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

Chapter 14: Of Threats and Other Unpleasantries

It is not until Ginny stares me down, with a look which can best be descibed as confused irritation, that I come to the realisation of what a terrible friend I have been to her.

The thought has not totally escaped me during these last few weeks, but then it has been more like a tired sigh that has skipped over the surface of a hidden truth. Stronger forces has been keeping my head occupied, my nights restless, my heart beating.
The fact remains though. I went after Abraxas. I went out on, what presumably counts as a date with him, wanked him off and kissed him in front of my friend who much earlier on called dibs on said person.

And as I recount these actions in my head I am horrified by the fact that I do not know this person that I have become.

Who the hell is she? Hermione from two months ago would never have done that.

It is in moments like these, with Ginny scolding me, much less forcefully than I scold myself on the inside, that I wish myself into the world of books again; away from real feelings and into steadfast reason.

But Ginny really is kinder to me than I am to myself.

And I wonder when the quote "karma is a bitch" is about to become a truth.
Quickly, almost eagerly, I admit to Ginny what a bad friend I am. I scold myself mercilessly in front of her, disgusted over the possibility that I might have hurt her, Ginny; my best friend.

But she hushes me, placing her tiny alabaster-hands on my shoulders. She tells me that there is no need to get my knickers in a twist and that she sort of suspected it. Not necessarily suspected that I dated Abraxas behind her back, but more like she noticed that I have been 'out of it' for some time.

Out of it.

Because of Abraxas.

Sure ..Why not?

I do not even think of that other person. I do not even consider his threats. Words, words, words. Tom could always be a talker when he wanted to be.

I remember that in third grade he threatened to tell mom – she was 'mom' and not 'mother' back then – that I, in an uncharacteristically rebellious rush, skipped class to go and eat ice cream with a classmate. It remains the first and the last time I skipped school. I was friendless back then, and desperately trying to impress this girl with a purple strand painted onto her blond hair. (My mom would most certainly not have me spray on any artifical colours onto my curls, therefore, that little detail was enviable as well as memorable). In the end, we never became good friends. She moved to another town after a while and is today just another stranger's face in a poorly lit street.

Either way, Tom caught me and threatened to tell mom unless I carried his bag to and from school for a month, which I promptly refused. You see, I had pride back then.
But Tom did not tell our mom.
Instead it was like the episode never happened. Like the wind just blew the memory of it away.
And that is when I knew.
Tom may threat and say harsh things, but he never acts upon it. Thinking the threat itself to be enough of a motivation. In most cases, it probably is. He likes to keep people on the edge, wants to keep them in a state of total uncertainty.

Besides, Tom would never hurt anyone, especially not a friend.

At least that is what I thought.

I heared it first from Neville.

There had been an accident during football and Abraxas had taken quite a fall, breaking his leg. Discreetly, I inquired weather Tom had been there (to 'help' as I put it); but no. Tom had not been there, rather choosing to study during recess.

Of course, the natural idea was that it had been an accident. He had gotten into a fight over the ball with Rosier and had been rather unlucky in the outcome.

My gut told me otherwise.

I waited for Tom outside the schoolgates, for the first time in many weeks. As he came strutting over the schoolground with that ever angelic face set into place, I had my suspicions confirmed. I know that face anywhere.

"You're here," he says; indifferent, "I thought that you would be by the bedside of your lover by now."

He passes me then, setting the pace as I follow.

"He has a broken leg, he's not dying," I say with a burning glare. Telling myself that I should visit Abraxas later. Draw a doddle on his cast and kiss his forehead motherly, to treat him like the benevolent child that he is.

"Let's hope so," Tom states in return, in what is an obvious wish for closure on the topic.

But his indifference aggravates me further. I grab a hold of his sleeve, wrinkling the perfect surface of the fabric and calling upon his attention.

Reluctantly, he turns his head.

"Why did you do it?"

The question amuses him, but no so much that he is willing to share a smile.

"Why, Hermione, you have to be more specific than that."

"Stop that Tom, it's not funny," I chide, letting go of his sleeve.

"I don't think it's funny. A good friend of mine is at the hospital, getting his leg in a cast. Why would I be laughing?" he exclaims with an over exaggerated innocence to his voice.

"You did it so. I know you did."

He rolls his eyes.

"Whatever you say, darling."

I make an abrupt stop then, wanting to gather my thoughts.

I watch the grey sky, there's not an airplane passing by.

I decide on a different approach then. Smiling, I speed up my footsteps, gaining on him.

"So you say that you had nothing to do with it then? Just as I thought?"

The rhetorical questions clearly surprises him.

"Where are you getting at?"

I smile inwardly. Outwardly, I shrug.

"Simply that I knew you wouldn't do it. A little test of mine you see."

He chuckles then, but it seems forced.

"You mean to tell me that you tested to see if I would hurt Abraxas if you ever went near him again? I don't really believe that, dearest. You would never risk hurting anyone, even the meaningless life of a common blond idiot."

"Oh but you see that is where you're wrong," I put my hands in my pockets, playing merry and worryless. "Let's face it Tom, you don't follow through on your threats, 'cause you're really too much of a coward for that."

That grabs a hold of his attention.

His eyes narrows at me.

"Say what?" he hisses.

"Oh, don't take it the wrong way, dearest, it's just that you don't like to get those porcelain-hands of yours dirty. You were the same when we were kids.. screamed whenever you got ketchup on your shirt and couldn't even stand the idea of Play-Doh."

"Silly little fool," he mutters.

"Yes you were. Still is."

"Not that.." he shakes his head in frustration over the gibe. But then he seems to think it over, like coming to a sudden dead end in his line of thoughts, he poses a question, like properly intrigued; "What makes you think that I wouldn't do it?"

It is my turn to lift my eye-brow.

"Remember that time when I skipped school and you found out and threatened to tell mother unless I carried your bag for a month?"

He looks to the side briefly, as if plocking up the memory.

"Of course. What's that got to do with anything?"

By now we are on our street, glimpsing our impeccable front poarch.
"It just shows. You never followed up on that threat either."

"So I would have you believe," he says, in an enigmatic manner most sarcastically put.
It makes me roll my eyes.

"Cut it out, Tom. You as well as I know that you always do this. Over the years you have made a series of threats and ridiculous demands, only to come up short when it comes down to it."

We pass our mail-box, making for the front door and for once in a long time, for inexplicable reasons, I am not uncomfortable in his company. Not now when I really know of his depravity, not now when I should be it the most.

"You remember it wrongly, Hermione. You tend to do so. I think Freud called it repression."

"Well, Freud was a perverted prick so.."

By now where in the hall, I leave him there as I head for the kitchen, putting today's mail on the kitchen table as I trail off, not really wanting to share conversation or even air with him anymore.

"Father is sleeping upstairs, I saw his coat hanging in the hallway," Tom states as he leans on the vault to the hallway.

I cast a quick glance at him, shrugging off my coat in the meantime, placing it on a chair to then search for something edible. When Tom has taken his seat round the kitchen table, to stare at me, I chew on a cookie, read letters, deliberately ignoring his presence.

"I know what you're trying to do Hermione."

I am tired of this little farce we have going on so I continue to ignore him.

"You want me to 'spill the beans' as one so dumbly puts it."

"You do have beans to spill then?" I inquire without any hint of interest.

"Depends. What would you be able to give in order to still your curiosity?"

His futile attempt at manipulation makes me snort.

"Nothing. I have nothing I want to give you."

"You can give me sleep. I want to sleep in your bed. Just sleep."

The words are rushed and the mere speed of them are enough to baffle me.

For a long time, I just stare at him.

"I already told you. No."

He makes a grand gesture with his arms, like the answered was expected, but then he continues.

"Surely you want to know, don't you? You want to know what happened to poor little Vicki, you want to know how you repented your.. shall we call it sin? It might be a stretch, but alright.."

And so my hearts stops.

"And in all fairness, dearest, I never said that I would hurt Abraxas. I said that I would kill him."

A/N: Well, hello fab people of fab-people land (pretty sure that's a legit place). Hope you liked the chapter.. Personally, I struggled with this, (as you probably can tell from the amount of time that went into it). Not really with the plot so much as the phrasing and grammar of it. I do have phases where I am overall exhausted and english, among other things, becomes this totally alien concept to me.
Also, I am now studying at 150 % and working on the side, so we'll see how much I am able to update this little page. But I will try my hardest, because I really want to finish this story, for your sake as well as my own. Now I am seriously tired, so hopefully you'll forgive me for replying to reviews in ze morning. Much love!