Author's Note: Yay, another chapter! This one has been the longest yet. I am very pleased with it, and I'm excited to say that the romance between Hermione and Tom is finally picking up and moving along. This chapter was somewhat difficult, yet very exciting to write. I hope you all enjoy it, I will try and update soon!
CHAPTER FOUR
Hermione looked down at her hands and inspected her now-pruning fingertips. She had gladly remained in Tom's embrace longer than she cared to admit, and, combined with the bathwater-warm water of the pool, she was pleasantly cocooned into a warmth that she refused to leave.
They had spent at least an hour and a half sitting upon the rocky ledge, and strangely, they hardly said a word to each other.
With her back turned to him, Hermione could feel Tom's free hand playing with her hair; she guessed that his fascination with her curls hadn't dissipated, for he continuously took various tendrils and twirled and wrapped them around his fingers. Goosebumps trickled down her back and her arms when Tom's fingertips occasionally brushed the nape of her neck; she felt like cat, wanting to squirm and arch into his incredibly gentle touch, but she controlled herself, only emitting a few breathy sighs of contentment.
She could have stayed like this forever, honestly.
But as she glanced down and saw the shriveling of her fingertips, she knew then that they would have to leave the water soon.
"Tom?" she asked in a soft voice, wriggling around in his arms to face him.
"Yes?"
She was unprepared for how close their faces were.
Hermione found herself staring at the different features she had never taken time to notice before; like the tiny, puckered pink line of a moon-shaped scar that rested just beside his left ear, and the miniscule caramel golden specks that dotted his deep, chocolate-like eyes. And her gaze drifted further down, down the slope of his nose, to see his full, dusty pink lips, and Hermione leaned in ever so slightly—
"Hermione?" Tom asked her again, looking slightly worried yet slightly amused at her.
She froze, cheeks flaming red, as she realized what she had been doing and hoped that he hadn't noticed.
"Oh, yes," she stammered quickly, diverting her gaze to watch a ghost crab scuttle by. "I just, well, you see—"
Instead of explaining, she reached up and showed him her hands, gesturing at her shriveled fingers, and Tom let out a light-hearted chuckle. He removed his free hand that wasn't holding her to his side and noticed his resembled hers.
"Well, my guess is that you would like to go back to the house and change," he speculated, looking above and into the quickly darkening sky.
She nodded, but smiled gratefully at him as she untangled herself from his grasp and headed back to the shore.
"As much as I would love to stay," she admitted, "I think we best get back before we get caught in a downpour."
Tom agreed, and made his way back to the sandy dune, catching one of the towels that Hermione lightly tossed at him.
The skies continued to darken, and Hermione quickly tucked her clothes into her bag and wrapped herself in the towel before heading down the rocky path, leaving a lagging Tom behind.
He quickly caught up with her though as she soon came to a halt, unable to get up one of the jetties.
"Need some help?"
Tom grinned at her, eyes twinkling, as she quickly and effortlessly stepped up the rocky ledges, reaching out to help and staggering Hermione, who kept muttering about "these blasted rocks."
As the rain began to pour down, Hermione began to shriek as the cold drops of rainwater hit her bare skin, and Tom snickered at her as she tried to push herself up the rocky walls, eager to make it back to the house. Nevertheless, Tom remained ahead of her, more than happy to help her in any way that she needed.
However, with the house another good few minutes away, and the rain pouring down even harder, Tom decided to do something that he knew Hermione wouldn't expect.
As they meandered up the last jetty, Hermione barely had time to react as Tom scooped her up in his arms, bridal style, and began a jog towards the direction of the house, not even fazed when Hermione shrieked with an exclamation of, "Tom! What are you doing?"
Her small hands tightened around his neck, one of them frequently reaching up to vigorously wipe the rainwater from her eyes.
"Well, Hermione, I'm trying to get us back to a dry place," he retorted, amused at the way she was clinging to him for dear life.
He was rather pleased at himself.
If it were up to him, he could have sat perfectly content with Hermione nestled up so close against him, the warmth and softness of her milky white skin like catnip to him, making him want to keep her as near as humanly possible. He just wanted to touch her, even if it was just holding her small, delicate hands. He just wanted to be near her, wherever she was, even if it meant traveling to the ends of the earth.
He suspected she didn't know that.
But he would.
He decided in that moment, with her pulled so close against him, he would willingly follow her anywhere. And the amazing thing was that they had only spent one day together after being apart from so long, and already, she just filled his mind with such happy and exciting thoughts, which made him want to never leave her side.
He wondered if this is what love felt like.
He remembered his father telling him about the time he met Tom's mother at the local fish market in town, and recalled her hating him and rejecting his advances in the beginning, but he always said that he loved her from that very moment.
And Tom could remember the first day he and Hermione were introduced by her grandmother and he saw her standing there, nervously clutching her grandmother's hand, her deep brown eyes searching him, biting her lip and tilting her head in curiosity.
(June 15, 1984)
"Come on, Tom," his father had said, "Mrs. Granger wants you to meet someone. Got to be nice now, make sure you use your manner. Just, here—"—he offered him a comb—"tidy up your hair a bit before we go. There you go, that's it. Spiffy there, aren't we?"
Tom was rather confused.
They hardly ever had guests to see. The only guests Tom ever really saw were Mrs. Granger's lady friends who would come over and play cards with her—he would always see them, laughing and clinking their glasses of something through the window. In a way he felt nervous, but he was also excited at the prospect of possibly meeting a future friend; he secretly hoped it was a boy his age, someone to play with when he didn't have work to do. That'd be fun.
His father shooed him out the door of their little house, which was conveniently located less than a mile away from the Grangers' estate, and Tom found himself eager to meet these mysterious people. He hoped, whoever they were, they had a boy. Besides his father's company, Tom was relatively lonely, as no one lived around here for miles off.
Within twenty minutes, Tom and his father approached the main lawn towards the entryway of the house, and Tom noticed a couple, a brown-haired man and woman, standing with Mrs. Granger; he also saw another small figure, clad in a simple white dress, clutching the hand of who appeared to be her mother.
He raised his brow in curiosity and frowned.
This was not the boy he had hoped for.
As they came closer, Mrs. Granger hurried down the lawn as far as her feeble legs could carry her, and gladly took young Tom by the hand—he had always thought her to be a wonderfully nice lady—and soon found himself standing in front of the young couple and the little girl.
He froze.
He simply stared at her, mainly because he had rarely ever seen one, but also because she was, well, pretty in a way—
She was nibbling her small, bottom lip in a nervous fashion, and her caramel brown eyes stared back at him curiously, and her hair—
It was extremely curly, the color of mahogany almost, and Tom found himself wanting to reach out and take one of the loose curls, just to see what it felt like.
By the way she was clutching her mother's hand in a vice grip, he guessed that she was nervous too.
While staring at her, he almost didn't hear his father—
"—be shy, Tom, go ahead, tell Miss Hermione hello—"
He automatically stuck out his hand without warning and rather quickly, so suddenly that Hermione jumped back a bit, caught off guard by his boldness.
"Hello, Miss Hermione," he greeted politely, watching her regain her composure. She had let go of her mother's hand and smoothed down the front of her pristine, white dress before reaching out and taking his hand, shaking it with a precise, calculated form of elegance.
"Hello, Tom, it's a pleasure to meet you," she replied with a rather serious expression.
To Tom she seemed overly formal, the way she held herself and spoke to him. She acted like a miniature adult.
Nevertheless, he found himself not wanting her to snatch her hand back, but he allowed her to and opted to simply stare at her instead. He watched as the breeze caught her curls and jostled them ever so gently, and she in turn watched him.
Little Hermione found this Tom Riddle to be an okay person, she supposed. She decided that she liked his hair; it was wavy and thick and very dark, almost black, and his eyes were just the same. She noticed that he kept staring at her, like he was looking at something interesting, and she suddenly found herself wanting to go back inside the house.
"Hermione," her grandmother's voice called her attention. At once, Hermione went to obediently stand next to her, and her grandmother knelt down until she was eye level with her.
"I have an idea," she began, Hermione's ears perking up with anticipation, "Why don't you go play with Tom for a bit? Your mother and I are going to start unpacking and then go shopping for some groceries, and your father and grandfather are planning on going fishing. I think you'll have fun, Tom is a very nice, polite boy. Maybe you could teach him a thing or two about those sea creatures you love so much."
She winked.
Hermione glanced quickly back at Tom, who was still standing like he hadn't moved. He was still staring.
She supposed that playing with Tom would be better than doing the other adult stuff. She might even take her grandmother's suggestion and try to teach him a bit about the hermit crabs that her father mentioned lived in the waters of the bay.
"All right, grandmother," she agreed. They hugged briefly and said goodbye; she gently ushered Hermione over to where Tom was standing.
Their eyes met.
"Tom?" she asked, looking directly into his darkened gaze.
"Yes?" he replied, suddenly unsure and nervous.
"Have you ever seen what a hermit crab looks like?"
What an odd question.
Tom replied no, but he suddenly found himself wanting to learn everything there was to know about one.
As he held her even closer to him, ignoring her little squeals and ignoring the slight pain in his calves from running, he didn't want to let go. And he certainly didn't plan on it.
Tom and Hermione had made it back to the house successfully, and, much to his displeasure, Hermione had politely asked him to put her down so she could wring out her hair and begin to dry off.
"Well, that certainly was—" he began, still somewhat out of breath after running for the past few minutes.
"Yeah," Hermione agreed, still using her damp towel to dry her hair. "I guess we both should go change."
Tom nodded.
He turned to head towards one of the spare rooms and collected a second set of clothes before Hermione suddenly called out his name, immediately causing him to turn around to face her.
He tried to turn his attention to her eyes, but her legs—
"Yes?" he asked, his voice coming out slightly huskier than he intended.
"We can meet back in the kitchen for dinner, if you'd like," she offered.
Tom was thrilled. He knew at some point he would need to get back to his own quarters soon, he knew his father would be wondering—
But in the mean time, he couldn't find the strength to say no or deny Hermione anything she asked. Also, he didn't want to leave. Every minute spent with her was precious. After all, she was only supposed to be here for a month before she had to leave again.
Might as well make the most of it, he thought.
"Of course," he smiled at her, watching her flash a small smile of her own as she began to climb the staircase towards her bedroom.
Anything for you, Hermione. Always.
When she returned to her bedroom, Hermione immediately locked herself in the adjoining bathroom, her breath coming out in shaky spurts as she clutched the counter of the vanity.
How could it be possible that one boy—well, man—could affect her in such a mind-boggling, unexplainable way?
She had never expected to feel so strongly about a boy that she had briefly met fifteen years ago. Of course, there were a few other boys in her time at university that were certainly charming and handsome, and she had declined their offers, opting to focus on her schoolwork instead, but Tom—
Tom affected her like no one had.
Just simply resting in his arms, or even him being ever so the gentleman, politely helping her clumsy self climb the jagged rocks, made her heart just flutter with something incredibly foreign to her.
Not to mention she could hardly look him in the eye without blushing furiously, and after what she had done today, my goodness—
She admitted it.
She had wanted to kiss him.
If Tom had taken it upon himself to close the distance and place his lips upon hers, she wouldn't have rejected it. She would have welcomed it, gladly and even enthusiastically.
They had never kissed before, and she was positive he had never kissed another girl either, with him being so far away from the general population.
She had never kissed anyone either.
But she wondered, genuinely wondered, if she and Tom were to kiss, would it be that type that she had always heard about? The type of kiss that shocks you to the core, the kiss that makes you just never want to stop, the kiss that feels as if you just gave someone a part of your soul—
She wanted that mind-blowing, explosive kiss, the one that her friends had always talked about, the one she heard about in movies and in novels, and she wondered if she kissed Tom would that really happen.
She wanted to find out.
Because if Tom were to kiss her, she guessed then at that moment, she'd want to give up school, give up the blasted research project, and just stay—
She really didn't want to leave.
It had only been a day, just one day, and she already found herself ready to drop everything, everything that was constant and relevant in her life, all for the possible love of a mere boy she had met so long ago—
She sighed.
She didn't think it would be possible. Rational people wouldn't just leave a career or a university because they merely thought they were in love with someone who may or may not love them in return. She had no idea if Tom even felt that way towards her, but the way that he held her and carried her and just looked at her signaled otherwise—
She didn't know what to do.
All she knew was that, whether she wanted to or not, she wanted to just be with Tom.
She didn't want to go anywhere.
Within the hour, Hermione had met Tom downstairs in the foyer before following him to the kitchen where they had an equally simple dinner of roast beef, kindly made and delivered the day before by Tom's father, along with some potatoes and carrots.
They spent the next hour and a half laughing and telling stories once again, reminiscing of the day's earlier events, Tom laughing absurdly as he mimicked the way Hermione shrieked as he ran with her through the rain—
It had to end all too soon. She knew in the back of her mind that Tom would have to return home, and his father would be wondering where he was.
As Tom readied himself to leave, he promised Hermione that he would take her to visit his father soon, and Hermione gladly consented.
She helped him gather his gardening bag and set of wet clothes and ushered him out the door, and she wondered if he didn't want to leave either—
"Really, Hermione, today was just, you know, just—" he started, somewhat fumbling over his words, as if he really couldn't adequately transform his feelings into a coherent explanation.
"It was," Hermione finished quickly, flashing a grateful smile at him; she wanted to just go ahead and ask him to stay, but she refrained, instead choosing to grasp the door post so that she would be tempted to reach out for him instead.
"Right," Tom said, shuffling on his feet outside on the walkway. "I'll just head back home then. Have a goodnight, Hermione."
His eyes flashed with a tinge of sadness, and Hermione could tell he didn't want to leave, but for the sake of propriety, she didn't say anything.
As Tom turned and started across the lawn, she called out to him before she could help herself.
"Tom!"
He immediately turned around, hopeful.
She stopped just outside the doorway.
"Come back tomorrow. Please," she spoke softly, yet earnestly. She meant it. She wanted for this night to be over with; in truth, she felt like a child on Christmas Eve again, wanting to go to bed and fall asleep as fast as she could, just so she could wake up and see him.
"Of course."
And all she could think in that moment was, My god, he has a beautiful smile.
Tom had only been gone fifteen minutes after it started.
After he left, Hermione had walked up the stairs of the empty house and into her bedroom, buried herself under the covers, and started reading of her field guides. Needless to say, she was rather unfocused and disheveled after Tom left; she found herself reading the same sentence nearly twenty times over, unable to concentration due to the foreign ache in her heart.
He'll be back tomorrow, she tried to console herself to no avail. He promised.
During her frustrations, Hermione finally decided to chuck the book on the floor and turn off the lamp on her nightstand, the one that stood next to the beautiful bouquet of roses Tom left her.
She smiled.
The room darkened, and Hermione closed her eyes, hoping and trying to fall asleep as quickly as she could.
The faster I go to sleep, the faster I will wake up.
Her eyes had been closed for only a few minutes until a thunderous clap cracked through the midnight sky. With that, Hermione's eyes bolted open and immediately searched about the room, searching for something she knew wasn't there—
Light flashed through her windows, briefly illuminating the room in an eerie fashion, followed by another three thunderous roars that seemed to shake the bedroom floor, causing the lamp to shudder in its place.
No, no, no—
Out of everything in the world to be afraid of, Hermione was terrified of thunderstorms.
She could conquer heights, easily study and come in close proximity to dangerous sea creatures, and she had never had a single labeled phobia—
Except for thunderstorms.
She sat up in her bed in a terrified panic, her breath and heart rate quickly escalating, her hands shaking and starting to sweat—
The outside sky roared vigorously, and Hermione squealed and immediately ran from her bed and straight into the bathroom, quickly scrambling into the bathtub and drawing the shower curtains shut.
She curled up and tried to ease her breathing, tried to relax, but everything just kept coming, the roars were getting louder, and there was no Tom—
"It's all right, Hermione, it's all right, it'll be all right," she stammered quietly to herself, her voice becoming cracked as she started to cry uncontrollable tears of fear.
Tom, I need Tom—
He had already left, he wasn't coming back, she knew that, but she wanted him, needed him—
Another clap of thunder, and another scream.
She could only think of one thing to do, one thing to say, but she knew it wouldn't work, it wouldn't help, but she did it anyway—
"Tom!" she cried out in a broken wail, still frozen in the bathtub, rocking herself back and forth.
She was sure the thunder drowned out her cries. Tom wouldn't come.
After Hermione closed the door, Tom headed off, his mind filled with thoughts about the day, and just, well, Hermione—
He couldn't get enough.
Of course he didn't want to leave. He wished he didn't have to. He was aware of it being improper to spend the night with her like that, and his father was probably wondering where he was.
Part of him itched to simply turn around and run back to the house and just tell Hermione that he was staying, but he knew his father would more than likely wander over to find where he had went.
The day had been perfect, more than perfect really, it was absolutely—
Hmm. Something feels off.
Tom halted in his walk, stopping to lift the bag that was carrying his change of wet clothes and gardening tools. To his confusion, it felt surprisingly lighter than before. Although he couldn't see in the darkened atmosphere, he rummaged around in the bag, checking to see if he had forgotten anything.
Shirt, trousers, gloves—
His trowel.
That's what he forgotten.
Tom conceded to hurry and turn back towards the house—he hadn't walked too far from it yet—and decided to find it. One less thing for his father to gripe about.
He turned on his heel and jogged back towards the estate, heading for the flowerbeds he worked in earlier, and dropped to his knees, groping in the darkness, trying to find the lone gardening tool.
In an instant, a thunderous boom echoed through the sky, and rain began to trickle down.
Tom winced as cold raindrops began to pour, and hurriedly worked his way around the edges of the flowerbeds, squinting into the dimly lit night—
More thunder rolled and streaks of lightning flashed through the sky, and he continued to wipe the rain from his eyes and then his hands finally found what they were searching for—
But there was something else.
Between the deafening crashes of thunder and the blinding streaks of lightning, Tom sensed something else, something like—a voice?
He paused, not minding the rain soaking his clothes and skin, and he heard the noise once more, a wail and cry, what was it?
Strangely so, the alien sound soon began to take shape, form into a coherent word, something that sounded something like his name—
Tom.
Was it really—
Tom.
He began to think it was—
Tom.
And just like that, lightning flashed and thunder roared, and Tom's thoughts finally connected the dots and aligned correctly, and then he fully realized—
Hermione.
Hermione!
How could he have forgotten? Of course she was terrified of thunderstorms, it was just like the night in the boathouse—
Before he knew it, Tom was already on his feet and sprinting towards the door.
She couldn't stop, she couldn't stop, the tears just kept coming—
No matter how many times she told herself it would be all right, it didn't work, it wasn't the same, there was no Tom—
She needed him.
She never thought she needed someone more in that one moment, and she was so consumed by her fear and her thoughts, all becoming more incoherent by the moment, her heart echoing the booms of the thunder outside, she didn't realize—
Her name, what was saying it?
She was confused, terribly confused…
She screamed once more as she heard yet another loud noise, but she was completely unprepared for when someone yanked the curtains open and was soon standing before her—
She looked up through red, puffy watering eyes and tried to focus.
"Tom," she whispered brokenly, wiping the tears from her face, watching as he threw himself down in the bathtub behind her, quickly pulling her flush against him, and she relaxed into him immediately.
"Shh, it's all right, Hermione, it's all right," he whispered into her ear, reaching his hands up to gently caress her mass of curls, and they both felt that same intimacy, the same one from the night in the boathouse.
She cried into his shoulder, unabashedly, still scared, still terrified, but now it was different, because Tom was here, and Tom could make it better—
He rocked her back and forth in his arms, holding her close, enveloping her in his warmth, and all Tom could see was that five-year-old girl, so delicate, so fragile, crying into him, making him want to hurt anything or anyone that would ever dare to touch or harm her.
In those moments, Tom continued to speak and softly hush her, trying to calm her down in anyway that he could, trying to not only to ease her discomfort but also to try and ease the pain tugging in his heart—
From that night in the boathouse, he couldn't stand to see her in such fear, he could remember her telling him she couldn't breathe, but he didn't tell her he felt the same—
An eternity seemed to pass before the storm finally ebbed away into the distance, the night returning to its peaceful, calm state.
Hermione soon began to quiet down, and the perpetual waterfalls of tears finally ceased, and she remained perfectly quite and still in Tom's arms as he continued to rock her.
She suddenly became aware of how his wet clothes were sticking to her.
Hermione turned around in his arms to face him.
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Her eyes were still pink and puffy from crying, her cheeks and face were flushed, and her curls framed her face in a messy, yet beautiful manner.
His eyes were flashing with worry and concern, and his hair was wet and damp from the midnight rain, yet he still was so perfect, so handsome.
"Thank you," she whispered sincerely, smiling half in thanks and half in apology.
He crookedly smiled back.
"Of course, Hermione," he returned, choosing to pull her even closer.
He gazed into her caramel-like orbs, bright and glistening.
He sucked in a breath.
Hermione spoke.
One word. Just one word that made him feel like he had conquered the world—
"Stay."
He simply stared at her, wondering if he heard her right.
"Please," she repeated again, louder this time. "Stay. Here. With me."
It took a few moments for Tom to develop a coherent answer.
"You know I can't say no to you."
She smiled brightly at him.
The two of them took turns changing into dry clothes in the bathroom.
Tom came out, dressed in a simple pair of shorts, noticing Hermione sitting atop the bed, wearing a simple nightgown.
They both blushed at each other's sights.
"Right," Tom said, collecting his wet clothes, "I'll just head to the guest bedroom then."
Hermione's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and she quickly stood up from the bed, causing Tom to stop in his tracks.
"When I said I wanted you to stay," she started shakily, "I meant here. With me,"—her voice got quiet again—"In my bed."
Tom felt like he was dreaming.
Her gaze quickly redirected to the floor.
"I think it'll help me go to sleep."
Tom quietly set his bag on the nearby chair.
"Hermione," he started slowly. She looked up, biting her lip in nervousness. "You know I can't say no to you."
She swallowed.
"Right."
Hermione awkwardly crawled under the covers that she recently occupied, and Tom made his way over to the opposite side and slid his way in.
Control yourself, Tom.
He wanted nothing more than to just pull her against him, flip her around, and kiss her senseless, but—
Control. She trusts you.
She was stiff against the bed, never fully relaxing, as Tom settled in behind her.
"Tom?" her voice broke the silence once more.
"Yes?"
"Hold me."
That was all it took.
He immediately collected her in his embrace and wrapped her flush against him, her nerves beginning to settle and her warmth settling into him.
Her breathing eased and slowed, lulling into a smooth rhythm, signaling that she was more tired than he had suspected.
In the dim moonlight, Tom focused on the breadth of skin visible upon her shoulder where the neckline of her nightgown had fallen, and he noticed there was a small cluster of freckles there, probably not noticeable from a distance—
So he spent the next few minutes counting each and every freckle, feeling Hermione's body rise and fall slightly in her breathing.
He was almost positive she hadn't felt it when he placed a single, gentle kiss upon her shoulder blade.
He could do this forever.
If he could choose to simply hold Hermione forever, he would, because this was just so right, as if everything aligned perfectly and that he was made for this—
He never let go of her the entire night.