There's a robin outside the tent. It's song is bright, whimsical, an excited first sign of the morning to come. The sky outside has just begun to warm, a faint orange hue starting to creep in through the tent window. It's only a kiss of light, just enough for him to make out her eyelashes brushing her cheeks, her freckles adorning her nose.
She's peaceful while she sleeps, and his locket, gold and heavy, is laced around her neck.
It looks good on her. It suits her, and when he closes his eyes and focuses hard enough, he can feel her touch, as though she's touching him rather than his locket.
Her fingers stroke it while she sleeps, and it's loving, the way she brushes the metal.
Tom licks his lips, crouching by her bed. He leans in, as he does every morning, and gently blows onto her cheek.
She makes a sound, a slight, gentle moan, and her eyes crack open.
Tom leans back, captivated as she stretches, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
This time of day suits her. The light brings out the colour of her hair, the smoothness of her skin. It's why he does it—wakes her at the same time each morning. She glows in the dawn, and— ah.
His eyes rake over her as she climbs out of bed, smooth legs slipping free from the sheets.
When she stands, she raises her arms, stretching onto her toes. His locket rests between her breasts, pressing her nightgown flush against her. It's a cold morning; he can just make out the tips of her nipples.
Tom approaches her, stopping within an arm's reach and she doesn't see him—she never does—but she flinches when he gently murmurs, "good morning."
Hermione halts her stretching and glances around, and she's frowning, frowning as if to say, 'what was that?'
Oh. Had she...?
"You look ravishing," he drawls, testing her.
Sure enough, she stiffens, and her eyes search her surroundings, her movements becoming panicked.
Tom smiles wide. She had heard him.
It won't be long now. If she's beginning to hear him, then soon enough, she'll see him, feel him, too.
And—oh, she's incredible, isn't she?—as though she's figured it out, she lifts the locket, clasping it between her hands, staring down at it.
Tom can feel it like it's his face she's holding.
"Interesting," she murmurs, her thumb caressing over the locket's face.
It's like she's stroking his lip. Tom closes his eyes, feels himself leaning into her. "Isn't it?"
Hermione hesitates, pausing her stroking. She reaches up, goes to take it off—
"Don't," he says.
She stops, lowers her arms obediently, leaving the locket on.
"Good girl," he coos, in just the way he's sure she likes. "We only need a little longer."
She bites her lip and gives the locket another stroke, letting it fall back against her chest.
She really is beautiful in the morning.
And soon, she’ll be entirely his.