authorsnote: it's update time bby
I meant to get everything (or as close to everything as I can) before the end of 2021, but damn that DID NOT happen, and so the aim is the end of the month! here we goooo
I do hope you enjoy, do leave a review, I love to read them!
also, little plug here, I have put up a silly lil tomione drabble series inspired by romeo and juliet, so feel free to check it out! It's called Did My Heart Love Till' Now?, the first drabble is up, the second coming soon!
songrecs: believer - imagine dragons
She expects a hand yanking her into a broom closet, she expects him to stop her in the hall, she expects fury, anger, him demanding an explanation that she'll be too indignant to give. She expects anything but what she gets.
Nothing.
No, as she hurries from class, scooping up her bag and running away from Ron's bleating words (dangerous words, Tom has made it clear, she is his, the thrill that runs through her at the thought is betraying), he doesn't follow, no the footsteps she hears are Harry's, not his.
Part of her is relieved, that he isn't demanding words from her she shouldn't have to say (why should she have to defend a friendship? His? Yes, but an object? No), but the other part of her is annoyed, annoyed he doesn't want to know why one of her friends is suggesting something demanding, and another part of her, buried so deep she can barely feel it, is worried, is scared that he isn't going to avoid this, but wait it out.
Worse, much worse.
"Everything alright?" Harry asks her, as she adjusts her book bag, glances back and see's no sign of him, she nods, plasters on a smile.
"Of course" She then starts to go into the upcoming Hogsmeade trip, Ginny soon joins them, and Luna, and everyone is distracted by Honeydukes, and how deep the snow will be.
Not her though, no, she's not distracted, her mind is firmly on him.
She hates to admit it to herself, wishes she didn't have to, almost wishes she wasn't aware of it (a first for her, his fault, his damned fault, making her not want to know something, how ridiculous), but she is aware and that's the problem, a big problem.
Part of her, a part that is growing and unavoidable is scared of him.
He's the closest thing to a boyfriend she has (though they've never had that conversation, and she doubts they will, what had he said? 'You're mine, make no mistake, but I'm not that type', but then what about the forest? What about the broom closest?), and yet part of her is scared of him, scared of who he is, so mysterious, of what he'll do (the wheels of power), and what he's already done to her, how she feels about him.
It's like she's falling, plummeting even, Alice down the rabbit hole, falling and falling, into darkness, into the depths of the Earth, alone, alone in how she feels for him.
'I will never, ever tolerate anyone treating you as anything less than a fucking goddess'
'Don't' you dare doubt me, don't you dare doubt my devotion to you Hermione'
'You are mine'
That's what he's said, devotion, ownership, possession, but not the real word, the word that comes with relationships like this, or is at least supposed to, the word that she knows she feels, the word she wishes she could say, (or three words), and she so wishes she could hear.
Love.
I Love You.
'I'm not that type'
That was what he had said, to make it clear they wouldn't be holding hands on a table at the Three Broomsticks or swapping kisses in the Great Hall. He'd made it clear he wouldn't be escorting her to Hogsmeade or buying her sugar quills at Honeydukes. 'I'm not that type'.
So, she is alone in that, in whatever relationship this is, and that scares her most of all.
It's Runes next, a class they share but they sit apart in, and yet as she arrives first and takes the seat one back from the front, she usually sits alone, the other 6 students (Tom included) paired up by House, leaving her be.
And so, she just manages to smother her gasp as one by one they come in and sit, and then last but not least, Tom arrives, and slides into the seat next to hers.
This would be strange on a normal day, they don't interact in public, lest they be paired in class, but it's stranger today, knowing what he heard, knowing how angry he must be, and how worried she is.
"Hermione" He sounds entirely cordial, which makes sense, as everyone can hear them, his usual desk mates, Malfoy and Zabini are the only two that don't glance at them, clearly Tom had made things clear to them, part of her likes that, the pureblood snobs showing her respect, but part of her feels dirty for thinking that.
"Tom" She replies primly, before Professor Babbling is taking place at the front of class, Hermione opens her copy of Spellman's Syllabary and the lesson goes on as normal.
Well, normal for about twenty minutes, and then she feels a hand on her thigh.
She freezes, stopping in her translation and breakdown of runes used in curse reversal, and has to smother a little gasp leaving her lips, though her fist tightens around her pen.
With his left-hand Tom continues to scratch away at his translation, as though nothing is going on.
His hand moves up, brushing at her skirt, his thumb flicking over her thigh, and her breath hitches. She wants to bat him away, to scold him, but she can't find it in herself to do so, not only because she doesn't want to bring attention to it, but also because she doesn't think stopping Tom is a neither a good idea, nor what she really wants.
What does she want? She hardly knows anymore, Tom has scrambled it all up, like he has her mind. She's never one to feel stupid, far too clever for that, but Tom brings her as close to it as she can imagine, and that she certainly doesn't like.
To get good grades, yes that she still wants, though she can put paid to being top of the class (thanks to him), she'll still get O's, maybe an E in defence, but she'll still be one of the best graduates in history.
To go to the Ministry after school. Does she want that anymore? To enter the hallowed halls of power, when if Tom has his way, he'll one day rule them, on the same dreaded platform she'd hope to rip out. Again, she feels dirty, suppresses a shiver.
To be with Ron. Well, that one is certainly dead in the dust, thanks to him again.
To be with Tom. That is what she wants now, but what does being with him even mean? What can she hope from it? What can he give her? That cools her a touch. With Ron they would have been together, engaged, married, children, but Tom? That doesn't seem on the cards for them.
'I'm not that type'
And yet he wants her, doesn't he? To possess, to have, but to love? She droops, she knows the answer to that, doesn't she?
It's the brush of his index finger over her underwear, pressing down that jolts her back, that has eyelashes flutter, a gasp smothered in her throat, and her hand moving to tighten over his, to stop him, urge him on, she doesn't know.
Here she is thinking about how their relationship (or whatever it is), must have an expiration date, must be doomed, and yet just one brush … and oh there's another one.
"Tom" She whispers, but he just shakes his head, gently, still focused on his page, even as he slips a finger beneath her underwear and ghosts it over her, no doubt feeling how wet she is, collecting it, and it's only be sheer luck she manages to bite down on her lip, hard, to stop the moan that rises in her.
He continues to swipe, almost like he's petting her, and she forces herself to look down at her translation, though the words blur, and the runes make no sense at all, and she has to physically stop herself from squirming, and the quill in her hand almost snaps, and she's sure she tastes blood as she bites down on her lip, and oh my god, goodness, she might, she might…
And then he stops.
If they were alone, she'd whine, a terrible needy thing that would surely spur him back on, but here she can do nothing, absolutely nothing, can only lick away the swipe of blood on her lip, shove the broken quill into the pocket of her robe and grab a new one, resist the urge to slap him, and instead act like nothing transpired, act like he didn't almost just bring her to orgasm under the table before cruelly stopping, and then callously wiping his fingers drenched with her, on his trousers.
What's the worst is the hour left of Runes she's forced to sit through, worked up, on edge, barely able to concentrate, left with additional homework at the end (a first for her), and Tom doesn't even look at her the entire lesson, not one glance, not even as he turns the page with the very fingers he had on her only minutes earlier.
She wishes he'd yelled.
Nothing from him, not a glance, nothing, not until she stands to leave, squirming, flushed, trying to ignore the heat between her legs, wondering if she has time to dash to her dorm room and take care of things before her final period of Transfiguration, when he turns his head just slightly, imperceptible unless you were looking for it, which she is, of course she is.
Damn him, he knows he can dangle the hook and like an obedient little fish she'll swim to it and hang herself. When did she become this?
"The courtyard, after dinner, to the side" He says quickly, and then he turns and is leaving, it's not a question, not even an order, just a statement, that's where they'll meet, almost like they'd already agreed it and he's just confirming the place.
He knows she won't stand him up, he knows she'll be there.
She hates that he's right.
Transfiguration and dinner pass swiftly, too swiftly, as she squirms (she does manage to take care of things in a sense, finally with a well-placed cooling charm manages to distract herself from how close he'd brought her to the edge) and bites her lip and tries so desperately to focus.
This isn't her, being assigned extra homework, not listening, not getting the spell immediately, this isn't her at all, it's what he does to her, every single time.
Still, instead of running out of Transfiguration, gulping down dinner and running to the courtyard like she wants to (how insane is that?), she takes her time, packs her bag, follows Harry out and strikes up some chatter with Ginny as they sit at the Gryffindor table.
It's agony, trying to focus on this, to pretend to be focused on this, when all she can think about is meeting Tom.
Is this what has become of her? Consumed by thoughts of him and only him? Part of her knows this time is different, that she feels the need to meet him, to explain what Ron had said, to make it clear she wants no part of that, and then maybe to scold him for how he'd left her high and dry.
A bigger part of her doesn't want to go, no … of course she wants to go, but she also wants to stand him up, on principle, to show him he can't just order her around, that he doesn't control her, to make a stand and make it clear she isn't running around at his bidding.
'You say jump…'
Why does she have to say how high?
She almost resolves to it, to not go, to march back to Gryffindor Tower, to run from him, as she has so many times before, or to simply walk, to make the point; you don't own me.
Only doesn't he? Hadn't he said it? 'Mine'. She is his, but can't he be hers too? That's all she needs from him, that affirmation, to know she's not on this ledge alone.
And yet, she knows she won't get it.
So, as dinner ends, she really wants to turn the other way, to go back to the Tower, to show him he can't just boss her around, to show that he shouldn't assume, to stick it to him in a way. Not to be owned, to be respected.
She entertains the idea, but barely, she doesn't even sigh as she turns toward the courtyard. Is this who she is?
Apparently.
By the time he arrives, only five minutes later, she is resolved, of course she's shown up, she was never not going to, but she's gathered some of her feistiness, at his assumption, at him leaving her hanging, at his arrogance, and though she won't stand him up, she'll certainly give him a piece of her mind.
She opens her mouth, to yell, but doesn't manage a word before he's taking her arm, pulling her behind the arch of the courtyard, around the back of the school, hidden away but still in hearing distance, distance of all the students milling about after dinner, laughing, and chatting, so nearby.
He doesn't seem to care though, as he steers her against the wall, none too gentle as he shoves her to it, and doesn't allow her a word before his lips are on hers, hard, unrelenting, almost bitter, as he kisses her, consumes her more like, so furious she can barely keep up.
She's never seen him like this, he seems to live in a state closer to emotionless, arrogant and detached, not like this, even when she'd questioned him about her blood status, he'd been all cold fury, voice cut and clear but cold, not like this, this is fire, passion, hot, and it heats her in an instant.
All of the frustration from earlier, from being so close to pleasure and then cruelly pulled away comes to her in a burst, and then she's kissing him back, hands threading in his hair, not gentle, not sweet, but hard, tugging at his locks, pulling him closer, so close they are almost one, as her lips meet his.
It's passion, its fury, needing, wanting, as the stone of the wall is hard against her back, as she whimpers against him as his lips find her throat, biting down there, sucking, marking, and she doesn't even try to muffle her whine, how can she? Why would she? It's almost anger as they grab at one another, crushed together, wanting to be as close as they can be.
His hand is in her hair, tilting her head back, his fingers grabbing at her curls, and her hands move to his chest, curling around his robes, pulling him closer, closer.
She feels mad, furious, but can't remember what about, her thoughts scattered from her head as though he'd physically thrown them away from her, all she can do is hold onto him, let out a gasp as he shoves her skirt up, her underwear to one side and places his fingers on her again, as he did earlier.
Only this time he doesn't stop.
He doesn't pet her either, no, he quickly inserts one finger and then another, and she is writhing against him, his lips smothering her cries, as he is quick, his thumb swiping over her nub, and in seconds, just seconds, pathetic almost, she is falling apart under his hand, tears actually on her cheeks, his kiss hiding her sob as she falls apart completely, completely, and utterly, finally getting what he'd denied her earlier.
And yet, he's not done, and neither is she, not by half.
It's quick, it has to be, they are hidden here but barely, and so when he lifts her up, lines himself up, and she wraps her legs around his waist, and he thrusts into her she can barely believe this is happening, and yet she doesn't dare stop it, doesn't want to, as she bites down on his shoulder to smother a scream.
It's fast, quick, messy, both of them still dressed, muffling their sounds so not to be overheard. She explodes 3 times, the final being a scream he swallows with a kiss, the groan from him she smothers, and then it's over, so quickly, it had been urgent, desperate, and now as she comes back to earth, as she seems to re-enter her body as he places her on the ground, she has no ideas what had come over them, what they had done, dangerous, reckless, and yet needed, in a way she's not even sure why.
Tom does though, he clearly had a purpose, as he turns to her, his fingers tilting her chin up to face him, her hair an explosion of curls he swipes to one side, to look into her eyes, his meeting hers, almost black to her brown, and he looks at her with purpose, with intent, clearly, he has something to say.
"You're mine" He repeats, angry a little still, and it's some of the most emotion she's seen him portray, it thrills her, and she finds herself nodding quickly, accepting it, without hesitation, none at all.
"Yours" She whispers, and she should leave it there, should stop there, she doesn't need to say anymore, it's done, sated, satisfied, and yet she can't stop herself, "And you're mine"
His gaze hardens at that, and she fears, fears she shouldn't have said it, and yet, he then does the opposite of what she'd expect, and he smirks, not a smile, a smirk, a clear difference, for how little she's seen the smile it's still easy to tell, a smirk for sure, and that should be scary, but his nod, and his words aren't.
"I suppose I am"
That's it, that's as close to an 'I love you' as she knows she'll get, and she finds herself smiling, biting down on her cut lip, leaning in, to kiss him, a slow thing, not desperate, not angry, not anymore, they've both made their point today, loud, and clear, it's enough.
For now.
sooo thoughts?
damn I loved writing this chapter, so much drama! do be warned this is how tom/hermione are, it's never going to be holding hands and gentle kisses, it is always going to be toxic, messy and dramatic, and isn't that what we want?
I do hope you enjoyed, do review, fav/follow if you did!
speak soon