Chapter 2: Burdock

Tom woke up to the distinct feeling of being suffocated. As he grew aware of his surroundings, he realised that his face was buried in Hermione's curly locks. In his sleep, he'd migrated to her side of the bed and pulled her close to him so they were nestled back to front. It was where she belonged and he felt as though all was right in the world. The next thing Tom was aware of was his erection, firmly pressed against her rear. His primal side longed to wake her up and ravish her, but no good would come of pushing her too fast, especially since she'd seemed reluctant to share his bed in the first place. He needed to win her affections first.

Instead, he reluctantly climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb her. When he relieved himself in the shower, he imagined that it was her hand on his cock instead of his and struggled to stifle his groan when he came with her name on his lips. He didn't want to wake her up. She needed her rest.

Tom dressed quietly and made his way down to the kitchen for breakfast. He still had a few hours before the guests began to arrive but there were last-minute checks to be done. Most of the guests would be arriving before dinner, with five more to come the following morning.

First would be Molly and Arthur Weasley. They were an older couple and not the sort Tom usually associated with, but Hermione spoke of them fondly. Apparently she used to date their son in university before his tragic and untimely death. He hoped that she didn't still harbour any feelings for the boy, although the fact that they'd ever dated in the first place made him question her judgement. Hermione never spoke of him, but most of what Tom had heard of him from Abraxas's cousin, Draco, involved his short temper and lack of academic ambition. Completely and utterly unsuited for someone like Hermione.

Following the Weasleys would be Bellatrix Black and her friend Pansy Parkinson. Bellatrix was an old acquaintance from university and a strategic invite. In all the years they'd known each other, she'd never made an effort to hide her feelings for Tom despite the fact that he'd never shown any interest in return. While it was flattering at times and he did enjoy the attention, Bellatrix could be a bit… much, and he hoped it would make Hermione jealous and spur her to realise her own feelings for him. The only challenge would be making sure that Bella didn't attack Hermione out of her own jealousy since she had a nasty temper and a violent streak. He had confidence he'd be able to manage any situation that arose between them, though. In the absolute worst case scenario, Bella had always been a terrible skier (despite her many attempts to impress him) and no one would question it if she had a tragic accident.

As always, Dobby was annoyingly cheerful when Tom found him in the kitchen that morning. He quickly dismissed the older housekeeper, insisting that he was capable of preparing his own breakfast (and incapable of managing pleasantries at the moment, although he didn't voice that particular thought aloud). Besides, he needed the man deliver flower arrangements to the rooms of incoming guests. Tom supposed he could have asked Neville to do it, but he didn't trust the boy not to drop them.

The thought of having to maintain his friendly, sociable persona around so many others for days made Tom's head ache. While being charming came easily to him, that didn't mean he enjoyed it. When he had finished his cup of tea, he felt marginally better. He prepared a tray with a pot of tea and assorted breakfast foods and brought it upstairs to Hermione.

She was still asleep like an angel when he returned to his, no, their room. Unable to help himself, he set the tray down on the dresser and walked over to the bed. Tom stood there and admired his girlfriend before pushing back the curls covering her face. Touching her was a mistake, because now that he'd started, he didn't want to stop. But he had to. Sighing, he took a step back. It was time to change clothes. He needed to hit the slopes to clear his head before the guests arrived.

The sound of the creaking door triggered Hermione's alertness and she woke up, although she pretended she was still asleep and kept her eyes closed. Something was wrong. Her bed felt wrong and the smell was… it smelled like cedar and musk and leather and a hint of vanilla and… oh. Tom. It smelled like Tom because she was in his room, and he was also in the room although he wasn't in bed anymore. It was just as well. Seeing him laying so far to the other side of the bed that he was practically falling off in an attempt to stay away from her would have been too difficult.

The delicious scents of beans, toast, sausage, and tea also wafted through the air. It was strange that he'd decided to eat in his room since he usually ate in the breakfast room at around the same time she did. His footsteps grew closer and her heart was racing. The way his hand touched her face was more tender than she expected, but it was also over as quickly as it began. Then she heard the sounds of him dressing followed by the door opening and closing again.

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was shocked to see a tray of breakfast sitting there with a single red tulip in a cut crystal vase. Had he brought it for her? She got out of bed and saw a simple note telling her to eat well and that he'd see her after he got back from skiing but before the guests arrived. She didn't even try to fight her smile while she ate. Maybe he didn't resent her so much after all.

Even though skiing had gone a long way toward putting him in a calm mental state, the Weasleys proved to be much chattier than he anticipated and he was once again left questioning Hermione's judgement. They weren't unpleasant people, but rather they were almost too pleasant. Getting rid of Molly Weasley proved easier—he sent her to discuss gardening with Neville and Hermione—but Arthur Weasley was much more persistent with his incessant questioning about anything and everything under the sun. After having Dobby herd them to their room, he thought he'd finally gotten rid of the redhead but somehow the older man found him yet again, wanting to know more details about the mechanics of the lodge's ski lift.

Tom was saved from fabricated an excuse to extract himself from the conversation by the arrival of Pansy Parkinson and Bellatrix Black. He greeted the first with a handshake and had to suppress the urge to flinch when the latter swept in to kiss him on both cheeks. Her fingernails dug into his arms like talons as she cooed in his ear about how much she'd missed him. As much as Tom wanted to shove her away and get out of the same room as her, Hermione was watching so he couldn't be so obvious. Instead, he politely told his former classmate that it was good to see her too and that he hoped she'd enjoy her stay.

Tom gave them both their keys and directions to their rooms. Bellatrix pretended she didn't understand how to get there and asked him to show her, but thankfully Pansy jumped in to say that she knew the way because she'd been here before. He felt a strange twinge of guilt as he handed Pansy the keys to Hermione's former room, but quickly pushed it aside. He was only doing what was best for her, even if she didn't know it yet. Besides, she would never be going back so it didn't matter who slept there now. She didn't belong in that room, she belonged in his room. Our room, now, he supposed.

Hermione had mixed feelings when Molly Weasley came through the door of the flower shop and pulled her into a crushing embrace. While she had once thought of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley as a second set of parents, their relationship had been slightly strained since the end of her relationship with their youngest son. Thankfully, they didn't seem to feel any of the awkwardness she did, but then again, they didn't know there was any reason to. Maintaining a pleasant conversation with Molly about gardening was easy enough, but her mood quickly soured once Ron was mentioned.

In hindsight, killing Ron might have been a more extreme breakup method than the situation warranted, but she'd reached her breaking point. In university, he'd always tried to guilt her into doing his assignments for him because he had no ambition and was too preoccupied with rugby to be bothered anyway. Hermione suspected that half the reason he wanted her to move in with him after graduation was so she would cook and clean for him and do his laundry. She was very glad she always told him she wasn't ready whenever he broached the subject. And then there was the sex—saying that it was lacklustre would be an understatement. In the three years they'd been together, she could count on one hand the number of times he'd gotten her off. And it wasn't even that she was faking it, he just either didn't notice or didn't care and she didn't know which would have been worse.

Whenever she tried to break up with him citing that they had different goals in life, he acted like a spoiled child who'd had their favourite toy taken away, yelling and crying and stomping his feet. It was exhausting and she knew that as long as he lived, she'd never be able to escape his tantrums even if they were broken up. So one night when he was eating a bag of crisps so loudly that she wanted to pull all of her hair out and telling (not asking, telling) her to bring him another beer because he didn't want to miss any of the rugby match, she made a decision. Ron had to go.

The next week, Ron was mugged and stabbed to death in an alley on his way home from the pub after drinking so much he could barely walk.

If she'd waited longer, she could have come up with a more sophisticated way to either disguise his cause of death or make his body disappear, but once she had the idea in her head, she began feeling impatient. Every breath he took and every word that came out of his mouth only solidified her conviction. She needed to be rid of him as quickly as possible and had faith in her ability to cover her tracks. Besides, it was natural for her first death to be a learning experience.

The police had instantly ruled his death a mugging gone wrong and stopped devoting resources to trying to find the killer within the month. While it was tragic that London was so rife with knife crime that the case had been dropped so quickly, it was exactly what Hermione had counted on. And Augusta was the only person on the planet who knew what really happened.

The only thing she felt guilty about was that she didn't feel guilty. She'd managed to act appropriately sad and cry when necessary, but she was more relieved than anything else. It was freeing, not being weighed down by a relationship with someone so entirely wrong for her. She didn't even realise how miserable she'd been until he was gone. And she didn't fully understand how wrong he was for her until she finally met someone who was right for her.

Tom sat in the library with his standard afternoon cup of tea and book and his heart rate sped when he heard Hermione enter. It was never something they formally arranged, but every afternoon at the same time they sat and read together, offering the occasional comment if they read something the other would find interesting, but largely just enjoying each others' company. His jaw clenched when he noticed out of the corner of his eye that it was not Hermione, but rather Bellatrix. Who then proceeded to sit in Hermione's chair. Where she did not belong. No one else was ever supposed to be in the library at the time of day because it was their time and it was always them and he needed it. And now Bellatrix was here and his peaceful afternoon was shattered, just like his teacup would be if he continued to grip it this hard. And then he'd take the broken shards of china and dig them into her eyes.

He gently sat his teacup down on the end table and attempted to continue reading his book as though nothing had changed. It wouldn't work (the woman was incapable of keeping her mouth shut around him), but maybe he could delay the inevitable just a few minutes longer. He only had a few moments before he heard the sound of Hermione's chair sliding across the Turkish rug and the infernal woman began talking.

Bellatrix continued to chatter on about assorted high society events (and not-so-subtly hint that she'd very much like for him to join her) for what felt like ages. Tom registered with a detached sort of interest that they were exactly the sorts of events he'd always wanted to go to and that maybe there was a time he would have accepted her invitation just to get his foot in the door, but he had more clarity on life now. They still would have been good for social networking however, and he wondered if Hermione would be interested in going to any with him. Maybe he'd ask her about it after they were married.

After a frustrating morning in the flower shop, Hermione found herself practically running to the library. A book, a cup of tea, and Tom's presence were exactly what she needed to set her mood right. When she rounded the corner and peered through the doorway, her heart shattered into a million pieces. Bellatrix Black was sitting in her chair (which she'd had the audacity to move), practically clinging to Tom and hanging on his every word. What made things even worse was that it looked like Tom enjoyed her company.

Trying to fight back her tears, Hermione turned away quietly and went to make her way back through the lobby to their room. At least she wouldn't have to worry about seeing him there for awhile. When she reached the lobby, she saw the only thing that could have possibly made her day worse. Cormac McLaggen, standing there with two suitcases. Fuck.