A/N: I've been having problems with line breaks, so I'll be using slashes instead. Enjoy!

/

The whole school was abuzz over the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. It would be the first weekend at the village without snow since autumn, and everyone was ready to celebrate the coming of spring. Hermione was slightly relieved when Draco told her he would be unable to accompany her. Something about Quidditch tryouts with Lyra, which sounded a bit insane, but Hermione let it slide. She could use the time to sort out her feelings, anyway.

And so Hermione found herself in the back of the same bookshop that Abraxas Malfoy had shown her. It felt bittersweet in a way; she remembered the day like it was yesterday. They had such a lovely time in the morning only to be ruined by forced kisses, fake confessions, and the reminder that she was scum to so many people. And yet she still felt sad for the elder Malfoy.

She wasn't looking for Horcrux books today; she had received her answers several days prior, no matter how strange they might have been. Today she was doing further research on the concealment potion she had performed to try to ascertain how Tom had broken the enchantment to steal her Felix Felicis.

"You won't find what you're looking for in that book." Tom's voice startled her. She had been so consumed with reading that she had forgotten the world around her; it was a dangerous habit, but one that she never could shake. Even more disarming than the mere presence of another human was the proximity and identity of the person behind her. Tom was so close that she could feel his breath on her neck, making the already wild hair there charged with the electricity between them.

His slender fingers came out of nowhere from either side. He closed the book slowly and put it back on the shelf, slightly askew and stacked atop the other volumes. Her hands hung where they had been limply, not lowering or attempting to fight his snatching of her reading material, but instead hanging in the hair as though nothing had occurred.

Still she didn't turn around. "What makes you think you know what I'm looking for?"

"I don't pretend to know what you're looking for in general, Hermione. I've learned that you only disappoint me." Hermione started to turn, but Tom pressed against her so that her body was held between the wood of the bookshelf and the person behind her. "In this case, though, I believe you are attempting to ascertain how I penetrated your defenses. And as I said, you won't find it in that book."

"Why do you say I disappoint you?" Tom's fingernails grazed her hand that lay flat against a row of books. He traced a line up her forearm, tickling her slightly against her wrist. His hand finally settled for gripping right above her elbow, a little too hard for comfort.

"You lied to me, Hermione."

"You'll have to more specific," Hermione replied breathlessly, her breathing slightly affected from the manner in which her chest was compressed. She lied to Tom about plenty of things, after all, but he knew that for ages.

"I think you know what I'm referring to." Tom's free hand (the one that wasn't pushed up against her arm) found its way under her many layers. Despite the lack of snow, Hogsmeade had been chilly, and she hadn't bothered to take her coat off. She felt his fingers find her knee right under the hem of her black coat, and then slowly ghost their way up her pant leg, so that she found herself hoping perhaps… but he passed her waistline, slipping his hand under her shirt and tracing her belly button and several of her ribs.

"What are you doing, Tom?" Hermione asked, slightly afraid to. She didn't want to break the moment, but her curiosity got the best of her.

"Reminding you," Tom replied coolly, his cool breath causing goosebumps to form in her ear. "I'm done with whatever game you're playing, and I'm not giving up."

"Giving up on what?"

"You. You're mine, despite whatever delusions you seem to be under."

Hermione huffed, annoyed at his phrasing. "You can't tell me what to do, Tom. And I don't know why you feel the need to. I told you I'm in love with you, and you've been nothing but cruel ever since."

"I saw you." Saw her…? Hermione's eyes widened in shock. Her and Draco in the library. Tom must have seen.

"Tom…" She tried to turn around, but his hand moved like lightning to trap her other arm, bony fingers wrapped around her wrist. "You saw me with—"

"Abraxas," he interrupted hoarsely. "I saw you with Abraxas." And Hermione wasn't sure how to feel at the clear tinge of regret in his voice as he pronounced the three syllables of the man he didn't know was dead. He had killed Abraxas. The Horcrux had failed because of his remorse. She had miscalculated. She had really, really miscalculated. Tom had killed again, but felt such a depth of remorse he was unable to immortalize himself further.

"You don't have anything to say to that?" Tom asked, interrupting her reverie.

"You don't get to be angry about that, Tom. You had rejected me." And he was my boyfriend. A boyfriend I thought you killed.

"You left," Tom said simply.

"I know. I'm sorry." And she meant it. His arms dropped, wrapping around her, his nose nuzzling her neck under her mess of hair before tracing light kisses against her hot skin. She turned and buried her head in his chest, unable to stop the tears rushing out of her. Soon, her body wracked with sobs. To Tom's credit, he didn't say anything, simply stroking her hair.

They broke their embrace slightly, moving just far enough apart for their noses to brush before their mouths met in a salty kiss. It was soft and tender, strange but right.

"I know I put a lot on you," Tom said awkwardly. He had no idea.

"Let's talk tonight in the common room," he suggested. She knew he was trying to give her space, but his gray eyes were dark and smothering, conveying the message that had begun with clearly: she was his. There were no real options, only the illusion of them.

"Okay." He turned as though to walk away but she grabbed his jaw, smashing into him with a kiss that was anything but sweet. Her tongue forced open his slightly chapped lips, and he responded by yanking her against him, so that there was no air between them.

After their kiss broke, neither of them spoke. She stayed where he had found her and he slipped away as though he had never been there at all. Hermione inhaled sharply, sinking down and continuing to cry.

Eventually she collected herself. Feeling she could make no further attempts to research, she left the bookshop and headed toward the warm comfort of the Three Broomsticks.

As she walked toward the familiar pub, a familiar voice shouted behind her, "Hermione! Wait up!" Hermione instantly recognized the voice: it belonged to Dorea. But there was a warmth in it that she was not accustomed to receiving from the woman. She paused regardless, not seeing any other polite option.

"Hermione, I wanted to speak with you about something. Could we get a drink, perhaps? On me?"

"Well, alright then," Hermione replied with hesitation. She would have preferred to be alone to mull over her conversation with Tom, and her revelation about Abraxas, but perhaps the distraction would be worthwhile.

/

The only reason Dorea had gone to Hogsmeade that day was to find Hermione. She had the completed orange liquid bobbing around in its vial, tucked inside the pocket of her blood red coat.

She had seen the witch several times at the Three Broomsticks, and thought it was a solid bet that the witch would end up there eventually. Dorea had gone over the plan several times in her head. She would extend an olive branch. Hermione wouldn't be able to resist it. And then, she could slip the potion into her drink. She had the potion since the previous Wednesday, and it pained her to wait to enact her plan, but she could not think of a reliable method to deliver the potion to the disheveled brunette otherwise.

So, when Dorea finally saw the woman in question emerge from the bookshop, she kept her place leaning against the opposite storefront until Hermione had a bit of a head start. Then, she shouted after her. Hermione looked put off, but agreed to a drink. As they entered the pub, Hermione glanced around, dejected.

"It's packed in here," Hermione declared.

Dorea wasn't one to waste a good opening. "Why don't you go find a table and I'll get our drinks?"

"I'll try."

That was good enough for her. Dorea wandered up to the long counter and ordered one butterbeer for Hermione and a firewhisky for herself. She didn't want to get the same drink as Hermione. It would be too easy to get the glasses mixed up. So, she grabbed the glasses from the counter, pulling the required amount of money out of her pocket and dropping it on the counter with a tense smile.

Now was the difficult part. The barmaid had turned away from her, no longer needing to tend to her now that Dorea had full drinks and lighter pockets. Dorea pulled the vial out of her pocket, and leaned over the drinks as she poured the potion in. As she did so, she pretended to be looking at something in her coat so that no one would wonder why she was leaned up oddly against the counter with her coat open like a tent. No one questioned her. She let a breath out. So close.

"Hermione, you found a table!" Dorea exclaimed with all the enthusiasm she could muster. Hermione was regarding her warily, but she nodded.

"I got lucky, I suppose." Hermione reached out for her butterbeer and put it up to her mouth. Before she took a sip, though, she set it down and regarded Dorea. "You got firewhisky?"

"Well, I am of age. And besides, I needed a little liquid courage for what I wanted to talk with you about. Shall we toast?"

"To what?" Hermione asked.

"To you." Their glasses clinked, and Dorea held Hermione's gaze as they both drunk from their respective glasses.