Peremo

"Is this all we have?!" Hermione yelled.

"Is what all we—" Avery's retort was interrupted by the loud clanging of metal falling to the ground. She heard a muffled string of swearing, followed by some thumping, and then Avery poked his head through the doorway. "Is what all we have?"

Hermione gestured at his backpack. She'd taken a break from fixing up the bathroom to make some lunch for them, and had tipped it out onto their transfigured table to find chocolates, pasties, butterbeer, some Every Flavour Beans, and some liquorice straps.

That's all there was.

Avery looked between her and the food as though he didn't see a problem and shrugged.

"Are you serious?" she pressed, a hand on her hip.

"What?" he said defensively. "What's wrong with that?"

"We can't live off junk food."

"Sure we can." He shrugged. "It's only a week."

"We can't live off junk food," she repeated more sternly. "Is this what you normally eat?"

"Um," he said, frowning. "It's... I mean... it's not not what I eat?"

"Good lord," she said. "How are you so slim?"

He flashed a crooked smile. "Good genes, I suppose. What? Normally the elves do the cooking."

She snorted and murmured, "you're a 'pureblood', so I'd actually wager it's poor genes."

Despite the quietness of her tone, Avery straightened with wide eyes and gave a short gasp.

"Sorry," she gushed, realising what'd left her mouth. "I'm sorry. That was a terrible thing to say."

He put his hand over his chest. "Wow. Despite my upbringing, I've never once held your blood-status against you."

"I know, I'm sorry. It just slipped out. I'm sorry."

"Despite the pressure of my family, I've never even asked how half-blooded you are."

"I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" Hermione broke off when Avery started to smile. "Hey."

His smile became a laugh, and then he said, "Did you think I meant it? You should've seen your face. And, just so you know, my father is actually my mother's first cousin, once removed."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. She couldn't tell if he was being serious. "...oh?"

"Truly. And Clarissa is marrying our second cousin once removed. So, who knows, maybe it is a result of poor genes."

"Your parents would still choose a relative for her?" she asked, baffled. "Even knowing the health risks of consanguinity?"

"Nothing but the best for dear sister."

"Gross."

Avery hummed in the affirmative and plucked a chocolate from the table, popping it straight into his mouth.

"Are you related to Sylvia too, then?" Hermione pried, unable to help herself.

"Yeah," Avery said around his chocolate. "We're second or third cousins, or something like that."

Hermione winced, but then, realising she was getting quite distracted, sighed.

"Well. Regardless of our, um, backgrounds... we still can't live off of just this. We're going to have to visit the nearest town, get some supplies."

"Nearest one's probably Flaxton. Muggle town."

"That's okay," she said. "It's probably better that way, then we won't run into anyone we know."

As far as she knew, Tom's circle of Knights was still small. But even still, the anxiousness of being spotted with Avery now when she was so close to stopping Tom for good was hard to ignore.

Hmm.

She could go herself to pick up the supplies, be certain they weren't seen, make sure they grabbed the right things... or, she could send Avery. Avery had already proven himself useless when it came to food selection, but he'd also be close to useless if left at the estate by himself. She'd tasked him with clearing out the kitchen, and if the crashing she'd heard earlier was anything to go by, it mustn't have been going very well.

Sending him might be risky... but in that time she'd be able to finish off the bathroom, and she really wanted a proper shower. And then, she supposed, if she was left alone, then that meant she'd have another chance at Tom's diary...

Mind made up, she rummaged through her bag and found her coin purse and took out some muggle coins. "Here," she said, handing them over. "You go, and I'll stay and finish working on the bathroom. Those ones are pennies, and those are shillings. There are twelve pennies to a shilling, and twenty shillings to a pound."

Avery blinked.

"Just—pennies, and shillings. Give the muggles whatever they ask for, you shouldn't need any more than that. Got it?"

"Um. Yeah, I guess."

He didn't look particularly convincing, but excited at the prospect of getting Tom's diary back out, Hermione didn't press him. "Just make sure you get some potatoes. We should be able to make do with whatever else you can get your hands on, but we need potatoes."

"Yeah, okay," he said, "I got it."

"...Be safe?"

He flashed her a grin and gave a small wave, "always am."

Hermione had good intentions when it came to the bathroom.

She really did.

But the diary's call proved to be hard to ignore, and so, once she finally had the shower properly cleaned and functioning, she decided that the bathtub could wait and gave into it.

She fetched her bag, bringing it back to the bathroom, and locked herself in before she sat herself down on the freshly cleaned floor mat. She pulled out the diary and her quill, flicking the diary open, but before she'd even had time to get her ink out, a line of elegant scrawl spread itself across the page.

Who are you?

Hermione's stomach contorted. She could just about hear Tom speak it, who are you, in the same frustrated, unhinged tone he'd used after she'd tortured him.

She ignored the unease the memory gave her and wrote, I told you yesterday, my name is Hermione. Have you thought about my question?

The diary didn't immediately respond, and so, she pressed further, ordo you need me to remind you?

If you know what I am, then you must already be familiar with what my creation entailed, Tom's pristine hand finally wrote.

I'm aware of the basics, she acknowledged.

The passage detailing horcruxes in 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' had been... graphic. But it hadn't given all of the details, and it stated that splitting one's soul didn't only require the sacrifice of another. It also required a sacrifice of the self, and though she knew it was a waste of time, she couldn’t help it. She desperately itched to know what Tom had sacrificed of himself to make his.

Had it been his heart, per se? His ability to feel? Had the fear of death and the creation of his horcruxes been what turned him into a monster, or had he been born one?

At some point, as he created more, she assumed he would go on to sacrifice his looks, his eyes, his nose, his hair, his skin, and that that's what would turn him into the monster of her memories.

But what had he started with? What was it that made the diary?

What did you sacrifice? she slowly wrote.

The diary paused, until...

The potion used for my creation contained my tooth.

Hermione's shoulder's fell.

Oh.

That wasn't nearly as interesting as she'd been expecting, and she suddenly felt rather stupid.

It's as simple as that?

Yes, wrote the diary. The potion itself is a difficult brew, but as long as the blood used is pure, and there is a victim, then the sacrifice of self is straightforward.

Hermione frowned at the diary, watching the ink seep back into the page as if it were never there at all. Humans had thirty-two teeth. By that logic then, it was plausible that the Voldemort of her time had used a different tooth for each horcrux, and still had plenty to spare.

Damn. She'd thought she’d figured it out, his snakelike transformation. It was an answer that made sense, but if the creation of his horcruxes hadn't been what turned him into a literal monster... then what had?

If you're considering making a horcrux of your own,

Then, perhaps I can be of use to you.

A laugh slipped past her lips.

Thank you, but no thank you, she wrote back, and before the diary could write back, she snapped it shut.

It was a good reminder of what she was supposed to be doing, the diary's blatant attempt at self-preservation. She'd been selfishly underestimating it, all for her own curiosity, when she shouldn't have risked speaking with it at all, let alone have given it the opportunity to try to save itself.

What had she been thinking?

Cursing herself, she put her quill and ink back in her bag, and then she rummaged around in her bag for her basilisk venom-embedded knife. Best destroy it now, she decided. Best to remove any further temptation while she had the chance.

She dug her arm further into her bag. Where had she put it, where had she put—

From back out in the house, she heard the tell-tale sound of thumping. Damn it. Avery must've been back.

While she had every intention of filling Avery in when it came to her time travel, she drew the line when it came to Tom's horcruxes. She couldn't risk Tom finding out that she knew about them, not under any circumstances, just in case her attempt at killing him failed. And so, swearing to herself under her breath, Hermione stashed the diary back into her bag and hurried out of the bathroom.

She poked her head into their shared living area just in time for Avery to stride in, a large paper bag clutched in his arms.

"Got it," he declared proudly, "all that you asked for. Potatoes, peas, bread, and some milk."

"And that's all you bought, is it?" she asked, frowning at what looked to be the cork of a wine bottle poking out the top of the bag.

"Well," he said, "we can't exactly toast to nothing on New Year's, can we?" He dumped the bag down onto their table, revealing that there, tucked between the bag and Avery's chest, had also been a newspaper. The images on the back page were moving.

"Where did you get that?!" Hermione screeched.

He gave her a one-shouldered shrug. "I stopped in at Diagonal Alley while I was out. Thought it'd be useful to stay in the loop," he explained, and seeing her disapproving glare, he added, "what? I was careful. No one saw me."

"How do you know?!"

"I disillusioned myself, nicked it from an outdoor table at a cafe," he said. "What? It's fine. Don't worry so much."

She glared at him, annoyed that he'd chosen to take the risk knowing what could be at stake, but... hmm, now that she was looking at the newspaper, she did feel rather tempted to look over its headlines...

But that would have to wait.

Hermione crossed the room to fetch two more of Avery's butterbeers and handed him one as she passed him. Then she went and sat herself on her bed, opening the other one for herself.

She took a deep mouthful.

"Here," she said, tapping her free hand beside her on the bed. "Have a seat. It's about time we had a talk."

Over their butterbeers, Hermione told Avery everything. That she'd been born in nineteen-seventy-nine, that Dumbledore had sent her back from a war-torn time, that the war had been Tom's doing, that he'd win if she didn't intervene. She told him of her time as a student of Hogwarts, about the opening of the chamber, how she'd been petrified herself by Tom's basilisk. She kept the intimate details of Harry and his connection to Voldemort to herself along with the details of Tom's horcruxes, but she told him openly of the countless lives that would be lost, the witches and wizards and children that would die just because of their muggle blood and Tom's desire for power, and then she—

She pulled up her sleeve, showed him the scars Bellatrix had given her.

"...oh," was all he said.

"This was given to me—well. It feels like it was about three years ago to me. It was toward the end of my time there, in my own time," she said, sheepishly adding, "my parents were dentists."

They fell into a long, uncomfortable quiet and Avery seemed… shocked. Like he was going to be sick.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. "I didn't mean to assume you were— I didn't realise that you—"

She shook her head. "It's okay. I wanted you to assume I was a half-blood. Between Tom and Grindelwald... it was just easier that way."

She wasn't sure how he'd take it. While easy-going was one of the first terms that sprung to her mind when she thought of him, he was still a pureblood. He'd still been raised to discriminate against those of muggle descent, he'd still been in Slytherin House, had still been one of Tom's Knights.

But Avery wasn't springing away from her, wasn't distancing them. His features just became pained, and he asked quietly, "did... did he do that to you?" he asked.

She could've laughed. She didn't think she had the energy to bring up her other arm. "It wasn't by his hand, but it might as well have been."

"Shit," Avery murmured, and he ran a hand over his forehead. "I'm sorry. That's— fuck."

"I know. It's a lot, you can take your time," she assured him. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you until now, but I couldn't risk... I'm sorry about everything."

Avery's frowned deepened. "Why are you telling me now?"

"You've given up so much for me, so I owe you the truth. And Tom... he knows now anyway, about where I'm from." She shook her head, looking down at her butterbeer. "Well, not everything, but... enough."

Avery covered his eyes with his hands. He stayed that way for a while before he eventually sighed and focused down on the bed spread.

"Tom's never... I mean, he's been talking about it since school, how great he is, calling himself— and even in school, he always... but it was just... I don't know, small scale stuff," he rambled. "I mean— there was Warren, but he said she was an accident. And lately, he's been speaking about growing our numbers, recruiting at the school, but I never... it's a club. It's not serious like that, it was just— he taught us loads."

Hermione winced. "I know."

"And, I know we talk a lot of shit about muggles and stuff. But everyone does, don't they? And I know some of the magic has been pretty dark, and sometimes it gets a bit out of hand, but—"

"You don't have to tell me."

"—not to the point of war." insisted Avery. “But then, the last time, at the Hogs Head, just before Christmas, the way he spoke about you, I..."

"Avery."

"You know I'd never—"

"I know. It's okay."

Avery finally looked up from the bed, features pained. "No, it's not," he said. "Was I—? In the future, will I...?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't say. I'm sorry. We never met. One of Tom's older followers was an Avery, but it wasn't you. I couldn't tell you how you were related."

Avery polished off what was left of his butterbeer with a large mouthful.

"It's just a club," he murmured. "Tom’s never hidden the fact that he’s deep in the magic and he talks a lot of shit, like, killing a few muggles, that level of shit, but… I didn't think it was that serious."

Hermione reached out for his hand, biting her tongue to stop herself from telling him that killing a few muggles is that serious.

"Don't… do that to yourself," she told him instead. "It hasn't happened yet. You got out."

Avery watched their hands, watching as Hermione laced her fingers through his.

"It happened to you though, right?"

She wasn't sure what to say to that, but then Avery lifted their hands, bringing them up to press his lips to the back of her palm. It was the hand of her scarred arm, the arm that said 'mudblood'.

"It's all right," he murmured quietly. It sounded like it might've been more to himself than to her. "We'll fix it. Yeah? We’ll stop him?”

Hermione leaned her head onto his shoulder. He felt warm. Safe.

"We will," she whispered. "Then this will have been nothing but a bad dream."

The next morning, after finally having the steamy shower she'd long been craving, Hermione finished off the bathroom and made a good start on the kitchen with Avery.

He was different that morning. Gentler. More considerate, more eager to help, his humour not quite as dry as usual. It was nice having him around, and for once, his help was actually useful.

But even still, despite the warmness his company provided... she needed to get rid of him.

She needed a long window with him off the estate so she could dispose of the diary once and for all. There was only one more night now until New Year's. It was her last chance if she wanted to save Dumbledore.

And so, when the clock told them it’d almost reached one in the afternoon, Hermione sheepishly said, "do you... think you could maybe... head back to Diagon Alley today?"

Avery was struggling to keep all of the pots levitating while she dusted their cupboard, and her question nearly made him fumble the lot. "Did—ah, ah,” he winced, making a lucky save, “did I forget something?"

She gestured for him to put the pots back down before she spoke. "I was hoping you might be able to pick up another paper, if it's not too much trouble? But then I thought, if you're going to go to the effort of heading down there, then I think we should get some slug repellent for the garden patch by the back door, and maybe also some pepperup potions, you know, just to have on hand? And also some Floo powder so we can get the fireplace up and going, and then if you can, there's a particular book that's supposed to have come out just the other week, called 'Homemaking for the Prudent Witch'. Some of the other professors were talking about it last week, and I'm sure it's a bit of a bore, but I think it might have just the spell I need to fix up this stove, so, if you wouldn't mind...?"

Avery blinked.

Hermione felt a little guilty, but she needed to keep him occupied for a good long while. Above all else, she needed to destroy the diary.

"You'll... write that all down for me?" he asked.

"Mhmm," she hummed pleasantly, summoning over some parchment, ink and a quill. "And make sure you're not seen under any circumstances."

His mouth popped open. "Flourish and Blotts will be bloody crowded this time of year, getting through there without being spotted will be—"

"You can manage, right?” She shot him a warm smile and spelled the quill to write down the list of items. “For me?”

Avery sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’ll do my best.”

“Perfect!” Hermione chimed, handing him the shopping list before she summoned his wallet over for him.

He looked a bit annoyed, but took the wallet and stepped over to grab his jacket regardless.

“Wait,” she said after him when he went to leave, hurrying after him to reach up on her toes and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, for this, and for all of your help here. I really appreciate it.”

A faint blush appeared on his cheeks. “I’ll do your shopping anytime you ask if you kiss me for it.”

She gave him a light whack on his arm. “Don’t push it.”

Avery laughed and waved her off, and then with a final cheeky grin, he ducked out of the house.

Hermione waited until she heard the old front door latch shut before she swept up her bag and tucked herself back into the bathroom. Finally.

She hurriedly pulled out the diary and fished around in her bag again for her knife. It took a few minutes and a series of swear words her mother would’ve been scandalised by, but she finally found it stuck underneath a large pile of books, wedged in by its blade.

Her eyes found the diary. Looking down at it, an odd sort of… sadness washed over her. But it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t make the mistake of writing to it again, couldn’t afford to, so she lined the knife up with the centre of the diary’s cover, went to raise it—

Hmm. Last time with the ring, she remembered, she’d been thrown a good distance by the impact of the knife, hard enough to be knocked unconscious. She didn’t want Avery to come back and find her knocked out with the knife and mangled diary, so she decided it would be a good idea to cushion the wall behind her, just in case.

She lowered the knife and went to cast a cushioning charm, but right after the spell left her lips, she made out a faint squeak coming from back out toward the front of the house. A faint squeak, that sounded just like the old front door.

Bugger, she thought bitterly. Why in all of hell was he back so soon? Maybe he'd forgotten something? Or had she misheard? Or maybe it hadn’t been the door, and was a bird outside…

Deciding to check it out just to be safe, Hermione tucked the knife, diary and her bag into the cupboard under the sink before she hopped up and headed out to the living area, humming as she went.

But as she reached the doorway, she halted in her tracks, hums dying in her throat.

She hadn't misheard. Someone had entered the house, and they were over by their table, sifting through the papers they'd left out.

But it wasn't Avery.

"Cute set up you've got here," Tom said without turning, continuing to nose through the papers.

Hermione's mouth was suddenly dry. She blinked a few times in case she was imagining him, but he didn't disappear.

"How... how did you...?"

Her heart pounded in her neck. There wasn't any way he could've found them. It wasn't possible. The property was warded, he wouldn’t have had any reason to suspect the estate.

Not... not unless Avery had—

Tom's dark eyes finally looked in her direction, and Hermione became acutely aware that she was alone in an enclosed space with him. There wasn't anything in the way. The only thing she had to protect herself was her wand and the lure of the locket.

"I'm still working on it," she blurted. "We agreed, four more days—"

He raised a hand to silence her, and she snapped her mouth closed.

"I'm not here for you," he said, turning to lean his long form on the table, and Hermione again found herself impressed at his ability to convey such authority with such a quiet tone. "I dropped by the Avery's the other day—just, to wish them a Happy Christmas, of course—and imagine my surprise when I was informed that Marvin had left with a homeless-looking girl called Harmony, and hadn't returned since."

Oh.

Fuck.

"He's not here," she said at once.

"But he was here, wasn't he, and he'll be back, yes?" Tom nodded behind him to where Avery's backpacks were dumped on their table. "I can wait."

If the fact that she’d been caught in a property owned by the Avery's wasn't obvious enough, Avery's things were distinct. There wasn't any talking out of the fact that Avery had indeed been staying with her, and so, Hermione blurted the only thing she could think to say.

"No," she said.

Tom crossed his legs over at his ankles and his mouth toyed at a smile. "No...?"

"I won't let you touch him," she said. "We've spoken about this. If you're looking for someone to blame for Mulciber, then blame me."

The smile won out, his teeth becoming visible. "I do blame you."

"Then leave him out of it!"

"You brought him into it," said Tom. "I'm only here to finish what you started."

"But— he was your friend! You grew up with him, how could you just..."

The look on his face silenced her, and it was only then, when she was quiet, that he spoke.

"Exactly," he said simply. "Thirteen years, and how little it took, to make him sing."

Since that evening in Hogsmeade when Mulciber had come for them, Hermione had been convinced that Avery was only on Tom's radar because of her, that he'd use him to punish her. But she hadn't considered it seriously enough, not until hearing those words—how little it took to make him sing—that Tom's desire to kill Avery mightn't have had much to do with her at all.

Tom had used legilimency with Avery the night after Slughorn's end of year celebration, Avery had all but told her so. Which meant that Tom would've seen the way Avery had blurted out to her: you want to know about the chamber, and what really happened to Warren? Go and ask Tom!

And then afterwards, she'd been so focused by the threat of Tom to herself, so distracted by his flirtatious facade, that she hadn't properly put it together the way she should've.

Tom had seen Avery tell her about Myrtle. And then, despite what he must've taken as a clear betrayal, Tom had gone and given Avery a second chance, had trusted him with the knowledge he wanted her dead. And what had he done with it?

As Tom had put it, he'd sung. He'd betrayed him twice, and Tom might find that unforgivable. The Voldemort of her own time certainly would have.

"What will it take? Hm? What do you want?" she offered, a hint of desperation seeping into her tone. "There has to be something. Name it."

He shook his head.

"There has to be something."

Tom tilted his head and his features became thoughtful. "What was he to you?"

"I... nothing," she said, taken a little off guard by the question. "I didn't know him."

"His... relative, then?"

She shook her head. "I didn't know any other Avery's personally."

Tom's expression was plain. He didn't believe her. "Then why protect him? He gave you up, you know, and he'll do it again," said Tom, and he eyed their set up. "If it wasn't for his big mouth, I mightn't have found you here. Not so soon, anyway."

"He-he's my friend."

Tom rolled his eyes.

"In the future, they'll be loyal to you. The Avery's," she tried. "If you hurt Marvin, if you take away their heir, you'll lose a wealthy family from your pocket."

"I don't need their money."

"Multiple generations of loyal servants are more useful than money. And the pureblooded lines—they're all related. What other families might you lose if you word gets out that their rising Lord murdered one of their own?"

Tom gave a slow smile. "Only a problem if word gets out."

"Do you think Avery's the only one with a good vocal range?"

Tom laughed properly at that, and Hermione's cheeks heated. It had been a while. She'd forgotten the sound of it, its silken edge. "None of those with any influence will take the word of a mudblood over my own."

"All it takes is doubt."

"Then I'll silence you, too."

"How's that worked out for you so far?" she quipped, unable to stop herself.

She expected Tom to snap at her for that one, but he only continued to grin.

Hermione opened her mouth to continue arguing, but—oh. She recognised that look, that amused, bright-eyed look.

He was fucking with her. Wasting her time with the back and forth, shortening the window of Avery's absence.

She sighed through her nose. "Just, enough. Tell me what you want," she ordered. "You wouldn't be bothering to speak with me if there wasn't potentially something in it for you. What will it take?"

Tom laughed as though he'd been caught red handed and rested his hands behind his head. "You think you're so clever, don't you? And it's not just because of the advantage of time, is it? You really think you have it all figured out."

Hermione didn't bother to answer that and waited.

"Go on," Tom pushed when it became clear she wasn't going to bite. "If you already have the answers, then why don't you tell me what I want."

It was a trick question. Every fucking thing that left Tom's mouth was a trick, but she just couldn't help herself and said, "information?"

Tom gave a low grunt as if to say 'no'.

"Money?"

A scoff.

"I... I need more time on the locket."

"I know."

"Loyalty?" she tried. "I promise I'll—"

Tom's nose crinkled and Hermione broke off in exasperation. "Well then what— I can show you more. You only saw snippets the other day. Leave him be, and I'll show you whatever memories you want."

He shook his head.

"What more could you possibly want from me?!" she snapped.

Tom just smiled and—God, he was so annoying—Hermione couldn't get a read on him. As always, he was impossible—well.

Actually, she realised... there had been a few times where he hadn't been entirely impossible to read. Just a couple of instances where what he wanted... had actually been quite plain.

Oh.

Oh.

The idea formed quickly, but... oh, no. No, no, Hermione didn't want to do that. Absolutely not. The blurred recollection of how he'd touched her while she'd been under the Imperius curse, the memory of how he'd felt in her mouth, how he'd tasted, were enough to make her sick, but—

Oh, fuck.

What else could he want? She didn't have anything else to offer, and if it meant he'd back off of Avery... if it was the only thing...

She clenched her teeth, and hastily, before she could think herself out of it, she took off her cloak.

Tom's brows shot upward, but Hermione, quickly becoming sure it was her best play, paid him no mind, and drew her shirt up and over her head.

When it was off, she started at the buttons of her skirt, and let it drop to her feet. Stepping out of the skirt, she flicked off her shoes and removed her tights, all without daring to look at him, wobbling as she balanced to get them off of both legs.

When she finished with that, she straightened and flicked her hair back, raising her chin as she met Tom's eyes. He'd lowered his arms and he was staring, lips slightly parted, not quite smiling anymore.

It wasn't exactly encouraging, but she didn't let it stop her, and reached behind her back to unhook her bra. She pulled her arms out and added it to her pile, and then winced as she slipped herself out of her knickers.

There.

She tightened her jaw as she straightened, forcing herself to look at him.

She waited, more exposed than she'd ever been in her life, while his eyes roamed over her slowly, leisurely. She'd started off confident—she knew already that he didn't find her unappealing—but as the moments passed and Tom just continued to stare, it became agonising and she felt herself starting to tremble.

Hermione closed her fists. She tried to tell herself it was only the cold, but her nerves were quickly starting to give out. Tom was looking over her like he was reading her, tracing her lines, and the vulnerability of it became too much. She couldn't take it, so she approached, stopping only when he was close enough for her to touch.

"This is what you wanted, is-isn't it? I know you want me," she said, a bothersome tremor in her voice giving her fear away. She could feel goose-pimples forming on her skin, her hairs standing on end, her nipples tightening at the cold. "If you leave him be, then... you can have me."

Tom licked his lower lip, but didn't move, didn't speak.

Oh, for goodness' sake.

Far too boldly, she reached out and took his hands, pulling them up and placing them over her breasts.

Her nerve endings just about purred under the warmth of his touch, and though logically she knew what she was doing was repulsive, it certainly didn't feel repulsive—

"Don't," Tom muttered, pulling his hands away to grip at her wrists.

Hermione flushed.

Oh. Oh Jesus Christ— she'd absolutely lost the plot, because somehow, it felt like the only thing worse than exposing herself to him, touching him, being intimate with him, was being rejected by him.

What in all of hell was wrong with her?

But then—

"Which one is Avery's?" Tom asked without releasing her, his eyes flicking back behind her over to the beds.

"Um. That one," said Hermione, nodding to the one on the left.

With a steady grip on her wrists, Tom started to push her back toward it. She let him, pulse picking up, and when the backs of her legs met the mattress, she stopped and met his eyes, not letting him push her down on the bed.

"Only if you swear you won't hurt him," she told him.

Tom's eyes flicked down to her lips. "No."

She pulled her arms free and put her hand on his chest, ready to push him back.

"Swear it," she repeated.

He met her eyes and smiled, teeth showing, and then he reached up to her face with both hands, resting them on either side of her jaw. It was almost tender, and he reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

The look he gave her was intense, like he could see right into her soul.

She had the sudden urge to cry.

"You're not special," he murmured. "You know that, right?"

Hermione tried her best not to flinch, but there was something about it, to be told, you're not special, that made it impossible not to.

But she knew who he was, knew what he was trying to do, and this wasn't about her feelings. She held her chin up and maintained his eye contact. His words couldn't hurt her, not anymore, she wouldn't let them.

"Swear it," she repeated, keeping her hand steady on his chest.

Tom's smile fell, and he leaned closer into her, his body into hers, pinning her arm between them. He was so close. She could feel his warmth through his clothes. "You might be useful, I'll give you that much," he murmured, his thumbs brushing along her jaw. "But you're nothing to me. I could have anyone I want."

"Then either swear it," she ordered, "or go and find whoever else it is you—"

Tom interrupted her with a rumble of a laugh and he leaned into her, one hand resting on her hip and his mouth by her ear. "I won't hurt him," he murmured, his warm breath brushing pleasantly over her skin. "Today."

Hermione tensed. "That's not good enough."

Tom's lips brushed against the shell of her ear. "It's all you're going to get."

A shiver ran down her nerves at the depth of his voice.

"It's not enough."

"It's all you're worth."

Ouch. Tom's words were sharp as ever, but— no. Hermione wouldn't let herself feel it, she wouldn't. Too much depended on it.

A day wasn't long. It wasn't a good trade, not by any definition, but... she supposed at least he was offering something. She could work with a day. It would be long enough to get Avery somewhere safe, long enough to dispose of the diary. It would give her just enough breathing room to plan his murder before New Year's.

And that was all she needed... right?

She turned her head toward him, and he was so close that their noses almost brushed.

Her heart skipped a beat. Was this what it felt like to sell one's soul?

"A day," she murmured.

Tom hummed, low, satisfied, and pushed her down onto the bed. This time, she let him, lowering down to sit on the edge of the mattress, but when he moved to lay her back, she stopped him.

"Ah, ah," she said, pushing firmly on his shoulders. It was a risky play, and she didn't expect it to work, but if there was any chance she could make it through what was to come without actually having sex with him, then of course she was going to try it. "Get on your knees," she told him.

Tom's mouth twitched. She held her breath, anticipating a refusal, an insult, another thinly veiled threat, but instead—

Merlin.

Tom lowered to his knees before her, holding her eye contact all the while, trailing his fingertips along her thighs and down along the curves of her calves as he went.

"What shall I do?" he asked musically, hooking the tips of his fingers around the backs of her knees. He pulled, applying enough pressure to spread her legs. "Tell me."

Hermione's mouth was dry. The sight of him, kneeling between her legs, eyes on her cunt, was terrifying, disgusting. Exhilarating.

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

She didn't know if he'd remember, but he must've, because the ensuing grin Tom gave her was depraved.

Heat pooled in her belly, nerves alight with anticipation, and then he dragged her to the very edge of the bed and brought his mouth to her—

"Oh my—ah—" Hermione muffled her mouth with her own palm, and leaned herself back down on the bed.

The sensation of it, the wet heat of his tongue passing over her clit, was torturous. She'd anticipated a dull, pleasant, familiar sensation, for it to feel like her own fingers, but it was— oh, fucking hell, it was so much better.

Tom's laugh rumbled against her. "I've thought about this," he murmured, warm breath dancing across her nerve endings, "ever since that night, in the potions classroom."

He closed his mouth back over her, gave a gentle suck, and Hermione drew a sharp breath.

"Have you?" he asked against her. "Thought about it?"

When she didn't answer, Tom stopped, pulling back from her. Hermione shifted her hips, chasing the friction. When he didn't give it, she finally murmured a breathless, "yes. I have." It wasn't even a lie. "Could you— ah."

He rewarded her answer by raking his tongue along the length of her lips, lightly sucking back over her clit.

"It almost made me regret poisoning your tea," he murmured, and when he paused again, Hermione dared a glance down to find him grinning up at her devilishly. "Almost."

The fact that he was speaking of trying to kill her went completely unnoticed, because Jesus. His lips and chin were glistening, glistening with her.

Her head fell back, and she moaned, couldn't keep it in, as he flicked his tongue over her in precise, steady movements. He ran his hand up and along the tendons of her inner thigh until his fingers brushed upon the lips of her cunt. He slid a finger inside of her—just one—but his were thicker than hers, coarser too. The stretch made his tongue feel even better and when he added a second, she hissed, arching her back off the bed.

Tom made a soft groan. "Oh," he breathed, slowly starting to slide his fingers back and forth, "are you a virgin?"

In another setting, she might've snapped back that virginity was a social construct, a primitive, outdated concept that society used to objectify women. But now, as she gripped onto the bedsheets and he slowly fucked her with his fingers, she wasn't capable of a word.

When it became clear she wasn't going to answer, Tom hissed, low and drawn out. She couldn't make out what he was saying—the sound was foreign to her—but its tone was drawn out, similar to the tone one would use to curse with.

"A gift that keeps on giving, aren't you?" he mumbled to himself, and then his mouth was back on her.

It wasn't long until she was seeing stars, and Hermione— she'd had orgasms before. Plenty. Hell, that night after their encounter in the potions classroom, she'd gotten herself off to the thought of this exact scenario twice. She was a pro at orgasms.

But this one was slow, torturous, reluctant, and it was far more intense than any she could remember. Tom held the pressure over her clit as she passed over the edge, kept his fingers buried deep while it peaked and she pulsed around him. And as she came down from it, she could barely remember where she was, let alone the fact that Tom had been the one to get her off like that.

She laid back against the bed, her muscles liquefying as colours danced beneath her eyelids, and there was a distant sound of fabric rustling.

She didn't pay it any mind until she felt the pressure of Tom moving over her.

Forcing herself back into her body, Tom was undressed and he pushed her up the mattress, caging her in with his arms. The tip of his cock brushed against her navel and the mattress dipped beneath them under their combined weight.

Hermione brought a hand to his chest to stop him. "N-I don't—"

"I have you," he said, a low purr, as his hand snaked underneath her knee. "That was the deal."

She tensed at his touch, and pushed back against him with her knee, trying to get him off. "No. I don't want to."

She didn't think he would, but just like that, he stopped. He clenched his jaw and looked plainly annoyed, but still, he started to back off.

Oh. Oh, thank God—

"Have it your way then," he said. "I'll just wait out there, have a cup of tea instead, shall I? And before I cut his throat, I'll be sure to let Avery know it was your fault, that you easily could've helped—"

"No!"

Tom leaned back, looming over her, and he licked his lip. "No...?"

"Don't," Hermione whispered. “Please.”

She tried to ignore her sense of revulsion and reminded herself that it could be worse. Her body was still thrumming with the lazy aftermath of her orgasm, and if she went with it, maybe like what he’d just done with his mouth, it wouldn’t even be that bad. It was just sex. Meaningless, mechanical sex, and at the end of it all, it wouldn't matter if Tom was her first.

Avery's safety was more important, wasn’t it?

With that, her decision was made, and Hermione reached out for his arm and pulled him back down over her.

Tom brushed her hair back out of her face, and though the action was gentle, it still felt degrading. He laughed. "Look at you," he murmured. "Do you think you're martyring yourself?"

"Don't."

He laughed louder. "Do you think he'll think you courageous?" Hermione flinched as he reached down to brush the tip of his cock against her clit, slick and warm. "He'll hate you."

"Shut—" Hermione jolted as he stroked the top along her slit, putting hard, insistent pressure at her entrance, "up."

"He'll want nothing to do with you once he knows you let me fuck you."

"Is this how you speak to all of the women you fuck?" she snapped.

Tom's smile widened darkly. "Only you."

He drove his hips down, the head of his cock starting to slide into her, and though she was soaked from her earlier orgasm, her walls didn't easily give way to him. His intrusion stung and she whined through her teeth while Tom groaned above her. She tensed up, clenching her eyes closed, nails gripping desperately at his forearms. It hurt.

And now that her entire body had clenched up, it'd become almost impossible to relax.

"Hermione."

Ah. Ah, ah, ah, he felt far bigger than he looked. Surely— surely that was it? Surely that was all of him—

Tom had spoken her name gently, but then he reached up to tangle his hand in her hair, harshly pulling at her scalp. "Look at me. Look at me."

She didn't want to, didn't want to register him at all, but he pulled harder, so she did as he said.

"You won't pretend you're not here," he whispered harshly and—Christ— he shifted his hips, his cock slowly inching deeper. "You won't imagine you're somewhere else. You will relax, and you will take me, all of me, because you're—"

Tom broke off with a groan at the same time that Hermione cried out as she finally managed to relax, and he filled her completely.

It was— oh, God, it felt like he was tearing her. He dropped his head into the crook of her neck and his groan grew into a hiss, a low, strangled one. He paused, but only briefly, and then he shifted back, his cock slowly sliding back out. Hermione just about sobbed. It really fucking hurt.

"Shh," he shushed her, and his grip in her hair became gentle. "Shh, don't. Don't do that or you'll make me—"

He started to move over her, slowly rocking his hips, and the sting didn't ease. She bit painfully into her lip to keep quiet. How did people do this for fun?

"Relax," he just about moaned, pushing his body up as he started to fuck her with slow, lazy strokes. "Fuck, you’re so— tight…”

Relaxing was just about the last thing on her mind, and when her muscles remained firmly coiled, Tom stilled, keeping his cock buried deep. He reached over her and pried her nails out of his arm and turned her arm over.

He traced the pad of his thumb over the lines of the scars he'd given her, back and forth, L, V, L, V. The scars ached as he caressed over it, and it was only when he started to move again in long, slow strokes, that she found the pain of the scars to be oddly… soothing.

"Does it hurt?" he murmured, still tracing her scars as he fucked her.

She didn't know if he meant her arm or his cock, but it didn't really matter. Either way, the answer was the same. "Yes."

He smiled and dropped her arm to hook his hands under her knees. He dragged her legs up and around his hips, and watched down at where they were joined, slowly sliding back and forth.

"You're bleeding."

Yeah, it fucking felt like it.

He reached down between them, and the dull feeling of his fingers brushing over her clit was a welcome distraction. "A useful thing," he uttered, starting to move a bit faster, "the blood of a virgin."

While she wouldn't say she felt accustomed to the stretch of his intrusion, the sting had started to ease and the pace was better. The movement didn't feel awful, and with the pressure on her clit, it was starting to mix with something almost pleasant—

"Full of uses, aren't you?" Tom murmured, and then he pulled back, his cock sliding all the way out of her. It was a relief, but it was short lived, because then he tugged at her hips, pushing her to turn over.

Hermione went with him, allowing herself to be turned onto her hands and knees. She was almost grateful for it, too, because it meant she wouldn't have to look at him.

And Tom didn't waste any time before he lined himself back up with her cunt and harshly pushed back in.

"Ah, ah," she whined, reaching back to slow his movements. "Please, it—"

Tom interrupted her by pulling her hair again, pulling her head back to brush against his shoulder. The position arched her back and his cock hit deeper.

“Tell me,” he breathed huskily into her ear, and his thrusts became unrelenting, marked by the slap of wet skin. "Beg me to stop."

"I—" Hermione struggled to make a coherent sound, each of his thrusts agonisingly deep. It still hurt, but, oh, there was that building tension again, growing with each stroke of his cock. "Please." Please stop. Don't stop. "Please, I—"

He released her hair and pushed her down harshly, a firm hand between her shoulder blades until her head was pressing into the mattress.

Her knees buckled beneath her as he fucked her with fast strokes, and the angle was even better, and—fuck—it was his groan that did it, the sound of it reminding her that it was him, Tom, coming completely undone for her that pushed her over the edge.

The sounds she made were foreign to her own ears, muffled by the sound of white noise, and she was only briefly aware of him slowing, of his guttural groan as he filled her completely, emptying himself inside of her.

She stayed that way, face against the mattress until her heart started to slow and Tom rolled off her. She turned over and felt the mattress move as he lay on the bed beside her, laughing tiredly.

He didn't say anything, but she thought she could feel something insulting coming, so she forced herself up before he could. Hermione's legs protested, but she just didn't have it in her to look at him, to be in the same room as him any longer than she had to. Instead, she ducked straight back into the bathroom, his come seeping out of her as she went, trickling warmly down her leg.

She just about slammed the door behind her and immediately locked it behind her, thankful the bathroom was useable, and sat straight on the toilet, partly because Ginny had always said, 'you have to pee after sex, everytime!' and partly because her legs were still quivering, threatening to give out. Jesus.

When she was finished, she spelled herself clean several times over, adding in a charm to scent herself with lavender for good measure. God forbid, she smelled like him. After that, she washed her hands manually—despite the cleaning charms, she always felt cleaner with running water—and avoided looking at her own reflection.

Satisfied she was as clean as she was going to get for now, she cracked the door open only enough to summon her clothes in, dressing as fast as she could.

She didn't want to go back out there, didn't want to have to look at his obnoxious, smug face again, but she wanted him to snoop through her things even less, so she decided she’d worry about a birth control potion after he’d pissed off, and bit the bullet.

And it was a good thing she did, too, because when she came out, Tom was dressed already and, unsurprisingly, had resumed his nosing, sifting through Avery's things on his bedside cabinet.

Aside from a healthy flush to his cheeks, he looked perfectly put together. A far cry from the mess she must’ve been.

Hermione’s legs were still a bit shaky, the throbbing between her legs a painful reminder of what she’d just let him do, and if that wasn’t enough, she noticed that there was still a sizeable wet patch on Avery’s bed. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest that Tom hadn’t bothered to clean it.

It was hard to meet his eyes, and for once, she found herself thankful that he was the one who spoke first.

"I wanted to give you this," Tom said, smiling as though he enjoyed her discomfort, pulling a tiny package from his trouser pocket. It expanded as he offered it to her, into a suspicious, lumpy looking shape, wrapped in brown parchment.

She looked between him and the package. "Um. No, thank you."

He grinned at her hesitation. "I think you'll like it."

He continued to offer it. Hermione didn't want to take it, didn't trust anything coming from him, but he himself was touching it with his bare hands, so she supposed that must've meant it wasn't cursed.

In the hopes it would make him leave faster, she hesitantly plucked it from his fingers.

"Open it later tonight," he told her, a low murmur, and she gave a noncommittal nod, as if she wasn't planning on tossing it the moment he left.

Tom's mouth twitched, amused. "I’ll see you soon," he said, reaching out to pinch at her cheek.

Hermione swatted him away, and as he laughed, he left without a look back.

She stayed right where she was, not willing to move until she heard the tell-tale crack of his disapparation.

Then, she tossed his package aside and went straight for a shower.

No amount of scrubbing made her feel clean.