Tom finished his prefect rounds in record time, having only discovered one pair of randy sixth years in a poorly warded alcove on the fifth floor. The pair had been so anxious that their spellwork was hilariously terrible. With housepoints taken from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor in equal measure, Tom wrote their names and offenses down for Professor Slughorn and left the note covered in privacy charms in the mail basket outside his office door.
He managed to get to the room of requirement earlier than expected, even after taking a brief trip to the kitchens since Hermione was skipping dinner to stay in the room with him. Even with his good time, she was already in the room working away on some essay or other when he arrived with their sandwiches.
"Someone's a busy bird today," he said. He deposited their paper-wrapped sandwiches on the coffee table and set his things down on his sofa.
"It's Tuesday," she said. "And astronomy is canceled because it's storming, so that means I only had History of Magic today. I can get ahead on assignments."
"I take it you've spent a lot of time with your study group today then?" he guessed. "You know this silly amount of coursework would probably be easier to manage if you switched houses, don't you?"
"Here and there," she said. She stopped scribbling long enough to blow some ink dry, then set what looked like at least four feet of filled-in parchment to the side. "I'm not leaving Harry in Gryffindor and he's got enough going on without me pressuring him to jump ship with me."
Tom shook his head. She really was putting in far more effort than he thought she could maintain for an entire school year. Especially if she thought she'd be keeping up with this many classes for the rest of her Hogwarts career.
"Are you trying to take every OWL?" he asked.
She nodded matter-of-factly. "Preferably, yes."
"I see," he said. He got comfortable, then tossed her sandwich into one of the almost empty areas around her on her sofa. "And how long have you hated yourself, exactly?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not doing it because I hate myself, Prat."
"I don't even punish the Knights with unnecessary homework, Dove," he said dryly. "That's a bit too far for me."
She gave him a look. "But unforgivable curses are fine?"
He shrugged. "In moderation. If I threw crucios left and right, I'd be no better than an angry toddler. There has to be some self-control involved, otherwise the pain doesn't mean anything when it comes."
She made a face at him. "I'm amazed any of them continue speaking to you after a round of it if it's as awful as the textbook said. I wouldn't."
She was distracted by picking up another essay, missing his slight recoil and subsequent unease. He'd never really thought about the fact that she could just choose to stop writing in their diary. She'd still have access to him technically, just his older self, if she chose to cut him off. If she ever tried it, he'd be furious beyond words. But surely they were companionable enough to never give her a reason to want to stop talking to him.
As he thought of companionship, Tom remembered the scene in the great hall earlier that evening and decided to test his theory while she was distracted.
He walked around her sofa, gauging her reaction to his proximity all the while, satisfied when he sensed no anxiety or unease. He read over her shoulder for a moment, spotted no signs of discomfort, and decided to pretend he'd hugged her like this a dozen times before.
Her shoulder wasn't quite as comfortable of a resting place for his chin as her fluffy mountain of untamed curls, but it would suffice, he supposed. She only startled a little at first, but didn't make any untoward ink marks on her parchment, and relaxed again quickly thereafter. She even surprised him by leaning her head against his own while she finished writing.
It wasn't quite as nice of a way to hug her, all things considered, but on days where she seemed agitated or shy, it would serve its purpose.
"I suppose I should've gotten up and greeted you properly when you got here," she muttered quietly a few moments later, sounding guilty.
He scoffed quietly, mindful of his proximity to her ear. "I'm perfectly capable of working around you finishing your overly-thorough studies, Dove. No point in you getting up from this organized chaos just to have to settle back into it again, is there?"
"Suppose not," she said.
She reached up and held one of his forearms with her non-dominant hand. Her little fingers offered a gentle pressure, nothing more. She didn't pull his arms away seeking release from his hold, tighten her own, or whatever else he supposed she could've done. And even though it was far from being as comfortable as hugging her while upright, Tom found he didn't much mind being braced against the back of her sofa so he could lean down to her and watch her work. It was a comfortable enough position to spend a few spare moments in.
It wasn't until he teased her one time too many that she leaned away and started batting at him with one of her smaller textbooks.
"Cuddling will not be permitted if you're just going to be a smartarse the whole time!" she told him, her tone meant to be scolding, he was certain. But her cheeks were too pink for the effect to land.
He smirked at her, trying to wrap his mind around the cuddling bit while she failed to assault his person. In essence, he supposed that was what they'd been doing, but honestly, didn't the context change anything? Surely there was a better word.
"Snakes don't cuddle," he said, lacking much else to say.
She gave him a scathing look. "Honestly, Tom, what would you rather I say? Huddle for warmth?"
He shrugged. "I suppose. Your hair would make rather good insulation for a snake nest."
She transfigured a scrap of parchment into a ball and threw it at him. He caught it, considered turning it into an egg but decided against the mess, and gently tossed it at her hair. It's bounce and descent were slowed significantly by the messy ponytail it collided with.
"You're unusually playful tonight," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "What's gotten into you?"
His good cheer faltered slightly. "Nothing pleasant," he said. "You and I don't have much time together before it's my turn to go on holiday."
She blinked, then her expression fell drastically. "When?"
"It's April nineteenth tonight for me," he said. "My term ends in about four months from now for you."
"Oh," she said. "But you'll only be gone about two months your time, right?"
He stared at her. "Hermione…when I leave, it will be February for you. By the time I get back, you'll be on summer holiday again."
"What?!" she asked, her voice barely a squeak. He wasn't sure if it was shock or distress that made her wide eyes shine. "But…how is it that long?"
Tom sighed and went back to his side of the sofa to pick up his diary. He had written down dates and times that the Arithmancy equation in the back of his diary had spit out earlier that evening before he'd left the boys in the library.
"When I get on the train to leave on June thirtieth, it'll be the evening of February twenty-sixth of next year for you. I'll be arriving at Hogwarts on September first for my sixth year on July third two-thousand-fourteen for you, and you'll be back at Hogwarts as a fourth year on October first of this year for me. I won't see you for about three months. You won't see me for a little over six."
Hermione was quiet for several minutes, just staring at her lap. Tom almost spoke up, but he wasn't sure what was going through her head, so he didn't know where to begin.
"Well," she said eventually, her voice small and unsteady. "We'll just have to write like always…right?"
She wouldn't meet his gaze, which he hated, but he tried to sound soothing. "I'd planned on it, Dove. Why wouldn't we?"
She shrugged. "I dunno."
"It will be strange, but we'll make do. Just like we did when you were on holiday."
When her head remained downcast, he frowned in frustration. "Dove, look at me."
She did so shyly, probably hoping he wouldn't notice the remnants of tears clinging to her lashes.
Tom sighed and stood up again. Cursed tears. "Come here."
She let him hug her properly, while he reminded her that their separation wasn't for over four months on her side of things. There wasn't any use for her to fret over it now. He was the one who had to make sure she knew anything she might need while he was away. Anything he couldn't teach her with his words alone.
"I'll be here waiting for you when you get back as a fourth year anyway," he said. "Plus, if you want, you can meet Abraxas and Flynn before we go. And those two idiots can welcome you back too."
He wasn't sure where the offer came from, considering he hadn't even fully decided whether or not they should meet her as a third year or if he was going to wait until they were all back at Hogwarts, but her tentative excitement decided things instead.
"Really? They got me birthday presents this year, so I knew I'd meet them eventually, but do I really get to meet them as lads too?" she asked. The tip of her nose and cheeks were reddened from her brief upset, but aside from a bit of mild sniffling, she appeared to be calming down again.
"If you like…" Tom said slowly, his brows knitting together as he processed what she'd said. "They got you birthday presents?" She'd had a birthday since they met and hadn't mentioned it to him?
"Yeah," she said. "All three of you did, of course, but theirs kind of surprised me. I hadn't given much thought to them in your time verses them now, since you all seem to work together at the ministry."
He nodded, doing his best to mind his building temper as some of her more recent comments during their study sessions started to make sense in hindsight. "When?" he asked softly.
She gave him a puzzled stare. "Last we—"
She cut herself off, panic changing her features and posture in an instant. He didn't let her take a step back from him, despite her singular feeble attempt.
"Tom?" she asked nervously.
"When?" he repeated. He knew keeping his tone even was making him sound colder, but she'd have to accept frost. She couldn't handle his ire with how moody she'd been lately. He was certain he'd break her if he lost control. If she broke, she'd run, and he couldn't make her come back when he was calm again. Not from fifty years in the past, anyway.
She swallowed, uncomfortable with his irritation despite how desperately he was clinging to his patience. "Last week," she repeated.
His gaze narrowed. "I do not recommend mincing words with me right now, Dove," he warned.
"September nineteenth," she told him. "…Five days ago."
"Two nights ago when you were chipper about mail?" he asked cooly.
She nodded. He let her go, finally allowing her to take a step back so he could rub the pain in his temples. That night played over again in his head.
"You thought your birthday would bore me?" he asked, incredulous. How could the celebration of the birth of a powerful and capable witch, especially one who was able to become a parselmouth via ancient magic, be boring? It damn near deserved to be a national bloody holiday, as far as he was concerned.
"You don't really strike me as a birthday sort of person," she said quietly. "It seemed rather mundane compared to the sorts of things that normally interest you."
You're of interest to me, you ridiculous, powerful, little idiot, he thought, though he doubted the sentiment would help spoken aloud. "It's you," he said instead, struggling for the correct words. "You became a parselmouth on your birthday too! Bloody hell, Dove, we had twice the cause for celebration and you tucked it all down because you thought I'd be annoyed you were born?!"
She shifted her weight on her feet, another Gryffindor tell he needed to work on with her, before she spoke. "I suppose."
"Is there some other reason why you neglected to mention the special occasion?" he asked.
When she didn't immediately answer, he contemplated the merits of ripping out his own hair. "I don't recommend making a habit of lying to me," he said, keeping his tone laced with false aloofness. "Unless you'd like me to do the same."
"I didn't think you'd care," she muttered to her shoes. "And I thought that it would annoy or bore you as a result."
Tom ground his teeth for a few beats of weighted silence. "September nineteenth?" he clarified. "You're fourteen now, then?"
She nodded at the floor.
"You should've told me," he said. Anger was still vibrating through his veins, but he hoped it was out of his voice. "You're braver than this."
"Bravery would've been choosing my proper house from the start," she said darkly. "Just because I live in Gryffindor Tower doesn't mean I bloody well belong there. I'm only brave when my friends are in danger."
Tom rolled his eyes. "You're more Gryffindor than you care to admit," he said. "Should-be-Slytherin, you may be, but the hat put you in Gryffindor for a reason. You've more mettle than most Slytherins. Nevermind your penchant for needless martyrdom."
"Have I?" she asked sarcastically.
Tom flicked her creased forehead, too annoyed to mind whether or not the force of it stung. She squeaked, rubbed the spot, and shot him a glare.
"Yes, you have," he said pointedly. "There are seventh years in my time who are afraid to let me see that they're annoyed with me if I catch them in the corridors on prefect rounds. You only hesitate to speak up when you're being dense."
"I'm not dense," she snapped.
"Nor are you as afraid of me as I used to think you should be," he parried. "You were more hesitant last year. Bolder since the summer, but I don't mind it much. If you don't believe me, just watch Abraxas and Flynn when you meet them soon. Never a toe out of line."
"Don't you torture them for setting toes out of line?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Abraxas and Flynn less so than the other Knights. They don't slip up often. Still beating the blood supremacy out of both of them from time to time though."
She stared at him for several long beats, idly rubbing the spot he'd flicked. Tom could only raise a brow. If he did much else he might still accidentally berate her for being so foolishly short-sighted. If she was less emotionally fragile, he might've done so anyway. But he'd just have to channel his anger into the following day's Hogsmeade trip. Her reward for acquiring parselmagic would have to be good enough to double as a late birthday present now, after all.
"You don't make any sense," she said eventually. "Sometimes I think I understand how your head works. Other times, I don't."
"The feeling is mutual, I assure you," he said dryly. "Clever, stupid little bird."
She frowned. "Oi. Those cancel out. All you did was call me short."
She tricked a grin out of him. Naturally, she was right. "Well, you are," he said. "Eat your vegetables, Little Lion."
"Ugh," she rolled her eyes, disgusted. "Of all your crap nicknames, let that one die young."
Tom mock pouted. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you only liked being called 'Dove', Dove. 'Wendy' was far more clever than 'Little Lion', as well, and I thought it had potential."
"Let both of those die," she deadpanned. "For the love of magic."
"The boys will probably give you a new nickname," he teased, smirking at the thought. They couldn't call her Dove, of course. That was his moniker for her. And Wendy would be code just in case Dumbledore ever overheard them speaking about her in any capacity.
"Nothing stupid," she insisted.
He made no promises, but intended to make sure they came up with something mild. Although… it was tempting to see if she'd hex them of her own volition if she truly hated whatever they chose to address her by. He motioned for her to go back to her schoolwork, which helped lessen the tension that had taken root in her shoulders. As most of his studies were caught up, he chose to make notes in his various journals and diaries, including the one he reserved for dates and times she asked him to make a special note of. Or that he thought he needed to remember.
19 September 1999 — Hermione born was added to those notes. As was 19 September 2013 — Dumb little bird turns 14.
"You were very happy the other night," he said, remembering her suppressed cheer. "I take it you liked your birthday gifts?"
She eyed him with suspicion, which he matched with a pointed brow.
"Go ahead," he challenged. "Tell me I'm not interested in what you got for your birthday. I dare you."
Her cheeks flushed before she broke eye contact. "My friends put together a charm bracelet for me," she said. She shook her right ankle, drawing his notice to the glints of silver over her neatly folded socks. He wondered how he managed to overlook it before, especially given the fact that she didn't regularly wear jewelry. She must've put silencing charms on it, given how laden with charms it appeared to be. It had to be quite noisy when she walked, otherwise.
"Everyone got me a charm or two, even some of the adults," she continued. After a beat of hesitation, she crossed her right ankle over her left knee to make the bracelet more visible, and pointed out a few of the charms. "I can only assume Flynn and Abraxas's charms are references to things that haven't happened yet, since they aren't blatantly referencing much else. You, cheeky arse, got me a dove charm. Harry got me a sorting hat…"
He listened as she briefly detailed each charm and she twisted the anklet around. Additional charms were an option for her reward-turned-birthday-present, assuming he could find anything that wasn't already on her damn foot. It seemed literally everyone in her acquaintance had gotten her a charm for the thing.
"What else did you get?" he asked when she finished her summary. "Treats, I imagine?"
"Harry and Sirius's house elf sent me some cakes and things, yeah," she said. "Galleons from the Malfoys and my parents. Sirius had a charmed quidditch jersey made for me with my name on it, since I was wearing an old one of his little brother's when I was with them for the summer. It's red and gold to everyone except the people who know."
"Your true friends see your true colors," he said. "How poetic."
She threw a wad of parchment at him, but it lost all momentum and landed pitifully on the coffee table between them. Tom laughed at the face she made, pleased to find her grinning despite her failure when his chuckles subsided.
"Better luck next time, Dove," he said.
"Uh huh," she muttered.
"Oh, and Dove?"
She looked up from her textbook to give him an exasperated stare.
He smirked. "Happy birthday."
A/N: An update about a birthday the night before my own birthday ;) You guys get a chapter, but I get reviews and comments. I'm counting those as presents.
Don't forget my Tumblr, where I'm sometimes compelled to respond to asks with out of context spoilers when I'm not outright shitposting about whatever chapter I'm currently working on. Don't worry, I don't give much away. And I'm only ever 10 chapters ahead of you guys at any given time right now. Though I'm really wanting to try and make that buffer gap bigger. 15 or 20 would be really cozy.
Love you guys as always. I haven't replied to all the comments I intended to after last update yet but I plan to respond to things after work tomorrow or Tuesday, whichever gives me more time. 3
Predictions and theories are always encouraged, by the way. I won't necessarily confirm or deny theories when I get around to replying, but I might give a cheeky hint or two.