A/N: Suuuurpriiiiiiise! Yes, it's me. This is an update. I know, weird, huh? I totally lost my mojo with this, no doubt I'll lose it again once I've posted this chapter, but hey, at least this is something. I hope you guys like it, it's certainly been a long time coming. I'm finished for the summer now so writing no longer feels like a job, and hopefully I'll get this all wrapped up before I head back in September. Enjoy. =]

Tempora Abducto.

by Flaignhan.

Christmas Day was a lonely one.

Hermione awoke to an empty dormitory, with a rather weak ray of sunlight doing its best to brighten up the room, and failing miserably. The small pile of presents at the end of her bed surprised her, and it wasn't until she saw the tags on them that she realised that they had been intended for her. She hadn't expected anything, what with there being no family, no Harry and Ron, no Mrs Weasley, but Lucy, Joanne and Ava had seen to it that she didn't start the day empty handed.

She opened the box of Honeydukes chocolate (from Ava) and helped herself to a rather large chunk, ignoring the voice in her head (that sounded suspiciously like her mother) which told her that chocolate for breakfast was a one way ticket to Denture Town.

After padding about the deserted common room for a while in her dressing gown and slippers, she decided to get showered and dressed then head down for breakfast.

It took a while for her to get out of the portrait hole – excuses such as 'you're not really that hungry, and you'll be having a huge dinner later' and 'you can always pop down to the kitchens and get a slice of toast' kept cropping up in her mind. Eventually, however, she managed to force herself to leave the comfort and safety of the common room and ventured down to the Great Hall for a quiet breakfast.

"Morning," he said, from behind a battered copy of Advanced Potion Making.

"Morning," Hermione replied stiffly, pouring a glass of orange juice and trying very hard not to send it sloshing all over the table. She succeeded, and after a short while, Tom placed his book carefully on the table.

"Merry Christmas."

"And to you," Hermione kept her gaze on the slice of toast that she was spreading raspberry jam onto, watching as her knife caught the reflection of the grey and cloudless sky above them.

"How does it feel?"

"How does what feel?" she frowned, and set her knife down on her plate.

"Having a family to go home to at Christmas and then not having them? How does it feel to spend Christmas here?"

"It's not the first time I've spent Christmas in this castle."

"You're avoiding the question."

"Why are you so interested?"

"I don't understand the hoo-ha about families. They just seem to be an inconvenience."

"I don't expect you'll ever understand the hoo-ha about families. You're not exactly the caring type, are you?"

"My mother didn't even bother to keep herself alive for me."

"I know."

Tom's eyes flashed, suddenly darker, almost black. "If she didn't give a damn about me, why should I give a damn about her?"

"Think of the position she was in," Hermione said softly, glancing over to the teachers' table, where Dumbledore was (thankfully) watching them curiously. She didn't feel altogether comfortable, talking to Tom about his mother, not when he had that look in his eyes.

"Her own fault."

"It was not. She was raised as a slave, practically. Do you have any idea how badly your grandfather treated her? Do you?"

"How would you know how my grandfather treated her?"

"You can't possibly expect me to tell you."

He straightened his back, waiting for her to continue.

"There was no money, she'd had little education, and she was in love."

He looked disgusted at the last word, but Hermione ploughed on regardless.

"When your father left her, it completely broke her. She had nowhere to live, no one to love her, and no money to be able to give you any decent sort of life. Admittedly, she wasn't the strongest person in the world, and many people would have changed that around, but she had a horrible life, I think she was rather glad it was finishing. I don't imagine she saw the point in living, if she didn't have your father."

"And I wasn't worth living for?"

"She knew she wouldn't be able to provide a decent upbringing for you. As terrible as the orphanage is, you have a roof over your head, food on your plate, and people to take care of you if you get ill or hurt yourself. She would never have been able to guarantee that, and you know it. Look at you, you've got a promising life ahead of you. You're well educated, you're healthy, and even though the orphanage doesn't feel like home, you have a home here. She gave you that."

"I have a promising life ahead of me?" Tom seemed to have casually ignored all the in depth knowledge that Hermione had gained about his past through Harry's trips into Dumbledore's pensieve, concentrating solely on her knowledge of his future.

"You do. But you're going to waste it." She picked up her toast and took a bite, attempting to appear nonchalant. She avoided his eye – if he saw her checking for a reaction, he'd see right through her act. He'd probably seen through it already.

"Waste it how?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out."

He narrowed his eyes.

"You didn't honestly expect me to answer that, did you?" Hermione asked incredulously. "How idiotic are you? How idiotic do you think I am?"

Tom opened his mouth to answer, lips curved into a smirk.

"Don't even bother, I'm not in the mood."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"About how it feels, to not have your family anymore."

"I still have them, they're just not here."

"Yes but you're not going to see them again."

Hermione's stomach began to twist itself into knots. She had tried to steer clear of thinking so pessimistically. She had tried to make do with the life she had here and ignore the constant ache of everyone she cared about being so far out of reach. Her parents still had the memory charm on them, they weren't even aware they had a daughter, let alone a daughter that was trapped fifty years in the past with no way out.

She pressed her lips together, her eyes starting to itch as unwanted tears began to form. She sniffed, widening her eyes in an attempt to drain the tears away without him seeing. She couldn't let him know how much she was hurting. He'd find it hilarious.

"That's how it feels?" he asked softly

She looked up, eyes red, and nodded.

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head, lips curved into a wry smile. "You're really not."

She got up and left.

As was routine for her when faced with uncomfortable situations, Hermione headed to the library to bury herself in books. The one time she had locked herself in the toilets to have a good cry had been rather eventful for all the wrong reasons, and she had quickly learned her lesson after that – when in doubt/distress/waking hours – head to the library.

Her holiday homework was already completed (foolish, she should have spread it out more evenly to keep herself occupied, but of course she hadn't thought of that at the start of the holidays) and so she grabbed a book at random from the shelves, hoping it was one she hadn't already read, she disappeared to the far corner, transfiguring a hard wooden chair into a comfortable squashy arm chair and settling into it, knees tucked up to her chest, book resting against her thighs.

After reading the same paragraph seven times without taking in any information, Hermione realised that reading was definitely not going to be a sufficient distraction today. What she needed was good company. What she needed was Harry and Ron, avidly discussing quidditch, or Ginny ranting about how Michael kept grabbing his girlfriend and snogging her every time she walked past as though he was trying to prove something. Even Neville, awkwardly asking for help with his Charms homework would have been welcome, in fact, even Malfoy would have been better than sitting alone in the library on Christmas day, tears clouding her vision as she wished and wished to be home.

She couldn't do anything by wishing. She couldn't do anything about her situation whatsoever, and wishing was only torturing her, offering up possibilities that were impossibilities, yet she continued to wish away, closing her eyes, arms hugging her knees against her body, dreaming of what she'd be doing on Christmas with Harry and Ron. What she'd be doing if she were spending the day with her parents. She even dreamed about spending the day at her least favourite aunt's house, with her superficial cousins who were usually so dreadful to spend more than five seconds with.

She missed them.

She wondered if they missed her.

She wondered if they even knew. Probably not, it wouldn't happen for another fifty-odd years.

She wondered if Tom had managed to kill Voldemort, or whether Voldemort had turned his wand on him, after he'd seen to her.

She wondered if she was better off here.

The cracker emitted a bang that would have usually made her jump out of her skin, despite the fact that she already expected it. Today, however, she was desensitised to everything that was going on around her. Dippet's mini speech to kick off the Christmas feast had gone unheeded, Tom's forced chatter floated in one ear and out the other, and Slughorn's bellowing laugh didn't even cause her to bat an eyelid.

"You won."

She looked down at the larger portion of the cracker that was in her hand and shrugged, setting it down on the table.

"What's wrong with you? You're not still moping about over your family, are you?"

Hermione ignored him and pushed a roast potato around her plate with her fork, before dropping her cutlery with a clatter and resting her head on the palm of her hand, sighing heavily.

"Why did the Grindylow blush?"

She didn't hear him, and he frowned at the small piece of paper in his hand, and then at her.

"Hermione. Why did the Grindylow blush?"

"What?" Hermione looked up, and gave him a small portion of her attention.

"Because the sea weed."

"What are you talking about?"

"Because the sea...weed. It's pathetic, I realise," he crumpled the parchment with one hand and threw it down the table, where it skittered along the surface, like a stone skimming a lake.

"What are you blabbering about sea weed for?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion and impatience.

"Never mind," Tom replied with a roll of his eyes.

Hermione shook her head and picked up her fork, taking a small bite of turkey before giving up again, fork landing loudly on her plate.

"Is it really that bad?"

She looked up at him, and his grey eyes weren't just curious now. Hermione would later swear she had been seeing things, after all she was preoccupied, and wasn't thinking straight, but right now, she could clearly see concern staring back at her, brow slightly creased with what she interpreted as mild worry.

"Yes."

"There's only two of us, there's really no need to – "

"Miss, you is looking like you is needing a good feed, so don't mind if we gives you plenty."

Hermione looked down at her skinny wrists and pursed her lips. Considering the amount of chocolate she had gotten through in the past week, it was fairly unreasonable for the house elves to suggest that she was underweight, yet knowing any protests were futile, she fell quiet, and let them finish packing the basket.

It took her ages to find him, and the last place she expected him to be was at the top of the astronomy tower, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, head resting against the cold stone wall behind him.

He looked up when she appeared through the archway that led to the staircase, scowling as she interrupted his alone time.

"Come to watch the fireworks?" he asked, getting up and pulling his gloves on. "Don't worry, I'll go."

"No, I came to see you, actually."

He froze momentarily, then slowly began to pick the small balls of fluff that littered the surface of his gloves. "That's not like you."

"I know."

He let out a short breath of laughter, one side of his mouth pulled into an exasperated half-smirk. "Why the change of heart?"

"It's your birthday."

His hands dropped to his sides and he whipped his head up to look at her. "How would you know that?"

"So you accept that I know about your childhood and your parents and just how you came to be the way you are, but you can't accept that I know which day you were born on? You amaze me."

"I amaze everyone," he wasn't smiling as he said this, and Hermione looked down at the basket on her arm.

"I don't suppose you've ever had a decent birthday before," she said awkwardly, "I just thought that you might like to see what it's like."

"Why?"

"Because families and friends are the ones that make birthdays decent, so maybe you might understand a little more if you find out what it feels like when somebody does something nice for you." She was still looking down at the basket, waiting for him to burst out laughing.

He didn't.

"What's in the basket?"

"Food. I didn't see you at dinner, so I thought I might skip as well and we could eat late, talk, you know, just pass the time. So you're not on your own."

"I am capable of existing without other people around me."

"I know, but sometimes it's nice to have company."

"I'm yet to experience such a feeling, but fine, let's eat."

Finally Hermione looked up at him and they sat down on the floor together, basket between them. He took his gloves off once more and set them down before rummaging through the basket to inspect its contents.

"Merlin, how hungry d'you think I am? You could feed a small army with this." He pulled a large ham out with a puzzled expression on his face and continued emptying the basket.

"House elves," Hermione explained with a shrug.

He rolled his eyes knowingly, and uncorked two bottles of Butterbeer.

"Why fireworks?" Tom asked, as explosions of colour scattered across the night sky with high pitched whistles and deafening bangs. He dug his spoon into his slice of cake as he leaned forward against the wall, looking out over the grounds, little dotted lights of muggle towns just visible in the distance.

"Why not?" Hermione asked.

"Yes but why not run naked around the lake three times?"

"Because it's cold," Hermione said, matter-of-factly, breaking off a piece of her own cake with her spoon and popping it into her mouth.

"So you'd do it if it was summer?" his attention had left the fireworks and was now on her.

"No, I'd just come up with a different reason – there are plenty."

Tom smirked and turned back to face the grounds once more. "They're just noisy. What's so good about colour and noise?"

"I don't know. But you get some that are really pretty. I suppose they're just nice to look at. It's a way of showing that you're celebrating, that things are good, you know?"

Tom shrugged. "Who said New Year's Eve was something to celebrate in the first place?"

"Maybe they're all celebrating your birthday," Hermione said, her mouth curved into an amused smile.

"It wouldn't surprise me."

She laughed softly, and finished off the last of her cake before taking both of their empty bowls and placing them on top of the basket.

"Has it been nice?" she asked after a little while, curious as to what he'd made of the evening.

"It's been different."

"Good different or bad different?"

"Okay different."

"That means good then," Hermione said confidently, arms resting on top of the wall, an almost smug smile on her face.

"So this is how amazing it is to have friends and family? Because frankly while it wasn't unpleasant, I wouldn't be devastated if it didn't happen again."

"No, it's not like it at all. We barely know each other and you have the emotional capacity of a salamander. A dead salamander. But if you times how nice this was by a billion, you've got what it's like."

Tom raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "So what's it like to go without?"

"Turn it in on itself, as good as it feels, that's how bad it feels. And then times that by a billion. You're almost there then. And then times that by how many people you're without, so in my case, fifty, sixty?"

"You love sixty people?"

"I care about sixty people. Some of them I love, some of them I'm incredibly fond of, some of them I can't stand but still miss them terribly. It's ridiculous."

"It sounds it," he agreed. "I'm glad I've always been without. It just sounds like hassle, losing people."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"I've never really cared about what happens to anybody."

"I know."

"But I think I care about what happens to you."

Hermione turned her head to face him, but he wasn't even looking in her direction. "What did you just say?" she asked breathlessly, not daring to believe that those words had come out of his mouth in that order.

"I think if you died I would find it to be a shame," he said stiffly, still staring at the fireworks.

In spite of her general dislike of him, and her knowledge of what he was to become, she smiled, almost laughed, but stopped herself in time. Embarrassing him probably wasn't the best idea.

Finally, he looked at her. "You've completely given up on me, haven't you?"

She hadn't so much given up on him as never given him a chance in the first place. There was no way around it, and if they changed time it would without a doubt have disastrous consequences for all. She wasn't foolish enough to think that time would change, or he had the ability to change, so it was with pride and confidence that she turned to him and simply answered with a decisive "Yes."

"Don't," he said quietly.

He kissed her, and this time she didn't push him away.