Let me know your thoughts! So sorry for the delay, life has been hectic.
Though she was loath to admit it, Hermione knew that sometimes her booksmarts didn't translate to street smarts. Being on her own after graduating led to a lot of nights curled up on her lumpy, stained mattress and scouring her mind for where everything went wrong. The easiest part of her quickly derailed train of thought was to blame others; it took a few weeks for her thoughts to turn to herself. Had she done something wrong, or more importantly… could she have done something right in her years at Hogwarts to better her life?
And now, as everything seems to be going veritably right in life, she has a different question to ask herself. Is there anything that's going on in her life that she actually wants?
Dating Ron just… felt like the right thing to do. You clean your teeth when you wake up, you sign your name in the top right corner of your parchment, you date Ron Weasley from sixth year on after he asks you to Hogsmeade.
Why would she have said no, honestly?
There was a lot of time to think about your rhythms and patterns when you worked alongside house elves who didn't want to talk to you and you were doing anything but thinking about the clogged toilet bowl you were charming back to rights.
It honestly made sense to date someone, statistically speaking. There were more wizards than witches in their society, sure, but factor in people who didn't like women, or anyone sexually, for that matter, or were just plain awful and Ron wasn't the worst choice. Far from it, actually, when all she wanted from life was some sense of simplicity and normalcy that holidays at the Burrow and Mrs. Weasley's hugs provided.
But Tom? Tom represented everything uncertain and mysterious that she'd never come close to. Intrigue and glamor were two words that she'd never strived to have describe her life, which had the same thought constantly knocking at the front door in her brain. Is he what you want?
The man was still her boss; he was someone who she knew near to nothing about on a personal level. She knew his political stances inside and out and had a vague idea about his higher aspirations, but she didn't know his favourite colour or what he hated when he looked in the mirror or even what his nighttime routine was. She knew how good it felt when his lips were pressed to hers and how protected she felt when he was ruining someone's life for her sake.
Relationships were easy to romanticize, and Tom sure as Merlin was easy to romanticize. But was reality with him as her romantic partner going to be anywhere near what she built up in her head?
Mrs. Weasley, for all of the problems that Hermione now faced from her, had sighed on many occasions before informing Hermione that marriage was hard. And Hermione had no reason to doubt the woman. But Molly was married to Arthur Weasley, a spineless marshmallow of a man. If marriage to Arthur was tough, how would it be with Tom?
Laying in her luxurious bed in Malfoy Manor, Hermione let out a loud snort.
Part of her current predicament solely rested on the shoulders of poor male leadership. Tom had no trusted women in his inner circle and that left them with a major blindspot… reality. Men had no idea how to factor more than ideals and goals into their equation, and that left them not understanding that Hermione may not want to be a part of their blazing crusade of a ministry coup. She forced herself to close her eyes and sleep, vowing to take a stab at remedying the problem in the morning.
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Almost as though he were in her room, performing legilimency during the whole of her midnight panic last night, Tom stopped by Hermione's desk after lunch with a smirk on his face.
"Would you join me for dinner tonight?"
Hermione put her quill down before pushing her chair back to stare into his captivating eyes.
"Who will be there?"
"Me," Tom replied, smile growing. "You if I'm lucky."
Hermione tried to not let surprise show on her face. A date.
"I'll be there. Your place?"
Tom shook his head. "No, darling. Your place, half seven sharp. We're going out."
Hermione smiled back, stomach fluttering as she thought about finally getting real answers to the many questions she had for Tom.
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"You'll have her back before the clock strikes midnight, hm?" Abraxas asked with a Dumbledore-like twinkle in his eye.
"You'll be lucky if you live that long, old man," Tom replied, just as cheerily.
Hermione let out a giggle at the display in front of her, handing the gorgeous and surprising bouquet of non-conjured flowers over to a soft-smiling Narcissa.
"Goodnight, papa," Hermione murmured, pressing a lip-glossy kiss to the older man's cheek.
"I love you, my girl," the man replied, pulling her into a tight hug and giving Tom the squintiest stare he could without fearing for his life. He'd gotten a claim in before the younger man, and that meant something to him. Meant something in the hierarchy of Hermione's life, he hoped.
"I love you too," she replied. "See you all soon, I promise I'll be back."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Abraxas called, a soft smile on his face as Tom took Hermione in his arms before apparating outside of the manor.
Hermione noted the way that Tom didn't let go of her as they slammed down at their locations, her heels an extremely unforgiving landing ground.
"All well?" Tom asked.
"One moment," Hermione replied breathlessly, taking a deep breath before dusting off her light blue dress. "Ugh, you'd think that'd get easier."
"The trick is to not think about it; the clearer your mind, the easier it is."
"If I had the ability to think about anything but ending up with a splinched arm or broken legs, I'd be overjoyed."
Tom let out a loud laugh.
"Where are we?"
"Dublin," Tom smiled.
"How did you apparate this far?" She asked, eyebrow raised disbelievingly both at the fact that he'd made it so far and not killed them in the process.
"Magi," he replied simply. "A bit off the beaten path, but there's a new restaurant I thought you may like."
Hermione's eyes lit up, "Wow! I figured we'd just eat at yours… I've never been to Dublin, either."
"I think you'll like it. Their wizarding hub is much more spacious than ours, I'm sure you'll find yourself coming back quite often."
They were in a quiet alley, and Hermione took Tom's hand when he offered it.
"This alleyway employs the same magic as the Leaky Cauldron, so muggles won't see anything but a gated block with a danger sign."
"I'm always shocked that curious kids don't end up in the places we don't want them to be."
"Very strong muggle-repellant charms applied daily by ministry workers. Not the most glamorous job, but it's needed to prevent accidents just like that. Step up, now… careful."
Hermione stepped into the doorway Tom had opened, dodging a stumbling couple who were headed out. She looked around with a gasp, shocked to find herself in a brightly lit pub.
"This is so much nicer than the Leaky," she breathed, receiving a kiss on the temple for her honesty. She hid a smile, stomach fluttering at Tom's rare affectionate gesture.
"I told you you'd like it… the Irish have a sophistication that Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade can't quite embody, if you'll believe it."
"I believe it," Hermione nodded, thinking of the homey main drags of wizarding Britain. Sure, there were fancier stores off the main pathways of both areas, but this was already head and shoulders fancier than she was used to. "Are the Irish more well off on average?"
Tom cocked his head, continuing to lead Hermione towards the door she presumed led to wizarding Dublin.
"That's an interesting question, Hermione. We're actually about the same, but for some reason the Irish spend more than they save and Brits save more than they spend. I would assume it has to do with the war still being fresh in many people's minds, whereas the Irish were generally unaffected by Grindelwald's reign."
Hermione nodded, "That makes sense… this is gorgeous, Tom! I can't believe I've never been here before. Why do Brits never come here?"
"That's a generalized statement, darling. Don't paint us all with the same broad, nationalistic stroke. I come here quite often, even the Malfoys do… This way."
Hermione was enamoured by the city space's modernness. The streets were clean, the storefronts didn't look like they were from the dark ages, and there was electricity.
"Is that… electricity?"
Tom laughed loudly, removing his arm from the crook of Hermione's elbow to pull her close by her waist in a move that shocked them both.
"Yes, yes it is."
"I'm in love," Hermione sighed.
"Here we are," Tom said quietly, opening the door to a nondescript looking store. It didn't pass Hermione's notice that there was no name on the outside of the building.
"Sir, welcome back," the elf waiting to greet them said, the pink creature was wearing a crisp black and white towel and had an odd, squeaky Irish accent. "Follow me."
Hermione kept her face neutral as they were guided into a well-lit restaurant. Like most fancy restaurants she'd been to, the walls were lined with wood wine holders, but what separated this one was the raised wooden flooring that separated out the tables. It looked almost like… a dueling platform.
They were sat at the furthest most in ring of tables, which put them directly in front of the long side of the platform closest to the restaurant's entry-point. There were other well-dressed couples surrounding them, including a few wizengamot members as well as a woman she knew to be Hungary's Head of International Magical Cooperation.
"Good evening and welcome," a shockingly low-voiced elf said, distracting grey hairs sprouting out of his ears. "May I start you with a drink?"
"I'll have my usual," Tom said. "They can make anything you'd like, love. Who's the chef?"
"Tonight's chef is Amaterasu Ito from our sister club in Japan. The menu is a traditional kaiseki dinner consisting of seafood, wagyu beef and vegetables. I recommend a cocktail with yuzu marmalade and gin for you, miss."
"Sounds lovely, thank you," Hermione smiled.
Hermione tried to keep her face calm, knowing that people were likely staring at them. Not because they were the most noticeable people there, solely because people who came to places like this paid for the gossip that came from… places like this.
"What is going on?" Hermione asked quietly, stomaching curling lightly in anticipation at the way Tom took her hand into his own.
"We're enjoying a beautiful dinner in a decent city…" Tom replied with a smirk.
"Tom," Hermione scolded, eyes narrowing. This wasn't the time for coyness.
"Impatient tonight, are we? I'm suffering through a nine course meal for your enjoyment."
"My… what? I didn't ask for this!" Hermione whisper yelled. Nine courses?!
Tom let out a laugh, even though Hermione knew nothing she said was funny. What was wrong with this man?
"You'll enjoy, darling. I promise."
"Your drinks," the same elf said, levitating them onto the table.
"Cheers, my dear, to us." Tom said simply, clinking his short glass against Hermione's elegantly stemmed one.
"To us," Hermione repeated lowly, body heating at the way Tom hungrily tracked the way she swallowed around her delicious drink.
By the time they'd finished their third course, suimono, which the old elf informed them was the centrepiece of a kaiseki meal, the lamps in the room dimmed and the quiet conversations stopped as a beautiful redheaded woman guided a stumbling man onto the long platform.
"This isn't the loo, sweetheart," the Irish man slurred, his high-quality robes looking rumpled as he swayed on his feet.
Hermione looked towards Tom to see his eyes gleaming in anticipation. What was going on?
"It's not the loo, Matthias," the woman replied, voice low and sultry. She had wild red curls, and her ivory robes were tight against her chest and flared when they hit her hips.
"Find the loo, baby," the man replied, throwing out terms of endearment like it was his job. Hermione couldn't help but think about how tacky he sounded. How did a man like that find his way here?
"I don't think I will," she replied, shaking her head. The woman looked dangerous to Hermione, the way that she caressed the man's wandless arm looked like a threat. Like she was toying with a meal. "Do you want to know why?"
"You into exhibitionism?" the man asked, letting out an unattractive snort.
"Because I know what you do to underage girls when you get them in the loo," she replied, voice like a knife's edge. There were gasps around the room, but the man seemed so caught up in his panic and inebriation that he still didn't notice their audience. Was this some sort of acting club? Dinner and a show?
"You…" the man replied, shaking his head. "I've done nothing of the sort! I'm the bloody Undersecretary for Youth Engagement!"
"Yes, you are," the woman said, flicking a careless hand up and laughing loudly as the man screamed. Hermione had to cover her mouth as the man's right arm fell to the floor with a resounding thump.
"Rosalia? Kitten… what," the man moaned, backing away and hitting what looked to be a magical barrier as he tried to get off the stage. He looked around, panicking. "Help! Help!"
Tom reached under the table to grab Hermione's thigh as she moved to stand up and help the man. Whether in comfort or warning, she did not know.
"No one's going to help you," the woman replied, oddly sharp teeth glinting wickedly in the lowlight of the room. "You deserve this, Matthias… Be lucky that I don't let the parents of those girls come after you. How generous am I to end your life myself?"
"I didn't mean it," the man replied, continuing to run towards the barrier as though it'd break. As though he didn't understand how magic worked. Where was his wand, anyways?
"Too little, too late," the woman replied, before brutally killing the man in a way that had Hermione gagging. Only when he was dead did the woman take a bow before shifting in front of their eyes into a nearly golden fox with eight tails.
"What… a kitsune?" Hermione whispered to Tom.
"Indeed… an avenging kitsune," Tom replied.
The kitsune romped around the room in its fox form as the tables of high-level leaders who'd just seen the murder of another official applauded, finishing its rounds with Tom and Hermione. The girl could barely breathe, barely look at her food as the furry, ethereal creature rubbed against her leg. It hadn't done that to anyone else… why her?
Tom looked at the kitsune appraisingly, but didn't speak until it'd exited out the same door they'd entered the restaurant in, tails flouncing proudly in the air.
What the hell?
A clearly unaffected elf cleaned up the stage, disappearing the dead body parts and blood like it was just another night at the office.
During their seventh course where Tom continued to display a very disturbing ability to return to normal conversation, a pair of robed men came from the kitchen.
"Don't worry, love, they're just going to duel," Tom murmured.
By the time Tom had pulled Hermione from the restaurant after a delicious and extravagant meal, she felt numb and overloaded at the same time.
"Would you like a nightcap at my place?" Tom asked as he hooked arms with Hermione.
"I would," she replied succinctly, not feeling comfortable to speak now that they were in public once more. The crowds had thinned greatly, with all of the retail stores now dimmed out for the night.
Tom had an amused smirk that made Hermione want to either scream in his face or punch him, but she kept it together until she was being pulled out of the Floo by Tom in his Floo foyer.
"That was… what the hell, Tom!" Hermione cried, raking a hand through her tamed curls.
"Sitting room," Tom directed, continuing forward down the long hallway until they were in a cozy room she'd never seen.
Dramatically, because she deserved it, she threw herself onto a couch.
"Master Tom! You is wanting a drink?" an elf asked as it popped in.
"Two glasses of cabernet," Tom replied, sitting down next to Hermione and pushing her legs onto the ground as though he did it every day.
"Can you act like a person for once?"
Tom turned and raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You're right. Excuse you, Tom! What on earth was that? Where did you take me?"
"Tell me what you saw," Tom asked, a deflection if there ever was one.
"That's what I'm asking!"
"You're a smart woman, Hermione. Tell me what you saw. Stop letting your emotions take the fore… you are better than that."
Hermione took a breath, hating the way Tom was speaking to her, but fully accepting the sentiment.
"There was… a kitsune who'd masqueraded as a woman. She… they, whatever they were, killed a man wandlessly. I didn't even know kitsune existed… that the stories were true."
"That's why these club exists," Tom replied casually, sipping his wine. "To open your mind to the greater intricacies of the world… to think that witches and wizards and goblins and elves are all there are? How narrow-minded. Did you see the way the Japanese dueling masters wielded their wands? Have you ever seen a duel so effortless? No grunting or sweating, just raw power."
Hermione raised a brow, "I suppose you disagree with Dumbledore's curriculum?"
Tom laughed, "Disagree is far too light a word. He deliberately waters down the education of his students to ensure they never stray too far from the norm. The first time I traveled after graduating, do you know how shocked I was to discover how much I didn't know? That werewolves were integrated into other societies years ago without even a scarlet letter on their chest? That wandless magic was as easy for the Kenyans as using their wands? That the number of pregnant witches in China doubled after one solstice ritual? I was more than shocked… I was dismayed."
"So what do we do?" Hermione asked, mind spinning with all of the possibilities. Werewolves? Integrated into society? An increase in the magical population after one night…
"We take control of the government and flip everything on its head, Hermione… you think me mad, you think the people will revolt?"
Hermione nodded, a bit of shame laced in the action.
"They may for a bit, but when they see that they'll no longer need to work low-wage jobs with an increased elf population or die from Dragon Pox simply because the Ministry over regulates potions ingredients, they will come to understand. I'd love to tell you that I believe our people to be pragmatic, but they're not; they're simpletons who hold their hand out expecting results. We can give that to them… we can better their lives in ways that they can't even imagine."
"And for me, someone who'll be seeing this from outside of the rose-coloured glasses?" Hermione asked.
"I ask the same as I have before… trust me." Tom smiled, a predatory little expression. "Shacklebolt will be gone within the week, the Wizengamot will appoint me as interim leader…"
Hermione couldn't help but cut in, nudging his shoulder with her own. "And you'll never leave? An unelected leader?"
"A man of the people, a ruler that they'll beg to stay in power. They'll be grabbing your skirts and kissing your feet in thanks for allowing me to work to the bone on their behalf."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "They won't know me."
"They will, Hermione. You will be their queen, the woman they all want to be or wish to bed. Not that they'll get anywhere close…"
"My role? It's hardly professional."
"You'll announce your intent to leave Monday, unwilling to work in a Ministry that's aided and abetted those who've sat by idly as you've suffered."
"Sounds like a telenovela," Hermione mumbled.
"Look at Princess Diana… the people love their fairy tales until the dark underbelly is revealed. With us, Salazar-willing, that will never happen."
"It sounds very idealistic for you, Tom." Hermione swallowed before speaking. "I think you require a woman's touch in your circle of trust."
"Oh?" he asked, looking more amused than angry. Hermione relaxed at that.
"Bellatrix would be a good choice. A bit rigid, but she's logical."
"I'll consider it," Tom replied, leaning to grab Hermione's glass and place both of them on the table in front of them. He gently grabbed her face, turning it towards him as he placed a kiss on her lips. Hermione let out a pleased sigh that had Tom biting her bottom lip.
Their positioning was awkward, almost uncomfortable enough for Hermione to pull away before Tom plopped her on his lap. Unlike the last time they were in this position, she was straddling him, holding her weight up on her knees so that she wouldn't land… right over his precious bits.
"Down," Tom ordered, weaving a hand into her now-mussed curls as he pressed a deeper kiss to her open mouth and pulled her fully onto his lap.
"Oh," she sighed, shocked by the feeling of pleasure that moved through her as the hardness beneath Tom's trousers landed against her center. Even through her dress, she could feel a friction that had her wanting to move her hips. As though Tom could read her mind, which, to be fair, he could, he removed his right hand from her hair to yank the loose material of her dress from where it separated her bum from his center so that the only thing separating them was her knickers.
His hand didn't move back to her hair, instead moving to knead her bum cheek in a way that had her moaning into his mouth and rubbing against him. There was nothing in her head for once, just the toe-tingling pleasure that she was discovering came with carnal pleasures. Hermione let out an unbidden giggle at the way carnal pleasure were the words that crossed her mind; would she ever just be able to be a woman, not a brain?
"Why are you laughing?" Tom asked, face thunderous as he pulled himself back against the couch and pushed her back so that she was hovering off his knees and would fall backwards with one push.
Hermione turned red. "I was… I haven't done this before. It just hit me at once."
Tom raised an eyebrow, looking less angry by the second. "Done what?"
She looked to the left of his shoulder, hating that this was the second time she'd had this conversation recently. Hopefully it would be better received than with Pansy and company.
"Any of this."
Instead of asking further questions, Tom let out a feral growl, pulling Hermione back against his lips.
"Perfect girl," he moaned into her mouth. "Sweet and innocent… all mine."
"Yours," she moaned back, so surprised at how right the word sounded coming from her lips that she had to repeat it. "Yours."
Tom pulled back after a moment, pressing a gentle peck to her lips before smoothing her hair.
"We should get you home before Abraxas comes barging in and breaks another antique."
Hermione giggled, accepting Tom's help as she stood up and he fixed her dress and curls back to rights. She couldn't put a finger on the way she felt when he took care of her in such a physical way. Aroused? Comforted? Honoured? Maybe all of the above, honestly. The man didn't let others see him as a human, most of the time, which was where she came into the equation, she assumed. But he was always keeping a possessive eye out for her, fixing her curls, ensuring she drank enough water throughout the day. Somewhere deep inside of him, Hermione knew he was a good man.
Tonight, however ghastly it was, had Hermione slotting firmly into a position at Tom's side, come what may.
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"Miss Parkinson," Tom greeted, pleased by the way the normally confident woman's eyes darted around the room like she was scoping out any and all possible exits.
"Deputy Minister Riddle," she replied with a curtsy that looked half-sarcastic, half-genuine before sitting down. "Thank you for having me."
"Ah, don't thank me before you know why you've been invited," Tom replied with a smirk. "Tea?"
"Black, please."
"Of course," he said, snapping his fingers as an elf brought in a full tea tray. Pansy was no fool, despite what others may think, and knew that the man was holding the meeting in his home office to test her. Test her on what, though, she did not know.
They were silent at first, staring at each other with occlumency shields on full blast.
"What was Hermione like as a girl, Miss Parkinson?" Tom asked just as the silence was turning from purposefully awkward to hostile.
Pansy cocked her head.
"Bit of a know-it-all, awkward, socially helpless. An easy target for anyone who needed one, honestly."
Tom clucked his tongue, and Pansy spoke again.
"She was sweet, though. A bit of an oxymoron, really, booksmart without any of the street smarts to go with it. She never would've made it in Slytherin, but we would've at least had the decency to prepare her for what came after school for her lot."
"And now?"
"She's blossomed under a support system. Not to talk about her as though she's a child, but in many regards… she is. What's common knowledge to purebloods is something she needs to soak up like a sponge at age 19, but she's done it with grace. And I'd kill someone for her, if it came to it. She's the best of us," Pansy replied, placing her teacup down with a clink before staring at Tom in the petulant, yet menacing way that only a pureblood princess could.
"Know that I'd also kill for her, and be far more likely to get away with it," Tom replied, shaking his head internally at how he was having an inadvertent pissing match over the girl with a teenager.
"Oh?" Pansy asked.
Tom had no idea how he'd allowed her to back him into a corner so quickly; this was why he didn't get emotional… it left your flank open for a quickshot.
"Hermione is special. She's needed in our new world order. And… she must be surrounded by the right sort. There is no room for stumbling as we get on our feet, you understand?"
"I do," Pansy replied seriously. "The Parkinsons and Notts are committed to serving the cause in any and every way necessary."
"Excellent, Miss Parkinson," Tom replied, looking far too much like the cat that caught the canary. "Let me be the first to congratulate you on becoming the first Parkinson and Nott wife in history to join the ranks of working women."
The man let out a laugh as the girl's eyes widened comically.
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