Part XXVIII
Tom didn't know what he'd been expecting when he heard the door handle turn, but the utterly shattered witch he got wasn't one of the scenarios on his mental list of possibilities. He set his spoonful of cheesecake back on his plate as she hesitantly shuffled into the room. The cat hadn't followed her tonight, for which Tom was slightly grateful.
He'd had a shite, boring afternoon with Hermione MIA. The last thing he needed was the pesky beast clawing at him because Tom was cross with its mummy.
As she made her way to her usual seat, head down and curled in on herself, Tom studied her thoroughly. She wasn't pretending to be alright. Not even a little.
He shifted the tome on his lap, marked his page, and set it down on the coffee table. At the same time, Hermione was making a pathetic attempt at normalcy by reaching into her bag for one of her textbooks. He could see the slim, worn cover of her copy of his diary amongst her things.
Tom's eyes narrowed. She looked drained, paler than usual, and weak again. He didn't much care for the state she'd returned to him in on Tuesday, but he certainly didn't care for how constant her new-found weakness and lack of confidence had become.
"What happened?" he asked, his words dripping with impatience. "You're not yourself again."
She didn't answer right away. He decided to enjoy his spoonful of cheesecake while he studied her some more. His patience began to thin as her silence stretched on.
Would he have to go digging in her head for answers again? It had been difficult enough the last time he'd looked for the source of her despair. Her brain was almost too organized. Every thought and feeling was filed away so specifically that he struggled to find what he was looking for. Besides, he wasn't really in the mood to root around in her brain, which left him at the mercy of her newly lacking communication skills.
It was quite tragic, really.
After swallowing the bite of his dessert, Tom set his spoon back down and decided to switch tactics. "It's rude not to answer people," he said, keeping his voice conversational. "Your manners were much better than this before you went on holiday."
Silence continued to fill the room, causing Tom's eyes to narrow further. He stood and walked a few paces to crouch before her like he had on Tuesday evening. Deja vu swept through him.
"This isn't going to become a habit, is it?" he asked. "I fear it will be horribly tiresome for us both if it does…"
One fist tightened its hold on the book in her lap, briefly drawing his attention to the straining tendons in her forearm. Other than that small tick, she hadn't moved, but a small reaction was still a reaction.
"I'd prefer not do this all night," he continued. "I'd much rather we enjoyed our treats and got to work, which is decidedly more difficult to do when you're sitting here like a statue - mute and pretending to read."
"Eat then," she muttered. "I don't see how I'm stopping you."
The glare she couldn't see was one he typically aimed at the boys when they were being foolish, it was an expression that demanded compliance.
If she'd been anyone else, he would've already hexed her for her cheek.
"You're stopping me," he growled, "because you're broken again. I'm sure you can understand what impact that might have on the atmosphere. Not to mention how dreadfully boring my day was without another intelligent person to talk to. I don't fancy being ignored, Dove."
Her eyes finally rose to meet his, but the emptiness he found in them doused his rising temper, igniting a completely different sort of burn in his chest.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.
"It's not important," she said. "Not important enough to keep you from your dessert, at any rate."
An annoyed snarl built in the back of his throat. "Clearly I've already decided that it is important enough to interrupt our evening," he snapped. "You're behaving completely out of character! It's one thing to not know what to expect when you walk through the door, it's another entirely when I can't even count on you to write like you always do!"
Tom had seen and caused a wide array of reactions from people over the years, especially when his temper flared. He took care to study those expressions, even going so far as to learn how to read people without legilimency. He had the necessary skills to see what made someone tick - to be certain that his strikes landed how he wanted them to. But he couldn't remember ever seeing someone crumble the way Hermione did before him.
He'd been metaphorical when he called her broken, but apparently his observation had been apt from the start. Her eyes, seemingly empty already, dimmed further, and he could feel her shutting down.
Tom tensed with frustration. A familiar buzzing, burning tingle bloomed between his shoulders. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what was wrong.
He didn't have control.
He hated it.
She startled when he stood suddenly, her eyes widening in fear when she took in his darkened expression.
"Stand up," he ordered.
Her movements were jerky, but she did as she was told. He led her to the clear space in the back of the room that they used for spell practice, wandlessly sent his outer robe to lay against the back of the couch, and directed her to stand across from him.
"I won't ask again," he said. "You can either tell me what happened, tell me why you're acting like you've been beaten, or you can start practicing offensive spells." A brow ticked upward as he let his eyes roam over her trembling frame. "Might I suggest behaving as if you'd been sorted properly instead of adopting utterly useless Gryffindor tendencies?" You're in no state for dueling practice, don't be a fool.
"I just had a bad day," she muttered. "It's really not important…"
Tom scoffed. "Humor me anyway."
She opened her mouth once but closed it quickly. He saw her jaw clench and her lips tremble as she looked away.
His lips pressed into a thin line. Tears again? He sighed, pocketed the wand he'd been loosely twirling by his side, and took a few quick strides across the room. At least he had something of a solution for tears.
He watched her eyes widen and caught her by the arm before she finished taking a second panicked step away from him. As he used her momentum against her to pull her off balance and back towards him, Tom had the sinking suspicion that she wasn't uncomfortable by having someone close to her. She was uncomfortable with him. A little wariness in his presence he considered reasonable. She knew he was a powerful wizard, well versed in the dark arts, and cleverer than their peers. But she didn't have a single reason to be genuinely afraid of him. He hadn't given her one and certainly not in the few days since her arrival.
A throaty squeak escaped her as he coiled his arms around her back and held her against his chest. She tried to fight him, but he was stronger, more determined. When she finally settled, he rested the edge of his jaw against her curls.
"Stop breaking," he murmured. "It's not doing you any good, I'm not fond of you coming back here in a state when I can't prevent it, and it can't possibly be good for your health to be upset all the time."
She sighed against his shoulder once. After a few moments, he felt her weight shift to lean against him.
"Can I fix whatever trouble is bothering you?" he asked. "Either me?"
"No." Her voice was barely audible and she sniffed once, delicately. "I'll get over it."
He made a soft sound of disagreement in the back of his throat and held her a bit tighter. Her wild mess of hair was soft against his cheek. "Perhaps a project will help distract you from your mystery depressant, then, Wendy Darling."
"Oh shut up, you prat," she muttered. "Do not call me Wendy."
His lips twitched into a smirk. There was his lost girl. "I think you'll enjoy the task I have in mind," he continued. "It's a ritual. Takes two to perform and from what I've researched so far, it looks complicated. That said, if we can't figure it out, well, I doubt anyone else could."
"What's it about?" she asked.
He pulled back to grin at her, his smirk widening when he took note of her dry eyes. Better. Good. "Are you familiar with Parseltongue?"
"I've heard of it," she said.
"What about the Chamber of Secrets?" he asked.
Her puzzled expression pleased him all the more. "Stop being broken," he said. "I can't exactly teach my protégée if she's not in working order, now can I?"
They went back to their study space and he slid her the plate full of chocolate chip biscuits after making sure his stasis charm had kept them warm. She ate her biscuits while he polished off his cheesecake and began explaining the theory behind magic-sharing to her. They divided the rest of the research they needed to conduct and made a list of materials they'd need.
"I'll take you down to the Chamber soon," he said. "Salazar Slytherin had a private study down there. I'll make sure we have enough time for you to properly scour his library. But there are a few spells I want to practice with you before that."
For the first time all evening, she offered him a faint smile.
They stepped out of his main guest floo in Proserpine Park's entry hall with little fanfare. Tom was exhausted, but doing well to hide it from everyone he saw. Hermione was attempting to do the same, only her exhaustion ran soul-deep thanks to the dementor incident and her boggart. If nothing else, he hoped to aid her healing somewhat while also abiding by the requests of the elder Grangers.
A single, almost inaudible yawn came from his side as he led her to the drawing room where Flynn and her parents were waiting. The sound grated on his nerves, not because she was tired, but because he knew she was likely starting to have issues sleeping soundly, even if she didn't quite realize it yet herself.
David and Jean's reactions to the pair of them entering the room took his mind off the almost instinctual habit of wondering how each variable of Hermione's mental health would impact the coming months, and years. It shouldn't have derailed his thoughts so swiftly that he struggled to figure out why.
He moved to stand near Flynn as the Grangers stood and moved with equal haste to embrace their daughter, who was just as eager to wrap her arms around both of them. He was too focused on their body language — they had both pulled her close, kissed her hair, her forehead, and continued to sometimes kiss either cheek; her father had pushed her hair away from her face and was gently brushing his thumb over her hairline at her temple absently; her mother hadn't stopped brushing trembling fingers over Hermione's right cheek— to pay much attention to what they were saying. He was struggling to figure out how so much contact managed to look welcoming, struggling to grasp how Hermione didn't look claustrophobic in the least, pressing as close to them as she could get while still being able to maintain eye contact as they spoke.
"They love her a great deal," Flynn said quietly, so that only Tom could hear him. "We knew that, of course, since we knew when we were younger, but...healthy muggle families don't quite look the same as Pureblood Society does, do they?"
Tom nodded in silent agreement, finally realizing what was puzzling him so.
He had almost always considered himself and Hermione as nearly-identical in all the ways that could've mattered to his school-aged self. They were both brilliant. Both cunning. Ruthless when they needed to be. Unafraid of doing what must be done. Viciously protective of the things they considered their own.
Unusually adept at keeping secrets - both from those around them and, at times, each other.
But Hermione was a being in and of herself in his eyes. He never forgot about her family, per say, but he often overlooked the family unit aspect of her relationship with them.
Parents were one of the few things they'd never had in common.
It shook him to the core when he realized just how grateful he was that they didn't share his wretched upbrinding. For her sake.
Tom told us you managed to fight that thing off, even though it was focused almost entirely on you, her father was saying across the room, his tone gentle but serious enough to warrant his daughter's unwavering attention. He said you managed to cast that spell, a spell most adult wizardfolk never mastered, even though you were within a meter or two of one of those things… He said grown witches and wizards have died in similar positions, but you managed to protect yourself and the rest of the kids on that train.
Hermione didn't know what to do with her father's interpretation of events. I...I had to do something.
David smiled, and his eyes were misty even though he'd yet to dissolve into happy tears like his wife. I know, sweetheart. And I'm so, so, so damn proud of you.
Hermione started blinking harder as he pulled her into his arms and pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head. Swaying her, without realizing Tom guessed, he added, For saving yourself.
Tom managed to give Hermione an encouraging half-smile when she briefly caught his eye over one of her father's arms.
These were some of the moments he'd waited for. The moments that reminded him why he would keep waiting until time had finally and fully caught up with itself. As long as he could ensure she was cared for, if not happy, when all was said and done, then he could wait a few years more.
A/N: The last 700 or so words of this chapter fought tooth and nail to not be written, but I love you guys and how supportive you are, so I made them come out anyway.
Most of you are content with Saturday updates, so that's probably what I'll shoot for in the future. Not this Saturday though, since I'm updating today.
2018 was a hellish year and 2019 is the year I need to force into submission so I have no idea how it's gonna go from a writing perspective, but I already feel better mentally since I left a job that was sucking the life out of me and have done other important RL things since the last time I updated.
I love you all, and your support means the world to me. I don't forget about you when I disappear for a while, I promise. Those of you contributing to the Diary Asks Golden Age on my Tumblr know that for certain.
Next chapter is less sad, I promise. I'll even let you in on a little secret - the whole thing is in Young Tom's POV ;)