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

Chapter 15: Hermione's Achilles Heel

Do I want to know what happened to Vicki?

My hand is placed on the warmth on my stomach, absentmindedly stroking it as I chew through my loud thoughts. If I were to concentrate really hard now, I might be able to make out the sound of Tom's breaths. Slow and even. Even and slow. There, on the other side of the wall.
But I can't hear a thing.

My own comes out ragged; rough. I press my hand harder into my stomach. Forcing myself to stay calm. To focus on that soothing pressure, the combination of warm flesh meeting cold flesh.

He said that he would kill Abraxas. Kill him.

After Tom had said that, I had run out of the room, too angry, too upset, for words.

Because I don't know if he is kidding anymore.

I scrape my short fingernails against that smooth, warm skin above my belly button. Just enough for it to sting a little bit.

And then, my feet are on the ground.

Outside of Tom's door, I ponder whether or not I should knock before entering. More so out of unwillingness to catch him in a compromising situation than to be polite. Polite – he does not deserve.

Out of fear of waking mother and father, I decide to not knock, and I gently and roughly, all at once, open the door before I have the time to change my mind.

There is darkness in there, a black hole.

And I quietly step in, closing the door behind me.

"Hermione?" I hear a soft voice utter.

"Mm.." I say, walking further into the room, to where I know his bed is placed. It creaks as he moves.

And suddenly, there is light. He has turned on his bed lamp and I blink ungraciously at the sudden light source. As my eyes become used to it, I see his still form. He is half-sitting, half-lying down, his pale torso unclothed. The dark hair ruffled. My eyes meet his. They are dark, almost violently so. And for some reason, I must be fooling myself, his eyes seem a little sad. But the choked hope in there shatters whatever remains of that odd emotion as he blinks.
I swallow, but my throat stay dry.

"What happened to Vicki?" I still manage to say, proud of the fullness in my demure voice.

The staty of Tom stretches his neck, letting his gaze wander over my form.

"Lay down and I will answer all your questions."

Briefly I turn my gaze away, as if to gather courage, then I simply nod.

The bastard has found my Achilles heel. Tom knows that I can't say no to knowledge; the cost be damned!

As I reach the edge of the bed, he scoots over, making room for me.

"..or maybe you would like to sleep on the other side?"

"No," I reply quickly, "I'm fine here." The word 'fine' is said through clenched teeth, as I climb into the bed, avoiding any form of physical contact with him. Like I would enjoy being trapped between Tom and a wall. This will do. This I can manage. If anything, I can make a run for the door.
I have pulled the sheet up and over my breasts, clutching it hard as I lay stiff as a plank.

Still, he does not touch me.

The light is still on.

Tom snickers then, but it sounds forced. Ingenuine.

And so it hits me: Tom is nervous too.

"I won't.." he begins, but trails off. It does not matter, I know what he means. He won't..

At least his discomfort brings me a little comfort. Not nearly enough though.

By now, my knuckles are whiter than the sheet.

..and we stay like that for a while. Our combined breaths becoming too loud in the small room. I wonder if this is what he pictured when he imagined me in his bed. Or him in mine. Somehow, I do not think so. But I refuse to let the thought develop further than that.

Suddenly, I clear my throat.

"So.. Vicki." I state. Knowing that that ought to be more than enough.

He scoffs then, but not loudly enough for the sound to leave the room. For mother and father to wake up. Oh god.. mother and father..

I smother the thought instantly.

"Tomorrow," he says, making me turn my head sharply in his direction. "Would you mind turning the lights off?" He continues. "It's hard sleeping with the lights on."

I ignore him.

"What do you mean; 'tomorrow'"? I ask sternly, as he pointedly avoids my stare.

He exhales then, like I am bothering him an awful lot.

"If i were to tell you now, you would just leave the room directly after. Well forget that - you're staying put."

Well, I can't argue with logic, even though the explanation annoys me.

Tom is annoyed by something too.

And so I raise my torso up a bit. To watch him.

"Are you sure? You seem extremely uncomfortable."

"It's the bloody lights. Would you turn them off already?" His eyebrows are knitted together and he is tossing as if he can't find a comfortable position.

I snort at that, at him, but do as he says.

And so the darkness has eaten us. Tom goes still.

Given the circumstances, I thought it would be impossible for me to fall sleep. Any sane person would have found it to be so. But my exhaustion is bigger than my self-preservation it would seem. Soon enough, I find myself drifting away.

When Tom turns in my direction, the action does not seem so frightening or loud. I can't even tell if he is to the right or the left of me.. or on top of me.
No, he is not on top on me. But I feel a warmth on top that is not my own.

Tom's hand has replaced mine on my stomach. It is a very intimate gesture that at first, does not register with me. But soon enough, I am awake, pulled by the sheer wrongness of it.
As I yank myself up into a sitting position, Tom's hand slides off. And it is then that I realise, that he is asleep, that the touch was unconsciously done.
Well, you never know with Tom anymore, but my instinct is going there.
Maybe he thought I was Bellatrix? I think, and for some reason, the idea bothers me. Not much, an annoyance equal to that of a fleabite, but even that is enough.

When I lay down again, careful not to touch him, I hear his sigh,

content.

A/N: Oh well hello. Didn't see you there. Thought that I had abandoned you didn't ya? Well no, I might leave for a while, but I always come back. Pinky promise on that.
In my defense, I've been 'ill' for the last month or so. Since the last chapter I lost eight pounds and gained a beautiful red gleam to my eyes. Yeah. I look amazingly gross now. Like.. surrealisticly gross. A good description would be a crackw****-zombie that underwent plastic surgery with a DIY-kit. (No offense if you're a crackw**** ..or a zombie.). No self-pity though! I know that I'll soon be pretty enough for my mama to love me again! Regarding the chapter.. yeah. No.

May all of you be as healthy as brussels sprouts (but not so foul tasting)!