A/N: Revised - 27/07/2020.
AWF
"You fainted," states a young, feminine voice as Hem finds herself on the ground with a girl kneeling between her legs and caressing her face with a strange amount of reverence. The girl's voice ̶ (unless it's Hem's, but that wouldn't make sense) ̶ is jarringly sophisticated and her tone is an odd mix of self-satisfaction, fondness and awe. (Why awe? Why everything, actually?)
Still, despite her bewilderment, Hem hears herself mutter, "Your fault," even though she's not exactly sure why that would be the case.
The girl gives a low chuckle in response, which is rather strange since that kind of throaty sound is fairly masculine. "I know," she croons, bestowing a soft, doting kiss ̶ (is her bottom lip stinging?) ̶ before resting her forehead against Hem's. (Tom, her mind whispers. Tom, in a girl's body, canoodling with her for reasons unknown.) "I admit I may have been too… enthusiastic," Hem catches the smug smirk despite the close proximity of their faces ruining her vision, "in my excitement upon seeing you." Another kiss before he whispers, "You caught me by surprise," against her mouth.
He elicits a shaky sigh, then, as if repressing the urge to shiver while she absently brushes her thumb along the corner of his mouth in an attempt to wipe the smugness away. Tom counters by kissing it, maintaining eye contact all the while because he evidently needs to assert dominance at every opportunity. (The potency in his stare makes her think that the gesture is a rather hefty promise. It's a little worrying.)
Hem feels herself tensing up, her stomach clenching as a low ringing begins to play in her ears. What is she supposed to do with a Tom that's so disturbingly affectionate? (Snog him until she faints, apparently. But what comes after?)
"Miss Granger," a familiar, notably masculine voice rasps from her left. Tom goes rigid while Hem turns to find the Bloody Baron ̶ (has she ever wondered what his real name is?) ̶ floating nearby, looking down at them with a slightly raised brow. It's impressive how such a small change on his face can express such a strong sense of judgement. "Are you well?" he queries, although his gaze is set on Tom, who seems to be miffed by the fact that they're not actually alone.
(It's a good question, though. She's not really sure. Is it good or bad to be utterly baffled?)
"Oui," she replies, her gaze sliding to Munin as Tom begins to nuzzle the side of her face. Her familiar ̶ (is he her familiar?) ̶ is perched by the edge of the fountain, glaring as suspiciously as a bird can. (Which is quite well, truthfully, but it might just be a Munin-exclusive ability.) Hem thinks he's likely to fly over at any moment and viciously peck Tom the moment she expresses dissent. "Merci."
The Bloody Baron stares unblinkingly for a moment while Tom ̶ (who's most definitely being purposefully obstinate) ̶ proceeds to give kisses along her jaw and her neck ̶ (it's much less aggressive than before, but it still makes her skin prickle) ̶ until he eventually intones, "You have History of Magic at quarter to eleven."
She nods in acknowledgement ̶ (what time is it, now?) ̶ and decides to risk pushing Tom away so she can stand. (Can she stand?) He's not very receptive, seeing as he seizes her wrists in order to stop her from exerting any more force.
"Tom," Hem sighs. His grip tightens and she hears him hum in response, but he doesn't stop his gentle attentions to her neck. (Is her neck really that enthralling?) "I'd rather not faint again." It'd also be nice if the feeling of overstimulation ̶ (is that what it is?) ̶ goes away, too, but that's not likely to happen if he doesn't stop.
Tom goes still for a long, probably tense ̶ (she can only assume) ̶ moment before he elicits a long, lamenting sigh and backs off enough for her to look at him without her eyesight blurring.
"That would be inconvenient," he agrees, releasing her wrists to instead intertwine their fingers. However, the action seems to irk him, his brow twitching downward and his mouth thinning when he glances at their joined hands. (Too small. Too feminine. They're not his and that bothers him. She doesn't think she'd be pleased to be in a different body, either. Not when she's not even used to the one she already has.)
It's then that Hem thinks it's probably a good time to ask, "Why are you a pretty girl, Tom?"
Blinking, he lifts his head to make eye contact. His expression is one of mild surprise before it shifts into something overwhelmingly fond with a touch of mirth. "As opposed to a pretty boy?" (As opposed to a madman with a hideous turban and eyes like fresh blood.) "Well, it's not as though I had much of a choice." Distaste and annoyance colours his features as his thumbs begin to caress hers in a seemingly subconscious manner. "It would appear my original plans were somehow waylaid, so I'm now unwittingly in the possession of one Ginny Weasley."
(Baby blue. Ron. Hair like fire. Fred. George. Weasley.)
"Ginny," she breathes, taking in the face that doesn't belong to Tom. (Ron, Fred and George's sister. That's a little awkward, isn't it?) "Why Ginny?" What did she do to get possessed by another version of Tom? (What did the turban man do to get possessed by Morty?)
Tom lifts her right hand to kiss the back of her hand. "Why Ginny, indeed?" he murmurs, his eyes looking off to the side with an ominous, speculative gleam to them. It only lasts for a moment, however, as he lifts his gaze to smile at her. It's effortlessly charming and she realises that he's perfected one of his masks. (They're all different ages?) "Regardless," he starts, standing and pulling her up with him, "the fact of the matter is that your presence changes things, so this body is no longer viable for my purposes."
That doesn't make sense. (Or is she missing something? She probably is.) Why would her existence make Ginny's body unviable? (What are his purposes? How is he here? Why is he here?)
"Hem," Tom sighs, his tone adoring as though he finds her obtuseness endearing. (Did she blink in confusion?) Letting go of her hands, he reaches out to flip her hair over her shoulder before gently tilting her head to examine her neck. The practised smile has become more of an imperfect smirk and she speculates that it's because he's successfully marred her skin. (She uncertain as to why that would be something to be pleased about.) "How could I bear to wear a Gryffindor's body when I know for a fact that you're in Slytherin?"
Ah. That makes more sense, although it's admittedly rather foreboding. However, it doesn't surprise her that he doesn't care about the ethics of his actions.
(It doesn't surprise her that she doesn't, either. Does that mean she's a bad person?)
. . .
. . .
It's surreal, having a version of Tom in a girl's body casually walk her to class. (Somewhere in the mire, apprehension begins to form. Will he hurt her after pulling her into a false sense of security?) He's healed the wounds on Ginny's neck and cleaned up her appearance, but has opted to leave Hem's own marks and dishevelment untouched.
"It's proof that I'm finally able to touch you," he told her before they left the courtyard. "I want everyone to see that you've been marked. I want everyone to see that you're mine."
"At the moment, I'm Ginny's," was Hem blithe reply. (She doesn't understand why he's so adamant about it. Who else would want to suck at her neck and shove their tongue in her mouth?) He wasn't much pleased with that response because it turns out that he's petty enough to be irritated by the technicality of Ginny actually being the one to mark her. Even though she currently has no influence over her own body and most likely would never spontaneously force herself on Hem if she was in control.
Sometimes, she wonders if anyone would actually like him if they knew him like she does. Then she remembers how he's magnetic enough that people would want to be near him and please him, regardless of all the warning signs that might flare up.
"Merlin's arse, Hemera!" a voice exclaims, throwing her out of her musings. With a blink, Hem focuses on what's ahead of her to see Sally-Anne and the other students gaping at her ̶ (Slytherin and Ravenclaw, right?) ̶ the former practically sprinting over to her side while the rest remain back. They're quite obviously attentive, though. "What the hell happened to you?!"
Tom adopts a concerned expression, and she absently wonders how well he knows Ginny's personality. "I found her walking around like this," he explains, grasping her arm and glancing at her in a pitying sort of manner. He's even changed the way he's speaking to sound less refined and a touch more girlish. It's very bizarre to witness. "I wasn't sure what to do because she wouldn't answer me and the Bloody Baron was just staring into my soul, but I couldn't just leave her alone."
Looking over her shoulder, Hem finds the Bloody Baron's dark eyes pinned on the back of Tom's ̶ (Ginny's, but she's not here at the moment, is she?) ̶ head. They flit over to her for a second ̶ (his expressions are rather minimal, but she gets the distinct impression that he's troubled) ̶ and he inclines his head before disappearing into the wall, perhaps to avoid being interrogated by her best friend.
Sally-Anne grabs Hem's face, then, turning her head about as she inspects the damage. "Merlin, Hemera! Were ya sexually assaulted?" she demands, her cockney accent slipping through in her nonplussed state. "Who did it?! I'll hex the shite outta the bloody bastard!"
Hem supposes this reaction is to be expected. (At the very least, she can only be glad that it's not Hermione. Hermione worrying about her hurts because of all the guilt that tries to suffocate her.) It's not every day that she looks like she's been ravished. (Presumably. She can't remember the last time she's seen her own reflection.)
If she doesn't clarify things, everyone will think that she's been molested ̶ (although, to be honest, that's technically true, isn't it?) ̶ and it's practically guaranteed that none of her friends will rest until the culprit ̶ (Ginny who's actually Tom, but no one would guess that) ̶ is found. Sally-Anne ̶ (and probably the rest of the Perks alongside Fred and George) ̶ would use dubious methods to narrow down the search and Hermione would pester the professors ̶ (Sir Kenelm would nag them, too, or do everything himself) ̶ while irrationally blaming herself for something that's not her fault.
(It'd be easier if they didn't care. But life isn't easy in general, let alone when she has multiple versions of Tom skulking around.)
"I'm fine," Hem mutters, reaching up to gently touch Sally-Anne's wrists. Releasing her face, Sally-Anne instead grabs her hands while looking Hem with a rather acute expression of disbelief. Guilt pricks at her chest. (She's not good at reassurance. Then again, she's not good at a lot of things.) "I know them."
Sally-Anne blinks, processing the implications while Hem looks over her shoulder to find Draco ̶ (who, oddly enough, looks rather incensed) ̶ and his minions not so subtly listening in. Theodore's there, too, fiddling with his ring as he frowns at her. (Is she getting better at recognising people?) When she meets his eyes, he turns his head away, his face quickly smoothing into an unflappable mask.
Tom's grip on her arm tightens a fraction, allowing her to catch the way his expression freezes for a moment, his eyes glinting as he seems to survey something in the crowd.
"Do you mean to say…" Sally-Anne starts, slowly, bringing Hem's attention back to her, "that you, in fact, didn't get sexually assaulted because you consented to being snogged silly by a secret boyfriend or girlfriend?" She seems to be struggling with her mixed emotions of pride, astonishment, burning curiosity and a smidge of hurt. (Why hurt? Because Hem hasn't told her of this supposedly secret partner before now?)
Hem glances at Tom, hoping that he understands that this is his fault. When a gleam of amusement pushes past the manufactured surprise on his face, it's confirmed that, yes, he understands that he's a prat. (She can only imagine the sort of drama he would force her into if they were together in his Hogwarts, where he has a certain degree of power and influence among the students.)
So, it's with an internal sigh of resignation that Hem's response is, "Yes."
. . .
. . .
History of Magic turns out to be the most raucous it's ever been ̶ (honestly, she can't really recall much about it) ̶ which is unsurprising considering her appearance and the ghost professor's ̶ (she still doesn't know his name) ̶ inability to control his class. Hem's glad for it to be over, although Sally-Anne now has detention at some point after hitting Parkinson ̶ (did she get it right?) ̶ with both a Jelly-Legs Jinx and a Pimple Jinx, causing tiny tentacles to sprout all over her face. It was a bit disturbing to look at, really.
"Worth it," Sally-Anne announced with a grin, flicking one of her plaits over her shoulder as Parkinson ̶ (and a few other people) ̶ screamed behind her in terror. Draco appeared to be torn between being annoyed ̶ (no, that's not right. He was enraged, wasn't he? But why?) ̶ or being amused, which is rather unfortunate for the tentacle-faced girl. She seems loyal, if a little desperate for validation. (It seems to be a common trait among pure-blood children.)
Theodore stood beside them, his focus on the love bites all over Hem's neck even as he addressed her best friend with, "Has anyone ever told you that you're quite vindictive, Perks?"
"All the time," replied Sally-Anne, her tone implying that it should've been obvious. She does have an infamous reputation. "Mum says that my abrasive disposition wouldn't get me any friends if I kept it up, but I have Hemera, don't I? And because Hemera is my best friend, having some pug-looking twit call her a dirty slag is simply unacceptable. I wouldn't be surprised if she's jealous that no one would willingly want to suck face with her."
Hem watched as Theodore examined other parts of her with his eyes, looking rather respondent even though it was clear to her that he was trying to conceal it. "It's a rather bold move, though, isn't it?" he murmured, his hand twitching as if he was about to reach out. "Marking her in such a fashion for everyone to see." His met hers, the emotion within them mostly disapproving. The rest was inscrutable. "To me, it seems like your partner, whoever they are, is making a strong statement at your own expense."
("That's Tom," she wanted to say. But that would make things even more convoluted than they already are.)
"Hey, Hemera," Sally-Anne calls as they make their way to the kitchens. (Is that where they're going? Will Tom be there?) Hem tilts her head at her best friend, who has a fairly subdued expression on her face. "You would've told me eventually about your undisclosed paramour, right?"
A touch of regret with a hefty mix of vexation trickles into her chest. (It feels peculiar. She's not all that fond of it.) It would've been better if Sally-Anne hadn't added the last bit to her question, but what's done is done and Hem supposes that it's simpler this way. While she'd like to just admit that she doesn't have some hidden lover that she snogs in a broom closet ̶ (why a broom closet?) ̶ the truth is much harder to explain.
Because, of course, she didn't consent ̶ (Tom wouldn't care, would he?) ̶ but she doesn't really have an opinion either way, so how is she supposed to put that into words that make sense? And how would she say that there's a possibility that she doesn't care because it's the boy ̶ (man? Is this one a man?) ̶ from her dreams who's somehow manifested in the form of a female child who also happens to be her friend's younger sister? (Although, it's very much possible that she'd still be apathetic even if it wasn't Tom.)
"It's new," Hem replies, absently feeling something scratching the side of her neck. (She feels like she might start floating away soon. It's not pleasant.)
Sally-Anne pauses, prompting Hem to do the same. "New?" she queries as she grabs Hem's arm and pulls it away so she stops scratching herself. (She's scratching herself again?) "New as in today?"
Hem nods, staring down at her hand and trying to decipher the vague sense of disappointment that's bloomed in her stomach. (Why? How long has it been since she's hurt herself like this?)
"Oh!" exclaims Sally-Anne, who's abruptly cheered up at the revelation. There's a sparkle in her eyes and the genuinely happy smile she gives Hem is blinding. "Oh, all right! Well, in that case, I'm being silly. Of course, you'd tell me! And while I really want to know who this possessive wanker is, I'll respect your boundaries. Or, well, I suppose I'll try to." Nodding to herself, Sally-Anne clasps Hem's hand and resumes their trek to the kitchens. "I'm not sure if Hermione will, though. She'll probably say we're too young to date, but it happens all the time. Wendy was eleven when she got her first boyfriend, although she scared him off after a week because she has a very dominant personality and eleven-year-old boys are pansies." She abruptly whips around with a gasp. "Wait, Hemera! Are they older than you?"
A sigh escapes Hem, then, when she realises that something as simple as the age of her 'possessive wanker' is complicated by Tom's existence.
(The apprehension hidden in the mire of her mind grows bigger and she isn't sure what she's supposed to do with it.)
AWF
A/N: And here we see Tom annoying Hem in her natural habitat.
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