A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! Huge thanks to lanamarymack and Angela 007 for alpha/beta reading this chapter. Please let me know what you thought of chapter thirteen and be on the lookout for chapter fourteen soon!


Kissing Hermione was enough to make Tom feel like a school boy once again. A very unfortunate time in his life, when he'd been forced to acknowledge that he was a man, same as any other wizard, with wants and desires that could take over his mind. So, despite her heady, whispered request that they resume their intimacy some time when they were alone, he found himself stubbornly putting it off.

He wanted Hermione to be panting and desperate after him, not the other way around.

Busying himself with things at the shop, he forced himself not to contact her until he simply could not get her out of his head. He found himself wondering what she'd thought about the ritual, if she could feel the power of the potion they'd ingested, what she was working on at the Ministry, and what she was wearing underneath her robes while she did it. Thoughts of her were clouding every aspect of his day to day life, so he finally caved and reached out to her to see if she'd be amenable to another date.

Tom was pleased when she agreed to a day trip out of London as he wanted to visit a particular bookshop with her. He had quickly noted how much she appeared to enjoy reading and he wondered just how far out of her comfort zone he could push her when it came to dark magic.

He picked her up from her flat shortly after lunch on Saturday afternoon. He greeted her with a quick kiss to the cheek and drank in the sight of her. She wore a sleeveless, pale blue blouse and a pair of striped pedal pushers that looked so incredibly muggle that it should have been off-putting, but instead he was taken in by the narrow dip of her waist and the way the clingy fabric hugged her hips.

Hermione, for her part, did not look overly eager to see him, which was upsetting. She pressed her hands to her hips and raised one delicately arched eyebrow at him. "I was beginning to think you really had grown tired of me," she said smartly. "After two weeks and no owl."

Tom immediately felt the need to smooth over this hurt, though it was not in his nature to apologize. "I promise it had nothing to do with you," he lied. "I've been swamped at the shop."

She immediately folded once it was explained, a decidedly endearing little behavior compared to the various pureblood girls he knew who loved to punish their wizards until they were groveling at their feet. "Well, I am glad to hear that. Here I was afraid that I'd done something horribly wrong at Lughnasadh," she said, her voice going low. "Shall we get going?"

"You could never do something horribly wrong," he reassured her, before pulling out the portkey he'd arranged for the day.

Hermione grabbed hold of the portkey even though she had no idea where they were headed. A part of Tom admired her boldness and was flattered by her trust in him, while another part wanted to scold her for her foolishness.

But, he had no nefarious plans for her, so they simply ended up deposited in the wizarding center of Bexhill, not far away from Hastings.

Hearing waves breaking in the distance, Hermione's face was transformed by a surprised sort of smile. "Did you bring me to the beach?" she wondered aloud.

"Yes," Tom said, reluctantly. "But not for the beach itself. Instead, there is a bookstore on the promenade that I thought you might have some interest in. They have an unusual collection of Norman magical texts, brought here during the Conquest."

She pursed her lips, looking at him in surprise. "I didn't know that the Normans had any wizards among their ranks," she said, sounding surprised. "That was never mentioned in any Magical History that I've read."

"William was actually quite superstitious and brought with him a Breton priest who was in actuality a wizard, though it was obviously not widely reported," Tom explained, enjoying holding some knowledge that she did not already know. "In fact, when the Battle of Hastings did not initially go as planned, William ordered the priest to perform a ritual that involved human sacrifice in order to change the tides of war."

"And it really worked?" Hermione asked, intrigued at the story, apparently unmoved by the mention of human sacrifice.

"Apparently," Tom said. "Harold was felled not long after. "

"Well, then, lead the way to the bookstore," Hermione answered with a grin. "I am eager to see what further histories I might find out about."

They made the short walk together to the cramped bookshop, before Tom guided her back into a dark corner where he knew they were unlikely to be disturbed. She followed him willingly, completely unconcerned by how few people were there. She eagerly made her way to one section of books and he watched as her fingertips lovingly traced the spines of the books there, reminded of the same reverent way she'd treated the poisons at Borgin and Burke's when he'd first met her. She wasn't mindlessly feeling along, touching any pretty bauble that caught her eye. No - he could tell that she respected the power that was contained within their packaging.

She pulled a slim blue volume from the shelf and turned round to face him, her lower lip caught between her teeth, teasing. She held the book to her chest, hiding it's cover from his view. "Did you bring me here knowing how much I've longed for this book?" she asked, coquettishly.

Tom felt his mouth go dry and his stomach lurch. Oh, seeing how happy it made her certainly made him wish that he'd known she'd longed for it, but alas, he'd been unaware. "I think we might just have similar tastes," he said, hoping that he sounded unaffected. He plucked the books from between her fingers. "Öster's Compendium of Germanic Tradition?" he asked, surprised.

Hermione took the book back from him and looked up into his eyes. "Don't you know? He catalogs the way that modern magic has evolved from old magic, by documenting the different regional variations in ancient ritual. I understand he discusses the creation of the wand from holly boughs during Yule," she explained, paging through the book to find the relevant section.

He loved the ardent and open way that she talked about things that interested her, a quality that would have been mocked out of any Slytherin by the time that they graduated. Tom was used to keeping his less serious interests and pursuits close to his chest.

"It so fascinated me because my own wand is made of vinewood, quite similar to holly, you know?" Hermione continued.

"Oh? I don't think I've heard of that being used before. Did you get it at Ollivander's?" he asked.

A dark look came over her face as though she were having a difficult time grasping at a memory. "No," she said. "Or at least, I don't think so. When they found me at Hogwarts, they gave me the wand. But I supposed it could have come from Ollivander's."

"I'm disappointed that you didn't have a wand select you," he answered, thinking that it was rather unfair. Picking out his wand had been his first real foray into the magical world. It had been one of the sparse happy memories in his unhappy childhood.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it's served me remarkably well over the years," she said eventually. "I can do all sorts of magic with it. It's well balanced."

"Well, you will have to report to me if any of the rituals in that book correspond with anything we do," he said, wanting to further her education in this particular field. He knew that she had the potential to be a dangerous witch, if she was willing to accept the challenge.

"Are you inviting me to your Yule celebration?" Hermione asked, leaning towards him so that her free hand could toy with the fabric of his robes.

He took a step forward, so that the gap between their bodies evaporated completely. With his hand sliding against the cashmere soft skin of her neck, his thumb traced the delicate skin of her jaw. Tom tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "I hope that you'll come to Yule and everything in between," he said, his voice going low. "The Equinox, Samhain. And maybe some after Yule as well."

Her breath hitched at the thought and he watched as her doe eyes widened, the umber color nearly swallowed up by her pupil. Her petal soft lips parted so that she could answer him, but Tom couldn't bear the thought that it might be a rejection, no matter how miniscule the risk. Instead, he dipped his head so that he could kiss her again, swallowing up any protest.

Hermione was just as keen as he was to continue where they had left off. She immediately deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around his waist. When their tongues met, she melted against him, as though she wanted to completely conform to him. It was enough to have Tom preening.

Stepping one foot between hers, Tom pushed forward until his leg was cradled against her body and he could press her back against the shelves, uncaring if it was uncomfortable. Öster slipped from her hands, forgotten, but Hermione didn't care, so long as his hand was sneaking up underneath the thin fabric of her blouse so he could feel the bare skin of her waist. His hand was just large enough that his thumb could find the dip of her navel at the top of her pants. The feeling was enough to intoxicate him, his mind swirling with dreams of what was hidden away by the fabric.

Abandoning that fancy, he removed his hand from her shirt, only to tentatively cup one firm breast over the fabric. Unable to help himself, he stroked against its point with his thumb, groaning when he realized that he was feeling the hardness of a nipple. Oh Salazar, how he longed to pull the blouse open and see what she looked like, spread out over his bed or a bed of leaves in the forest. He was certain this moment would haunt his dreams more than she already did.

Hermione was not unaffected. A vicious little thing, she caught his lower lip between her teeth, biting down just to the point where pleasure met pain before releasing him once again. Her hips began to rock against his leg in tiny, reflexive movements that she didn't seem to be able to stop.

"Hey!" came the shout of the shopkeeper who seemed to stumble into the scene, aghast. "That sort of behavior is not acceptable at this establishment!" he yelled, before shooting them out.

Tom grabbed her hand and pulled through the twisting corridors until they raced out the front door. Hermione was giggling behind him, her cheeks a bright pink at what they had been caught doing. He felt rather like a school boy who'd been caught snogging in a broom closet.

With the shop abandoned, he took her to a small cafe on the beach. They split a sandwich and sat on the boardwalk, enjoying the last hazy breezes of the summer and watching the waves roll in.

"Am I really invited to the equinox?" she asked, obviously eager to go.

"Absolutely," Tom said, pleased to know that she still wanted to go. He wondered what she would think after she participated. Would the same sort of eagerness remain? "I think you'll find it...illuminating."

She bit her lower lip, as though she were having trouble deciding what to ask him next. "Which is your least favorite of the holidays?" she asked, finally.

Tom felt his mood drop a bit. He frowned and stared out over the water, hating to be reminded of its creeping advance. "I don't really like Samhain," he said eventually, reminding himself that Hermione hadn't asked it to upset him. "I don't particularly enjoy feeling so close to death."

Hermione inched closer to him. "So the rumors are true then? About how thin the veil becomes between the two worlds?" she asked.

He turned to face her once again and smirked at her, trying to project the essence of cool. "You'll just have to come along and see for yourself," he said.

"And, which holiday is your favorite?" Hermione asked, biting her lower lip.

Tom thought about it for a while, unsure. "Probably Yule," he said, finally. "The feasting is generally the best and there is no shortage of drinks. The whole idea of rebirth...all the failures of the prior year being washed away, it's cathartic in a way. And helps propel me forward." Plus, it was never not funny to watch everyone plunging into freezing water, sure they were strong enough that year not to shout like a little girl, only to be reduced to a shivering mess each time.

"Then, I am excited to celebrate that with you," she said, shyly.

Over the water, the sun was beginning to dip down over the horizon and Tom knew that it was time to get her home, though a small part of him wished he could abscond with her for the rest of the weekend. But, he would save that for another time.

"Come on, let's get you home," he said, helping her stand from the wooden boardwalk. He pulled another portkey from his pocket and once they had both grabbed it, they found themselves in front of Hermione's flat.

He watched as she bit her lower lip again, as she warred with herself to decide whether or not to invite him inside. Only, he knew that he couldn't push her too far so quickly. If he went inside her flat, he wasn't sure that he would ever let her up for air. Instead, he settled for a lingering kiss to her lips, letting his hands slip around her waist and pull her body close to his once more, so he could feel the press of her against him.

Salazar, it was so hard to let her go, but he did, wishing her good night and with promises to see her again soon.