A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows after last chapter! And for being understanding with the slight delay on this chapter. I had a crazy week, so it took me a while to get focused today. I'm still not entirely pleased with the ending of this chapter, but I wanted to get this posted today. You can follow me on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.
Please let me know what you thought of chapter seven and be on the lookout for chapter eight next week!
February 1945
After sharing his first kiss with Hermione, Tom could not deny the obsession that was simmering under the surface of his mind. Despite his best attempts at focusing on his school work or trying to distract himself with his friends, he could not stop thinking about the feather light memory of her lips on his. He would be in Ancient Runes halfway through a translation one minute and the next be transported to the Dark Tower, in Hermione's arms once again.
His professors even noticed that he was not paying attention, which was an embarrassment he almost couldn't stand.
Even Tom's dreams were not safe from Hermione, though. It seemed that she would show up every night to haunt him. The reminder of her hair in his fingers, the promise of what more might be to come filling his imagination, until he woke up gasping and sweaty wishing he could forget what it was like to kiss her. He was growing distressed, feeling little more than a slave to his body where Hermione was concerned.
He had never been interested in witches before. Not because he wasn't attracted to them, but because he just didn't see much use for them. He didn't see the appeal of sex the way that his roommates did. Tom was able to handle most of those concerns on his own much more handily than any witch would be able, he was sure. Witches seemed messy and emotional, doing nothing to help him achieve his aims.
But Hermione was different. She was bold and smart and fresh. Now that he knew that maybe she wasn't so sweet and innocent as she let on, he could imagine her by his side when he took his oath as the Minister of Magic. He could see her up late in his office, discussing strategies and methods to handle their mutual enemies, until their desire for one another overwhelmed them.
Tom also recognized that she was dangerous. Not only had she completely taken over his mind, he hadn't forgotten her little slip up about the diary. He couldn't figure out how she would know about his horcrux, but he would have to keep her closer than ever so she couldn't use that tidbit against him.
He stayed away from the Tower for a week just to prove that he could, even though daydreams about slipping off to see Hermione dominated his waking thoughts. Tom hadn't gotten as far as he did by giving into his base urges and he wasn't going to start now. However, he couldn't stay away forever, and he found himself standing in front of the door, key in hand.
Taking a deep breath, Tom fixed his dark hair, hoping that he appeared cool and unaffected to the witch. Assured that he would be able to handle the situation, Tom opened the door and walked in. Looking around the Tower, he found it empty and wondered where Hermione could be. Surely it was too early for her to be in bed.
Splashing caught his attention, and Tom turned to face the translucent divider. He could see the outline of Hermione's body on the other side, illuminated by flickering candles, as she was climbing into the large clawfoot tub. His heart was pounding wildly against his rib cage when he realized that all that was separating him and Hermione's nakedness was a short walk and a flimsy divider.
His feet started to work before his mind could catch up with what he was doing. He turned the corner and came face to face with his witch nestled in the tub, up to her neck in foamy white bubbles.
"Tom!" she said in shock. "Godric! I didn't hear you come in." But, she made no move to shield herself, apparently unbothered that she was sitting naked in a bath while he was there.
He almost skipped past her use of the name Godric. Almost.
"I'm sorry," he said, sure that his cheeks were bright red and glowing at this point. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you." His voice seemed to be an octave lower, and he couldn't tear his eyes off of her flushed face.
Her wild hair was piled on top off her head, though a few pieces had escaped and now clung to her neck, wet. From his vantage point, he could clearly see the tops of her breasts, tantalizing and round, but the view was disappointingly obstructed by the foam of her soap. She looked so confident where she was sitting, unashamed to show off her slim arms, for once uncovered by fabric.
Could she not tell all of the things that he was imagining when he looked at her? Did she not realize that he wanted nothing more than to press kisses up and down her neck while she moaned and arched against him? Or maybe she did know and was simply waiting for him to make a move?
Suddenly, the weight of his inexperience was heavy. Salazar, Tom didn't even know the first thing to do with a witch. What if he tried to kiss her again and Hermione found him lacking? What if she found his touch grating and repulsive? It was enough to keep him rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do with himself.
"Are you just going to stand there all night?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes sparkling in mischief.
Tom cleared his throat, desperately unsure of what to do with himself. "Well, I can't say...that is, I don't want to presume," he stammered.
Hermione threw him a lifeline. "Well, if you want, I can get out of the tub and get dressed, if you want to wait on the settee," she offered. "Or..."
"Or?" Tom asked, his voice graveley. Merlin, he could not think of anything else he wanted to hear.
Her eyes dropped for the first time to look at the bubbles in front of her. Suddenly, she wasn't as confident as she projected either. "Or, I could take my bath, and you could help me scrub my back," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Tom found himself nodding, wanting nothing more than to feel the soft skin of her back. He walked to the edge of the tub, his legs stiff, before he got down to his knees and he was eye level with Hermione.
Hermione's arms disappeared into the water then, and she found a small flannel. With delicate ease, she ran the cloth up and down her arms to clean herself. Tom busied himself with rolling up the sleeves of his uniform shirt. He needed to do anything to keep himself occupied so that his brain couldn't catch up with the situation he found himself in - that a naked Hermione was just inches away from him.
"So, how are your classes going?" Hermione asked casually, before handing him the flannel. She hunched forward, wrapping her arms around her knees so there was (disappointingly) no chance of him seeing anything he wasn't meant to. But, Tom was sure that she had no idea how tantalizing the wet expanse of her back was when he was used to seeing witches buttoned up to their chins.
His hand was trembling when he pressed the cloth to her slender shoulders, gently caressing up and down to help clean her. "They are going as well as I can hope," he said, just glad that he didn't stutter. "I don't mind school, but it does seem like the Professors are assigning all sorts of busy work this year. You think they'd be more mindful when we have NEWTs coming up."
"Hm," Hermione said in agreement. "I wonder if I will ever be able to sit my NEWTs."
"I don't see why not if you've taken your OWLs," Tom answered, wondering at that little tidbit that she'd let slip this time. "I have a lot of friends with fathers in the Ministry. I bet they could arrange for you to take them."
She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her lips pursed in amusement. "Even for a mudblood like me?" she asked.
Tom wasn't sure what his friends would think if they knew about Hermione's blood status. Lestrange would probably offer to have her killed, but Malfoy might be able to be convinced that Hermione was special. The others...well, he wasn't entirely sure. "My friends listen to me," he said finally, for once hating how it sounded like a brag.
He didn't want to continue this line of questioning, especially not when they were in such a compromised position. His dark eyes remained firmly rooted to the skin on her back. She had a constellation of seven moles and he found himself to trace the space between them. A shiver raced up her spine and before he knew it, Tom was leaning towards her, an unknown magnetism pulling them together for a kiss.
"Hermione," he whispered, feeling an ache in his chest he'd never experienced.
Before he could find the sweetness of her mouth again, though, he could hear the door creaking open.
Hermione spun to face him, her eyes wild and frantic. Dumbledore, she mouthed to him, before motioning for him to hide under the bed.
"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore's voice called out, obviously looking for her.
"Merlin, Dumbledore," Hermione responded, before standing up from the bathtub and grabbing a robe that hung from the divider. "Don't you knock? I was in the bath, so please give me a second to get covered up."
Tom didn't have time to sneak a peek at Hermione's body before it was covered by the white dressing robe that she put on, as he was too concerned with hiding himself underneath her bed so that Dumbledore didn't see him in the Tower. He wasn't sure what the wizard would do if he knew that Hermione had been having an unauthorized visitor for so long, but he wasn't really ready for that confrontation to happen now either.
"I can assure you, Miss Granger, that you have absolutely nothing to interest me," Dumbledore answered in amusement, his voice sounding muffled from under the bed.
Hermione snorted in response. "Still, it's just a common courtesy," she insisted, obviously very annoyed at having been intruded on. "I might be your prisoner, but that doesn't mean that I don't deserve a bit of privacy, right, Dumbledore?"
From his hidden spot under the bed, Tom was desperate to see what was going on. He shifted, before peering out from underneath the dust ruffle, glad that he was well shielded by the trunk Hermione had at the end of the bed. He was able to see both Dumbledore in his typical purple robes, and Hermione tightly wrapped in the clingy, white robe she'd grabbed. While Tom knew about the rumors about Dumbledore and Grindelwald, he could barely understand how Dumbledore wouldn't find Hermione appealing.
Silence stretched between the two of them, and Tom could see Dumbledore walking around the Tower, looking around.
Finally, it seemed like Hermione had grown irked enough with Dumbledore's little act. "What exactly are you looking for, Dumbledore?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
Dumbledore was no longer in his view, but from the sound of his voice, Tom knew he must be by the fireplace. "It's just curious," Dumbledore said finally. "The door was unlocked. I was wondering if you had someone here."
Tom sucked in his breath, annoyed that he'd forgotten to lock the door behind him. It was such an obvious slip up, and a disappointment to Slytherins everywhere.
Hermione was quick on her feet though. She made a little noise of shock. "Dumbledore, if I'd known the door was unlocked, do you think I'd still be here waiting for you?" she snarled.
"Fair, Miss Granger," Dumbledore added. "But then, when I came in here, it almost sounded like you were talking to someone."
"How dare you?" she answered. "Really, Dumbledore, you leave me alone and trapped up in this tower for weeks at a time - not to mention your little vanishing act last month - and then you question if someone is in here with me?"
Tom could hear the way her voice wavered, and he wondered if she had tears in her eyes, too. Even if she were drawing on the real emotions she undoubtedly felt, she was an excellent actress.
"I-I can't help it if I've started talking aloud to myself," she said with a tiny sniffle. "It's a wonder that I haven't gone mad in here. I don't even know how long you've kept me here."
Dumbledore didn't say anything immediately. "And the tea set?" he asked.
Hermione gave the other wizard an exasperated noise of disappointment. "You and I've talked about the house elves," she explained. "I don't like Tilly feeling like she has to clean up after me, so I don't let her take all my cups."
"Yes, so she has complained to me," Dumbledore said in agreement, seeming to finally believe that Hermione was telling the truth and there was really no one else in the Tower with her.
From his vantage spot, Tom could see Dumbledore take a seat on the settee, before calling for the house elf in question. Once she'd winked into the Tower, Dumbledore ordered a fresh tea service to be delivered, and all of Hermione's mismatched cups to be taken to kitchens for cleaning.
Hermione looked even more annoyed than ever. "It's like you are trying to purposefully upset me," she said with a disappointed look on her face. But even if she was upset, she still joined the other wizard on the settee, her arms remaining crossed over her chest stubbornly.
"I've always found that a cup of tea makes conversations go smoother," Dumbledore answered, completely unbothered by the attitude that Hermione was giving him. "That and sweets, but I don't suppose that I can get Tilly to bring me lemondrops at this hour."
"Spare me all your little quips about lemondrops," she answered with a roll of her eyes. "I've seen through your genial facade, Dumbledore."
Tom had to hide his amusement at Hermione's barbs. He was so grateful that finally he had someone else who could see through Dumbledore's highly inflated sense of self on their own. Instead of his friends who thought Dumbledore was simply doddering and ineffectual, it was clear that Hermione saw how dangerous Dumbledore really was. It wasn't good to underestimate him. He could be quite the foe should you be inconvenient to him, as Hermione had gotten first hand knowledge of.
The house elf popped back into the room with a steaming pot of tea and a fresh setting. Dumbledore busied himself with pouring them each a glass, before preparing his own with an obscene four scoops of sugar.
"Cream or sugar?" he asked, offering to prepare Hermione's tea for her.
"What do you want, Dumbledore?" she demanded, not answering his question.
Dumbledore poured a small splash of tea into Hermione's cup. Interesting, Tom thought. It seemed that this was a ritual they had completed many times.
"When we first met, you told me that you had important information to share with me," he started. "Information that you said could change the course of future events. Information that could save lives."
Hermione looked ashen as the words continued to pour out of Dumbledore's mouth, her eyes darting to the bed. Was she worried that he might finally hear what secrets she had that made her seem so dangerous to Dumbledore? Tom was intrigued.
"I can't see why you think it's so interesting now," she argued. "Why are you so willing to listen to what I have to share now?"
Dumbledore was quiet for a few moments, carefully considering his words. "I was busy earlier, I had greater things on my mind," he told her eventually.
Hermione scoffed once again. "Well, whatever you were dealing with was not greater than what I know," she told him.
"So tell me now, then," Dumbledore encouraged, sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for Hermione to just open up to him.
Tom was waiting as well. He needed to know what Hermione was keeping from him, and he didn't mind getting his answers from eavesdropping.
But, Hermione was stubborn. She wasn't about to give either wizard what he wanted. "No, I no longer trust you with what I know, Dumbledore," she said finitely, making it clear that the older wizard wasn't getting anywhere, at least not at that moment. "You will need to prove to me that you are worth trusting."
"And how would I do that?" he asked.
"Let me out of this damned tower!" Hermione said, throwing her hands in the air as if it was the most obvious solution.
"You know I can't do that, Miss Granger," he said.
Hermione stood from the settee abruptly. "Why the hell not?" she demanded.
"Because it's too dangerous for you," he said. "You could fall into the wrong hands."
She looked crestfallen and concerned. Nibbling on her lower lip, it was clear that she was at a loss for words. Her head dropped in defeat. "Then there is nothing that I can give you right now, nothing I could share with you that would make a positive impact," she said, cryptically. "And I think you should leave."
Tom waited with baited breath to hear what Dumbledore would do, feeling his chance to get more information about Hermione slip right through his fingers. But in the end, it seemed that Dumbledore was far more respectful than Tom would be. He stood from the settee, and walked towards the door, before wishing Hermione goodnight.
And then he was gone.
The Slytherin stayed hidden under the bed, watching Hermione deflate once Dumbledore was gone. Her aggressive attitude must have taken a lot out of her. Tom gave her a few moments to collect herself, her thoughts, before he slid out from under the bed.
"Miss Granger," he said with a smirk, sitting on the bed. "I don't think that you'd ever told me your family name. Any relation to Dagworth-Granger?"
"Seeing as I'm a muggleborn, obviously no," Hermione said, defensive again.
Tom threw his legs up on the bed and leaned back into her pillows. "You never know who you could be related to," he said with a frown, annoyed that she didn't have more interest in her own blood lines. "After all, I was raised in a muggle orphanage and it turns out that my family can trace itself back to Salazar Slytherin himself."
He was disappointed when she didn't seem impressed by his announcement. Didn't she understand what that meant? That he was the Heir of Slytherin? The sole heir.
Instead, she sat down at the foot of the bed and peered at him. "Did you really think you were a muggle?" she asked, her nose scrunched in amusement. With her head tilted to one side, Tom felt a bit like some kind of animal at the zoo.
Tom scoffed. "I always knew that I was different to the other children at the orphanage," he told her derisively. "But I didn't know that there was a whole other world for what I was. Same as you, I'd suppose," he added, a bit bitterly.
"My first bout of accidental magic scared my parents," she revealed to him. "There was no way to explain it."
The mention of her parents made her mood go sour, as though the memory was not something she wanted to linger on. He wanted her to expand more, to share more of herself with him, but he knew that she was likely to clam up if he pushed her too hard.
"None of the muggles knew what to do with me," Tom commiserated with her. "They treated me differently even after Dumbledore came to tell me that I was a special boy who had to go to a special school. And you know what bothered me most of all?"
"What?" Hermione asked, sounding genuinely interested.
"That they knew I was in an orphanage all that time, and they never bothered to come explain it to me until I was eleven," he scoffed. "Imagine that. And I had to go back to that awful place every summer."
He wasn't sure why he was sharing all of this with her. Maybe it was because Hermione was the first person in his life who might actually understand what it was like growing up as a magical person in a muggle world, even if she didn't share his views on muggles. Maybe he hoped that she would see the failings of the wizarding world to integrate muggleborn and raised people for what they were.
Purebloods wanted to keep out all mudbloods, and why shouldn't they? They arrived into the wizarding world half-grown and with their own ideas of how things were supposed to be, without any care for the cultural practices of the world they were joining. If they wanted to join, participate and thrive, they should have to work to assimilate into pureblood wizarding culture. Somehow, he didn't think that Hermione would share his views on this.
"It was rather jarring," Hermione agreed. "To finally learn that I wasn't just some sort of freak. I felt like all my problems were solved. And then I only had to go to Diagon Alley to learn that I would just face new problems here."
It was odd to hear her talk about Diagon Alley. Tom hadn't really formulated an idea of what Hermione's life was like before she came to Hogwarts. He really had no idea of who she was, and even the small details that he'd gleaned still didn't tell him much about her. "You are a mystery, Hermione Granger," he said with a frown. "I've spent more time with you than some of my friends these last few months, but I feel like I hardly know you."
She looked nervous, skittish. "I promise you that there really isn't much to tell you," she said. "I am just... me."
"I disagree," Tom said, shaking his head. "It sounded like you had all sorts of things to tell Dumbledore. Important details that you think are of greater importance than Grindelwald himself. What could those possibly be?"
"I'm just a silly girl," Hermione said, her eyes dropping to her lap. "I wasn't being realistic about all the important things that Dumbledore has to work on."
Tom shook his head. "I don't think you are a silly girl, Hermione," he said, with a smirk. "I just wish that you would trust me with this weight you are carrying all by yourself. Especially if you are not willing to share it with him any more."
Finally, she scoffed. Hermione began to crawl towards him like a panther, ready to go after her prey. "Is this really what you want to be talking about right now, Tom?" she asked, her voice sultry and thick. "Dumbledore? Because I think I'd much rather finish what you started in my bathtub."
He felt his breath get caught in his throat when he looked at her and realized how little separated them. She was a vision in her robe, still clingy from the water that had been on her body when she got out of the tub. He could see the vague pinkness of her nipples and for a brief moment, he wanted nothing more than to cup her breasts in his hands and feel them pebble beneath his palms. Salazar, he was caught off guard by how much he truly wanted her in that moment.
The fear of his inexperience held him back. Hermione was far more bold than any of the witches he'd met before, and he got the sense that she knew exactly what she was doing, while he did not. Of course, he had the instinct and general basics of what happened between a witch and a wizard, but he wasn't sure. He didn't want to embarrass himself. It would be more than he could bear.
"Tom?" she asked, faintly. Her lips were parted and her eyes half-lidded, waiting for him to initiate another searing kiss.
Mistrust blossomed in his belly. Was she trying to get out of this conversation by distracting him? It was enough to get him to pull back.
"I should really be getting back to my dorm," he said, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "Dumbledore was suspicious enough and I don't want to be caught out."
She sat next to him on the edge of the bed, so close that their arms and legs were pressed together. "Maybe it would be better for you to stay here tonight," she whispered. "Just so Dumbledore doesn't catch you out in the hallway. What if he is just waiting for you?"
Tom smirked and shook his head. "I think you did a good enough job of convincing him," he said. "He won't catch me. He hasn't caught me these last seven years, after all."
He stood up from the bed and turned to face her, only to see an unnamed emotion on her face. She was biting away at her lower lip, almost as if she was deep in thought. For a moment Tom thought that he had said too much.
But then, her brown eyes met his, open and honest. "I'll miss you, Tom," she whispered. "Promise you'll come back soon."
Tom gave her an indulgent smile and cupped her cheek tenderly. "Of course I will," he reassured her. The darkest parts inside of him could not deny that he so enjoyed the way that she needed him. Would she still want him if they had met outside of the tower? Would she give him the time of day? Did he care that it might be different had they met in other circumstances?
He didn't think that he did.
"And, when I come back next time, we can work on the warding," Tom promised, knowing that he should give her a bone. He'd been holding back her requests to get her out of there for so long, he didn't need her giving up on him. "So brush up on your wandless magic."
She rolled her eyes at him in annoyance. "What do you think I do all day in here?" she asked.
Looking as delectable as she did, perched on the bed in her thin robe, he didn't want to let his mind run away with that question. He had more than enough stimulation for one day, if he was honest.
Tom wished her a goodnight, needing to put a bit more separation between the two of them. He needed to give himself time to think. Locking the door carefully behind him, Tom began his long retreat down to the dungeons under a disillusionment charm, keeping a close eye out for Dumbledore.
All the while, he could only think of Hermione. Although he doubted it was true, what if Hermione really was just the boring witch she claimed to be, with absolutely no secrets to hide? What if she had no information that he could use to get one over on Dumbledore? Would he be able to walk away from her, leaving her in the Dark Tower to rot?
No, he didn't think that he could, not now that he knew what her kiss felt like. Not now, that he'd been captivated by her mind, by her thinking. She was at the very least a powerful witch, if she'd been able to grasp wandless magic all on her own. Hermione was a muggleborn, yes, but he could use her still.
If he was honest with himself, he would rescue Hermione from the tower, but then lock her away in one of his own making. A place where only he could visit and she would remain utterly thrilled at the prospect of seeing him. Her face would light up whenever he came home to her and he would spend his nights in the warm embrace of her thighs.
Shaking his head, he was disappointed that he'd let his thoughts get away from him once again. Back in the safety of the Slytherin Common Room, he waved off his friends and headed up to his dorm room to hopefully get some sleep.
Had he let himself get out of his depth?