First day back
Hermione couldn’t exactly say she was looking forward to school. She’d missed the first week and a bit back after the summer holidays; as of now, everyone would know what had happened. The local newspaper had done a piece on it for heaven's sake. It wasn't something she wanted to have to deal with. The looks of pity and suspicion she knew to expect were playing repeatedly in her mind. But she could ignore it. And she gladly would if it meant spending less time with Tom.
Hermione sighed, tossing her school supplies in her faux leather satchel. She did have that stupid meeting with him and her pushover headmaster, Dippet. It wasn’t hard to convince him of anything. It certainly wouldn’t be difficult for Riddle to convince him that all was well in the two orphan's household. She tossed on her boring uniform.
Despite knowing it was a bad idea, she chanced a fleeting look in her mirror. Unsurprisingly, she looked a right mess. Her face was ghastly pale, and she had bags under her eyes from the many nights of no sleep. Her hair was, as usual, a frizzy and uncontrollable mess. Vanity wasn’t something Hermione had been afflicted with- but she knew others looked down disparagingly on her for her lack of effort in that particular department- not that she allowed their opinions to rule her life.
In the kitchen, she grabbed a green apple, not having the stomach to eat anything more but also not wanting to let her predominantly healthy routine of three meals a day that kept her from slipping go to waste. Hermione turned around to find a mug for a cup of tea, but the unexpected sight of Tom standing just a meter away caused her to jump in surprise, knocking into the pile of fruit which tumbled to the floor. He looked up from his perusal of the newspaper he held and smiled, eyes crinkling apologetically. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you there.”
Hermione clung to the counter for support while she slowed her erratic breathing. “It’s fine.”
He folded his paper and tossed it on the table, giving her his full attention. “How come you’re so one edge?” Tom questioned, tone unreservedly innocuous.
She stared vacantly at him, trying to discern what he was playing at. Did he want her to say it outright? She wasn’t going to. This tense, false facade was sickening, sure. However, it was undeniably better than the alternative. She eventually settled on a response. “Didn’t sleep well.”
Hermione felt the compulsive need to do something while he stared unfaltering at her, so she walked and grabbed a knife to cut her apple into slices.
“Bad dreams?”
In acknowledgement, she supplied a brittle smile, finding it difficult to stop the expression from turning into a full-on grimace.
“You do look tired.” Her fingers stilled on the knife as she heard him take slow steps in her direction. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as he put his arms on either side of her, his body slightly pressing into her back. She really hoped he couldn’t tell how tense she was. He nosed the back of her head, inhaling her scent. “Maybe you should stay. Get some rest.” The feel of his body pressed against hers had tingles running over her skin and her body seizing further.
She had to say something to get whatever this was to stop. “School is a good distraction.”
Hermione inhaled sharply as he ran the back of his knuckles up her arm. Hermione truly hated knowing that he could feel her painfully obvious fear. It was never good to let him know what bothered her, but she wasn’t as in control of her emotions as he.
His hand trailed up to her neck where his large hand wrapped around the front of her neck.
“There are good distractions at home.”
“I- I don’t”
Hermione cut herself off as his hand tightened around her neck, not choking but restricting her airflow enough that she had no option but to be aware of how easily he could cut off her supply. Her right hand picked up the knife seemed to have dropped at some point.
With an amused huff, his other hand came to grab her wrist, harshly pressing it down against the table, whilst the one on her neck tilted her head back so he could stare directly into her eyes from above. She struggled against his hold. It only tightened convulsively in warning, “Be a nice girl now, Hermione. It’s what's best for you.”
She stared rebelliously into his bored eyes.
A knock at the front door shattered the tense silence and Tom released her, stepping back and moving towards the hall. “Expecting someone?”
“It-” Hermione was still getting her breathing under control. Of course, the psychopath was completely composed, as if nothing weird had happened. “It must be Harry. I told him last night that I would be in school today.”
“Oh, and he thought he’d be your personal escort?”
Hermione briskly walked past him, giving him a wide berth as she did and making her way to the hallway. “We usually walk to the bus stop together. I forgot to tell him I’m getting a lift in today.”
She opened the front door and smiled, truly grateful for the sight of her best friend to distract her erratic thoughts. His hopelessly messy dark hair and mischievous green eyes never failed to calm her.
“Hermione.” He pulled her into a crushing hug, arms holding her tightly. She clung to him desperately, burrowing her face in his neck; she’d missed him so much over the summer.
Harry made to pull away and she reluctantly let him. “How are you?” He cupped her face, looking over it frantically like he expected to find cracks in it somewhere. Feeling slightly overwhelmed by his touch and blushing an embarrassing amount, Hermione took his hands from her face and held them in her own. “I’m fine.”
He gave her a rather rude look of dubiety.
“Okay, you got me detective. I’m not fine, but I’m not on the verge of an emotional breakdown anymore.
“That’s always something to be positive about.” He looked into her eyes, scanning them intently, as he brushed her hair back from her face. “You sure you’re doing okay?”
“I’m fine Harry,” she brushed off his unsuccessful ministrations. “Anyway, how was your summer?”
His face fell, and he looked away.
Hermione cocked her head, “It was bad?”
“No, no. The football camp was great.” He looked cautiously up at her through his rounded glasses. “I just feel bad for not being here for you.”
Hermione shook her head firmly at his concerns, “Don’t, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It could help you go professional.”
“Even though there’s less than 0.5% chance of me getting in. Yeah, yeah, I know.” He parroted her previous words back to her.
“Hey, I was just letting you know so you can plan your life effectively.” She stated defensively.
Hermione allowed herself to bask in the warm affection of his eyes. It had been so long since she’d spoken to her friends, and despite that being her choice, the lack of connection had made her rather starved. Too soon, his gaze drifted past her and locked onto something down the hall. Harry's brows furrowed in confusion.
Hermione turned, not surprised to see Tom striding down the hall towards them with misleading insouciance.
Harry was suddenly tense, expression weary as he looked back at her, “Is that-”
“Tom Riddle, I’m sure you remember,” Tom said candidly, offering his hand when he reached the pair.
Harry’s eyes flicked back to her quickly before he shook Tom's hand, observing him cooly. Hermione realised she’d never seen Harry look this unfriendly; she decidedly didn’t like the expression on him.
“I remember.” The acid in Harry’s voice did nothing to dispel Tom’s polite expression. Harry’s lips turned up into a snarl. “I remember that you were always a dick to Hermione.” Upon hearing her friend's accusing words, Hermione wanted to bang her head against the wall. Curse Harry’s inexplicably stupid bravery. Sometimes, she wished he was a little more cautious in making his strong character assessments known even though she usually found herself agreeing with him.
She turned to Tom, expecting to see at least a flicker of anger or accusation, but he just smiled fondly down at her. She imagined with an appropriate level of scorn that he was recounting the good ol’ days Harry had brought up. As he wrapped an arm around her, she forced herself to relax in his embrace as if it were normal. It certainly wouldn’t do to play into Harry’s hero complex.
*****
“All I want is what’s best for Hermione.” Tom pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead that only magnified the look of pure animosity on the bespectacled boy’s face. Smiling wider at the enraged boy, he vaguely remembered him hanging around Hermione when they were younger, and he had to pick her up from junior school. In what he supposed was an effort to diffuse the tension, Hermione leaned further into his embrace and smiled at her friend. “Tom’s not like that anymore.”
How sweet, she was trying to protect her friend.
“Of course not.” He tightened his hold on her waist- the muscles were indurated under his hand but the careless smile on her face remained. He noted that she was a far better actress than before.
The boy, Harry, didn’t appear pacified by their display; he hadn’t expected him to be, nor did he care that he wasn’t. It certainly wouldn’t kill him to have to deal with any annoyances. Frankly, he could do with letting some tension out. The boy still stared at him with unbridled hate, as if Tom couldn’t kill him in a matter of seconds.
Idiots like him were always slow on the uptake that they were about to die. The realisation would be delicious. It always was.
He could make him fearful to run and leave his damsel in distress behind. He imagined he’d very much enjoy breaking the boy's legs and watching him attempt to crawl away whilst Tom steadily closed in; a chase that Harry had no chance to win but would participate in anyhow. When he reached the boy he would pin him like a butterfly to the floor with nails through his hands and feet; biblical imagery was always a nice touch, if not a bit overdone. As the boy fruitlessly struggled he would dig his fingers into his sockets and pull out the rather shockingly green eyes. Then Tom would carve him open with a delicate scalpel, peeling the skin back like flaps, snapping each rib between his hands.
Tom sighed at the still-living and livid boy in his doorway. “I do believe you have school to go to young man.”
“So does Hermione.” Harry looked like he was about to grab Hermione and run for it. Tom pulled her closer to his side, allowing a predatory glint to flash in his eyes that he knew the boy would get worked up by. “Hermione’s going in later with me.”
“Why?” The obstinate boy questioned with a petulant tone.
“For a meeting with the headmaster.” Hermione rushed out, trying to pull away from Tom. He eventually let her slip from his arm after a tense moment of resistance to her wish that the boy had practically snarled at. She walked to the boy and smiled convincingly at him. “I’ll see you at school, Harry.”
“Okay, message me when you get there.”
Tom ground his teeth when the boy grabbed Hermione’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly with a disgustingly kind look in his eyes. He could feel the air getting thinner around him as anger rose within him.
“Sure.” Hermione smiled softly; a mild expression still stuck on her face.
The boy gave Tom one more adorable warning look before turning and exiting the house.
Hermione turned back towards him and he took a step towards her noticing her guarded expression, arms defensively crossed.
“Your friend doesn’t seem to think I’m a very nice person.”
“Well, you’re not,” He heard Hermione’s mumbled reply, clearly unimpressed by the false disappointment he employed in his tone.
Tom tutted disapprovingly down at her, taking another step closer that she countered back. “Careful now, Hermione. I thought you would care more for such a dear friend.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, jutting her chin out stubbornly. Cute.
He took another step closer, twisting his lips into a sneer. “Such a defiant look you give me, Hermione.” He appraised her rigid form and fiery expression. “Don’t you remember what happened last time a friend of yours got too concerned?”
When she predictably froze, Tom closed the distance between them, crouching down so she was just a little taller than him. The fiery determination in her eyes had extinguished, evidently, she knew this was not something she could fight. It was good for her that she had wisened up over the years. He tucked some hair behind her ear. “It would be rather careless of you to lose another, wouldn’t it?”
He revelled in the panic and hopelessness she failed to keep out of her eyes. It filled some void within him, simultaneously calming and intoxicating in its potency. She knew what he could do. Even when she clearly wanted to run, she stayed, playing the longer game.
“Harry won’t do anything. He’s just- protective.”
Tom narrowed his eyes, tonguing his cheek. “Protective? Why would that be.”
Her jaw ticked, “Because he’s my friend.”
“Is that all, little duck?” He grabbed her jaw and forced her face down so he could search her face for subterfuge.
There was both inexplicable sadness and reluctant honesty in her eyes as she allowed him to inspect them. “Yes, that's all.” Her minty breath fanned across his face. He wanted to surge up and claim hers- in which particular interpretation of the term- he hadn't decided yet- but the spike in his heartbeat was undeniable as his eyes flickered considering between her mouth and neck.
Realising he’d gotten off track, he dug his nails into his palm to ground himself, and he smiled rewardingly at Hermione. “I’m glad to hear it.”
*****
Hermione’s jaw was sore as he released it- she was sure she would find red marks later. Before she could move past him, he wrapped a few curls around his finger and pulled lightly. A reproving smile stretched his lips as he inspected her hair.
“Your hair is a mess. You don’t really intend to wear it to school like this, do you.” He looked scandalised- like it was the worst offence she could commit.
She looked at him in disbelief. Her hair? He wanted to have a go at her for that. “My hair is fine.” She sniffed defensively.
“You know I don’t like it too messy, Hermione.” Tangling his hand in the hair at her roots, he pulled her closer. “The least you could do is plait it like I used to for you.”
She remembered how he forced her to sit as he tightly weaved her hair into a neat enough plait. Though, even he couldn’t tame her curls. He’d get mad at her when her hair gradually escaped their confines throughout the day. Tom Riddle had never been shy to make his displeasure known, especially not to her. Against her will, the memories brought her into a horribly acquiescent state. She even allowed him- without protest- to lead her to her room and do as he wished with her hair.
The feeling of his hands in her hair, untangling and rubbing in curl cream, was concurrently uncomfortable and awfully familiar. Her hair was something he’d always pull her by or -when he was feeling tamer- play with. She would whine that he would mess it up, in which case he’d never fail to make a threatening reference to a particular scene in ‘Of Mice and Men’.
His hands worked expertly through the tangles. In the mirror, it was easy to see the calm concentration on his face. He suddenly looked normal, serene even. Knowing that he had bought these products with her specific hair type in mind and intended to use them himself had her mind reeling.
She couldn’t make sense of it- couldn’t make sense of him. And she didn’t want to. She’d promised herself years ago to stop trying to find an explanation for Tom Riddle. A rationale for his behaviour. An excuse. He was a psychopath; his way of thinking and justifying things was so completely abstract from her own that she’d only get hurt trying to understand.
He had openly admitted being responsible for the “accident” that befell her best friend years ago. She had always known it was him, but he had only just confirmed her strong suspicions.
Why? That was the question that plagued her mind.
She knew he delighted in playing mind games with her. For years, he had tried to make her believe what had happened was her fault. He’d always delighted in filling her head with doubts about her sanity and morality. Even now, he made the small area of her brain question if she prompted his actions or if she imagined them as worse than they truthfully were.
There was nothing Tom Riddle showed you on his exterior that you could trust as authentic.
Hermonie observed his reflection furtively in the mirror. His own dark waves had always been perfect, never as unmanageable as hers. That artful strand that curled carelessly over his forehead kept him from looking too put together, too intimidating with his sharply beautiful features and dark eyes. It gave him a false air of humanity and approachability. Hermione herself couldn’t imagine ever wanting to approach someone like Tom Riddle- she supposed she was biased knowing all that she did. Everything else about him was carefully curated and planned for the impression of those around him. The suit he had chosen today was formal, but not so much that he’d looked unapproachable and haughty.
Realising she’d focused more on his hair than her own, Hermione looked at herself in the mirror. All frizz was gone, and her curls were more lifted than she'd ever seen them. Her hair still looked quite wild but in a purposeful way, not like a cat had thrown up furballs on her head. She hated herself for rather liking how she looked. Her small face was less swallowed, and her cheekbones stood out more than before. She was broken out of her retrieve when his cool hand stroked down her face. “Much better.” His eyes were locked on hers in the mirror, and she averted hers to her own reflection.
“I can see that you like it.” He grinned wolfishly at her. She nodded uncertainly.
_______
“Miss Granger, it is wonderful to see you again, and it is wonderful to meet you, Mr Riddle.”
“And you, headmaster.”
Dippet shook Tom’s hand fervently, his overly friendly gaze moving between them. “My condolences to you both. I am grateful for you coming in at such a hard time.”
“Of course,” Tom answered with an understanding look.
Headmaster Dippet's attention shifted to Hermione. “I do just want to make sure you know you don’t have to come back so soon. If you need more time-”
“I don’t want to miss any more school.” Hermione cut him off.
At the words, he looked genuinely elated. “You truly are an asset to this school, Miss Granger, a wonderful example to our younger students. I hope you are proud of how strong your sister is, Mr. Riddle.”
“Verry proud,” Tom answered, and annoyingly, he sounded and looked just that.
Dippet fixed Tom with a serious look. “I understand that the loss of your father will have impacted you greatly, Mr. Riddle.”
Tom gave a confirming nod, his face the perfect imitation of restrained grief.
“You see- I just want to ensure that you are able to care properly for Hermione despite the turmoil you are surely experiencing.”
“Of course. I understand your concerns completely.” Tom nodded an expression of grim understanding. “What has happened to us is devastating.” He turned to look at her, his eyes full of sorrow. The emotion looked so viscerally real- and even though she knew it wasn’t- it scratched that empathetic part of her mind that expected to find humanity in everyone. “But I am there first and foremost for Hermione. I won’t neglect her grief in place of my own.”
There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that Dippet was won over by Tom. He looked at them both with a mix of pity and adoration. The whole affair made Hermione feel sick.
“I am so glad to hear it. It is a big responsibility to take on guardianship when so young. You must truly love your sister.”
Tom put a hand on her knee and stared intently into her eyes. His lip quirked mockingly on the side her headmaster had no view of, her stomach knotted. “Yes, we’re very close.”
The headmaster persisted with small talk and thanked Tom for his generous donation to the school. Hermione tuned them out, smiling or nodding when looked at for more than two seconds.
When the bell for break finally sounded, Hermione swiftly made her exit from the stuffy office. She figured everyone would be in the usual spot and headed there whilst students poured out of classrooms all around her.
The halls were full of people staring at her. Most- to their credit- did have the shame to look away when caught or at least to be subtle. She could feel the stares all the same. Hermione fought the pressing urge to keep her head down and glue her eyes to the floor. It wasn’t like she had any reason to feel shy or ashamed. She knew who she was, and she wasn’t going to convert into some bashful, insecure person because of a few stares. Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed through a door to the courtyard. Just like she had guessed they were all sitting on the grass.
No one had seen her yet, which gave her time to force a smile onto her face. When she got close enough to hear the topic of conversation they were whispering about, she relinquished her fake smile, feeling much too annoyed to pretend.
“Well, we have to throw her a surprise birthday party.” Ginny declared decisively.
“That would be so fun.” Lavender squealed in delight, clapping her hands together. “I just love surprises,” She looked meaningfully at Ron, who -rather obviously- avoided eye contact.
“Gin, I don’t think Hermione will agree to that.” Ron looked sceptically down at his younger sister, with that older sibling air of superiority Hermione knew Ginny didn’t react well to.
“Well, duh dingus. That’s why it’s a surprise.” Ginny flicked Ron's forehead before he could swipe her hand away.
“Don’t you have friends in your own year to annoy?” He grumbled.
“I agree with Ron, Hermione doesn’t like surprises.” Harry cut off the sibling squabble before it could begin and looked imploringly at a relentless Ginny.
“That’s probably because the only ‘surprise’ you two give her is homework you want her to complete.” Ginny shot back, not missing a beat. Harry and Ron looked abashedly at one another whilst Ginny wore a victory smirk. “Well, I know Cormac definitely wants to shag her and let's be honest the girl needs it, so I’ll make sure-”
“Uh, no thanks, Ginny.” Hermione spluttered out, causing all of them to jump.
“Fucks sake Hermione.” Ginny jumped up and threw herself at an unprepared Hermione, who would’ve been knocked to the ground if the wall hadn’t been there for her to catch herself on. “You’re so quiet sneaking up on us like that.” The red-haired girl chided.
“Well, I could tell you lot were plotting something diabolical.” She grinned toothily at her friend.
“That’s not fucking fair.” Ginny scowled, looking absolutely miffed. “I’m getting you tap shoes for your birthday so I can tell when you’re coming. Or a bell. That would work just as well.”
“Stop talking nonsense, Gin.” Ron pushed past his younger sister and hugged Hermione. “How are you doing, Mione?”
Hermione squeezed him back. She knew these conversations were unavoidable; what kind of friend wouldn’t express concern after one's parents perished in a fire? That didn’t make it any less annoying. “I’m doing fine, thanks.”
“It’s absolutely horrible what happened, but I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Thank you, Ron.”
Things were a bit awkward with him. Nothing had actually happened; a year ago it had seemed like something might- then he went and got with Lavender. Hermione wasn’t resentful about it, and despite her previous and shallow reservations, Lavender was a nice person- good for Ron.
Everyone else expressed their apologies and kind words. Hermione gave the correct answers, hoping things could be somewhat normal again. Lavender gushed over Hermione’s new hair, asking for tips and her products. Hemione had to say she’d forgotten and that she’d get back to her. Hemione omitted that it was Tom, who had not just bought the products but expertly applied them.
Unfortunately, the fates seemed to have decided that the 15 minutes of the break was too long to not talk or think about Tom Riddle. As she was flicking through her French notes, the Patel twins stopped by where she sat. “Hiya, Hermione. How are you?” Padma took her hands in her own, looking earnestly into her eyes.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Are you sure?” Parvati asked with evident surprise, earning her an elbow in the ribs and an equally sharp look from her twin.
“Yep, I’m good.”
“Okay, well.” Parvati looked at her sister, they giggled inanely before talking in unison, “We just wanted to ask who that fit guy we saw you with was.”
“Fit guy.” Ginny raised her eyebrows suggestively at Hermione, “Do tell.”
Before answering, her eyes found Harry, like they always did. But Harry was looking at Ginny with a scowl. The unmistakable jealousy in his eyes made Hermione’s heart ache just a little.
She looked back to the twins. “It’s no one important.” She waved them away a bit rudely, trying her hardest to avoid mentioning him. Unable to refocus on her notes with the importunate look she was receiving from Ginny, Hermione shrugged listlessly in her direction. “It was just Tom,” She said as casually.
“Wait-” Ron paused, making a face, “Your stepbrother Tom?”
“The very same.” Hermione gritted out, really wishing this hadn’t been brought up.
“He’s a fucking creep,” Harry interjected.
“A hot one, apparently,” Ginny protested with a cheeky grin.
“He made Hermione’s life a living hell,” Harry said in a harsher tone than was necessary. Ginny looked to the ground, meeker than Hemione was used to seeing her.
“I remember him. Scary bastard.” Ron nodded in agreement to Harry, taking a much too big bite of his sausage cob.
“Yes.” Hermione sighed, trying to figure out how to salvage the situation and Tom’s dismal reputation among her friends. “Well, he’s… mellowed out a bit.”
“Mellowed out?” Harry scoffed. “You didn’t see how he looked at you this morning. Like he owned you or something. I’m telling you, Mione,” He stared at her with grave, concerned eyes, “My skin was crawling.”
Tom had really fucked everything up. It was all he seemed to know how to do.
Hermione wanted nothing more than to jump off the school roof. Lying to her friends was something she hated, but for Harry's safety, she had to. He wasn’t letting this go and it was Tom’s fault. He could’ve acted less… well less like himself and avoided this whole situation.
“He’s just an intense person. It’s probably the grief.” Hermione lied lamely, fingers worrying the grass as she tried to ignore the guilt tearing mercilessly at her.
“Grief? The guy’s a textbook psychopath.” Ron huffed.
“Ron!” Lavender exclaimed aghast, looking apologetically at Hermione like she was responsible for his behaviour. “I’m so sorry, Hermione.”
“It’s fine, Lav.” She waved the harmless girl's concern off, turning her gaze to Harry, “We should probably get to French.” Anything that would stop this conversation would do.
“Oh, I’ve got a salon studies.” Lavender grabbed Ron’s arm, smiling girlishly up at him. “Walk me?”
“Urm,” Ron looked around at the others for help. Hermione gave him a stony look and motioned with her head for him to go with her.
“Sure Lav.” He mumbled as he started to lead her away, and following some not-so-subtle hints from his girlfriend about her sore back, took her bag onto his shoulder. Hermione shook her head. Honestly, had he forgotten they were dating?
Hermione made it through her lessons. The stares were bearable. Either Harry or Ron would give the offenders dirty looks. She had been right, school was a good distraction, she’d found herself easily immersed in her learning and usual swotty behavior. Judging by the rolled eyes and faint muttering that sounded around the classroom every time she fastidiously raised her arm.
After last period, Hermione made her way to her Chemistry teacher's room. Padma had told her they had a practical in Chemistry tomorrow and despite having read her entire textbook, she’d missed all the lessons on the topic so far. Thus, she decided to head to her Snapes lab just to ensure she wouldn’t be unprepared for tomorrow if there were any preparations or research that needed doing.
Hermione walked briskly through the corridors, she couldn’t take too long, or the bus would leave without her. Harry had promised to save her a seat in Maths, but she doubted the cranky driver would wait longer on her account.
“Well, would you look who it is?” her musings were interrupted by the ever-irritating voice of Draco Malfoy. Not stopping, Hermione cast a brief glance towards the direction his voice had come from. The boy in question was walking towards her from the courtyard with his usual entourage flanking him. Crab and Goyle had a little kid, probably year seven or eight, pinned against the old willow.
“Granger.” Hermione rolled her eyes as his uppity voice assaulted her ears once more. He was one of the last people she wanted to see today, but she wasn’t going to let him terrorise a child. Hermione swivelled to face him as he advanced, smirking down at her. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Well, not really, considering I go to school here,” Hermione said in the plainest tone she could manage as she made to walk past him to the crying kid. She felt his hand grab her arm and snag her back, pulling her back. “Yes.” He looked around the halls assessing, before looking down at her with a cruel glint in his eyes. “Thankfully you’re yet to burn it down.”
Hermione clenched her fists, eyes flicking to where the movement had caught her eye. Crab and Goyle moved towards them, threatening looks in their dim eyes.
She scoffed. “Still need dumb and dumber to back you up in fights against eleven-year-olds do you Malfoy?” She nodded towards the little boy who was presently scrambling away from where the pair of thickheads had left him.
“Ever the white knight Granger.” Draco sneered down at her, holding her tighter by the arm. She fought back a wince, mirroring his disdainful expression. “No, really, what do they do exactly? Hold the wee year sevens back when they try to bite your kneecaps?”
Malfoy huffed out a laugh and turned round to exchange a look with his goons. ”Hilarious isn’t she.” At his cue, they laughed in agreement, nudging the other like they actually understood anything about the conversation.
“Killing your parents really has instilled a sense of humour in you.” He pushed her away, she stumbled back as he took a step closer.
“Watch what you’re saying, Malfoy. I’m not in the mood today.” Hermione stared unwavering up at him, though she could feel her control over her emotions slipping as his smug look only intensified.
“Guess I can’t blame you.” He considered her “As soon as daddy dies your whore mothers jumping in another mans bed. I’m sure she had it coming.”
Hermione pulled back her arm and punched him square in the face just like she had in year 9, though this time she was rewarded with the satisfying crunch of a broken nose.
Draco wiped the dripping blood from his now crooked nose in disbelief. When he looked at her there was only hate and rage in his eyes. “Fucking bitch.” He exclaimed, raising his hand and slapping her hard before she could react. The force of the impact threw her into the wall and her head collided with the corner of a notice board.
Vaguely, she was aware of how his heavy signet ring had cut her lip and that blood slowly trickled down from her forehead, but she was more concerned with Draco who was marching towards her, not pacified by the sight of spilt blood. “You and your friends have had it coming a long time.” Hermione tried to walk back but he was faster. He grabbed her by the collar and fisted a hand into her hair and pulled her head to the side. Hermione belatedly realised he was about to smash her head into the wall. Acting on instinct and spite, she twisted herself towards him and kneed him hard in between the legs, watching in delight as he doubled over with agony etched on his stupid ferrity face. Pain bloomed on her scalp as some of her hair was ripped out when she pried herself out of Dracos death grip. Crab and Goyle advanced on her but she was fast enough to dodge their grubby, reaching hands and run down a corridor that lead outside to the busses.
As soon as she’d gotten home she’d tried to sneak up to her room. Tom however, appeared to have been waiting for her. With a brief once over and parental sigh of disappointment he lead her through to the kitchen.
“Anything exiting happen at school today” Tom asked her, pulling out a med kit after riffling through a couple draws. She scoffed internally, was he actually going to patch her up? What a joke.
“Oops.”
“Don’t be cheeky Hermione.” He warned with narrowed eyes and shifted his attention behind her. “Sit.” He instructed simply. Hermione turned to look at the kitchen counter he was pointing to as he rifled through the kit in his hand.
Hermione eyed him, suspicion clear in her eyes. There were only a few instances he’d tended to her injuries before, and that was when he’d gone too far, and her cuts and bruises were harder to cover up. With tender care he would repair the damage he had done, his mollifying tone doing little to dull the fear his threats inspired in her. Those weren’t memories she’d wanted to dredge up with a re-enactment. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’ve got a cut the size of fucking Texas on your forehead. Sit down.”
With resignation, Hermione pulled herself up onto the marble counter ignoring the satisfied smile he gave her.
“How did you get this cut, and that red mark on your cheek?” He asked the question nonchalantly, but she could hear the danger beneath his smooth baritone. She wasn't entirely sure what he had to be angry about, maybe she had tarnished the happy image he’d conjured.
“I got into a fight.”
A single eyebrow raised, almost imperceptibly, in what she could tell was an expression of honest surprise. The truth of his reaction got her heart rate going. Something about breaking past her stepbrother's facades was invigorating. Knowing she was seeing the real him and not what he wanted her to see. It was also dangerous, that’s why Hermione had always been careful. The reality of Tom Riddle was not a pleasant one, and with that thought Hermione resigned herself to not set him off.
Predictably, it took only a split second for his features to resemble the picture of harmless mirth. “Star pupil Hermione Granger fighting the riffraff.”
She scoffed, wondering how Lucius Malfoy would feel about his heir being described as one of the riffraff he so despised.
“And who exactly did you see fit to bestow rightful justice on my sweet.”
“Just some pompous prick, don’t worry about it.”
He watched her steadily, some look passing in her eyes. “So what happened to prompt this fight?” He asked as he dabbed the cut on her head.
“Just some guy talking about-” She cut herself off, but it was too late. This wasn't a subject she wanted to broach with him.
Tom’s scrutiny had shifted from her afflicted skin to her eyes. The dark glint in his made her breath catch in her throat. “About what Hermione.” His deep voice was so smooth and commanding. She knew he would press for an answer if she refused.
She gave a bored shrug. “Nothing much.”
“Well in that case I can't say I’m impressed to see how little impetus you need to blatantly break school rules.”
Hermione couldn’t help but cringe at the aspersions he cast on her character. Rules and authority were something she’d had no issue with before Tom began to muddle with her mind. Still, she kept to the set boundaries most of the time, even if privately she had become disillusioned with the idea of authority. Hermione wasn’t so easy to manipulate with her ideals anymore, but she knew Tom would find new worse ways to manipulate her anyway.
As always, Hermione was hyper-aware of everything concerning Tom Riddle, as such she noticed the ticking of his jaw and the muscles in his forearms becoming tensed.
“I see the discipline has been rather lacklustre in my absence. My father was always rather fond of you.” He murmured bitterly, the corner of his mouth twitching, threatening to curl into a sneer as he regarded her. His eyes were dark as ever, but she could see traces of his off-putting intensity, the otherworldliness that he always fought kept at bay. Hermione couldn’t look away; she was transfixed by the black cracks in his otherwise dark grey eyes.
“Hermione,” He exhaled softly, almost regrettably “you know I have my ways to find out what I want to know.” His finger stroked down her cheek. “Best not force me to resort to those.”
After a tense silence, he spoke again in dulcet tones “Who was it, Hermione?”
“Draco Malfoy.”
“Hmmm,” He considered her words with a non-committal nod. “And what did the boy do to anger you?”
“Just implying that I started the fire.” Hermione looked down to her lap, she didn’t want to see his reaction to that. His words though, she couldn’t block out, “What a horrid thing to say. How could someone accuse another of murdering their very own parent?” In her peripheral vision, she could see him shake his head disapprovingly. “Who could commit such a horrific crime?”
Hermione pressed her lips tightly together to stop herself from answering his baiting question. One hand were suddenly cradling her face, his fingers threading into her hair as he applied the slightest of pressures to tilt her face up towards his, which was much closer than it should have been. “You need to be honest with me Hemione, how else can I take proper care of you.”
Her eye twitched, and she started trembling, the rising anger being too much for her body to contain. She slapped his hands away from her person and stared accusingly up at his expectant eyes, confidence only slightly wavering at the unmistakable anticipation she saw flash through them. “Let’s not pretend you and I don’t know who killed our parents.”
She pushed at his hard chest, wanting nothing more than to get off the counter and hide away in some corner of the house. Tom caught her wrists in a vice-like grip, quickly overpowering her struggling limbs and slid a leg between hers. A torturously slow, vile smile stretched his lips. “Is this really a game you want to be playing right now?” His face was directly in front of hers, she doubted he’d be able to hide his glee right now if he tried.
When she didn’t answer he moved her wrists to her lap and transferred them to one hand. The other gripped her bare thigh harshly, nails breaking the skin beneath as he flexed his grip. At her yelp and attempt to shuffle backwards he let out a dark laugh that shook through her bones and managed to rattle her soul. “You’re always trying to run away from me.” Tom’s forehead came to rest against hers, she felt her breath catch in her throat as his laboured breath fanned across her lips, leaving tingles despite her instinct to move away. His painful grip on her leg didn’t let up and Hermione could see beads of blood forming around his nails. “It’s rather hurtful.”
He trailed his nose down her cheek, leaving a burning trail in its wake. Hermione clenched her jaw and tilted her face away, unfortunately, that left her neck exposed. His hand moved the curls from her shoulder so lips quickly came to rest on her strained neck, and he spoke in tempo with the beating of her pulse. “You know as well as I that there’s nothing you can do for your dead parents.” Tom started to place gentle kisses on the sensitive skin like he was apologising for her utter helplessness.
Hermione felt her eyes tear up as he placed confusing kisses up and down the collum of her throat. “I can.” She insisted weakly, shivering despite herself as his tongue flicked out and swept across her pulse point.
A shiver tore through her body.
“ I’ll tell the police.”
She was answered with a hard bite on her pulse point that had her crying out. Tom slowly raised his face from his neck. “Tell the police huh?” His hand crept up her thigh, dark eyes mocking her in earnest as her own became alarmed.
She tried to pull her wrists away to no avail, “Tom.” Hermione tried to force as much warning as she could into her voice, but it shook with revealing fear.
His eyes continued to assess her face, latching onto any tell of emotion and devouring it whole. He grinned cruelly at her, pleasant features corrupted by malice. “They like your parents are a dead end.” His nail scraped against the edge of her knickers, his dark eyes lighting up at her flinch. “Are you a dead-end Hermione?” Hermione couldn’t make herself move, couldn’t make herself answer him. The nostalgic fear had leaked into every cell in her body, freezing them solid, making it so she could do nothing but watch her stepbrother's intention play out.
His thumb teased the hem before lightly skimming up her centre over the thin material and pressing down hard on her clit. Hermione gasped, her entire body jerking at the unfamiliar combination of pleasure and pain that seemed to both electricity her and render her immobile.
Aware of the heat rising in her cheeks she tucked her face down, hiding her reaction to his scratchy bobbled jumper as ragged gasps left her.
Tom withdrew his touch from her most vulnerable area, fingers splaying possibly over her upper thigh. He let her head rest against his hard chest for a while as he stroked her inner thigh, granting her the shaky belief that she could hide her reaction from him.
When Hermione managed to steady her breathing Tom moved his hand back down her thigh, fingers moving soothingly the sore skin his nails had broken earlier. In a less comforting gesture, his other hand released her wrists and wrapped them securely around her neck. When she tried to gasp for air her lungs were sorely disappointed by her effort. “Don’t threaten me, Hermione.” His voice was the most severe she’d heard it, and she could tell from its inflexion and the slight tremors in his hand that it was an honest warning.
She nodded as much as his hold would allow. After what felt like an eternity of tense silence he released her and she gasped for air, covering her throat with her own hand lest he try choking her again. His hand didn’t return to his side though and she felt her body freeze when she realised his gaze was transfixed on her mouth. She flinched as he moved his thumb across her cut lips which trembled as he smeared blood across them. The dark, preternatural quality of his eyes, when they locked onto hers, had her heart rate spiking. “I’d truly hate to have to shut you up so soon.”