A/N: Wow, okay, sooo...I'm AWFUL sorry about the wait! I'm not exaggerating-this took me THREE TRIES to write. I would write one Epilogue, then I wouldn't like it, so I would start over, write another, didn't like it etc. etc. and so here we are! With an Epilogue that I don't love, but can tolerate. You will probably all complain that Tom is waaaay OC, but to be perfectly honestly, I couldn't give two hoots, because it's late and I'm tired and gosh dangit, if I want a mushy-gushy, sappy ending, then I'll write a mushy-gushy sappy ending!
Okay...thanks:D
Disclaimer: JO owns
Epilogue—
For the third time in a matter of months, Hermione woke up in the Hospital Wing.
"Mione!"
Her eyes flew open as a pair of arms was flung around her neck. She vision was assaulted with familiar flaming red hair and a freckled face. "Merlin, Mione, we missed the tar out of you!" Before the older girl could respond, Ginny turned, calling over her shoulder, "Oi, you lot; Hermione's awake!"
Her bed was quite suddenly surrounded by five familiar faces; Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, Neville Longbottom, and Fred and George Weasley, the latter two who were grinning mischievously.
"Where've you been, Granger? Had half the Ministry out looking for you lot, didn't we boys?" The bunch of them muttered in agreement. Hermione looked between the six of them bewilderedly, and it was a moment before she could speak.
"I—er—what are you—"
"Got into a spot of trouble, didn't we, Mi?" She breathed a sigh of relief as Harry emerged between the Fred and George and sank down on her bed. "Didn't mean to worry you all. It was a project for—" Harry paused, his brow creasing.
"The Department of Mysteries," McGonagall cut in smoothly, striding into the room, her shoes clicking with purpose. "They need a Muggleborn to negotiate with a team of Muggles up in the East, and Harry and Ron elected to go with Miss Granger. They just got a little lost, is all."
"Well, we're glad to have you back, Mione," Ginny said. "Only, who's the new fellow?" Hermione followed the redhead's gaze, past Ron's sleeping form, to the farthest occupied bed, and her heart rose to her throat. There laid Tom, peacefully unconscious, his face lined with cuts and bruises from their time at Grindelwald's Fortress, but otherwise unharmed.
"That's—erm—"
"A refugee," McGonagall told her. "We picked him up just outside of France. He was escaping some dark wizards down in Paris. We brought him back here to finish his education at Hogwarts, since Beauxbatons is closing down."
"Beauxbatons is closing down?" Hermione blinked in surprise. Ginny raised an eyebrow at the girl curiously.
"Hermione—Fleur's only been ranting about it since last November!"
She swallowed, leaning back against her headboard. "Of course….I must have forgotten." She glanced at the group of them apologetically. "Is…do you think there's any way I could—maybe, have—"
McGonagall rose. "Let's give them some time to rest, yes? After all, you do have classes tomorrow." The Gryffindors let out a collective groan and McGonagall ushered them out. The door closed behind the group rather noisily, rousing the other two boys. Ron sat up, peering at she and Harry groggily. "Are we—that is—"
Hermione smiled, slipping out from under her sheets to reach over and squeeze his hand. "We're back," she told him softly. A broad grin broke out across his face, and Hermione, too, felt her cheeks lift. She could feel it in the air, between the three of them, the complete lack of tension—they were safe.
"So, what do you think it meant? That nobody knew where we had been?" Harry asked the two of them after a moment.
"I was wondering how much things will've changed, you know?" said Ron, flicking a clump of dirt off his knee. "I mean—I know she said he's—gone—but what does that mean, you know? I can't help but being a little paranoid…"
Hermione slipped between t two of them, tuning out of the conversation and padding barefooted across the room, stopping in front of the only other occupied bed. He stared up at her unblinking, his dark eyes flickering over her face unabashedly. After a moment, his hand shot out, wrapping itself around her wrist and swiftly pull her down next to him. She stifled a shriek, frowning at him.
"Tom! Was that really necessary?" She whispered. He let out a low chuckle, molding her body flush against his. She felt her face burning as she noted that Ron and Harry's conversation had simmered down, and the two of them were probably staring slack-jawed at the moment. She anxiously pawed at his shoulder. "Tom, don't. The other two—"
"I didn't come to the future with you to be disregarded." She started to protest, but he cut her off with a warning look. His words were fierce, vindictive, and slightly possessive, and, though she would never admit it, his tone sent a tingle of pleasure down her spine. "I came because I actually do hold some semblance of care for you, and I wanted to be you, and if those two buffoons can't accept that, then frankly, they can go swimming in the Black Lake and breed with the mer-people for all I care." Hermione's lips twitched in amusement, and she reached up a hand to brush his hair from his eyes.
"I care, too," she murmured finally, her lips brushing against his shoulder.
He smirked, looking down at her with twinkling eyes. "I know you do. I saw you, you know. The other night—well, technically, fifty-four years before the other night—when you came down from your dorm, and you looked like you'd been crying." Hermione's face heated up. "You were crying because you thought I wouldn't come."
She looked away from him, only to have his fingers drag her face back, so that they were nose to nose, his eyes penetrating hers so deeply that she felt dizzy. "It's okay. As flattered as I am to know that you care so much, I just want to let you know….I'll always come for you, Hermione."
Hermione's head twisted around so fast that she winced. Harry and Ron weren't looking at them, but that didn't mean they weren't listening. She twisted back around to face Tom with a chastising glare. "You—I—I can't even—" Her words were swallowed by her incoherent splutters of shock. His face was rearranged in a mask of pure innocence, but his eyes were twinkling merrily.
"C'mon," quipped Tom, still chuckling. "Let's go get something to eat." The two of them had just slipped their shoes on, when there came a knock at the door. McGonagall poked her head in, and there was something on her face that Hermione couldn't quite decipher.
"I know you said you wanted some time alone, but there are some people here that I think you'll want to see, Mr. Potter." The bespectacled boy frowned, but nodded, and McGonagall pushed the door fully open. Hermione's heart stopped mid-beat. Through the door stepped two figures. One was tall and gangly, with a mop of messy black hair atop his head, a long nose, and a pair of wire-rim glasses in front of amused hazel eyes. Next to him was a beautiful woman, with waist-length deep red hair, pale skin dotted in freckles, and the most vivid, familiar green eyes Hermione had ever seen.
Harry sat up very quickly, his face blanching. "M—mum?" His voice cracked very audibly. "Dad?"
"Sweetheart, we were so worried!" Lily Potter fretted, her eyebrows drawn together as she hurried to his side. "Don't you ever run off like that again, do you hear me?" Harry looked as though he was having a hard time breathing, with his mother's arms around his neck. James Potter caught Hermione's eye and gave her an amused scoff.
"The woman was worried sick," he informed them. "I told her he was fine—just off adventuring like the lot of us used to do—but she wouldn't hear reason." Despite his nonchalance, he swept his son into a tight hug, ruffling his dark hair affectionately.
Lily, with her arm still tight around Harry's shoulders, turned to the freckled boy. "Ronald, dear, your family is down in the Great Hall, and Hermione, I believe your parents are on their way here as well. McGonagall wrote to us as soon as you arrived back. The Professors momentarily lowered the Muggle-repelling charms—they were terribly eager to see you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Potter," Hermione said abashedly, still in a state of shock. She felt Tom's hand firm in her own, but all she could focus on was the disbelief written on Harry's face. He had yet to speak, but kept looking between Lily and James as if he expected them to disappear at any moment.
"Hermione!" The bushy-haired which started, whirling on her heel, and grinned widely as her mother all but sprinted towards her with open arms. She woman enveloped Hermione in a tight hug. Mrs. Granger looked nothing like her daughter; she had dark, nearly black hair that fell smooth and shiny down her back, not a trace of bushiness. Her eyes were a pale green, and she had high cheekbones and a patrician nose.
Mr. Granger, however, resembled his daughter a great deal; his brown hair, or what was left of it, was curly, and his eyes were light brown, like caramel. His face smiled easily, and had no trace of anguish or worry. He scooped his daughter up into his arms and lifted her as though she weighed us much as a ten-year-old. Hermione laughed, happiness swelling inside of her as she took in her father's smile, her mother's shimmering gaze resting on her face. She hadn't realized how much she was missing when she had left, or how much she had to look forward to coming back to.
"Mum—Dad," she whispered, pulling the two of them closer. "I have someone I'd like to introduce you to. This is—" She turned, gasping when she realized that Tom was no longer behind her, but looked up just in time to see him disappear out the Hospital Wing door.
It was Christmas break, so very few people remained at Hogwarts, and those who did stared warily at the Muggles who were sitting at the house tables, chatting easily with the Professors and engaging in the feast. The entire Weasley family took up a large amount of table space, and Hermione hadn't realized how much she missed their mannerisms; how they were banter, and bicker, and everything about them was a synchronized sort of chaos. The smile had not left Ron's face since he greeted them in the Great Hall.
Dumbledore, as you would have it, was in Germany, dealing with a small band of dark wizards; so, evil couldn't be eradicated entirely, naturally, but it was still better than an entire army's force against the walls of Hogwarts.
"How long's he been there, then, in Germany?" Ron asked around a mouthful of food. Hermione rolled her eyes; some things would never change.
"About three days. A few descendants of Grindelwald's followers attempted to bust their family members over the weekend, but to no avail. Merlin knows why—they've got to be in their seventies now, they'll do no good—but these dark wizards are adamant, and the Headmaster considers it his duty to deal with anything involving Grindelwald.
Hermione believed this. She had never seen that expression on his face—when he had faced Grindelwald, that day in the Fortress. It was not an expression of hatred, or revulsion, rather, a grimace of acceptance; the expression of one who did not enjoy the task that they were bound to perform.
She had not seen Tom all day. He had disappeared from the Hospital Wing and had not returned for dinner, and Hermione could not calm the niggling doubt that squirmed in the forefront of her mind. She didn't think Tom was up to no good—he was too clever to get into trouble right off the bat—but something was obviously bothering him. He had seemed fine, before she and Harry's family had arrived—
She pushed away from the table, and her parents looked up at her questioningly. "I'm going to go for a walk," she told them quietly. "I'll see you later this evening."
The hallways were eerily silent. Hermione could hear each time her feet hit the ground. She drew her wand casually, twirling it between her fingers—a trick she had learned from Harry—and pushed open the huge doors to the Entrance Hall.
It did not take long to find him. He was sitting on a bench in the corner of the Entrance courtyard. His wand was drawn, levitating stones and launching them out over the slanting and spiraling roofs. He barely glanced at her as she sank down beside him. He watched him for a moment more, before she slid her fingers across the top of his thigh, resting her hand just above his knee. His movements stilled, just for a moment, but his kept his eyes deliberately trained off of her face.
"I missed you at dinner," she admitted aloud.
He sighed. "I figured you'd want time to catch up with your family." Was that bitterness she detected in his voice? She thought so.
"I wanted to introduce you to my parents," she told him.
He made a disparaging noise. "They don't want to meet me." He paused. "I don't belong here, Hermione."
She frowned. "Tom—"
"I don't. You've all got your families, and your own business to attend to—I'm nothing but a distraction. You don't need that in your life. I'm only in the way—"
"You're being stupid," she spat coldly. "You know I find this sort of self-deprecation revolting. I've already made my feelings for you quite plain, and I'm not going to reiterate them if you're acting like—like this."
"Like what, Hermione?" He snarled. "Like I don't have anything in this God-forsaken place to depend on? Right, because that's kind of how I feel right now."
She looked mildly hurt, and he regretted his words. "I didn't mean it like that. I know you—"
"You apparently don't," she remarked curtly. "Or else you wouldn't be acting like this. Have you forgotten everything?" His frustration was immediately replaced by mischievous, and he edged closer to her. Their thighs were pressed against one another and he was gazing down at her with that smirk that was so very disarming.
"Not everything," he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple and his head dipped closer to her own. "There are a few things I remember."
Her heart beat sped up, leaning closer and inhaling his scent as his breathing fell into rhythm with her own. "Like?"
He smiled—not a smirk, but a genuinely little curve of his lips, a sliver of teeth appearing between them. "The Eiffel Tower; I distinctly remember the Eiffel Tower."
His mouth had made its way to the line of her jaw and he traced it absently with his lips, his eyes closed. Hermione smiled. "You wouldn't kiss me at the top."
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin, and she shivered. "It actually wasn't out of spite, notwithstanding your ardent belief that it was. I didn't have the nerve to do it at the top, and by the time we got to t bottom, I had decided blast it—I wasn't going to get another golden opportunity."
Her eyebrow arched, and the pad of his thumb traced over it. "You actually thought about it? I was always under the impression that it was more of an impulse-of-the-moment sort of thing with you."
"You would think that, wouldn't you?" He sighed, his arms circling her waist, and she slung her legs over his lap. "I suppose it was, in a way. Then again, most of what I did around you was impulse. But I did think about it. I'd been thinking about it for quite a while, actually. The first time I thought about kissing you, I nearly hexed myself—it was such an alien feeling."
Hermione blinked in surprise, her eyes flickering open to search his face. "How long?" She elaborated, "How long had you been thinking about it?—kissing me, that is."
He gnawed at his lower lip, and Hermione felt a sharp smugness as she took in the flush of pink that his cheeks had taken on, despite the nonchalance his expression struggled to keep. "That night, in the kitchens; you took the mickey out of me."
If he hadn't been surveying her so closely, her jaw most likely would've dropped. "That—that early? Even before Grindelwald's attack? I—I didn't even—"
"I know you didn't," he grumbled, his attention directed at their twined hands. "And I knew it was—stupid, really. But, you must understand, Hermione—there aren't a lot of girls with intelligence like yours. I find that attractive. It was strange, to say the least, feeling like that about you. I spent hours upon hours trying to convince myself otherwise. Funnily enough, it was much easier for me to admit to myself that I fancied you further down the road, than it was to admit that I was physically attracted to you at the beginning."
Hermione glanced sharply at him. "But—I mean—surely that part of it couldn't have been…foreign." At his blank stare she brushed her hair out of her eyes anxiously. "Erm—I only mean…that you had to have had those sorts of…feelings…before me." She wasn't stupid; her two best friends were boys, and she knew that their hormones were twice as active as any female's.
Tom seemed to realize what she was talking about, because he drew in a sharp breath of air, wiping his hands nervously on his trousers. "Oh—erm—well…no."
Hermione's mind was whirring, but it could not, would not process this new bit of information. Surely he had to be lying; deceiving her to make her feel special, to feel desired. He couldn't possibly have been being genuine. She felt his eyes burning in search of hers, but her uncertainties were swelling inside her mind.
"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he murmured, gently grasping her hips and squeezing. She sighed, leaning against him again, feeling the tension dissipate.
"No, no," she waved off his concerns. "I'm just surprised, is all, what with you being—" She stopped abruptly, blushing furiously. He raised a single brow, his eyes probing her. "Well…Merlin, Tom, you don't need me to tell you you're gorgeous. They were throwing themselves at your feet left and right."
He wrinkled his nose as though he had smelled something unpleasant, and Hermione could not help but think it was adorable. "Yes, I had noticed. But honestly, how could I ever find such… acquiescence appealing?" He nuzzled against her cheek, his breath fanning out against her face, and Hermione was struck by the tenderness of the gesture. "You never compromise yourself, and I have to respect you for that. You know I respected you before I actually liked you, and there aren't a lot of people that I respect."
"Well, then I feel honoured, I assure you," the Gryffindor teased, but cut off his moue by lifting her lips to meet him, simpering as his mouth moved against hers prosaically. His lips ghosted over her own, leaving a fiery trail along her skin and coming to rest at the juncture between her shoulder and her neck. Hermione tilted her head back, twisting her fingers into his dark hair—
"Hermione?"
Her eyes snapped open and she and Tom broke apart in a matter of moment. She was embarrassed to realize that they were both panting. Blood rushed to her face as she realized her parents were standing not twenty feet away at the door of the Entrance Hall. They approached slowly; her father's gaze held suspicion as he regarded the two of them, but her mother's eyes were glistening with such devious intent that it made Hermione uncomfortable. She felt Tom squeeze her hand, and she cleared her throat.
"Mum, Dad, I'd like to introduce you to Tom, my—" She paused, glimpsing sheepishly up at Tom. What was he? Her boyfriend? Did he think so? Where did they even—?
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger; I'm Tom, Hermione's boyfriend." His smooth voice would make even the strictest of parents feel at home. His face betrayed nothing but complete politeness and charm, showing no embarrassment of having just been caught with their daughter in a rather intimate position. Hermione felt relief unfurl in her abdomen.
"It's a pleasure, Tom." Mrs. Granger said gracefully, taking his outstretch hand and throwing Hermione a wink when his lips brushed across her knuckles. Tom held his hand out to Mr. Granger, who then proceeded to break the younger man's hand, but if Tom noticed, he didn't indicate it.
"Hermione, we were just coming to tell you that we're heading back home for the remainder of break, so if you'll gather your things, we'll be on our way."
"Oh, yes—of course," Hermione flustered. "I'll just go pack." She reached out for Tom's hand, but her mother beat her there.
"Tom, dear, why don't you stay down here and tell us about yourself." Hermione rounded on her mother, her eyes wide, but the older woman waved her along. She ground her teeth, stomping across the courtyard and inside. She all but sprinted up to the Gryffindor common room, throwing her things into her trunk haphazardly and hastily scrambling around for her robes. When she was sure she had everything, she hurried down the seven floors and all but flung herself out into the courtyard.
Tom and her parents were seated on the bench, which looked to have been elongated by magic, and the three of them were laughing heartily at something. Hermione felt her stomach clench in anxiousness as she drew close enough to hear their words.
"And she was dead awful at gymnastics, of course—so strange, considering how talented she is at ballet."
"Hermione never told me she danced?" Tom said, with just the amount of curiosity and amusement. Mrs. Granger laughed liltingly, slapping his shoulder playfully.
"Oh, but she doesn't tell anyone. If you ever swing by, we'll have to show you the videos of her recitals—she was brilliant, and—"
"Alright, mum, that's enough." Hermione grumbled. Tom shot her an amused glance.
"Oh, but Mione, darling, I don't know why you keep it quiet, you did very well—and Tom was quite interested, you see—"
"No, no, that's enough, Mum!" Hermione snapped. "C'mon, we best be going."
"Oh, very well, you fun-spoiler. It was lovely to meet you, Tom," she told him, patting his shoulder in a motherly way. "I'm quite sure we'll be seeing you often." The wink she threw him nearly made Hermione gag.
She waited till her parents had started to make their way off before she strode up to him, swatting at his bicep. "Honestly, who do you think you are, making my parents like you better then they like me."
He chuckled, looping his arms around her waist. "Well, since they'll be seeing me often—"
"You arrogant prick," she quibbled. "Do you have your things?"
He frowned. "I was actually going to stay here—for the remainder of break, I mean. I've got some things I need to take care of." He studied her expression warily.
Hermione was careful not to let her disappointment show on her face, but it coloured the tone of her voice. "Oh—I…well, okay then. Erm…"
He groaned. "Mione, you know I want to come with you, it's just—McGonagall's going to be awfully busy. She's got to forge a fake identification for me, an entire back story, and I need to be here to help."
"No, no, I understand." Why was she getting so upset? It wasn't like she hadn't been away from him before—actually, now that she thought of it, she hadn't been away from him since the beginning of the school year. Even when they were separated, she knew that he was just on the other side of the castle, sleeping.
He sighed, brushing his fingers against the side of her face. "Look, I promise I'll be here when you come back, and we'll have all this sorted out, and we can finish off the year together, but first, I need you to go enjoy the holidays with your family, yeah?" She nodded slowly, knowing deep in the recesses of her mind that he was right. He planted one last lingering kiss on her forehead, his scent washing over her like asylum.
She lifted her trunk, dragging it off in the direction that her parents had gone. "Oh, and Hermione?" She turned to face the boy questioningly.
He gave her a bewitching smile, his arm half-raised as if to wave. "Happy Christmas."
Hermione beamed at him. "Happy Christmas, Tom."
The last week at her parents' house seemed to drag on to Hermione. She loved her family—truly she did—but also missed the magic of Hogwarts. It had been ten times as unbearable because she had yet to go retrieve a new wand from Diagon Alley, so she could do no magic around the house, despite the fact that she was of age.
To make matters worse, she could not start a conversation with her mother without the woman bringing up Tom. She seemed almost as enamored by him as Hermione was. At least, it seemed, her father was as annoyed by her mother's obsession as she was.
She had not heard from Harry all week, but that was to be expected. He was spending the rest of the break with him parents, and was, no doubt, absorbing as much of them as he could before he went back to school. She could not be happier for her friend. It hardly seemed real, everything being okay all of a sudden, but she was hardly complaining.
It was one of those rare, quiet afternoons, where her parents were out getting groceries and she lay atop her bed, reading. In two days time, she would go back to Hogwarts. She was looking forward to finishing her last year; competing with Tom, challenging herself in class, and besting him on the test scores, but she couldn't help but feel a deeper excitement, one that rested in the pit of her stomach.
You want to see him, she realized with a jolt of uncertainty. Is this what love is like? If it was, Hermione wasn't sure it she enjoyed it or not. It wasn't butterflies and mushy-gooshy poetry—it—it hurt. It was almost physically draining to be away from him for this long of a period of time. Not a moment could pass without her thinking about him. Something would remind her of his mannerisms, she would compare something to him, the way he did that little half-smile when he was reluctant to admit that she'd made him laugh, his smug smirk when he knew he had gotten to her, the wry chuckle whenever he was amused.
Hermione started when she heard a sharp tap on her window. She sprang out of bed and flung it open as a large, brown owl flew into her room. She realized that it was one of the Hogwarts owls, and she felt her chest give a jolt.
She needed to relax, she told herself as she scrambled to untie the letter from the owl's leg. It probably wasn't him—he hadn't mentioned that he was going to write. There was no need to get excited—it was most likely McGonagall, or Remus, or—but no, she recognized that perfect, elegant script all too well. Was it even fair for him to have such perfect handwriting?
My Dearest Hermione,
I know it's a bit late, and not anywhere near adequate enough for what you deserve, but I think it will suit you. Don't worry—it's safe.
Yours,
Tom
Hermione moved to hastily open the box, but paused when another piece of parchment fell out from behind the first one. She gingerly picked it up and turned it over.
The abode of the nightingale is bare,
Flowered frost congeals in the gelid air,
The fox howls from his frozen lair:
Alas, my loved one is gone,
I am alone:
It is winter.
Once the pink cast a winy smell,
the wild bee hung in the hyacinth bell,
Light in effulgence of beauty fell:
I am alone:
It is winter.
My candle a silent fire doth shed,
Starry Orion hunts o'erhead;
Come moth, come shadow, the world is dead:
Alas, my loved one is gone,
I am alone;
It is winter.
-Walter de la Mare
Hermione tried to swallow, but found that her throat was stuck. She stared numbly at the parchment, her fingers gripping it so tightly that they were turning white around the edges.
Oh, Merlin.
Finally, she drew in a deep breath, setting the parchment down and folding her legs underneath her, staring at the blank patch of wall across from her without really seeing it.
He had written her poetry.
Quoted it, to be exact, but written it nonetheless. Hermione's fingers were trembling as she reached for the tiny box. It felt heavy in her hands, and her fingers fumble as she tore off the paper. Her breath stilled in her lungs as she saw what it was.
Inside the box sat a small gold ring, and at its center was a black stone. Just barely noticeable in the depths of the darkness of the stone was a symbol. A triangle, and inside the triangle, a circle, and a long, straight line that ran right down the middle.
She tossed the ring away from herself with a gasp.
Hermione was not stupid; she had seen what it had done to Dumbledore. The older man even speculated that someone without his immense magical talent would have been killed in the same moment of putting the ring on.
Don't worry—it's safe.
Tom wouldn't send her something that could kill her, would he? She glanced down at the ring, which lay a few feet away from her, its surface glimmering innocently in the lighting of the room. At least, he wouldn't do it so tactlessly. If he was going to send her a cursed ring, he wouldn't have signed the letter. The evidence would be only too obvious to Dumbledore or McGonagall or Harry when they arrived and saw her dead, and then he'd be off to Azkaban in a matter of hours.
She tentatively touched the ring again. Was it her imagination, or was something—missing? She remembered how Harry had described it before, when he had begun taking lessons with Dumbledore during his sixth year. He had said that the moment he touched the ring, he could feel the dark magic it emitted. Hermione didn't feel anything.
Don't worry—it's safe.
She had no reason to believe him—not really. After all he had done—
Hermione nearly slapped herself. How self-righteous she was being. Tom had more than proven that he had no intentions of taking over the world and killing Muggleborns—who was she to be so suspicious of him? She reasoned with herself that it would be a long time—if ever—before that suspicion diminished. She and the boys had been through far too much to let it go. And he had known what she would be suspicious—he had made sure to address it.
Don't worry—it's safe.
She slipped the ring onto her finger, startled when she felt a warm feeling wash over her, much like the first time she had ever held her wand.
For the rest of the break, Hermione found herself absently fingering the ring, She would twirl it nervously around her finger whenever her parents asked about Tom's past—where he was from, what his parents did, where he grew up—her hand would immediately go to it whenever she started getting that painful clenching feeling in her chest—she was missing him too—and every time she glanced at the parchment, which she had rolled up and put in a special compartment in her trunk to take back to Hogwarts, that same, strange warm feeling washed over her.
In two days time, Hermione was back at Platform 9 ¾, boarding the train with the two boys, who were both enthusiastic to tell her about their breaks.
"And you'll never guess who visited us for New Years! Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon! My Mum's brothers—they were killed the first time, you see, so I never met them, but they're bloody brilliant! Just like Fred and George, except, you know, older…"
"—my mum can cook, Hermione! She didn't even make me cook anything! I kept asking her if I could help, and the two of them were looking at me as if I had three heads! Then—you'll never believe this—when Mum went to serve the turkey, she skipped me over, and I asked for some, and everyone thought I'd gone mad—because I was Vegetarian! Can you believe that, Mi? Me, a Vegetarian! And Sirius and Remus were there, and they were telling stories about the time they'd—"
The compartment door slid open, and the three of them looked up. "You all haven't seen a ferret anywhere about here, have you?" Hermione's jaw dropped, and Draco arched a brown at her. His pale blonde hair, which was normally slicked back, fell shaggily into his eyes, giving him a sort of roguishly handsome look. She blushed, closing her mouth abruptly.
"Erm—no, sorry," stammered Harry, being the first to snap out of his daze.
"Right," Malfoy shuffled his feet, glancing around the compartment. "Well, good to see you all. The castle was in an uproar when you went missing. Glad to see you're safe. Good Christmases?" His tone was polite, forced even, but that alone was something that Hermione never thought she'd live to hear.
"—Er, yeah….thanks. Yours?"
Draco let out a little 'hmm' and Hermione recognized the familiar upturn of his nose. "Quite nice, thank you. Father took us out on a yacht in France. Only the most esteemed area, of course." He gave Hermione a sideways glance before continuing. "Our family is quite respected, over in France."
"Naturally," Ron gibed quite cheerfully, biting the head off of his chocolate frog with exuberance.
"Well, best be off. See you at the feast, then."
The compartment was silent for a few moments after he left, and then—
"What the ruddy hell—" Ron exploded.
"You'd think we were friends or something—" Harry practically shouted.
"He's acting like he's actually gives a rat's—"
"I don't understand," Harry whined. "Why's he acting so—so—"
"Think about it logically, Harry," Hermione reasoned. "You-Know-Who isn't here anymore. Without him around, do you honestly think any of those Pureblood fanatics are smart enough to gather up forces and start hunting Muggleborns? Of course not—the Pureblood ideals, they're probably still there; but without someone to…push them along, eventually those sorts of things die out. To Draco, you aren't the boy who defeated his father's master at the age of one, you're just another student."
It took a while to rile the boys down after this, but when they seemed content enough, Hermione headed off to the Prefects' meeting. She was ever-so-grateful when McGonagall had decided to reward her with Head Girl, despite being absent the entire first semester, and she was even more excited to explore her new dorms, which, thankfully, she didn't have to share with a bunch of gossiping, giggly Gryffindor seventh-year girls.
The train ride seemed to fly by, and it was not long before Hermione found herself ambling excitedly into the Great Hall with a large group of older students. Harry and Ron were playfully bantering beside her about the Chudley Cannons, and ahead of her Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas were coercing Neville to give them the 'dirty details' about his date with Luna Lovegood last Saturday.
With an ill-concealed jolt, Hermione immediately spotted Tom seated at the Slytherin table, a book propped in one hand, his other hand tapping impatiently on table top. Hermione briefly wondered what had him fidgeting; Tom was not one to be antsy, so whatever he was waiting for—
He glanced up as if he could sense her thoughts, and when his eyes fell on her, the stiffness immediately left his shoulders. Hermione's stomach tingled at the thought that he had been worrying for her. He inclined her head in her direction, and a secret smile made its way across her lips. She sat down, so that she was facing him, and couldn't help but glance at him every few moments.
Hermione was distracted through most of Dumbledore's speech and the sorting, but her attention was drawn back to the present when the food appeared. Her jaw clenched, however, as she cut into her meat, when she heard the route that Lavender and Parvati's discussion had taken.
"I know Malfoy's gorgeous, but Merlin, that new boy—"
"I've never seen someone so attractive." Hermione winced as Lavender's voice reached an entirely new level of shrillness.
"I wonder where he came from."
"Wherever he came from, he probably wouldn't appreciate the two of you ogling him, you know," Hermione snapped finally, and the two of them stared owlishly at her before looking away slowly, shooting each other pointed glances.
"Students! If you will—I have a short announcement to make! As many of you are aware, Beauxbatons, our sister school, is shutting down due to some political issues. Therefore, we have our first of what will probably be many transfers, Mr. Tom Riddle. He had been sorted into Slytherin house, and I'm sure you will all do you utmost best to make him feel welcome. Thank you."
All eyes were now swiveling towards the Slytherin table, and those who had not already been were now staring unabashedly. Tom's face was the perfect mixture of polite irritation and embarrassment.
"Ooh and he's French," Parvati cooed, staring at Tom in a way one might stare at a slice of cake after six weeks in the desert with nothing to eat.
"Yeah, but I hear he's got a girlfriend, though," Hermione snapped finally, shooting a glare at Harry, who was opening laughing at her.
Lavender and Parvati's jaws were slack. "You're lying," said the former.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly, of course I'm not. She's the real jealous kind, too, I hear. You know, the kind that would slip poison into your pumpkin juice if you so much as looked at him the wrong way."
Lavender's gaze was suspicious now, and Parvati looked quite terrified as she turned her eyes back to her plate. Hermione, mollified, went back to cutting her meat, ignoring her bespectacled friend's guffaws of laughter.
The feast was nearly finished when Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and blinked when she saw Tom standing behind her, his face arranged into an expression of sincerity. She heard Parvati and Lavender's excited titters beside her, but she ignored them.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said immediately. "But I was wondering, as you are the Head Girl, if you wouldn't mind giving me a quick tour of the castle. I would've asked the Head Boy, but he is previously engaged.
Like hell he was.
Hermione pretended to look thoughtful, before she heaved a great sigh, looking like it inconvenienced her. "I suppose I am obligated, aren't I? Lavender let out a hiss of disapproval and Tom's lips quirked upwards.
"I'm terribly sorry; I just wouldn't want to get lost tomorrow on my way to classes. I promise, I won't take up too much of your time." How could either of the blithering bimbos beside her not see the mischievous flash of his eyes, the smirk, hidden in the corner of his mouth? She sighed, letting him help her off of the bench, and followed him out of the Great Hall, ignoring the whispers that followed them.
As soon as the doors closed behind them, Tom whirled her about, slamming her none-too-gently against the stone wall. His smirk as his fingers ghosted over the skin of her neck was unparalleled. She sighed, leaning her head against the wall as her arms found their way around his neck.
"Did I mention that…I missed you, dear Head Girl?"
She let out a gasp as his mouth latched on to the skin just behind her ear, and her hand shot to his hair. "It—it didn't come up in your letter, no.
He pulled away, frowning, and Hermione almost cried out at the loss of contact. His hands brushed over her waist, tightening on her hips and pressing her deeper into the wall. "I—I sometimes forget that you're a girl."
Her eyes blinked open in disbelief, and he hastily corrected himself. "What I mean is—sometimes I forget that you aren't certain about how I feel about you. You girls—you get all insecure, and uncertain—as if I haven't made my affections plain enough."
"I feel a sense of déjà vu," Hermione murmured, and Tom chuckled.
" I missed you," he breathed against her flesh, his hands slipping under her blouse and setting fire to the skin of her stomach.
"I liked your present," she blushed hotly when his gaze shot up to meet her own. "And the poetry—Merlin."
"You're wearing it," he asked unnecessarily, disbelief painting his tone. "I—I just thought—" She kissed him to silence him. He gripped her tightly, almost painfully, his breath hot against her mouth. "Merlin, Granger, I—I think I might fancy myself in love with you." She didn't respond to his words, but he continued, seemingly determined. "No—I know I'm in love with you."
Finally, she pulled away, her brown eyes flickering over his face. She pushed off the wall, righting her skirt and blouse, and reached for his hand. "C'mon," she said softly, and his brow puckered confusedly.
"Don't I still get my tour?"
She started to drag him up the grand staircase, her skirt swishing against her otherwise bare legs. "Course you do." She looked at him, over her shoulder, and her eyes were glinting with something unfamiliar to Tom. Something that made him want to lock her away, keep her to himself. Something that made him want to feel her in ways that he had never felt anyone else. She was growing more and more insistent as she pulled him up the staircase, stopping in front of a portrait that Tom recognized. It was the portrait guarding the Heads' Common Room. She half turned to him, her expression morphing into one of faux-innocence.
"I just thought we'd start the tour with the Head Girl's dorm."
By the time he'd worked out what she said, she had disappeared through the portrait hole, and he dove in after her, grinning madly, the portrait door swinging shut behind them.
A/N: Ohh my gosh! I can't believe we're gone!-mind you, I'll probably post excerpts like I did wit h Ashes, Ashes, but the actually story is truly, genuinely, OMG done! I want to thank everyone who stuck it out for the incredibly long, not very dedicated ride, because I really appreciate it! No flames por favor!
Lots of love!
'