Depressive thoughts warning, and smut in this chapter.

Chapter 23 – The Burrow – September 19th, 1945

Hermione stood at the washbasin, manually scrubbing pots, pans and dishes used during breakfast at The Burrow, it was the morning of her twentieth birthday, and she'd been asked by Ginny to stay about a week ago, which she gladly accepted in order to further avoid Riddle manor, seeing that she hasn't been back in a month.

The battle between Grindelwald and Dumbledore had almost lasted three days, and during those days, the entirety of the United Kingdom had waited with bated breath in radio silence for an outcome. It was on the third day that a collective sigh of relief had been released when Dumbledore had emerged victorious, abound and disarmed Grindelwald kneeling adjacent to him.

Aurors and Hit Wizards from all over the continent had arrived to help round up the rest of Grindelwald's supporters, while the citizens of Magical UK had gathered to help rebuild and to find and arrange burials for all the civilian casualties.

Said casualties of the attack had been high, and there had been many unidentifiable human remains from the fires and explosions, and though it had been claimed, a month after the attack, that rebuilding had been finished, and all victims had been found and claimed by their families, unfortunately, none of those who'd been found, had been Kai.

She had raged helplessly at both Tom and her mother, who for the first time ever, stood in agreement with each other, and were both immovable in the face of her pleas. The indignity of having her bodily and mental autonomy taken from her by the wards of Riddle manor distressed and disgusted her, and that was the say nothing of the inherent betrayal by her mother, who had stood in defence of Tom's actions. The worst of it is that she understood the logic behind such wards, after all, the manor was home to more than just her, her mother and Tom. There were a total of twenty other persons living there as staff, that it was one neat activation that accounted for everyone without sacrificing the Statute of Secrecy, made sense in theory, however, ethically, it was morally horrifying.

As soon as Grindelwald had been defeated, and Tom had deactivated the emergency wards, Hermione had hightailed it out of there faster than a sinner in church, finding herself a blubbering mess at Ron and Harry's flat. That was when she'd found out, that of the casualties, one of them had been Fred, as his and George's joke shop had been right by the explosions. Angelina's shop had also been demolished as well, though thankfully, she'd closed shop for the weekend to visit her parents in Cornwall, ultimately saving her life, and though George had been found, thankfully alive, and missing an ear, he'd been understandably inconsolable at the loss of his twin.

She had spent the first two weeks staying with Géraldine, while helping volunteer to clean up, in hopes that she could find what happened to Kai, and when she hadn't been doing that, she'd been going to burials and funerals. Her resolve and inner strength waned as the days and weeks passed with no sign of Kai, and a week ago, Ginny had requested that they all stay at The Burrow, as Fred's death had hit Molly exceptionally hard.

So here she was, helping with household chores, attempting to ignore the mountainous amount of guilt building in her, guilt for not doing anything differently that could have prevented Kai's disappearance/presumed death, guilt for being unable to look Kai's mother in the eyes, and guilt at the catatonic look of Molly Weasley's face at the death of one of her seven children, while she hid away and villainized her own mother for only wanting to protect her. She blamed her for not letting her decide her own actions for herself, but after spending a week at The Burrow, she was beginning to acknowledge that had her mother done that, she could have easily been in the same catatonic state as Molly, had she died due to her own decisions.

It was all so messed up and it ate at her insides, and she didn't know when it started, but she began to wake up in the morning already weary of the day, with a weight that seemed to immediately settle itself onto her shoulders, temples and spine. She felt like Atlas carrying the weight of the world, and all she wanted to do was lie down, however, instead of giving in to that urge, she got up every morning with Ron, Ginny and Harry to make breakfast for the entire household, before cleaning up and heading to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to check on the status of Kai's missing person report.

She then proceeded to head to the firm to put in a few hours of work, despite Madam Potter giving her bereavement leave, but as the older witch also busied herself in the office in what she called "attempting to feel useful in the face of tragedy", she didn't berate Hermione when she showed up anyway. At the end of the day, she'd head back to The Burrow, after hours of refusing to look towards Kai's office door, lump lodged firmly in her throat, and burning behind her eyes, where she'd help prepare dinner, help clean up, and head to Ginny's room to sleep, only to do it all again the next day.

She was broken out of her reverie by Harry, who placed a hand gently on her shoulder to get her attention, and like her, he too had bags under his eyes, and she felt for him, as well as for all the Weasleys, he too had been close to Fred. Though she hadn't been in the UK long, she also mourned Fred's death, despite not being as close to them as Harry, who'd known them almost his entire life, she'd still come to know and care for both of the twins in her time here, so his death, on top of Kai's disappearance, made her feel like her life was falling apart.

He asked if she was ready to go, and she looked down into the washbasin to see that she'd cleaned all the dishes while caught in her thoughts, so she nodded, drying her hands on the towel hanging from the cupboard, before heading to grab her robes off the rack beside the floo and throwing them over her head. She fastened a belt around her waist to cinch them and proceeded to button up the cuffs of her sleeves, as well as her collar. She reached down to pull on her boots and checked her pockets to make sure she had everything, everything being the purple beaded bag stuffed into her pocket with an undetectable extension charm that held her entire life currently.

She caught sight of her hair in the mirror on the far wall and winced, she tried to fluff it to look more presentable, only to fail miserably, as one half of her head, her curls were flat, while the other half was doing its own thing. It had been a week since she last washed it, so she sighed and grabbed a ribbon from the bag in her pocket, using 'accio' instead of sticking her whole arm in, she tied it loosely around her head, before pulling the strings to create a giant puff on her head.

She turned to Harry, and shrugged, indicating that it was the best she could do for now, before followed him to grab a handful of floo powder, calling for the Ministry of Magic Atrium. She walked through the flames after her friend, thanking him when he charmed the ashes off of her and took his arm when he politely offered it. That was generally the gist of her friendship with Harry, quiet and understanding, for the most part, at least, when he wasn't being a sarcastic brat about everything, and she wasn't righteously sniping or berating him about one topic or another. They fell into an easy friendship, where although they didn't always see eye to eye, they did unfailingly support each other without being told to.

They were almost at the lifts when they heard a rushing of clacking heels against the marble of the atrium floors, and woman's voice calling their names, they turned to see Rita Skeeter, in all her neon glory. Hermione could already feel the migraine resonating in her brain.

"Ms. Skeeter, as per my defamation suit against you, you are violating the agreed-upon terms by stopping to engage me now, you do know that right?" Hermione clipped, not willing to put up with the gossip columnist's nonsense. Her case in June had been settled in office when she sued the Daily Prophet for monetary reparations in light of the harassment she received due to their articles, as well as requested a restraining order against Ms. Skeeter, in which she could not approach or write about her in any manner.

That, of course, hadn't stopped the witch from seeking comments from her regarding any of Tom's political moves, claiming that her actions hardly went against terms of agreement when the topic wasn't about Hermione herself.

"Just a quick question, what are your thoughts on Lord Slytherin's offence against the bill that criminalizes certain magicks?" she asked, undeterred, before pausing to look at their joined arms, "Mr. Potter, already moved on now that Ms. Weasley has been travelling with the Holyhead Harpies?" she asked coyly, and Hermione bristled at her attempt to subvert her terms of the agreement by asking Harry. Though Harry, bless him, really, didn't miss a beat.

"You are incorrect, I love Ginny Weasley with my entire existence, and you can quote that," he retorted, dryly, before placing a hand on her back to steer her away from the infuriating harpy. Once inside the lift, they let out a sigh of relief when it began moving, glad to be rid of the gossip columnist.

"Somehow, I think she'd still take my words and twist them," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose after removing his glasses.

"Probably," Hermione snorted, patting him on the back comfortingly, "whatever she writes, you have my truthful witness, whatever it's worth," she continued dryly, both of them leaving the lift as it pinged to the appropriate floor. He guided her towards the investigations department, before saying goodbye and wishing her a happy birthday as he headed further down the hall to the Aurors office.

She took a deep breath, and stepped into the office, taking a seat in the waiting area until the secretary was unoccupied. She wondered if she would see Ron, his internship was in this office, and he'd spent the night at Géraldine's last night, due to Jean-Pierre exhibiting accidental magic that had spooked his older sister, and had almost taken down a door (long story).

She looked up and saw that the secretary was still busy speaking to someone else, so she half-heartedly studied her nails and hands, she had a hangnail that was particularly painful from all the dish-washing she's been doing, and her skin looked rough around her knuckles, but the idea of doing more than she already was, even if it was self-care seemed herculean, so she probably wouldn't do anything about it.

"Hermione?" she heard and she snapped her head up to see Ron walk through the department, she smiled and gave a small wave.

"Checking on Kai's report?" he asked sincerely, and she nodded, causing his expression to turn apologetic, she frowned.

"No news?" she asked, helplessly, and he shook his head.

"Not that I know of, and Madam Fawley has already been here today, you missed her by not even a half-hour, did you want me to call Gamp anyway?" he asked, and Hermione shook her head.

Kwame Gamp, who was in charge of Kai's case, was already an intimidating wizard, who didn't appreciate being taken away from his work, so Hermione was hard-pressed to bother him if Kai's mother had already been in to check, there was no need to disrupt him for the second time today.

"Alright, if you're certain," he responded warily, so she sent him a reassuring smile so as not to worry him, before getting up to leave the office, waving goodbye and heading towards the lifts.

As she waited for the lift, she mentally berated herself for being so unnecessary. She felt angry at herself, she'd only been courting Kai for a while, and her relationship was not nearly so important as the one he'd had with his mother. She stopped herself, she found she had these thoughts often, where she'd second guess the importance of her input, or presence, and it always made her feel so tired, and more than anything, she wanted to talk to her mother about it, but she was also still so angry with her and didn't want to give in to this imagined battle of wits that she was waging.

More than ever, she felt so alone, regardless of how many people she surrounded herself with, and her thoughts were so crowded and loud, even when the room around her was silent.

She thought perhaps that it was time to speak to a doctor, but grimaced when she realized that she'd just end up in a padded room if her fatigue problems were perceived as mental disruptions.

Her thoughts abruptly silenced when the lift dinged and the door opened, and Hermione saw Tom standing there, speaking to Orion Black, but his gaze and attention snapped to her almost immediately. She frowned, but entered the lift anyway, she saw that the atrium was already called for, and looked resolutely ahead, intending to ignore him.

When the lift reached her destination, she made to get out, but Tom's hand gripped her elbow. Orion Black instead exited the lift, giving Tom a lazy wave of his hand in salute, only barely sliding his eyes over her uninterested, before making his way further from the lifts. She snapped her attention to the man at her side, ready to berate him, but he turned his head to the lift attendant.

"Tom," she started, but he held up a finger to stop her.

"Level Nine, please," he requested politely, and the attendant nodded, repeating the destination before cranking the lever.

When they were at their destination and out of the lift, she tore herself from his grasp and turned to face him.

"What do you think you're doing!?" she snapped at him, and he had the gall to smile at her irritation, and the audacity to not even answer her, instead, he quirked his finger for her to follow him. She had half a mind to turn away and walk away, just to spite him, but her curiosity got the better of her, not to mention, his presence, however irritating, quieted the mental self-deprecation marathon her brain had been running, so with a huff, she followed him.

They walked for about a minute before she realized they were in the Department of Magical Transportation, they entered one of the offices, and as they stood in line, she turned to him, confused, to ask them why they were there, but before she could, he reached out his hand and smoothed the space between her eyebrows with his thumb.

"You're going to get wrinkles if you keep furrowing your eyebrows like that," he murmured, and she rolled her eyes, slapping his hand away.

"I'm going to get early wrinkles anyway just from you stressing me out," she retorted, glancing around the office, noting the same marble flooring as the rest of the ministry, mahogany counters and moving posters with different international destinations.

"Are we in the Portkey Departure Office? What for?" she asked before it hit her, and she turned back to him, "no, absolutely not, how do you know if I don't have plans already?"

"I'm sure you have nothing dire that can't be rescheduled on your birthday and don't worry, you'll be back at your animal den in time for dinner," he drawled, walking to the front counter when the previous customer left and turned his attention to the ministry employee, an old crone who must have been a least a hundred years old.

"Good morning, Mrs. Gerbert, I'd like to activate a port-key I ordered last week with specific co-ordinations for two people, please," he spoke charmingly, and the old bat, Mrs. Gerbert, smiled and turned towards the filing cabinet beside her.

"Name?" she asked, hands poised to flick through the files.

"Slytherin."

Hermione's head snapped up to look at him, was he officially going by the Slytherin name now? She supposed it would make sense, she doubted any of the purebloods who'd voted him into power, were too ecstatic with a half-blood with a non-magical surname taking one of the most notorious pureblood lordships in the UK.

Mrs. Gerbert paused and peered at him suspiciously, and as if recognizing him, sprung to action looking for the file, and Hermione attempted to refrain from rolling her eyes, clearly, it was a name with unimaginable amounts of power, and Tom taking it now made even more sense.

"Of course, Lord Slytherin," the employee chimed, pulling a silver chain and vial with a memory out of the appropriate file, she then proceeded to pour the memory into the Pensieve and dive in. After a few minutes, she emerged, and holding the chain in her hand, she spelled it into a portkey, before handing it over to Tom.

"That will be 68 galleons, thirty for each traveller, and eight galleons for the making of the portkey" she clipped, and Tom handed her a small bag filled with coins, to which she peered in and nodded approvingly.

"And may I see the wands of those travelling?" she asked, and he handed over his wand, giving her a cut eye when she didn't comply immediately, she huffed and handed her wand over. Mrs. Gerbert took down the information provided by the wands and handed them back.

"Very good, there you are, your portkey leaves in four minutes and twenty-seven seconds, the current time is eleven o' two in the morning, and the time at your destination will be six o' six in the morning, your portkey will reactivate to bring you back in exactly eight hours, thank you and have a nice trip," she finished, waving her arm in a wide arch to the room to their left, and strapping her wand back to arm, she followed Tom, holding out her wrist when he asked so that he could loop the portkey chain around it, before repeating the gesture on himself.

"Where are we going that has a five-hour time difference?" she asked wearily, she was already exhausted with the day. Tom merely shrugged, making the undignified gesture look elegant, and told her she'd just have to wait and see.

She sighed through her nose, chiding herself mentally for forgetting how insufferable he could be, but stammered when a few seconds before the portkey activated, he pulled her against him, one hand wrapping around the back of her neck, and his other arm wrapping around her waist. Before she could lecture him, she felt the nauseating pull at her naval and buried her face into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

It felt like they were flying through space and time for hours, as she held a white-knuckle grip onto him, her face now buried into his neck. She hated portkeys, and hated anything that felt like flying, and she was sure a few "colourful" phrases left her mouth during the duration of the trip, when suddenly it ended, and instead of slamming into the group of their destination, Tom used some quick spell work that had them float for a moment, allowing them to regain their footing.

As soon as she was on something level, she smacked him in the shoulder, and pointed at him, already in lecture mode.

"Warn me next time, will yo-..." she trailed off, looking around her, not even caring that his hand was still on her hip, it didn't matter, because she was looking at the sunrise from the top of St. Louis Cathedral in Fort-de-France, right on the balcony outside the bell tower.

If she looked to her left, she could see the sun's rays bouncing off the roof of the Bibliothèque Schœlcher, and if she looked down she could see the water glistening from those same rays in the green copper fountain in the courtyard. She gazed at the sun rising in the East, tears blurring her eyes as the brightness outlined the giant leaves of the palm trees in the distance.

She said nothing, only continued to enjoy the moment, all her anger at Tom momentarily dissipated, because she was home, and it was the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

The tensions from the last two and half years just melted away at that moment, until the sun was fully up in the sky, where she finally turned to Tom, while wiping the tear tracks from her face with the back of her hand, and he watched from his stance leaning against the shutters of the bell tower.

"You brought me home," she started, her voice still a little wobbly and cracked from her onslaught of emotion she'd just experienced. He straightened himself and stepped towards her, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her face properly, while his other hand cupped her chin gently.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," he spoke softly, and she reached up onto her toes and kissed his cheek, as she had last year when he'd given her his gift then. It was what confused her about him, he could be so charming and thoughtful in one instance, and the next become this malevolent force of nature, and she didn't know what to believe.

"Thank you, this is wonderful, truly," she replied earnestly, she was, of course, still unbelievably angry with him for the wards, but she'd give him a pass for the day. She didn't want to spoil her experience of being home for the first time in three years with a surly Tom. The first thing she wanted to do was go see her papa, but she looked down at herself and at Tom and plucked at his robes. The morning was still a bit cool, but it would be very soon that it would become unbearably warm and they would risk heatstroke in the robes they were wearing now, not to mention they would certainly stand out.

"Our robes are not appropriate for this climate," she murmured, tapping her lip, wondering if the shopping stalls in the magical district would be open yet.

"Trying to get my robes off Miss Granger-Riddle? How inappropriate," he joked, and she sent her nastiest glare at him.

"You're infuriating," she shot back, holding out her hand for him to take, and apparating them around the block to Parc La Savane, to the statue of Joséphine de Beauharnais, which acted as an entrance to Fort-de-France magical commerce square.

Hermione sneered at the statue, the subject in question had been Napoleon's wife, a wealthy daughter of a plantation owner, born and raised here in Martinique, whose father had owned over three hundred slaves. She was also said to be the one who convinced her husband to reestablish slavery in 1802 after it had originally been abolished in 1794. She personally thought the statue would look much better without a head, but refrained on the urge, knowing it would bring unwanted non-magique attention to the only entrance to the magical commerce.

So, instead, she walked up to the bottom of the statue and looking around to make sure there were no witnesses, tapped the heads on the copper relief plate, causing the whole face of the platform to open up like a door, that changed the idle park into a busy shopping market.

It was vastly different than Diagon Alley with its tall brickwork buildings and muted earth colours, because here, every building was a pop of colour, but most shops sold their wares outside under open-walled tents and on tables, and despite the early hour, the market was already bustling. Hermione had only ever been here a handful of times, mostly after the age of fourteen, because she'd never had anyone point it out before, until she found out her Ancient Runes professor in third year at Beauxbatons had also been a Martiniquais, like herself, and especially because she'd been escorted to Toulouse, France each year to purchase her school supplies.

Some tables had charmed jewellery, others with spices and the daily catch of fish, as well as other produce, it was like a labyrinth of tables and stalls, she could hear people bartering in French and Martinican Creole, as well as the sound of sizzling barbecue from street food vendors. She pulled up to one of the tents that had light cotton clothing hanging along the sides of the tent, she picked a simple cotton wrap dress for herself, though she kept her boots, and looked at Tom critically trying to gauge his size before purchasing a light long sleeve cotton tunic and trousers to match, all white, just to spite him, because he wore too much dark clothing.

She paid the shop owner, and ignored Tom's smugly amused expression upon the fact that she was essentially dressing him, unwilling to feed his ego, she simply told herself she just didn't want them to look out of place.

They went to a more closed off alley to change, casting a disillusionment charm on themselves for further privacy (though she got Tom to turn away regardless because she didn't trust him any further than she could throw him).

Bundling up their robes and clothes, before shrinking them and tucking them away in her small purple sequined bag, she led him to where she smelled the street food, finding and purchasing skewers of grilled swordfish, with spicy mango salsa to dip in the corner of the cardboard box, she offered him some.

"What is this?" he asked, as she led him around the market, nibbling on a skewer.

"Swordfish," she answered, covering her mouth with her hand because she was also still chewing. Her maman had certainly raised her better, but she was also not here right now, so Hermione took joy in acting as unladylike as possible. Tom hummed in response, barely reacting to the spicy salsa.

"I've never considered that you could eat a swordfish, I categorized them like sharks in the aspect," he responded, leaning forward to not dirty his white clothes while eating, and Hermione held in a huff of laughter over both the fact that people definitely ate sharks, and that it just went to show that there wasn't a soul on earth who could make eating street food look elegant, not even Tom Riddle.

They wandered around the market place a bit longer, and Hermione may or may not have purchased three cases of mangues, casting both a stasis and impervious charm on them before storing them in her bag, which Tom raised an eyebrow when she entered her arm up to her armpit to grab her money purse. After purchasing a few more things, like a couple of years supply of spices, potion ingredients and few magical instruments, she stopped by the last stall she needed and purchased the biggest bouquet of white lilies they had, but also adding gladioli, and a single orchid.

Her mother, being the posh Englishwoman she's always been, had taught her the language of flowers early on her life, and clearly Tom knew about it too, because he took one look at the flowers she'd picked, and seemed to clue in where she wanted to go. White lilies symbolized a departed soul and hope for the renewal process, gladioli for mourning someone who displayed strength and character in life, and the single orchid essentially said "I will always love you.". She paid for her purchase, and they left the commerce square, and she held out her hand for him to take, before apparating them to Cimitière Sainte-Thérèse.

She apparated them to behind a small mausoleum so that hopefully no one would see them, before leading him through the rows of graves, making her way to the one she knew like the back of her hand. After another minute, she stood in front of the one she was looking for:

Ici repose

Antoine Tierri Granger

Octobre 23rd, 1892 – Juillet 12th, 1938

Mari aimé . Père aimé

Ami à tous, étranger à aucun

Looking around to make sure no one was around, she waved her wand to clear his headstone of dust and debris, and she was about to try and get rid of the weeds, but Tom beat her to it, with a wave of his wand, the ground around the headstone was healthy and trimmed, she thanked him, before kneeling on the ground. She pressed a kiss to her fingers and pressed them to his name on the marble slab, laying her flowers down on the ground in front.

"Bonjour, papa," she began, feeling awfully guilty that she hadn't said goodbye before they left Martinique, or that it took her this long to visit, "Je suis désolé d'avoir mis si longtemps à venir te rendre visite," she continued, wry smile making it's way to her face.

"Il est Tom, il est de la famille du côté de maman," she spoke, nodding her head in Tom's direction.

She sat there for a couple of more minutes, describing the last three years to her papa, and Tom stayed silent, leaning against one of the other headstones, she had lectured him about it, but he just shrugged. Finally, when she said all that she could think of, she pressed another kiss to her fingers and pressed it against his name, promising to come back soon, before she held out her hand for Tom to take and apparated them back to St. Louis Cathedral.

They still had a good four hours until the port key was scheduled to activate again, so she led the way through the streets towards her old home, turning onto Rue Victor Schœlcher, while she explained the many sights and historical contexts of buildings, and landmarks, pointing out places where she did something or another as a child. Turning onto Rue Lamartine, she stopped in front of a boarded-up doctor's office, and she gazed at it sadly for a moment, before walking herself through the narrow passage beside the building, to the back where a small square courtyard in front of an equally small two-story house was crammed in between the surrounding buildings.

This had been her home for her entire life, up until that awful day in February 1943. The walls were painted a, now chipped, bright yellow, while the shutters and roof were a cheery orange. The small garden box shoved off to the side, that her maman had been so proud of, was overrun with weeds, and the brickwork of the courtyard also had plant life springing from in between cracks.

"This is where I grew up, my home," she spoke softly, unsure of whether she should go in or not, she'd cast a bunch of stasis charms on the inside before they left, but that had been three years ago, and she wasn't sure if they'd have held. Tom gave a noncommittal hum and glanced at her.

"Do you want to go in?" he asked, and she hugged her arms around herself and looked around. When would be the next time she would find herself here? Who was to say the notice-me-not charms she placed around the house would fade, and the next time she came here, it would be another family with a little girl living here?

The thought turned her stomach, and she felt selfish for wanting to keep this area untouched, and just for herself, even though the idea of coming back to live here seemed more unlikely as the years passed.

She wasn't good at letting things go, it was why she was so confrontational, she could hold grudges forever, and it was why Kai's disappearance had felt like a bombarda directly to the gut, she didn't even want to say goodbye to her childhood home, how could she say goodbye to the man she? What? Loved? She wasn't sure if she'd been quite there yet, but she cared about him, gave her virginity to him, and had wanted to see him prosper.

This home held so many happy memories, but also, some sad ones, it's where her mamie passed away in her sleep when Hermione was ten, and where her papa had passed away when she was twelve. Her mind whirled through her thoughts, but she'd already made up her mind.

"Yes," she answered, stepping forward, and with a flick of her wand, unlocked the door. Tom followed her in, but she wasn't paying attention to him, her eyes skimmed over the thick dust on the counters and tables, the paintings on the wall lining the stairs, the old couch with the knitted throw on it, it looked like a scene out of time, as they hadn't redecorated since the late 20s.

She turned and walked towards the stairs, only glancing at her parent's room, flinching when she remembered her nightmare, and proceeded to the room across. The room that had been her own, though she'd shared it with her mamie, as there had only been two bedrooms, until near the end of her life when she couldn't tackle the stairs anymore and her papa had had to move her mamie's bed down to the ground floor.

She entered her room, and it was just as she'd left it, they hadn't been able to take much when they left, only a few changes of clothes, some jewellery with sentimental value, like her mamie's pearl earrings she'd worn to Slughorn's Gala. She shivered again from the less than pleasant memory, despite the humidity inside the house.

Her small single bed was still made with a few stuffed animals on top, and there were a few books piled up on her nightstand. She reached for her old, worn copy of Frères Grimm fairy-tales, and opened the hardcover flap to see her shaky childish handwriting.

'ce livre appartient à: Jeanne Hermione Granger.'

Instead of feeling a happy, if not a bit sad, nostalgia of being here, all she felt was a hollow yearning for something that just seemed out of reach, she stared numbly at her younger self's writing, unsure of what it was that was wrong with her, she didn't even care to move as she felt Tom's warmth against her back.

"Jeanne?" he asked, running his hands up her arm gently, and she swallowed thickly, before answering.

"Mmm, my legal first name, as all first names of non-magical children are generally picked from a list of Catholic saints, parents generally had more freedom with the second given name, my maman was partial to Joan D'Arc, which would have been ironic, but my mamie's name was Jeanne-Antide, so it was close enough, and my middle name is an ode to the Greek Myth, Helen of Sparta, who had a daughter named Hermione, but also of Shakespeare's A Winter's Tale, who maman was a big fan of," she replied, slightly rambling, flipping through the pages, trying not to think of the knot building low in her belly as he ran his fingers across her collarbone.

Why was she like this?

She let out a shuddering breath as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her jaw, she knew what he wanted, and she knew it would have only been a matter of time before he tried something again, but damn her that this wasn't the strongest thing she's felt, besides crushing hollowness and burning self-hatred, since Kai's disappearance.

What if she just gave in? Just this once? Would it satisfy her enough to keep going and living every day despite feeling like she was suffocating? Would it satisfy him so that maybe he could move on finally and find someone else? Or would it open Pandora's box that she'd never be able to close again? She didn't know the answer to any of these questions, but she decided she'd let her impulsivity lead her for now, and deal with the consequences later.

She placed the book down gently and turned in his arms to face him. Would she regret this? Probably. Would she hate herself? Well, she already did, so how much worse could it get, really?

This time, he waited, wanting her to make the first move, wanting her to decide on the act, rather than the last time where she'd been inebriated, though it still felt like she wasn't thinking any clearer now than she had then, despite her current sobriety.

Smut starts here.

She stood on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders, and pressed her lips to his own, giving him the permission he so clearly craved, and he took it enthusiastically. He grabbed her hips and hoisted her up so that she could wrap her legs around his hips, their mouths still attached to each other's, ravenous, her to actually feel something, and him, well, she wasn't too sure. He palmed his wand in one hand, he spelled the dust off the bed, while his other hand cupped her arse, before dropping her onto the bed on her back.

He reared back slightly, pulling at the ties that held her dress closed, before opening it and tracing a hand up to cup her naked breast, the dress having been too awkwardly styled to allow her to wear her clunky brassier, she'd had taken it off when she first changed. He looked down at her in absolute awe, pupils blown wide as he caressed a dark brown nipple with the rough padding of his thumb. She hissed out a low breath at how sensitive it felt, and his eyes shot from her body to her face, as if unbelieving that she was really there, before leaning down to kiss her again.

Both of his hands came up, playfully rolling her buds until they were hard between his fingers, causing her to let out a low whine between kisses, and he leaned further into her, letting her feel how hard he was against the inside of her thigh, a desperate gasp broke from her lips and she reached to drag his tunic up over his head, before running her hands down his sides and waist.

She then reached into his trousers and gently pulled him free, grasping and stroking him as he shuddered and buried his head in the crook of her neck. She rubbed his tip with the pad of her thumb and he let out a gasp, but she persisted, mystified to see him come undone for once.

His arms that had braced himself upon either side of her, grabbed the heels of her boots, pulling them off, unclipped her garter straps from her stockings, and pulled himself out of her grasp to slide her underwear off. Once that was done, he put her legs over his shoulders and held her hips down with both hands before attacking her cunt aggressively with his mouth.

She slapped a hand over her mouth to prevent a scream that almost ripped itself from her, especially when he brought a hand down to pump three fingers into her, all while nibbling and pulling at her clit gently with his teeth.

She watched as he then grabbed his wand in the hand that had been holding her hips, first, he cast the contraception charm, and then yanked her forward a bit more, she was confused until she felt a poke at her backside, and hearing a whisper of a cleansing charm, she cried out in shock when he moved his mouth there. She groaned low as he thrust his tongue in and out of her, mortified, before realizing it felt good, and that she actually couldn't wait anymore, so she pleaded with him.

"Please," she whined, eyes screwed shut as her legs clasped on either side of his head, he didn't even pause as he responded against her puckered arse, causing her to release another keen whine.

"Please what? Use your words now," he spoke, bringing his attention back to her abandoned clit, but not before sticking a single wet finger slowly into her arse, causing her to cry out at the new sensation, as he brought her to the edge before stopping.

"Tom!" she cried, one hand flying forward to bury itself in his hair, and she caught his eye from between her legs, his expression dancing with mischievousness.

"Please what, Hermione?"

"Oh God, you're insufferable, please just fuck me already," she snapped, as he continued to edge her, causing her to see spots, and fill her with frustration.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" he asked, infuriatingly, before pulling himself up the head of his cock against her entrance, her hands travelling to grip at his hips to urge him in. He leaned forward and kissed her lips gently, before ramming into her with as much force as he could, and her arms flew from his hips to around his neck as he set a brutal pace, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he controlled her movements.

He was long and his tip smashed painfully against her cervix, but she couldn't get enough, groaning while biting at his shoulders and neck. Until he slammed himself in and changed their positions, sitting down and settling her into his lap, still fully sheathed inside her, a position she recognized from new years, and she whimpered as the tip of him seemed to settle painfully against the opening of her cervix. He kissed and bit at her ear lobe, hands grasping at her hips as she immediately began grinding, and she released a guttural moan when he inserted a finger into her arse again.

"Come on, use my cock to find what you need," he spoke clearly, and she could swear the vibrations from his voice alone sent her eyes rolling into the back of her head, but she obliged him all the same, and like new years, she brought one hand to grasp the back of his neck, the other around his bicep, as she ground herself down onto him desperately, her clit against his pelvis, searching for her climax.

It didn't take long, with the added sensation of his finger up her backside, she saw stars soon enough, though she continued to ride out her orgasm, clenching tightly on his length, he panted into her ear about how incredible she felt.

She leaned her forehead against his, but the look on his face was far from satisfied, then he pulled his finger out of her and gripped her hips, causing her to glance at him in confusion.

"If you think I am finished with you, you're mistaken," he whispered savagely, as he pulled himself out and switched their positions, hauling her onto the bed and onto her knees, he knelt behind her, pressing her face into the mattress and pulling her arse up to meet his hips. She cried out in shock, not expecting it, but keened anyhow when he immediately went back to slamming into her, his balls slapped against her clit and thighs, coupled with the sounds of the bed frame smacking against the wall, she moaned at the lewd sounds around them.

She wanted to move onto her elbows, but he prevented her with one hand gripped her hip, and the other splayed flat between her shoulder blades, pushing her down, which, in this position, made her think she could feel him in her stomach, so she closed her eyes and bit her knuckle, rocking her hips back against him, searching for her own buildup.

She felt she was onto something when he picked up his pace, burying a hand in her hair, the ribbon that had held it together in a puff from this morning was strewn somewhere in the room by Tom himself, and so he pulled her up so that her back was flush with his front. One hand was pinching a nipple between his fingers, while his other hand had moved from her hip to her clit, applying pressure in circular motions.

"Fuck, Hermione."

She came as soon as he spoke her name, her second orgasm ripped through her powerfully, and she cried out. She had always, rather shamefully, thought it was the biggest turn on about him, that he never shortened her name, and that he always spoke it with so much reverence.

His thrusts were brutal now as he reached his peak, and once it hit, she knew, as he stilled, and bit her shoulder, releasing everything he had into her, before continuing to pump slowly to ride out his finish.

As they evened their breathing, he continued to hold her taut against him, and he turned his head to press kisses along her jaw, cock still buried inside her. It was only then, with the fog of arousal and depression cleared from her mind, that it felt like an icy hand had gripped her spine.

What had she done?

Smut ends here.

Authors Note: fun fact, the statue of Joséphine de Beauharnais, in Fort-de-France, Martinique was actually beheaded and painted with red blood in 1991, and since she was such a despicable figure, nobody fixed it and it's still like that to this day. Honestly, it looks better that way.

also, tom's eatin' good, i guess

hope you enjoyed the chapter.