September 1st, 2004
Hermione stood in front of the Burrow and took a deep, shuddering breath. The house was as shoddy as ever, with crooked rooms teetering on stilts more precarious than Hermione's worn-out Muggle heels. After being away for months, it looked more ridiculous than she remembered it.
Hermione felt the coils of the bond twist uncomfortably in the depths of her belly. She clutched onto the wrapped present in her hands, a Muggle children's book she thought Ginny might like.
Hermione's mind flipped back to the conversation she had with Tom the night before. It was odd, to say the least. His views on Muggle-Borns were nearly…progressive. What if Tom (Voldemort, she corrected herself) hadn't always been the blood-purist despot he had become in his old age? That possibility had never crossed Hermione's mind.
Hermione hesitated, then raised her arm to knock on the aged wooden door. Molly Weasley answered wearing a patchwork apron dusted with flour.
"Ah, it's Hermione!" Said Molly, with barely concealed distaste. "Do come in."
Hermione had only seen Molly once since the breakup, having run into her at the Wizarding Farmer's Market one Saturday. With a stiff smile, the woman had made it clear that she blamed Hermione for ruining the relationship and hurting her precious Ronald.
"You can set down your gift on the dining table. The girls are all out in the back garden," Molly said, before scurrying back into the kitchen.
"Thanks," Hermione muttered.
The disgruntled witch stepped through the back door into the Weasley's spacious backyard.
Ginny's baby shower was tastefully decorated in tones of baby blue and white. Late summer sun teemed through the white tent, perhaps a shrunken version of the one used for Bill and Fleur's wedding. A long table in the center was draped with a pale green cloth and runners of greenery, while ivory blooms dripped from the ceiling. Magical speakers played soft music that mingled with the voices of Ginny's many girlfriends, who sipped pumpkin mimosas and snacked on Molly's baked creations.
"Hermione! You came!"
Ginny waddled over to the witch, looking ethereal in a white lace frock.
"Take it easy, Gin," Hermione laughed.
"I'm so pleased! I was worried you wouldn't come."
Ginny enveloped Hermione in a startlingly warm embrace.
"Of course I did. It's your baby shower."
In the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed a flash of ice-blonde hair.
Celine, primped and dressed to the nines, was smirking while chatting to the gaggle of other sharply-dressed witches surrounding her.
Ginny turned to see what had caught Hermione's eye, then gave her an apologetic look.
"I hope you don't mind… Celine has been really great to me during this pregnancy."
Seeing Hermione's grimace, Ginny continued, "I thought she was a bit of a bitch at first but she's rather sweet, really."
"No, it's fine." Hermione lied.
"Griswalda, there you are!" Ginny exclaimed.
The redheaded witch waddled over to greet another guest, leaving Hermione standing alone uncomfortably. She grabbed a large goblet of pumpkin mimosa that floated past her, downing it quickly, before finding another.
"Hello, Hermione."
Hermione turned around to see none other than Celine Greenwood.
"We met the other day, didn't we?" The blonde witch said.
"Er, yes, we did," said Hermione.
Celine kept a dazzlingly bright smile on her face as she spoke under her breath.
"Right. Well, I know you think you're fooling everyone with this poor-me act. I heard about your little stunt that had Ginny in St. Mungo's."
"I never meant to-"
"It's pathetic and you need to stop. Stay away from Ronald and Ginny, or I'll make sure that they never speak to you again."
Hermione's face felt hot with rage and alcohol.
"Who exactly do you think you are?" she said, voice rising inadvertently. "I've known Ron and Ginny since my first year at Hogwarts!"
"Oh, yes." Celine scoffed, "I've heard all about-"
"No, don't even start. You're just Ron's trollop of the month!"
Hermione realized she had spoken louder than she had intended. She turned around to see Ginny, along with the rest of her guests, staring.
"Ginny, she…" Hermione said helplessly.
The pregnant witch shook her head.
"I'm sorry, but Celine has been absolutely wonderful throughout these past few months. She's been there for me far more than you have, to be honest."
Hermione inhaled sharply.
"I know you've been going through a lot, but I'm sorry. I think you should leave," said Ginny.
Hermione had no retort, no defense for her actions. She felt drained. The magical electricity of the bond prickled at every inch of her skin, making her feverish.
Hyper-aware of the judgmental eyes on her back, Hermione plodded out to the middle of the muddy field, and Apparated away.
Tom came in the evening to find Hermione reclined on the sofa, still in her party dress. She was covered in parchments, and had her nose in a worn copy of Spellman's Syllabary. On the table was a quarter-empty fifth of Firewhiskey, a highball glass. A muddy pair of shoe-prints led to the pair of black heels strewn over the threadbare carpet.
"Oh, bugger. You again," Hermione said at the sight of Tom in the doorway.
Tom raised his eyebrows at the sight of prim and proper Granger with her wild hair and top buttons undone, showing a hint of cleavage.
He hadn't realized it, but the witch was almost… sexy.
"Are you drunk?"
"Hardly", Hermione slurred.
"You cannot brew while intoxicated. You'll ruin the potion."
The witch huffed and rifled through the parchments.
"Like I give a damn about your potion," she said under her breath.
Tom clenched his fists. His fingers itched to grab the stolen wand and curse away Hermione's flippant attitude. This was a far cry from the terror and hatred he had been met with- and frankly- preferred.
"Luckily, this stage of brewing requires no magic, so I'll forgive your drunkenness," Tom said in measured tones, as he took a seat at the work bench.
Hermione ignored him, staring hopelessly at the heap of parchments in front of her.
After her disgraced exit from Ginny's shower, Hermione had not been able to endure the solitude of her empty flat. She had indulged in a leftover bottle of firewhiskey that had kept her company over lonely nights without Ron, and thrown herself into her work. But the runic patterns of the Veil were as elusive as ever, and the alcohol was only amplifying Hermione's feelings of despair.
For over an hour, Tom and Hermione worked on their separate projects in silence. Though Hermione seemed to barely notice his presence, Tom watched her as she scribbled frantically, raising his eyebrows at the occasional whispered expletives that left her mouth.
"May I ask why you chose to become intoxicated before our brewing session?" Tom said, finally breaking the silence.
Hermione looked up, visibly irritated at the interruption.
"None of your business," Hermione snapped.
Tom shot her a warning look, then noticed her blotchy cheeks and watery eyes. He hadn't noticed that the silly witch was crying.
"Is there something wrong?" Tom said in polite indifference.
"No!" Hermione exclaimed, voice thick with tears. "I just can't figure out these fucking translations!"
Hermione dramatically tossed her parchments onto the coffee table, narrowly missing the bottle of Firewhiskey. He recognized a familiar sequence of runes on one of the scrolls.
"Maybe I can help you. I was trapped inside the Veil for several years, after all."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. Under the glow of Firewhiskey, it was hard to imagine why this striking ghost of a man was so dangerous.
Before she could protest, Tom grabbed a sheet of parchment and began perusing the lines of shoddily-drawn runes.
"I see your problem," Tom said matter-of-factly, barely concealing the hint of a smirk on his lips. "Spellman's is very much a novice rune dictionary. It contains only Elder Futhark. Several of these runes appear to be of different runic alphabets."
Hermione scoffed with injured pride. She hadn't even considered that her dictionary was inadequate. The witch lunged to grab the parchment back, but Tom yanked it away before she could get her hands on it.
"Give that back," she demanded.
"This one, here- it's Anglo-Saxon," said Tom. "It's very similar in appearance, but vastly different in meaning."
Tom offered the parchment back to her. He couldn't stop the smirk from melting over his face as he watched the gears turn in Hermione's brain.
"Of course! I thought this rune was odala, but it's ingwaz! I've had this whole thing completely wrong!"
Hermione wiped her tear-stained cheeks and gathered up her parchments.
"I've got to get to the library right now!"
"Drunk? And dressed like that?" Tom said, looking her up and down.
Hermione caught sight of herself in the Muggle mirror that hung on the wall. Her hair was wild, eyes smeared with mascara, and her cleavage spilled out of her frock. She flushed and did up the top button. She couldn't very well show up at the Ministry Library with her breath smelling of Firewhiskey.
Hermione sunk back down on the couch, feeling rather silly.
"I suppose not," Hermione grumbled, pretending to organize her parchments.
Tom suppressed a chuckle as he finely chopped boomslang skin.
"Why is this project so important to you, anyway?"
The witch sighed and looked off into the distance.
"I've got to take any research opportunity I can. This one called to me," Hermione said, more to herself than him.
Tom gingerly added the boomslang skin into the cauldron.
"Would you like to hear my honest opinion?"
"No, not particularly" Hermione said, casting him a withering glance.
Tom ignored her drunken insolence. He really didn't appreciate the way women of this era spoke.
"Do something about it. Don't just sit there and feel sorry for yourself.
Hermione scoffed.
"You don't know what you're talking about. I work hard at what I do day in and day out. The last thing I'm doing is feeling sorry for myself."
Tom ignored her slurred rebuttal as he packed up the potions ingredients.
"You're a gifted witch. You're clever. You're beautiful. You could easily take power, if you wanted it."
Hermione's already flushed face reddened further.
"Beautiful?"
Tom rolled his eyes. Of course that was all this silly witch had heard.
"I think the Wizarding world underestimates you."
Hermione's looked at Tom with watery brown eyes. No one had referred to her as the Brightest Witch of Her Age in quite a while.
"Thank you," Hermione mumbled.
Tom's onyx eyes bored holes deep inside her. Hermione felt no signs of Occlumency, but it was still as though he saw right through her.
Hermione gulped.
"You should go."
Wadnlessly, Hermione flung open the front door, and it slammed against the wall harder than she had intended to. She stood up and staggered on her feet. Hermione flushed, realized she was drunker than she thought.
"Don't go near the cauldron," said Tom. "Cast a stasis charm in the morning when you're not…indisposed."
"That's all you think about, isn't it?" Hermione hiccuped.
"Yes. Get to bed."
Tom gave her a final glance, then walked out the door.