn't take her eyes off him—just this once, he looked so lovely and haunted at the same time—and just this once, she had to believe him.

She knew it.

She nodded imperceptibly.

"Okay." He pointed to a log of wood and withdrew to her side. "Aim and repeat after me: Ignis. It isn't hard. Focus. Let go of reason and repeat, while picturing a bright flame striking that log."

She must have been crazy.

The flickering shadows must have been playing with her mind.

She looked deep into his shining, silver eyes and turned.

"Ignis!"


The wind blew mercilessly, whipping bushy curls into her face now and then.

I know only my name.

She sat on a ledge, on the roof, her legs dangling dangerously into the space below.

Below her feet, London spluttered and smoked.

Awe.

So very deep.

"So it is true, then?"

He had told her so much; the delightful stories of a different world—a different place, something more real and powerful than the world she currently knew—she was still trying to wrap her head around all of it, of course. But she believed him.

Why wouldn't she?

There was no reason for disbelief. He had made her feel it—the raw, enticing power coursing through her veins and she had been ecstatic—it was real and very much a part of her. Even if it was unknown, it was real.

Thomas smoked in a corner, his eyes glittering with an unknown emotion as he watched her take in his revelations to her.

"Truer than truth." He flicked and some ashes fell to the ground. "Unbelievable, isn't it?"

She snorted.

"Fucking amazing." She looked at her hands in wonder. His pale wand, the wand… "Have you always known?"

"That I was wizardkind? No. I learnt the truth at eleven. But I always knew that I was different—special in a way that most people weren't…" He tapped his foot to some unknown tune playing in the background—one of the orphanage inmates must have their window open.

"And I can do it, too… Curious." She shivered involuntarily. "I didn't find out at eleven years of age… this Hogwarts, all magical children go there, don't they? Why was I overlooked if I have the same abilities?" She shook here head in frustration. "Fuck, I wish I remembered my life."

"I don't know why you were overlooked—there seems to be nothing wrong with your magic as far as I can tell—maybe… you didn't grow up here... on this continent—In any case, I do plan to have your memories checked as soon as I can. Perhaps i is a mild case of amnesia. It doesn't matter though, does it? We'll find out whatever there is to know and I can teach you everything you need."

She scowled at him.

Need.

It sounded like he would decide what she needed in her education.

She hadn't given him the permission to act as her guardian.

"Toss me a smoke, will you?"

"Sure."

She lit the thin, white object with much hardship; it tasted tangy on her tongue. She was only just getting the hang of it.

Being around Tom had its drawbacks.

"What are you two doing up here?" a loud voice called out from behind them.

Mark?

She put out her stub hurriedly and climbed down.

"We were just… hanging out, Mark. What are you doing here?" Thomas seemed unruffled. She noticed that he didn't even bother to put out his cigarette.

"You two were smoking, weren't you?" Mark accused, taking a step towards her. "It's against the rules. I will tell Mrs Cole."

She looked at Thomas quickly but he did nothing more than raise an elegant brow.

She swallowed. "Look, Mark…" she began but Thomas cut her off.

"I don't think so, buddy." His eyes flashed dangerously, almost feral and she was taken aback.

"What's that again?" Mark's voice was slightly high-pitched and she could tell that he was nervous.

God.

"I don't think you will... tell her anything." Tom repeated casually and threw down his stub. "Why must you be so difficult? We are all friends here, looking out for each other... You don't want to be the black sheep of our white company, do you?"

His words sounded more threatening than persuasive; a sort of warning that one couldn't ignore.

Tom's tone had an oily ring to it; she was sure that you could slip on his words if you weren't careful.

"You know what, I think I will this time." Mark drew up his shoulders and flashed her a resentful grin. "I have had enough of your high-handedness, Riddle and I think that I would be doing this orphanage a favour by aiding in your expulsion. And believe me, you will be thrown out when I tell her that you and your tramp girlfriend have been smoking, on top of everything else that you've done so far. She has enough complaints against you to take it to the trustees."

Shite.

Fucking great.

Without waiting for either of them to reply, Mark turned and ran towards the stairs.

Rather too quickly, it seemed to her.

"Shite! Stop him! We'll be in trouble, Tom," she hissed at Tom, grabbing his sleeve rather forcefully—he gave her an amused look and removed her hands from his person—his silver eyes flashed coldly in the direction that Mark took off.

"No, we won't, Hermione." He flicked his wrist and the pale—wand landed in his hand. Wordlessly, something flew from its tip and swooped down the dirty stairs. "We are wizardkind, after all. There never is a need for us to chase… commoners, as they say."

A loud shriek sounded across the space—from down below, followed by a distinct thud—Hermione looked up at him, horrified.

Did he just…?

No…

He wouldn't…

Oh God.


Hey guys,

I have wanted to write an exclusive Tom Hermione fiction ever since I started reading them. For some reason, it never quite worked out. I really want this to be my best piece yet and I really really hope that I can pull it off. Now, I realise that I posted it under my other account but I have decided to not use it for publishing my stories anymore. So I am posting it here. Again.

Please review, it helps to know where I am going from your perspective and what I am doing wrong( and right).

Thanks.