Cor phlebotomans

The next morning Hermione woke up feeling groggy and not rested at all. She had only had a few hours of sleep but she had endured worse, so she bravely opened her eyes, welcoming the pain of the bright light. She felt sore, she felt exhausted and she was terribly cold.

The sky beyond the castle walls was a gloomy grey, fitting her mood.

Hermione pulled herself of the warm bed and got to her morning routine with less eagerness than normally but that was to be expected.

She pulled on her school robes, thankful for the warmth they provided. At least she had had so little sleep that she had not dreamt and as a consequence had not been visited by any nightmares. Always look on the bright side of life… Hermione smiled grimly at herself in the mirror.

She rubbed her chest with a frown. Everything hurt. Where was the time she had felt emotionless and detached?

Oh well, she would get through with it. She always did. It wasn’t any worse than obliviating her parents, being tortured, seeing Dobby die, seeing Sirius die, seeing Fred die or seeing Dumbledore lying at the bottom of the Astronomy tower. So much death... Hermione nearly snorted, as if something like that could bring her down. Not after what she had endured.

Lucretia didn’t say anything but Hermione saw her gaze as she watched her. Lucretia must have noticed Hermione’s absence last night.

Maybe she had heard her cry after Hermione returned in the early hours of morning. Suddenly Hermione felt the need to confide in Lucretia, the only other human being that had been her friend so far. She felt like she could trust Lucretia even if she resembled Bellatrix and even if the woman has never been anything resembling cordial towards her.

Stuffing that feeling away, Hermione smiled at the woman and left the room, realizing that she only missed Ginny, who had always been there for her and had listened to her problems.

The common room was still cold and empty, the green colours of the furniture nearly black in the dim light. Hermione rushed through it, her little heel clicking over the stony floor, her mind flashing to the night before.

Tom’s finger grazing her pale skin, his dark hair that had been so soft... Her vision was swimming again. She walked and walked, taking a detour before going to the great hall, not quite ready to face anybody.

The corridors were quiet, peaceful even.

Sometimes she saw places that she, Ron and Harry had been to, had laughed at, just being children for once, and a deep sense of nostalgia swept through her. A deep ache filled her mind, drowning out the rest of her environment.

She didn’t expect anyone to be there, nor did she expect to be suddenly grabbed and dragged into an empty classroom. Fear like ice took hold of her, every fibre of her being was frozen, he voice muffled by a cold hand over her lips. She screamed. She trashed. Magic crackled in the air. Pure panic rushed through and occluded her senses.

“My god, Hermione, stop, will you?”

Hermione landed on the floor, her vision tilted, her breath ragged. The cold of the floor seeped into her hands and forehead. Tom? Tom…

Her wand was in her hands, pointed at Tom, who was looking at her, his gaze dark and cold, but not in the slightest afraid. It raised Hermione’s hackles.

He was obviously underestimating her. Hadn’t she fought Voldemort himself? Even if it had been briefly, hadn’t she fought so many of his esteemed death eaters, obliviating some of them, defeating most of them? Hadn’t she destroyed some of his Horcruxes?

“What is wrong with you”, she gritted out, wand still in her shaking hands.

Her vision was clearing, suddenly everything in sharp focus. She was positively vibrating with withheld magic that was just waiting to pour out of her.

“What was that yesterday? Hermione, I want to know who did that to you”, Tom said as he lazily reached for her, grabbing her arm.

She let him but with great reluctance.

“Yes, I am so very sorry that I defiled you with my Mudblood hands.”, she said ripping her arm away again, trying not to linger on the feel of his fingers grazing along her skin.
Tom looked up sharply, his dark eyes like the night.

“That is what you think of me?”, he said, his tone dripping with venom, his intense stare made her uncomfortable. Like she was in the wrong here.

“I have it on good authority that it is true.”, Hermione muttered, suddenly not so sure anymore. Where was this headed?

“Hermione, I do not care that you aren’t a pureblood. How did you put it? Ah, yes, pureblood has become a synonym with inbred. I found that quiet amusing to be honest.”, he smiled down at her and it made everything in her clench.

She had never seen Tom smile like that. Tom, who was supposed to be an unfeeling thing that didn’t feel compassion, love or loss, only hatred was supposed to fill this man’s heart and body, pure and black hatred. But on the contrary, she saw a crooked smile of a young man full of hope, ambition and maybe… something resembling love… towards her.

It wasn’t the dark and all-consuming possessiveness that Hermione would have expected from Voldemort in his younger years, a love that consumed and killed, that was as black and dark as an infection, slowly spreading through the shared bond and killing it. Of course there always was that edge to Tom, she would never deny it, something most people would not be able to handle but Hermione cherished in it because it didn’t feel like it snuffed out her light or suffocated her.

No, it made her feel so much compassion and love in her heart. She felt like she had enough for the both of them. Every relationship came with compromise, some more than others.

Her heart was pounding painfully, hope was blooming in her like a little blossom in the beginning of spring. It made her quiver. It made her feel so terribly vulnerable.

“You have to understand”, Tom continued “that I do not care for all those other Slytherins. They don’t mean anything to me. Nobody does, Hermione. I wouldn’t blink twice before killing them”

It was the clarity and casualness in which he said killing that made Hermione shiver. He truly didn’t sound like he cared about them. His eyes were unforgiving and so undeniably cold.

“I wouldn’t hesitate to kill them if any of them touched you, if they dared to hurt you. If you don’t tell me, I will torture them all until one of them confesses. Believe me when I say that I couldn’t care less about them. Somebody dared to touch what is mine and they will suffer for it endlessly.”

Dimly Hermione registered the clatter of her wand, falling to the floor. She didn’t care.

Tom’s eyes weren’t cold anymore, they were aflame and they were burning into her very soul and made her burst into flames. Her whole body was trembling as she backed away from his looming form, not afraid but oddly excited, until her fingers touched the cool stone of the wall in her back. He was so close.

The entire world faded away, only Tom remained, the intensity of his dark eyes, the paleness of his skin, the softness of his hair and his hands that landed on the side of her head, effectively caging her in.

“You won’t have any luck with that.”, she whispered, her voice thin. “The person isn’t even born, yet.”

“Then I will wait fifty years to give them the punishment they deserve.”, Tom grit out, before finally crashing his mouth against hers. It was pure bliss, she thought she had lost him and it had hurt so much that she didn’t even care about the potential very violent things that had come out of his mouth.

She would talk to him later, now she just wanted to grip at him and never let him go. His hands were bruising on her body, making her tremble. He growled, his hand in her hair and pulling at it to make her head tilt back. He nipped at her skin, surly leaving marks.

“Mine…”, he kept repeating as if it was a mantra and as if he wasn’t really aware that he was saying it. She gasped. Yes, all coherent thought leaving her mind and soul, only Tom remaining.

Somehow she ended on one of the tables, the cold surface under her suddenly naked back not even being registered in her mind. Only Tom, always Tom…

He was gripping her so tight that it hurt but she didn’t care. She pulled and pulled, wanting him only closer, she couldn’t get enough, until they both found their release, Tom burrowing his head in her in her neck, whispering her name brokenly, while she smoothed out his hair whispering back that she knew, that she understood.

Needless to say, they arrived for breakfast a little late.

Tom was wearing his typical Slytherin-mask, unfeeling, charming but cold. But his hand lay in hers, it was cold, his ring was digging into her skin but she didn’t care, his hand made her feel warm.

She didn’t care that eyes were following her, that most of the Slytherins were without doubt trying to glance their way indiscreetly. Some female students looked enraged, some sneered in their direction, Hermione could only guess what they were thinking. Pureblood witches were instructed to go for power and Tom was oozing power from every pore. They were enraged that she, obviously not a Pureblood, had snatched him. But Hermione didn’t feel any resentment towards them, their upbringing had corrupted them, that was hardly something she could blame them for.

One pair of eyes, however, stayed longer on Hermione and Tom, than all the others. It was Raymond Nott, the boy sat on his place on the table, his jaw clenched. Dark shadows were under his eyes, making him look darker than he already did, his paleness even more pronounced than normally. Hermione locked gazes with him for a few seconds.

Shivers, and not the good kind, swept through her. Raymond’s eyes… his gaze… was off… It reminded Hermione of something, something that was just on the edge of her mind but she couldn’t remember…

“Hermione?”, Tom’s whisper in her ears brought her back to reality, stuffing Raymond Nott’s tired eyes into a corner of her mind for later inspection.

“I want you to wear this”, Tom continued.

“What?”, Hermione answered, not seeing Tom’s finger slipping off his ring.

“When you wear it, everybody will know who you belong to and some of my… friends… know not to touch you…”, he pressed his ring into her hand and as soon as Hermione registered what was digging into her flesh, she jerked back, nearly knocking over her cup of tea.

The liquid sloshed in its confinement. Tom looked startled at her reaction.

“I won’t wear that”, Hermione hissed. Tom looked suspicious, leaning forward until his face was nearly in hers.

“Why, do tell me?”

“I won’t be linked to murder”, Hermione muttered under her breath as she turned away, his dark gaze too much for her to handle but instantly realizing what she had said. She blanched but tried to keep her face from showing it.

“What did you say?”, Tom said in a slow drawl but his spine had stiffened.

“Give me that.”, Hermione said pulling the ring from him and slipping it on.

She wanted to add something but her breath caught. Magic swept through her, warm magic that caressed her skin, made her feel like she was glowing and it felt… distinctively like Tom. It surrounded her, made warmth spread through her bones and made her feel so safe.

Tom, Hermione noted when she finally regained a bit of her ability to think clear, was watching her with an intent gaze. Was this a test? Hermione wondered, what did Horcruxes do exactly to people that weren’t their masters?

In the future Tom’s soul-bits had only done evil things, possessed Ginny, made Hermione, Harry and Ron fight and hate and much more… But they all had touched the Horcruxes with the intention to hurt or in Ginny’s case with at least the mind set of hating Voldemort.

What happened if someone who was close to Tom, who even cared for him, carried his soul around? Hermione liked to believe that she now had her answer. The magic in the ring, the soul, was not attacking her, it had accepted her as its new bearer, had even welcomed her own magic that was so full of her… love… for Tom.

“I will wear you ring Tom”, Hermione said slowly “But I don’t belong to anyone, not even you. Don’t misunderstand the nature of our relationship, I am not beneath you, I am your equal.”, Hermione’s voice was so low that nobody else would be able to hear them. But Tom heard her loud and clear, his eyes flashing with a variety of feelings, disbelief, anger and maybe even acceptance. He would come to see, Hermione decided, it would take some time, but he couldn’t hold on to ridiculous beliefs.

~

The weight of the ring on her finger was equally comforting and strange to Hermione.

She could always feel Tom’s magic sweeping through her when she concentrated, but at the same time she was often startled by the metallic sound it made against the wood of the table or the stone railing while climbing the stairs. But the most dismaying aspect were the stares. Many people recognized the ring on her finger as what it was. Tom staking his claim. Even Slughorn saw it, even if he tried to not act surprised or as if he had seen it.

In the middle of their conversation about the correct use of dragon blood in healing potions, she had brushed her hair to the side, the dark stone in the middle had glinted in the evening sunlight. Slughorn’s gaze had stuck to it, his eyes widening with pure shock.

His word had cut off, disbelief flashing through his eyes, before he finally recovered and his smile had become wider and his eyes had taken on a greedy glint. Hermione had excused herself hastily. She decidedly didn’t need that right now. Slughorn was probably already planning his new favourite couple’s future.

Were they a couple now? Hermione didn’t know and decided that it was unnecessary to dwell on such trivialities.

Daily school-life in the nineteen-forties was not very different to the nineties, Hermione decided. She relished the feeling of walking through the comfortable walls of Hogwarts again, to learn and study again without the imminent threat of Voldemort hanging over her.

Every time she thought about her past or future, how ever one wanted to put it, Hermione stomach clenched. Because no matter how different Tom looked in this time, he was still Voldemort, he was still capable of all these atrocities. Hermione knew, that when it came to it, that if Tom would become Voldemort, she would not choose his side because the moment Tom became that monster, everything she loved about him would be lost.

She would join The Order of the Phoenix and fight, once more, living through another war.

The prospect of more pain and more loss, made Hermione tremble. It was in the middle of the night, when she had those thoughts and realizations for the first time, while she was next to Tom in his bed. His head on her shoulder, his eyes closed and his breath fanning across her naked skin.

His hair looking so soft in the dim light of the moon, his expression so utterly peaceful. Hermione couldn’t go back to sleep anymore, so she held still and listened to silence of the room. She had taken up on just lying next to Tom and to watch him sleep with a sense of wonder when sleep wouldn’t come for her.

While watching him, her heart beating loudly, she realized that there could come a time when she would have to raise her wand against him, where she would have to stand up again. In the last weeks the flashbacks had become less, even if she still had nightmares but she felt as if she was finally beginning to heal.

But that could change, she realized, it could change so fast. Tom could become the Voldemort of her time in an instant and she would not, would never, lose herself so much to stand by his side. She would not be Bellatrix, she would not be a death eater. She would not. No matter how much it hurt, she would fight against him and she would stand against him in every way.

When it came to it, she would not hesitate. This would happen, she thought dimly, if she wasn’t enough, if her love for him, that had formed so tentatively in the last month, wasn’t enough to fill the darkness in his soul.

The ring on her finger, she never put it away, vibrated with Tom’s magic, making her feel safe and cherished, whispering into her mind words that she couldn’t understand but that comforted her none the less. Maybe the constant feel of Tom had something to do with her slow but sure way to a more stable mental health.

Silent tears started to fall over her cheeks. She raised her still trembling hand and grazed Tom’s cheekbones with her fingertips. His skin was cool but smooth, his hair was soft. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, wishing so much that he would not become the monster of her past.

The whole October Hermione spend more nights in Tom’s room than in her own, Lucretia noticed but didn’t say anything. She also saw Tom’s ring on Hermione, but didn’t comment but Hermione saw a glint of concern in her eyes.

The two weeks before the Halloween ball the whole school was in frenzy. Male students bringing up the courage to ask girls to the balls, other girls waiting to be asked, some crying, some students fighting…

On the twenty-fifth Hermione woke with a start, the last tendrils of her nightmare still vivid in her mind. She was clutching Tom’s hand so strongly that the boy had woken up. His eyes were dark in the night but intense in their concern.

“Are you alright, Hermione?”, he whispered into the darkness. Blood rushed through her ears, her heart was pounding. Everything was swimming before her eyes, fear and utter trepidation clinging to her very soul.

She had been at the ministry again, death eater everywhere, they had killed all her friends. Harry had looked at her with so much hate, screaming at her, “How could you leave us.”.

“The death eaters got them”, Hermione whispered, tears already rolling down her face. “I couldn’t fight… I left them…”, Hermione sobbed, slowly realizing that she was in Tom’s bed, that he was clutching her to his chest.

“Don’t worry Hermione, you are safe.”, he whispered back and if Hermione weren’t so distraught, still half in her own nightmare, she would have felt the slight tremble in Tom’s words, the slight detached tone mixed with true horror seeping into his words. Alas, she did not, but cried herself dry on his shoulders while he kept whispering words into her ear.

It took her half an eternity to calm down enough be able to breath normally again. Tom was rubbing patterns into the naked flesh of her skin, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. When she finally let go of his hand and looked into his handsome face, she saw his dark but ice cold face. His Slytherin mask was in place.

“You can go back to sleep”, Hermione said, the darkness of his room pressing on her chest. “I need some more time.”

She slowly peeled away his warm cover, the material always smelled like him and made her feel at home again, before summoning a robe to cover herself.

“I’ll come with you”, was all Tom said, slipping out of bed. Hermione leaned up to kiss him, trying to convey words that had staid unspoken.

Tom’s hand slipped into her hair and gripped her with more desperation than usual it seemed. He rested his forehead against hers, his breath fanning across her face and his eyes closed as if he had to collect himself. His fingers clenched where they were gripping her waist and only slowly did he let her go.

The common room was just as dark and silent as it usually was. Hermione let Tom sit next to her as she played her favourite pieces on the piano, her fingers gliding over the cold keys. She played Für Elise with as much emotion as the first time. Tom closed his eyes as the sweet notes filled the room and leaned his head against her shoulder. When she hit the finally keys, a smile playing around her lips, he looked up and the emotion that she could see in his dark orbs made her head spin.

“Go to the ball with me”, Tom said, his tone quiet.

“Hmmm”, Hermione answered with a real smile on her lips “I am not sure. I have seen what lengths other men go to, to ask girls to the ball. This seems a bit lacking in comparison.”, Hermione smirked at Tom who only raised one eyebrow.

She had a point, some students took ridiculous measures. One proposal was more exaggerated and more awful than the last. All the girls had started to compare how they had been asked and the more expensive, extravagant and, at least in Hermione’s opinion, ridiculous it had been, the prouder the girls seemed.

It was utterly laughable and Hermione would never have considered anyone who dared to make such a scene just to ask her to a stupid ball. She felt like it was an offense or an indignity towards all those who had lived through harder times because a small ball was such a triviality in comparison. She had fought for freedom and peace just so people could do something so stupid. It made her angry, angry with the unfairness of the world.

“I could, of course, get the squid in the dark lake to hold a up a sign, spelling put Be my date to the ball but I believe, Hermione, that you wouldn’t appreciate that very much.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t”, Hermione murmured, leaning up to kiss him again.

They didn’t speak much after that but Tom did carry her back to their room.