A/N: New chapter, kind of a filler one but needed to keep the story rolling and to somewhat start to change the relationship between Tom and Hermione.


WHITE CLIFFS IN MY REAR VIEW MIRROR


Previously…

Bloody hell, I rather adore this young woman. I still don't know whether to kill her or keep her, but I like her.


Hermione POV

Inching towards Dover

We both had been rather quiet after that conversation two days ago, which looking back was borderline flirting. I think we both are a little confused, well I know I am confused. I still don't completely trust him; he can be unpredictable and that worries me. It's difficult because for the most part I have to rely on him, my life is at the moment completely in his blood-stained hands. I guess the biggest problem aside from his wonky moral compass is my loyalty and friendship to Harry. How can I build a potential friendship with someone who murdered his parents? It feels like the biggest betrayal, that no friendship could survive.

I trudged in silence behind Tom as he seemed to know where the hell we were going. If it was up to me, we would have been lost a while ago. I was no girl guide. The only thing that gave me hope that we were going in the right direction was the change in the air. A saltiness that could only be associated with the ocean.

Up ahead I could see where the edge of the forest stopped and opened up onto a flat grassed area, leading right to the edge of the cliffs. I smiled and ran ahead, ignoring Tom's calls for me to stop. I couldn't help it, I needed to get out of the forest and feel like we are making progress. It was at least 200 metres I thought to the edge as I sprinted as fast I could in this dress. My beaded bag, thumping at my side rather roughly to the rhythm of my feet pounding the earth. I stopped to a slow walk as the edge of the cliff was approaching, the last thing I needed in my excitement was to slip over the edge and fall to my death. Tom would not be able to save me then. The wind was whipping about, my hair kept blowing in my face but I didn't care, the smell of the fresh briny air was….it smelled like freedom. I could see off in the distance the enormous sail ships both coming and going, to and from France and elsewhere. It was an amazing sight.

"Hermione", Tom was a little breathless after having to run after me. I know I was a slight magnet for trouble after all.

"Tom, just look", I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and roughly turned him so he could look. I pointed out at all the sailboats, their large sails billowing in the ocean breezy, while dipping and cresting on the rough channel swell. It was a sight to see. Looking at this image in textbooks was one thing but viewing in person was another.

"It's amazing isn't it?", I wonder what he thought of my childish reverence. I couldn't help the small squeal of excitement that escaped me.

"It is a rather enchanting sight", he replied but he wasn't looking at the boats. I didn't think too much on it, I was too caught up in the thrill of the moment.

A few hours later, I was hot and sweaty from the walk and descent down to the Dover port. What I wouldn't give for another dip in the tub like I had two days ago. I'll be eternally grateful to Tom for filling the bathtub for me.

What struck me first about the port was the outrageous smell of urine and fish. It kind of dampened the backdrop of the brilliant gleaming limestone chalk white cliffs. There were people everywhere. I was astounded by the sheer number of people at the port. They were all bustling about, moving crates of food stuffs, bottles clinking, large trolleys with the Royal Mail logo stamped on the side rolling by and men shouting. I stepped closer to Tom so I wouldn't get bumped and lost in the crowd of people. They just kept walking not caring if they ran into you or not. Towards the furthest end of the docks, there were stalls set up for people to buy tickets on to some of the ships for transport across the Strait, some where you could buy small servings of some type of food (I assumed this was for the dockworkers and for the crew of the boats) and I noticed even discreetly there were sex workers lingering in the back. Really, they were everywhere! I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking because I was lost in this particular train of thought, that I had bumped into a man who smelled like salt and bad body odour. He had a few sores on his face that immediately repulsed me. I tried not to show it because that would be rude, if he had a genuine medical condition. They looked similar to the ones on the lady's face from the brothel who was fellating the gentleman in the hallway. His pants had seen better days and his shirt was stained various shades of yellow from sweat. His hair was long and shaggy, haphazardly tied at the back with a black ribbon fraying at the ends and he had rough looking facial hair that was well on its way to being a beard.

"Aye lassie watch where ya' goin'", I leaned back as he leaned in the smell my hair and noting the Scottish lilt in his speech.

"Ah sir can you please let me go now? I need to find my husband", he chortled at the thought that I would be married, but ultimately ignored my polite protest.

"What's a sweet girlie like you doin' down 'ere at the docks?", I tried to step back so I could look around, wanting to get Tom in my field of vision.

"I told you I am looking for my husband, we are going to France. Now get your filthy hand off me" annoyance at his persistent intent to ignore anything I said was grating on me. I swatted his hand away to stop him from touching me, my revulsion now present and accounted for.

"Ya need to learn ya place young lass and I dannae see your husband anywhere. Why don't you come with me an' we can find him for ye?", I didn't want to go anywhere with him because I knew that it was a trap for silly naïve young girls who he thought I fitted into that category.

"I don't think so but thank you for offering. I'll just wait here for him so he can see me", I nodded trying to remain polite for the audience we were gathering. Just as he went to grab my upper arm another arm snaked around my waist and pulled me too him, so I was out of reach of the Scotsman. I stilled not knowing who it was immediately but relaxed at the man's voice.

"The only thing she will get going with you is Syphilis", I shuddered, so that was what the sores were about on his face. A sexually transmitted disease and no treatment in this time.

"How dare ye?", either the man was angry that his disease was now known to everyone or he didn't know he had it.

"How dare I? You were the one trying and failing at seducing my wife, ignoring her protestations at saying 'no'. When a lady says no, she means no, it's called respect, if you need a reminder of what that word means I suggest getting a dictionary", the assertive tone coated in arrogance seemed to make the man back down. He lifted his hands in a placating manner and stepping back in defeat, "No hard feelings there sir, ye got ya self a nice wee lass there to warm ya bed, be a shame if something were to happen to ya", Tom seemed unfazed by the threat, almost bored, like this was the most uninventive threat he had ever heard. Although, it probably was since he would have come up with more violently fantastical ones in his blood thirsty reign as the Dark Lord himself. Tom Riddle was just as crafty as a 'regular' man as he was a powerful wizard in his prime.

"Let's go sweetheart, we have places to be, no need to lower ourselves to likes of illiterate diseased fishermen", Tom was careful not to say my name, pushing me along behind him not wanting to turn his back on the disgruntled Scotsman. After a minute the man decided this wasn't worth the effort and retreated. Tom slipped his fingers around my wrist and pulled me along, we approached a large rowing boat that was waving a Belgian flag. I was confused I thought we were going to France, not Belgium and in a much larger ship.

I turned to Tom to say something, but he already placed a finger over my lips, "Just wait here".

I watched as Tom approached a man and began talking to him, then gesturing over to me. He stepped closer to the man in a threatening manner, which made the man step back with a look on his face that said he really didn't want to deal with this but caved to Tom's demand. Tom patted him on the shoulder in a patronizing way, then proffered one of our galleon's. I lamented the loss of another one of our coins, but in the grand scheme of things it really didn't matter.

Tom returned to my side and we found somewhere to sit and wait.

"They won't be able to leave until the next high tide. The port is too shallow for the larger packet ships. The rowing boat is taking supplies out while they wait", and he pointed to a large packet ship out in the distance. It had three masts and well that's about the extent of my ship knowledge. I was a little apprehensive of this trip, I was worried about seasickness and my fear of drowning. I wasn't a fan of the ocean, to be honest it scared me a little.

"Why are we going on a Belgian ship?"

"Hermione tsk tsk not remembering our history lessons, are you? The Napoleonic wars are going on right now. Being on a Belgian ship greatly reduces the chances of French privateers plundering the boat. I don't fancy being on a ship that gets attacked by pirates". I had completely forgotten about Napoleon and the French Revolution.

"Great…just great"

"I bribed the man to give us a cabin. I didn't want to be lumped in with the unwashed masses in the steerage. It offers us a bit of privacy and safety for you"

"Thanks", from reading some history books and historical novels I do know of some of the things that go on, more so on long voyages than a short trip across the channel. I'd rather not be robbed in my sleep, the fear of my bag falling into the wrong hands causes me to clutch it tighter.

It was at least another hour of waiting before the tide was high enough for the packet boat to make its way into the dock. I felt like I had a whole swarm of butterflies flying furiously in my stomach. My palms were getting damp and my throat tightening.

I tried to keep my breathing even, so I didn't start to hyperventilate, this situation was stressing me out.

"Hermione are you alright?", I tried smiling to let him think that I was ok, everything was just fine. "Hermione".

"I'm just getting nervous, ok? This makes me uneasy"

"You don't like sailing? Do you get seasick?"

"It's not the boat, it's the ocean I don't like. It... the uncontrollable and unpredictable nature of it scares me", I wasn't embarrassed by my phobia, but admitting a weakness to Tom was also unsettling.

He just looked at me assessing but didn't say anything else. We watched the crew drag and drop the wooden ramp off the side of the boat and it clanked loudly against the sea weathered dock; the weight of it caused vibrations to ripple up your legs.

"Alright, men up this side to tha left and women to tha right", my eyes widened when I realised that we were going to be separated for most of the trip. I laced my fingers through his and squeezed, making him aware of the extent of my anxiety. He looked down at our intertwined fingers quizzically, and I briefly thought that he had not held hands with anyone before? But I was abruptly cut off from that line of thought when I was called out to "get moving mam'". One last look at Tom and I disentangled myself from him and followed behind the rest of the women.

We were shown to our quarters, they were small rooms with no doors, just a curtain that slide across the front giving some privacy. The room had a bunk bed, a pail of water, a small basin and some hand towels. The bunks where padded with straw mattresses, a pillow and simple cotton blanket. The woman I was sharing with must not have spoken English as she just looked at me and climbed up on the top bunk without saying a word. Perhaps she was used to travelling like this, but I certainly wasn't.

Hours later I was a mess, I had already succumbed to the seasickness. It was impossible not to unless you had an iron stomach. Like the woman on the top bunk had, as the boat dipped, rolled and crested the waves with increasing ferocity she remained heavily snoring. In between my heaving, I could hear the rain pelting the upper deck. This trip has taken longer than I had anticipated and the storm now thrashing the boat around I can't imagine it is helping us make much progress. There is a symphony of moans I can hear out beyond the curtain, clearly, I am not the only one suffering in silence as my stomach cramps with a fresh wave of bile filling my mouth. I am hugging another pail which rolled out from underneath my lower bunk once we left the harbour and encountered a rougher swell. Sweat is beading my brow, my hair a tangled mess as I try to keep it out of range of my mouth and bucket and all I can smell, and taste is vomit. I want to move I really do but my legs and arms just don't want too.

I am lulled a little by the rocking of the ship, the nausea is overpowering, keeping me firmly awake. I don't know what the passage of time is like as this feels somewhat never ending. I never want to get on a boat again. At some point the curtain is abruptly flung back and I think if it is a man come to molest me, well he will have to do it covered in my stomach contents.

I feel the person sit beside me on the floor and reach for my chin twisting my head to the side and I grimace. It makes my stomach turn. Tom looks concerned at my appearance. He pats one of the towels against my face, wiping up all the sweat. He then searches through my bag for something and shifts me, so I am in front of him and he braids my hair to keep it out of my face. I don't register much of it but the feel of his fingers against my scalp is soothing. My nerves are so fried that even my hair seems to ache.

As a fresh batch of dry retching overcomes me and I claw at the bucket as my stomach tries desperately to expel the contents that are non-existent. Tom holds me around the stomach and runs a hand up and down my back, massaging and kneading the muscles gently trying to offer me some relief. I will be sore tomorrow. I start to cry, my hot tears spilling over and burning my sensitive cheeks. I feel utterly miserable. I don't remember much after that, other than him mumbling something about sleep into my ear.


Two Days Later….

I roll over and snuggle down into the pillow. I try to blink and struggle to open my eyes, the pull of unconsciousness is tugging at the edges but semi realise that I am not on the ship anymore. The sheets smell oddly familiar, at that alone is enough to keep me determined to stay awake.

I manage the pry my eyes open and look around. I'm in the tent? I blink furiously and shake my head, needing the shackles of sleep clamped around my brain to drop off so I can think. Another minute and I sit up rubbing at my eyes. The stove is on and crackling away, that familiar sound is comforting. Tom is nowhere to be seen. I look down at my clothes, my cover dress and petticoat are gone, and I am just in my muslin shift dress. Tom must have removed the outer layers; I think I vaguely remember throwing up on myself as I tried to catch the rolling bucket. My tongue feels heavy and like sandpaper, my throat is burned from the stomach acid. I smell horrid and my skin is sticky from the layers of dried sweat.

I hold on to the edge of the bed frame to hoist myself up on shaky legs. I slowly edge my way over the bathroom area and notice the tub is filled with water and it is still somewhat warm. I don't care I just want to be clean and brush my teeth. Pulling out all my toiletries I set to work at scrubbing every inch of my body, washing my hair twice and then brushing my teeth. Upon feeling like a member of the human race again, I dressed in modern clothing, sweatpants, a jumper and Ugg boots. I needed a slice of normal. I brushed my wet hair and pulled a maroon coloured beanie over my head. Grabbing another blanket out one that didn't smell as much I placed it around my shoulders and decided to peek outside for Tom. He had dragged a bench seat out and was staring up at the sky.

I sat down on the edge of the bench seat, unsure if I was welcome to intrude on his personal time.

"Welcome back to the land of the living", he didn't turn to look at me, he remained looking up.

"What happened?", I slid a little closer, sensing it was ok to as he seemed to be in a good mood.

"You were exhausted and a little dehydrated, so I in a way knocked you out"

"Knocked me out?", I wasn't sure exactly what he meant.

"You were quite seasick, but the nausea was keeping you awake, so I…sort of stupefied you, just enough to render you unconscious, without your body going stiff as a board"

"Oh, ok well thank you", I tucked some of my hair behind my ear and chewed a little on my bottom lip. It was sort of sweet in a way knocking me unconscious. I don't know how much he actually cared for my health and well being, but before I could think too much about it, I planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.

I played with the sleeves of my jumper not wanting to look at him, it didn't mean anything just a kiss on the cheek to say thank you. Because really, he could have easily just left me there, it wasn't his responsibility to look after me. Oh, hell I was nervous now and I just made everything awkward.

"It's fine Hermione"

"What are you doing out here?", it was quite cool out of the tent, winter was fast approaching. Definitely later in the year than when we got sucked in.

"Just looking…thinking", a generic non-answer. I sighed and looked up as well. Despite the crispness, the night was clear. You had a perfect sky to look at if only we had a telescope. No clouds and certainly a lot less light pollution than in our time. Looking up at the night sky never ceases to amaze me.

"I kind of like the idea that when we die, our bodies will disintegrate, and all the atoms of our ashes will eventually return - out there. To the wonderful and mysterious Universe, for we are nothing but stardust. It's beautiful really, don't you think?", I couldn't stop the small smile on my lips as I thought of that, the universe is so much vaster and more beautiful than what most people give it credit for.

"That's a remarkable way of thinking about it, poetic. Stardust, I like it", he shifted on the bench and I felt his arm lean against mine. I relaxed; we were going to be ok. Murderous impulses aside. Maybe I could one day call him a friend.