A/N: Not really my characters or plot, sadly enough.

Chapter 7: The Shadows of the Moon

Tom is kissing me.
That is all my mind is able to conjure.
Tom is kissing me Tom is kissing me Tom is kissing me..
His lips feel like velvet, crushed against mine. His tongue gently caressing first my lower lip, then my upper one. Strong, marble hands are placed in my hair, tugging my face closer, holding it in place, making it impossible for me to move. But I can not move. All I am able to do is to think:
Tom is kissing me Tom is kissing me Tom is kissing me.
Until he tightens his fists, gripping my curls harder and the mild pain of it awakes me. He moans into my mouth.
What am I doing? Tom is kissing me. Tom.
I put my palms against his chest.

"Stop," I mumble, but the words disappear into his mouth. Are swallowed by the darkness in the room. I am beginning to experience a slight panic, like a prelude to the realisation that I am in fact, drowning; dying. "Stop," I mumble again, louder this time, more desperate, but Tom is lost in his own passion, in the idea of it being shared. With eyes half-closed, he pulls his right hand from my face, placing it on my left hand that is still splayed across his chest, that is still pushing, pushing, and he grips my hand, pulling it from his chest and running it down, down, down, bouncing across his stomach and landing.. there. On his.. thing. He clutches my hand tightly over it, making me feel him, the hardness of him, through his trousers. He groans.

"STOP!" I shout, pushing him off me, feeling the blood flow back to my brain. Almost immediately, I am worried about mother or father hearing; awoken by a scream conjured from their son dry-humping their unwilling daughter.
The shame of it almost manages to swallow me whole.

"What the hell are you thinking?" I hiss through clenched teeth.
His eyes, that till then have held a drug-like intensity to them, flicker. If it is the light burning out or lit up, I am unable to tell.
And suddenly I recognize him again, this creature in front of me. Annoyed Tom is on display. He lifts his eyebrow. His right one. Always the damn right one.

"You allowed it to happen. Don't play coy with me, sister. I know you're not as virginal as you make yourself out to be."
It is hard to say wheather I feel more angry or more confused.

"What?" I sputter, flinching over the harshness of it.
His hands take a hold of my arms, pushing them to my sides, as he glares at me angrily.

"It is your own fault," he hisses, "You're the one that made me this way. You're a tease, Hermione. Skipping around in school, pretending that you don't know that every boy in the room is picturing you naked, your curls splayed out on their bed as they thrust their tiny little cocks into you. Well, no one can touch you, Hermione. You're mine," He shakes me, "You got that? You. Are. Mine."
The moonlight in the background makes out his face to be ghost-like and grim, as I now have gotten used to the darkness and am able to make out contours. I wish I could not make out his. The darkness held some security.

My mouth is dumbly opened.
Tom, how can you be so cruel? Don't you know who I am?
The unfairness of it all. I shake out of his grasp, snapping my mouth shut again. Feeling an odd calmness take over me as he continues to breathe heavily through his nose.

"Tom. Have you forgotten the fact that I am your sister?" And my tone is calm, a pedagogical ring to it.
He just looks at me as if I am speaking a foreign language, unbeknown to him.

"Not my biological sister," he is at last able to spit out.

"No, but to me, you're as good as my biological brother. I.. I love you as a brother Tom."
He just shakes his head, not wanting the words to enter his brain. When he meets my eyes, his gaze is hateful.
And suddenly, he jumps on me, pinning me onto the bed with his own body. I am laying on my back with my arms pushed against my sides, as I struggle in vain against his strength. A hardness is pressed against the side of my thigh, but somehow I feel secured by the cover that has find its way in between us. Stupid.

"You little worm you. Stop pretending Hermione. I am done with it. You're attracted to me, you're just too much of a coward to admit it.
I look at him, bewildered. Feeling hurt that he actually called me a coward. I fucking hate that word.

"What do y..? Let go Tom. I am not attracted to you." You stubborn idiot of a person.
He opens his mouth to speak again but I won't have it.

"I said. Let. Go. Tom." And my voice is filled with poison. So are my heart and head. I experience a serious desire to hurt him right now. Running him over with a car a dozen times seems tempting.
His grip on me only tightens as my thoughts spins on. A smirk mars his face.

"You're getting angry. Good. Anger is a good emotion. The truest one you've shown me all night."
My lips twitch in frustration, as my body continues to tussle under him, wanting him off, off, off.

"You have Bellatrix," I state, hoping to make his mind travel elsewhere.

"Like it makes a difference. She's a whore, Hermione," he wheezes, so silently I almost don't hear him. And he smiles. And it worries me. "I only fuck her
because I can't fuck you. But oh, if I could fuck you.." and his pupils dilate as he looses his clutch on my sides to softly stroke my arms, in a manner most certainly meant to awake some hidden desire within me.
I seize the opportunity to headbutt him, but the impact is not as strong as I would have wished it to be. Instead, he just groans in displeasure, wrinkling his forehead. But the distraction of it is all I need to slide from under him, to the side and down onto the floor, landing with my back on my book. My legs are still half-trapped under Tom, but not for too long as he, in anger, pushes them off the bed too.

"This conversation is not over, Hermione." He rubs his forehead where I hit him. I wish to do the same, as headbutting often has the downside of hurting the giver as well as the receiver. But I hold back, knowing it will not help as well as I - irrationally - wish to keep the hurt. The pain soothes me in a way. Distracts me. This must be what all those cutters are into.

"You mean to say that the abuse isn't over?"
He snorts. It is amazing how he can do that with grace.
He gets off my bed as I rise from the floor.
We have a staring competition for a while, standing a couple of feet apart. Not touching.
Soon enough, he sickens of it and turns to leave the room.
I stand, demostratively not looking at him, but gazing out the window in front of me. If I were to take a few steps forward, I could open the curtains and be greeted by the moon's big, blind eye. But my feet stand still. I am stuck in the shadows of it.
The shadows of the moon.
Then Tom speaks;

"We're the same you and I. Fate has put us under this roof for a reason. Never forget that, Hermione."
With that, he closes the door. And I stand stuck with my eyes locked upon the white light that is seeping through the curtains.

Yes, I think. To be loving children to a couple that had none. And don't you forget that Tom.

Feeling invigorated, I lay down in bed again, disgusted by the warmth of it.
My pulse is racing rapidly, but this time, it is from anger, not fear. The anger fuels me.
I observe an obscure crack on the ceiling for a couple of minutes, directly above my head and only visible to me, who has lived with it for so long. Then I close my eyes, forcing them to remain so for the rest of the night.
Morning, I dare you to come.

A/N: I neglected cleaning the house as well as myself for this chapter you guys. That's how much I love pleasing you lovely netizens.
And I will be answering reviews and such tomorrow because I really need to sleep right now. May you all find cute pictures of cats!