Peremo

Hermione bolted into the infirmary office, turning on her heel when she met the dead end.

She squared her shoulders and directed her wand, and when Tom made it into the doorway, he skidded to a stop at the sight of it.

Hermione raised her chin. "Leave," she ordered. She left no room for question.

"Oh. Now, now, Hermione," Tom mocked as he took a measured step toward her, a gentle, condescending tone. "I'm only here to help you."

Her scowl deepened. "Save your breath for someone who believes you," she snapped. "There's the door." She gestured with her wand toward the exit.

Tom looked between her and her wand, and then his smile widened into a grin. Ugh. She wanted to curse his beautiful smile right off his stupid, beautiful face.

He raised his hands in what she was sure was supposed to be a submissive gesture, and gave a hum of amusement. "I only wish to speak with you."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and then spat, "speak from over there then."

His eyes settled onto the tip of her wand. "You promised me another chance."

"I certainly never once used the word promise."

"Hermione—"

"Stop," she ordered firmly as he took another step toward her. "If you only wanted to talk, you wouldn't have cornered me alone like this."

Tom's smile was unwavering. "Au contraitre," he sung, tiptoeing yet another stop closer, "that's precisely why I've cornered you."

Her heart was thundering. Generally, the infirmary was a cool place, more often than not, uncomfortably cold. But now, Hermione felt hot. Her mouth was dry, her palms were sweating and the collar of her shirt felt constrictive.

"Leave."

But he didn't. Tom only continued to smile, and with it, the urge to curse him became stronger, bordering on impossible to resist, but before she could—

Tom flicked his fingers upward, a quick, subtle 'come here' motion that by the time she noticed it, had already happened, and with it, her wand shot right up out of her fingers.

Her wand clattered to the ground on the far side of the office, and there was a moment where she stood, wandless, unsure of what to do. It only lasted a moment though, and then, with a sheer sense of self-preservation, she did the only thing she could.

She ran at him.

But the thing was, that in order for her to get out of the office, she had to make it past Tom, and Tom, she knew, had limbs that were far longer than hers. So it wasn't any surprise that he caught her.

What was surprising though, was the strength he held onto her with. She thought if she hit him hard enough, she'd be able to wrangle herself free, but despite his thin form, he was deceptively strong, and he managed to shove her back until she hit one of the office desks right on her coccyx.

"Ah, let— let me go," she growled, kicking out at him.

Tom held her arms down, right at her waist height, and pushed himself right into her to stop her kicking.

Bloody, fucking hell, should she—should she scream? Would her voice carry to the corridor? Would there even be anyone there to hear her? 

Hermione pushed against him some more, but—hell—it was no use. Tom smiled down at her with satisfaction. She'd been caught.

Hermione scowled.

"A little bird told me something interesting today," Tom murmured, his breathing just a little bit ragged. It sounded the way it had that night in the potions classroom.

Hermione's collar felt tighter. She tugged at his grip. "That you're—ow — insane?" she provided for him.

Tom's hold on her remained tight, and he didn't bite at her taunt. "Why have you been wandering the castle corridors with a mirror?" he asked, tone calm and collected, as if he wasn't holding her down.

At once, Hermione ceased her struggling. Her soul just about left her body then and there.

Fuck. Fucking, fucking Cygnus.

"What?" she asked innocently, but it was rather feeble. "That's ridiculous. Why would I—"

Tom pressed closer into her, their hands wedged painfully between their bodies. He wasn't smiling anymore. "Don't fuck with me," he uttered.

Tom's words were stern, his eyes dark, and for the first time, she thought she could feel it—slight, needle-like pricks at her mind.

But despite his attempts at intimidation, despite the outward show of his ability to physically overpower her, Hermione was confident in her Occlumency. She had years of practice up her sleeve, and Tom wasn't yet Voldemort. He may have a natural talent with Legillimency, but he wasn't yet the master he would be.

She didn't know for certain if he knew that she knew about the basilisk. But if somehow, against all odds, he didn't, then she desperately needed to keep it that way.

She trusted her skills.

"I—" Hermione forced out a sigh. She had to be convincing. She had to sell it. "Well, why do you think? Obviously, I've been trying to avoid you, but evidently that's not working out very well for me."

Tom's features remained scrutinising. He looked impatient, annoyed. "With a mirror."

The words themselves posed a question, but the way he'd said them, did not.

Jesus Christ, even when he was assaulting her, he was exhausting, and had she not been disarmed and pinned to the shabby office desk, she would've told him as much.

"Yes."

Tom tilted his head. It was judgemental and condescending, it was as though he thought her stupid, and all at once, Hermione's patience burst.

"Oh, well pardon me, is that too muggle for you?" she hissed facetiously. "Would you prefer it if were to try searching a crystal ball to predict whether I'll run into you? Or would a foe-glass be better suited, perhaps?" she suggested. "An invisibility cloak, a notice-me-not charm? Hmm? How else should I be doing it?"

Tom licked his lips. "You shouldn't be avoiding me at all."

Hermione snorted. "You tried to kill me, and then after that, you all but told me you'll do it again! So, do forgive me if I choose not to take your advice on this particular occasion."

"You shouldn't be avoiding me, because it's waste of your energy. If I want to find you, then it won't matter where you go, or what method you use, because I will find you."

Oh. Another threat. And his words—well, they were terrifying, weren't they?—but for some inexplicable reason, Hermione didn't react the way any sane, logical person would. She didn't recoil, she didn't scowl. She didn't argue, didn't fight back, but instead—

She laughed.

She just couldn't help it! It was just so ironic that he would say that, that there wasn't anywhere she could hide from him, when she'd quite literally come from a time when she'd successfully done that exact thing for the better half of a year.

Once she started, she had a hard time stopping. She was vaguely aware of Tom stepping back, letting up ever so slightly, but she was so amused that she didn't consciously acknowledge it.

Tom rolled his eyes, an impatient sort of action, and it made her snort.

"Oh, I'm," Hermione said, pausing to catch her breath, "sure you will. You're a bit of a bad smell aren't you? Hard to get rid of?"

Tom breathed in loudly through his nose, and Hermione pressed her lips together to try to tame her chortles.

"Are you about done?"

Mouth firmly shut, Hermione nodded. "I think so."

Tom stepped back and let her go—well. It was more like half a step, and he was very much still imposing on her personal space, but he wasn't touching her anymore.

Hermione frowned. Wait—what? He was just... letting her go?

"I actually wanted to speak with you, because I've been thinking about what you said, about giving me another chance."

That... wasn't what she expected him to say, either. Her eyes narrowed. "...Have you now?"

"Yes," he said. "I've been thinking that in rejecting your offer, I was perhaps... a bit too rash."

She met his eyes, but as per usual, it didn't get her anywhere. He was as unreadable as ever. "...is that right?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yes," he repeated. "But while I would like to rectify my initial answer, before I do so... I've decided that I would like it if you would prove it."

As was seeming to be the norm when interacting with Tom, Hermione wasn't sure what he was getting at. "...Prove... prove what?"

"You want us to move on?" Tom asked. "You want us to get along, to put what I did behind us? If you mean it... if you're genuinely able to put it behind us... then, prove it."

Tom licked his lips, and she watched the movement of his tongue.

"And just how do you expect me to—"

"Get on your knees."

Hermione blinked. Her heart skipped a beat. She thought she heard him say 'get on your knees', but that couldn't have been what he'd said. "I—sorry, what did—"

The corner of his lip picked up. "You heard me."

Hermione hesitated. He sounded entirely serious, and half stunned, half offended, she didn't have an immediate response. Yes, it was true that she wanted to smooth things over, and she wanted to not have to fear for her life, and most of all, she wanted a chance at finding his diary, a chance to stop him before he truly got started. But...

Get on your knees.

Jesus.

Did she want it that much? Was his diary, was altering the timeline and helping her friends that important?

Hermione glanced him down and up.

...

Then, slowly, before she could think herself into deciding otherwise, she slowly lowered herself down onto her knees.

When she hit the stone, Tom breathed a sound of surprise as he grinned down at her, and one of his hands wound itself into her hair. He grabbed a fistful, and although he didn't pull, the pressure of it felt like a warning, a reminder of control.

She glanced ahead, focused on the stitching of his pants. What... what did he want her to do? Just... go in there? Undo his belt then and there, fish him out, and...?

Hermione swallowed. She peeped up at him.

"What should I...?"

"I don't want you to tie my shoes."

Again, he was insinuating as if she were stupid, and her cheeks flushed.

Fucking hell, she... she could do this, she told herself. She could do this. She'd agreed to so what she had to. Whatever was necessary. That included...

With quivering fingers, Hermione started to work at his belt, having to pull quite hard on the leather to release the buckle. She tried not to look at him—his face, that was—while she started on the buttons of his pants.

Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it, she told herself, but when she loosened his pants and found the outline of him beneath his underwear long and hard, it was hard not to. And as she lowered his underwear, she noticed her hands had started to shake a little bit.

He looked... bigger than expected. He wouldn't fit in her mouth. How was she supposed to...?

Christ. She'd been in her underwear with Viktor, but that'd been as far as it had gone. Things with Ron had never even gotten that far before the war went to hell. She'd never even seen a man like this, let alone...

"I... I don't..." Hermione sighed. It was hard to bring herself to meet his eyes. "I haven't done this before."

Tom rumbled a laugh, and his hand tightened in her hair, giving a soft pull.

"Don't worry," he murmured, slow and smooth as honey, "I can talk you through it."

While kissing him in the potions classroom had felt organic, exhilarating, natural, even, this felt... degrading. Like a punishment.

She glanced down at her legs, ashamed, even though she knew she shouldn't be. Her arms and legs were truly quivering. Fuck. Why the hell was the threat of him killing her less nerve-wracking than this? He was just a man. Women had sucked cocks to get their way for Millenia. It couldn't be that hard. Surely not.

And if it meant not dying... she could do this. She could do this—

As though he knew how far into her head she was spiralling, Tom pulled her hair back, hard enough that she had to tilt her head back. With the angle, she met his eyes. They were dark, his pupils blown. The smile he gave her was merciless.

It was humiliating, and she was sure he meant it to be.

"Stop thinking," he ordered, "and open wide."

He was belittling her. He wanted it to be degrading, wanted her to be ashamed.

While it shouldn't have been, the knowledge of that was motivating. Hermione wouldn't let him win. She wouldn't. So, she did as he said, tilting her head back to open her mouth invitingly.

He touched her bottom lip then, with just the tip of his cock. The skin of him was hot and smooth.

"If you bite me, I'll kill you," he murmured.

He said it casually. If you bite me, I'll kill you. As if it wasn't a real threat, as if it were nothing.

But before she could think too hard on it, he eased forward, just a few inches, intruding into her mouth. He tasted like heat and salt.

Hermione closed her eyes, tried not to think too hard about what she was doing, about what she was letting him do. It was just self-preservation, she reminded herself. Nothing more. She was only doing what she had to.

Keeping his hold on her hair tight, Tom pulled back slowly, considerately, giving her time to acclimatise to the feel of him. He gently started to rock back and forth, sliding his cock inch at a time along the length of her tongue. His skin was soft, fragile almost. Strange how he felt hard and soft, both at the same time.

Using her lips to cover her teeth, the stretch of her mouth very quickly began to ache. It was a cramp-like sort of pain, and she couldn't help it when she whimpered.

It spurred him on. He started to move a bit faster, his cock reaching a bit further back in her mouth with each forward movement, and though the pain in her jaw was unrelenting, it was easier to take him now he was coated with her saliva.

She brought a hand up to grip him at the base, to give her more control, and she squeezed her hand around him in attempt to slow him down. All it seemed to do though was drive a hiss through Tom's teeth. He must've liked it. She squeezed down again, timing it as she took his cock to the back of her mouth.

His next hiss was more like a whine.

He did like it.

Satisfaction warmed her belly, and she was reminded that despite who he was, despite the despicable things he'd already done, he was still just a man.

Tom's free hand joined his other on the back of her head, and though he was still being gentle enough, his thrusts forward into her mouth became more forceful.

It hurt—her jaw really ached—but it was a good thing, she reminded herself. Surely it meant it'd be over soon.

"Ah, just— relax," he instructed, his voice raspy.

She tried to obey. Tom's hand tightened in her hair, and he filled her mouth. But then, just as she thought he couldn't go any further, he drove further in, and she gagged as his cock dipped into her throat. She went to pull back, to breathe, but Tom's grip on her was tight. He eased back only enough for her to catch her breath, and then he pushed right back in.

Tom hissed roughly as he dipped back into her throat, and it wasn't as sensitive the second time. He thrusted forward slowly, pushing in as deeply as he could.

Hermione gagged around him. Her eyes were watering, and—ah, ah—it was suffocating. She clawed desperately at his thigh, digging her nails in, and finally, finally, Tom pulled back, all the way out.

She gasped for air, moaning as she closed her jaw, her muscles singing with relief. She reached up to wipe her cheek and chin, her raw skin slick with excess saliva.

Tom gripped himself and pushed her head back, clearly intent on fucking her some more, but Hermione—

"No..." she gasped, "I can't..."

Tom groaned, his hand starting to pump down his length. "No?"

"N—" She had to clear her throat. It felt raw. "No."

Another groan. He sounded bothered.

"Then, come here," he rasped, and with his other hand still tangled in her hair, he pulled her close. Hermione winced, her hands on his hips to keep herself steady. He was stroking his cock right against her cheek, smearing the mix of her saliva and the beginnings of his come onto her face.

But if he noticed her discomfort, it wasn't enough to stop him. He kept going, his breathing becoming rough.

Hermione dared to look up, just a peek through her eyelashes, and she found his eyes on her. His eyes were dark, nostrils flaring, lips parted, and his chest was heaving. He was blinking rapidly. It was as if he was having a hard time keeping himself together.

Kneeling on the stone, swollen lips, sticky from him fucking her mouth, she felt smaller than she'd ever been before. But seeing him like that, teetering on the brink, made her stomach hot, her toes curl and her adductors tighten.

She hated it.

Tom smiled darkly, as though he knew exactly what he was doing to her, knew the precise conflict he was instilling.

"Don't worry," he murmured between his soft, silken groans, stroking his cock onto her cheek, "next time you'll take me. Won't you?"

When she didn't answer, he pulled her hair. It hurt.

"Won't you?"

"Y-yes."

Tom groaned then, loudly, and when his strokes slowed, Hermione closed her eyes, feeling his come spill onto her face in long, hot spurts.

Tom's breathing was loud, and it echoed in the office.

Finally, he released her, and when she pulled away, she felt his come drip down her cheek, down onto her neck. He was all over her.

Tom hummed lowly, leisurely, and with his fingers under her chin, he tilted head back to face him. Then, with his other hand, he smeared his come across her cheek, dragging his thumb through it, across her skin and into her mouth.

Hermione recoiled, pushing back against him, but—oh, gross—she'd already caught a taste of it. Salty. Chemical. Bitter.

He grinned down at her, stepping back to admire his work languidly. "Beautiful."

Hermione scowled, and then spat onto the stone floor. Tom laughed, tucking himself back into his pants.

"You know... I was really quite annoyed at first," he said, doing up his buttons and re-fastening his belt, "that you didn't drink the tea. But... hmm, maybe this arrangement will work out better for the both of us, yes?"

She rose to her feet, non-verbally vanishing the mess he'd made on her cheek.

It took some effort not to tell him she'd rather be dead than have any sort of continued arrangement with him, but she somehow managed, instead giving him a tight, "maybe."

Tom laughed a little bit and pulled at her cheek roughly with his fingers. It wasn't affectionate in the slightest. "Oh, cheer up, would you?" he told her. "I could've strangled you."

She swatted his hand away. "No, you couldn't have," she uttered. "Spindle would've known you were here with me, and that would've been too much of a risk for you."

Tom smirked and leaned in. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were molten. He was beautiful. Hermione thought she might vomit. "I could murder a child in front of that woman, and still, she'd kiss the ground I walk upon."

"Do you do that often?" she snapped impulsively. "Murder children?"

There was a pause.

Oh, for love of all that was holy. She shouldn't have said that. Why in hell did she say that?

Tom's features fell. He tilted his head, brows lowering, eyes scrutinising. He wasn't smiling anymore.

Bloody hell, now she'd really gone and put her foot in it. She'd almost made it out relatively unscathed, and then she had to go and open her big, stupid mouth...

But then, just as she thought Tom was about to snap, he glanced out of the office window pointedly, out towards the infirmary, before meeting her eyes once more.

His lip picked up, a gentle sneer. "Do you really think I'd miss twice in a row?" he murmured softly. Then he gave her a quick smile, and without another word, turned on his heel and left.

Hermione didn't dare to move a muscle until she heard the loud groan of the infirmary door and the loud click of it closing.

Satisfied that he was gone, Hermione moved, hurrying over to snatch up her wand. She squeezed the handle tightly, holding the wood to her chest. She would never, ever let him disarm her again.

And then, with it clutched firmly in both hands, she glanced through the infirmary office window in the same direction Tom had glanced in.

Edward's bed was out there.

...

She didn't feel like she was winning anymore.