Hermione couldn't imagine her night getting any worse.
She had stormed out of her own flat, incensed that Harry wouldn't willingly leave himself—if he wasn't going to leave, she sure as hell wasn't going to stay—all because she wouldn't pack up and move in with him. They'd been dating for over a year now, and he'd argued that Ron and Lavender had moved in together after two months, but she was definitely not Lavender, and she was unwilling to give up the comfort of her own flat simply because Harry had decided they'd been together "long enough" that it was time. He hadn't even asked, more so demanded it, and that instantly lit her blood on fire. People didn't demand things of her; she was her own woman, and she'd drown herself in the Black Lake on Hogwarts' campus before giving that up.
So she found herself stumbling into Knockturn Alley at one in the morning, mascara streaking down her face in unfortunate clumps and her hair tied in a messy knot on top of her head. Not necessarily the way you'd want to look when going to a popular bar, but she couldn't think of any other place to go that would be open this late within walking distance of her flat.
The bartender openly grimaced as he appraised her appearance, and she sneered in response. Fuck him and his expectations. She ordered a shot of whiskey and knocked it back immediately, welcoming the burn that seared down her throat and settled into her chest, a fire that she fully intended to keep lit the remainder of the night—she ordered another.
"Going a bit fast there, aren't you?" A deep baritone asked from beside her, dark eyebrow raised in question.
"Apparently we have different definitions of fast, then," She sniffed. "I think I'm taking things far too slowly—I could be double-fisting these, really." She turned to take the stranger in and felt immediately ashamed of her appearance. He was dressed in a crisp, white oxford, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and top two buttons undone on his chest, revealing creamy white skin underneath. His hair was so dark some might mistake it for black, with gentle curls perfectly sculpted to accentuate the sharp line of his jaw and straight nose. And his shoulders, so bloody broad, she could picture herself holding onto him for dear life as he lifted her and—
A dark chuckle interrupted her daydreaming and she felt the heat from the whiskey travel back up to her face, surely visibly on fire from how deeply it burned. She wiped at the mascara on her face in an attempt to look even half as decent as the man in front of her.
"I take it you didn't hear a single thing I said."
"Well, I was—"
"Thinking about fucking me? I know."
Her jaw dropped at his forward language, and she had to scrape it back up from the floor before responding.
"I was doing no such thing!" She huffed, indignant. She refused to look him in the eye, instead resolutely staring at his forehead. She downed the shot of whiskey in front of her and snorted as the man motioned for another to be brought to her.
"It's okay, you know. I get it a lot." He shrugged those cursed shoulders, ever the face of nonchalance.
"Well, aren't you an arrogant prick?" Her words spilled out, overly confident from the alcohol coursing through her veins.
"I prefer self-assured."
"I'd prefer it if you stopped talking, really."
"What would you rather I be doing instead?"
She imagined him bending her over the bar, ripping down her trousers and knickers and plunging his cock deep into her.
"Leaving."
"I'd be willing to leave if you left with me."
She barked out a rough laugh, nursing the whiskey in front of her.
"I've done nothing but insult you. Why would you want me to leave with you?"
"You're interesting. You're clearly interested in me, but you haven't propositioned me; frankly, you've rebuked me, and it's kind of a turn on."
"I have a boyfriend, y'know," She admitted sheepishly, pushing an errant curl behind her ear.
"And I assume he's the reason you're here. Forget him for the night. Come home with me." He tilted the drink in her hand so it came to her lips, gently tipping it so the liquid poured in her welcoming mouth and she swallowed hard. Her head was swimming, and something was telling her to just get up and leave the infuriating man, go back to Harry—but another part of her was telling her to leave with him.
"A-alright, then," She stuttered, standing up and wobbling a bit. He grabbed onto her arm and steadied her. "If we're going, we'd better go now. Before I change my mind. What's your name, anyway?"
He laughed, deep and husky, and wrapped an arm around her waist as he led her out the door and into the street.
"Call me Tom."
He carried her to his bed—she absentmindedly took note of the emerald colour of his comforter—and dumped her unceremoniously onto it, climbing on top of her to kiss her deeply. His tongue massaged hers as he deftly undid the button on her trousers, unzipping them and ripping them down her hips and to her knees, struggling to get them off her legs and throwing them into the corner.
He immediately plunged a hand into her knickers, caressing her folds and making her hips rocket forward on their own accord. She moaned at the unexpected roughness of his fingers on her clit.
"You're so wet.." He trailed off, and she remembered she hadn't given him her name. She stifled a laugh.
"Hermione."
"Ah, fuck, Hermione," Tom groaned, dipping a finger into her wetness and returning to her clit before delving into her core. He pumped his finger in and out, sending her keening, before adding another finger and curling them, massaging her in ways she had only dreamed of. He brought his thumb to her clit and circled it.
She buried her head into his neck, variating between kisses and bites, and took care to suck in random intervals just long enough to avoid leaving little bruises. She began unbuttoning his oxford and pulled it off his shoulders, casting it into the corner and running her hands over his bare abdomen and up his chest. He shivered.
"Take your shirt off for me, love," He said, voice gravelly and low, as he continued pumping his fingers into her. She moved her hips in sync with his movements, adding as much friction as she could as she ripped her shirt over her head, getting bits of her hair tangled before successfully being rid of the garment.
"Fuck," He moaned, dropping his head immediately into her chest and gently biting at her breast. She wasn't wearing a bra, and found she couldn't be bothered by it at the moment.
He brought his head to her left nipple, swirling his tongue around it and lapping at it gently.
"Please, Tom," She huffed, wriggling around on the bed and arching her back into his touch. "I need you."
"Tell me what you need, Hermione," He panted, continuing his assault on her nipple and cunt. "Tell me what you need and I'll take care of you."
"I need you to fuck me. Right now."
He immediately removed his hand from her cunt and she whined at the loss. He chuckled and bit at her breast before pulling back to undo his belt and remove his trousers, his erection bulging forward from his boxers.
She leaned forward and grabbed the boxers that sat just below his hips and ripped them down, allowing his cock to spring free. She gasped at the size of him, big and hard and hers, and she laid back, spreading her legs to allow him access.
"Tom. Please." She blinked up at him, looking at him through her eyelashes innocently as he appraised her naked form, his pupils exploding into his irises and making his gaze black as night.
He settled between her legs, his cock pressing against her entrance. He rubbed it up and down, gently pressing the head in every few seconds before pulling back out and giving her an evil smirk.
She groaned and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer to her and rubbing herself against him. He hissed at the friction and she smiled victoriously—the smile was promptly wiped off her face as he plunged his cock into her, immediately filling her to the brim.
"Fuck, Tom," She gasped out, digging her nails into his shoulders.
He silenced her with his lips as he started grinding his hips into hers, slowly at first, giving her time to adjust, and then speeding up until he was snapping his hips repeatedly into her, a punishing rhythm that had her frantic to meet each thrust.
He returned a hand between her legs, his thumb massaging her clit as he continued pounding into her relentlessly. She squirmed and moaned, feeling a build up in her abdomen that she hadn't felt from Harry in a long time—frankly, she couldn't remember the last time he'd made her come—
"Come back to me, Hermione," Tom growled, slapping her arse hard enough to leave a mark and making her yelp. "You'll think of me and me alone while I'm fucking you."
"Only thinking of how—" She gasped as he twisted her nipple, "—good you feel."
"That's right," He purred, stroking her hair back from her face, most of it now out of the messy bun it was in. "Think of how good my cock feels in your tight little cunt."
She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. He filled her with punishing, hard strokes, never falling out of sync with her, and she was so close to coming that her vision was blurred and spotty.
"Tom, I can't—"
"Come for me, Hermione."
She called out his name as she came, her abdomen tightening and releasing in punishing waves as she clung to his shoulders, burying her head into the crook of her neck as he continued pounding into her, riding out her orgasm.
He followed not far behind her, grunting as he pulled out, spewing his seed all over her chest and stomach before collapsing beside her, the pair covered in sweat and panting.
"Thank you," She mumbled, half-asleep as she rolled over to lay her head on his chest.
He snorted, wiping at her chest and stomach with the bottom of the comforter, rolling his eyes and wrapping a heavy arm around her naked body.
"You're welcome, Hermione."
It had been a week since she'd slept with Tom, and six days since she returned to her flat and promptly broke up with Harry.
It wasn't right that she cheated on him, but it was even more wrong for her to find that she simply didn't have feelings for him anymore.
So that was how she ended up by herself at the Burrow, openly avoiding Harry's accusatory gaze, surrounded by couples preparing to celebrate Ginny's engagement.
It was a surprise, to say the least; Ginny had only been seeing this guy for a few months, and no one had the opportunity to meet him as he was constantly at work. A lawyer, Ginny had said, and a damn good one at that; it seemed she had finally met the man meant for her.
And Hermione was happy for Ginny. Really.
So happy, in fact, that she didn't outright punch her fiancé in the face when Ginny walked out with him—their hands clasped tightly together, a young couple the epitome of love at first sight.
For Ginny's beloved fiancé was Tom, the man who only a week ago was between Hermione's legs, making her call out his name over and over.
No, Hermione wasn't likely to forget Tom, and wasn't that a damn shame for the both of them?
They made eye contact across the room filled to the brim with an assortment of redheads, and she thought her stomach was going to implode, killing her instantaneously. Maybe that would have been better.
Tom merely raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement at her, leaning down to place a kiss upon Ginny's forehead and sending a knowing smile her way.
She felt ill.
She watched as the couple made their rounds, stopping at each person to receive their congratulations before heading onto the next.
"Hermione, so glad you made it!" Ginny gushed, wrapping her in a tight hug. "This is Tom." The ginger motioned to the absurdly tall man next to her.
"So I've heard." She held out her hand limply to shake his, and the bastard ignored it, simply gripping Ginny's hand tighter.
"Hermione, is it?" He asked in a disinterested tone despite his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "I don't think Ginny's mentioned you."
" Tom!" Ginny said sharply, elbowing him in the stomach. "Of course I've mentioned her. She's the librarian at Hogwarts, remember?"
"Ah, yes. Sorry, love. Hard to keep track of everyone." He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb and Hermione wanted to pummel him for using the same term of endearment that he called her only a week ago.
"Yes, well, I'm sure you're quite busy, aren't you, Tom?" She said sweetly, blinking up at him innocently. "Always up to something, Ginny says."
"Being a lawyer is a bit more time consuming than putting books back on shelves and scolding students."
"That is not what I do—"
"Isn't it?"
"—I'm actually rather important, and I help students, not scold them."
"Ah, like you're not scolding me now?"
"If you think this is scolding, you're in for a rude awakening, Tom."
"Please, enlighten me then, Hermione."
"Fuck, you two," Ginny interjected, stepping between the two and placing a calming hand on Tom's chest. Hermione held back a snarl. "Remind me to never leave you alone with each other. We might have a murder on our hands."
Tom cleared his throat and straightened the charcoal oxford he was wearing. She refused to acknowledge the way it hugged the contours of his body.
"My apologies, Hermione. I'm a bit on edge from an overwhelming case. Can you ever forgive me?" His face was molded into a perfect imitation of sincerity, but it didn't reach his eyes—instead, you could see mirth dancing in his brown orbs.
"Of course."
"That's more like it!" Ginny grinned, wrapping herself around Tom's arm. "Now that whatever that was is settled, we can move on to dinner. Luckily for the pair of you, it looks like we're seated across from each other."
"Brilliant." Hermione said through her teeth, mouth poorly formed into some semblance of a smile.
She made certain to kick the leg of the table she sat at periodically throughout the meal—and if she just so happened to miss every time, instead striking the leg of the annoyingly handsome man across from her, well, that was a happy accident.
She splashed water on her face and stared resolutely in the mirror, attempting to wash away the look of horror on her face at the clusterfuck that was now her life.
She was certain that she had somehow been transported into one of those soap operas that her mum watched on the weekdays, where everything that could possibly go wrong would go wrong. What would happen next? Would she find out that Tom was actually a psychopathic murderer and planned to kill her and all of her friends whenever he got the opportunity? That she had to send her mum and dad off to Australia to keep them from his murderous wrath?
It was all so ridiculous, but anything seemed possible at this point.
An annoying pounding at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she cursed under her breath.
"Just a minute!" She called out politely, grabbing the nearest hand towel and dabbing the wet spots on her face.
The pounding simply got louder, and she snarled at the person's impatience.
Ripping open the bathroom door, she intended to stare the other person into submission with her glare, but instead found herself looking menacingly into a chest clad in a charcoal oxford.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," She growled, planning to punch now and think later. She wasn't given the opportunity, however, as he crowded her space and pushed her back into the bathroom, ignoring her protests and the slamming of her fists on his chest. Tom kicked the door shut behind them and promptly locked it before his lips descended upon hers, swallowing any argument she had prepared. He took her shocked exhale as an opportunity to delve his tongue into her mouth, his hands tangling into her curly hair that she had left down for the day.
She kissed him back feverishly, jumping willingly into his arms as he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist and gasping at the feeling of his erection on her core.
"Been thinking about this since you opened your pretty little mouth to taunt me earlier," He whispered, pulling at the roots of her hair, baring her neck to him as he placed open mouthed kisses from her jaw to her collarbone.
"You didn't tell me you were engaged," She gasped out, sounding far less intimidating than she had intended when he sucked at her bare collarbone, exposed from the strapless dress she wore.
"It didn't come up."
He shrugged his broad shoulders and she pinched his arm, earning a wicked grin from him.
"We shouldn't be doing this, you know."
She shook her head, as though she could jar her thoughts from anything other than the feeling of his erection rubbing against her. This was Ginny's fiancé. He was going to marry her.
He rested her on the sink and flipped up the bottom of her dress, revealing her white knickers.
"How virginal," He raised an eyebrow, gently rubbing a finger across the wet cloth. "But we know better than that, don't we?" He knelt down between her tanned thighs, placing rough kisses from her thigh to the edge of her knickers. "If we shouldn't be doing this, tell me to stop right now, and I will." Tom looked up at her, raising an eyebrow and challenging her while he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb along her clothed clit.
"Tom, please— "
"I'll take that as permission, then."
He hooked his fingers around the waistband of her knickers, pulling them down and off her legs, pocketing them before placing a kiss directly onto her cunt.
She gasped, hips flying forward on their own accord, as he began variating between licks and kisses, his thumbs parting her folds and allowing full access to her core.
She let out a moan and promptly clamped a hand down over her mouth, fighting back from kicking Tom for the deep chuckle at her expense.
"Quiet, love. You don't want to be caught like this, do you?"
She shook her head, definitely not wanting to be caught with her legs spread wide, legs resting over his shoulders.
He continued giving his full attention to her cunt, bringing his thumb up to circle her clit as he licked at her opening, plunging his tongue in and out before placing two fingers inside of her and pumping, periodically curling his fingers and sending her keening.
"You look so beautiful from here, Hermione," He groaned, placing a kiss to her thigh as he continued pumping his fingers. "I could live between your legs."
"Feel free to move in, then," She moaned as quietly as she could. "Take up residence. Fuck, just like that— "
He curled his fingers in just the right way and it pushed her into her orgasm, her abdomen contracting and cunt pulsing around his fingers. She leaned her head back against the mirror and swore under her breath as he continued circling her clit, certain she was going to implode from the sheer pleasure his mouth and fingers brought her.
He placed another kiss to her thigh before standing, staring her in the eye as he licked his fingers. She stared back, mouth agape, knowing he wanted to keep tasting her and liking it.
"I'll be seeing you, then?" He pulled her dress back down and straightened his oxford, grabbing her by her hips and lifting her off the sink to sit her back down on the ground.
"I suppose so," She murmured, face red as she avoided eye contact. "Can I have my knickers back?"
"Oh, these?" He patted his trousers' pocket and laughed. "I think I'll be keeping these—you can get them back at my apartment tonight, if you'd like."
He sent her a wink over his shoulder as he exited the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him as he left.
Hermione sunk to the floor, cradling her head in her hands and swearing.
What was she going to do?
She saw him that night, and at least one night out of every week for a month.
They sent each other texts constantly—and it wasn't all sexting, despite how it started out. Sure, at first, all he did was ask for pictures of her breasts, of her fingering herself. And she complied wholeheartedly, loving the descriptions he'd give her of his fingers replacing hers and pumping into her until she came. But then he'd send her texts about random things; how his clients were dense, how he likes to get pasta on Thursdays. How he proposed early to Ginny because he was tired of dating around, wanting to settle down and not deal with women only dating him for his money or his looks. How he was thirty-five, a whopping ten years older than Ginny, and felt the difference daily.
She'd asked him why they were still engaged. She'd chewed her fingernails down to the skin, gnawing until her fingers were raw.
He'd said he hadn't found any reason not to. Yet.
She'd promptly changed the subject.
Hermione found the shame she originally felt at being the other woman dwindle the more she connected with Tom. She thought she was the perfect match for him, really, and running around behind Ginny's back was alright if she planned to stop at some point, right?
But the more she talked with Tom, snuck around with him, kissed him for no reason at all, the more she realized she was getting in far too deep.
Far too deep, indeed, when her phone lit up with Ginny's name one cold March afternoon.
She picked up, hand shaking, voice barely kept from trembling.
"H-hey, Ginny," She said, clearing her throat. "What's up?"
"Hey, Hermione! Hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I have a quick question for ya."
She inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth.
"Of course. I was just binging Netflix—I'm glad for the interruption. What do you need? Everything alright with Tom?"
"Oh, everything's brilliant with him, can barely keep my hands off of him, really," The ginger laughed, and Hermione cringed. "This actually has a bit to do with him."
"Ah, uh, how so?" She slapped a hand to her forehead, less than proud of her eloquent response.
"Well, I've been needing to get things settled for the wedding, and I was wondering if you'd be my maid of honour."
She nearly dropped the phone, fumbling hands to keep it to her ear. Her heartbeat sped in her chest, a cacophony of thumping and pounding that certainly would be heard by Ginny on the other end of the line—frankly, it was all she could hear, all she could manage to focus on outside of the screaming in her head.
Adulterer. Homewrecker. Liar. Cheater.
"Hermione? I expected speechlessness, but not for this long."
"Oh, sorry, I'm just so excited for you I can't think straight!" She gushed, overcompensating. "I'd love to be your maid of honour, Gin."
"Brilliant! I'll let mum know. I've got some other calls to make, so I'll let you get back to Netflix. Love you!"
"Love you, too, Gin."
She aggressively pushed the end call button, waiting until she was certain that Ginny couldn't hear before she threw her phone across the room, hearing it collide with the wall and not giving a damn if the thing broke into a million pieces.
The shame she had managed to bury deep inside her chest exploded outward, encompassing her body entirely and causing her hands to shake so badly she could barely pick up her phone when she decided what needed to be done.
Her phone had a crack down the middle—she nearly snorted at the cliche, a perfect representation of the way she felt inside.
"This is over. "
She turned off her phone, refusing to see anything he would have to say in response.
Would he care? Would his heart drop into the pit of his stomach the same way hers did?
She shook her head, a poor attempt at rattling the thoughts in her brain to keep them from settling on him.
She was done with him. Just like that. And she didn't need to worry about his feelings, because the only feelings that mattered in this relationship—lack of relationship—were Ginny's. Something Hermione had been cruel to ignore, cruel to push to the side to entertain her stupid wanting of a man who wasn't hers.
She buried her phone under the couch cushion for good measure.
She awoke to the sound of pounding on her door. She looked around her living room, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. She was disoriented, to say the least, and it took her a moment to realize she'd passed out in the middle of one of her murder documentaries.
The pounding continued, an alarming rapping that shook the door on its hinges.
She approached the door, hesitating momentarily. It could, after all, be someone trying to murder her—but they wouldn't try to draw attention to themselves so blatantly, right?
Holding firmly onto the logic that a murderer would be far quieter than the person assaulting her door, she pulled it open, wincing at the influx of light from the hallway outside of her flat.
"Why do you even have a phone if you don't fucking answer it?" Tom snarled, pushing past her and into her living room. He paced the floor, raking a hand through his surprisingly disheveled hair.
"It died?" She offered, shutting the door behind her. "What are you doing here?"
"I've come to talk to you about the ominous text you sent me before your phone conveniently died."
"Ah. Yes, that. Pretty self-explanatory. No need to storm over here."
He stopped abruptly, leveling her with a searing glare.
"Self-explanatory?" He scoffed. "So I'm to accept that you're done with me, with absolutely no explanation otherwise?"
"Preferably."
"Not fucking likely, Hermione."
"Will you just calm down? Take a seat and a breath."
He merely raised an eyebrow at her, refusing to budge. She huffed.
"Fine. Did you know I'm to be Ginny's maid of honour?"
"She'd mentioned it."
"The maid of honour fucking the groom. Does that not seem wrong to you?"
"You thought it wrong before you were maid of honour. What's so different now?"
She groaned, sliding her back down the door until she sat on the floor, dropping her head into her hands.
"Ginny trusts me. Trusts us. I can't keep doing this to her."
Tom crouched beside her, pulling her hands away from her face and holding them to his chest.
"Hermione, I—"
"What can you possibly say to make this alright?" She huffed, pulling her hands out of his grasp. He raised an eyebrow but didn't protest. "Nothing will make this okay."
"I care for you, you know."
Her heart stuttered in her chest.
"You're getting married, Tom. You can care for me all you want, but it doesn't change that."
"Hermione." She refused to look at him. He grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. His dark brown eyes were lined red, as if he hadn't slept properly in days. "I—I don't want to lose you. I abhor the thought."
He cupped her face in his large hand, cradling it gently. She blinked up at him and attempted to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill over.
"You never had me, Tom. Not really." He flinched and pulled his hand back.
"Right. You're right." He stood up, wiping at his pants and adjusting his collar. "How naive of me to make such an erroneous mistake."
"Tom, please—" She didn't know what she would say. She wanted him desperately to stay, to renounce his engagement to Ginny and proclaim his love for her. But this wasn't a movie, and she wasn't the hero deserving of such love. If anything, she was the antagonist, getting in the way of true love by inserting herself where she didn't belong. She stood from the floor and removed herself from blocking the exit, from blocking his happy ending. "I'll miss you."
"Will you?" He murmured, and it was her turn to flinch. He held a hand out, almost as though he was reaching out for her, before shaking his head and chuckling bitterly to himself.
He pulled the door open and left, shutting it behind him without ever glancing back.
Two months passed since Hermione had last seen Tom.
She had written so many texts to him, nearly dialed his number so many times only to back out and turn her phone off, knowing her decision was for the best. For the both of them.
But if it was so good for her, why did it hurt so badly?
She didn't realize how attached she had become to Tom, how much she relied on his company to get her through the day. She missed his random texts when she was at work, missed how he'd reach out to her several times a day to talk about nothing at all. Just wanting to speak to her, see how she was doing, tease her about her pointless job.
She missed being in his arms—how he'd pull her into his chest after sex, run his fingers through her curls and murmur sweet nothings into her ear as she fell asleep.
She simply missed him, in his entirety, and it was something that haunted her daily.
She started dating again.
Draco Malfoy, a boy who had teased her endlessly in high school, now a man who openly admitted his attention was misplaced adoration.
He sent flowers to her flat and workplace, accompanied by notes composed of sweet, meaningless words meant to win her over.
She let him. Let him win her over, let him take her out to dinner, let him delve between her thighs one night when things got especially heated, his white-blond hair a shocking contrast to the dark brown she had grown accustomed to.
She grew comfortable with him. He held her hand in public, kissed her openly in front of his friends, wrapped his arms around her waist from behind her and buried his face in her curls. He cherished her publicly, something she wasn't used to, and something she was growing to appreciate.
Sure, she didn't burn for him the way she did for Tom, but it was a small exchange to be loved- right?
Ginny invited them out for dinner one Thursday night.
She really should've known he'd be there, but she'd become so numb to his existence it was almost as though he ceased to exist.
Hermione felt like someone had punched her in the stomach the moment she saw him, the wind being so swiftly knocked out of her that she had to stop in her tracks and take a moment to catch her breath.
"Everything alright, love?" Draco asked, holding onto her, stroking her back.
"Of course. Stitch in my side, is all."
He merely nodded, completely accepting her piss poor explanation, and led her to her seat across from Ginny, who was beaming at the couple as they arrived.
She refused to look at Tom, refused to look at the sour expression that had crossed his face when he saw she was with someone.
"Hermione! Draco! So glad you made it!" Ginny gushed, rushing around the table to hug them both before ushering them to sit down.
Draco pulled her chair back for her as she sat, and she murmured her thanks.
"I've been telling Tom how long it's been since you've been interested in anyone, Hermione. Draco truly must be special to catch your interest."
"Oh, he's a treat," Hermione laughed, squeezing Draco's hand. "It's not like I'm a recluse, though, Gin. I've dated plenty of people." She shot a look at Tom who was openly glowering at Draco. She fought off a smile.
The waitress approached and took their orders before heading back to the kitchen.
"So, how did the two of you meet?" Tom asked, resting his head upon an open palm.
"We met in high school," Hermione said, shrugging. "He was a total prat and made fun of my hair almost daily. We ran into each other at the shops a couple of months ago and he apologized, explained that he was poorly attempting to hide his crush on me."
"Ah, relentless bullying," Tom said, rolling his eyes. "The epitome of romanticism."
"I was young and stupid," Draco interjected, tone stony and defensive. "I've grown quite a bit since then, as Hermione has seen, and we've become rather close."
"Is that so?" Tom mused. "What's her favourite book?"
"Pride and Prejudice, of course," Draco snorted, rolling his silver eyes at the simple question. "She rereads it constantly."
Ginny looked to Hermione to confirm, and Hermione nodded.
"It is my favourite." She smiled over at Draco, and Tom snarled under his breath.
Ginny placed a calming hand on Tom's arm, and Tom pulled away, earning a questioning look from his fiance.
"Sorry about him, Draco," Ginny said, confusion lacing her words. "He's being a bit difficult because we're quite protective of Hermione. Surely you can understand."
"Of course I can. I'd be protective of her, too. Frankly, I'd murder anyone who would cause her harm."
Hermione leaned over and placed a chaste kiss upon Draco's lips. Tom pushed back from his chair abruptly, standing quickly and mumbling about heading to the bathroom before he stormed off.
"What's gotten into him?" Hermione asked Ginny, eyebrows furrowed.
"He's been like this the past few months, I'm afraid. Has a difficult case going on and it's been getting to him. He's been a right terror to tell the truth."
"Do you both mind if I wait for him in the hallway? I'd like to speak with him privately, try to get him to lay off Draco a bit," Hermione said, chewing on her bottom lip.
"Oh, go right ahead. Apologies in advance if he bites your head off."
"Are you sure you want to go alone? I can go with you," Draco offered, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.
"I can handle him," Hermione snorted, pushing away from the table and standing, brushing away at the wrinkles on her dress.
"Good luck!" Ginny called over her shoulder. Hermione simply shook her head and headed towards the hallway that held the bathrooms.
She nearly collided with him when she made it back to the men's bathroom, him slamming out of the doorway and storming off in her general direction.
"Tom, what's—"
He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the family restroom, pushing her inside and locking the door behind them.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He snarled, raking a shaking hand through his curls. "Just what are you playing at, bringing that complete idiot here? Are you trying to piss me off?"
"I didn't realize every decision I make is directly related to you."
"Cute, Hermione," He laughed coldly, leveling her with a glare as he crossed his arms across his chest. "Don't pretend this has nothing to do with me."
"It really doesn't," She sighed, resting her back against the sink. "I started seeing Draco after… Well, you know. It's been nice."
"Nice?" He growled, stalking forward and gripping her upper arms in his hands. "Is that what you want? Someone nice? "
"Well, I wanted you, but since that clearly was no longer an option, I'm settling for nice."
"You'll settle for nothing. "
His lips crashed down upon hers roughly, the flavour of cinnamon overwhelming her senses and making her head swim. He licked her lower lip and she groaned, allowing him access to her mouth as he massaged her tongue with his.
"Fuck, I've missed you," He murmured against her lips, nibbling on her bottom lip ferverously.
She fisted her hands in his hair, pulling him down closer to her, pressing their chests together and allowing any and all friction she could get between the pair.
"Tom, we don't have much time," She whined, rubbing her hips against his, moaning when she felt his erection hit in just the right spot.
"Turn around and bend over," He commanded.
She obliged willingly, arching her back so her arse met his hips. He flipped her dress up onto her back and pulled down her knickers, and she heard the sound of him fumbling with his belt and the zipper of his trousers before she felt him line his cock up with the entrance of her cunt.
"I'm not going to be gentle, Hermione—" He hissed when she thrust backwards, impaling herself on his cock. "Fuck, you minx."
He grabbed onto her hips firmly and began thrusting erratically into her, the only sound in the bathroom a mixture of their quieted moans and their skin making contact again and again.
He reached forward and grabbed onto her throat, caressing and placing a finger into her mouth. She sucked on it enthusiastically and he groaned.
"Missed you so much," He panted, continuing his relentless assault on her cunt with his throbbing cock. "Nothing is the same without you."
"I know, I know," She mumbled mindlessly, meeting him thrust for thrust as the feeling of her orgasm began blossoming in her abdomen. "I'm going to come, Tom, please don't stop—"
He merely thrust into her with more fervor than before, bringing his hand down to circle her clit and sent her spiralling into her orgasm, her cunt contracting on his cock and sending him into his orgasm as well. He stuttered in his thrusts as his seed spilled out inside of her, with one, two, three pumps before he finished.
"That was—"
"I know. We need to hurry up." She pulled up her knickers haphazardly, nearly falling over from her legs shaking. She attempted to straighten her dress and flatten her hair that resembled a bird's nest. He watched her the entire time he pulled his trousers up and readjusted his belt.
"Hermione, we need to talk."
"It's a bit late for that, yeah? We gotta go."
She moved to push past him, and he grabbed her arm to stop her.
"We will talk."
She merely nodded her agreement and left the bathroom, looking both ways to ensure nobody would see her leaving with him.
Hermione sat at home alone later that night.
After the bathroom fiasco with Tom, she couldn't look anyone in the eye at the table composed of her closest friend and her boyfriend, and whatever the hell Tom was to her.
How could she, when she felt Tom's sperm pooling out of her as Draco held her hand, or as Ginny congratulated her on picking such a gentleman?
Oh, he's brilliant, Ginny, but so is your fiance—I could come just from looking at him.
When the dinner was over and Draco escorted her home, she broke it to him that she couldn't be with him anymore.
He was unhappy, to say the least, promising that their relationship most certainly wasn't over, and that he'd be back when she had more time to think it over.
More time would only solidify what she knew to be true—she deserved to be alone.
So when she heard a knocking on her front door, she cringed, not prepared to hear what other bullshite Draco had to say to try to convince her to stay with him.
"Draco, I promise, this is for the best—"
"What's for the best?"
Tom stood at the door, white oxford rolled up to his elbow and hands deep in his trousers.
"Draco and I are no longer together. Would you like to come in?"
He graced her with a dazzling smile, one that made her feel weak in the knees, but at the same time made her sick to her stomach. She had no right to have that reaction to him. Not after all she had done.
He entered her flat and sat down on her couch as though he belonged there—and how desperately she wished he did—before he spoke up again.
"Sorry to hear about you and Draco."
"No, you're not," She sighed, moving to sit beside him. He turned so their knees were touching and grabbed both her hands.
"You're right. I'm not."
"So why are you here, then? To ensure I'll be alone for the rest of my life?" She sniffed, frustrated at the tears that began to form in her eyes.
"A bit of the opposite, really," He chuckled, rubbing his thumbs on the backs of her hands and sighing. "I broke off the engagement with Ginny."
Her thundering heart came to an abrupt stop.
"Could you repeat that?"
"Ginny and I are done. I came to the realization tonight—well, two months ago, when you decided we were over—that she wasn't the person I wanted to be with."
"So you're single, then?" She asked, hopeful. She peeked at him through her lashes and he barked out a laugh.
"Not hardly."
She cringed. Of course he wasn't.
"Then why are you here? Get out, Tom. I'm too tired to deal with this." She stood to let him out, and he pulled her back down to him, settling her on his lap. He grabbed her face with both hands, forcing her to look into his dark eyes.
"Don't be dense on purpose, Hermione, it's not very becoming of you," He grumbled. "I'm not single because I'm with you. I've gone too long without you to be anything other than yours."
"You mean it?"
"I love you, Hermione." He said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
She lowered her mouth so her lips hovered just over his, trying her best to keep them from quivering.
"I love you, too, Tom."
His mouth encompassed hers, and finally, everything was the way it should be.