Implied non-con in this chapter.

Chapter 17 – Hogwarts Great Hall – June 25th,1944

Hermione sat with her friends on the relegated seats for graduates, to her left was Géraldine, Dean, Seamus and Augustine, and to her right was Ron, Harry, Lavender, Parvati, Sophie, and Neville. The rest of the hall sat siblings and parents of the graduates, the eight horizontal tables had been replaced with individual seating, and they were all filled. Hermione was a bit sad her mother could not witness her graduation, as a non-magical person, she was not welcome in magical spaces.

She glanced to her left to see Géraldine gaze into the crowd sadly, Hermione squeezed her hand, even though she had Professor Bernard there to support her, nothing could replace loving parents, and Hermione felt shame that she'd had even felt sad about her mother's absence for a moment when her friend didn't even know if hers were alive. She thought to the war outside, her mother had written her that something big was happening in June, that if successful, would hopefully domino an end to the war, and Hermione truly hoped she was right. She hoped the war ended, that Géraldine's parents and older brother reunited with her safely, and she hoped the Nazis would get what was coming to them. The evil of this war had taken it's toll not only on Hermione, but on her mother as well, she knew it and she just wanted it to end.

Hermione thought of her own future, she hadn't been sure if she even wanted to stay in Britain, and she worried about what she would do if she didn't obtain an O on her Magical Law NEWT. Though they were all graduating, there was still about a month to wait until results came in, and in that month, Hermione would have to come up with a backup plan if her first plan fell through. She toyed with the idea of just continuing to self-study, at least until the wars were over, and then maybe go back to Martinique, or maybe go live anywhere else, with magic on her side, the opportunities to see the world were endless; but with the wars, how long would those self-studies last? It was all food for thought for her, that bore some consideration before she made any large decisions.

She vaguely registered that Headmaster Dippet had finished his speech, clearing the podium for Minerva to say a few words as Head Girl. Hermione dove into her thoughts once more, remembering that Minerva had accepted a position in the Ministry, which surprised everyone, they'd all thought she would attempt to acquire a mastery in Transfiguration, seeing that she was a prodigy in it.

She thought of all the directions her friends were going to; Harry and Ron were both joining The Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the Ministry. Harry was going towards the Auror office to begin it's four-year training course, the office itself specialized in the fieldwork of catching dark wizards, which suited him, as he was a quick and powerful duelist. While Ron was going towards the Investigations Department to begin a two-year internship, which specialized in tracking down dark wizards by analyzing their actions, which was perfect for him, as he was essentially a strategic mastermind. Both departments went hand in hand together and she agreed that it suited both boys.

Géraldine had also obtained a position in The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but her position was in the Improper Use of Magic office. When Hermione had asked why there, she explained that they were in charge of the trace on minors and that it was a start to try and find her siblings; Géraldine didn't want to believe that out of six children, she was the only one with magic, and Hermione agreed, though she, herself, was an only child.

She glanced towards Dean and Seamus, who apparently had every intention of getting married as soon as they were out of Hogwarts, both boys secured positions in The Department of Magical Sports and Games. Lavender and Parvati had decided to become business partners on top of girlfriends, and were opening a boutique in Diagon Alley that would showcase robes of different styles from around the world, they'd already gotten the permit for it, they just needed school to finish so that they could set it up.

She watched as Minerva left the podium and up walked Tom to give his speech as Head Boy. At that moment, Ron's leg brushed faintly against hers, and her mind reeled at the shock of what felt like electricity that ran through her. She forced herself to shove down her stubborn infatuation, which was ever-present, despite them breaking up, Hermione thought herself pathetic for not being able to rise above it yet. She and Ron remained friends, but there were times where she couldn't help but want to hold his hand, or run a hand through his hair, while he, hadn't glanced at her once.

She looked around and could see every face trained on Tom at the podium, and despite her awareness of Tom's less than stellar behaviour with her, she understood that he was unbelievably charismatic, especially when he had something to gain from it. Tom had gotten one of the two interview spots for The Department of Mysteries, which surprised her, as she'd already heard of his plans to run for the Slytherin seat, thanks to Harry. She assumed he would be incredibly busy, with a career as engrossing as an Unspeakable, to an incredibly busy caucus seat, it made her realize that she didn't really know much about him, aside what he's told her. She didn't know how many classes he took, only that they had shared two, and had never spoken to any of his friends, didn't even know if he'd ever had a girlfriend, it was all a bit inconsequential to her, considering they were in each other's personal sphere whether they liked it or not, by grace of having the same name, and living together.

When she asked him about his goals back during Easter break, he confessed that his original pipe dream had been to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor when Professor Merrythought retired. When she'd told him to his face that he was too mean to be an educator, he had laughed, showing his white teeth, and Hermione was ashamed to admit it had made her heart prattle in a way that she refused to give credence to.

Jaismine had informed her that she'd gotten the other interview spot for The Department of Mysteries, fascinated as she was with all things dark, and well, mysterious. The other girl had become a good friend of hers in the last two and half months, she found out that she had been in muggle studies solely because Professor Watson, who was muggleborn, always suggested good, creepy books to her.

Hermione didn't understand Jaismine's obsession for the occult, she was already a witch, there already existed weird fantastical things all around her, all the time. Then again, she supposed, as a nouveau-sang, all of this may seem out of the ordinary to her, but to Jaismine, who was a pureblood, everything Hermione felt that was bizarre, was just ordinary for her.

She realized in her musings that Tom had finished his speech and the choir was taking its place to sing the Hogwarts school song one more time for the graduates (Hermione really thought it was awful, but as a transfer, kept that opinion to herself), she flushed, realizing she hadn't heard a word he'd said.

The song ended and the guests were leaving, she turned to Ron and Harry and told them she'd be right back and went to go find Jaismine for a moment so that she could give her a mailing address before she forgot. Seeing the other girl, she headed her way but was stopped by a hand on her arm, she looked down at the hand and up to its owner, finding Tom turned away from her, giving the impression to anyone who looked at them that he wasn't actually attempting to converse with her.

"You weren't paying attention to any of the speeches," he spoke lowly, but Hermione was too annoyed to try speaking to him like this. Despite her rejection of answers earlier in the year, he hadn't changed in the slightest. If any of his friends were around, he pretended he didn't even know her, ignoring her existence unless he could write it off as scholarly cooperation, but when they were alone, he'd let his hand skim around her waist, or gently place his hand on her lower back, as if he were caressing something precious.

Hermione was sick of it, and she didn't want to admit that it hurt, she had told him once, and she stood by what she said. She was not inferior to him, and she refused to be treated like she was, so without answering him, she ripped his hand off her arm and continued to walk away, feeling his glare on the back of her neck.

"You okay?" it was Jaismine who asked, as Hermione stomped her way over to her, breathing heavily through her nose and expelling the air through her mouth to calm down, she answered.

"Yes, I'm okay, I came to give you this." she handed the folded paper, the other girl took it, opening it carefully. She smiled when she saw the address, and Hermione thought for a second that she had a really nice one, and that her lips looked soft, before stomping that train of thought into the ground as the other girl glanced back up at her.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to meet up at Diagon Alley in the next week?" she asked, folding the note and placing it into the sleeve of her robes.

"Sure! I have some books you may like to read anyway," Hermione replied, overjoyed at the idea of meeting up with a friend, or well, any excuse really to leave the manor and Tom.

"Oh? It's not something wholesome and frilly is it?" she joked, and Hermione rolled her eyes, the other girl teased her mercilessly over her apparent crush of Mr. Bingley in Pride & Prejudice, in protest of being forced to read it by Hermione.

"No, it's properly deranged enough for you, I made sure," Hermione retorted, and they continued to exchange banter before Harry, Ron and Géraldine joined them, as well as a few of Jaismine's friends, Su Li, and Padma Patil, who, incidentally, was Parvati's twin that Hermione had never actually spoken to before.

The whole group of them took their shindig outside, where Ginny and Luna eventually met up with them. It was sitting in the sun by The Great Lake, throwing snacks into the water for the giant squid, that Hermione realized that she would miss Hogwarts in a way that she had never missed Beauxbatons, where she had spent five and a half years of her schooling.

She chalked it up to the fact that she attended Beauxbatons in the middle of two wars, meaning there had been a lot of tension, and coupled with her earlier abrasive personality, it had just never become home in the way Hogwarts had in a short year, despite all the bad that had happened to her here. The sun blazed above them, Harry's head was in Ginny's lap as Ron lounged next to them. Géraldine and Luna had hiked their robes up so expose their calves and were sitting by the water with their legs in, everyone else was just conversing and enjoying their last afternoon on Hogwarts grounds, it made Hermione nostalgic for a feeling she couldn't put a name to but filled her with hope for a future of afternoons like this all the same.

Riddle Manor – July 8th, 1944

Hermione floo'd back to her mother's office, recounting her day and how she'd managed to set everything up. She hoped that back on graduation that she'd see Jaismine earlier, but they hadn't managed to schedule anything until today, the other girl being quite occupied with her interviews. She had spent the majority of the last two weeks at The Burrow, or Potter manor, truly just doing her level best to get out of the manor, where Tom seemed to know and be where she was all the time.

She had found out while visiting Fred and George's newly opened shop, Weasley Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley, late last week, that Angie, George's fiancée, had a salon almost next door to them, and remembering how much she'd wanted braids like the other woman, she'd made an appointment for today. She used it as an excuse to invite Jaismine out, and as it was a Saturday, she's been able to come.

Hermione met her early in the morning at the cafe across from Flourish & Blotts, and had given her the book she'd promised her, it had been a recommendation from her maman, The Picture of Dorian Gray by: Oscar Wilde. They had walked the alley after their tea, or coffee, in Hermione's case, stepping into the joke shop to say hello before heading to Angie's salon.

Hermione was constantly amazed how bright and alive Diagon Alley was, considering muggle London, from the last time she glimpsed it, was still recovering from bombings that happened in '41, then again, to the British magical world who disdained its non-magical population, it did seem pretty on-brand to ignore their suffering, regardless that their continued prosperity balanced on the grace that Grindelwald hadn't yet been able to, in almost twenty years of war, breach the UK. She read up as much as she could on the UK's stance on the magical war, surprised that they'd managed to create an impressive army head and trained by former Auror Theseus Scamander, the older brother of Newt, who had written Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them back in the 20s.

Once they'd entered the shop, Hermione had no longer needed to wonder how Angie did her braids, because the entire back of the salon was an incredibly detailed and large enclosure of silk moths. Upon asking the other woman if she was correct, Angie had confirmed that she used Ahisma silk, which was a non-violent method to the moths, and her own treatment to the cocoons until the silk began to take the appearance of hair; and that once she'd gotten the desired texture, that was when she dyed the sets either blonde, brown, or black.

Both Hermione and Jaismine had been fascinated with the whole process and eagerly sat down as Angie did a quick demonstration, and had then allowed them to gently pet one of the moths, that had come to land on her hand. Afterwards, Hermione gladly sat down as Angie conditioned, washed, then dried and straightened her hair before she meticulously started braiding. It took hours, Angie had separated the hair at her scalp into small squares, and carefully weaved bundles of silk hair in with Hermione's own, and they had taken many breaks, talking and joking about a variety of things. At some point, George showed up, bringing a late lunch/early dinner for them, until it was done, and she had braids that brushed her hips.

When Angie finished, Hermione was amazed, she never thought she'd ever see her hair this long, as sometimes, during extreme heat or cold, her hair would become dry and break off easier. The winter at Hogwarts being her first winter, Hermione had had to learn new habits fast to save her hair. It was when the braids were done that Angie used the colovaria charm to match the brown of the dyed silk to Hermione's own natural tone.

All in all, she was incredibly impressed, Jaismine included, who Angie had retwisted the roots of her locs, nice and neatly, styling her hair into an intricate up-do to hold the new twists. Both girls paid Angie and tipped her generously before leaving the shop to head towards the floo.

Stepping through, and noticing the office was empty, she looked to the clock and was surprised to see that it was quite late, perhaps around eight, and seeing as she'd missed dinner, she decided to stop by the library to just grab something to read for the rest of the night.

She'd been reading a lot for leisure recently as she still hadn't gotten her NEWT results back, she had kept in contact with Madam Potter on her NEWT progress, she estimated that she possibly had another two weeks until she received anything conclusive.

She entered the library, it wasn't very large, it only boasted a few tables and bookcases lining the wall, nothing compared to the Hogwarts or Beauxbatons libraries certainly. She went to where fiction was normally sorted, as she felt too tired currently to read anything non-fiction, and scouring the shelves, she noticed that her maman had added a decent amount of books since she'd last been here.

She ran her finger along the spines, noting that a lot were new American works, and eventually stopped at an Agatha Christie she hadn't read yet. Both she and her mother were voracious readers of hers, Death in the Nile being one of Hermione's favourite books, while Murder on the Orient Express was her mothers. There was just something about a good crime thriller that ensnared her out of her general preference for romantic comedies and lighthearted tales. She plucked 'Sad Cyprus' from the shelf and was about to open it to the preface when she felt a tug on one of her braids.

She turned her head to find Tom standing far too close, his cologne making her head fuzzy, rolling a braid gently between his fingers. He was standing right behind her almost, and how had she not noticed him, she wasn't sure, as she could basically feel his warmth on her back.

"These are nice," his tone was gentle and low, she turned fully to face him, and shrugged lightly.

"It's something new," she replied, sometimes she didn't know how to talk to him, it felt as if recently their dynamic had changed without her knowledge. His hands lingered longer on her, and he seemed to find reasons to skim his fingers along her waist, like now, the hand that had held the braid skimmed slightly down her waistline and she shivered.

He tilted his head, regarding her with an expression she couldn't decipher, and honestly, he was too close for her to think of anything objectively. As if coming to a decision, he stepped closer, caging her against the bookshelf, his movements slow and precise.

He skimmed his finger up her bare arm, and she resisted the urge to shiver again, suddenly feeling cold. She'd worn a sundress today under her robes, which she'd taken off as soon as she arrived in her mother's office. He continued to brush his knuckles up across her clavicle before cupping his hand under her ear and around the back of her neck, his thumb tracing her jaw.

Her ears were buzzing and her mind was blank, she swallowed and let out a shuddering breath, looking him in the eye. In the low lighting of the library lamps, his normally light eyes were black, and she thought, momentarily, that it made him look quite feral.

"Tom-" she didn't get to finish or regain her bearings because he pulled her face up towards his and he was on her. His lips slanted over hers and his other arm was around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His kiss was nothing like Ron's, it was not gentle and patient, it was hard and possessive, and Hermione thought, almost a bit violent. He bit at her lower lip, causing her to gasp and close her eyes, he forced his tongue in, and she had half a mind to bite down. It lasted for only a few seconds more before she regained control of her shock before roughly shoving him away.

She didn't even bother trying to confront him, she turned a bolted towards the door, not even looking back to see if he would follow her. She got to her room and once inside, slammed the door, locking it magically and non-magically before sliding down it and sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest. Her heart was racing and blood was rushing in her ears, and she would have felt that she must have hallucinated all of what just happened, if her lips hadn't felt so hot and swollen. This was to say nothing of the pervasive burn in her lower stomach, that she refused to pay attention to.

Once she got her breathing under control, she tossed the book she'd been holding to the side, and put her head in her hands, balancing her elbows on her knees. Her mind was racing, and all she could think of was:

'What was that?'

Riddle Library

Tom stood there, bracing himself against the shelf, steadying his breath. He had come to find her, knowing immediately through the wards when she arrived and where she was headed. He straightened his posture, adjusting his, now considerably tighter, trousers and running a hand through his hair. He was still in muggle clothing because he had been in the muggle world today with Helen to meet one of Riddle Arms regular collaborators, one that Helen had been familiar with, a man with the surname Seaborn.

He'd recalled Helen had been acting frigid with his since mid-winter hols, at first he assumed her distance was something due to personal reasons, however, now it was a week into July and she was still maintaining an aloof demeanour around him. He was starting to think she was up to something and had come to the decision that he would be keeping an eye on her. He'd been busy with interviews, but it would only be too soon that he would be a full apprentice of the DOM, and when he was, he'd vowed to pay more attention. He thought back to his other efforts, his imperius on Weasley was beginning to strain him, and he understood that he needed to do something about that soon, and that it needed to be done in a way that Hermione would not take the other boy back if he tried to return to her side romantically. He had assumed that by now he would have had Hermione well in hand, but she was proving to be far more difficult than he imagined. He was convinced that she'd even been finding reasons to be out of the manor, and he was starting to become annoyed with her willful character, if only she'd fall in hand as easily as his knights, he wouldn't have to think and act in circles as he did.

When he'd found her, she looked different, and at first, he hadn't been sure he'd liked it. Gone were the cloud of wild coils, and in their place sat long elegant braids that brushed teasingly against her backside. She'd been wearing a floral sundress, that left her arms bare, and it was of a pastel colour that complemented her darker complexion nicely, he'd noticed since summer started that she'd tanned a bit darker than her normal warm brown.

He had moved towards her carefully, not wanting to disturb her just yet, content with watching. She'd moved slightly to grab one of the books off the shelf and he watched as her braids had swayed around her waist, and he couldn't resist the urge to touch one. He seized a braid and had rolled it gently between his fingers, marvelling at the handiwork. It had felt smooth as silk, and the plait was neatly done, he had continued to admire it before she noticed his presence.

When she had turned to him, no hint of surprise on her face, something shifted in him. This was how it should be, her expecting him, always, and no one else. He had made a comment on her hair, and it felt like he'd been speaking underwater, his attention so focused as it'd been on all of her, her posture, her face, her wide eyes as she turned to face him. She hadn't stepped away, and his hand that'd been poised to hold a piece of her hair was now empty, so he'd brushed his fingers against her waist, noting the goose pimples that'd risen along her arm. He had brought his hand up to her collar, watching her face as he did so, and he hadn't been able to help his own shuddering breath as he'd watched her pupils widen, turning her brown eyes, black. It was at that moment, he'd decided on his course of action.

He brought a hand to his now woefully unoccupied, lips, before a movement from his peripheral caught his attention. He brought his hand down and turned his head to see someone scampering to hide.

"You can come out, I've already seen you, and I won't hurt you," he spoke genially, thinking it to be one of the staff, and then being proven right when the kitchen maid peeked her head out, the wards told him her name was Maisie.

"Maisie, isn't it? Why are you here at this hour?" he asked, mildly annoyed that she kept her head down as she left her hiding position, he didn't remember her from when he'd visited last year, was she new?

"Am sorry, sir, ma'am allows the staff to use the library, ah was just returnin' a book, I didna ken tha you were here," she spoke softly, voice trembling. What did she think he was going to do? Whip her for using the library? Why was she so afraid? He narrowed his eyes, coming up with a plan.

"Look at me, what's wrong with you? Are you hurt?" it was easy to think that she could be, standing curled in on herself as she was, her eyes snapped up to meet his, stammering an answer he didn't care to hear, as he wasted no time diving into her mind, and he did not like what he'd seen.

She had witnessed him that July day, and she had told Helen, he mentally cursed for a moment. This was bad, but there was nothing he could do about it right yet, if anything happened to the girl, Helen would instantly suspect him of foul play, and considering her talent of using the magical world as she pleased, she would have no trouble reporting him. This would need careful planning to subvert, Helen has had months on him with this information in her mind, and he cursed her again.

He gestured to the library, letting the girl put her book back and finish scampering away, before heading back to his own rooms, disturbed greatly by the new information. He scoffed as he passed Hermione's rooms, feeling a buzzing from her door. If he really wanted to get in there, he could, and no amount of muggle or magical locks could keep him out.

He probed the wards to find out where she was in her room, and was bemused that it told him that she was just on the other side of the door, on the floor. He felt slightly justified that he was affecting her as much as she was affecting him. He retired for the night, head swimming with his current conundrum, and as he fell asleep, he was greeted with dreams of braids and hands running through his hair.

Hermione's Room

A gentle knock on the door jerked Hermione out of her nap, she looked towards the clock to see that it was nearly midnight, and anxiously she turned her gaze towards the door. She had sat on the floor for almost an hour but had eventually crawled her way up onto the love seat, where she must have fallen asleep. Her head was aching from the new weight of the braids, she patted and massaged her scalp lightly as she got up to go see who it was.

She opened the door a crack and was surprised to find her maman, she opened her door wider, letting her in, and once she was, closed and re-locked it.

"What is it?" she asked, eyeing the small package her mother was carrying.

"I've been meaning to speak to you, mon coeur," her mother started hesitantly, before slowly moving her way to the couches. Hermione followed her and retook her original curled up position on the love seat.

"Can you-?" her mother gestured to the room, indicating that what she wanted to tell her shouldn't be heard by anybody else. Hermione obliged, whispering the incantation and giving a flick from her wand to silence the room from potential eavesdroppers.

"I'm worried, mon coeur," her maman began, fidgeting her hands in a way that instantly put Hermione on edge, her always stately and poised mother did not fidget, she wondered what it could be that had worried her so much. Instead of explaining, her mother nodded to the package on the tea table, Hermione grabbed it, noting the weight to it and flashed a worried glance back up at her maman.

"Open it," she told her gently, and so Hermione did, delicately peeling the tape that held the brown paper to the sides, and unfolding it to find a cherry wooden box.

As Hermione made to open the box, her mother spoke, eyes trained to it in her lap.

"I don't speak of our time in France, and I'm sorry for that, I'm so sorry that I left you the burden of mentally dealing with the fallout, but please understand, I do not give this to you lightly." she took a breath, "I dropped it off last week to be serviced, and picked it up today, I had waited to see if things changed when you came back, hoping I wouldn't have to-" she rambled, her pale cheeks flushed and her eyes shining.

Hermione paused from opening the box, a brief flash of panic ran through her, her mother bringing up their time in France was no light matter, and it instantly informed her of what was in the box.

"Why?" she asked, almost choking on the question. France had been a horrifying experience for them, however, mostly for her mother, who'd had been forced to kill while there, something that Hermione was now aware, damaged your soul.

"I think you may know." she met her mother's eyes, and yes, she supposed she did know, feeling the ghost of Tom's lips against hers.

"I just want you to be safe," her mother pleaded, and Hermione wanted to argue that it was the least safest thing in the world, but memories of Paris flashed through her mind and she couldn't.

Paris was a memory that Hermione thanked God she hadn't dreamt about when she was hexed, she didn't think she could have handled it if she'd had to relive both that, as well as the discovery of her father's body.

It had been mid-June of 1943, they had been squatting in an abandoned apartment complex in Paris, waiting for word on a rendezvous that would help them travel to Le Havre to board a boat that would ferry them the Brighton, it was an underground resistance helping minorities get out of Nazi-occupied France, but something went wrong the last night they were there.

It was almost eleven at night, and Hermione estimated that a local must have told a patrol of potential squatters, because they had been so careful, not using light once dark, they always made sure not to be seen, but it had been for naught. Three Nazi soldiers had broken down the door, they sounded like they had been drinking, treating it all as if it were some game, and not people's lives. They had chortled good-naturedly to each other as they circled her and her mother. Hermione's wand hadn't been on her, it had been under the pillow on the bed while she had gone to the washroom, while her mother had been at the kitchen table.

That night, those soldiers bribed her mother with Hermione's life in exchange for sexual favours. They had said that they didn't want to touch something dirty like her, and had insinuated that because her mother had a "mutt" for a child, then she was clearly a "free" woman. Hermione had watched, curled in on herself, tears blurring her vision as those soldiers debased her maman, and when they were done, they left her bruised and panting on the floor.

Unfortunately, the soldiers had no intention of keeping their word, as one reached for his gun and had taken aim at Hermione's head. Hermione had been trying to summon her wand to her, to no avail, and as the soldier cocked the shot and aimed, her mother was off the floor and had flung herself onto his shoulders. The others took aim, and in that moment of blind panic, her wand flew across the room and slapped into her hand, and as quick as she could, she stupefied the two aiming at her mother. The one she was clinging to had loosened his hold on his gun in confusion, and Hermione's mother wrenched it out of his hand, pointing it at his head and pulled the trigger.

The man dropped dead instantly, his body twitching momentarily while blood pooled and ran through the grooves in the hardwood floor. Her maman approached the other two soldiers, who were still unconscious on the floor, and with little fanfare, cocked the gun two more times and shot them both in the head, instantly killing them.

When she was done, she looted their pockets for ammo and money, stuffing the gun into the waistband of her soiled skirt. She stormed around the apartment collecting their things, urging her to 'get up, we have to go NOW.'

To this day, her mother had refused to talk about what happened, and Hermione never brought it up, along with never trying to even think about it. She had been sure to this very day that her maman had kept that very gun beside her at all times, well, until now. Hermione opened the box and looked down upon the rather small firearm that her mother had used to save their lives, it was a Sauer model, specifically made for Nazi German soldiers, with shiny metal, elegant engraving along the barrel, and its handgrip a black leather. Hermione tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

"You're worried about Tom, aren't you?" she asked, and before today, she hadn't wanted to believe that he viewed her in such a manner, to say nothing of her own confused feelings, after today, she didn't know what to believe. Was he capable of forcing himself on her? Well, any man could, really, but would he? Hermione didn't have an answer to that.

"I am worried about any danger to you, and though I have no proof of anything truly malicious from him, I know he is focused on you," she paused, letting it sink in, "and I know you have magic, but until I can think of something else, please, please, just keep this with you," she pleaded to her, and for the first time Hermione looked at her mother, looking passed the infallible mask she presented to everyone else, and what she saw broke her heart.

She looked tired, paler, sad, and so afraid, however, in her eyes was a spark of defiance that had Hermione nodding her head. She closed the lid on the box, and placed it back on the table, before getting up to wrap her arms around her mother.

"We'll be okay," she said, her voice empty.

"My beautiful girl, I hope so," her mother replied, still seated as she wrapped her arms around Hermione's waist. She glanced worriedly to the box on the table.

Hopefully, she would never have to use it.