Hello everyone!

Hope you'll enjoy the chapter :)

As always, thanks for the reviews and all the support!

Love,

M.

Chapter 7: Eat your fucking pie, Hermione.

He woke to the sound of water. His brain suggested it might be raining, but he decided the sound was too regular for that.

Shower. The shower was running.

He refused to open his eyes just yet, conscious that the room must have been bathing in the sunlight, but also convinced that the light still felt too cold and too white against his eyelids for it to be a decent hour.

His hand instinctively felt the spot where he knew he wouldn't find her. A little sting of disappointment hit his guts all the same as he found the empty spot.

He hated when she'd skip their morning rituals. Where were the cuddles? The lazy smiles? The ruffling of his hair? Her nails running up and down his wrist until he'd be ready to open his eyes?

'Aren't you too old for these things?'

She had started repeating it way too often lately, she had started getting up before him way more frequently than he was comfortable with. Slipping away. He wasn't sure he was ok with that.

He didn't want to be too old for those things if he couldn't be old enough to have anything else.

The sheets were still warm so she must have popped into the shower right away and not long ago.

How could one be so eager to get into the shower first thing in the morning?

Tom hated showering early in the morning, he hated standing in the cold jet, naked and dazed, waiting for the water to turn the right temperature.

Any transition from one state to another that was too immediate, too fast, under any circumstances, unnerved him, especially during the holidays, when everything could be idle and slow.

From bed to shower was definitely one of those quick transitions that, in Tom's case, required a series of intermediate steps, stretching, cuddling, maybe eating breakfast, read a little... then maybe consider peeling off his pajamas.

Not her, she was different.

Hermione was always eager to do everything right away. If she could have eaten breakfast in the shower she probably would have, and Tom wasn't quite sure she hadn't tried it a couple of times.

She was the type who brushed her teeth while putting on her socks, who read while cooking, who'd cut your hair while driving you through a whole Charms lesson at the same time.

Tom knew Hermione had gotten into the habit of optimizing time since the days at the Orphanage. Having to share her time with 9 children had taught her that nothing couldn't be done faster (frankly, she could also be quite annoying when the rest of the world couldn't, or in his case, refused to, keep up with her rhythm).

Sometimes Tom would find himself mentally congratulating her, especially thinking back on the mornings when she managed to comb the mess on Olivia's head, keep him and Dennis from slaughtering each other, handle Mrs. Cole's hangovers and Mr. Wool's dementia, while also looking after Eric.

Other times, like that morning, he didn't see the point of still being in such a rush all the time, plus, it was the holidays…

She always ended up with too much free time on her hands during the holidays, and God forbad Hermione Granger would enjoy some sweet laziness.

Having free time would become reason for her to find two thousand more things to do, from helping Bert at the bookstore, to ruining Aberforth's beautiful pies with her poor cooking skills.

All activities that took Tom from the center of her attention by the way, which was quite the crime itself, as much as he was concerned.

Tom took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

He squeezed them shut again with a grunt, annoyed at the intrusive daylight whipping his clear irises with its brightness.

He stretched his arms forward writhing his face in a grimace, then brought his hands down, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. Get ready to face the day, he mentally sung with her voice.

He shifted his weight to his side and rolled lazily to her empty but warm side of the bed.

Her scent hit him like a slap in the face. His eyes snapped open as other parts of him awoke from the slumber of sleep as well, ready to face the day, indeed.

God, that smell.

He sunk his face in her pillow and inhaled, he kept going, eagerly, until he reached the full capacity of his young lungs and was forced to stop. He held that breath then, savoring the excessive sweetness in his throat.

He held it in longer, as long as he could and then some more. He held it in, until his brain began to throb slightly, begging for a new intake of oxygen. Until his heart became a dull rumble in his chest and ears.

Because that's how she made him feel.

Suffocating with that infuriating need.

He was grateful for every crumb of her affection and attention, any form of it really, but it felt like it was never enough.

It would never be enough as long as she wasn't his the way he meant for her to be.

He would always choke on those familiar feeling of powerlessness and need, until the day she'd finally get it into that thick skull of hers that he wanted more… He wanted all she could give and then he wanted more.

For a while Tom had lived in the hope that she might be right, that those feelings would weaken over time, as she had said over and over in the past. But the more time passed, the more whatever he could get wasn't enough and it enraged him more often than not.

God, he wanted to press his face against that intoxicating smell so badly right now.

Not the one from the pillow, not the ghost of it.

He wanted to press his face on her bare skin. In the hollow between her small breasts, where he used to be allowed to snuggle and sleep as a child.

Tom blew the air out at once, and felt himself desperately gasp for oxygen.

Hermione's scent wrapped around him and he pressed his face against her pillow, sinking deeper in it, increasingly aroused and frustrated at once.

Damned puberty had hit him like a hurricane out of the blue, bringing along a whole new string of pungent needs and desires, amplifying every emotion, as if he hadn't had a hard time managing them as it was...

Tom groaned pulling down the waistband of his pants urgently, perhaps with a hint of resignation.

He hated that. Hated being so miserable. He hated touching himself.

Sure, it helped release the tension momentarily, but the sense of comfort and satisfaction lasted so little… in the end he'd feel stupid, weak and just angrier for the 'real deal' was not available to him.

His hand hesitated resting on the soft skin under his belly button, his fingers skimming under the waistband just barely.

He'd be angry and moody afterwards, he knew that. Maybe he could desist.

She couldn't handle his anger… she feared it for some reason.

Not his usual bad temper or moodiness, no, that made her snort at worst. He could get over that easily.

It was his real anger she seemed to fear. Whenever he had been really angry, she'd always repressed her own anger. She'd always calmed down and tip-toed around his fury avoiding all of the big confrontations... always.

As if she'd always had a secret fear of damaging him more than he already was.

He had taken advantage of that weakness of hers a thousand times. Sometimes he drove her mental on purpose… just so he could see how far he could push it before she'd snap, she never did though (well except that one time with the kiss thing, but that was different…).

He liked it sometimes. Her inability to face his anger. It made him think she was afraid of losing him. Made him feel like she'd love him no matter what. Like the summer of the cave.

Other times it scared him. It made him think that she could see something else living under his skin. Something dark and rotten he didn't want her to glimpse at, nor to be there in the first place.

Some other times it just confused him… it gave him way too emotional power over her and it felt like she'd might be pitying him for all of the shit of his childhood… and he surely didn't like that… nor the idea that she'd avoid actually arguing with him because she felt like she always had to treat him like a child.

If she had raised her voice every now and then and hadn't pulled out of an argument before it even started, it might have been a sign of recognition that he had grown up a little in her eyes.

Tom huffed in frustration. Why was he even thinking about all that shit?!

This line of thoughts wouldn't have helped with the moodiness, he frowned, nor was it softening other parts of him, still demanding for some sort of acknowledgment down there…

There would be time. He told himself in reassurance.

He was growing up and quite fast too. If nothing else, those new impulses, he said glancing under the sheets, were proof of that ... maybe she would soon notice too. He would have waited.

Because they would be together forever ... right?

It would have been them, together, forever… forever.

Tom's heart flipped and his stomach came to life at the very thought of that.

Ok. Fuck it.

He succumbed to that blind desire, and let his hand travel down in his pants, loving and hating the feeling altogether.

He took another gulp of that intoxicating smell and collected the moisture at his tip before sliding his hand back with a soft moan.

She always smelled of jasmine and honey and ... something unattainable yet so familiar. She smelled of home, of sweets, of every night since his new life had started, a life where no one dragged him in small suffocating storerooms, no one stabbed him, bit him, screamed at him.

Hermione smelled of salvation. The salvation she had provided for him. She smelled of power and magic and light.

That smell Tom could have distinguished anywhere.

The shower was still running, and he let his eyes roam on the closed door as he indulged in stroking his length in slow lazy movements, undecided whether he wanted to actually get to the point of no return. He let his mind crawl under the door and into that bathroom.

What would she look like in there? All naked and delicate, relaxed and peaceful under the warm jet. He could almost see the small droplets running down her pale skin… beautiful perfect skin.

Nothing like his.

Not the horrid scarred thing he was, inside and out.

Immaculate perfection. Yes. That was what she really was.

Untouched by the evil of men.

His hand stopped and his next breath stuck in his throat with a pinch of ancient panic. He kept his eyes on the door.

Men. Drooling beasts. She shouldn't have known how disgusting they were, how dirty they were. Slobbering, hairy, smelly creatures. He'd make sure she'd stay pure, unharmed, perfectly safe.

She'd be just for him. He'd be her one and only. He'd be safe for her. He'd be gentle and never harsh. He'd be her shield as much as she'd been his.

Tom bit his lip and let out a sharp breath, his hand resumed its slow motion, and he shivered slightly.

Yeah, he decided, he would have worshipped her.

Merlin, maybe he would have even changed his mind on morning showers if she'd allow him to get in there with her.

He'd be content with just looking at her, to caress her with his gaze, follow the small droplets running down her shoulders, cascading over that single lustful mole on her collarbone.

Nasty little mole.

It seemed to have been put there just to challenge his self-control, to challenge him to stay focused whenever she wore that damn sweater that had once belonged to him, the one that was large enough for that distracting, tempting dot to peek out and laugh at his helplessness.

"Uhg ..." he grunted softly, his chest rising and falling with an increasing pace, in step with his frustrated ministrations. His stomach cave in and rose back up with a little jolt.

He heard the water stop running and froze, but then came the sound of the soap bottle opening. She was about to lather and, FUCK, how he wished he could be foam right now.

Tom felt his cheeks heat up, his heart pound hard in his chest, like a beast trying to escape the cage of his ribs, rumbling and roaring when he forced himself to hold his breath too long in between breaths.

Would it ever come the day when she'd think of him like that? Would his name ever roll sweetly from her lips and into his neck? Would she let him kiss her again? Would she ever kiss him…

The water started running again.

Tom pushed his thoughts to all the times she had soaped his back and his chest, but it had been way too long ago.

He cursed himself for not having better imprinted every detail of those hands on his skin in his mind, although he could hardly blame himself for he had been just a child and not at all interested in the things he was now... thank God…

The only thing he distinctly remembered was that it was the first pair of hands that hadn't hurt him. Her fingers had always brushed his scars so gently. She had never looked at them with disgust. Never looked at him with disgust. No.

Those golden eyes of hers were only ever filled with love and pride for him, maybe worry sometimes... but mostly love, even when he had done horrible things... horrible… horrible and amazing things…

Tom's lips parted and he closed his eyes shut, frowning a little at the contrasting feelings stirring within him as the powerful sensation in his lower belly started building up.

The shower turned off.

The fleeting thought of withdrawing his hand from his pants crossed Tom's mind, but it didn't reach his muscles fast enough. He heard Hermione let out a small satisfied sigh, and clenched his jaw in anger as his hand took him over the edge that he wasn't sure he wanted to cross.

His guilt tangled with the overpowering feeling of his orgasm, turning it into something not entirely satisfying and… ugly to a certain degree.

"God. Shit ... Mio… ne…" Tom's words became disjointed grunts, invocations to the gods mixed with profanity and curses, bits of her name fell muffled into her pillow, broken by his frantic breathing.

He felt the warm liquid pump into his hand and he squeezed his grip, perhaps punishing himself, perhaps deluding himself he wouldn't make a mess of the sheets and himself.

He caught up with his breath gradually and as his heart rate dropped, his frustration and self-loathing grew. Full-fledged, unmotivated anger filled his system in the blink of an eye.

He had been weak, a victim of his own instincts and as a result he was angrier than before. Unsurprisingly.

He tried to dwell on a relatively happy thought as, disgusted with himself, he wiped his hand in his pocket, eager to immediately clean all evidences of his weakness.

Don't have sex with your classmates... he liked to pretend she'd said it in a jealous tone, even though he knew Hermione's was just genuine concern that he would end up cursed to hell and back by some pedantic pureblood father.

Which was one of the reasons why he wouldn't touch any of those squalid, bland girls at school ... many were waiting for nothing more than playing Russian roulette with his arse anyway.

Maybe get caught in a promiscuous act and cross their fingers for their fathers to opt for an honor-saving marriage rather than secretly executing him and get it over with.

His thoughts kept slipping away from the positive, albeit slightly embellished, memories he was trying to focus on.

He tried with the little flicker in her gaze in the corridor the day of his fourteenth birthday.

He evoked the blush of her cheeks, the unfamiliar twitching of her lips when he had been about to tell her just how much he fancied her over any other girl… had it been there? Had he dreamt of it? Had she actually felt something else then? Maybe it was just his hopeless need to believe so…

He shook his head and brushed his hand some more against his trousers as he pulled them back over his hips. Anything remotely happy kept being pulled away from him to leave room to darker thoughts, so in the end he gave up and set his features into the broody expression that would have stuck to him all day...

"Rise and shine!" She chirped stepping into the room wrapped in that fucking sweater, mole in plain sight, her hair damp, her cheeks flushed, he guessed from the hot shower.

"Just leave me alone..." He muttered pulling the blanket under his chin and scowling at her.

"God, since when are you so moody so early!" She huffed stomping her way to the door, grumbling something about teenagers and hormones.

Oh, you have no idea, he thought angrily.

"Since when do you have to wake me up with your stupid showers so early?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pleasantness… I waited for you to wake up but you kept snoring and muttering cusses whenever I tried pulling you back from the dead…" She mocked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Tom blushed slightly and pursed his lips. Of course, he had no memories of that. He would've calmed down hadn't he just found a new reason to be angry… at himself. How dare his body refuse his cuddles for him?!

"If you hurry up we can still have breakfast with Abe and make a run for the station to catch the last train, if we miss it we can still walk our way back." She said schooling her expression into a cheerful one once more.

"I don't want to walk, the snow is deep, you'd start complaining halfway through and I'd never see the end of it…"

"It's not that deep ..." she complained with a pout, giving a fleeting glance at the landscape outside the window. Tom forced his gaze away from her lips and rolled back to his side of the bed.

"You are short." He spat, "It'll always be too deep…"

"Always the charmer…" She snarled, "Well then, hurry up so we won't have to walk."

"Fine, now are you leaving of what?"

"I'm leaving alright…" she sighed opening the door.

"God you're so… annoyingly cheerful…" and not in bed with me, not looking at me the way I fucking need you to. Not close, not close enough. Never close enough.

He spared himself from the silly rant.

How could he get her to look at him differently if he kept acting childishly with her? He tasted bile and started praying his body wouldn't betray him with some of its absurd outbursts.

She waited under the threshold of the door, her lips parted as if she were about to say something but then no sound came. He saw her shrug and sigh in defeat.

"Okay, fine, keep your bad mood. Will you take a shower and come down?"

"I hate taking showers in the morning." He spat heatedly, ignoring the obvious fact that he would have to take one regardless. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"… Well, we'll be waiting for you to have breakfast, don't take forever, I smell treacle tarts!"

The door closed with a click behind her before he could make any snarly remarks about her awful taste in sweets (nevermind the fact he'd probably gulp down a dozen of those tarts anyway because… well sugar), but then his mind filled with the image of Hermione's soft heart-shaped lips sinking into golden syrup…

"I refuse!" He grunted glaring at his privates in exasperation. He stormed out of bed and into the bathroom slamming the door.

"If you used all the hot water, you better bring your ass and wand back here, I won't take a cold shower!" He yelled out of the bathroom window, stripping out of his shirt with way too much emphasis, heedless of passersby looking up from the street and laughing at his renown moodiness.

Truth be told, a cold shower might be just what he needed…

"How do you always get the highest grade, Riddle? Are you in a secret relationship with Slughorn or something?" She grimaced.

"More in a public relationship with punctuation… and handwriting, Rosier." He smiled.

"If that's a beautiful handwriting, I'm the queen of England ..." she retorted.

"Well, good morning, your majesty." Said Orion, peering at the essay over Tom's shoulder.

Rosier curled those absurd lips of hers into a grimace, then in a smile when she realized she had caught Tom's eye. He looked away.

As if he'd be idiotic enough to antagonize Cygnus now that he needed the Blacks...

"Riddle, I've been looking all over for you, mate." Said Orion, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder and fishing for something in it.

"'Course the swot would be in the library..." muttered Rosier with no heat. Tom ignored her and turned to the older boy, now handing him a frighteningly thick stack of parchments.

"Both my father and Abraxas' said they would be happy to let you use our libraries over the summer. You can have your guardian sign these formal invitations. Oh, you can stay as long as you want of course, so I made sure my father wouldn't include time limits of any sort."

"Formal invitations?" Tom asked, biting the inside of his lip in annoyance as he took the papers from Orion. He hated not knowing all those little formal pureblood cavils. Luckily, Rosier seemed to have figured it out in time, because she would almost always provide answers before the situation could get too embarrassing for him.

"Yeah, the formal invitation to cross the wards of an ancestral home. You'd need it to pass through the wards, well unless you're 100% sure you share blood with the family owning the property, that is."

"I see…" Tom murmured holding on to a blank expression. Fuck. He didn't want to ask Hermione for permission… but apparently he didn't have much of a choice now, did he? "Well, thanks. I appreciate your help, Black."

"What are you looking for anyway? Anything interesting?" asked Orion.

"I'll share more details… when we're alone."

Rosier frowned, Orion smiled.

The boys exchanged a brief manly nod and that was it. Orion left towards the next class leaving Tom lost in his thoughts.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out what you're looking for, Riddle." Said Rosier, "Although it might take more than Orion Black…"

"Badmouthing your family already?"

"Hardly my family… my betrothal is still on hold…"

"And what would it be?"

"What?"

"What would I be looking for, Rosier?" He asked leaning slightly forward so that he could lower his voice and still be heard. She gulped a little and forced herself to hold her ground, though her eyes kept slipping to his lips, now curled in a smirk.

"Your… your family." She forced through her beautifully shaped lips. He shrugged one shoulder and held her intense gaze, "You're obviously looking for your origins. Only someone as stupid as Orion wouldn't have figured it out."

"So, does everyone else know?" Tom leaned back in his chair and saw the tension slowly leaving Druella's shoulders, although not completely.

"Any of us would be happy to help. We're family."

"Hardly…" He smiled. She rolled her eyes and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in a 'youknowwhatImean' expression.

"I have to do it myself."

"We know, well most of us do anyway…" She said jutting her chin at the direction Orion had left, "That's why we're not saying anything. Doesn't mean we wouldn't have the power to help if you asked…"

Tom nodded slowly, allowing his eyes to linger on her lips for a couple of beats, she diverted her gaze and gulped a little. How was it so easy to have anyone else blush but it always took so much effort with Hermione instead? It was quite frustrating…

"Are you listening?"

"Come again?"

"I said, can't you ask professor Granger about your parents?"

"No." He blurted out.

"How come? She might know something about them anyway… though I still barely believe she raised you… she looks not older than Walburga… maybe younger even…"

"She does, doesn't she?" Tom said with probably too obvious fondness, as Druella's gaze darkened a little and her flush faded, "She does know about them, about my parents, I'm sure. Still… I don't want to have to explain."

"Explain what?"

"Explain why I want to find out about them, why now."

"You're lucky she's a former Gryffindor..." huffed Rosier with a half-smile, which froze on her face when she met Tom's glare.

Luckily for her, Abraxas chose that exact moment to pop out of nowhere, catching Tom's attention.

"Orion was here moments ago," said Tom before the blonde boy could ask.

Abraxas smirked and made a gesture not to even mention it, so Tom didn't.

"I'm here for a different reason altogether, Riddle." Said the boy, he then stopped and glanced at Rosier briefly.

"Whatever you have to say, you can say in my prese…"

"Get lost, Rosier." Tom cut her off, without even looking in her direction.

He didn't need to see her pout to know it was there.

Abraxas returned to hold Tom's gaze as Druella rose and collected her stuff without another word. They both smiled when they heard her muttering a polite cuss as she bowed in farewell, before leaving at a brisk pace.

"I think you could teach Cygnus something about how to handle that one ... she is strangely obedient when you give the orders ..."

"If Cygnus wanted advice, he'd just have to ask."

"Who knows he won't soon ... I think at the moment he's more concerned with getting his hands on every Ravenclaw he can before his father signs the contract with Rosier's family officially ..."

"Uh ... boys or girls?"

"I don't think it makes any difference to him ... as long as they're older..."

"Oh, I would be careful what I say next, if I were you." Tom smiled.

Abraxas raised an eyebrow and curled his lips into a half smile.

"Oh yes, you and Cygnus have something in common don't you."

Tom allowed the joke and pointed to the chair Rosier had vacated. Abraxas nodded in thanks and took his seat.

These were the little gestures they allowed themselves in public. Small gestures that perfectly asserted Tom's superiority over the others.

Perhaps if someone had carefully studied Tom's interactions with his peers, they would have noticed the small step of difference between him and his 'friends', but no one ever looked long enough or well enough.

Tom treated his superiors as his peers and his peers as inferiors, without them ever fully realizing it.

He knew when to be friendly, when to be charming, when to be strict, when to be mean and when to turn violent. With time, he was only getting better at it.

In the first years of school he had had to put more effort into affirming his superiority.

He had had to work a little harder.

It had taken time to be the one with the highest grades, the most versed in the magical arts, the most praised by the teachers, the one the younger students would look up to and the older ones could rely on, the one both girls and boys would glance at when they thought him distracted by his own thoughts...

Once he had reached the top of the small social climb though, surprisingly enough, there had been no need to do anything more than enjoy the results of his efforts, as the rest of the school's hierarchical structure, or at least Slytherin's, had simply adapted, molding itself beneath him.

Perhaps, at least in part, the fact that he no longer had to strive to preserve his role, was due to the fact that being a leader came quite naturally to him. He didn't have to pretend too much, nor think about it.

However, he knew another big reason for the lack of competitors, was that those around him were quite relieved the command post had already been filled.

Many of the Slytherins, for example, had lived crushed by the pressures and expectations of their families from a very young age.

The fact that Tom had bothered to be in charge of the lot and that he was quite good at it, had taken away the problem of having to compete for the leadership position in the first place.

If any of those guys had wanted to take Tom's place, he was pretty sure there would be nothing else for him to do but hand over leadership. Sure, he was strong and powerful but his name was worth little and nothing, and it would be worth little and nothing for a while longer, at least until he had proof of his lineage.

However, he worried not, as no one seemed willing to oust him from his throne just yet and it felt like if that was ever to happen, it would have been too late already.

"So? What is it?" Tom asked absently leafing through the volume in front of him.

"There are rumors about your princess."

Tom raised an eyebrow without looking in Abraxas' direction but heard the boy fidget slightly in his chair, "Rumor has it that the Gryffindors are planning something for her, some sort of humiliating prank I would imagine, probably nothing too alarming… but I mean, it's up to you."

"Should I presume this has something to do with the duel still?"

Abraxas nodded.

"That and apparently she interrupted some idiotic little party of theirs, she took some points and confiscated alcohol ... nothing worth of retribution really ... but ... Gryffindors!" The boy shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"Sour losers…"

"Indeed." Agreed Abraxas, he ten pushed his tongue in his cheek and sucked it in before speaking again, "So, how should we manage it?"

"Ask Montague to figure out what the plan is without getting noticed ... wasn't he shagging one of the lionesses?"

"I think they 'broke up', but that's nothing that can't be fixed. Once he finds out?"

"You report to me and I'll let you know. I don't want to stir the waters too much if it's nothing worth worrying about. She can handle herself and with the Quidditch game approaching..." he trailed off.

Abraxas nodded.

"What else?"

"There is also a rumor… one of the young ones in Gryffindor… people say he might be... well ... a half giant ..." Abraxas said the words lowering his voice dramatically, as if it might have been some sort of blasphemy that innocent ears should be spared of. Which might have been as much as someone like Abraxas would be concerned.

As for Tom, he couldn't really give a flying fuck about such nonsense, but surely he wasn't going to say it out loud. Certain battles were just not worth fighting. He'd rather use all that hate to his own advantage. Hate and discrimination could be powerful tools in the right hands. His hands.

"I wonder if we won't see dogs sitting at the Gryffindors' table anytime soon… they might as well let the centaurs enroll at this point…"

Abraxas smiled amusedly, obviously satisfied with the shared outrage, but then his features hardened again, when he was obviously and suddenly reminded that he had more to say.

"So what about this… thing? Why do I care?" Asked Tom, acting out his best disgusted grimace.

Abraxas moved in closer and leaned slightly forward. He had a small scar on his left eyebrow, a fatherly gift received during the Christmas holidays for sure, because Tom was confident the white tissue hadn't been there before winter break.

Men… always so fucking disgusting and violent… predictably even more violent and disgusting with the ones who couldn't fight back.

Subtle rage pumped in his system and he had to struggle not to let it surface.

"Your… well, Professor Granger ... she seems not too bothered by the… it... Someone saw her helping the giant choose some books in the library, she was all smiles and..."

Tom nodded stiffly.

"Well… of course… She must feel sorry for the lesser creature, clearly, with ... with her gentle and sweet soul..." Abraxas stammered sweating under Tom's blank gaze, "However perhaps, she should limit her interactions with, well... "

"You don't have to worry about it, Malfoy." Tom had to force the words through the barrier of his clenched teeth, "She's a teacher and she's forced into certain interactions, I'm sure someone has turned it into a bigger deal that it actually was, I'll take care of it."

Abraxas said nothing more about the topic, his Adam's apple bobbed slightly and he played with his sleeves for a count of thirty seconds, as he waited for the vein in Tom's neck to stop throbbing so hard.

Convincing Hermione not to be seen around with this or that creature, just so as not to spread strange rumors, would have been like asking her to cut a limb off.

Not to mention that such a conversation would have made him a complete jerk in her eyes once and for all ... well fuck that. If she wanted to hug house elves next, she was welcome to do so, and if he had to obliviate the whole school afterwards, well… he'd do it.

"What happened to your forehead?" asked Tom, deciding he might not take his frustration out on Abraxas.

The blonde skimmed his brow with his fingers then combed his hair, as if that had been his intent all along. Tom snorted, Abraxas looked away sighing.

"I don't remember most of the fight, to be honest..."

"Brutus?"

"Who else? The old man still knows how to serve a fist 'o fives, I owe him that much..." he laughed bitterly.

"Is there anything I can do?" Asked Tom, slightly tilting his head to the side, "Should we… talk to him over the summer?" Because to be the leader you needed to know when to offer some reassurance too.

Abraxas shrugged.

"Sunday…" He offered pinning him with his extremely grey and prideful eyes, "We'll have a little gathering at the lake, will you join us or are you going to Hogsmeade?"

"Who's coming?"

"All the Slytherin boys and a couple of Ravenclaws…"

"I'll be there." Said Tom.

Abraxas didn't need to linger any longer, he got up, barely bowed, and left the library, smiling to himself just a little bit.

Hermione snorted as the Quaffle landed easily in Tom's hands and a chorus of giggles exploded from the small group of girls sitting on the dock. They were just passing it around… they weren't even putting any effort in the game…

Plus it wasn't warm enough for those girls to sit there, dangling their naked legs over the dark water of the lake, but the boys didn't seem to mind the sight and the girls didn't seem to mind the cold.

Hermione shook her head. Freezing their bloody arses just to serve those inflated-ego maniacs Slytherins some more adulation… as if Tom's head wasn't big enough as it was already…

Who knew what those same girls would have thought if they had seen him refuse to take off his pajamas for two days just ''cause it's the weekend' or… or swallow half a pound of chocolates without even chewing.

Had they known he looked like a bloody boa constrictor when it came to chocolate. You'd have to be careful he wouldn't gulp down the wrappers too, as he could reach just that level of eagerness, and then rant like a crackpot and blame the rest of the world when he'd end up choking on some scrappy piece of paper.

Aberforth had had to hang him upside down once, to get him to spit out the colorful wrapper of a piece of candy… it had been terrifying and then hilarious, then terrifying again when Tom had recovered his voice and ranted for hours about Honeydukes and their lethal wrappings and if he had had the money to sue them and all that… he'd been chewing more chocolate sitting in Honeydukes' window merely hours later…

Maybe even Ron would have had a hard time keeping up with Tom's gorging pace, and Ron was a pretty disgusting sight at the dinner table when he'd put himself to it.

Another small chorus of giggles filled the crisp, cool Sunday air, and Hermione looked up again from the book on her lap, to peer in the direction of the lake, a bit annoyed with herself for getting so easily distracted.

Tom was telling something to Nott, it had to be something funny because he was doing that thing with his lower lip, that kind of little twitch of when he wanted to laugh but didn't want to ruin the end of a joke. Mulciber seemed to have already guessed the final pun, because he was doubled over with laughter and clapping loudly on the back of Abraxas Malfoy, who was desperately trying to escape Mulciber's big hands without managing to.

There was something both satisfying and stinging about watching that scene and Hermione wasn't sure what it was that was causing the negative feelings until she suddenly was.

She envied them.

Envied that carefree little group of students enjoying the very first signs of spring in the park. Not a care in the world. They could just be there. Be their own age, enjoy it. Enjoy the fluttering of their young hearts, all those new interesting feelings and needs.

All things she had been denied.

Hermione had once sat on that very same dock, with Harry, Ron, Seamus, Angelina, Katie, Ginny, the twins, Neville, Luna, Cho ... they had sung and danced, laughed and joked, Lee Jordan had passed by exchanging a few jokes with Harry about the last Quidditch match, Hermione had probably rolled her eyes at the topic. Draco Malfoy had been lying in the sun surrounded by his harem of adoring would-be concubines and Lavender had had a half heart attack on the unbuttoned button on Ron's chest ... maybe even Hermione had let her eyes peek at Ron's chest then... and maybe her cheeks had turned red and her heart had raced a little, but she wouldn't be sure.

It had lasted so little ... Hermione's adolescence had lasted just so little… she had barely had time to realize that her body was changing, that it was starting to demand for other types of attentions, and then BANG life had been all responsibility, war, running for your dear life and facing death way too many times, and destroying horcruxes and torture and...

And when it could have all been over, when she could've stopped and mourned and then found out that she had turned into half a woman in the meantime, L.M. had thought it fun to ship her arse over 60 years back into the past.

And life had turned into changing nappies, breaking fights, educating children, saving drunken matrons, cleaning, brushing, comforting, healing, going to church, looking at the world work its way to war again, and work, work and worry all the time… and then… more responsibilities...

Watching others live quietly that adolescence that she had been denied now, was… hurtful. It stung, it made her want to wear her school uniform and join them.

Fuck the world, the future… fuck it all. Pass the illegal Firewhiskey!

She snorted. That would have probably never been her in the first place.

Who knew though, whispered a little voice from the back of her mind, maybe in a different life she'd have had the guts to bare her legs for the boys too, enjoy their furtive glances, giggle at the Tom Riddle or Cedric Diggory of the moment, and laugh too loud at someone's jokes just so she'd get some more attention.

She shook her head and returned her focus on the book. Runes. That should've been her focus right now. Runes.

But the voice at the back of her head kept uttering stupid questions, such as, would it ever be her turn to be a teenager? To be a woman? A girl? Was she going to ignore the fact that after all, her body was still the body of a seventeen-year-old? She did have all the right bits and pieces, all the urges and needs, didn't she?

Hermione exhaled.

She had been reading the same line for the past ten minutes.

She felt so foolish just for having those thoughts. With all that was going on, with all of the lives on the line, could she really worry about something as silly as a romantic life or adolescence?!

Maybe meeting Herbert the year before had messed up with her head. It had reminded her that she could still feel certain urges. That must have been it… some sort of breaking point… because until she had been reminded that she could feel all that still, she hadn't really thought of it.

But now here she was, sitting in the grass like an idiot, envying a group of girls and boys just because they could live their desires and changes at the right time.

Well… she might have been able to resume things with Ron whenever she'd find her way back home, she told herself resolutely fixing her gaze on the first line of the next page, for the umpteenth time.

Though now she barely remembered his face… it had been so long ago… He had turned into a reassuring and warm voice inside her head, just like Harry and everyone else. They were her safe world within, though she couldn't make out all of their faces anymore… not in detail anyway.

Her treacherous eyes travelled down the lake against her consent and any good sense.

Her cheeks warmed at the memory of a hoarse, desperate voice calling her name, cussing, gasping for air. She shouldn't have heard that. She really shouldn't have heard that. And why would it still echo within her brain when she refused to admit what she had undeniably heard that morning…

Hermione pressed her hands against her warm face and eyes and she groaned. She took a deep breath and peeked through her fingers.

The girls were calling from the dock, Tom was gesturing something in their direction, Abraxas was trying to drag him away. Nott was laughing, probably because Abraxas Malfoy barely reached Tom's chin in height and despite the effort, he hadn't managed to move the taller boy in the slightest.

He was really getting taller and taller… bit wider too… and who would've thought he'd started doing such things like…

Nope. She refused to think of him that way. A child. A child. The rational part of her was screaming out loud. A smug, chocolate-eating, annoying, spoiled brat…

Or a guy, just a couple of years younger than this body of yours… a guy who calls your name when... NO!

"You could have been sitting there with them ..."

"Jeez!" Hermione started at Dumbledore's voice, all the more flustered for the recent direction of her hazardous thoughts.

That man managed to appear out of nowhere without making the slightest noise every time. If it hadn't been silly to think so, Hermione would have believed that he was charming his shoes with the sole purpose of scaring her by suddenly appearing behind her back. He gave her an apologetic smile and she shrugged, bringing a hand on her chest, as if to make sure her heart would stay within the confines of her ribcage.

"What do you mean?" she asked looking back at the lake briefly. Tom and Nott were dragging Abraxas toward the water and threatening to thrown him in. The girls on the dock where yelling and laughing, more Slytherin boys cheered from the shore. A small group of Gryffindors curled their noses at the sight.

"You could have enrolled as a student, surely it would have made more sense with your appearance... instead ... an assistant ... I guess for the sake of our research?" Hermione didn't bother nodding, the answer was obvious, of course it had been for the research as well as to be able to keep an eye on Dumbledore… he knew that perfectly well. Douchebag.

"Do you regret it?"

As if Tom needed to be more confused about her role in his life ... as if she hadn't started to get confused about it herself.

"No." she only half lied, ignoring the wizard's stinging gaze.

"I think you do. I think you've been robbed of your childhood twice now, and you're starting to realize the thief of that childhood have been you all along… no one asked you to save the world, Mrs. Granger…"

"I don't need a shrink, thank you very much…" She snapped.

Well sometimes she could still sound very much like a teenager herself, couldn't she? She almost grinned at the sigh that escaped Dumbledore's lips at her harsh reply, "Did you have something else to discuss?".

"I did. Though I'm surprised I was even able to find you, weren't you spending Sundays in Hogsmeade?"

"Tom wanted to spend some time with his friends and I think I'm close to figure out the last rune." Hermione leafed through her book and pointed a finger when she found the page she was looking for. Dumbledore leaned forward slightly so he could peek over her shoulder.

"Oh, I see, Perenelle was right all along, wasn't she?" he muttered, "A customized rune ... perhaps a feeling?"

"A name," Hermione rectified, "But the base rune might be that of Time or Love, however, the symbols on the pendant would indicate an inconsistent number of accents in the second case... unless there was one more rune, but then it wouldn't make much sense…"

"It could depend on the customization, you shouldn't pay too much attention to accents, we could run a little test if you can figure out the rest of the symbol, or the main lines at least…"

Hermione nodded.

"Exactly what I thought too… were you able to get your hands on that Persian book we discussed?"

"Aye, no luck with that, but I do have a couple more people I could ask… I'm planning for a few trips." Hermione nodded once.

She knew that asking more questions about the people he was going to get in touch with, or the places he was going to go to, was no use.

Dumbledore just wasn't able to work in a group. He had his own ways and his own rhythms and she had pretty much given up on changing that by now. As long as he could come up with something useful in the end she didn't mind him doing things on his own.

"Nicolas wrote back," He announced after having stared at the rune with her for a while longer.

"Guess we got the same letter then."

"Well, then you already know Nott is working on the prototypes." Hermione nodded pursing her lips a bit.

"I don't think we can entrust such items to owls… I believe the pendants will have to be collected in person. Do you think you could do it?" He asked.

"I think so… Tom will spend part of the summer with the Blacks and the Malfoys, I guess I could use his absence for a quick trip to Paris. How many are there?" She asked, ignoring the silly panic that had gripped her belly at the thought of having to tell Tom she was going back to the Flamels. She shouldn't have cared about the whims of a jealous child and yet she couldn't help it.

Was she turning just plain stupid over time? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he looked less and less like a child ... with the fact that she felt less and less older than everyone else. Wrong train of thoughts, spat her logical brain glaring at her creeping stupidity.

"Two of the pendants are complete, but the third should be ready come July."

"Just three?" Hermione frowned.

"Three will be enough, I'm not even sure the sand will be enough as is." Said Dumbledore frowning at their chances, "And we better hope it is because getting more of that would require another trip to Romania itself… Merlin knows how hard it would be to find the source of the Sand all over again…" Dumbledore looked away from her and fixed his gaze back on the group of Slytherins on the lake shore.

Whenever the man looked at Tom, Hermione felt the ridiculous need to cover his eyes with her hands or to stare even harder, as if to counter any negative energy Dumbledore might be sending to the boy.

They fell silent for a while, until Hermione couldn't help but to ask the question that had bugged her brain in the past few weeks, although she knew that the answer would be neither comprehensive nor sincere.

"Why did you give him that book?" She asked quietly.

Dumbledore smirked but did not turn to her.

"What book?"

"I thought I asked to borrow it months ago, and what was it you told me? The book has disappeared from the library ... something like that."

"Oh! Hogwarts a History, well I'm glad we know where it is then."

"Indeed… too bad it is exactly where I was hoping it wouldn't be… what is it with you and that boy? Is it my fault you are so obsessed with him?"

Of course, Dumbledore didn't say any more. It was strange enough that he hadn't walked away at the first mention of Tom, as he usually did.

Hermione ventured a puzzled glance at the professor, but his gaze had turned completely blank and his lips had sealed in a straight line. That expression, she had learned by now, meant he wasn't going to have that conversation. She could've pestered him as long as she had wanted but those lips weren't about to come lose any time soon. So Hermione spared herself the effort.

He'd never share any of the important stuff.

It was just so frustrating to watch him weave his plots.

If only he'd just asked her whatever it was he wanted to know… who could've helped him better than her? She was literally from the future…

She wondered whether the Dumbledore from the future had been just as secretive and scheming as this one. Maybe he had she decided. Maybe he had and she had just failed to notice it or he had simply gotten better at hiding it.

Hermione shrugged at the wizard's stubborn silence and glared at her own feet.

Well… he could keep his secrets for now.

She didn't know why Dumbledore meant to make Tom look for the Chamber of Secrets (which seemed to be one of the plausible reasons for giving that book to Tom), but whatever it was he thought he could achieve, Hermione would make sure she'd be one step ahead of him.

During the first few weeks after returning from the Christmas holidays, Hermione had already begun a series of procedures to seal the entrance to the Chamber with curses worthy of the sweat of even the most seasoned sorcerers.

Also, she would've kept adding wards and curses, until the magic in the castle would have allowed her to, because, why not? If history had taught her something, it was that one never had enough back-up plans!

In fact, curses and magic apart, she had also insisted Apollyon Pringle (the caretaker), would accept the four large roosters she had suddenly felt the urge to gift him with.

It had been the most uncomfortable conversation she had probably ever had, because Mr. Pringle had barely ever spoken to Hermione before that, and he had had some reserve in accepting the four large and quite rebellious birds. Luckily in the end, he had given in, not hiding some concern for Hermione's sanity though.

Hermione had also met a very young and very shy Hagrid (a meeting that had cost her three sleepless nights of crying and violent visceral homesickness) and she had sworn to herself, to keep an eye on him and his' pets' from afar.

Not that she wouldn't have loved to spend as much time as possible with her future friend, a man who had fought with her in the war, who had cried and celebrated with her… it was more that she had heard how quickly the rumors about her fraternizing with the half-giant had spread among Slytherins, and if there was one thing she didn't want, was for Tom's attention to linger on Hagrid more than it was strictly necessary, for the sake of both boys really.

The only one Hermione still had a hard time making up a plan for, was Moaning Myrtle ... who was still just Myrtle Warren at the moment... but she'd surely think of something.

"Oh, blessed youth… I guess we should do something about that." Dumbledore's voice tore Hermione from her thoughts and she followed his gaze back to the shore.

"Dear Merlin!" Hermione jumped up on her feet and stood on her toes blinking rapidly at the chaotic scene before them.

The girls, that just until a while ago had been sitting on the dock, had apparently broke ranks and invaded the boys' area.

Abraxas Malfoy had straight up jumped into the Black Lake, apparently less scared by the possibility of meeting the Giant Squid than by that of ending up in the clutches of an hormonal bunch of Slytherin girls, now screaming from the shore and trying to lure him back to dry land.

Nott, Mulciber and a couple more boys where laughing, standing next to a little group of Ravenclaw girls and they were pointing amusedly at something in the grass.

The 'something in the grass' turned out to be, upon closer inspection, none other than Tom Riddle, missing his cloak and half of his shirt and buried under quite an aggressive horde of second-years giggling fans.

"Let's go, before they manage to tear off some of his limbs together with his clothes and before young Malfoy trespasses into mermaid territory, they tend to be particularly aggressive in the first days of Spring and I don't know whether you've had the pleasure to meet him yet, but I assure you, Brutus Malfoy can be quite intense…"

"Did I do something?"

"Nope."

"I definitely did something ..." he said dragging each word and lowering his face to the dining table to get a better look at Hermione's face. She purposely tilted her face down, the tip of her nose was basically brushing against the pages of her book now, but at least this shielded her from those intense eyes of his.

"Nope." she repeated, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the pages, even though they were now so close she could hardly make out the letters, let alone the words.

Tom sighed.

His chair creaked under his weight when he pushed himself against the backrest and started rocking back and forth, balancing himself on the back legs of the chair.

"Is it because I got an E instead of an O in Transfiguration ...? You know Dumbledore will never give me an O ... it's not my fault I'm not a Gryffindor!" he asked, pulling one of his curls between his index and thumb, and then letting it bounce back in place.

"It's not about your grades, although, Tom, it is quite ridiculous you'd get an E when I'm teaching the bloody subject." He rolled his eyes, she didn't see him but she knew anyway.

"So what is it for then?"

"What?" She sighed.

"You said 'it's not about your grades', so what is it about? Why are you mad?"

"I'm not mad, now eat your pie and go back to studying."

"I finished my pie ages ago, and I also ate yours because you hardly looked at it and I felt it was such a waste..."

Hermione jerked the book down, but her slice of apple pie was still on her plate, nibbled, but there. Tom landed back on the four feet of his chair with a dull thud, he was grinning.

"Ha ha ... very funny."

"As if I didn't know you could kill for a slice of apple pie..." he snorted running a hand through his raven black curls.

Hermione took a bite of said pie, and went back to hide behind the large leather-bound volume.

If she had to be completely honest, she wasn't quite sure about the nature of her bad mood either… she knew there were several reasons for her to feel the way she felt, but she also knew all of her worries were slightly magnified because of the one thing she was afraid to actually put out there, which should have been the silliest of the bunch by the way.

This feeling of hers was ridiculous and irrational and weird.

So Hermione's plan had been that of eating all of her worries in the form of the amazing apple pie Aberforth had baked and just pretend that everything was fine.

It might have even worked if it hadn't been for Tom.

"Oh come on! What have I done ?!" Tom slipped his index finger into the fold of the book and pushed it down onto the surface of the table and away from her face.

Possibly, in hindsight, that was the exact instant it all snapped.

The point of no return.

"You didn't do anything, I just want to read my book and eat my pie and then go back to school when you're done with your homework!"

"Yes ... and I am Merlin's younger brother ... you are angry and I don't know why and you are driving me crazy with this silence and ..."

"Well, you always complain that I talk too much ..."

"... so now you'll tell me what it is that I did to cause such a reaction, so I can apologize and we can stop with the nonsense... or was it someone else? Did someone do something to you?"

"... so maybe you should enjoy the moments of silence and appreciate that ..."

"... I swear 'Mione, if I have to find out for myself, you won't like wha..."

"… AS if I could never just be having a bad day! When most of the time you are moody and snappy and it's not like I..."

"And IF it's just those days of the month, well then fuck it, you can just tell me and I ..."

"… not even complaining! It could just be so easy but you know what, doesn't even matter, because, OF COURSE, the world revolves around you! The world revolves around Tom Riddle and his stupid gang ..."

"So IT IS my fault, then?! I KNEW IT! And what does my gang have to do with it ... and ... Oh, fuck me, Hermione, if this is about the lake thing again..."

"...ol it felt?! Not only do I have to hear Dippet's rant on the way I handle students, but I'm also lectured on the way I brought you up! As if I would ever teach you such inappropriate..."

"CHRIST, it's for the lake again! I knew it was the lake! As if I enjoyed being practically raped in front of the whole school!"

"WELL, it didn't seem to bother you too much either!"

It just slipped out of her lips viciously and too fast for her to stop.

Hermione choked on the next breath and widened her eyes into Tom's shocked ones, putting a shaky hand on her lips as if hoping she could somehow bring the words back in and erase the past five seconds…

"What… what did you just say?" He asked halfway between amused and offended.

"Nothing! Can I just finish the fucking pie in peace and ..."

"Oh no ... no ... the fucking pie is the least of your problems now, believe me, what is it about me and rape you said there?" his eyes narrowed and his lips twitched.

"Tom, I didn't mean… I'm sorry, I'm tired, I'm nervous and I'm not in the mood..."

There was a short pause, during which Tom seemed to be deciding whether to drop the argument or not. Something akin to euphoria seemed to flash on his face but Hermione told herself she might have only imagined it, because the next moment he was a mask of blind anger.

"No! Now I'm the mad one and we're getting to the bottom of it! You've been giving me shit for a week and just because..."

"You don't listen, you never listen, now you've made your mind up about this being about the fucking lake, which by the way…"

"And if you're jealous maybe you should admit it to yourself instead of acting like a crazy bitch and take it out on…"

"Why do I always have to be AFRAID of ...? WHAT?! JEALOUS! HA! Now you're talking nonsense!"

Jealous, Hermione? Of whom? A chocolate-eating brat? Pff ... He wished!

"NO NO NO, YOU GET TO THE END OF THAT SENTENCE NOW! WHAT IS IT YOU ARE AFRAID OF?"

"I'LL GET TO THE END OF IT IF YOU SHUT YOUR TRAP FOR FIVE SECONDS!"

"What the heck is going on in here?" Aberforth was standing under the threshold of the dining room, wand in one hand and a filthy tea towel in the other, looking from Hermione to Tom as if they'd been playing a tennis match.

"NOTHING" they both thundered glaring at each other.

"I swear you two… I don't even… two frigging children… and I don't… and… tearing down the Inn, for Salazar's sake!" Aberforth left muttering to himself and shaking his head.

"What. Would. You. Be. Afraid. Of?" Tom breathed out each word, breaking the tense truce as soon as the sound of Aberforth's steps faded.

"To talk! We've gotten to the point where I'm afraid to even talk with you Tom, because I know that you will get your own idea of the facts and you won't listen and in the end I'll have to be the mean one, while you'll be entitled to storm off and yell and be a fucking hormonal teen about it... and I should have just the same right! And if I feel like being silent and childish and broody then I get to be just that and…"

"What are you talking about? Do you hear yourself!? You don't even make sense anymore!"

"I'm going back to France next summer." she blurted out, only then realizing that they had both jumped to their feet sometime in the middle of their argument, and that they both had their hands on the table, as if they were using it to support the weight of their anger, or as if threatening to jump over and attack the other any minute now.

"It would be just for a few w…" but she stopped on the clicking sound of Tom's jaw.

There was a beat of silence, then hell broke loose on Earth.

"THEHELLYOU'REGOINGTOFRANCE!" Tom roared.

"I KNEW I COULDN'T EVEN SAY IT!"

"I SWEAR TO GOD I'M ABOUT TO JUMP OVER THERE, HERMIONE.."

"WELL JUMP! I DARE YOU! I'MMA CURSE YOUR ARSE SO FAST…"

"I'MMA FUCKING SNAP THAT WAND OF YOURS SO QUICK…"

"HOPE YOU'RE PROUD OF YOUR REACTION! YOU KNOW WHAT!? SCREAM AS MUCH AS YOU WANT! IN FACT, WHY DON'T YOU START BLEEDING ALL OVER THE PLACE WHILE YOU'RE AT IT!?"

If she had slapped him straight in the face, she wouldn't have gotten the same reaction.

Tom literally froze. He froze so suddenly that her first thought was that she might have broken him for good. Though that thought only lasted long enough for her to register it.

He looked completely astonished.

Probably because she had never really had to raise her voice so much. Probably because she had never felt the need to. Probably because she'd always been too afraid to.

He'd always been a child to her, a broken child, a porcelain doll she needed to handle with care… and now? And now she wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to be or what he really was, but he looked like he could handle a bit of a jolt.

Their eyes locked and she had the feeling that she wasn't the only one noticing how their relationship was somehow shifting right there and then, inevitably sliding towards something different and unknown.

That change was subtle but palpable.

Tom thawed first from his shock and broke the silence.

"God, you're just unbelievable… Are you seriously going to run into that loser's arms just because you can't admit you're jealous?! What the fff… what the fffuck, Hermione!? When are you going to stop playing 'the mommy'? Who the hell ever asked you to…"

"I'm not playing th…"

"YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER, SO STOP FEELING FUCKING GUILTY ALL THE TIME, AND STOP BLAMING IT ON ME TOO WHILE YOU'RE AT IT!"

It took her three attempts to finally find her voice again, when she did, she gasped inwardly, because on any other occasion, this would have been the point where she would have given up, calmed down and tried to be the mature one.

On any another occasion, she would have tried to make Tom think clearly... maybe she would have found a good compromise for both of them, talked it out… not this time. Nope. Hermione was apparently unable to stop this, whatever 'this' was.

"I'm not… I'M NOT RUNNING ANYWHERE! And I'm surely not running into anyone's arms! If you'd let me get to the end of a single sentence before biting back like a frigging snake, maybe we could talk like normal people! And… You're just fucking deluding yourself if you think I'd be jealous of a screaming CHILD who can't even listen! I might not be your 'mom' but you keep acting like a baby, so don't YOU blame ME if that's the case!"

"WELL I'M LISTENING NOW, AREN'T I? SO, TALK! WHY THE HELL SHOULD YOU GO BACK TO FRANCE?"

Hermione paused to catch her breath.

Her blood was boiling and her cheeks felt scorching. She couldn't think straight. She could barely think at all.

This was all new. New and thrilling for some odd reason.

It felt like she was being shaken out of a daze that had lasted for ages.

She wasn't even sure why they were screaming so much anymore… but it was… refreshing.

Screaming and ranting and take it out on the world. God, she had missed this and she hadn't even known. Could anger be something healthy too?

Tom's chest was rising and falling at a frightening rate, his nostrils were dilated, his face was as red as Hermione supposed hers was, and he had a vein in his neck that looked like it was about to explode. She hoped she was looking at least half as threatening as he was.

And it hit her that Tom was seething and probably angrier than he had ever been, but was still there. He hadn't stormed out nor toppled the table, he hadn't exploded nor suddenly turned into a snake-like monster.

"The Flamels invited me for the summer ..." stammered Hermione, slightly embarrassed at lower pitch of her voice now "They started an interesting research and I thought it'd be nice to spend some time with them and... well, last year I left without as much as a goodbye after living with them for a whole year… so I guess I owe it to them to at least drop by. You will be at Black's anyway so I don't get what… "

"Will he be there?!" Tom interrupted her, she could tell he was struggling not to scream just because she had dramatically lowered her own voice.

Hermione pursed her lips in a line and frowned.

"Herbert?"

"Why the hell would I remember his fucking name. HIM. WILL HE be there?" He knew the name. He would have heard her whisper it from miles away… she had nightmares about having to say it out loud in his presence for Merlin's sake.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself not to snort.

"Yes. Herbert Flamel will be there. It would be me, Perenelle, Herbert and Nicolas."

"How long?" Tom was so angry that his whole body was shaking and Hermione feared that at any moment now, despite his best efforts, his liver would've just burst.

If she hadn't been just as angry as he was for once, and mostly at herself for never having any idea how to deal with certain topics with him, she might have felt sorry for him.

"A couple of weeks, in July." She said through gritted teeth.

"All right."

"All right." She repeated then looked at him gaping, "What?"

"I said, okay. Enjoy your vacation." He repeated.

"You're… you're not going to do crazy things to get revenge on whatever you think I'm going to do, Tom." She warned.

"No. I won't." he basically growled.

"Have you had a stroke… or are you being serious?" she asked then, a little taken aback by his words. If looks could have killed, his next glare would have erased her from the face of the planet.

"Look I'm trying to be the mature one but if you keep pushing my buttons I'm happy to walk around the table and show you what I really think about your vacation in FuckingParis."

"Ok." She said stupidly, not even bothering to try and analyze his absurd threat. She sat back down in her chair, her legs strangely soft under his sharp gaze.

Her hearth started thumping senselessly in her ears again, though lacking any true anger now.

They were silent for a moment longer before she decided to speak again.

"There's nothing between me and Herbert Flamel."

She had no idea about why it was so important that he knew that. She had already won the argument. She had won the first argument ever and she was about to ruin it with her bleeding Gryffindor heart, wasn't she?

"Eat your fucking pie, Hermione."

"I'm serious though ... there's nothing between us. There never was anything. I didn't lie to you Tom, I just… did not."

Hermione picked her brain trying to figure out why couldn't she just eat her fucking pie and shut up, as he had cleverly suggested.

Perhaps she had always been so afraid that his anger would necessarily awaken an ancient monster in him, that she wouldn't be happy until he calmed down...

Or was it because, secretly, it had always bugged her that he'd never believed her about the matter of Herbert anyway? She also suspected that had little to do with the fear that their mistrust could have been a weapon in Dumbledore's hands.

"I didn't lie." She insisted when he still said nothing.

Perhaps she was just an idiot who couldn't let herself win a single argument without feeling guilty about it? Despite the fact that he had clearly survived her outburst anyway, it still felt like she had to offer for something in return…

Or perhaps, suggested a voice from deeper down, a voice Hermione wasn't ready to call her own, it was because she had been very much fucking-jealous.

Perhaps she had bristled at the sight of girly hands tearing at Tom's shirt at the lake shore.

Perhaps, now that she had gotten to taste a bit of the jealousy he had gulped down for years, according to him anyway, she felt guilty talking about Paris without making sure he knew she was being honest...

She blinked at those thoughts and dismissed them at once, because absolutely-no-frigging-way this was about that.

After what felt like forever, Tom finally tore his eyes away from her, breaking his stillness.

"Tom ..." She called him in such a faint voice that she wasn't sure he heard her or just turned back to look at her because he wanted to, "I didn'…"

"I've heard you, there was nothing between you and that fucking guy. Fine. I believe you. Now just shut up and eat your pie."

He bit his lower lip and ran his hands through his hair, then dropped back into his chair and deflated slightly, exhaling loudly before returning to hold her gaze.

She didn't move though.

"Tom...?"

"What the fuck is it, Hermione ?! Merlin knows, I can just handle it up to a certain point..."

"I'm not jealous."

His eyebrows rose in a befuddled expression before he was able to stop them.

"You are. And you're a lunatic too." He spat, "Just. Eat. That. Pie. And. Shut. Up."

"Meh… then maybe just a normal amount… like just up to here." She said setting an invisible, ridiculously low, bar with her hand.

His eyes softened at the silliness in her tone. The heaviness surrounding them was suddenly lifted, and Hermione felt the grip on her stomach ease marginally.

"Jealous... of a couple of second years ... could you be any more of a loser…" he scoffed and then finally the corners of his lips curled back into a smirk at the sight of the faint blush on her cheeks.

"I take back even that little amount, then!" She smiled, "HEI!"

But it was too late, her slice of pie was gone in a couple of bites.

"That was my pie!"

Tom leaned forward with a sudden movement, in a second he was just inches away from Hermione's face, close, very close, too much perhaps.

Again, like that time in the hallway at Christmas, Hermione's stomach gave a strange twist and it squeezed as if it were trying to dissociate itself from the rest of her and she didn't pull back.

"You should've eaten it till you had a chance." He laughed and his teeth where so straight and sharp and his eyes too blue. His breath smelled of cinnamon and apples and shortbread and cane sugar. And it sounded like he was talking about something else entirely.

Hermione's lungs burned and she let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding until then. Tom's eyes lingered on her lips as they parted to take a quick gulp of air.

"Ya' jealous." He laughed pressing a sugary sticky digit on the tip of her nose mockingly, then he pulled himself back and away from her abruptly.

The air against Hermione's face suddenly lost all the heat and tension.

The smell of apple pie and sweat and mint that had come with his proximity vanished with him and there was only a disorienting cold.

Hermione's stomach reached up to grab her heart and pull it down into the depth of her belly.

NO. She almost yelled it out loud. No. That was an order. NO.

"N… I… wha… I can't believe it, you ate my pie, do you have a death wish or something?!"

"Where are you going?" He asked when she quickly moved the chair and tucked her book under her arm.

"To get another slice! You thief! A frigging boa constrictor! That's it… that's what you are…"

Let me know what you think!

Until next time,

Love,

M.