Chapter Text
Thursday 7th December 1994
Tom observed Hermione carefully from his position sitting at the Slytherin table in the great hall, the occupants conversing whilst eating their first meal of the day. She'd been quieter than usual upon his arrival at her dorm and whilst escorting her to breakfast that morning. And not only had she been quiet, but he'd noticed a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
She was up to something, he was certain of it.
Quietly sitting at the Ravenclaw table with a book in hand and her breakfast half-eaten, she glanced up at him and then her eyes followed the length of the Slytherin table before returning to him. Arching an eyebrow, he mimicked her behaviour, noting a number of empty seats, but more specifically, the seats that were usually occupied by the sixth and seventh year witches.
Oh, Tom thought. She was enacting her revenge, and it was about time. It had been far too long since she'd last done so, and it had been a marvellous sight.
Catching her gaze, her mouth twitched before she lowered her eyes to the pages of her book. He remained silent, waiting patiently. The witches were not known for being punctual and were usually some of the last to enter the hall for breakfast, but that morning they were late, even by their standards. And as first period drew closer and breakfast slowly come to an end, the witches finally arrived.
Tom's eyes were drawn to the archway, feeling both eyebrows lift in surprise. He had imagined many outcomes and ways in which Hermione might get her revenge, but certainly not this. Rather, it seemed remarkably tame. He was almost disappointed. Almost.
As the four Slytherin witches reluctantly approached the table in order to grab what was left of the food, they all did their best to cover their faces, whether that be with their hair, makeup, their robe hoods or by lowering their heads, and despite that, it was all for nought. The great hall fell silent, all eyes tracking their movements.
Talbot appeared to have had an allergic reaction, the skin of her face, neck and hands marked with blotchy, red hives, so many that it was difficult to see the true complexion of her skin. Rowle appeared to have had a terrible outbreak of acne, her forehead, cheeks and chin covered with lumps, indentations, and red and angry looking spots. Flint appeared to have had an incident in which left her face and hands covered with painful-looking boils, and lastly, Snyde's eyes were red, swollen and puffy, a bad case of Conjunctivitis.
"She is responsible, isn't she?" Voiced Malfoy to his right.
"I believe so," Tom responded, his eyes darting to Hermione and seeing her hiding her pleased smile behind her morning goblet of orange juice.
"I expected more from her," Dolohov sniffed. "It is a pathetic attempt."
Tom's eyes narrowed dangerously on the wizard opposite him.
"One would think so upon the first glance," Tom began, his eyes moving to the witches once more, seeing their highly embarrassed and ashamed forms, in fact, even magic couldn't distract from the fact they had been crying recently. "However, it seems she has chosen a different form of punishment."
"And that is?" Asked Lestrange.
"Is it not obvious?" Tom replied, glancing to each of his Knights, seeing only confusion. "Abraxas, how would you feel should someone alter your hair?"
The wizard in question, being highly vain, subconsciously lifted his hand and touched his hair, a horrified expression crossing his face.
"Exactly," Tom nodded. "Those witches are known for nothing but their beauty and they are highly narcissistic. Their prospects of betrothal contracts rely on their family name and their beauty. They care for nought but their appearance and Hermione has taken that from them. It is not a physical punishment but rather an emotional and psychological punishment. Quite clever."
"I wonder how she did it," mused Rosier, tipping his head thoughtfully. "Such incidences can happen naturally."
"Most likely why she chose the punishment," Tom responded, "It cannot be proven that she is responsible. And as for how she did it, I doubt she will reveal her secrets."
"You could make her," said Dolohov, his eyes flashing in a way Tom didn't like. He'd have to keep a closer eye on the Russian Bastard.
"I could," Tom agreed, "However, let her keep this secret. She has done remarkably, after all. It may not have been what I expected, but it was certainly effective."
"And yet she has not included Selwyn," said Nott.
Tom's gaze darted to the witch, seeing her look of disgust on her unblemished face, as she tried to put distance between herself and the four witches.
"No, I suspect she has something else in mind," he responded, his eyes moving towards Hermione when he saw movement as she stood from the table and made to take her leave. He sighed in annoyance before reaching for his bag, slipping it over his shoulder and following after her, meeting her by the archway.
"Sneaking off?" He said in lieu of a greeting.
"I would have been less obvious had I planned on doing so," she responded, continuing in her steps down the corridor. "And you know my class schedule, just as I do yours."
"The witches?" He prompted.
"Terrible luck, they have, wouldn't you agree? What are the odds that they all happen to have an ailment on the same morning?" She looked up at him innocently. "Well, Flint did botch that potion, and it can take some time for the consequences to take effect, and Talbot must have come into contact with something quite nasty to have that reaction. And perhaps Rowle changed her brand of soap recently, to have such a nasty outbreak. And Snyde? Well, from what I hear, she's been messing around with a fifth year Ravenclaw, perhaps she caught something from him."
Tom arched an amused eyebrow. "Terrible, indeed," he agreed. "And Selwyn?"
"Selwyn?" She echoed.
"She seemed to be fortunate compared to her housemates," he remarked.
Her smile was mischievous. "It would seem that way, wouldn't it?"
"Is there something you wish to tell me?"
"No."
"Hermione," he warned, his hand reaching out to snag her wrist and pulling her to a stop until she stood before him, her head tipped back to keep eye contact. "What is your plan for Selwyn?"
"Fine," she conceded, looking a little disappointed that she wouldn't have the opportunity to surprise him the way she had with the witches. "Well, I did contemplate taking the only thing she has away from her, but I decided against it, believing there was a much easier way to punish her without my influence. The outcome would be because of her behaviour and attitude."
"And that would be?"
"She is nothing without her little group of witches that go around terrorising others. Without them, she is alone and no one would be afraid of her. She would be a social pariah, a reject," she began, seeing Tom tip his head slightly, encouraging her to continue. "She is putting distance between herself and those witches, she is embarrassed by them and she doesn't wish to be seen interacting with them. Her refusal of acknowledgement and support them is what will cost her their loyalty. And as I said, she is nothing without them."
"Social punishment."
"Social punishment," she echoed. "And not only that, but without her little entourage, those that she's wronged, harmed or bullied will no longer be afraid to stand up to her. For Selwyn, I foresee a trip or two to the hospital wing, and it won't be a result of my wand. And should she make a complaint or attempt to put blame on me, there is no proof, as technically, she is the bully and terroriser."
"You are devious," he remarked, tugging her closer and lowering his head, putting inches between them.
"I have my moments," she agreed with a grin, unsurprised when he pressed a kiss to her mouth in the middle of the corridor for anyone to see, even if they were still alone. It was something he'd been doing as of late; ever since he'd kissed her in the Slytherin common room, he'd taken to pressing chaste kisses to her mouth in public, sometimes there were witnesses as evidenced by the whispers and gasps, and other times they were alone. "And I am in a very good mood, this morning."
"We've Arithmancy first thing," he told her.
Her expression fell and her mouth tugged into a pout.
"Now you've ruined my day."
He snorted. "You could spend the time plotting her demise," Tom suggested.
"That's not nearly as fun as it used to be," she sighed. "Nothing ever seems to be good enough."
"You really don't like her, do you?"
"I don't know why," she shrugged, there was just something about her that reminded her of Umbridge.
~000~000~000~
Later that night, Tom completed his patrols of the castle and returned to his dorm, noting the disturbance the moment he opened the door.
Whilst everything was in its place and pristine, exactly how he'd left it, there was a change in the atmosphere, and a noticeable one. He could feel it; Hermione's magic, and it wasn't the lingering aura from when she'd been there before. No, it was much more potent. She'd been by recently.
Why?
His eyes were drawn to his bathroom when Hermione stepped out, her hair piled atop her head messily and dressed in a dark green silk robe that was tied closed, hiding everything beneath from view.
The colour looked remarkably good on her, thought Tom. As though she were born to be draped in the silver and green colouring of his noble and powerful ancestors.
"Tom," she greeted.
"And what are you doing here?" He questioned, closing the door behind him and sealing it shut with a silencing ward.
"You invade my personal space all the time and unannounced," she shrugged carelessly, "I thought it was about time I returned the favour."
She crossed to the made bed and climbed atop, folding her legs beneath her and leaning to the side, her arm holding her up.
"Why are you here?" He asked once more. He didn't believe her.
She sighed tiredly and in defeat. "Fine, it's cold and a Warming Charm's not helping," she admitted.
"So you came to the dungeons?" He challenged.
"You emit more body heat than Bear does," she shrugged. "And I couldn't sleep... Don't look at me like that," she warned, seeing his calculating expression, "Or I won't give you your present."
"Present?" He echoed with an arched eyebrow.
Her mouth stretched into a pleased grin. "Who's your favourite girlfriend?" She needled.
"You're the only girlfriend I've had," he deadpanned.
"Well, that was rude," she huffed. "I might just keep it for myself."
"Hermione," his voice lowered in that warning tone he often used with her.
Her grin returned and she pushed herself up onto her knees, holding both of her hands flat and palms facing upwards. Tom looked to her expectantly.
"So impatient," she rolled her eyes, and in the blink of an eye, an old leather-bound book lay cushioned on her upturned palms.
Tom's eyes darted between her grin and the book she held out to him.
"You ask, and I shall deliver. Here we have the Travers' Pureblood directory, as promised. You're welcome," she said smugly.
It took him a moment to process her words. How had she gotten it so quickly? One week had passed; never had he had someone complete a task so quickly, not even he had been able to gain access to the directories in his possession as quickly as she had gotten the Travers'.
He slowly crossed to the bed and reached for the book, hesitating before his fingers brushed the cover.
She sniggered. "I haven't cursed it," she assured him.
"How long have you had it?" He questioned, taking the book from her and opening the cover, feeling the pulse of magic that emitted from it.
"A few hours. Tobias found me in the library before curfew to inform me he received his first Outstanding in Arithmancy. As a reward, his father sent him the book," she gestured to it with a tip of her head.
"And he just gave it to you?" Tom questioned disbelievingly.
She shrugged. "Tobias, being grateful for my help, asked if I would be interested in learning about his ancestry... I think he may have developed a little crush on me, it's kind of sweet, actually."
Tom's eyes darted away from the book and snapped to her, narrowing.
"He's fifteen, leave him alone," she rolled her eyes at his jealousy. "I never asked to see the book, but I may have spent the last week hinting at my interest in seeing one in person."
"You manipulated him," he corrected, his eyes once more on the book as he turned the aged pages slowly.
"I prefer to think of it as more a gentle nudge," she disagreed. "And a business transaction. I helped him, he gave me something I wanted. An exchange of information was made."
"You seem to be doing that a lot lately," he remarked.
"Leave Septimus alone," she warned. "And it is not my fault I am a successful businesswoman. I would think you would be more grateful and stop underestimating me."
"I have never underestimated you," he responded, but it was clear his focus was elsewhere, his eyes locked on the pages.
"Then show me some respect," she scowled and folded her arms. "You may have asked that I do this for you, but I did not have to agree, not when I am helping you with other matters. This is something that could've been given to one of the idiots to occupy their time... But wait, you tried that and they failed, and yet I was able to do what they weren't within a week. I'm going to bed," she snapped, annoyed with his ignorance and lack of response as he simply made himself comfortable on his bed, his back propped up by a pillow and his legs stretched out and folded at the ankles.
She climbed from the mattress, shoved her feet into her slippers and tightened the sash on her robe before she stormed to the door, Tom's next words halting her to a sudden and furious stop.
"My, aren't you touchy this evening," he drawled. "I've overheard other wizards bemoaning about their girlfriends, and now I understand their reasoning. Is it a particularly sensitive time of the month for you? I only ask for future reference."
Hermione's hands clenched into fists and she spun to face him, her eyes sparking with fire and her hair growing wilder with her anger.
"How dare you!" She seethed, finally drawing Tom's attention away from his book, both due to her furious tone and the thick, dark aura of her magic that seeped from her and filled the room. "For your information, no, it is not. And it is not something to make light of. You have no idea what women have to endure to ensure the continuing growth of the population. You have no concept of the pain and suffering we are forced to face, the discomfort or change to our bodies, nor the stress and pressure we suffer. And having men make such comments is disgusting and degrading. I know you're a bastard, but I never thought I'd hear you make such a remark. You told me you do not see gender, only power, but you've just proven yourself otherwise. Not only did I not get a simple thank you, but you've just insulted me, too. And do you know what, Tom? You don't deserve my help, and you definitely don't deserve me or my time."
She turned on her heel and strode for the door before she reached for her wand and cursed the bastard.
"Hermione," Tom called after her in a tone of warning.
"Fuck off," she snapped, being sure to slam the door behind her on her leave, regardless of how childish it was.
~000~000~000~
Friday 8th December 1994
"Still in a mood, I see," Tom remarked.
Hermione didn't give him a response and she continued walking towards the great hall for breakfast, quickening her steps to put distance between them, but with his height and long legs, he simply took longer strides.
She hadn't waited for him that morning as was routine, she'd took her leave only for him to find her on the second floor, and the moment he fell into step beside her, she'd ignored his presence.
"I thought you were above these ridiculous notions."
She still didn't give him a response, keeping her eyes focused forward and her book held against her chest.
"You're upset over a little remark?"
She halted in her steps and spun to face him, glaring at him from behind her glasses.
"It wasn't just a 'little remark', Tom," she began, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder as she stood taller, lifting her head higher. "You used my body against me. You saw my gender first. Just because a woman is feeling a little down or angry, doesn't mean it is caused by a bodily function they have no choice but to experience. Sometimes they are merely feeling upset, sometimes it's because their boyfriends are inconsiderate arseholes," she hissed. "Leave me alone."
She turned on her heel and marched forward, growling in annoyance when a hand encircled her wrist and gave a hard tug, pulling her into an empty classroom. As the door closed behind her and she was spun to face Tom, her wand was drawn and a hex on the tip of her tongue before a second hand covered her mouth.
"Did you just hiss at me?" He questioned, arching an eyebrow and looking torn between amusement, surprise and arousal.
Unable to speak, she merely narrowed her eyes into a glare. Seeing her predicament, he drew his hand back slowly, it moving to curl around her hip and pull her against him, his other hand still grasping her wrist but pinning it against the small of her back, looking unconcerned about her wand being jabbed into his stomach.
"I am capable of non-verbal magic," she reminded coldly.
"Did you just hiss at me?" He repeated, ignoring her warning.
"So what if I did?" She challenged.
His mouth twitched in amusement before he lowered his head, his nose nuzzling at the skin of her exposed neck, Hermione tensing and fighting hard not to fall for the teasing nips he left in his wake, nor the suffocating and intoxicating aura of his magic that swarmed her.
"You shouldn't have left last night."
"Yes, I should have," she disagreed. "I meant it, Tom. You don't deserve me or my help."
He sighed softly. "All of this drama over nothing."
"It wasn't nothing," she argued, tipping her head back and her neck out of his reach. "You don't respect me or my worth."
"You are worth more to me than any other in this castle," he countered, peering down at her.
She scoffed. "No, my gift is what you value, and nothing else. I can't do this anymore, Tom. I don't care what you want or need from me, it's over."
She saw it. The anger mixing with the panic; he couldn't hide it from her.
"You are mine."
"Not anymore," she vowed. "Let me go before I curse you beyond repair."
"I need you."
"You should've thought about that before being an arsehole. I'm not like the others, Tom, and you know that. I won't just take it without complaint."
She wrenched herself free of his grasp and quickly righted her school bag and glasses before bending to collect the book she'd dropped during the debacle.
"Wait," he blocked her path to the door.
"Get out of my way," she warned.
"Give me a chance to prove you wrong."
"No. I've seen everything I need to. I know who and what you are, and I know how I'm going to be treated by you. I deserve better."
"No one can give you what I can. No one is better than me."
She couldn't be bothered arguing with him further and silently stepped around him, reaching for the doorknob.
"Wait, Hermione, please."
She paused only due to the desperation that edged his tone.
"Meet me at the Room of Requirements at six-thirty this evening. Don't go to the great hall for dinner."
The seconds ticked by before she twisted the doorknob and slipped through the door, closing it behind her without a response.
~000~000~000~
Fuck!
Drawing his wand, Tom directed it towards a random desk, it splintering into thousands of pieces that rained to the ground as a jet of light collided with it.
Well, that had gone fucking spectacularly, hadn't it?
He knew Hermione could hold a grudge, but fucking hell, he's assumed she'd have gotten over it after she'd gotten some sleep. It wasn't even that big of an issue and he didn't understand her problem with the matter. But that didn't matter; he never took her for being a drama queen and he'd never expected for her to end their relationship. He'd always assumed it would be him and on his terms.
He couldn't lose her. He wouldn't lose her.
She was his biggest asset. He needed her; her gift, power, intelligence, apparent ability to manipulate better than himself... She could get anything she wanted, anything he wanted, and she'd proven it. He needed her if he wished to achieve his goals and take control of the Ministry and Wizengamot, even if she had already told him what he needed to do.
No matter the issue or his lack of understanding, he had to figure out a way to fix things and quickly. She would walk away from him, he knew she would. He couldn't let that happen.
Gritting his teeth, Tom had the desk mended with a quick flick of his wrist before he spun on his heel and strode to the door, masking his anger and a calm expression settling on his face as he headed for the great hall.
Stepping inside he heard the whispers and felt the stares. It had already started. He hadn't escorted Hermione to breakfast and she'd arrived alone that morning. There was a divide between them; one Dumbledore might seek to exploit, one that another wizard might believe his chances with her to be successful. Hermione was his. He had to fix it before it was too late.
He took his seat at the Slytherin table, ignoring the not-so-subtle glances his Knights shared as he silently choose his breakfast items that morning. He didn't have much of an appetite but years of food shortages and rationing at the orphanage had taught Tom to never take food for granted, and so he ate anyway.
"Is there something you wish to say?" Voiced Tom, lifting his gaze from his plate and glancing to each of the six wizards, all of them lowering their eyes in submission.
"No," they chorused unintentionally.
"There clearly is," he disagreed. "Speak now before I lose my patience."
They shared a glance, silently debating who would be the one to risk Tom's wrath.
"Nilrem seems a little... Angry this morning," Dolohov remarked.
"I am handling it," was all Tom said, daring him to push the matter further.
Silence fell as they continued with breakfast, Tom's attention solely on Hermione as she barely touched her food and kept her nose buried in her book, her scowl something fierce when she lifted her gaze to lock with his. When she slammed her book closed, reached for her bag and stood to leave, Tom said,
"Avery, Nott, follow her," he ordered.
"But we all have Charms together," Avery said stupidly.
Tom's gaze cut to him, the wizard shrinking back under his cold stare.
"I am aware," he responded coolly. "Follow her, do not let her out of your sight. Dolohov, Lestrange, go with them."
"Tom," they chorused, tipping their heads and taking their leave from the table, regardless that they had yet to finish their breakfast.
Rosier and Malfoy looked to one another, realising they hadn't been dismissed as the others had and that meant Tom wanted something from them. Malfoy was expected having Tom's favour and being privy to more than the others, but Rosier was a surprise.
Tom remained silent until a few minutes had passed of Hermione and his Knights taking their leave from the great hall, and then he gathered his school bag and stood to his feet, knowing Rosier and Malfoy would follow without instruction.
He navigated the corridors as he journeyed to their Charms classroom, the number of students increasing as the moments ticked by, needing to travel to their own classes of the day. And with the conversations and traffic of the other students helping to mask their own voices, Tom spoke his first words.
"I need your help."
Malfoy and Rosier shared a glance behind Tom's back before they fell into step on either side of him. It was the first time Tom had admitted to needing help, just as much as it was the first time he'd asked for it. Usually, Tom gave orders and instructions.
"With Miss. Nilrem, I presume," replied Malfoy.
"Yes," Tom bit out, feeling annoyed that he had to involve others in his problems with Hermione, or rather, their relationship. "She is upset with me."
"What did you do?" Rosier paused, realising his mistake. "I mean..." He tried to correct himself but fell silent when Tom speared him with a withering glare.
"I don't know."
"Witches, no matter how much they may hide it or deny it, can be quite sensitive," began Malfoy, drawing Tom's ire from Rosier. "Did you happen to say something that may have unintentionally upset her?"
Tom's brow furrowed in thought. "Not that I am aware of."
"You are certain? You may not consider it important, but she most certainly will have."
"This morning, she said I used her body against her," he revealed.
"In what manner?" Malfoy probed, looking thoughtful.
"I asked if it was her time of the month as her attitude was worse than usual."
Rosier visibly winced and Malfoy grimaced.
"Yes, that most certainly will do it," he confirmed. "Such a comment is never taken lightly. Perhaps avoid such topics in the future," he advised. "But if you wish for her to forgive you, you must show her a gesture of goodwill and apologise."
"Apologise?" Tom blinked slowly. "For what?"
"For upsetting her," Rosier shrugged. "I've seen my father apologise to my mother countless times over the years, but his reasoning is mostly due to long line of mistresses. In fact, if it weren't for the Rosier vaults and gold, I believe my mother would have divorced him long ago. She fulfilled the marriage contract by providing an heir," Rosier gestured to himself with a lazy wave of his hand. "If I am honest, I am surprised she has not yet murdered him."
"And how do I apologise?" Said Tom, ignoring Rosier's comment about his mother. "I don't believe she will accept a verbal apology."
"No," Malfoy agreed, "This requires something special. Flowers, perhaps?"
"She is allergic," Tom replied automatically.
"That's a new one," Rosier muttered. "Chocolates?" He offered.
"She prefers Sugar Quills, and has more than enough to last her the remainder of the term," he said knowingly. He'd bought her them.
"Jewellery?" Suggested Malfoy.
"She doesn't care for it," Tom rebutted.
"A pet?" Added Rosier.
"She has a familiar and the puffskein I bought her," Tom replied.
"She likes to read. Perhaps a book?" Malfoy injected.
"There is nothing available in the area or that may be delivered by this evening that she has not already read, that she does not already own, or that will interest her."
Every time he saw Hermione she had a different book in her possession, books he hadn't seen on her bookshelves in her dorm. Where did she keep getting them from? And how was she able to get them into Hogwarts and through the wards without detection? And if she could do it with books, could she do it with other dark artefacts and contraband? This was why he needed her. She was too valuable to lose.
"She does not make it easy," Malfoy sighed, looking put out. "And why this evening?"
"I can't allow the divide to widen. Should Dumbledore see an opportunity, he will take it."
"Well, we have a few hours, I'm sure we will think of something," Rosier tried for optimism but his tone didn't allow it.
~000~000~000~
Hermione paced back and forth in front of the Room of Requirement. The door had long since appeared to grant her access, but she hadn't yet decided if she wished to enter and see Tom again.
She'd gone about her day as was routine, attending her lessons and eating lunch in the great hall, every step she took being followed by one of the six Slytherin wizards and providing answers and explanations when called upon in class, but this time, she ignored Tom's presence.
She was forced to sit beside him due to a lack of available seating, and she'd ignored his every attempt to annoy her, to start a debate or conversation and his every 'innocent' touch, whether that be his hand brushing hers when reaching for something on their shared desk or his thigh touching hers as they sat beside one another.
She returned to her dorm and ranted and raved to Athena, the phoenix perching on the couch and listening with a tilted head, allowing Hermione to get it all out of her system before she collapsed on the couch tiredly. It was Athena that had convinced her to leave her dorm and contemplate meeting Tom, as he wished.
She wasn't certain what to do or what was waiting for her behind the door.
Her mission was to help prevent Voldemort and his reign of terror, and to do that, she had to help Tom Riddle become the man he could've been. But she didn't have to be directly involved with him, did she? She could sit on the sidelines and nudge him in the right direction. She'd already given him everything he needed to succeed; a goal, a plan and a path to follow.
Getting into the Ministry and working his way up the ranks to Minister of Magic would be done on his own merit. He didn't need her help with that. He'd promised not to see her for her gender, and the comment he'd made the previous night was the exact opposite of his vow. All she wanted was a thank you, and he couldn't even give her that. She deserved to be treated with respect, to be with someone that valued her for more than her power. She'd known that entering into a relationship with Tom would be difficult, but she hadn't expected him to be so... Thick.
She came to a stop and closed her eyes, tipping her head back.
"I don't know what to do," she muttered.
Hearing a noise, her eyes opened and she looked towards the window on the left. That hadn't been there before, she was certain of it. An owl swooped in front of the window before flying off into the distance, it reminding her of Athena. Athena wanted her to meet Tom, and she didn't know why. But she trusted her familiar more than she trusted herself; she knew she wouldn't lead her astray or let anything bad happen to her.
Sighing, Hermione took a step forward and reached for the doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door open before she could change her mind.
Stepping inside, the door closed behind her before disappearing, leaving only a grey, stone wall. The lighting was dim and intimate with hundreds of floating candles above, the room small and cosy with two walls lined with books floor to ceiling, and a large flaming fireplace dominating the third wall. A dark green couch sat facing the fireplace, a soft dark rug on the ground before it. Off to the right was a four-poster bed with dark green curtains drawn and tied back, matching the thick bedding and covers, and a small round table was off to the left, a white table cloth covering the surface, two chairs tucked beneath and the table set for two.
"You're forty-five minutes late."
Hermione would have been startled when Tom stepped out of the shadows had it not been for her feeling his magic present in the room.
She straightened her shoulders and folded her arms over her chest. "Be grateful that I came at all. If it weren't for Athena, I wouldn't be here right now."
Tom tipped his head but didn't request that she explain further as he took several strides to close the distance between them.
"What am I doing here, Tom? I told you it was over."
"Just give me a chance."
"A chance to what?"
"To prove you wrong."
"I'm never wrong. It's my best quality."
"Hermione, you're making this very difficult," he sighed in annoyance. "You think I don't value you, but I do. I need you. I want you. I don't want anyone but you and I don't want anyone else to have you. You're mine. I understand that my words upset you, but you're forgetting, I have never been in this position before. I don't know the dos and don'ts of a relationship. I have never had to censor my words or thoughts, or be mindful of another's feelings."
"What you said was disrespectful. Do you know how many people have asked me if it's 'that time of the month' due to a change in my behaviour or mood? Because I don't, I've lost count. I lost one mark on an assignment, it was because I was on my period. I felt low and couldn't stop crying, it was because it was that time of the month. I was angry or eating more than usual, it was that time of the month. In actuality, I hadn't slept well, or my mother was ill, or I'd previously been ill and had regained my appetite. I am tired of people using that as an excuse or putting blame on it. You haven't experienced the unbearable stomach cramps or bloating, the nausea or backache, and if you had, you wouldn't make light of it. And when I am on my period, I need support, not ridiculing."
"I can do that," he agreed.
"Can you?" Hermione arched a disbelieving eyebrow.
"Yes," he responded confidently, his expression perfectly calm.
"So if I wake up in the middle of the night crying or I burst into tears unexpectedly, you'll comfort me? If I'm hungry or craving something, you'll fetch it for me? If I have cramps or backache, you'll give me a Pain Potion and a back massage? If I need a little more attention than usual, you'll give it to me without complaint and no questions asked?"
"Yes."
She observed him closely. "And if your little henchmen make fun of me or upset me, you'll reprimand them and defend me?"
"Without issue," he vowed.
Hermione knew he had no reservations about punishing them, no matter their transgressions.
"Really? You'll defend me, in front of everyone, when they make me feel like shite because I'm on my period?"
"Yes."
"I've yet to see a wizard do that. Even my best friends would get embarrassed and steer clear, and my friend's brothers stayed out of her way, too."
"I'm not other wizards."
"The problem is, you're a charmer. You know exactly what to say to get people to do what you want them to. Actions speak louder than words, Tom. How do I know that you'll keep your promise?"
"Because you know when I'm lying," he responded. "I promised to be and give you everything you needed, but you have to be patient with me; I am learning what you require of me, and that takes time. It is only natural that I make a mistake. And now that I know what I did was wrong, I won't do it again. I do value you and I do respect you."
Hermione pursed her lips and shifted on her feet.
"One chance, that's all I need."
His hands, which had previously been folded behind his back, came forward, presenting Hermione with a bouquet of roses. She blinked slowly in surprise before preparing to take a step back and fight off a sneeze, only she noticed something. Firstly, there was no smell. Secondly, there was no tingling in her nose indicative of her needing to sneeze. And thirdly, there was a glimmer to the roses that shouldn't have been there.
"I know you're allergic," he began, "So, I made these for you."
"Made?" She echoed, unable to stop herself from reaching out and taking the bouquet from him, bringing it closer to her eye level. She was fascinated by the colouring and the cool, sleek feel of the petals.
They weren't real flowers. They were formed of stained glass in the colours and shades of red, yellow, orange, blue, green and plum, looking to have been made from a mosaic image.
"I created them."
She reluctantly lifted her gaze to him.
"Transfiguration of this standard, the materials used and the colouring... That must've taken hours."
"Two and a half," he confirmed.
"But why?" She questioned, confused.
"As both an apology and a thank you. Thank you for acquiring the Travers' directory, and for being able to complete the task so quickly. I should have thanked you sooner. Will you join me for dinner?"
"I..."
He had already turned and pulled out a chair in offering.
"Please? I will do better."
She cleared her throat and feeling a little off-kilter at his unusual behaviour and change in attitude, she hesitantly approached the table and took the seat he offered, setting her bouquet off to the side. When Tom took his seat opposite her, food appeared on the table, Hermione taking in the sight of her favourite foods.
"I never told you my favourite foods," she muttered in surprise.
"But you told Rosier."
Hermione opened up to Rosier in a way she didn't the others, and although Tom wasn't certain on the why, he knew Rosier would know her better than the other Slytherins did. That was why he'd requested he and Malfoy help him. Malfoy knew witches and Rosier knew Hermione, well, in some aspects.
They ate in tense silence, Hermione not feeling all that hungry and ignoring Tom's disapproving stare when she barely ate half of her food, and when they were done, the table cleared.
Standing from his chair, Tom held his hand out expectantly and Hermione reluctantly allowed him to guide her over to the couch, taking a seat beside him and before the roasting fire. Even in the Room of Requirement the winter chill seeped in.
"I thought you might like to read this," Tom broke the silence, reaching into his robe pocket and withdrawing with a book he resized, holding it out to Hermione. "It is the Flint Pureblood directory; I received it this morning and have yet to read it."
She looked down at the aged and worn book, it looking similar to a bound leather journal despite how large and heavy it appeared to be.
"I don't care for blood, Tom, and I never have. Neither do I care to dig into other's ancestry; I have better things to do with my time."
"Knowing the inner workings of Pureblood society is imperative, and that starts with this," he gestured to the book in his hand with a tip of his head.
"What's there to know?" She challenged. "All Pureblood families are related in some capacity, some closer than others."
"But knowing those relationships allows for networking. The Goyles and the Rowles have a long-standing feud that began in the 1700s when Albert Goyle petitioned to marry the witch Jonathon Rowle had chosen to be his wife. The Parkinsons and the Potters had a land dispute in the 1500s, and the Lestranges and Longbottoms have been feuding since 1838 when Herbert Longbottom was accused of murdering his wife, the daughter of Charles Lestrange, so he might marry another witch of his own choosing and not his father's. But the Malfoys, Blacks, Rosiers and Lestranges have had a close working relationship since 1654 when they banded together to defeat a horde of wild beasts that were terrorising their livestock and destroying their land."
"And you have three of the four in your pocket," she pointed out.
"With strategic planning," he added. "I need the support of the Blacks, and as I have Lestrange, Rosier and Malfoy, it brings me one step closer to achieving it. The directories contain much more than a simple family tree. Read it, you won't be disappointed."
Her eyes darted between him and the book before she reluctantly reached for it, feeling the weight of it in her grasp as she opened the cover and stared down at the faded ink. It was in a remarkable condition given its age, and that led Hermione to believe that the book she was holding was most likely a copy and not the original.
She blinked slowly when she felt the weight of her hair settling around her shoulders, and the weight of her glasses no longer sitting on her nose.
"Now you look like you," he commented, her hairclip and glasses held in his grasp before he set them aside.
"What are you doing?" Her shoulders stiffened when she felt hands settle on her shoulders, fingers curling beneath her collar in an attempt to remove her robes.
"Taking your robes so you will be more comfortable."
"It's cold in here, even with the fire," she said.
"You won't need them," he said confidently, tugging her robes down her arms and over her wrists, hanging them over the back of the couch once she shifted and was no longer sitting on them.
She released a huff of surprise when she was tugged backwards, her body twisting until her back was pressed against a clothed chest and her legs were stretched out on the couch, two longer and trouser-clad legs on either side of her whilst arms folded around her stomach and held her in place. A moment later, a blanket appeared and covered their lower bodies and a chin sat atop her head.
"What are you doing?" She repeated.
"Getting comfortable," he responded simply.
"This isn't comfortable."
"Then relax," he shrugged, Hermione feeling the movement.
"This isn't you," she shook her head, trying to pull away from him but he tightened his hold on her.
"It is now."
"Why?"
"Because it's what you need."
"And who said this is what I need?" She challenged, gesturing around the room and in-between them with a wave of her free hand.
"You did."
"No, I never," she denied.
"Perhaps not verbally... Open the book and we can read it together."
Hermione pursed her lips and considered her options before realising he wasn't going to let her go and she honestly couldn't be bothered arguing with him. It was easier to just give him what he wanted, even if she was certain it was all just an act, one he wouldn't be able to maintain for long before his true characteristics broke through. No one changed that much and that quickly overnight.
"You realise this is a copy and not the original, yes?" She checked, doing her best not to shuffle or move too much, but finding it hard to relax and focus with him being so close and physically touching her. Holding her intimately. Willingly.
"Yes. Originals are too valuable to be removed from the family home or vault, but the copies are just as rare and just as valuable. There is only one copy in existence and it magically updates, just as the original text does. Open the book before I nod off."
She rolled her eyes and grumbled an insult beneath her breath before doing as he asked, opening the book to the first page and her gaze focusing on the words before her, detailing the life of Flintus, the founding father of House Flint.
~000~000~000~
He knew she'd fallen asleep.
The book was held at an odd angle as it looked in danger of falling from her grasp and landing on the ground. Her head was tilted slightly, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her ridiculously long eyelashes kissing her cheeks. Her mouth was parted as she released soft and slow breaths, her legs entwined with his beneath the blanket.
He'd done it.
He'd gotten her forgiveness, whether she told him or not. And it hadn't been an easy feat; he'd gone to more lengths that day than he ever had in the past. He had to be more careful with his words and behaviour. He had to remind himself to show her a little more attention, regardless of her vehemently denying her need for it. Tom needed her on top form at all times, and he had to keep her happy to ensure that was possible.
Reaching for the book, he slipped it from her grasp and set it on the side table that appeared some time ago, and he carefully extracted himself from being stuck between Hermione and the couch armrest. He then slipped his arms beneath her and being sure that he was able to support her weight, he lifted her from the couch and carried her the short distance to the bed. A muttered spell had the covers drawn back and he set her sleeping form down on the mattress before drawing his wand and replacing her uniform with a silk nightgown, the one the house-elves had returned to his dorm after washing. With her socks and shoes already removed earlier in the evening, she was ready for bed.
He observed her sleeping form closely, noting the furrow in her brow and the movement of her eyes beneath her eyelids. She was disturbed. Reaching out, he let his fingers graze the exposed skin of her shoulder and his magic surround her protectively, seeing her forehead smooth out and her body shifting towards him.
Tom's mouth tugged into a smile.
She was his.
He wasn't letting her go. Not for anyone or anything.