Author's Note: Here it is, as promised! This chapter actually came to me and was written with surprisingly great ease. I know I mentioned earlier that I estimated the length of this fic was going to be around 10 chapters, but now I am not so sure. I wanted to take time to build the romance between Tom and Hermione and not just rush into it. So that is why I've been taking the time in these past three chapters to really work on building up the romance between them. I mean, let's be realistic here. If I hadn't seen a boy in fifteen years, of course I'd be a little apprehensive and wouldn't immediately be hanging all over him. It takes time! Anways. This fic may be longer than intended. We'll see. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

CHAPTER THREE

Nearly two hours had been spent conversing over simple sandwiches—plain with peanut butter had been Hermione's favorite, another miniscule fact that Tom had amazingly remembered—and lukewarm Earl Grey tea. Hermione was pleasantly surprised. Even though she had been ridiculously nervous about confronting Tom after not speaking to him for years, he had proven to be a very talkative, friendly companion, just as he had been before. Hermione figured her anxiety mainly stemmed from the possible resentment Tom might have held towards her for discontinuing their correspondence; Tom, however, had assured her that it had been all right, that he had understood the importance of her studies.

He had gladly given her a shortened summary of his endeavors over the past fifteen years, and Hermione learned that, compared to her hectic life, Tom's was relatively simple. After Hermione's departure, Tom resumed landscaping with his father, and eventually grew old enough to provide the same service to others in the neighboring town, earning his own money, which he stashed in a secret biscuit tin hidden in his room. Unbeknownst to Hermione, her grandmother had indeed offered an ample supply of money to Tom for the furthering of his education, and he gratefully accepted, leaving his father's meager home for Cambridge, two years prior. With good humor, he relayed his brief tale of living in the city for five months, and he admitted to Hermione that he absolutely despised university. According to Tom, the classes and professors were "much too formal" for his liking, and the city was "far too complicated", so he elected to drop university and return to his childhood home and continue the work he had always done.

Hermione gladly listened to him, never interrupting, just sending occasional nods of understanding and small smiles of encouragement, as she sat enthralled with his storytelling abilities. As he spoke with vapid animation, Hermione found herself yearning to make up the lost time between them; when she locked his stack of letters away, she had no idea that she would have missed something about a little boy she had met with a passing fancy so much. Although she would most likely never admit it to Tom, she wished she hadn't left.

In return, Tom had asked Hermione to tell him about her life story thus far, starting with after her departure. Hermione obliged, but she assured Tom that his tale had been much more captivating compared to her rather "dull" existence. She told him of the fine academies her parents had paid for her attend, how she was the top of her graduating class, how she had been awarded for her academic achievements, and received multiple scholarships for the University of Wales. She told him of the triumphs and hardships of university, mostly relaying the tales of her marine biology pursuits, becoming especially excited when telling him of a trip she and three other students took to the Great Barrier Reef of Australia. Tom sat and listened intently, smiling brightly at her, eyes glistening at her words, and Hermione found herself becoming more and more comfortable with him, even more so than she had been with her closest friends at home. As she spoke, she watched Tom and his mannerisms, even noticing his hand inching ever so closely towards hers, secretly wishing that he would just reach over and take it.

Some things never changed, she guessed.

The boy that she had known that summer was still the same, and he still had such a profound effect on her.

"Well," Tom started after Hermione became silent, "I don't think I would have ever been able to keep up with you. I always knew you were brilliant, Hermione, but wow—"

Hermione preened at his words; she was accustomed to people praising her for her academic excellence, but those words coming from Tom just seemed so… validating. As if she had been craving that approval. Strange.

"Thank you, Tom," she replied quietly, her stomach beginning to churn again with a foreign feeling. He had turned his attention fully towards her and smiled again, one of those smiles that just caused her heart to flutter, and he politely offered to take her dishes. She watched him as he strode over and laid them in the sink and continued to follow him as he went to stand by the window, looking outside and squinting his eyes into the dim sunlight. He appeared to be searching for something, uncertain and questioning.

Before she could realize it, Hermione let out, "What is it?"

Tom immediately snapped his attention back to her and quickly assured her nothing was the matter. He turned back to the window for a last glance, and then stepped back to the table to stand in front of Hermione.

"I think I have an idea of what we could do next," he stated simply, looking down at her expectantly.

Hermione instantly became nervous at the prospect of spending more time with him, nervous at wondering what he could possibly be wanting to do and nervous because she really needed to begin her research. With Tom around now, however, Hermione found herself easing the need to study further into the back of her mind, and she found herself bubbling with anticipation and excitement, something she had rarely felt in such intensity.

"And what would that be?" she asked, directing her eyes towards his. They were glistening with that same excitement.

"Just grab your bathing suit and meet me at the entry way," Tom replied, easing his way around the table.

Hermione quickly reached out to grab his wrist.

"Wait!"

"Is something wrong?" Tom genuinely looked worried.

She loosened her grip, placing her hands back into her lap, feeling dry in the mouth as Tom stared at her.

"Nothing," she stammered, "I just thought the weather, it was supposed to rain and its chilly and—"

Tom let out a chuckle, his eyes twinkling merrily at her, immediately causing Hermione to close her mouth indignantly. She hadn't been wrong, of course she had checked the weather, it was rather cold outside and why she would need her bathing suit was ridiculous—

"You need to trust me, Hermione," Tom said, taking her hand and allowing her to stand from her seat, "It's not going to be that cold, and where we're going it's certainly not going to be cold. So, come on, go get changed and meet me over here."

Alarm bells rang in her head. Where could he be taking her? If the weather had been like it had earlier this morning, then she was positive the water would be ice cold. But she had to make a decision with Tom staring at her expectantly.

"Okay," she breathed, completely unsure about trusting him at this point, yet finding herself that she wanted to follow him. She wanted to be with him.

She just couldn't say no.

In her bathroom, Hermione nervously tugged on her two-piece swimsuit that she had packed to wear under her clothes while wading in the pools. Although she normally did not mind in the slightest what her appearance looked like, she suddenly felt compelled to inspect every inch of her body to make sure she at least looked decent. She decided to simply put back on the clothes she was wearing previously to cover herself until they arrived at their mysterious destination; after briefly watching her reflection in the mirror, she yanked the hair tie from her hair and let her curls fall freely, and she even coated her lips in a thin layer of pink lip balm for subtle color. Satisfied with her appearance, she threw her bag over her shoulder, preparing herself to meet Tom at the entrance of the house.

Her hands were shaky as she opened the door to her bedroom, and the otherwise quiet creaks of the old floors suddenly became much louder; her heart rate seemed to beat to the speed of helicopter blades, and it seemed to take an eternity for her to walk down the stairs and towards the entryway.

She peered around the corner and noticed Tom standing at the door, clad in his simple canvas shirt, complete with swimming bottoms and the same pair of shoes he had been wearing.

Taking me swimming, she muttered in her mind, not a very bright idea to begin with, he's going to freeze in those shorts—

Tom had apparently noticed her arrival—god, she swore that her heart really wasn't beating so loudly—and turned to smile at her, eager to begin their little trip.

"Ready?" he asked, trying to hide the eagerness in his voice.

Hermione nodded, and awkwardly shuffled to stand beside him at the door. He reached for the doorknob and allowed her to exit first, and then took her hand and began to lead her across the lawn and towards the east.

"I thought we were going swimming!" Hermione exclaimed, trying to tug Tom in the opposite direction, fully aware that the beach they had been hours before was to the west.

Tom patiently pulled her along with him as Hermione huffed indignantly, digging her feet into the ground.

"We are, Hermione," he insisted, trying to stifle a chuckle at the way she was wrinkling her nose in irritation. She was obviously confused. "Just not that one. There's a special place my father showed me, and I want you to see it. I think you'll like it."

Hermione eased in her protests, but was still contemplating his words. She had thought her grandmother and grandfather had shown her all of the places to see around the house, so having Tom leading her to a strange, unfamiliar place was making her more nervous than she already was.

She never deviated from the familiar, the planned, the already known—

But she also knew that Tom was unpredictable.

He was very meticulous and planned, but he had a slight spontaneous streak that would manifest itself occasionally.

"I don't think—" she stammered until Tom hushed her.

"Trust me, Hermione, you'll enjoy it," he smiled at her. "I wouldn't take you somewhere you wouldn't want to go. And I know that you'll love all the little creatures that live there."

He noticed that Hermione visibly perked up at the sound of that; although she was an enigma in multiple ways he could never fathom, Tom knew that the sea and the marine life was her true passion, and he genuinely knew that she would enjoy where they were going.

She didn't answer, but she nodded in return—honestly, was she really this jittery all the time?—and obediently followed him across the lawn and towards the jetties.

As she resolutely looked at the ground, carefully watching her every step, Tom watched her.

He hadn't seen her in years, and his five-year-old self had never really taken the time to just look at her.

He watched the way her brow and nose crinkled slightly in concentration, how she bit her bottom lip, making it swell pink; he was not oblivious to how tightly her small hand was gripping his, and the nervous energy she was emitting was practically tangible—

He watched as her thick, yet tame curls ruffled as they were caught in the breeze, and when he saw them he wondered if she remembered when he spent the better part of their evening in the boathouse rubbing her hair in an attempt to comfort her yet also because it just looked so soft—

He wondered if it felt the same.

In reality, Tom had never really been around many girls, let alone know one like he had Hermione; since he and his father lived in separate quarters near the Grangers' home, which was already an hour away from the nearest town, he had rarely ever seen any, save for Hermione and her mother and grandmother. He knew bits and pieces of his mother, whom his father had often told him about, but he had never really known her since she had died when she had given birth to him. Summarily, Tom had never been able to see himself with any other girl, except Hermione.

Undoubtedly, she was special.

She had taught him so much in their short time together that summer, and he had been able to finally have someone to play with and garden with and do so many things with—

He didn't think she realized the extent of how her companionship had affected him, and she most likely didn't. He was confused as to why she was acting so jittery and nervous—after all, they had spent nearly three months together—but he also guessed that a fifteen year absence could make one, especially a girl, a tad apprehensive.

He wasn't nervous. Not at all.

When he was told by Mrs. Granger that Hermione would be visiting and that he was to ready the house before her arrival, he had immediately begun his work, pouring every once of energy into making everything absolutely immaculate.

He had spent endless hours of everyday scrubbing and polishing every floor, every touchable surface, and he even dusted every shelf, every visible nook and cranny, working tirelessly from dawn till dusk. He had paid special attention to the her bedroom, the same one that she had privately shown him those fifteen years ago, and hand-washed her sheets and linens, cleaned the wardrobe and vanity, and even placed his best roses—crimson red ones were her favorite—in one of her grandmother's vases and set them on her nightstand.

He wanted everything to be right.

And when he saw her, she was peering down at him from that window, hair still slightly askew from bed rest, clad in a simple housecoat, biting her lip—

In that moment, he swore that he had forgotten how to properly use his trowel. It had been fifteen years, yet there she was, looking down at him, and he suddenly wanted to drop everything, sprint into the house, and just hold her—

She had no idea.

Just holding her hand was enough. For now.

He looked back at her, and when he did, it just seemed so right.

He wanted to make this day special. He had made his first impression—hopefully a good one—and he wanted to her to enjoy this time more so than the times in the past.

Tom suddenly found himself breaking into a jog, pulling a confused Hermione with him.

After about ten minutes of Hermione impatiently huffing and Tom helping her stumble her way across the various rocks, they arrived to a secluded opening at a section of the bay. There was a single, large pool of the bay, cut off from the rest of the ocean and surrounded by walls of the jetties. It was definitely secret and secluded; peacefully quiet and tranquil, with no disturbances.

Hermione had stopped momentarily to look at the water's calm surface, it's cerulean blue water shimmering and glistening in the weak sunlight, teasing her, inviting her to wade in. She could see schools of silver minnows flitting around the rocks, and saw groups of vivid white barnacles clustered at its edges; small, salmon pink anemones sat in the corner closest to them, and there were a couple of cream shelled hermit crabs gathering at the water's edge. She had to admit, she was impressed. It was beautiful. So small, yet so perfect, thriving with the marine life.

"I take it you like it then," Tom smiled down at her, the waves of his hair jostled by the wind.

She smiled brightly at him.

"Of course I do," she breathed, still in awe of the little wonders of this awe-inspiring pool. "It's very beautiful; I had no idea it was even here."

She let go of his hand and wondered down the slope of sand towards the water's edge and watched as the family of crabs scuttled into the depths. With ease, she tugged her boots off her feet and dug her toes into the sand at the water's edge. She heard the crunch of the sand as Tom stood to join her, and her eyes widened as she noticed that he was wearing nothing more than his swim shorts.

His skin appeared to be alabaster smooth, spattered with faint sprinklings of darkened hair on his chest, and a trail of the same hair leading down from his navel to—

She gulped.

Her eyes immediately darted back up to his face.

He glanced back at her.

"Well?" he questioned.

She stared at him in disbelief.

"Well what?" Hermione retorted.

"Well I brought you here so we could go swimming," he stated as an obvious fact. He began to inch his way into the water, and Hermione just stood there, flustered.

"It's cold out here, Tom, I don't think—"

He rolled his eyes at her.

"Of course it's cold out here, but not in here," he added, stepping further into the water. "Just feel it!"

Hermione was confused. Why would this particular spot be warmer than the rest? It certainly wasn't one of those mountain spring saunas or something of that nature. But it did look inviting, and watching Tom glide so effortlessly into the water made her want to join him.

She made her decision.

"Okay."

He turned expectantly towards her and watched as she tugged her jumper over her head and pulled off her slim-fitting khaki pants; she refused to meet his gaze, slightly embarrassed and flustered at Tom seeing her in a two piece, crimson red with gold trim bathing suit. She supposed it was silly, but she swore she could feel his gaze boring into her as she removed her outer layers of clothes. She hadn't seen his eyes widen and darken, and she certainly didn't see the brief flush of color in her cheeks as he stared—

Before she could convince herself to turn and run, Hermione hesitantly stepped forward into the water.

Oh wow.

Tom had been right, of course. The water was pleasantly and unusually warm; almost like the perfect temperature of her frequent bubble baths. Although there wasn't any floral-scented soap or candles involved, but there was an attractive young—

Get it together Hermione!

She continued to inch her way into the water until she found herself side by side with Tom at the furthest edge of the pool, and the water rose to level just underneath her breasts. Underneath the water's surface, her leg brushed against his, and something that resembled an electric shock ran through her, sensitizing her fingertips and toes as they came in contact with the sandy bottom and jagged edges of the pool's enclosure.

She turned to see Tom looking down at her, smiling that same beautiful smile, those dark eyes flickering with a mysterious something—

And she smiled back.

She had fully turned to face him and was about to comment on the water's warmth and then—

Her eyes and mouth immediately snapped shut as the sudden onslaught of briny water being splashed in her face assaulted her. Hermione let out a shriek of disbelief and vigorously wiped at her eyes as Tom laughed rather loudly, apparently pleased with himself.

Hermione opened her eyes and fumed at Tom's laughing figure.

"That wasn't funny!" she cried, watching irritably as Tom finally ceased his chuckling.

"Well, Hermione, what do you plan on doing about it?" he taunted, eyes gleaming with mischief and amusement.

She stared at him, eyes prickling with slight pain from the saltwater.

Before Tom could blink, Hermione began her own assault by continuously throwing splashes of water back at his face. He immediately emitted a surprised yelp and threw up his arms as a shield, as Hermione did not stop her onslaught.

As she drew closer to him, Hermione had no time to react when Tom surprisingly reached out and seized her wrists, causing her to screech in return. He pulled her snug against his chest with her back against him, locking her arms and wrists in place.

She may or may not have stopped breathing.

Unlike the pale exterior of his skin, Tom was warm, even more so than the water. She could feel the planes of his chest and abdomen pressing into her back, and could feel the outline of—

She swallowed.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked politely, turning her in his arms to face him. Her eyes met his, and she saw that they had become molten and dark, like melting chocolate.

Her breathing quickened, and she felt a strange tug in her abdomen as she stared at his handsome, chiseled face gazing down at hers.

She suddenly felt very small.

"I think so," she stammered.

He smiled at her, arms tightening around her, pulling her with him to rest on the surface of a rock jutting out beneath the surface of the water. She found herself nestling further into his warmth, which suddenly made the water feel a bit colder.

"Tom?" she asked.

"Yes?" he absentmindedly answered, as he suddenly became fascinated with her dampened curls, reaching up to capture one.

"Are you planning on letting me go?"

He smirked.

"Probably not."