Chapter Six: Scars

It had taken two years of challenges, two years of ups and downs, two years of living for the roots to take a firm hold in the dirt; but when it did, oh, when it finally did, it was a beautiful kind of chaos. The roots – some were gnarled and twisted, but deep. It was proof that not everything was perfect; but it was also proof that life wasn't perfect.

Life wasn't perfect, and that's exactly what made it perfect; it was something that should never be taken for granted.

The sunlight filtering through the leaves above her was something that Hermione also never took for granted. It was warmth, it was light, it was comfort. If she were to spend her free time doing anything before summer vacation was over, it would be this - lying in her backyard, underneath the trees, with a book in hand.

This – this was her happy place.

Hermione yawned. The only downside was that it made her a bit drowsy being wrapped up in all that warmth and light. She set her book down in the grass next to her, and closed her eyes; but just because her eyes were closed, didn't mean her mind was.

Her thoughts drifted over many things: her new class schedule, starting her fourth year at Hogwarts, her friends, her brother…

She caught herself unconsciously rubbing her thumb over the jagged scar on her palm. The corner of her mouth curled. The scar – it was a reminder – a reminder of a night that seemed so long ago, but only felt like yesterday.

He had a reminder, too; and that's what he'd called his scar – a reminder. But he didn't need to remind her – it was something that she would never forget.

She thought about how much Tom had changed over the past two years, and how much he also had stayed the same. He was still vindictive and intense at times, but he was better at controlling his temper tantrums now.

Every year, grades had turned into a competition. So competitive they were, they had been allowed shared use of a Time Turner from Professor McGonagall to attend extra classes last year. They were the first students to take that many classes. Their grades, of course, had ended up being the same.

It was known throughout Hogwarts that Hermione Granger and Tom Riddle were the brightest witch and wizard of their age.

They had their strengths and weaknesses, of course. Where Tom excelled in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions, Hermione excelled in Arithmancy and Charms. Tom hadn't seemed to have any weaknesses, but he'd admitted that he didn't care for Herbology much - something about being dirty and smelling like fertilizer. Hermione's weaknesses were Divination and flying.

Tom had laughed at her, asking what kind of witch she was if she couldn't even fly on a broom. After their parents had brought them to see the new Disney movie Hocus Pocus last year, Tom had asked her if she'd feel more comfortable flying on a vacuum instead. His laughter had been cut short by a well-placed elbow to his ribs. She smiled at the memory.

While Hermione was busy lost in her own sleepy thoughts, she didn't immediately realize the feeling of something cool sliding up her bare leg. When she did notice, she gasped in surprise, and sat up.

There, wrapping itself around her calf, was a young garden snake. Its head lifted toward her, with its tongue flicking out to smell and taste her skin.

Most people would have screamed and kicked the snake off them – Hermione wasn't most people; just like Tom wasn't most people.

Hermione shook her head, and rolled her eyes before falling back onto the grass again. "Tom!" she called out. "Come call your little friend off me before I unleash Crookshanks on it!"

She'd closed her eyes again; so, she couldn't see him, but the sunlight filtering through her eyelids darkened. She heard a deep chuckle sound above her.

"Why? He seems to like you so very much, Hermione," he said mischievously.

"Well, I don't. Tell him to go away."

Hermione listened hard to the words Tom hissed out at the snake, but none of it made sense – it never did. She let the hissed words travel deep into the recesses of her eardrums, and settle there. She'd never tell him, but she loved the way it sounded.

The first time she caught him talking to a snake caught her by surprise, but it excited her to no end. She'd asked him to speak to it more, and asked what it was saying. Again, and again, and again. The way it sounded was beautiful, and she wanted to learn it desperately. Dejection was the strongest word she could use to describe how she had felt when Tom told her that it was impossible to learn. She knew he took pride in the fact that no one else they knew could do it. It really wasn't fair.

After he spoke, Hermione could feel the cool skin of the snake leaving her leg. She felt Tom settle down on the grass next to her, but he didn't say anything immediately. She started dozing back off again when he finally spoke.

"So, when are they arriving?" he asked, his sour tone obvious.

Hermione threw her forearm over her face and groaned internally, wishing desperately for the quiet again. She didn't feel like getting into an argument today. "They should be here at around five. Have you packed?"

"Unfortunately," he said sarcastically.

At this, Hermione turned her face to squint at him, using her forearm to help block out the sun. There were times she caught herself looking at her brother longer than she should. She didn't mean to, she really didn't; it was just – he had become so beautiful that sometimes she got caught off-guard by it. She'd thought seeing his face every day would make her used to it, but it hadn't. "It isn't going to be that bad, Tom. Maybe you'll even have fun."

"Hah. I can think of several things that would be more fun that attending a Quidditch game with Potter. Let's name some of them, shall we? It'd be more fun to brush my teeth with glass. It'd be more fun to drive Billywig stingers into my cornea. It'd be more fun to give a hippogriff a prostate exam-"

Hermione scrunched her face up at the last one, and put her hands over her ears. "Oh, my God, Tom! That's disgusting. You're being dramatic."

"I can assure you that I am not."

Hermione sighed. "I don't understand why you dislike Harry so much."

"Oh, I don't dislike him; I loathe him," he said forcefully.

At his harsh words, Hermione sat up, and looked down at him. "But, why? You hardly know him. I know if you gave him a chance, you'd come to at least tolerate him."

Tom sat up, and frowned at her. "Why? Are you serious right now? I loathe him, because he walks around Hogwarts like he owns the place. I loathe him, because his grandfather's money has made him pretentious. I loathe him, because he's just another Pureblood prat who will more than likely contribute nothing to wizarding society, just like his father."

Hermione gaped at him, shocked. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"Please - you know it's true. You're just too nice to say so. The Potter family lives off the profits of a wizarding hair care product. Name three things they've done that is worth noting – no, name one," Tom sneered. Hermione's face was firm as she went to open her mouth, but he interrupted her, "And Lily Potter's work in potioneering does not count."

Her face fell and she frowned at him. She glared at the triumphant look on her brother's face, and watched the corners of his mouth slowly curve up into a lazy smirk.

Tom had started picking bits of grass out of her frizzy hair when she said, "They're good people, Tom. Harry's parents are always helping others in need. It's not fair – the things you say about them. I really don't like it."

She watched Tom pick a longer piece of grass out of her hair, and twirl it between his fingers before he threw it. He gave her a cold smile. "Fine. I won't say anything bad about his parents anymore."

"And?" she asked expectantly, her eyebrows raised hopefully.

Tom scoffed, and stood up. "Nice try, sis. Not gonna happen."

Hermione pouted and her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Please?"

He stood over her menacingly, and gave her an intense stare with narrowed eyes. Narrowed eyes meant that he was at least thinking, which meant that he might give in. It didn't always happen, but she was still going to try.

She flinched when he reached his hand down to her expectantly, and took it cautiously. He yanked her up roughly and told her, "I promise I'll be polite to Harry and his family, and keep my mouth shut until we're at Hogwarts. That's the best you're going to get. Take it, or leave it."

A broad, excited grin broke out across her face. As sad as it was, this was better than she had been expecting. Hermione quickly hugged him and he wrapped his arms around her in return.

"I'll take it! Thank you, Tom."

He let go of her and said with a small smirk, "Don't mention it. Ever."

Tom watched Hermione and Harry entertain Potter's little heathen of a brother with an assortment of magicked toys from his spot at the dining table. He'd been a bit shocked, and somewhat envious, at the size and quality of the Potter's magicked tent; he would be a liar if he said he wasn't impressed – it was enormous.

The tent being enormous was good, of course, because that meant he would have an easier time avoiding Potter. Well, avoiding everyone, really. He really didn't want to be here – he really hadn't wanted to come. The only people, aside from Hermione, that didn't grate on his nerves was Mrs. Potter, Mr. Weasley and the youngest Weasley girl.

He slowly sipped his tea as he watched Hermione make the toddler laugh at a toy bird by circling it around his head full of fiery hair, and briefly wondered why in the world he was surrounded by so many damn gingers. Seriously, it was ridiculous.

"Hermione says you like honey glazed ham, Tom?"

Tom blinked and turned his attention from Hermione, to Lily Potter. She was standing at the end of the dining table, and smiled kindly at him. He really wanted to dislike her, but the only thing about her that grated on his nerves was her constant calmness. It was eerie, and made him uncomfortable. Didn't she ever get angry? Frustrated? Sad? It was unnatural.

He nodded at her question, and smiled politely at her. "Yes, but don't feel like you have to prepare that on my account. I don't want to cause you any extra work. I'm sure whatever you make will taste delicious."

"Oh, you're so sweet to say that! But I'm still going to make you ham; it'll be no trouble at all, dear," she said with an even bigger smile. "I'm just happy that your sister managed to convince you to come."

At this, Tom glanced at his sister, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "She's stubborn, that's for sure."

Lily laughed. "That, she is. She's such a sweetheart. Anyway, I should get supper started before we have to head to the tournament."

He nodded politely at the older woman, and took another sip of his tea.

He really didn't want to be here, but at least he was having ham.

Hermione had just set the toy bird floating around the boy's head down, when the front flap to the tent opened. James stuck his head in and said, "Oi! Harry! Hermione! Tom! Someone out here wants to say hello to you."

Tom raised his eyebrow skeptically. He couldn't think of a single person that would be here that would want to say hello to them all at once.

"Oh? Who is it?" Hermione asked.

James grinned, and said before his head disappeared again. "Just come out here, will you? Oh, Harry! Bring Charles with you, but make sure you put his coat on first."

"Will do," Harry nodded, and picked his brother up to do as he was told.

Hermione and Tom exchanged a glance and they both shrugged, then made their way out of the tent. Right when they were at the exit, they heard a rowdy laugh. They froze, and looked at each other. A grin broke out across Hermione's face and he did his best to keep his roguish smile under control.

Tom could recognize that mischievous laugh from anywhere.

"Professor Black," they said simultaneously, and pushed their way out of the tent.

They had been right.

There, standing near the roaring campfire, was their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher talking with the older Weasley children. He, along with everyone else, was dressed in their Muggle clothing. It was a bit odd to see him wearing faded blue jeans and a leather jacket, but it suited him. His black curls fell back from his face when he threw back his bottle of butterbeer.

Sirius Black had already been smiling, but once he saw Tom and Hermione step from the tent, his grin bordered on ridiculous.

"Tom! Hermione!" he shouted out. He clasped both of his hands on each of their shoulders and said, "And how are my favorite pair of siblings doing?"

"Hey!" Fred and George shouted.

Sirius turned and looked at them, affronted. "You two are my favorite twins."

"We're still siblings, though," Fred joked.

Sirius waved the back of his hand at them. "Yeah, yeah," he said, and turned his attention back to Tom and Hermione. "So, how are you two doing? Have a good summer?"

"Oh, it was wonderful. Mum and dad took us to Paris last month," Hermione said.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" he asked, then his gaze traveled to Tom. He gave him a conspiratorial smile, and winked. "So, no mischief this summer? I'm disappointed in you, Tom."

At this, Tom grinned, but said nothing. Professor Black was, by far, his favorite teacher at Hogwarts. He'd caught Tom setting up what he'd thought was an innocent prank last year against another student, but he had really been plotting revenge against an older Housemate that had called him and his sister…Mudbloods.

He'd never told Professor Black what he'd really been planning and he'd never told Hermione what some of the other students had said. They normally told each other almost everything, but he'd wanted to handle that little problem on his own.

"Really, Sirius? You shouldn't be encouraging that kind of behavior as a teacher!" James said with a laugh.

Sirius turned his head to James, and looked offended. "Oh, come on, James! You know I'm not allowed to do those sorts of things anymore – I have to live vicariously through someone."

Sirius gave Tom a wink. Tom smirked.

"Why Dumbledore hired you on as a teacher, I will never know," James muttered into the lip of his bottle of butterbeer.

"Oh, that one is easy. I was his favorite," Professor Black said, then gave Hermione and Tom another playful wink.

After supper, the Potter's, Tom, Hermione, and Professor Black made their way to the stadium. On the way, they ran into the Weasley's, and walked together.

Tom inwardly groaned. And, yet again, Tom was surrounded by far too many gingers for his liking. Hermione owed him for this – big time.

Once they got to the stadium and made their way up the many stairs, the Weasley's went their separate way to continue to the cheaper seats. James had bought better seats. Even though Tom had said harsh, yet true, statements about the man yesterday, he was thankful he paid for better seats. He hadn't felt like freezing his arse off in the higher stands.

They eventually got settled into their seats, and Tom held his tongue when Hermione plopped into the seat between Harry and Tom. Why had he promised her he'd keep his mouth shut? He didn't understand why he'd promised her anything to begin with. Then he remembered the face she made when she was frustrated – when her eyes got smaller, when her nose scrunched up, and when her lips pouted. Her brat face – that's what it was. She was a brat.

Well, if there was one thing Tom always did, it was keep his word. So, he'd remained silent.

He'd remained silent when the seating arrangement wasn't to his liking.

He'd remained silent when she laughed at Harry's terrible jokes.

He'd remained silent when Harry shared his food with her.

Harry then made a joke about her hair, and gently tugged one of her curls. Tom watched the way is sprang back up when it left his fingers.

Tom's fingers twitched and his blood set on fire. He needed to walk away, before he did something that would piss Hermione off.

He startled everyone when he stood up abruptly. They stared at him in confusion.

"Excuse me, but where's the loo?" he asked informally.

"Ah, we passed right by them on our way here. Just go back the way we came and take the first left. They'll be a large sign. Can't miss it," Sirius told him.

Tom gave a tight smile, thanked him, and left. He refused to look at Hermione when she gave him a questioning look.

He flexed the fingers on his right hand continuously as he envisioned himself pummeling his fist into Harry's face over, and over, and over again. He pictured a bloody nose, black eyes, and broken glasses. A pleasant shiver ran through him when he envisioned what would happen if the shards from the glasses embedded themselves into Harry's irises.

It was a beautiful vision, because Potter would lose his. It was a beautiful vision of crimson blood and green eyes mixing together. What a lovely shade it made in his mind.

He sighed, and loosened his jaw by swaying it side to side. He needed to calm down. He needed to control himself.

Tom had managed to find the restrooms in his quiet rage. He leaned over one of the sinks, and splashed cool water over his face. He closed his eyes, and fought hard to hear Hermione's voice of reason – her voice of logic.

What would she say to him right now, if she were here? What would she tell him?

He opened his eyes, and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He watched as his jaw ticked and his nostrils flared and his shoulders heaved.

She'd tell him to stop being dramatic – that's what she would say. You're making this into a bigger deal than what it actually is, she'd say.

Tom knew she'd be right, but he couldn't help it. He hated Potter. He hated what he represented. He hated how conceited he was. He wasn't anyone special. His grades were mediocre, at best; but just because of his last name, he could get nearly any job at the Ministry he wanted, if he wanted it. While Tom and Hermione had the best grades in all of Hogwarts in the last century, just because they were Muggleborn, their options were more…limited.

Tom had learned early on that the right name got you further in the wizarding world. Tom sneered. Pretentious Pureblood prats.

Banishing the last thought in his head, he straightened himself out, and steadied his breathing. Everything was fine. He would show them – no, they would show them. They would be better. They would be smarter. They would be stronger.

They would build their names up from the mud by turning the mud into bricks. Up, up, up to the very top. Him and his sister would be on a dais, and they would look down on everyone else who hadn't thought they were worthy before.

Tom could see it in his mind's eye; and, oh, wasn't it beautiful.

He sighed, and decided that he was calm enough to go back to the game. If he paid attention to the stupid game, and not Potter, then he would be fine.

Tom hadn't made if far out of the loo before he heard someone calling his name. He stopped, and turned his head to the side to see Draco Malfoy walking toward him. He inwardly groaned. The older man walking with a cane had to be his father – the looked almost identical. Oh, just bloody perfect. Tom was seriously regretting promising Hermione he'd come to this stupid fucking game.

Tom nodded. "Draco."

"Tom," Draco nodded back. "Father, this is Tom Riddle – my friend from Hogwarts that I've been telling you about. Tom, this is my Father, Lucius Malfoy."

The man's eyes seemed to light up with recognition at Tom's name. "Oh? Why, yes. Draco has told me so much about you, Mr. Riddle."

"All good things, I hope," Tom said charmingly.

Lucius gave a tight smile and side-glanced his son once before looking back at Tom. "Yes, of course. He tells me that you have been at the top of your year every year so far?"

"Yes," Tom said, and faked a modest look. "My sister, as well. Our grades have been tied every year."

The older man raised a single brow, and did his best to look down condescendingly at Tom. Tom wasn't ruffled in the slightest. "Impressive," he said, but hadn't sounded that impressed.

Tom willed his hatred to go away. It was a difficult task.

"Father, could Tom sit with us in the Minister's Box? We could upgrade his ticket…" Draco trailed off, hopeful.

Tom's ears perked up at this. He already had great seats thanks to James and Lily Potter, but they weren't sitting with the Minister of Magic. Tom thought that if the Minister of Magic was there, then there would be other important people he could be introduced to. His mind was reeling with all the potential scenarios that could happen if he went with Draco and his father, when the older man spoke again.

"We could, I suppose…" Lucius trailed off.

"I would be incredibly grateful, sir; but don't feel like you have to go out of your way on my account," Tom said. He played the humbled card, and played it well.

Lucius looked contemplative. "I'm not sure if there is an extra seat, Draco. There are only twenty, after all."

Tom had thought that Draco looked ridiculous pouting, and nearly rolled his eyes. Nearly.

A sudden thought came to Tom's mind as he watched Lucius consider Draco's request that made him almost panic.

Hermione.

If he went with Draco and his father, Hermione would be left alone with Potter. Not only that, but she would be upset with him. Well, her being upset with him, he could deal with. Honestly, he didn't really care that much about upsetting her. Rubbing shoulders with important people to help get their foot in the door would be worth her being irate with him. She'd thank him later. He knew she would.

Then, Tom thought of the way Harry's fingers brushed against one of her curls and…

"On second thought, sir, I almost forgot about my sister. I think she'd be worried about me if I didn't come back to my seat," Tom said with a polite smile, but internally, he was furious. He was giving up an excellent opportunity, because Harry fucking Potter couldn't keep his bloody hands to himself.

Draco and Lucius voiced their disappointment – Draco more so than Lucius, of course. Tom thanked Lucius Malfoy for his consideration, and made his way back to his seat.

When he arrived, he was happy to see that Potter was too engrossed in the game to pay anything else any notice. Even Hermione seemed to be interested in the game. Tom hated Quidditch; so, there he sat, pretending to be interested.

For just a moment, he cursed taking on the role of being the protective brother. He'd wished, for just a moment – only a moment – that she wasn't his sister. Then, maybe, he wouldn't feel so inclined to be protective of her all the time.

Tom glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and willed the moment to be gone. It was difficult.

The moment didn't want to go away.

If Tom had thought the way people conducted themselves during a professional Quidditch tournament was bad, the way they acted afterward was…borderline pathetic.

He hadn't even bothered formally excusing himself from the festivities once all the Weasley's came over, and started causing a commotion. He'd walked into the section of the tent that he was sharing with Hermione, closed the flaps, and put up a quietening charm. He fell back on his cot, stared at the ceiling of the tent, and willed his headache to go away. He was just thankful that the day was finally over, and that he'd get some sleep.

Tom's head shot up when he suddenly heard Ron's voice yelling out about Krum again. That's when he saw a pajama-clad Hermione closing the flap back behind her, cutting off the sound of the irritating voices. He sighed, and sat up on his cot.

"At first I thought my Quietus charm wore off," he said tiredly.

Hermione gave him an amused look. "You mean the great Tom Riddle doubts the strength of his own charms?"

Tom snorted. "No. I've got a headache, so I'm not exactly in my prime right now."

He watched her as she rolled her eyes, and made her way over to her cot. She plopped down across from him, and started fiddling with the sleeves of her pajamas. He knew she wanted to say something, so he waited.

"Thank you for coming with me. I know you really didn't want to."

He looked at her, and raised his eyebrow. "You're right. I really didn't; yet, here I am," he joked half-heartedly.

"Oh, shut up," she said, but couldn't stop a small smirk from forming on her face. The corners of his mouth curled up in amusement.

"I mean it, though. Thank you."

"Words are meaningless. If you want to show me your thanks, then prove it, sis," he said in a mischievous tone.

Hermione frowned at him. "How?"

Tom looked pensive for a few moments. "Sit with me and my friends on the Hogwarts Express when we go back to school next week."

Her mouth fell open. "What? No. You know your friends drive me mad. They don't even like me."

The smirk fell from his face as he stared at her pointedly. She winced once she realized how selfish she sounded. "Fine. I'll sit with you instead," she grumbled out. "But you'd better tell Malfoy to keep his mouth shut, or I'll keep it shut for him. His bragging irks me to no end."

Tom smiled. "Good; and don't worry about Draco."

"Yeah, yeah," Hermione yawned then, and rubbed her eyes. "Ugh, it's past midnight. I think I'm going to go to bed now."

Tom nodded. "Me, too."

They both crawled into their own beds, and got underneath their covers. Tom turned the table lamp off, and felt thankful that neither of them could sleep unless it was completely dark. His head was killing him and the light didn't make it any better.

"Good night, Tom," she said sleepily.

"Good night, Hermione," he replied.

The small amount of light filtering through the flaps leading to the living quarters of the tent made it possible to see, but just barely. Tom watched Hermione toss and turn for a while, before she finally settled down, and the rhythm of her ribcage evened out.

A few minutes later, she rolled over in her sleep again, and faced him. His eyes traveled from her face, to her hair, to her shoulder, down her forearm, until it finally rested on her hand hanging off the side of her cot.

Tom slowly reached his hand across the space between them, and let his fingertips barely touch hers. He slowly slid them up the inside of her palm. He licked his lips when he found the scar, and touched it carefully.

His eyes flicked to her face. Once he saw that she wasn't going to wake up by him touching her hand, he decided to slide his open palm against her fingers.

Tom watched in a possessed sort of fascination at the way he made her sleepy index finger trail across the scar on his palm – her nail gently scraped against the slightly raised flesh. The muscles in his lower abdomen tightened, and made him shiver.

He brought his hand back to his face, and ran the scar over his lips - his mind a turbulent tempest. The dull throb in his left temple worsened.

Not once, while he dragged his bottom lip against his palm, did he take his eyes off Hermione.

A/N: Be still, my heart. Analyze that last part as you will. I wanted to publicly clarify that the 'blood ritual' in the last chapter did not involve magic of any kind. That was Tom being a symbolic little shit. Thanks again to Radiant Innocence and VinoAmore for being my cute lil alpha/beta fishes, and thanks again for all the reviews, favorites, and follows!

Also, if you'd like to see my Tomione fanart and all the other Tomione/Harry Potter crap I post, you can follow me on Tumblr! Username is ninjafairy86!