A.N: Hi, friends! So, this is just a little excerpt from The Cold One. I decided to add this scene because I thought it would be fun to write, and I deemed it necessary.;)

Please note, this chapter does contain a relatively measurable amount of smut, and is rated 'M', so don't read if you don't like that sort of thing.

Enjoy!

The entire Gryffindor table seemed to emit a cheerful aura that Hermione found entirely infectious. She found herself laughing along with Lavender and Parvati's awful attempts at humour, and she even had a swig of fire whiskey, which the boys had been careful to keep away from the Professors' watchful eyes.

Finals were finished, and for the Graduating class of '98, there couldn't have been a better way to celebrate than Dumbledore's announcement that the remainder of the dark wizards' resistance had been crushed in France. Of course, neither Hermione nor the other students were naïve enough to believe that that would be the last they would ever see of any dark wizard, but, for the time being, they were content.

Over at the Slytherin table, Hermione saw that Draco was properly pissed. After ignoring the calls of Pansy and Blaise, Draco had clumsily pulled himself on top of the Slytherin table and proceeded to give the rest of the Great Hall a reenactment of Risky Business, except, thank Merlin, he kept his pants on.

The after-party in the Gryffindor Common Room was supposed to be one of those never-forgetters, but, despite her good mood, Hermione did not particularly feel like celebrating with a bunch of inebriated Gryffindors. She stood on her tip-toes, scanning the heads of the students flooding out of the Great Hall.

"Tell me who we're looking for, and I'll keep an eye out," a smooth voice said in her ear, and Hermione's lips quirked upwards, her eyes trained on the back of Harry's head.

"Well, he's rather tall, so you should be able to spot him right away, and he's in Slytherin, so he'll most likely be headed in that direction…oh, and I suppose he's okay looking, you know, if you even go for that sort of thing."

He growled, his hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her around several arguing fifth years. "And what sort of thing is that, exactly?"

"Oh, you know, tall-dark-and-handsome type. Personally, I've got a preference for blondes, but-"

He rolled his eyes, nudging her with his elbow before slipping his fingers into hers. "Are you going up there? To the party, I mean?"

She peered up at him. "Are you?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't planning on it, no. I'd actually rather not have a pounding headache tomorrow while we have to sit through the graduation ceremony."

She laughed, pulling him from the sea of students and up the Grand Staircase. "Let's go to my dorm."

The two of them made their way up the staircase silently, and did not speak again until they were in her room, the door shut firmly behind them to keep prying Head Boys, who were more likely than not drunk at the moment, out.

Tom shrugged off his sweater, tossing it lazily over the bed post, and flung himself down onto the mattress. He watched silently as she bustled around the room, gathering her books and arranging them in a neat stack on top of her desk. Unlike Tom, Hermione had yet to pack her things, and her clothes were strung about the room haphazardly. It was very unlike her, he mused, but it didn't particularly bother him.

She paused, her hand resting on the corner of Hogwarts, A History, and turned to look at him. Her eyes studied him callously as he teeth gnawed mercilessly on her bottom lip.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" he murmured, and she sighed, padding barefooted across the room and kneeling on the bed. She wasn't really looking at him, but her eyes were a torrent of apprehension. He sat up slowly, sliding his hand across the top of the comforter to find hers. "Hermione, what's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter," she told him honestly. "I've just-I've been thinking an awful lot about…things. And I've come to a rather terrifying conclusion."

He frowned, absently stroking circles against her palm. "What's terrifying about it?"

"Well, I shouldn't be terrified," she amended, and Tom could hear the just barely distinguishable note of hysteria that her voice took on whenever she was about to rant about something of great importance to her. "I mean, it's only natural, right? It was bound to happen eventually-"

Tom was growing slightly irritated with her vagueness. "What was bound to happen, Hermione?"

"-I mean, it was clearly inevitable, and I mean, I don't want it to be inevitable, but I can hardly ignore it any longer, and I-I love you, Tom."

His brow creased, now more confused then ever. He and Hermione were closer than the average couple. They were very attached in a mental and psychological sense, but neither of them were very verbal when it came to expressing their affection. In their six months together, Tom could count the number of times she had told him she loved him on one hand. He was almost certain that Hermione could do the same. So whatever she was so anxious about must've been really bothering her, for her to so openly-and so passionately, he might add-admit her feelings for him.

"Hermione, what's this about?" he whispered, reaching up to push her hair out of her face. Hermione leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut. She turned her head, just slightly, so that her lips were pressing against the palm of his hand. His frown deepened, and he ran his hand along the side of her neck before pulling her down next to him, his fingers tracing her face.

"Mione…"

She shushed him, her lips leaving a fiery trail across his mouth, along the line of his jaw, the junction of his neck. Her fingers were gripping his arms so tightly that he thought they might be losing circulation. Just as he moved to voice this concern, Hermione's hands left his arms and moved to the buttons of his shirt.

And everything clicked into place.

He pulled away from her insistent mouth reluctantly, his eyes reflecting his physical strain. "Hermione, are you certain?" he asked sternly, his expression very serious. "Because I swear, Hermione, if you tell me to stop, I will-"

She kissed him again, this time slower, tender. "Tom, I'm certain. Please."

He asked no more questions. He rolled the two of them over so that he was hovering above her, his lips sliding across her skin, leaving wet, open-mouth kisses along the lines of her shoulders, across her collar bone-

Hermione's hands returned perseveringly to the buttons of his shirt, and she quickly, clumsily undid them, her breath hitching as she felt the smooth planes of his stomach, his chest. Her fingers were trembling as she pushed the fabric over his shoulders. His hands gripped her hips as she easily pulled her uniform top over her head, and she heard his sharp intake of breath and smiled, her hands wandering up to tousle his hair. His eyes returned to hers for a moment-just a moment-and she was struck by the seriousness of his gaze. It wasn't playful, or coy, and his constantly-present smirk was long gone. His eyes were burning with something that Hermione had only gotten glimpses of. Something that flashed through his eyes when the two of them were alone, when they were curled up in a secluded corner of the library, or an abandoned classroom.

Her nerves returned to her when she felt him slip her skirt down her legs, tossing it across the room. She resisted the urge to cover herself, or push him away. Perhaps she should've worn a more attractive pair of underwear-

She heard the click of a belt, and she quickly helped him out of his own trousers, and quite suddenly, he was pressed against her again, only this time, she could feel all of him. She felt all of the blood rush to her face as he growled, grinding his hips against hers. Her eyes fluttered shut of their own accord, and she rolled her hips, following the rhythm he had set.

"Hermione," he grunted, and she looked at him. His face was twisted in frustration, and his fingers were gripping her hips so tightly that she thought his short nails might draw blood. "Hermione, I need-I need-"

Without another word, she swallowed her fear, kicking off her underwear and entangling herself further into the sheets. Tom followed in suit, hovering above her as he stared down at her, his eyes a torrent of emotion. "I love you," he told her honestly, pressing his lips against her forehead as he slowly sunk into her. Hermione let out a hiss of pain, barely registering Tom's muttered, "Sorry." She clenched her teeth and stared up at him as he waited for her to adjust.

"Are-are you okay?" he asked, his throat tight, and Hermione could see his restraint.

"I'm-I'm okay," she swallowed. "You can-you can move, if you want."

He didn't hesitate to obey. Hermione grasped his shoulders, overwhelmed by the sudden feeling that was building in her abdomen, burning, lashing, licking-

Tom let out a groan, his head falling to rest in the crook of her neck as he thrust in and out of her, his eyes hooded and lips parted. Hermione's arm tightened around his neck, her hips grinding in time with his thrusts. A moan slipped past her lips and Tom faltered for a fraction of a second before continuing.

A strange, tickling feeling overtook her, and she felt all of her insides clench at once, and then she exploded, his name leaving her lips almost uninhibitedly. He followed soon after, collapsing against her and rolling to the side so that he would not crush her with his weight, his breathing heavy.

He pulled her against him, his eyes glazed as he stared up at the ceiling. His lips were turned upwards, and they didn't seem like they were coming back down any time soon. Hermione felt an amused smile tugging at her mouth. Tom had the look of a child who had just seen Santa Clause. She idly wrapped an arm around his waist, her head fitting beneath his chin easily.

"That was-"

"Yeah..."

He rolled so that he was facing her, and she did the same, arching an eyebrow at him. Despite her nonchalance, Hermione felt giddiness bubbling up in the pit of her stomach and threatening to spill out as she studied Tom, his face arranged in a content expression.

"So it's true what they say, then," he murmured. At Hermione's confused expression, he elaborated. "You're glowing."

She felt her cheeks heat up, and look away, before looking quickly back at him, meaning to say something cheeky, but instead, he pressed his lips against hers, his other hand sneakily curving around her body to grasp her arse. She giggled, arching her neck as he pressed his lips against her skin.

"Can we do this more often?" he asked suddenly, resurfacing. "I mean, it isn't just a...graduation present, one-time sort of thing, right?"

Hermione frowned, pretending to look thoughtful. "Hmm...well, I don't know. I mean...now I've got something to withhold from you if you're acting like a petulant child." He looked horrified at the notion, and she laughed. "Of course not, Tom. I was actually hoping this would become sort of a regular occurrence."

"I knew it," he smirked. "I knew you'd have the sex drive of a teenage boy."

She spluttered, her cheeks tinging pink. "I-what-that is ridiculous! I am perfectly in control of my...my hormones, thank you very much! If anything, you're the one that seems to get a little eager when it comes down to things like this-"

"Well, can you blame me?" he murmured, his lips vibrating against the jaw, and she let out a soft 'hmmm'. "But really, Hermione, if this sort of thing is going to become...our regular...than it would be most sensible to just move in with each other."

She rolled her eyes, tapping his nose affectionately and pulling herself out of bed. "Nice try."