A/N: Hello awesome readers! Thanks for stopping by, here's a quick summary of what's in store: All Human, Non-Magical AU Tomione with other pairings you'll have to read to find out! Tom disappeared from Hermione's life when she was sixteen, only to resurface eight years later in a rather spectacular fashion that puts her entire world into upheaval.

This tale is inspired by the brilliant BBC crime thriller Killing Eve, if you are a fan of that genre I highly recommend watching! If you have been following the series you'll recognize a few early plot points in the first few chapters, though I put my own spin on things.

Also worth noting, a few canon character relations are out the window here. For example, in this story Regulus and Sirius are not brothers and Bella is not Lucius's sister in law. Don't worry, it will make sense as you read.

I don't put trigger warning before each chapter so please avoid reading if the following is not to your taste: Graphic Violence, Language, Explicit Sex, Illegal Drug Use, Organized Crime, Major Character Death, and Slash Pairing.

Lastly, the present day is set in 2005, I'll include dates to distinguish flashbacks and backstory.

Without further ado, here we go!

Saturday September 20, 1999

"They're throwing you out the day after your birthday. Christ, they don't waste anytime."

Hermione pulled the zipper closed on her backpack carefully, mindful of the stitching along either side from years of thread and needle repairs. She nodded in the speaker's direction.

"Mrs. Cole is terribly efficient as always."

The other girl pulled away from the doorframe she leaned against, watching Hermione collect the few belongings she could call her own and neatly pack them away as though they were priceless collectibles.

"Do you need money?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've been saving all summer, Ms. Pince gave me extra hours at the library to help. But thank you, Carmen."

Carmen sat at the edge of the perfectly made cot and studied her friend. "You seem… remarkably calm, all things considered."

Hermione sighed, unconsciously grasping the small gold pendant hanging around her neck between her thumb and index finger, a force of habit that didn't go unnoticed by the room's other occupant.

"Should I not be?" Hermione finally looked up, hazel eyes meeting blue. "I was well aware of the date of my eighteenth birthday. The rules have been the same for every resident that came before me. I've had ample time to prepare myself."

Carmen leaned back on her elbows. "Half your life."

"Exactly. Today is no surprise. And please don't wrinkle the bedding, I don't want Mrs. Cole thinking I left behind a messy room."

Carmen rolled her eyes but leaned forward all the same, running a hand over the dent she left to erase any signs of disorder. "Who will remind me to make my bed everyday?"

"You mean who will force you to make your bed every morning, as well as all your other chores?"

Carmen smiled but Hermione could see the glint of tears forming in her eyes.

"Please, don't. Not today."

Carmen swallowed heavily, wiping quickly at her eyes. "If not today then when?"

Hermione looked away, focusing on the empty dresser top. "I just… I can't today, Car. Please, for me, don't make this any harder than it needs to be."

The girls sat in silence for a several moments as they reigned in their emotions. Finally Carmen cleared her throat. "Well, if I'm not allowed to say goodbye, then I'm certainly not allowed to ask you about-"

"No, you aren't."

Carmen sighed and shook her head. "Fine, we'll sit here in silence until Mrs. Cole comes to get you."

"Where's the fun in that?" Entered a third voice, high and nasally, causing both girls to cringe instinctively before masking their faces with blank indifference.

"Hello, Amy."

"Hello, Hermione. Or I suppose I should say goodbye. Finally."

Hermione's hand curled into a fist, her nails pricking the skin of her palms and distracting her from the sudden overwhelming urge to tear a chunk of Amy's mousy brown hair from her head. The violent notion took her off guard in its swiftness and vivid detail. She attempted a calming breath but Amy destroyed any chance of a reprieve by speaking her next words as she stepped casually into the small bedroom.

"So, is your psycho boyfriend going to be waiting for you, or is he already in prison?"

Carmen leapt to her feet. "Fuck off, Amy."

"Why don't you fuck off? You should leave with your freak friend. Or are the two of you lesbians now?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Amy was painfully predictable in her attacks, always aiming for low hanging fruit. But Amy caught the movement and her face twisted into an unattractive sneer.

"Well, what of it, Hermione? Are we going to be graced with the presence of that twisted psychopath or will you have to visit him at the HMP? Hopefully they allow for conjugal visits, assuming he'd still have you. I can't imagine you're a more appealing option than what he can find behind bars."

Carmen reacted more so than Hermione, who found the entire speech lacking any real creativity since the old stand by joke when he was at Wool's was that he'd be the first minor tried as an adult before leaving the orphanage.

Instead Amy's comment filled Hermione's chest with that old, familiar ache. She tightened her fist, puncturing the skin beneath her blunt nails in an effort to maintain her air of indifference. Amy wasn't pleased with her target's lack of response so she dug deeper.

"Then again, maybe he's dead, yeah? You haven't seen hide nor hair of the miscreant since he left. Pretty strange, considering you were his little puppet all those years. Or did he just lose interest once he wasn't forced to share the same address?"

Hermione inhaled sharply through her nose, looking away to avoid giving Amy the satisfaction of seeing her face flush. Carmen stepped between them.

"Funny you should mention boys losing interest. Tell us, when's the last time Billy stopped by for a visit?"

Amy blinked, taken off guard by the change in subject. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before glaring.

"Not that it's any of your business but Billy got an amazing apprenticeship on the continent, he writes to me all the time and wants me to join him after I leave."

Carmen threw her head back and laughed. "Oh that's a riot! You expect us to believe Billy Stubbs got offered some posh job? He's the biggest idiot I've ever met! Couldn't even tie his shoes by himself until secondary."

Amy looked deeply affronted and was clearly scrambling for a response when Hermione regained her bearing and cut her off.

"It's been a pleasure as always, Benson. But unfortunately Carmen and I are expecting Mrs. Cole any moment, do you really want her to catch you down here when you're supposed to be cleaning the kitchens?"

Amy darted her scornful look between the two girls before her before smirking wickedly and backing away towards the door. "Whatever, why should I waste any more time on you? It's going to be so much cleaner without your mangy hair shedding about the place like some feral cat."

Carmen chased Amy to the door, Amy laughed and ran ahead down the hall. Carmen leaned forward on the frame and called after the fleeing girl. "I know you stuff your bra with napkins, you filthy cow!"

"Carmen! Are you crazy? Half the neighborhood would have heard that!"

"Good."

"Including Mrs. Cole."

"Oh whatever, if I get extra cleaning duties it'll be well worth it."

Hermione shook her head in exasperation but Carmen knew it wasn't due to her outburst. She leaned forward and grasped her friend's arm.

"Mione, look at me. He'll find you."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

Carmen knew the girl heard her but repeated it for comfort's sake. "Even if he's not waiting outside the gates, he will find you. I know he will."

Hermione worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "What if something's happened to him? Amy wasn't wrong, I haven't heard from him since he left."

Carmen shook her head. "That boy's a survivor, Mione. He isn't dead. There's no way."

Hermione nodded, believing Carmen's words as gospel. He was skilled at overcoming impossible odds. But still… what reason could he possibly have for disappearing entirely for the last two years?

Then again, he hadn't broken a promise to her yet. He never promised to visit, but he did promise to find her after she got out. She didn't push for specifics at the time, but now she wished she had. She had no idea if he'd be standing outside the gates, if he was their now, waiting for her to depart. Or was he halfway across the world, leading a totally new life and completely indifferent to today's date? She swallowed heavily, willing her mind to calm down.

The click of sharp footfalls distracted her from her turmoil. Both girls turned to face the doorway, instantly recognizing the sound. Mrs. Cole entered a moment later, face as drawn and stoic as ever, hands folded calmly behind her back.

"Ms. Granger," her words were clipped. "It is time."

Hermione nodded and turned to face Carmen, her friend was already in motion and threw her arms around Hermione, nearly knocking them both to the ground. "It's going to be okay," Hermione whispered, feeling the tremor run through Carmen's frame. Or was that her own body? Were her words meant to comfort her friend or herself?

She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around Carmen, returning the hug and fighting the urge to cry. She'd had nine years to prepare for this moment and thought she was ready, but it suddenly felt like it was hitting her all at once and she found her mind desperately racing with one thought at the forefront.

Tom, where are you?

Saturday July 9, 2005

Hermione slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the ray of sunlight glaring in through the crack in the blinds. She turned over and groaned into her pillow. Then she heard the buzzing sound, what must have woken her. She sighed deeply before stretching out her hands, fishing for her mobile discarded amongst her sheets and comforter. She fell asleep reading emails again.

Feeling her fingertips graze the vibrating plastic she pulled it free from her bedding and flipped it open without checking the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Oh shite, did I wake you?"

"Padma?"

"Yeah, sorry, I was expecting to get your voicemail."

"Itsalrite," she slurred, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "What's up? The lab okay?"

"Oh yeah, this isn't about class. I remember you saying you lost your other job at the library and were looking for extra work this summer."

Hermione stifled a yawn and stretched, pinning the phone beside her ear with her shoulder. "Um… yes, I am."

"Oh good! Because Pavarti needs someone to fill in for her at some posh event tonight."

Hermione blinked, suddenly wide awake. "Wait, tonight? What kind of job? I thought Parvati was working at some cafe in Soho?"

"Oh she is, and at the Topshop in Leicester, and she's a dog walker every now and then. But her catering job is the important one, it pays the best and if she doesn't find someone to fill in for her tonight she'll be chucked."

Hermione scooted forward to sit against her headboard. "Catering? Padma, I've never worked in food service, I don't know the first thing about… food… or serving."

"It's literally just walking around with trays of tiny, fancy finger foods and collecting empty wine glasses. No skill involved, just putting up with the occasional drunk arsehole who likes to get handsy with the help."

"Lovely."

"So do you think you can- shite! Hang on!" There was a shuffling sound followed by a muffled retching that was unmistakable even at muted volumes. Hermione cringed. She staggered out of bed and checked her alarm clock, groaning at the early hour. After a few moments Padma returned.

"Sorry, about that, Parvati was projectile vomiting in the sink."

"I heard. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, must be food poisoning."

"Poor thing," Hermione muttered even as she rolled her eyes and made her way to the bathroom.

She knew for a fact Parvati and her roomate Lavender went to Friday Happy Hour at The Animal Bar & Nightclub near their flat practically every week. Both women were beautiful but together made an even more striking pair when they went out, often attracting male attention which meant copious amounts of free drinks. She had no doubt what the true source of Parvati's early morning sickness was. Still, she wasn't in the mood to point this out as she was in desperate need of extra cash ever since her part time job at the Paddington Library was absorbed during their staffing restructure.

She wasn't thrilled with the prospect of catering but she had worked many worse jobs over the last ten years, holding down at least one part time job since she turned 16. Once she started at University College London she'd worked a variety of jobs at once to supplement her income. She was awarded scholarships for both her undergraduate and postgraduate studies but living in London bled a bank account fast.

"Hermione? Can you step in for her?"

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek to prevent a groan. "Yeah, sure, text me the info."

"You're a lifesaver! Parv would say thank you but she can't really say much of anything at the moment. So please allow me to express her sincere gratitude."

Hermione couldn't help but smile as she wet her toothbrush. "I suppose as twins you guys can express gratitude on each other's behalf."

"Yep, it's twin magic."

Hermione laughed, then cringed as she spit toothpaste onto the mirror.

Hermione awkwardly tugged at the linen button down shirt layered beneath the sleeveless black vest that composed the upper half of her uniform for the evening. Padma had dropped off her sister's clothes when Hermione couldn't find anything appropriate in her own closet. As the majority of her time was spent in class, at the lab or library she really didn't need nice dress clothes, and her budget was too tight to purchase new clothes for the one job.

The down side was that Parvati was a bit leaner than Hermione with a flatter chest, and despite strapping the girls down with a sports bra she still was practically bursting through the shirt. The tightness in the chest made the linen shirt ride up higher than normal, which meant she'd flash her stomach everytime she raised her arms too high. Lovely.

She groaned inwardly as she walked to the back of the venue towards the labeled service entrance. It was a sprawling country club with massive golf courses and beautiful fountains at the front. This meant she'd be serving the upper echelons of society. While feeling like an overstuffed sausage casing. She silently praid the pay was worth it.

A harried looking woman holding a clipboard was speaking rapidly into a wireless headset. Hermione slowed down, unsure if she needed to check in with someone or how this worked. She glanced around for assistance but everyone seemed distracted with their own work. She made her way to the clipboard lady and was greeted with a manicured finger in her face, giving her the universal sign to wait a moment minus any eye contact or verbal communication. Hermione nervously tugged at her shirt again as she waited until finally the woman addressed her.

"Hi, this is my first time working with you guys, do I need to check in?"

"Yes. Name?"

"Uh, well, it's Hermione Granger, but-"

"Granger, Granger, Granger… hm, I see no Granger on the list."

"Right, I'm actually filling in for a friend, Parvati Patil. She's worked with you guys a few times before-"

"Huh? Spell it."

Hermione took a deep breath, desperately missing her peaceful library work as she spelled her friend's last name.

"Oh, ok, I have that one. I don't remember who that is, but whatever. Will you be able to work it out between you two if we send the check to the address listed for Ms. Patil?"

Hermione blinked, unsure how to respond. Truth be told she wasn't that close with Parvati, only speaking to her a handful of times at events they both frequented, usually with Padma as the common denominator. Hermione met Padma in her Chemistry program years ago and developed a fast and easy friendship with the intelligent and highly ambitious girl. Padma was a hard worker and very thorough, qualities Hermione appreciated greatly in a lab partner. It took a couple years before the two girls began to hang out socially, on occasion, and it was less often that Padma's roomates, her sister and Lavender, joined them. Still, she was certain it would appear odd to say no, she didn't trust Parvati to give her the check when she'd just claimed they were good enough friends for Hermione to fill in for her.

The clipboard woman was tapping the metal clasp with the pen irritably, annoyed by Hermione's prolonged internal debate.

"Yeah, that's fine." She settled on, deciding to give Pavarti benefit of the doubt since she'd been nothing but nice to Hermione every time they met, despite Hermione's personal belief the girl was slightly irresponsible based on stories relayed through Padma.

The woman looked deeply put out at Hermione's delayed response, pointing her to the banquet hall impatiently. Hermione cringed as soon as she started her trail through the opulent country club. If the catering management was this pleasant she couldn't wait to meet the guests.

Stop, Hermione. You're being judgemental again. You always assume the worst of the privileged.

She shook her head at her internal beratement. She had developed a resentment for those born into wealth since she first joined Wool's at the tender age of nine, her innocence stripped away by harsh reality of being an orphan in an already overcrowded system. She gave up hope of joining a family through adoption or fostering around the age of twelve, knowing her chances were beyond slim due to her age and appearance. Your best chance at being chosen was being under the age of five. Older kids had to "play the part" when perspective families visited, putting on a show and dance and dolling themselves up to look as precious and adorable as possible. Hermione couldn't bear the charade and once Tom took her under his wing there was no point.

He taught her street smarts, how to survive on your own in a society that doesn't provide handouts, doesn't make exceptions for the weak and helpless. She absorbed his lessons like a sponge, so starved for companionship she would have undertaken his tutelage no matter what the subject matter, and with Tom the subject matter certainly varied.

At thirteen she could swipe a wallet out a man's back pocket while standing in front of him and not making physical contact. By fifteen she knew how to hotwire just about anything with a motor. He exposed the veins of the city, stripped away all the glitz and glamor to show her the marrow of what kept the streets bustling, kept the money moving. She harbored no delusions about what awaited an orphan outside of Wool's once they met majority. It was eat or be eaten, every man and woman for themselves.

Luckily Hermione held an advanced aptitude for learning beyond simple petty crime. Her intelligence was what Tom first took notice of, according to him, and her ability to hold both philosophical debates as well as her black and white reasoning was what held his interest. He made it his personal mission to show Hermione just how grey the world was.

He'd been quite successful in his endeavour. Both his teachings and her years spent scrounging for everything she ever had taught her there's more to life than right or wrong, good or bad. Everyone lived by their own truth, their own code of conduct that they used to justify their choices in life. She just did her best to live her life without hurting others, an adage she retained from her mother, and something Tom considered a deep character flaw.

His mantra was simple, take what you can before someone takes it from you. He didn't bat an eye at the beggar on the street corner holding a sign conveying a desperate plea for help. Those were people who chose to wallow in their circumstances instead of fighting to overcome. He certainly didn't seek kinship with anyone else at Wool's outside of Hermione, which in turn isolated her until he left and she was able to form a friendship with Carmen.

And Tom's strange obsession with the wealthy no doubt set the foundation for her own twisted view of the rich. He admired and craved their standing as much as he abhorred it. He didn't want to be like them, he wanted to take everything from them, smashing their face in the dirt as he stood atop them in victory, knocking them down to the depths in which he started his life while he climbed steadily to the top rungs.

She was jealous of the somewhat sick fascination he had with wealth. It was difficult holding his attention for long, even for her, but one flash of a Rolodex and Tom was transfixed, a flash of hunger and violence lighting his face, turning his handsome and sharp features cold and cruel, making her skin crawl. That was another area in which they differed, Tom's natural pinchent for violence, blood, pounding fists. He claimed to save such base actions as a last resort but she could tell by the expression on his face when a fight started how much he loved causing physical pain to others, watching crimson flow from the mouth and noses of his enemies, of anyone who dared slight him in any way.

Of all the lessons he taught her she could never stomach those, and he never pushed the matter. She often wondered why since Tom was relentless in every other area of her tutelage, never quite sussing out the reasoning. She settled on the reality that she was likely to lose most street scuffles she engaged in, if not simply due to her gender and size. It wasn't an efficient use of his time to teach her how to physically overcome her adversary so he focused on the mental aspects and how to avoid altercations altogether, which was quite ironic considering Tom thrived on chaos, the explosive anger he could draw out of others. He was a predator, everyone else his prey.

Hermione held no delusions. She was not his equal, she was simply his favorite pastime distraction. A hobby he entertained while confined to the walls of the orphanage, one he dropped just as soon as he was free to legally join society. She often feared his abandonment, knowing in the forefront of her mind it was only a matter of time before he got bored and discarded her onto the scrap heap of his past disappointments. She just hoped she was wrong, paranoid and plagued with abandonment issues like most other Wool's residents. She dreamed they'd have a future together outside of the orphanage's oppressive walls, though she rarely voiced those fantasies aloud, and never in any real detail when she dared.

But in the end her worst fears were proven true, her paranoia totally founded, her abandonment issues further tucked into the recesses of her heart and mind. Tom turned 18 and left, disappearing into the dusky night along with every promise, every stolen look, every lingering touch. And he took a gaping part of her with him, one she still felt the absence of everytime her mind so much as drifted to those years.

But Hermione wasn't thinking of him now, the hectic scene of the banquet hall distracting her over active mind and offering a blissful reprieve from the past. She stopped short, blinking at the chaos unfolding before her as a torrent of voices and clinking tableware erupted in a sea of sights and sounds. She took a deep, steadying breath, tugging absently at her shirt once more and continued forward.

Wednesday January 1, 1997

"If you make me say it again you're going to be crying for a very different reason."

She rolled her eyes, pulling a rumpled threadbare shirt out of his bag and meticulously folding it beside her on the bed.

"I heard you the first three times. And I'm not crying."

"You're on the verge of crying, which is even more annoying."

She sighed, shaking her head and pulling another article of clothing from his bag.

"And stop doing that, I have it packed a certain way."

"Yeah, crammed like a garbage heap."

She kept her focus on her work but could practically feel the temperature in the tiny room drop.

"I have a system to everything I do, Hermione, you should know that better than anyone."

"I don't claim otherwise. I simply don't see what harm there is in my folding your clothing and putting it back-"

"Maybe I don't want you going through my things."

She stopped short, looking up and nearly cringing beneath his intense gaze.

"What else do you have in the bag, Tom?"

He rolled his eyes and marched the short distance to her side, snatching the shirt from her hands and grabbing his bag with the other, forcefully shoving the garment inside.

"You know better than to ask such questions. If I wanted you to know then you'd know."

She looked away, playing with the end of her braid in an attempt to mask the hurt on her face. This was their last day together for… who knew how long, and she was vastly disappointed in the sour mood he'd chose to donn.

Why can't you make this a pleasant parting worth remembering? Lord knows I'll never be able to purge a second of it from my mind regardless of how you act.

She heard him sigh and chanced a glance upward, seeing the telltale softening of his features that most wouldn't be able to recognize. But Hermione had spent many long years memorizing every last detail of his face and multitude of expressions that she could tell a reluctant surrender was on the horizon. He only backed down from a squabble when it came to her, though even that was a rare treat. She could only assume he was equally aware of the significance of this interaction between them and was trying to curb his otherwise volatile urges.

"Come here."

The low spoken command sent a chill down her spine and her body reacted before her mind could register what was happening. She was on her feet and standing before him within seconds. He stuffed his arm deep into the bag he still held and started to fish for something at the bottom.

Her heart began to race, a multitude of possibilities flashing through her mind before her thoughts locked on the vivid memory of the first time Tom showed her a gun. He held it in his hands with such perverse wonder in his glittering grey eyes and played with it for hours before finally clicking the safety off and carefully taking her hands in his, molding her fingers around the grip with his lithe frame pressed flush against her back, warm breath aimed down her neck even as all the air was stolen from her lungs.

Pull the trigger, luv, he whispered so sweetly, so seductively in her ear. She was trembling at that point which only prompted him to hold her closer, though she didn't see how that was possible as she could already feel the strong, steady thud of his heartbeat between her shoulder blades. I can't, she whispered back, feeling equal parts foolish and terrified. Sshh, he gently admonished her, as he was apt to do when he was trying to sway her to his side of an argument. You can, you will, he nuzzled the side of her neck, You must.

Hermione's heart was racing as she watched him rummage around in the bag and she felt her palms begin to sweat. She wiped them absently on her skirt when his hand finally emerged with a small black box. She blinked, taken aback by the item. She recognized it immediately, a small velvet jewelry box like the types in commercials and in the windows of fancy jewelers downtown.

Seeing it in Tom's hand she couldn't make sense of the moment. Tom had stolen plenty of jewelry before, usually right off someone's neck or wrist, and petty theft didn't come with neat velvet boxes. She suddenly felt her throat constrict at the notion of Tom robbing a legit store, box and all, and the danger he was putting himself in now that he was 18.

"What… where did you get that?"

He smirked, making her heart stutter anew.

"Don't you want to know what it is first?"

His voice was dripping in honey, making her want to squirm where she stood and putting her senses on high alert. A seductive Tom was usually a Tom that wanted something.

She swallowed heavily, his smile grew fangs.

"Open it, little one, I promise it won't bite."

She narrowed her eyes. "It's not the box I'm worried about."

But she carefully took the box from his hand, feeling sparks along her skin where their fingertips touched. She inhaled sharply through her nose before briefly closing her eyes, both terrified and exhilarated at what she might find. She clicked open the lid, the hinge making a sharp snapping sound that caused her to instinctively look to the contents within. And just as suddenly all the air left her deflated lungs in a whoosh.

"Tom… I… it's… it's beautiful."

"Hmmm," he hummed, reaching out to carefully pull the gold chain from the silk pillow it was wrapped around. She watched his graceful movements as if from a distance, eyes wide in wonder.

"That's, I mean, that's for… me?"

"No, it's for Crusty Cole. Do you think she'll like it? I had such trouble shopping for her."

"Git," she muttered, unable to suppress the corners of her mouth from turning up.

His eyes gleamed, as though there was an invisible light source directed solely into his fathomless gaze. She felt her heart race quicken as he motioned for her to turn around. She did so on unsteady feet, breathing deeply as he stepped close behind her, his muscular chest bumping her back as he reached over her head and fastened the chain behind her neck, carefully pulling her braid free and then resting his hands on her shoulders. The warmth scalded her skin, as his touch always did. It was magnificent. She felt light headed as she reached down and touched the intricate pendant.

"Do you like it?" he whispered deep and low, his lips lingering at the shell of her ear while she wet her lips and tried to find her voice.

He'd never presented her with such a token, a gift for the simple sake of giving. His usual offerings were far more practical, which had never phased her as she was intimately familiar with the income he brought in working his various minimum wage jobs after school when he took a break from pickpocketing.

"I love it," she whispered, then cleared her throat with burning cheeks. "Tom, how much did this cost? You shouldn't have-"

"Hush now," he pulled her back against him and she melted into his warmth. "You know better than to tell me what I can and can't do. I wanted to get you something… worthy of your beauty. Unfortunately there's nothing out there that can quite match it, but this small token will have to suffice until I can afford something better."

She closed her eyes and rested into him further, unable to suppress the sigh of contentment as he wrapped his lean but toned arms around her front.

"I… I love it. I wasn't expecting… It's so… Thank you, Tom."

She felt his breath scald her shoulder as he lowered his head, lips hovering above her skin.

"I want you to wear it when I'm gone and think of me."

She could hardly suppress her laugh. "I hardly think I need jewelry to remember you by."

"Then I want others to see it and remember me. And that you belong to me."

Thank goodness she was leaning against him or she was sure to faint. Tom had only called her beautiful on two other occasions, instances she remembered in vivid detail, but never like this, never with a gold chain around her neck, marking her as his, a possessive brand for all others to see. They had skirted around their feelings for eachother for seven long years, never outright saying what they were, what they meant to each other.

She harbored no doubt in her heart that what she felt for Tom was absolute and unbreakable, a bond forged at the root of her core forever tying her to this man of mystery and danger. But she was always unsure of his true intentions towards her, sometimes his eyes held a heat so primitive she felt stripped bare before him, exposed to the marrow of her bones. Other times he barely spared her a glance, dismissing her for whatever hobby or new obsession dug their hooks into his vastly complicated mind.

But now, touching the pendant at her throat, she felt a warmth permeate her body starting at her core and spreading out in every direction, making her skin flush and tingle. She traced the interlocking lines and loops with her fingertip.

"It's a celtic knot," she whispered, her voice sounding strange to her ears.

"The knots hold many different meanings, depending on the design and placement."

She closed her eyes. "And… this knot?"

She gasped lightly as his lips grazed her neck, soft as butterfly wings.

"It's called the Lover's Knot."

She was certain her knees would have given out entirely had she been supporting her own weight. Tom reached a hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up, resting his mouth so close to hers she could feel and taste the words upon her lips.

"I have to leave, Hermione. But I'm coming back for you, understand?"

She was so mesmerized by his stormcloud grey eyes she barely managed to nod.

"Good, because once you leave this place, I'll find you. No matter where you go, I'll find you."

His words were spoken with such intensity it sent chills up her spine. She opened her mouth, unsure what she was going to say, words escaping her as quickly as the heat built. Tom's gaze changed suddenly, a dark shadow coming over his eyes even as their gleam deepened. She knew that look, recognized it as his call to blood lust, but somehow some primitive part of her knew it wasn't an urge to break and destroy that had seized him. It was another kind of lust, just as raw and powerful as all his other emotions and she surrendered completely to it just as she did in all things when it came to Tom.

His mouth descended on her hungrily, so unlike the exploratory kisses and touches they'd shared in the past. This was pure, animalistic need. He was marking her, seering his brand into her, claiming whatever part of her he could in the small time they had left.

She felt his tongue brush at her lips as though tasting, lapping gently, and she instinctively opened and let him penetrate, invade her mouth and explore the sweet inner caverns at his leisure. She moaned low and deep in her throat and felt the responding growl resonate through his chest, vibrating through his person and into her back pressed so tightly against his strong frame.

She slid her tongue along his, copying his movements, always his avid student hungry to learn from his teachings. He made a sound some base part of her recognized as hunger, need, raw desire, and she felt his hands begin to wander down her body. Strong hands seized her hips, pressing her more firmly against his pelvis where a rigid heat prodded into her bum. She felt her eyes roll behind her closed lids.

His hands slid up to her waist, long deft fingers sliding around to grasp her breasts through her blouse. Not pinching, not groping, merely splaying over her delicate flesh in an intimate brand of ownership. She trembled and felt her head lighten. She needed air. She attempted to pull away from his devouring mouth when he moved a hand to the back of her neck in a rapid movement, his reflexes lighting fast from years of harnessing the skill. He held her head firmly in place, taking what he wanted, taking her over, and she quickly forgot her need for oxygen, surrendering to the dark abyss of whatever fever dream this was.

Then all at once Tom pulled back, sucking in a sharp breath as he released her. She stumbled on her feet, unprepared to support her own weight so suddenly. Her entire body felt alight with some internal flame that still blazed through her bloodstream, though her outer skin felt cold in the absence of his body heat. She turned to face him, her face displaying the question her mouth was unable to articulate.

Tom's eyes still burned, locked on her like a hungry predator, coals aflame in the recesses of his overblown pupils. He was running a hand through his long dark hair as though any piece were ever out of place, the other hand traveling lower to adjust the prominent bulge in his pants.

She reached out a hand for him but quickly dropped it at the shake of his head. Before disappointment could join the confusion already blossoming in her heart she heard the sound that Tom must have already zeroed in on, the sharp clicking of heels down the tiled hallway. Hermione's eyes bulged as she spun around to face the hanging mirror, adjusting her clothing and rubbing futilely at her flushed cheeks.

By the time Ms. Cole rounded the corner and entered the room Hermione was seated on the corner of Tom's utilitarian cot with her legs primly crossed and hands folded atop her knees, eyes downcast. Tom stood at the dresser, bag packed and flung over his shoulder, eyes on the matron. She gave both of them a thorough once over and rose a graying brow, her features pinching even further.

"I see you've already said your goodbyes then."

Hermione cleared her throat and kept her face averted down, fearing the matron would see right through her should she make eye contact. Tom stepped forward, his voice still mostly gravel when he spoke.

"I'm ready. Let's get this over with."

Cole speared him with her most intimidating stare. Tom didn't flinch. The head matron had never been able to make this particular charge cower and he'd been an ongoing thorn in her side from the day he arrived at the orphanage in police custody.

"Very well then, follow me Mr. Riddle." She spun on her heel and began her path to the front of the building, to the exit.

Tom turned to face Hermione and she grasped her chest, feeling a sharp pain alight through her body starting from her heart. She looked up at him and felt the tears spilling over her cheeks, unbidden, overwhelmed in the face of this devastating loss, the most emotionally jarring moment since the traumatic night she lost her parents.

"Tom-" she croaked, her throat thick with emotion.

She watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed once, heavily, and in two strides he was standing before her, grasping her shoulder and pulling her up.

"None of that. Crying is weakness, remember the first rule, never show weakness."

She wiped at her eyes helplessly but the tears kept flowing. She gazed at him miserably, willing him to understand and to permit this one showing of weakness. She couldn't bare to watch him leave. To lose him to the wide open world outside Wool's gates.

He tenderly cupped her face with one hand and wiped away her tears with the other.

"Remember what I said, Hermione. Remember."

She nodded her head but clung to him all the same.

"Sshh," he whispered into her hair, gently rubbing at her back, "I promise, I will find you."

"Mr. Riddle!" came the sharp command from down the hall.

He let her linger in his arms a moment longer before gently pushing her away, gazing into her eyes for a long moment and she realized her was searching for something, though she couldn't begin to imagine what. She's bared her soul to this boy, now a man, from the age of nine. She had no secrets from him, she was an open book he thumbed through at his leisure. What could he possibly be looking for in her that he hadn't already discovered?

He broke their gaze to gently kiss her forehead, such a tender and familial gesture in light of the passionate kiss they'd shared mere minutes before. She felt her lungs burning with the need to gasp for breath, to scream, to vent the building rage and pain of loss inside.

She silently watched him turn away, adjusting the bag on his shoulder and he walked to the door and paused, looking over his shoulder to stare at her one last time, his eyes tracing over her slowly as if memorizing every detail.

Then he met her eyes, nodded, and left.

Saturday July 9, 2005

Hermione absently rubbed at the sweat collecting along her forehead with her linen covered forearm, balancing a champagne tray in the other.

This night, put simply, absolutely sucked ass.

She'd been taking orders from just about everyone with a headset, barking commands at her in code as if she'd spent a lifetime serving. She mostly watched her peers, taking cues from the other wait staff on where to discard empty trays and pick up news ones, which routes to take through the crowds, no, hoards of finely dressed and bedazzled dinner guests.

She thought it would just be walking around with trays of food and a fake smile plastered to her face all night. And it was that, but also a lot of other stuff that left her quite overwhelmed and physically exhausted only two hours into the event.

She'd been able to suss out from stolen snippets of conversation this was a fancy retirement party for some business tycoon bigwig named Malfoy. She wasn't positive on the first name. Lyle? Lucien? Something like that. She'd been more focused on keeping the massive trays balanced as she bobbed and weaved through throngs of people.

She was making her way back to the kitchens with an empty tray of wine and champagne glasses when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She stopped in her tracks, quickly looking around on instinct. She shook her head upon seeing no eyes blatantly on her. Of course someone probably looked at her, she was in a venue overflowing with the rich and sloshed, they were probably eyeing her hard so she'd hurry back with a fresh load of booze and finger foods. She tried to ignore the distinct and irritating feeling of being watched and disappeared through the staff entrance.

She grabbed for a tray of puff pastries when the headset lady from her checkin appeared as if out of thin air beside her, shaking her head profusely.

"Speeches are about to start soon, start circulating more drinks, we're done with the food for now."

Hermione nodded and grabbed for a waiting tray of champagne flutes instead. She spun too quickly and all the glasses shook precariously.

"Christ! Watch it!" Clipboard lady scolded, glaring daggers at the back of Hermione's head as she bit the inside of her cheek and walked carefully back into the party room.

She slowed down as the distinct feeling of being watched returned. She tried to brush it off as guests began grabbing drinks off her tray, most without acknowledging her presence. She tugged at the hem of her shirt with her free hand, wondering if she was attracting attention due to showing skin in the back. She swallowed heavily, the crawling sensation growing stronger until she couldn't help but chance a glance around the room for the upteenth time.

Her gaze swept over laughing and chatting faces of all shapes and sizes, some heavily wrinkled, others caked in copious amounts of makeup, glistening jewels shining from ears and throats. Suddenly she felt light headed. She swayed once on her feet and attracted the attention of a couple chatting gentlemen just to her right, both wearing the customary tuxedo for the black tie event. One reached out a hand to help steady the tray.

She blinked, the fog suddenly receding and she looked up to thank whoever had assisted. She stopped short, both men studying her were profoundly attractive, and that was from the neck up. The fine garb only enhanced their masculine suave. The one who had stepped in to help steady her load had a shock of thick, finely styled white blonde hair and perfect teeth, which she saw due to the killer smile he flashed.

"Everything okay?" he asked, voice pleasantly deep.

She felt a flush explode across her neck and face, he smiled deeper.

"Uh… yeah… sorry about that, I'm… Just not used to carrying these big trays around." She bit her tongue, wanting to kick herself for sounding so moronic. However the handsome stranger looked intrigued.

"I can understand, this tray looks to be twice the weight of you. Here, let me assist. Theo, can you clear the table?"

The other man standing nearby gave a somewhat sardonic smirk at his blonde comrade but set his own drink down to help clear a small space nearby.

"Oh, you don't- I mean, that's not necessary," she tried to say, but the blonde was already taking the tray from her grasp with ease and setting it down beside them.

"There, much better, now I can see your beautiful face."

Hermione blinked, her flush making her burn even hotter even as the hairs on her neck and arms stood on end once more. She shook off the sensation, assuming it was just another annoying bodily reaction to the debonaire male specimen before her.

"Oh, I… thanks. I'm not really used to this sort of stuff. But I have to get back to serving, toasts are about to start soon."

"Speeches actually," the blonde corrected without mirth, absently running a finger along the collar of his tux. She couldn't help but follow the motion, taking note of his sharp jawline. She swallowed and closed her eyes briefly, willing her body to relax and act normal.

"I'm due on stage shortly, actually," he said, taking a glass from her discarded tray and sipping at the bubbly liquid within. He licked the moisture from his top lip and she averted her gaze, he smiled and traced her with an intense male gaze from bottom to top. She had to grasp her hands behind her back to stop from fidgeting and pulling uselessly at the tight shirt.

"Are you close to the man who's retiring? Mr… Malfoy, is it?"

She noticed from the corner of her eye the dark haired man the blonde had referred to as Theo smiled quite broadly before hiding the expression behind the rim of his glass.

"No, not especially," the blonde said casually, eyes drifting towards the stage and big band playing just off to the side. "I'm his son."

Hermione jolted, staring back at the blonde with wide eyes. He shifted to face her once more with an air of grace and indifference to his statement that only the truly wealthy could manage. But try as she might, she couldn't muster the usual disdain she reserved for the upper class for this particular gentleman. Something about him was… compelling. He drew her in with a sort of magnetism that couldn't be denied. It reminded her of…

She felt breath on the back of her neck and spun quickly around. No one was there. She blinked.

"Everything okay?" the blonde asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice.

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it, turning slowly back to face him.

"Um… yeah… I just thought…" she trailed off, twisting her hands before her.

She felt distinctly uncomfortable all of a sudden, her body's defense mechanisms all on high alert for some odd reason, but she had learned and accepted long ago to never ignore her natural instinct, especially when it repeatedly tried to warn her.

"I should really finish handing out glasses," she said with a forced smile, reaching down for the tray.

A look of mild disappointment flashed across the blonde's face, quickly hidden behind his charming smile and bright silver gaze.

"Certainly, far be it for me to distract you from your duty, Miss…?"

"Cole," Hermione said on instinct, hefting the weight of the tray onto her hand once more.

She wasn't sure why she felt compelled to lie to this handsome, obviously very rich and well connected man, but her intuition was on high alert for one reason or another and she felt it best not to share her true surname on this particular occasion. She used Cole whenever she wanted an easy to remember alias.

"Ah, Miss Cole. Lovely to meet you, I do hope to see more of you later this evening, perhaps after my father's guests are well and truly sloshed and no longer in need of such around the clock libations."

Hermione couldn't help but genuinely smile at his casual mirth, reflecting a hint of aberration for the festivities that she herself harbored. "Perhaps you will, Mr. Malfoy."

"Draco," he said, flashing another brilliant grin that threatened to upturn her tray all over again. She quickly returned the smile and turned away before she could make a bigger fool of herself.

Saturday September 20, 1999

Hermione adjusted her backpack, toying with the straps absentmindedly as she followed her matron outside the orphanage. She swallowed down any remaining emotion, not willing to break down before Mrs. Cole of all people.

"The taxi will be here any minute to take you to the assisted housing outside Stratford. Unless you've secured alternative arrangements?"

Mrs. Cole stopped short to pivot on her heel and pin Hermione with a sharp look equal parts judgemental and knowing. Hermione knew exactly what the elderly matron was asking, and why there was so much judgement in her voice. Many of her young charges opted to shack up with friends and lovers in hovels throughout the city to stay closer to London and forgo the restrictions the government housing enforced on their young occupants. And considering Hermione's relationship with Tom while under the woman's care she no doubt suspected Hermione would do the same.

Hermione swallowed and tried to formulate a response beyond "I am happy to go to the facility in Stratford, unless Tom's outside those doors, in which case I'll follow him to the ends of the earth and back."

Instead she cleared her throat and carefully met the matron's eyes. "My plans aren't finalized. I'd like to keep my job at the library but I suppose I can find work closer to the group home until I find something more… permanent."

Mrs. Cole turned her nose up and sniffed the air.

"At least you have some sense about you, always have, more so than most of the dolts that come through these doors."

Hermione bit her cheek on retort, eager to stand up for the abandoned, the discarded and scarred children that came through the orphanage, but also wanting to get through this ordeal as quickly as possible. Freedom was in sight, so close she could taste it.

Mrs. Cole waited out the beat of silence and, seemingly satisfied with Hermione's lack of response, turned back around and continued to march to the large oak doors. Hermione held her breath, actually closing her eyes as the doors opened and the bright morning light flooded in. She blindly followed the soft click of her matron's heels outside onto the cement landing. She inhaled sharply, held it for a count of three, and opened her eyes.

To see an empty courtyard, and an empty driveway beyond the gates.

She glanced around once, twice, three times with her heart beating painfully against her chest. She reached up to grasp the golden knot at her neck while willing the tears at bay.

Tom wasn't here.

Tom isn't here.

Tom…

"It seems your cab has arrived early, Ms. Granger."

Hermine blinked, watching the black cab slowly slowly turn the corner and crawl along the gravel path to the steps she stood upon. Hermione sucked in a deep breath, it caught unsteady in her throat. Mrs. Cole looked to her sharply, scrutinizing Hermione's twisted expression as she fought back tears.

Suddenly she felt a hand upon her shoulder. Her eyes snapped to the side and met those of her strict and relentless matron.

"I know you were expecting him, my dear. I'm sorry if his absence upsets you. But let this serve as an important lesson, you cannot rely on anyone in this life. Especially a man. You must make yourself into a strong, independent woman. You of all my charges are capable of this. Do you understand what I'm telling you, Hermione?"

Hermione stared blankly at the older woman as her words processed in her still reeling mind. She was most taken aback by the matron's use of her first name. She couldn't recall a single time in the last nine years Mrs. Cole referred to her as anything but Ms. Granger. Hearing her given name on the woman's normally sharp tongue somehow made the moment more intimate, more real.

Hermione blinked back the tears and nodded jerkily, still feeling off kilter by Tom's absence but grasping the severity of her matron's message.

"Yes," she said softly, holding the other woman's strong, unyielding gaze. "I understand, Mrs. Cole. Thank you for that, and for believing in me."

Mrs. Cole's touch lingered on Hermione's arm for another few second before she resumed her rigid stance, arms straight at her side as she tipped her head to the car below.

Hermione adjusted her backpack once again as she slowly descended down the steps and into the backseat of the cab. As she slid into the wide seat she glanced up at the large, intimidating architecture of the victorian styled orphanage where she'd spent her most formative years. She felt a pang of loss, of forced change, the discomfort of starting anew from scratch.

Her hand absently played with the pendant at her throat and her thoughts traitorously drifted to Him. Always Him.

Damn you, Tom. Where are you? You promised…

She closed her eyes as the cab slowly pulled away, Mrs. Cole lingering at the entrance long enough to watch the cab disappear, a rare look of emotion on the old woman's face that Hermione missed as her thoughts were plagued with crippling disappointment.

As the cab turned onto the main road and the driver attempted idle small talk Hermione took a deep, steadying breath, releasing the pendant and folding her hands on her lap.

Maybe he's just waiting. He'll find me in Stratford. Of course he will, he was just busy today. There's still time…

But it would be six more years before Hermione Granger saw Tom Riddle.

Saturday July 9, 2005

Hermione leaned over the bussing table in the back kitchen trying to catch her breath. She felt so out of sorts tonight, between the around the clock service stations, mind numbing mingling with guests, and the unshakable feeling of panic festering in her gut, she was one popped champagne cork away from losing her shit.

What the bloody hell is wrong with me? I don't like large crowds but I've never reacted like this… like a prey grazing through the grass with a predator at my back.

She shook her head, running the cool washcloth over her forehead that one of the other, frieldier servers had slipped her way. She knew she didn't have long to doddle, clipboard lady would no doubt be combing the kitchens for stragglers and unserved champagne trays any moment now. Speeches were beginning any moment now and most guests were seated.

Hermione stood, took a deep breath and slowly exhaled on a three count.

You're almost there, Mione. The nights over half way through. You're in the homestretch.

She discarded the hand towel and slowly made her towards the party room…

Only to be cut off by clipboard lady, who wore her usually affronted look upon seeing Hermione.

"What the hell are you doing back here? The-"

"Speeches, yeah I know."

The woman's eyes slitted further, clearly not appreciating having her scolding session cut short.

"The guest of honor is MIA, the speeches can't start until he's found. You're lucky. Now get your ass out there and start serving drinks."

Hermione briefly closed her eyes, praying for serenity. She vividly imagined ripping the headset from the woman's perfectly tailored bob and strangling her with the cord. The thought almost made her smile.

Almost.

Instead she opened her eyes to an even more agitated face and quickly stepped past the irate woman before she began a new tirade.

Hermione entered the party room and picked up a bottle of wine from one of the nearby servers, walking the perimeter of the room and filling glasses at the tables along the edge.

Then she felt the strange sensation again. Ice down her spin, hair standing on end, eyes fastened to her every move. Her head snapped up and her eyes darted to the far back of the room on instinct, like some magnet was pulling her focus there.

And she promptly dropped the wine bottle, deaf to the shattering of the glass at her feet or the gasps of the guests at the table before her. Wine splattered up on her legs, the tablecloth, the gowns and tuxedos of the people sitting nearest.

She heard nothing, saw nothing.

But Him.

Standing like a sentinel at the back of the room near the large doors leading to the main body of the country club. Dressed impeccably as the rest of the guests. Hands calmly folded behind his back.

And his storm grey eyes locked on her.

They were glowing. Other worldly. There was no other way to describe it. To describe this moment. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

She blinked. And blinked again. And then rubbed at her eyes, but there he remained, his expression looking… amused?

She swallowed thickly. The sodding bastard. Laughing at her expense, even after all these years. It was him alright.

The realization stole the breath from her lungs and she doubled over, catching herself on the table before her even as the scandalized guests yipped and squealed over the wine incident.

"Oh my goodness, I am terribly sorry about this!" came an urgent, cringingly familiar voice. Clipboard lady sidled up beside Hermione, gripping her arm so tightly the circulation began to wane and pulling her back and away from the finely dressed guests. "It's her first night," she explained in a sugary sweet voice, pushing a still dumbfounded and speechless Hermione behind her. "We'll get this mess cleaned up right away."

As she dragged Hermione towards the kitchens her gaze remained locked on Him. She was afraid to blink again, afraid this was a hallucination that would evaporate as soon as she lost visual contact. He was still far away but she had memorized the details of his face so long ago she could recognize the lines and patterns in his skin from the space shuttle.

His features were even more angular, more chiseled in manhood that what she recalled from their youth. His fine pale skin was the same, unblemished as though carved from marble. His thick, shiny dark dark was longer, wavy, swept back in a stylish fashion. His broad chest and narrow waist filled the tuxedo perfectly. And his eyes…

His eyes remained the same. Gray and thunderous, blazing hot and freezing cold all at once, pinning you to the spot like a pin through a butterfly wing when his focus was directed upon you.

And right now, his focus was entirely directed upon Hermione. His eyes tracked her movements across the room, holding her gaze without blinking, just as all consuming as she remembered.

Could this possibly be a hallucination? A waking fantasy induced by stress? How could her mind possibly conjure up an adult version of the lanky teen she'd last seen eight years ago?

The only thing her mind was certain of in that moment was how devastatingly beautiful this man, no, this otherworldly creature was. Because certainly this couldn't be her Tom. Not here, at this event, standing there like he owned the place, like a regent over seeing his people.

She swallowed heavily as she was dragged deeper into the hallway leading to the kitchens, finally losing sight of him. She jerked violently out of clipboard's lady grip.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

But the demand fell on deaf ears, because no sooner did Hermione scramble forward back into the main room than he disappeared.

She blinked, standing limp and mute, eyes sweeping the room for any sign of him. Clipboard lady was at her back, hissing something at her, most likely of a threatening nature. Hermione ignored her and walked as quickly as she could to the last place she saw him, mindlessly bumping into tables and guests without a glance in either direction. She stood where he was last standing, rooted to the spot, spinning in circles looking for any sign.

Then that feeling of magnetism, of being lured silently by a siren's call fell upon her again. The same impulse that directed her searching gaze to his presence the first time was now calling her out of the party room and through the large doors he was standing near, out into the main hall. She didn't stop to ponder, to question, she gripped tightly onto the handles and slipped out of the party, her duties for the night long forgotten.

She stood in an empty hallway leading down to an empty concierge desk as the end, beautiful stained glass windows lining one side of the walkway, several large ornate doors similar to the one at her back dotting along the opposite wall.

He's hear. I can feel him…

She took a deep breath and started walking, eyes flashing this way and that as though he'd materialize before her like a mirage if only she gazed at the right angle.

She was halfway down the hall when she heard a noise, a muffled shuffling and slightly louder thump. She froze, eyes darting to the right at a set of massive carved doors barely ten feet away.

She swallowed, her stomach filling with a sense of anticipation and dread, though she was too driven to see Tom up close to fully ponder the feeling. She grasped a handle on one of the large doors and gave it a gentle tug, surprised when it easily parted to allow her entry.

She held her breath and stepped inside.

The room was dark for the most part, only lit by a partially covered window. There were many tables along the polished wood floor, chairs tipped over on top, a smaller entertainment space. She glanced around as she crept further inside, her heart beating faster, an animal sensing danger nearby. But she squashed the feeling, ignored her instinct, her female intuition, and stepped further inside the room with slow, measured steps.

She cleared her throat lightly. "He- Hello?" she all but whispered into the large open space, instantly regretting it.

She bit her lip and turned in a slow circle, seeing nothing amiss, nothing out of the ordinary, no sign of-

There was a gentle tap, like a shoe against hardwood. She spun back around, heart in her throat, and realized there was a hidden bar at the back corner of the room. She could see part of the shelving, several high end bottles upon display. She didn't hesitate, marching quickly around the corner and then coming up short.

The bar was fully within view, but it was empty, stools piled to one side and bar wear to the other. She instantly deflated, hanging her head and willing back the tears.

He wasn't in here. No one was in here. She'd missed him.

Lost him. Again.

If he was even there to begin with, you crazy bint.

She started to pivot on her heel, resigned to returning to the main party where she was surely about to be fired on the spot for walking out, when something bright red caught her eye.

It wasn't so much the color itself, as the room was filled with bright furnishings. It was the fact that the color was spreading, like spilled paint. She blinked, standing numbly and watching the color pool and flow and grow, spreading out from some source behind the bar.

She could hear her heart thumping wildly in her ears as she neared the counter, holding bated breath. She didn't want to step in the bright liquid, some instinctual part of her knowing what it was before her mind caught up, so instead she stood on the opposite side of the counter and perched on her tiptoes, balancing her forearms against the granite countertop and slowly peering over the edge…

She gasped, jerking back as soon as her eyes landed on the crumpled body. All she'd been able to make out was a black suit and long, white blonde hair, half saturated in bright crimson. She brought a hand to her mouth and spun around wildly, braced to run for the door.

But as soon as she about faced a crisp white cravat came into view, taking up her field of vision. Strong hands grasped her upper arms, rooting her in place. She knew who it was before she looked up.

But she had to look up.

Had to see his face up close.

She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, tears pouring out of the corners, before sucking in a sharp breath and peering upward.

Tom smiled down at her like a cat that caught the canary, straight white teeth gleaming, eyes shining brightly as if lit from within.

Otherworldly… her mind thought helplessly.

She was trapped, and she was wrecked and devastated and filled with longing and anger and elation all at once… too many warring emotions to sort through, but nothing could quite override the blind panic she felt at discovering the bloody, mangled body behind the bar not five feet from where they stood.

She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't find the words to embody the entirety of the situation she found herself in.

His fingers dug into her flesh almost painfully. Looking at him was painful, his perfect beauty, so cold and hot, always a dichotomy for her senses.

His smile turned into a look she recognized, smug, satisfied with himself, as he released his grip upon her with one hand to slowly trail it up her arm, over her shoulder and around her neck. His long fingers slid behind her collar, short blunt nails lightly scratching against her sensistive nape and making her gasp, his thumb resting gently against her pulsepoint, his piercing eyes darting down to watch the rapid thrumming of her heart against her skin.

Then his fingers moved lower, catching on a thin gold chain that made his eyes turn darker, transforming into a look she also recognized from some time long ago…

He gently fished the necklace out of her shirt, running his fingers over the twisted celtic pendant, the silence so heavy and full she felt a solid weight upon her, crushing her lungs and expelling the breath from her body. She was weightless, held afloat only by his strong grip on her arm.

Finally, after a short eternity or two, his eyes latched back onto hers, rooting her to the spot permanently, seering through to her core. He pulled her in close, until she was flush against him, his body heat scalding her front and making her desperate for more.

"Hermione…" He whispered, honey dripping from his lips, catching onto her tongue and running down the back of her throat. "I told you I'd find you."

She blinked, tears clouding her vision, sensing something terrible and great was about to happen. She opened her mouth to speak his name, a prayer on the wind, when she felt a sharp prick in her neck, a bee sting…

And her world faded to black.