A/N: Mucho disturbing themes ahead. Readers, ye be warned! Also: not my characters and plot.

Chapter 11: 800°

Where do we belong?
I never really felt that I belonged anywhere.
It took a long time before I discovered the solace of a good friend's company; being left outside for so long as the precocious, annoying child that I was. And even now, with Ginny and the rest, do I truly feel a sense of belonging? Our similiar intrests are limited and I am always the odd one out. The oddity is always me: the sharp, overbearing Hermione.

As many adopted children, I suffer from light-to-heavy cases of abandonment issues. My family is my family.. yet it is not. I live under the care of two very loving creatures, who have not created me, but raised me under their roof nonetheless. My birth mother was a drug addict and my father.. No one has ever spoken to me of my father. I guess he was not worth mentioning.
So my mother is not my real mother and my father is not my real father.
And Tom is not my real brother.
Yet they are.

Home is where the heart is as the saying goes.. But how can you tell where you belong if you do not even know where your heart is at?
Is it in the warm embrace of Abraxas? As we stand outside the cinema, with our arms tightly wrapped around one another, I feel safe. But is it right? Do I belong there?

He smells lightly of cologne and sweat. Surprisingly, it is a nice combination. Abraxas is so very nice, even his sweat smells nice. I laugh inwardly.

"Soooo.." He is the one to break the pleasent silence. "I guess I'll see you in school then."

"Mhm.." I grab onto him tighter. I do not love this person, but I do love the comfort that his strong arms give me.

"We'll talk right? I mean.. you won't ignore me or anything from now on?"

"Mhm," is all that I have the strength to say. I do not feel like talking. Why must he talk?

"You.. you don't regret it, do you?"

I think about that for a second.
I feel I that I owe it to him to answer honestly, seeing as I literally grabbed his cock a mere forty minutes ago without any explanation whatsoever. The thought of it does make me feel slightly ashamed. Prude Hermione Riddle does not wank off a guy at the movies. During a first none-date as well. But another part of me truly enjoyed it. I enjoyed seeing his eyes become the thinnest of lines as his seed painted my hand white. I enjoyed his cum on me. That he could not take is eyes off me during the entire thing. I loved the control I felt.

And I truly do love hugging him.

Stroking his back a last time, I pull myself from the blonde man, my palms finding his biceps.

"I won't ignore you Abraxas and I don't regret it. Just don't think so much about it, will you? Just let it be one of those moments that reason can't explain."

He scrutinize me with a thoughtful stare, not really knowing what to make of the situation.
I smile and bend over to gently put my lips on his cheek.
As I turn around and leave him, I realise that I still remain unkissed.
Abraxas' lips never graced mine.

Returning home, the darkness of the hall swallows me.

"Hello?" I call, but there is no answer. For some reason, coming home to an empty house reminds me of myself as a child, when I bid my various toys goodbye before closing the door and then greeting them again when returning. I always imagined them having quite the feast when I left. Tom though, chided me for it, calling my conduct childish. Delving further into it, he never even had a toy he cared for. But then again, he had me.

When I enter the kitchen I notice a post-it on the refridgerator:

Father and I are dining out tonight. Tom is with Bella.
Kisses,

mom

I sigh. My parents are often going to restaurants and such. I suppose that it is their idea of romance. Coming home to a dark house is not usually an appealing situation on a Friday night, as it always left me feeling just a little bit too alone in the world. I like lonliness, more so than others, but not on a Friday night. I want the house to be lit or my parents to be softly sleeping in their bed, snores reaching all the way through the door I am standing behind.
On this Friday night though, lonliness suits me just fine.
There is a funny feeling growing inside of me, vibrating under my skin. I feel giddy and ridiculous while being extremely annoyed at the same time.
Exhausted might be a good sum up for it all. I am officially exhausted.
Wanting to get rid of some of that weirdness which I am experiencing, I decide to take a shower. Showers have a calming effect on me. A problem? Take a shower!

Stripping off my clothes and pointedly ignoring my reflection as I pass the mirror hanging on the bathroom wall, I enter the shower. I close the showerdrape out of mere habit. The door is locked as well, in case a certain individual found it in himself to be early. Usually he stays out all night though, but I dare not take any risks, especially not after reading Tom's diary and the disgusting fantasies it held. Stupid Tom. Ridding me off my mundane delights. Showering does not hold the same sort of comfort anymore. Neither does my new mango/raspberry-shampoo. Ugh.

Soon enough though, I am able to drift into the calm that is the stream of the water against my vibrating skin. I am not even able to notice a person entering the room.

Opening my eyes I briefly turn my gaze towards the showercurtain, seeing the hunched over shadow behind it.
Instead of panicking, I feel myself go completely calm, to the point where I can not feel, see or hear anything. Like my head has been pulled under water.
"Tom?" I then whisper, pulling the showerdrape a bit to the side so I can see him.
But he is not of a frightening stance.
He is seated on the closed toilet seat, with a hunched back and a stare pinned to the wall, as if he does not even know that I am there, as if he does not even know that he is there.
"Tom?" I say again and my voice sounds pathetic.
This time, he slowly turns his head in my direction, until his gaze finally lands upon me, on my dripping hair and my bewildered eyes as I stand half-hidden behind the showercurtain.

"I knew this day will come," he says, quietly, like speaking to himself.

My head is beginning to rise to the surface, I am being pulled out of the water and my breaths are coming in quickly through the nose now. My mouth still a slim line.

"You.. Go," is all I am able to conjure.

But Tom just looks at me, sitting perfectly still.
His apathy angers me. How can he not see how wrong this is?

"I SAID GO!"
But my scream does not frighten him, he does not even lift his right eyebrow. He simply looks at me and if I did not know him better, I would swear that he looks sad.

Then, as if in a trance, he lifts himself off the seat and come towards me, the process fast, but seen as slow.
In one move, he tears the showercurtain out of my hands and away from my body. Anger marring his face as in the beginning and the end of a crescendo.

"Stop!" I shriek in shock, backing away from him.

With an enviable grace, he lifts one leg, then the other, and he is in the bathtub. The stream of the shower dampening his clothes, making me able to see the alabaster hardness of his skin through his white shirt.
In a futile attempt to preserve privacy, I hug one arm around my breasts, shielding what is between my legs with the other one.
For a while, he does nothing at all, only regarding my frightened form with a listless stare. If I did not know any better, I would say that he is being indifferent to me.
Reason tells me otherwise.

"Have you completely lost your mind?!" my courage then shouts.

He opens and closes his mouth in tiny movements, like assembling saliva. His eyes does not meet mine, his gaze stuck somewhere between my breasts and cunt.
Stepping slightly forward, he takes my right hand, which is shakily clutching my left breast. Like in ultrarapid, I see myself letting him take my fingers in a gentle clasp. Then he is spreading out my shaking palm, as if he was to read in it. His thumb then carefully traces my life line.

So this is the hand then."

He looks up at the same time that I do and I stare at him in frightened shock.
My tongue feels unnecessary big.

"W..w..what?"

"The hand that committed the sin," he calmly states.

I swallow.

"I don't understand." And I try to pull my hand back, but to no avail.

His grasp on my hand then becomes painful, before he presses a dry kiss in the middle of my palm, upon which he hisses:
"You thought that I wouldn't know, didn't you?" His pupils are dilated and filled with hate, when meeting my stare.

My eyebrows lifts to my hairline as he harshly pulls on my hand, moving it towards his wet, black trousers.
Not a thought in my head passes.
He forces me to cup him and I feel steel against fabric. With his other hand he opens his fly and a single word occurs to me: No.

I am feeling the material of his underwear, my hand turning blue and red from the ill-treatment. In the distance I hear myself whimper.
And then I am holding him.. I am holding Tom's cock. The hard and warm flesh of it.
He moves his hand with mine, the same hand that earlier that evening touched Abraxas in the very same place.
My eyes do not see anything for all the water, yet I refuse to look at him.

As my survival insticts kicks in and I begin to struggle he takes the hand that is not gripping my own and lifts it to my throat, cutting off my airway. When I stop struggling and feel that I am going to faint, he looses his hold a bit.
He then proceeds to fasten the pace and soon enough I feel his cock twitching and his cum is coating our entwined hands. As my mind begins its journey back to the present, I am able to catch a glimt of the black scarabs that are his pupils, glistening and twinkling before me.
Tom lets go of my hand.
Blood flows back onto it and water washes the stickiness off.
He sinks down onto his knees in the tub, standing with his face right in front of my lower curls, but all I am able to think of is the stickiness on my fingers that is no more. Still, I feel it there.

He then lounges forward and takes a hold of my arse cheeks with both hands, burying his nose at the top of my slit, directly on my clit.
But I do not feel it.
I do not feel it as he inhales, the sound almost like a sob.
Is Tom crying?
His fingers are digging into my flesh, leaving bruises where Abraxas left none.
I do not feel it.
My right arm, which hand has done never before done things that day, is held out in a stiff position, like it does not know where to go.
With the other one I grasp his hair.

Then I hear it.
Tom is crying.

A/N: Good morning/day/evening you awesome creatures! I am very happy that most of you seem to tag along with the last chapter! *breathes out* Hopefully you liked this chapter's dark!Tom because he is here to stay.
The title of this chapter is a reference to a song by the same title, created by the Swedish punkband Ebba Grön. I chose it partly because I've had it stuck in my head this passing week, but mostly because of its content. The lyrics speaks of the cold war and how children "metaphorically" are freezing to death, followed by the statement how it will soon be warm; as warm as 800°, which is a reference to nuclear war.
It might sound really weird as I describe it to you, but take comfort in the fact that in my head, it makes perfect sense.
What I'm saying is basically that Tom and Hermione's cold war is over. Hotness and disturbing themes will continue from here.