Venenum
By Koryander
Chapter 9. Echis - All this and more.
Tom felt as if the surroundings were spinning as he moved to face Hermione. He was feeling weak and tired, but he didn't want to give her the pleasure of seeing the true conditions which he was in. So, he did his best to stand, putting his hands in the front pockets of his pants and lifting his chin a little.
"Well, to what do I owe the honor of your presence, Miss Granger?" He asked, a tone of disdain in his voice.
His tone didn't impress Hermione, who was still passive and with an 'air' of superiority. She blinked solemnly.
"What is the counter-spell for the curse you put on me?" She asked.
Tom snorted.
"What makes you think I would tell you?"
"Must be because I'm in advantage here." She replied, unshaken by Tom's words.
"I don't think so." Tom grinned mischievously. "It doesn't look like you have the upper hand since you need to ask me how to break the curse."
It was Hermione's turn to smirk.
"I always try to ask politely first, to have a clear conscience later. The answers I get are not always positive, so I stop and think: Well, no one can judge me, I tried to be kind." She answered thoughtfully. "Which brings me back to you. So, yes, I'm in advantage here."
"What makes you think that?" Tom raised an eyebrow. He knows he has to manipulate her.
"You have no wand." She answered quickly.
"Why do you suppose that?" Tom's nostrils flared as his face changed to something dark, the veins showing in his jaw.
"Silly boy." Hermione snorted. "You're obviously without her, otherwise you would have already raised your wand toward me." She observed. "Let's face it, you do that a lot to be different this time. So, we get back to the point where I have the upper hand. "
Tom narrowed his eyes, breathing like a bull, his eyes focused on Hermione as the basement seemed to swirl with the discomfort he was feeling. That little witch managed to push his buttons in a way no one ever could. Her smart remark catching him off guard.
"You don't look very well," she observed. "Something left you cold?" She asked very seriously.
"What are you implying, Granger?" Tom practically growled. He didn't like the insinuation in Hermione's words. It is impossible that she was referring to the death of the Riddle family, there was no way she could know. Maybe it was his imagination, obviously, he would be suspicious of anything.
Hermione shrugged, putting a blank mask on her face.
"Where were we? Ah! Yeah. What's the counterspell, Riddle?" Hermione's tone changed. It was demanding and almost an order.
"I thought you were smart enough to find out." Tom licked his lips. She would never find out, this was true. Because it was a spell that himself created.
"Oh, I could try." She replied and Tom coughed to hide the laugh that threatened to break out. "But I thought for a while ..." Tom's green eyes returned to Hermione, paying attention to what she was saying. "Why not get the answer from the source of all my problems?" She continued.
Hermione stood up, the armchair she conjured disappeared. She used her full height, ie 5'5, to intimidate Riddle. That wasn't what made Tom Riddle think, but the wand she raised toward him.
"Are you going to torture me, Granger?" Tom almost laughed at the thought. What would Dumbledore think of his favorite student torturing someone?
"Why wouldn't I do that?" Hermione spoke through gritted teeth. She didn't like the fact that Tom didn't seem to take her seriously. "You did the same thing to me. Why shouldn't I return the favor? "
"Ah, here's the reason. Revenge." Tom said. "But I'm not surprised. The world revolves around that. "
"My motive is much bigger than that." Hermione contradicts him. "You think you know me, but you don't know anything about me. But I know a lot about you. What you're capable of, the things you do, the place you live." Hermione looked around. "Such pride coming from someone who is in a Muggle orphanage."
What a low blow, Hermione thought to herself. The truth is that he is not to blame where he was born and raised, it was not his choice and probably not something anyone would choose. No one wants to be an orphan and grow up in an orphanage.
Her words seem to hit him because she notices the swirl of uncontrollable emotions in his eyes that reflect her. But strangely, there is a sneer on Tom's lips.
"I didn't think you were so cruel, Miss Granger." he said. "I'm downright surprised," Tom continued.
"Proof you don't know me," Hermione replied.
"So...? What is going to be? The Cruciatus? Or are there some dark curses hidden in that little head? "
"Nothing other than what you deserve," Hermione said, raising her wand and pointing toward Tom.
Tom narrowed his eyes when he noticed the glow in the tip of the wand, she was decided, and then the sound of the basement door opening caught their attention. They both glanced toward the basement stairs when they heard footsteps, they looked at each other momentarily and a breath escaped their mouths before Hermione cast a Disillusionment charm, hiding from the muggle's vision.
Tom glanced at the place she hid, right in the corner of the basement, but still giving her a privileged view. For a moment he was jealous of her, that she could use magic so freely, then Mr. Wool appears, coming down the stairs with a buggy whip in his hand. Tom's eyes went straight to the whip. When Mr. Wool finished coming down the stairs, he stopped in front of Tom, in his breath, Tom could smell rum.
"Where have you been, kid?" He asked brutally.
In fact, even if the name of this gentleman is the name of the orphanage, it was who handled most of the child-related things, but whenever punishment was related, precisely to boys, Mr. Wool seemed to willing. Of course everyone grew up afraid to challenge Mrs. Cole and her severity, and that got worse when it came to Mr. Wool, but of course, that fear didn't apply to Tom. He was too sneaky, too smart to be caught in the breaches of rules he committed. Doubt could always hang in the air, but no one could point a finger at him and accuse. There was no evidence.
Here, they were afraid of Tom. The weird things that happened around him and how somehow he always seemed to be involved in the problems that happened, even if they couldn't prove it.
Mad, had problems, evil incarnate, demon, the antichrist. Tom has been called all of that. Doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, priests and even the beginning of an exorcism attempt. All of this had once come to him, but obviously he managed to escape with the help of something that made him unique: Magic. It was easier at that time when he was a child, where even terrible things could be justified such as lack of control and self-preservation. Simply a child's attempt to defend himself, not now. Not when he is supposed to control magic.
So Tom blames Dumbledore again. Dumbledore 'breaks his legs' when he leaves him without his wand - supposedly defenseless - because of the stupid rules he has so attached to. And of course, Mr. Wool with all the grudge he has for Tom, wouldn't let his punishment pass and to make matters worse, he has Granger as an unwanted audience and he's chilling and sweating like a kettle.
"Where have you been, kid?" Mr. Wool asked again, almost growling.
Tom refused to answer, avoiding eye contact, trying to focus on anything other than Mr. Wool's face with rum breath. But apparently looking around was not a good idea. The basement seemed to spin more with the dizziness he was feeling, the pressure in Tom's ears made him ignore what Mr. Wool was saying, was when the whip hit the skin of Tom's arm.
Tom turned his head so hard toward Mr. Wool, that he looked like a big cat. He growled, jagging and baring his teeth in anger. The whip arm wound appeared in the shape of a bloodline, the fabric of Tom's social shirt tearing. The sight of his own blood made Tom's volatile emotions bubble.
How dare a muggle try to hurt him? The heir of Slytherin. He would not allow himself to be flogged.
Tom reacts, trying to take the whip from Mr. Wool's hand. He's sick of having to come to this shitty orphanage, he's sick of faking it, taking orders from foolish people and having to put up with a smile on his face. He will no longer accept it. No longer.
But his body falters and doesn't cooperate with the work of his mind. All he knows is that he reaches for the whip, but his hand catches the emptiness. It is dizziness that makes him see things where they are not.
Mr. Wool pushes him, Tom falls and gets whipped again. This time the whip hits the centre of his back. He grunts in pain.
"Where have you been, kid?" Mr. Wool asks again.
"I got to meet my father," Tom answers through his teeth, trying to get up.
He stares angrily at the grey basement floor, fighting the tears of hatred and the burning pain in his back. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
"And apparently Daddy reneged you again." Wool sneers. "But I can't blame the man. Who would like to have a child with that horrible woman? Who would like to have a child like you? She gave birth to a demon. You don't fool me, boy." He points to Tom." I see the evil in you." Mr. Wool makes the sign of the cross. "God took pity on that man and drove him away from you."
Tom began to laugh at Mr. Wool's last sentence. Did God have mercy of Tom Riddle Snr or the Riddle family? That could only be a joke.
Still laughing softly as the last remnants of his laughter, Tom turns his face toward Mr. Wool, he's still leaning on his arms - shaking with the effort - he swallows a shaky breath as the pupils in his eyes widen. His laughter dies and he breathes heavily like a bull.
"Yes." Tom agrees. "Yes, I'm all that and more." He says. "And I'll be your worst nightmare." Tom looks under his lashes. "And I promise you, that you and everyone else will pay me."
It's a threat he intends not to become an empty threat. He will fulfil whatever he is willing to conquer and master.
The whip hits him again and again and again and doesn't seem to stop. His back hurts and stings with each blow, but he refuses to cry or scream.
Hermione looks at that scene. At first, she thinks he deserves every blow he gets - that someone condemns her if wants - but Tom Riddle is vile and mean and all the things he has done - and will - deserve the most torturous punishment. However, when the whip hits him for the eighth time, her eyes start to burn with hot tears. She's scared at how he doesn't scream, just grunts in pain, but she can see his eyes with tears he refuses to give in. When a lonely tear runs down her cheek, she knows she can no longer see that scene.
Then she closes her eyes, but the sounds of the whip hitting Riddle, tearing the fabric of his shirt, Tom's grunts of pain and the old man's anger, seem worse.
She covers her ears, shaking her head from side to side, refusing to see or hear. But then, the unmistakable scent of blood seems to be carried by the basement dust into her nostrils, and that's when she opens her eyes.
Hermione looks around, drawing her arms close to her body, a frightened look on her face. She has seen and experienced many acts that caused her to be in shock, but she has never been a spectator of such torture. Mr. Wool is nowhere to be seen and all that remains in the basement is her and Riddle.
She takes a hesitant step forward but soon hesitates to continue. Riddle is there, a few steps away from her, lying face down with the back of his bloody torn shirt. He is pale, so pale that the colour of his skin is almost white and the contrast with the blood is bewildering. Strands of black hair like the colour of a raven, falling down his face.
She swallows as she watches the fallen Dark Lord like a King who suffered a checkmate. Her breath sounds too loud for the environment that has become so quiet, and it is likely that the Disillusionment Charm she has cast upon herself is gone, as Tom Riddle's eyes open and he looks straight at her.
Hermione can't escape eye contact, she's stuck like a deer get stuck watching a car's light. Tom's eyes are bright green and pure, but there's hell burning in their colour. The red veins are highlighted in the white sclera of his eyes, from the containing crying or even the hatred he transmits in a simple look he gives her. He shudders, with involuntary muscle spasms, he makes a deep throat sound as if he wants to contain the sound, but his eyes never escape her eyes. He doesn't even blink.
She doesn't know what to do. She runs away. She Apparated to the safety of her island. To the safety of the tent.
Hermione almost vomited, but she managed to keep the contents of her stomach. She walks into the tent, putting her hand on her heart to calm the heartbeats, looking at Nix on his perch, who returns his gaze.
Hell, no one could judge me for leaving Riddle there. That's what she tells herself for the thousandth time that early evening, after taking a shower, trying to forget the scene she saw.
She is sitting, staring at the wood of the table, her fingernails drumming on the porcelain cup of tea she drinks.
My conscience is clear. She sighs, trying to make herself happy.
Hermione gets up, throws away the rest of the tea she was drinking, brushes her teeth and lies on the bed. Lying down, she looks up at the tent ceiling, her hands folded above the blanket, her thumbs tapping repeatedly, a reflection of her anxiety and thoughts that don't want to shut up.
Don't think about it. Don't think about it. She repeats several times, but the sight of Riddle's body on the floor is very fresh and vivid. He deserves. Of course, he deserves it. Hermione tries to convince herself.
She spends the next day trying to convince herself that she is doing right to ignore Riddle's conditions. Let's face it, he's done things a lot like that to other people, but she can't stop thinking it's too cruel. Maybe it was a catalyst for Riddle's anger, maybe it wasn't, but what she knows is that she thinks no one deserves such treatment.
She thought about herself as she was being tortured by Bellatrix - Riddle's fault again - and how she would like someone to save her as soon as possible. Of course, Harry and Ron came to her rescue, but for a fleeting moment, she thought she would die there and had the same hatred for Bellatrix that Riddle displayed to Mr. Wool.
"Don't even think about it!" She told to herself. "No, no, no! It's out of the question to help Riddle." Hermione continued. "What would Harry think? He will kill me if he knows! And all the others? What would they think of that? Obviously, they would be unhappy! What about my parents? Argh! My mother would talk until my ears bleed because I didn't help. So…? He's Voldemort and I'm a Muggle-born Gryffindor. Riddle wouldn't think twice before letting me die there if the situation were different." She took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. We came to a conclusion. "
Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it.
Hermione apparated to the orphanage's basement.
She looks around to see if there are any muggles nearby and to her surprise, Riddle is still there, in the same position she left him. He has his eyes closed and shaking like a jackhammer.
Hermione hesitated for a moment, really reluctant to help him, but when Tom grunted slightly in his misery, she advanced toward him.
What am I doing? She wondered for the thousandth time.
She knelt beside him and put a hand on his back, making him hiss in pain like a snake when threatened.
"Riddle? Riddle?" She called him a few times. Hermione saw his eyelids flutter before he opened his eyes.
"G-Granger…?" Riddle muttered with a husky voice and dry lips.
"I'm here to help you. Can you get up? "She asked, watching his eyes roll in his eye sockets. "Come on, Riddle, help me so I can help you."
Hermione wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held him tightly around his abdomen, her grip taking some more grunts of pain from Riddle.
"Sorry," she muttered.
She noticed his effort to get up and when he stood up, his entire weight fell on Hermione. She flinched, trying to steady both of them. For a slender, muscular boy in perfect measure, Riddle was considerably heavy for Hermione. His head tilted forward, sweat-damp hair falling down his face. He tried to look at her, but when he opened his eyes, he probably thought it was a bad idea, given how quickly he closed his eyes again.
"Riddle, hold on to me. Try to hold on tight. I won't let you go." Hermione ordered.
At first, she doesn't know if he really heard her, but the squeeze of his hand on her shoulder made her realize that at least he was aware. She Apparated.
The first thing she did when she reached the tent was to put him on the bed, lying on his stomach. In addition to easing his weight on her, she needed to take care of his wounds. Riddle was at this point almost unconscious.
With the tip of her wand, she made a straight line on the side of Riddle's shirt, which was cut off as Hermione made the move. Underneath his dress shirt, he wore a white men's tank top, which Hermione removed with the help of her wand.
As soon as she looked at Riddle's back, she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. There was blood and several line-shaped wounds had their flesh open. She wiped at the blood, feeling him shudder every time she touched him, and then she took the potion kit to ease his pain and aid the healing process lastly, Hermione applied an ointment to the seals and then bandaged his back.
It was hard work, she wasn't a Healer, though she had plenty of knowledge. She took care of him like she took care of Ron, spending much of the night looking at him, sitting in an armchair near the bed, with Nix beside her on the arm of the armchair.
He had a fever, she had noticed. The way he was sweating indicated that he had gotten worse in the last few hours, which she diagnosed as an effect of his injuries, almost as if it could be an infection. She put a damp, cold cloth on his forehead to soften it.
Hermione wondered how Riddle couldn't defend himself against a lame man like Mr. Wool. Riddle was a tall, strong young boy, surely he could beat or push Mr. Wool away from him, yet he was acting strange since she had arrived in that basement. This is where Hermione looks at his hand.
The ring, she recognized. The Horcrux. Creating a second Horcrux left him temporarily weak.
Hermione sighed, and suddenly the notion of helping the young Dark Lord fell on her. She didn't know how he would react when he woke up, but she knew what he had already done and she wondered again if it was right to save Riddle.
Unwilling, she fell asleep. Taking care of a person already required a lot of attention, taking care of someone with Riddle's injuries was tiring, and certainly being alert against someone like Riddle required all-body effort. Hermione wakes up in the middle of the night when she hears a loud noise. Riddle fell off the bed as he tried to get up.
"Riddle? Riddle!" She runs to him.
He is kneeling, breathing heavily, and placing a hand on his head. She bends down to his level and tries to help him, but with one hand he shoves her.
Hermione rests on her elbows, looking at him, startled and surprised. She watches him stand up, tripping over his own feet, his wobbly walking as he bumps into things and throws everything he feels with his hand to the floor.
He is delirious. She is insightful to note.
She doesn't know what caused this. Maybe it was his fever, maybe it was his belated reaction to try to defend himself. Hermione watched him take a few steps before falling hard and completely against the hardwood floor. She and Nix look at each other and then she slowly gets up and walks towards Riddle. With a strange expression that mixed curiosity and fear, Hermione hesitantly approached him. She notices that he passed out.
After she put him in bed again, Hermione checks how his injuries are. She does so because she believes that some of Riddle's sudden movements may have hurt him even more. Fortunately, it's nothing serious, on the contrary, it was much better than a few hours ago. Magic is really amazing.
Hermione doesn't think Riddle could die if she had left him in the basement of the Wool Orphanage, having Horcrux make him technically immortal. Unless someone destroys the Horcruxes, Riddle would not have the final encounter with death, yet he can feel pain and hurt himself as far as she understands. Well, it's obvious he's only two Horcruxes, it's nothing compared to seven.
Her gaze falls on his ring. The Horcrux is right there, just inches from her, so easy now. Just take the ring off his finger and destroy it. She would be doing everyone a favour. Hermione took Riddle's hand, staring at the ring. Some might say she had a soft heart, she was classifying herself in this way. That is, she has compassion for broken things and people. Even if she was angry, Hermione tended to forgive or feel for people when she came to understand their motivations. For example, Snape. Snape was never kind to her, his comments to her were always sour and sarcastic. He thought she was just a Gryffindor smarty, yet after all, she still can't stop crying when she saw his death.
There was also Grawp, or when Dolores Umbridge injured one of the centaurs - that was cruel and she is ashamed of harming a centaur indirectly in order to have Dolores out of Hogwarts. There were also her attempts to give rights to the Elves.
She doesn't know if Riddle turned into Voldemort because he was born this way or if it was a series of factors that contributed to creating the monster, the only thing she knows is that things are really complicated.
Hermione drops his hand from hers, ignoring the ring on his finger. Ah, that urge to destroy Horcrux is there, just slip the ring off his finger and it's done. But she couldn't do that, first because as soon as Riddle woke up and missed the ring, he was going to kill her and second - and most importantly - was the timeline. Destroying Horcrux could now trigger a series of events that could change everything she knows.
You are already destroying the timeline. The voice of her conscience was speaking. Riddle shouldn't be in this tent.
That is right. Riddle shouldn't be here, however, she doesn't want to worsen the damage already done.
She looks at Riddle's face. Perfect is too little to describe it. Tom Riddle is really very handsome, Hermione knows that Riddle supposedly pulled all his father's genetics into appearance, but damn… she's pretty sure the love potion his mother gave Riddle Snr must have helped. The reality is Tom Riddle Jr is the perfect match for his parents' genetics. He took all the beauty of the Riddle family and took all the magic of the Gaunt family. A dangerous combination, certainly.
o0o
Tom opened his eyes slowly, blinking repeatedly to adapt to his blurred vision. He looks up to find a pair of big orange eyes staring at him, surprised he retracts in one swift motion, banging the top of his head against the wood of the bed. He lets a little ouch come out of his lips. He looks around, lifting his chest and leaning on his elbows, trying to understand where he is.
The owl above his head flies and lands on the perch, looking curiously at him. He watches his surroundings, noticing a broom that sweeps the floor alone, the sound of a boiling kettle and the smell of soup.
He looks under the blankets, realizing that he is not naked as he had originally thought. He still wears the same pants he remembers. Then he makes an analysis of his chest, which is well bandaged with clean bandages.
"Finally. I thought you would never wake up. "
The female voice catches his eye and he looks at the entrance and then sees Granger. Her hair is loose, a few strands to the side, and she wore pants that reach her calves and a short-sleeved shirt. Tom freezes, looking at her with huge unblinking green eyes, he retracts on the bed, his gaze never leaving her face.
That's when the memories come back to him. Granger saw things she shouldn't see, made threats she shouldn't do, and they offended each other, yet in the end, she helped him. Granger sat in a chair near the bed and looked at him.
"Are you alright?" She asked softly.
He narrowed his eyes at her.
"What do you want?" He almost growled at her, but she didn't seem surprised by the tone of his voice.
"Nothing. I don't want anything," she replied. A moment of silence passed between them before she spoke. She sniffed a little and scratched her nose slightly as if she were as uncomfortable as he.
"I'll get the food. You must be hungry. When you're done, I'll check how the injuries are." She gestured with her finger.
"I don't want your pity." Tom almost spits out the words.
Pity is for the weak, for the foolish and he doesn't want to be part of this portion of the population. She offends him in the worst possible way with her pity. She shakes her head and sighs before getting up from the chair. Tom watches her movements curiously, indecisively, with anger still encapsulated within him. She comes back carrying a tray with a plate of soup and he looks at her like she's crazy.
Hermione makes no mistake, she's not a formidable cook, but she's not as bad as Ron made it sound either. Obviously, she has no years of cooking experience or a knack for cooking, but her food is not bad. Ron's criticism was largely based on the influence of Salazar Slytherin's locket.
She sits in the chair she was occupying moments earlier with the tray on her lap and the soup bowl extended toward Riddle.
"I hope you enjoy it. You need to eat." Hermione speaks softly. She doesn't want to attract Riddle's wrath and wants to be patient with him.
Riddle looks at her in disgust.
"I'm not hungry." He speaks and it seems he's so happy to deny her effort with his words.
"You need to eat." Hermione tries again.
"I'm not hungry," Tom growls at her.
Hermione gritted her teeth in frustration, her patience over. Just like that, so fast. He can get her crazy. He is like a spoiled and rebellious child, delighting in undoing the help and efforts of everyone else.
She took a deep breath, glaring at Riddle.
"Fine," she says abruptly. "Don't eat. Starve yourself. "
She gets up, takes the tray away from Riddle and turns her back on him. Riddle watches her from the bed, and that's when his stomach decides to make a long noise, loud enough for both of them to hear. She tries to control the threatening laughter.
Well done, she thinks wryly.
Of course, after two days without waking up, waking up only on the third day at noon, Riddle would wake up hungry.
Tom looks at her taking the food away. He knows she heard his stomach complain about the food, but she doesn't stop and doesn't come back with the tray. This little witch… If she's thinking he's going to beg her, she's very wrong, however, she is moving further and further away.
Damn it! He curses mentally.
"Wait!" Tom says. She stops. "The food," he says. "I want the food."
She turns around, tray in her hands.
"What's the magic word, Riddle?" She asks with a sneer on her face.
What a bitch!
"P-please."
The word came out, almost as if he was choking on saying it.
Hermione almost corrected him, that he should say the word more softly, but she was content for the moment with his discomfort and his need to ask her. So she returned, sitting back and resting the tray on her lap, taking the soup bowl and lifting the spoon toward him, offering.
He narrowed his eyes again at her.
"I have hands," Riddle said and Hermione dropped the spoon into the soup bowl, which splashed a little on him.
"Ignorant," Hermione murmured, covering the word with a slight throat clearing. But that didn't go unnoticed for him.
Luckily she didn't take the soup away, handing him the soup bowl. He mixes the soup back and forth, trying to figure out what it tasted like. Hesitantly he takes the liquid to his mouth, tasting it. Not bad, but not wonderful either, though it was certainly better than the cabbage soup he was eating at the orphanage due to Rationing.
He ate a few more spoonfuls, his stomach warming as he received food. It was quiet, but Tom knew he was being watched by her.
"I don't want your pity," he murmured, keeping his eyes on the bowl.
"I have no pity."
At her response, he turned his head toward her.
"Why did you get me out of there? We don't have a good relationship, in fact, we are practically declared enemies and if I remember correctly you would do something similar. What a hypocrite." He shrugged.
"Hypocrite is you," Hermione replied. "You had already tortured me with one of the unforgivable curses. If I did that, it wouldn't be any different from what you did to me. "
"Then why? Weren't you happy with what you saw? Didn't you like it?" He said, throwing the tray with the bowl and spoon away, and dropping the rest of the soup on the floor. With the noise, Nix flew off the perch.
"Pity and compassion are different things!" She shouted at him, rising from her chair.
They both fell silent, breathing heavily.
"If you didn't like my help, that's fine. Get up." She walked to a trunk and took off one of Harry's shirts. "Get dressed." Hermione tossed the shirt on the bed. "I'll take you back to that place. Come on, let's go! "
Tom fell silent, his hands gripping the covers tightly. He didn't want to go back to this place, not to that hell. His relationship with Granger can be complicated, but she's familiar, with her he doesn't have to fake it, and he doesn't have to hide about magic.
He looks around. He sees the bookcase full of books about spells and potions, even some muggle books. He sees the alchemy table with the cauldron, he sees the broom sweeping alone, and he sees the owl that is back on the perch. Here is something he likes. All this is what he likes, what he considers normal, is an environment he dreams of conquering for himself, is magic and she is giving him the opportunity to stay.
"Otherwise," Hermione speaks more softly as she observes the negative movement of his head. "Don't treat me badly. Don't act like I've done something bad to you. "
He nods. A moment of awkward silence sets in.
"Okay, get up," she says. What? But I hadn't agreed with her. You can never trust. "Sit here, I want to check how the wounds are."
Her words cut his thinking. He blinks solemnly and after a few seconds he gets up slowly. When he is standing, Tom feels his leg muscles tremble, because of the long-time lying in bed.
He takes hesitant steps toward the stool she indicated. As he sits, he feels her settle behind him. She begins to undo the bandages and when it is over, he feels her fingers gently trace the wounds.
"They are healing. One more day and soon they won't be visible." She explains to him, rubbing the ointment on his back. "I think you can move now, they certainly didn't bother you anymore. However, I'll still leave with the ointment and the bandage to finish the healing process. "
Tom simply keeps silent. He feels her begin to wrap the bandage around him, the silence is awkward, but he ignores it. Her warm breath touches his skin as she approaches to wrap the bandage across his chest, signalling him to raise his arms a little.
When she finishes, he feels her move away. She doesn't seem to mind seeing him basically half-naked. He knows he's considered handsome by the other girls, and he understands that his physique is attractive, but he doesn't know how much it is for Granger now that she has seen the scars on his back. But damn, he knows what he's capable of, not with Granger, though.
Tom turns toward Hermione, who is handing him clothes. The shirt and a clean pair of pants this time.
He approached her, looking at her with his eyes slightly closed, the intense green of the colour of his iris. He was taller than she, which forced Hermione to raise her head a little to face him. The intensity of his gaze was different from other times and she didn't know how to react to it, but against her will, her cheeks flushed.
Tom watched the color on her cheeks before she blinked and cut eye contact, offering him the clothes. He took the clothes with one hand. Suddenly Hermione snapped her fingers, the broom stopped sweeping and went toward Hermione's hand, which caught her.
"Take it." She handed the broom to Tom.
"What am I going to do with it?" Tom asked. It was an ordinary broom, a muggle broom.
"Clean up the mess you made," she replied, pointing to the floor with shards of the bowl and the rest of the soup that spilt. "I'm not your maid."
Tom narrowed his eyes at her.