Bad Romance
Author's Note: The censored portion of this chapter can be found, as always, on my livejournal. Link is on my profile. And remember—no ickle firsties allowed!
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Disclaimer: The HP universe does not belong to me; I am just borrowing.
Chapter Fifty-Three: Dear Enemy
When Hermione reentered the party, more and more people were congratulating her. It seemed that it took more than a few glasses of wine before Purebloods let loose. What had begun as a stiff and uncomfortable party was now a raucous affair, and it took Hermione a full fifteen minutes just to cross the room and make it to her future husband. Alphard was the center of attention; people she recognized from Hogwarts were surrounding him as he waved his wand, charming a candelabra to walk across the mantle.
Hermione watched him for a moment as pure understanding of Alphard dawned on her. With his cheeks flushed, his eyes twinkling mischievously, girls clamoring for his attention and boys gazing upon him with admiration, he was in his element. He had been born to be the center of attention.
She pasted on a cheery expression and clapped along with everyone else when he charmed the candlesticks to flip and land neatly back in their holders. Alphard turned to her, grinning broadly, and grasped her hand, his fingers brushing against Tom's gift. Without warning Hermione was drawn in for a passionate kiss as the people around them cheered and wolf-whistled.
When he drew back slightly, their noses still brushing, she realized he had been at least partially acting; his eyes were sharp and clear. He was not as drunk as he made it seem.
"What happened?" he murmured against her lips. To the rest of the world, it looked like he was simply flirting with his fiancee. Hermione was impressed by his acting abilities.
"I'll tell you later," she replied, and to keep up appearances, kissed Alphard back playfully.
When she turned away, Tom was standing there, looking amused, surrounded by his cronies. Alphard seemed hardly surprised.
"Time to chat," Lestrange said with a leer.
"In the parlor, then. Be right back, love," he said, making a show of brushing his hand against the small of her back and pecking her on the cheek before leading the other boys to an elegant door in the corner of the room. No one seemed to notice their absence. Hermione grinned—they had been prepared for this, of course.
She slipped out, excusing herself and muttering something about finding the loo, before she crept out of the kitchen door; it was the very same one that Tom had led her through moments ago.
It was a bit difficult to jump the high vine-covered stone wall in her constricting robes, but eventually Hermione tumbled over the wall, landing in a clumsy heap on the other side. She recovered quickly, ignoring a throbbing in her ankle as she sprinted round the perimeter of the house. It was dark now, but she still drew the Invisibility Cloak from its hiding spot in a topiary tree just in case. She did not want to risk being seen.
Dim light glowed from the windows of the parlor. Holding her breath, Hermione moved like a breeze through the grass in the night to her station beneath one of the low windows. She and Alphard had set up one of her remaining Extendable Ears along the pane of this window, and crouching just beneath the sill, she pressed the Extendable Ear to her own ear.
"...We can overlook the fact that your little wifey is a Mudblood," Avery was sneering. Hermione blanched—had Tom told them of her bloodstatus, or had they found out another way? Perspiration was beginning to slide down her neck and temples.
"Now, Avery...that is only if we are to believe Cygnus' word," said Malfoy. It was surprising to hear him talk, until Hermione recalled that Alphard had observed that ever since Malfoy had received his inheritance, he had been a much more confident man. He was resembling the two Malfoy men that she had known much more now.
"It wouldn't be the first time he was a little lying cheat," Alphard replied with a callous laugh. The contrast between this facet of Alphard and the facet that had been exposed in the living room was startling. Even though she knew that in both instances, he had been pretending, it still chilled her slightly. "Accuse me of marrying a Mudblood again and I'll Hex you so bad you'll be wishing for the Cruciatus curse, Avery," he added nastily.
There were the sounds of scuffling; apparently Avery was shuffling backwards.
"Boys, boys. No need to get riled up over a little boy's silly lies," Tom said silkily. Everyone stopped moving. "We need to begin our work."
Hermione heard the clicking of shoes against the polished hardwood floor; by the languorous steps, it was probably Tom. She could picture him pacing about the room, his followers standing stock-still in fear like stupid cattle.
"Have you secured the position at Hogwarts?" Alphard spoke up.
"No. Dippet's retiring, and that crackpot Dumbledore is taking over the position. And you all know how great Dumbledore's dislike for me is." Tom's voice was flat and cold. "I've applied, of course, but Dippet said he thought I was too young and that it was Dumbledore's choice, at any rate."
"No matter. He won't be able to turn you away for too long—the old fool has no grounds on which to reject you," Alphard reasoned darkly, earning approval from Tom.
For a long time, the meeting continued. It was a basic strategy meeting: for now, Voldemort's followers were instructed to go about setting up their positions in society. Alphard was told to build up his reputation at the Ministry for future infiltration, and the others were given similar objectives.
Finally, it seemed that they were finished. Hermione waited, wishing they would hurry up—her legs were beginning to cramp up from crouching in the same position for so long. She didn't want to risk getting grass or mud stains on her robes. With cloth as fine as this, simple Cleansing charms didn't always do the trick.
The footsteps cleared away and the parlor fell silent. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione stuffed the Extendable Ear back against the windowpane and stashed the Cloak behind another topiary bush. She was rising to run back to the kitchen garden when the window opened, clocking her in the head. Hermione let out a cry of pain, stars winking before her eyes as she clutched her head.
Tom had opened the window and was looking at her with significant amusement.
"Enjoyed the show, did you?" he greeted. Hermione flushed. How the hell did he know?
"Not really. It was a bit boring, really," she snapped, massaging what would definitely be a bruise later.
"You ought to come inside. The party will be missing their guest of honor," he coaxed, reaching out and grasping her hand.
And then suddenly it clicked: how he had known where she was.
Bloody hell. Maybe if I hadn't been so busy being such a prat about him I would've put it together. Hermione decided against giving away that she had realized how he had discovered her presence and simply regarded Tom with an innocent expression.
"You're right. I ought to go around though; it will be odd if I come in through the parlor," she said, turning to go. She was surprised when Tom followed her outside.
"You're losing your touch, darling," he said in a low hiss behind her, shutting the window again after they were both standing in the grass outside. "I would have thought you might have figured it out much sooner than that."
"Silly me for thinking it was a genuine gift," she said snidely, turning around to face him again. In his dark suit, the moonlight highlighting his features, his appearance dazed her. Anger welled up within her. She had been such a fool, really. "Here I was, thinking you were simply upset to see me get swept away by another man...and one of your best friends, no less."
Tom's lips twitched.
"Perhaps you were simply hoping I was upset," he countered, arching his brows at her. Hermione scoffed.
"Yes, perhaps I was," she agreed. "But then that would imply you have the normal capacity to love and show emotion, and really, assuming that was just stupid of me."
She could see she was beginning to annoy him, and his anger was gratifying. It meant she affected him, and while it was perverse, she desperately wanted to know that he was not invincible, that he could be harmed with her acid words. She wanted to sting, to cut, to lacerate. He's just letting me go. It was so foolish to be thinking a thing like that, and yet, wasn't it the very thing that had been on her mind since their engagement had been announced?
"What will happen to your childish plan when everyone finds out you're just a pathetic little Mudblood?" Tom hissed, his lips curling in a sneer. Panic shot through her. He knows the truth about the marriage. Of course he knew. How could he possibly not know of the plan? She had to act, and she had to do it quickly. Her next move was a move worthy of Harry himself, because it was purely nerve and had nothing to do with her usual careful, calculated logic and planning.
"What will happen when you find out that Alphard's been having me for months and all I can think is how much better he is than you? Maybe there isn't a plan, Tom. Maybe Alphard and I are in love."
It happened in a flash: her back was against the stone wall. She could hear the fabric tearing against the rough stone. Tom's grip on her arms was bruising but she did not dare cry out.
"Don't be so obtuse, Hermione. You and I both know that you can never hide a thing from me. You feel nothing for Black and everything for me," he hissed furiously. Their noses were nearly touching; the wall was digging into her skin painfully. His scent was one she had been dreaming of for months and she could not resist inhaling deeply.
"Au contraire. I feel everything for Alphard. And you're right—Slytherins are better in bed after all." It was a bald lie and she could only pray that Tom would buy it. To her shock, he began to laugh a high, cold laugh.
"You never forget your first, however. Do you compare us every time he fucks you?" his voice was low, frantic, triumphant, his dark eyes flashing with what he thought was a victory.
"Yes and you don't hold up well, I must say," Hermione shot back before crying out as his fingers dug painfully into her arm. Without warning, he turned her roughly, her cheek and shoulder scraping painfully against the stone as she was forced to face it.
"Don't lie, silly little girl," he growled against her neck. Despite her pain, she was filled with the exhilaration of knowing she had gotten to him and the burning heat of her desire for him. She merely smirked, tilting her head so her cheek was pressed against the cold stone and she could look back into his furious dark eyes. Adrenaline was thrumming in her veins.
"Don't tell me you truly believe I was pining after you this whole time," she said viciously. She was beginning to understand how Harry had found the nerve to taunt Voldemort all of those times. She felt like a live wire, energy coiling within her. Tom's magic was heavy in the air; she should have been afraid but she was only euphoric. It was potently addicting to taunt the young Dark Lord.
"How many times must I tell you," he whispered in a dangerously silky, sibilant tone, "who you really belong to?"
His lips captured hers in a searing kiss, and all false pretenses fell away at that moment. Neither could hold up their front any longer, and Hermione surrendered to the kiss, his fingers scorching her skin as his tongue moved against hers. It was as though he had been starving for her, and she for him.
Her defenses melted before her eyes as Tom possessed her for what she swore would be the last time.
