It was nearly winter hols. Hermione was anxious as last year they'd stayed at Hogwarts and the summer had been tense, uncomfortable. She wanted to stay, but there was no way Narcissa would allow Draco to miss Christmas two years running, and where he went, Hermione followed. She prayed to a deity she wasn't sure existed that Bellatrix was not in attendance.
At least she had an excuse to ignore everyone with OWLs swiftly approaching. Draco had expressed a desire to spend time in the Malfoy library and take advantage of all the books they would not find at school, so she would not have to endure the once-beloved room alone. She had already made a tentative schedule, though she knew she would have to re-write it upon Lady Cissa's itinerary. The woman had missed them the previous year and seemed set on taking full advantage for this upcoming season.
Hermione sighed to herself, knowing she could not avoid Lord Lucius or Bellatrix (she refused to add an honorific in her thoughts to that hated name) for the entire break; there would be events the near-harpy would attend. And Lord Lucius would be forced to spend some time with his son and thusly her as well. She would just have to make herself inconspicuous; perhaps she could bury herself in books the whole break and use OWLs as an excuse. Lady Cissa would understand.
Indeed, while Lord Lucius seemed to blame her for Draco's sorting into Hufflepuff, both parents were appreciative of her study habits. Hermione never allowed her best friend to get distracted by Quidditch or holidays, trips to Hogsmeade, or dating. With how eager he could be at times with any of those subjects, she thought they struck a good balance.
There was additional strain during holidays or anything involving family and friends, as the two of them were often the sole splashes of color in otherwise green-and-silver (and black) society. The occasional Ravenclaw wasn't an issue, but a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor? It was outrageous. ("We both assumed you'd be a Ravenclaw, honestly," Narcissa had told her. "But you do have a touch of fire in you," she'd added, fondly combing Hermione's curls.) Draco often kept to black, as it was the safer of his house colors to represent, but Hermione was a lion and had slowly adopted more scarlet and gold around the Pureblood aristocracy. Last year, as he was at Hogwarts, Draco had embraced yellow as well. She hoped he'd forget and wear his scarf at least.
"Ah, here she is." The silky voice raised hairs at the nape of her neck. She knew before she turned that she would see her favorite professor. The spicy scent of clove was heavier on him than usual, and his hair was charmingly wind-swept. "I was hoping I'd see you before you left. Would you mind terribly coming to my office with me, Miss Granger?"
A blush stained her cheeks as she glanced around; there wasn't anyone necessarily close, but better safe. "Of course, professor."
He laid a hand at the small of her back and swept her along with him.
As the door clicked shut, he was leaning against his hardwood desk with his long legs out before him in a more relaxed pose than she had surely ever seen him in. "Come here, dear, I won't bite." She had been nearly against the door, but inched forward. One of his perfect brows arched until, holding her breath, Hermione took one full pace forward and finally within arms' reach. "There. Much more conversational."
Conversational. Hermione felt encased by him, trapped with his long legs on either side and pinned by that Mediterranean deep stare. "Is there something you wanted to discuss, professor?"
He tilted his head and that brow rose again. She realized her mistake then.
"Tom" His voice was more a puff of air than a word.
"Better. I understand it may be difficult to remember, as you're used to a certain amount of deference to others even outside of school. But on occasions such as this I do not want formalities between us, dear." He brushed her hair behind her ear with a soft smile gracing his lips. "In the muggle world, you'd be an adult, wouldn't you?"
Hermione nodded, then clarified, "In the UK, yes. Mostly, I suppose."
Tom hummed. "And nearly grown by wizarding standards as well. At the start of next school year. I can hardly see the shy little dove that flittered in so early more than five years ago."
She was warm to her core, embarrassment and more fluttering through her belly and flushing her to her collarbones.
"I so enjoy our moments together, you know." One finger stroked her cheek before alighting on her shoulder. "You've flourished the last few months especially. I daresay your wandwork is the best in your class now."
"Thank you, prof- Tom." Once more the niggling idea that maybe there was something more behind those polite words and slight touches. "I appreciate everything you've done for me. Your one-on-one tutelage is incredible. Even my charms are stronger, and I know I owe that to you."
The corner of his mouth tugged. "I am professor, Hermione." Tom removed his hand at last, leaning back on his palms. "I am glad to be the instrument of your growth. And I am sure you will help me when I reach out to you." She nodded, eyes wide. "On that note, there is a small something I would ask of you over the winter holidays."
"Of course! Anything." The words spilled out before she could think better of them, a wave of heat flooding over her.
"Careful what you promise, love," Tom admonished with a chuckle. "But this is just a little thing." Hermione frowned at the reiteration and nodded again. "Given the vents the last time you were home, I would like to maintain communication throughout. I have a journal for you that links to one of my own. If you would kindly write in it every evening so I know you are well, I would be grateful."
Her lips parted and released air she hadn't realized she'd kept back. "You are worried about me?"
"Of course, Hermione. You are precious to me, my most prized student, and growing into a powerful, beautiful young woman. I will not allow the likes of Lucius Malfoy to taint you." He pulled a slim black leather journal from further back on the desk, holding it out for her. Hermione felt as though she were moving through jam, her arms thick and heavy as she laid fingertips along the tomb, careful not to touch him. He had no compunctions, and laid his free hand over one. "Do you understand, Hermione."
She nodded, tongue flitting nervously across dry lips.
His palm weighed on hand, tightening as he leaned toward her. "I'll be very cross if you miss a night. You don't want to upset me, do you?"
"No, never," she breathed. The air stuck in her throat, hardened with his attention.
His gaze softened once more and she felt she could breathe again. "That's my girl." Tom released her hand to stroke her cheek. "I look forward to your return. Go on, then. I suppose you have packing to do."
Hermione nodded and clutched the journal to her chest. Before she turned the handle, she said over her shoulder, "Thank you, Tom."
Tom stared at the door for moments after she'd left. He was pleased with her responses to his words and actions, though he would eventually have to train her out of being so easily read. Hermione would be too important one day for others to know her thoughts at a glance. Now, it was charming. How prettily she blushed for him at any touch or smile. Especially when she picked up on possible insinuations. He wouldn't take it too far, not while she was both underage and his student; though he worried about the possibility of another encroaching where he was slowly making his claim. That the Krum boy had kissed her, flaunted her, was irritating enough.
He'd heard disturbing rumors from some of his Knights. Tom had once toyed with the idea of reaching out to Bellatrix Lestrange, the obvious true head of her family, but the woman was turning out to be more unhinged than he'd realized. In school she'd had moments of obsession and that had stayed his hand before; now he knew her to be a risk.
Like Tom had considered, she and hers had taken Pureblood supremacy as their cause. He could have salvaged something between them perhaps, steered them a touch here and there until they were under his thumb, but then the bitch had compelled Lucius Malfoy to touch his girl.
A jab of pain brought him from his thoughts as a splinter cut into his thumb. Tom sucked away the blood and tried to quell the anger that had had him clenching at the wood. He had thought, with two Horcruxes, his fury would have lessened; instead it had become an inferno just beneath the surface. Perhaps three soul pieces, despite mirroring the trinity of the Deathly Hallows, were not quite as stable as he'd hoped. He would have to think on this.
In the meantime, he would find out what Lestrange was planning and how it might involve his sweet little lioness.
AN: I'm trying to get better about doing these on FF, but it is easier on AO3. I'll work on doing better... and I'm slowly going through all the reviews. They helped me get through a very hard two months, so thank you all.
I've also made a carrd to make it easier to find, contact, learn about me. It's in profile.
Anyway! Thanks, all.