She rushes in a way that tells Tom she's desperate for a real wash, not a hurried scouring under the freezing cold dungeon showers. She waves her wand at the tap, and it starts pouring crystal clear water into the oblong pool in the center of the room. Within seconds, it is filled to the brim. She turns the soap tap next, and Tom notes how she doesn't seem to need to experiment with which tap does what.
She knows exactly what to do.
Once the pool is covered in a thick layer of heavily scented foam, Hermione begins to strip unceremoniously, pulling her pants down without shame. It occurs to him that this is because she believes she is alone.
Tom surprises himself with the haste at which he turns around, even though she exposed nothing more scandalous than the backs of her knees. He stiffens at the sounds of the rest of her clothes softly hitting the floor, and for the first time in his life, Tom asks himself if he is doing something Wrong.
He feels strongly that he is.
As many absolute Truths do, it dawns on him very suddenly and very forcefully that he is a man, and it is a lie to say he doesn't want her. He does. So completely consumed is he with wanting, that he cannot think without every thought being colored with the shadows cast by her slender frame.
It is also an unshakable Truth that Tom wants her to want him back. He is hopelessly desperate for her to. She is the reason he loses sleep, loses his appetite, loses his temper. Already so debased as Tom is with overwhelming desire, to sink lower would be to sneak a look without her knowing.
Tom stays staring at the wall, because he doesn't want to see her full beauty when she is unaware of his presence. He wants her to show him—willingly.
And for the first time in Tom's life, he feels he has done something Good.
High off these noble sentiments, Tom nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears the splash of a body landing in the perfumed pool of the prefect bath. He listens in part awe, part agony as she moans in relaxation as warm water jets around her natural form.
Tom allows himself a quick look—a necessary one—to make sure he knows which way she is facing. She is neck deep in soapsuds, except for her feet, which float like little ducklings above the water. She levitates a book in front of her, and only lifts her fingers to turn the pages. Tom is satisfied that her modesty is protected by her evident desire to drown herself in soap bubbles. And, she is facing away from the sinks.
He speaks, "hasss sses khsssas."
At the sound of his voice, she nearly jumps out of her skin. Her book falls with a heavy plop into the water.
"Who's there?" she almost shrieks, just barely remembering to keep her voice down. She looks about frantically, but in her horror, she is unable to catch the glint of Tom's invisible silhouette against the dark corners of the bathroom. Tom stays silent, watching her but at the same time trying desperately not to look, for her shoulders are above the lather now, and they glisten in wet soapy wonder. She fiddles with her wand for a moment, and seems to accidentally cast a spell in the water near her elbow. The jet of light flashes at a strange angle in the pool, and Tom worries she's harmed herself by mistake.
"Who is there?" she says again, more forcefully now, her wand gripped tightly in her hand. She casts a very powerful lumos, and scans the room with the light, her eyes turning with it. Tom slowly follows the moving search, so that he is always a few steps behind it.
She whispers something at her wand next, and its tip suddenly turns to point directly at Tom.
She shoots a bright purple curse at his location, but Tom is too quick for her, and a piece of stone chips away from the wall, landing heavily on the tile and cracking it. Her miss does not seem to faze her, as she shoots another curse, and another.
She's fast. Tom will give her that. She shoots at least a dozen rapid fire curses at him before the sinks start to creak. She shrieks in earnest now, fumbling in the water to get out. Tom is terrified she'll do something stupid, or worse, expose her breasts, so he speaks again.
"Fancy a soak, Hermione?" He tsks. "At this time of night?"
Hermione freezes before immersing herself chin deep into the water, using her hands to cradle bubbles around herself to cover her body further. This irritates Tom, especially after he has displayed such good behavior. He decides to be cruel.
That is more familiar to him.
"Don't fret yourself over the bubbles; I already know there's nothing worth seeing." He sneers. He charms his voice to sound like it is coming from all angles, and she spins her head desperately to locate him again.
"Tom. Stop." She commands, her eyes seeking an escape, "or I will scream for help."
"Go ahead," Tom shrugs, "the door is sealed, and I've already cast a silencing charm on the room. Scream to your hearts content—I don't think you'll be disturbing anyone."
"Fuck you."
"No thanks." Tom responds blandly, turning to face the sinks once more. "You should close your eyes though, if you want to live."
This girl who never shuts up, who always has something to say—a smart retort, a witty quip, or at the least, a knowing smirk—suddenly slams her mouth closed and screws her eyes shut. That doesn't seem enough to her though, because she lifts her left hand to cover her eyes as well, her wand shaking in her other outstretched hand.
Tom briefly wonders about it.
Then he commands, "ssssssssssah."
Come.
The sinks begin to separate, rising and shifting the white porcelain, bending the faucets and pipes, cracking the mirrors above them to make room for the growing black tunnel that emerges. Tom watches this, while keeping an eye on her.
She doesn't move. It's as if she is already petrified.
A heavy noise like large sacks being dragged over a dirt path fills the bathroom, echoing loudly against the bathroom tile. A delightful pang shoots through Tom, his skin erupting in gooseflesh. He removes his disillusionment.
Come my pet, Tom coaxes, come to your master.
Hermione makes a noise in the background. Something similar to a scream dying in the back of her throat. Now, it isn't only her hand that is shaking, but her entire body, sending soft ripples through the bathwater.
Master! You have called me at last. The great hulking form of the basilisk emerges, her eyes closed, hissing in pleasure. She bows before Tom, waiting for him to place a kiss on her forehead.
Tom obliges. My precious pet. Do not open your eyes.
Master! The basilisk turns its massive head, and tongues the air hungrily. I smell food.
No, my pet. That is not food. You must not eat the girl. You must not open your eyes.
But master, the snake whines, it has been so long since you have fed me. She slithers further out of the tunnel, her laminated scales squeaking as they rub against the wet floors. Her tail knocks Hermione's bath things over, and Hermione jumps when they create a splash on the opposite end of the pool.
She smells good. So fresh. So nubile.
I said no, pet.
But Master, why have you called me here? To tease me with her? His legacy as the heir of Slytherin encircles the prefect pool, over and over, building a sort of deadly barricade around the witch inside.
Impossible my pet, I would never tease you. I need your help.
She pauses her circulations at Tom's request, her neck twisting side to side in a serpent dance. Tom knows she is eager to carry out his commands. Anything, master. My life is yours.
Is she of pureblood?Tom asks.
Master, she is a mudblood. Please let me eat her.
No. You must not open your eyes.
Please, master. The snake bends her face over Hermione's wet hair, her venomous teeth threatening to graze her slender arm, still outstretched. She smells very good.
I said no!Tom forces himself to calm. Leave, pet. You have helped me greatly. Now return to your home.
The basilisk sulks, twisting her head back to Tom before bowing it and dragging herself back toward the gaping cavern that lies open still. In her anger, she swishes her tail into the water before leaving, splashing Tom thoroughly and frightening the wits out of Hermione, who finally releases a long-suffering scream.
Tom orders the sinks to close, and turns to survey Hermione in the water as the porcelain and pipes lock back into place, hiding the tunnel from view. Her eyes are still closed, but she now has both hands encircling her middle.
She looks like a scared child.
Tom conjures a thick blanket, and waves it over so that it covers her, slightly buoyed up by the water, which is quickly vanished. It falls wetly against her skin, and she jumps again, but does not make a sound. Tom does not think she could, the way her jaw trembles.
They both stand there for a few moments, completely soaked, until she can control her breathing. Tom feels he ought to do something, but he has no idea what it is he's meant to be doing. When he formed this plan after their encounter at the library, it had seemed so brilliant.
Now, he just feels foolish. He hadn't meant to scare her so badly. Her eyes are still closed. She clutches the blanket tightly against her chest.
"I thought," she begins, and Tom's head snaps up, "I thought you were going to hurt me."
For some inconceivable reason, Tom says "I could have," instead of "I would never."
"I know," she answers. She takes her wand out from beneath the cover and spells the blanket to stay closed before aiming it at his heart. Her eyes are open now. Tom stares down the barrel of her gun, so to speak. His own wand is hanging limply at his side. He doesn't seem to have the strength to take the proper defensive stance.
She seems to think for a moment before she says, "You're a Parselmouth."
"Yes." He agrees, because he really isn't sure what else he can say.
"You told that enormous snake—that basilisk—not to harm me."
It's a statement and not a question, so Tom does not answer. Something aches unbearably inside his chest. It hums with the same loss he feels when he thinks about his parents. It feels a lot like regret, but examining it now would be like burning a hot brand into an open wound.
She seems to think a little longer, and the silence between them stretches until he can hear the droplets from the leaking faucet hit the empty basin below. He's never seen her go so long without smiling.
She opens her mouth and closes it several times before she can say what's next, but her weapon never wavers.
"Did you look at me?" she asks in a small voice, "When I was getting undressed?"
Their eyes lock and Tom dissolves into faceless shame.
"No. I swear."
"Thank you." she whispers, then clears her throat roughly.
Before she can open that wretched mouth of hers again, Tom tells her, "Finish your bath. She won't come back again, not without my permission. You can come here whenever you want. I'm leaving now."
He hastily turns, his shoes sliding and almost slipping on the bathroom floor as he runs away, the heavy door thudding softly behind him.
A/N: Please leave a review if you are enjoying, or if you are hating it too! I'd love feedback :)