A/N: I have been having a bit of writers block, and haven't checked my account in forever. Another user, In A Daze, offered up a prompt : Tom/ Hermione as the relationship in the Netflix show YOU.
And here is what I came up with! I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading !
ONE.
I can see you are angry. I know that, and I wish I had the words to explain myself, I really do.
I can see your eyebrows drawn together, your eyes burning with fury. I'd love nothing more than to reach out, reach through the glass that separates us, to smooth out the wrinkle between your eyebrows.
Your lip is pulled into a tight line, forcing itself from being a frown.
Your hair is just as wild as it always is, though parts of it cling to your skin with sweat.
It must be uncomfortable, your hair stuck to your skin in that way.
"There's enough ventilation in here," I say, to comfort you. "I can turn on the AC, you'll be -"
"Shut up!" you scream, your voice shrill, your tight mouth turning into a scowl.
I can feel my response in my throat. I can feel my own shouts, clawing their way up my chest, but I resist. And I wish you could see that. I wish you could see everything I do for you.
Instead, I breathe through my nose, it's calming.
Instead, I look at you. I take you in. I can see your lips wet from all the shouting. I can see your sweat and I feel a thrill at knowing the taste of it. Your hair is frizzy and brown and perfect. Your face is flushed, the sweat on your foreheads gleans at me, reminds me of different times.
Instead of shouting, I think of you, of us. I think of better times.
"I only put you in here so you can listen to what I have-"
"SHUT UP!" you scream, and it's ugly Hermione. It's ugly how your entire face changes into fury. It ugly how you refuse to let me speak.
You pull at your restraints, ignoring the way they dig into your wrists. You try to sit up straighter, or maybe you try to stand up, but you're hurting yourself. I can see the red welts the chains are forming around your hands.
"Stop doing that!" I shout back. I have to be loud, because I can't hear myself speak over your screams.
You look ugly Hermione. Your hair is sticky with sweat, your face wet with tears, your mouth overflowing with screams and saliva.
I can feel my own heart beat become louder and louder alongside your screams.
And I can almost control myself, I can almost keep it in, until I realize how ungrateful you're being.
I slam my hands against the cage.
Cage is an ugly word. I'll admit that much. Maybe it's not where I should have dragged you to. But you weren't listening, you never listened.
"I could have killed you," I say, because you need to be reminded how grateful you should be. I can feel water pooling in my eyes, I can feel my teeth chatter, and I notice my hands shaking against the glass cage. You make me feel things too strongly.
You stare at me, maybe I was too loud this time. Your mouth trembles.
I like it, so I continue.
"I should have killed you when I found you with Ron," I speak as clear as I can, "but I didn't!" A laugh escapes me. Because how can you not see how much I'm changing for you. How can you pretend to ignore everything I do for you?
A sob escapes your wet mouth, the sob turns into a wail, your face turns red, and you return to screaming for help.
"Fine!" Fury burns in my chest, and with all the strength I have left, I turn around and walk away.
Sometimes, you need to walk away from fights Hermione, I know that. I wish you could see how much it hurts me to leave you again.
I turn to look at you, still tugging at your restraints, still screaming so loudly, I can see the veins in your throat.
It's too tempting.
I scream in frustration, and shut the lights off. We're left in darkness for a second, but I know my way out of the basement.
I leave you in the dark, hoping you'll be more understanding tomorrow.
TWO.
You stop screaming when you need water and food.
I promise you your favorites if you're good, if you ask nicely.
You stop screaming and you stop scowling, but when I tell you to ask nicely, you stare right into me, expressionless.
I savor it.
THREE.
Sometimes you talk to me, sometimes I tell you about my day, or the new book I read and I can see it in your eyes, you're listening.
I offer you a book, to show you that I do love you, I want you to be happy more than I want anything for myself.
You smile at me, the shy smile I love to see. You caress the book cover, gently flip it open with one hand, slide your finger down the page, and in one quick pull, tear a page out. You look back at me, your eyes have a light in them I missed.
You smile. That was not very nice Hermione.
You flutter your eyes twice, crumble the page in your hand and toss the paper away.
And it's so unlike you. You love books Hermione, you loved me at some point.
I hear another tear, and another, and another. And I reach for your hands, they're cold, but stronger than I expected.
You're able to keep the book away from me, even as I grab one of your hands and squeeze hard. You extend the hand with the book as far away from me as you can, and throw it hard and fast.
The book slams against the wall of the glass cage at the same time I slam you down on the floor.
I almost say sorry when I hear how hard your head hits the floor, but it's almost like you want to make me angrier.
You laugh.
The sound bounces off the walls and drowns my brain in it.
You're pinned under me, your hands in my hands, your face two inches from mine, and you're laughing.
You laugh until there's tears in your eyes. You close your eyes to try to keep the tears from rolling down your cheeks.
And it's weird. I know it's weird. But we're past that right? We're past being embarrassed around each other, so I don't stop myself from tasting your tears.
You scream and you thrash against me, so I stop.
I wish you knew how good I was being.
If you knew you'd be grateful the only thing I did was press my tongue against your cheek.
Your tears were salty, your cheek sweet.
I forgive you for hurting the book. I've forgiven you for everything you've done to me.
FOUR.
You're sitting up when I walk downstairs, a plate of french toast in my hands.
Remember when we'd make them together? I'm hoping the food sparks a good memory.
You look indifferent when I place the food in front of you, but you take a bite of the food.
You chew the breakfast without looking at me.
"I always forget how much sugar I'm supposed to add," I say.
You don't answer.
"Remember when you taught me how to make them? The recipes online always made them too complicated but you-"
"What do you want from me Tom?" your voice is not your voice. It's defeated, or bored. Maybe both.
I stare at you, you look tired and I wonder, if that's true, then why can't you just admit you were wrong and I was right? We need each other.
"I want what's best for you," and it's almost the truth.
I am, in a way, what's best for you.
You chew your food, the french toast making your hands sticky. It hadn't seemed like a good idea to bring you a fork and knife.
When you're finished with the food, you look at me.
I look back, expecting a declaration of defeat or of love.
"Can I shower please?"
And it's the please that makes me nod. "Sure."
You let me touch you now. I grab your hands and undo the restraints. I help you to your feet and lead you up the stairs.
I half expect you to push me down, I'm almost disappointed when you don't.
But you dutifully walk up the stairs with me, and when I help you into the shower you cry again.
I let you cry until the water gets cold, but then it's time to get you out and get you changed.
"People are going to look for me Tom."
"They did," I nod. "Lots of people actually, you were loved by everyone in the community," I thought the fact would make you feel good, but instead, another sob comes out of you.
You look around like you're looking for air. You gasp and breathe harder than before and I try to calm you down, I put a hand on your shoulder and almost pull you into a hug, but you shove me away.
The feeling in my chest is back, like a fire being lit, but I hold back.
You're trying to gather your breathing, you look around wildly now. You're being dramatic but I let you.
You act like you've never been in this bathroom before, but you have. We both have been in here together before.
"They're going to find me, Tom. They're going to find you." Your voice doesn't sound too sure.
"They're not."
FIVE
We met in school, years ago. Neither of us talked to one another much, and maybe you weren't even aware of me most of the time, but I was aware of you.
We attended a lot of the same meetings. Applied to the same scholarships. Received the same kind of awards.
We were both the same kind of kids, except you had parents and I didn't. And yet, people didn't seem to like you very much.
"Granger is having a hard time acclimating to this environment," I overheard Malfoy say to Dumbledore, "I'm just worried all this school work is too much for her."
Dumblebore didn't look convinced.
"She was telling Pansy she would rather die than lose her scholarship."
"I believe I've heard of that expression before, yes, thank you Draco for bringing that to my attention."
Draco nodded, "I knew I had to, I would hate for Granger to do something rash, knowing I've heard her say suicidal thougths before."
"I wouldn't call that suicidal thoughts Draco. Those are very serious-"
"Exactly," Malfoy interrupted, "Because it is a very serious matter, I thought you should know. I'm sure you wouldn't want to waste a single moment to do something about Granger. As the great principle you are, it's now up to you to do something right? It would be just awful if Hermione didn't get the help she needs before it's too late. If something were to happen-"
"Alright Draco," Dumbledore cut him off.
Malfoy straightened up, "I'm only saying. Maybe now is not the right time for Granger to be chosen as the student to represent our class in the visits to the universities. My father is friends with a lot of those professors and it might do us some good- for all our classmates- to do a little social networking."
"Thank you for the information Draco, I'll take it into consideration."
And I turned around to find you. You were, of course, studying at the library.
And I told you everything Draco said. I'm not sure why I did it. Malfoy was a good person to have on my side, and I told you that too.
You only rolled your eyes, "He's an idiot."
"Maybe you should try working with him more, if you're friends with him-"
"Ew," you said before I could finish. "I would never be friends with Malfoy. I would never pretend to want to be friends with him. And he can start all the rumors he wants of me, but I'm not going to give him what he wants. He wants to get under my skin and I'm not letting him. I'm going to beat him, happily."
I thought you were stupid, just a stupid kid who thought she knew better when she didn't.
But then, about a week later, Malfoy got under your skin.
He laughed at your scholarship in front of the entire courtyard, called you and your parents poor.
You turned around and slammed your fist right into his face.
Your friend took the blame, you would have lost your scholarship if he hadn't.
I was envious of the glory Ron Weasley no doubt had received for that heroic act.
He took care of administration, and I, behind closed doors, took care of Malfoy.
"I would rather die than snitch about a girl hitting me," I laughed when Malfoy said he would tell Dumbledore exactly what you did.
And maybe that was when it began. When I began watching you, waiting for the next move you made.
SIX
You started eating with me, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, without any snarky remarks.
I let your restraints loose, let you roam around the house with only the doors that led outside locked.
You showered and cleaned yourself up regularly now, and that seemed to help you be in a better mood.
"Do they really think I'm dead?" you asked, fork in your mouth, eyes looking at nothing.
"Yes," I answered.
"Do they think⦠Do they think Ron is dead?" and I could see the real question in your eyes.
"He's dead," I answered carefully, watching the fork in your hand. "They found his room drenched in bleach."
And I can almost smell it again. I can almost see the rags covered in blood and the panic of cleaning it up.
"They saw someone had cleaned up a lot of blood, but they missed a spot." And I had at some point thought myself to be very smart for this. "It was your blood when they tested it."
There's silence as I wait for your reaction.
You don't give me one.
"They think he killed you," I finally say, and a laugh escapes me. I hadn't meant to let it out, it's not funny, I know that. But, it is a little ironic. He's the one who warned you against me and now he's the one who's dead.
You glare at me, you grip the fork in your hand and I'm ready for it when you aim it towards me with full force.
I catch your wrist and we both stand in the same second.
Soulmates?
You scream and I pick the fork out of your hand before throwing it away from us.
I pull you into my arms while you sob and I understand it.
"I know, I'm sorry," I say, because I get you Hermione. I knew you'd be sad about Ron, and though I don't like it, I can still be here for you. "It's okay, it's okay."
