A/N - I couldn't not post this actual derailment I decided to re-edit the end of the fic because I'm a sadist writer :) :) :)
2/2 for today. Read xi first. Also pls remember that this is a (wild, soap opera of one shot)

XII.

"You hurt me," Tom growled.

Hermione, finally fed up with his veiled taunts and accusations, dropped her quill in the spine of her book and looked over at him. "No I didn't. Stop fucking saying that, because I didn't hurt you, Riddle. I can't."

"Stop that," he told her, glancing up from his essay with a steely look. As he went back to his work he said, "You don't get to decide that, Granger. You hurt me. You can't decide that you didn't."

She laughing, rolling her eyes, and missed him set his own quill in his inkpot. "Forgive me, my lord," she went back to her own work, sarcasm heavy in her tone, "for forgetting the fragile state of your feelings during this transition."

"Granger."

"What, Riddle?" She looked back up at him angrily. "What more could you possibly want?"

"The same thing you wanted two months ago. An apology. A genuine one."

She sat in disbelief. He leaned into the table, toward her. Waiting. His eyes shined with anticipation. She leaned back in her seat, folding her arms over her chest. "You're serious?"

"It's the least you can do-"

"It's the least I can do, Riddle? After everything I've done –and I'm doing- for you?"

She laughed again, glancing around as though she expected it all to be a joke. She missed the telling flash of his eyes. "You're a cold, racist, manipulative, lying, cheating prick. You do this. You make me feel bad for something I've done –be it leave a sweater in your room or talk too friendlily with another wizard-, and have never, not once, apologized for belittling and hurting me."

"I've not apologized, Granger?"

"I'm not stupid. You wanted my cunt-"

He started at the expletive. She ignored it.

"-you would do and say anything. I would, too."

When he said nothing to correct her, she continued as though he'd never interrupted. "Yet, you want me to apologize for what? For not wanting you to come to a bonfire with me? I wanted something for myself. For making fun of your nose? It does look a bit odd these days. So what?"

She considered what else she'd done. "For making you clarify in what ways you need me? Get out of here, get the fuck out of here –go for a walk, even-, if me wanting to know that I'm wanted caused you pain. I don't care. I can't even remember why I'm did this for you. The least you can do is appreciate me for taking the time-"

"That isn't it."

"Then what is? Tell me. Please. This won't work if you don't. I can't stay if you don't."

He pounded his fist on the table. "And I'm manipulative? I'm the liar and cheater, Hermione?"

She saw the hurt in his eyes. She hated herself for letting it affect her.

"I have always told you exactly what you wanted to know. I have found the answers if I was unsure. I have put in work for this. And I have done nothing but break myself down before you-"

"Bullshit."

He stared blankly at her for what felt like a lifetime. He'd taken his wand from his pocket, and he turned it over in his hand contemplatively. Just before she grabbed her quill to return to her work, he waved his wand, removing what she realized was a glamour.

Hermione gasped. She went rigid. He met her eyes briefly, but it was long enough for him to see her disgust. For her to see his fear.

"-and you have been nothing but cruel. A constant reminder that I am nothing to you. That I wouldn't be here without you. That you could leave us –this," he corrected, frowning and hesitating. He threw his glamour back up. And then weakly, as though he really didn't want her to know or hear him, added, "Me, Hermione."

She watched him with guarded eyes. He stared back, not pleading or begging. Just staring. She swallowed.

"I can't walk away from this. And you constantly, flippantly, writing me off hurts."

"Hurts what, Riddle? Your pride? Your ego?"

He hissed, leaning back in his chair tiredly. Not quite defeated, but hinting toward the fact that she could if she tried. All she could think about was the person behind the glamour. The discolored and bruised skin. The fractured nose. The truly dead eyes. She'd seen that in him before she knew about the glamour. She'd felt his exhaustion and thought nothing of it.

"My feelings."

She was unable to hide her shock. "Excuse me? Your feelings? Riddle," she laughed, tugging her hand through her hair. "Merlin. I nearly believed you."

He seemed as though he couldn't quite believe her, and began packing up his things. "It's hard to believe that you're able to treat me this way after everything. I thought you-" He shook his head. "How many times have we been together, Granger? How many times have I reacted to you coming undone around me?"

"Tom, don't."

"How many times have I asked you to share my bed, and done nothing but hold you? Held your hand when I realized your fear? Have I needed your comfort?" He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "When you need me in the middle of the night, I'm there. When you want for anything, I've made a way. Don't you dare make me into the bad guy-"

"Monster," she told him, and he flinched. "That's your word, Tom."

The blank look he gave her hurt more than she caned to admit.

"And, I feel, Hermione. I feel you constantly: cold and unwelcoming. Yet, I am in the wrong?"

"You don't even value yourself," she gestured in a way that told him she was talking about what he'd shown her. "You…how can I trust you? If you can do that to yourself, you can do it to anyone." To me.

He blinked. His disbelief was even more obvious. "That's rich."

When he realized that she had nothing left to say, he left.

A/N - Thanks for reading/reviewing/favoriting/following.