A/N: This tale was inspired by the amazingly talented author cherry cup. Besides writing incredible fiction, cherry also creates spine-tingling playlists on 8tracks and was generous enough to grant me permission to use one of her original titles for this story.

If you haven't discovered cherry's epic Tomione fic Stepbrother stop reading this shit and go read that now. Seriously. This garbage will still be here when you're done.

And now for yet another dark AU...

peccatophilia (n.) a love for sinning

Part One

The Awakening

Saturday, September 4, 1993

Thomas Riddle and Jean Granger were married on a bright, sunny day in Southern New Hampshire.

Hermione was two weeks away from turning fourteen, yet everyone at the Church agreed she looked several years older as she stood before the crowd in her Maid of Honor gown, holding a bouquet of white calla lilies as her mother recited handwritten vows from a piece of folded notebook paper, hands shaking with emotion.

Hermione did her best to smile, to maintain her rouse of excitement and awe in the wake of such love and devotion.

But her eyes kept drifting past her mother's lace capped shoulder, beyond the broad arm of her step-father-to-be, and locking with the turbulent grey gaze of the Best Man.

Her new step-brother, once the vows were complete.

Tom Riddle Jr. was turning sixteen on the last day of the year, but every guest at the Church agreed he appeared well beyond his youth in his fine pressed tuxedo and perfectly styled hair.

What a handsome young man, the older women whispered to themselves as Hermione walked arm in arm with him down the aisle as the ceremony began.

What wonderful manners.

What a charming smile.

Hermione bit her tongue so hard it nearly bled, fighting back a cringe as he kissed her hand before releasing her to the other side of the platform. The chivalrous gesture caused an uproar in the pews, everyone gushing over the teenage boy so mature beyond his years.

If they only knew.

As the Priest read from the book of ceremonial vows Hermione felt her skin crawl, that familiar sensation of being watched, analyzed, sinking into her bones.

She knew the eyes she felt upon her were not those of the spectators. They were His eyes. Always watching. Always waiting.

Always searching… for her weaknesses. Her cracks. Any way to burrow beneath her shell and poison her from the inside out.

Their parents' whirlwind romance had been just that. A chaotic hurricane that blew through Hermione's world and uprooted everything in its wake, tearing the roof off her organized life and leaving wreckage strewn behind for her to wander through aimlessly, looking for any scrap of her old self, any tiny piece of comfort and familiarity in this new dystopian hell.

Her mother's new beau wasn't a problem per se. Hermione certainly harbored no resentment towards the relationship itself. Her own father died when she was still too small to remember his face properly. Jean had maintained a string of somewhat boyfriends since then, but nothing serious, nothing like the man she was currently promising her future to. Promising her daughter's future to.

Riddle Sr. was a retired Army Sergeant, he and his only child had traveled and lived all over the world before finally settling down in New England to set down roots.

But it felt more like weeds... spreading, multiplying, climbing over the side of her body, winding around her wrists and ankles and holding her immobile.

The longer those eyes stared upon her the more magnetic their draw became. She felt her body start to tremble with the energy it took to keep her gaze averted. But it became too much, the urge too overwhelming.

She peered up, meeting the dark void head on as the Priest read the last of the vows, giving permission for the groom to kiss his bride.

As the crowd erupted into fits of cheer and applause Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach. The Best Man's face tilted down a fraction, a shadow passing over his gleaming gaze as a smile slowly unfurled across his handsome face, expression utterly wicked.

And Hermione knew at that moment, before a Church full of witnesses and God himself, her fate had just been sealed.

. . .

The reception was in full swing, the lights turned down low as everyone took to the dance floor, the music loud and drinks flowing.

Hermione sat at the wedding party table, watching her mother spin in circles beneath her new husband's hand, face unrestrained with joy.

It made Hermione's chest ache to see the woman so happy, so full of life.

And then her mother's eyes fell upon her, expression transforming into something that had Hermione rearing back in her seat before the bride even made it across the floor.

"Get your butt up, Mione!" She shouted over the music, holding out a hand. "You sit enough at school! You're dancing tonight!"

Hermione opened her mouth, blood draining from her face. "Mom, please, I don't-"

"No excuses!" Jean grabbed her daughter's hand and tugged her out of the chair, pulling her through the throngs of dancers to the center of the bustling floor. The lights above them flashed different colors onto the crowd of bodies, adding to the already chaotic energy.

Hermione folded her arms, shoulders drawing up. "Mom, I hate dancing!" She shouted, the bass vibrating through the floor and into her calves.

"I can't hear you!" Jean called back in a mocking tone, smile wide and eyes bright. "Come on, sweetie, dance with your old mom!"

She grabbed Hermione's upper arms and started to spin her around in a circle. Hermione nearly tipped over, arms flying out to keep her balance. Her mother laughed, sharp and tipsy, and Hermione giggled as well. Shaking her head.

"Mom!"

"Sorry, sweetie!" She didn't look the least bit sorry. But as the colored lights reflected across her mother's face Hermione saw so much happiness and excitement contained within it caused her chest to crack open the rest of the way.

She sighed, resigned. Her mother recognized the look of defeat on her daughter's expression and cheered wildly, clapping with glee as Hermione finally gave in and started to dance along to the music.

They joined hands, spinning each other in graceless circles and laughing wildly, hopping to the quick beat, neither caring how they appeared to those around them. The majority of guests on the dance floor were three sheets to the wind anyway, equally uncoordinated in their movement.

As the song finally wound down Hermione deflated, breathless, giggling lightly as her mother slumped into her with exaggerated exhaustion.

A slow song started to play, the light show calming as dancers started to couple up. Hermione swayed to the slow beat with her mother, their breath calming.

"Are you happy, sweetheart?" Jean asked, voice low but eyes intense, watching her daughter carefully.

Hermione blinked, heart stuttering before she forced a smile.

"I'm happy if you are."

Jean tipped her head. "Nothing means more to me in this life than you, Hermione. I love Thomas, but you will always come first."

Hermione swallowed thickly, nodding. "I know, Mom. And I like him. I really do. I'm happy for you both."

Jean's hazel gaze flickered between her daughter's before a smile broke free across her face once more. She drew Hermione close, squeezing.

"You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that, sweetheart. I know things haven't been easy. But I want you to know that I-"

"Here you are."

Hermione jolted, spin going rigid, body freezing in place even as her mother pulled back with a bright smile.

"Tom, darling! I was wondering where you'd snuck off to."

He stood with easy grace, hands tucked into his pockets. "Needed some fresh air, took a walk around the garden." His teeth gleamed beneath the lights. "Dad's looking for you, he's over by the main table."

Jean sighed. "I guess I better go see what the old ball and chain wants." She winked at Tom, squeezing his arm. "Keep Mione company for me? I don't want her scurrying off to some dark corner to sit alone."

Hermione paled, mouth opening to protest, but then Tom's eyes fell upon her and rendered her silent.

"I'd be happy to."

Hermione clung to her mother's hand as the woman tried to extract herself. "Mom-"

"I'll be back soon, sweetie. Keep dancing, it's good exercise."

She blew Hermione an air kiss as she finally broke away, disappearing into the throng of slow dancing couples.

Hermione's fists clenched at her sides, swaying on her feet with the force of her rising dread.

"Shall we?"

She watched him extend a hand from the corner of her eye. She released a slow breath, closing her eyes, jumping when she felt cool fingers encase her wrist, pulling her arm forward. Her eyes snapped open as he stepped closer, chest pressing against her. He stood several inches taller and was still growing yet, causing her to tip her head back to see his amused gaze.

"Relax. We're brother and sister now, Hermione, there's no reason to be so nervous around me."

Her eyes narrowed.

"I'm not nervous."

"No?"

Her jaw flexed.

"Hm," he mused, dark brow raising. "Perhaps nervous isn't the right word for it then."

"I don't have any problem with you, Tom," she snapped and then flushed as he placed both hands at her waist and drew her even closer to the heat of his body.

"Then you have no problem dancing with me, either."

She swallowed thickly, eyes darting around the dance floor nervously.

No one paid them any mind, lost to their own celebration.

"No one's watching us," he whispered, head lowering beside hers, breath ghosting across her shoulder. "No one ever watches us."

She felt her pulse throb, in her neck, inside her wrists, behind her knees. Her hands clutched his upper arms like a vice, both to steady herself and to try and push distance between them.

He didn't budge, didn't flinch beneath her digging fingertips.

"I'm used to it. Learned to enjoy it even," he continued casually, as though they were having a mundane conversation at the breakfast table about the weather. "Dad's always been too busy to give me the time of day. The silver lining is I've been able to take on plenty of fascinating hobbies in the meantime, right under his nose." His eyes flashed, lips curling into a smirk. "What about you, little sister? Any hobbies?"

She felt nauseous. "I need to sit."

"The song's almost over." He squeezed her waist, keeping her pinned against him, swaying to the slow beat. "Not to worry. We'll find you something useful to occupy your time. Keep your mind sharp."

"My mind's plenty sharp."

He chuckled. Her ribcage absorbed the sound. "It needs to be even sharper if you have any hope of making it into the Ivy Leagues. That is your dream, right?"

She wet her lips, staring at a random spot on the wall as they slowly moved side to side.

"I've seen the posters in your room. Yale is your first choice, yes?"

She bit her tongue, muscles tense.

"I went inside to find a pen. You always have pens. Always writing." He hummed, fingers flexing along her satin dress. "Do you keep a diary?"

The song came to an end, she nearly tipped over in relief. But his hands held her steady, restrained, even as she twisted and pulled.

"I keep a journal myself," he mused, voice light and calm in the wake of her attempts to flee. "Good way to keep my mind clear, channel emotions." He smiled outright, eyes dancing with mirth. "You should think about doing the same. You're obviously very tense."

He finally released her. She stumbled back, chest heaving with shortened breaths.

"I appreciate the suggestion," she bit out, turning around and walking away on stiff legs, heart beating through her chest.

Electricity raced up her spine as he called after her.

"See you at home, little sister!"

Saturday, November 18, 1995

Thomas Riddle and Jean Granger were buried on a cold, grey day in the middle of fall.

Hermione stood beside the rectangular hole containing her mother's coffin, gazing down into the dark abyss with such raging emotion it nearly rendered her in half.

Her legs were covered in gooseflesh beneath the thin black stockings she wore, fingers numb at her sides, chest a barren wasteland where her heart once pulsed, now a shriveled and blackened mass strung up by tangled veins.

She raised her head on instinct, feeling the familiar knife's edge of eyes upon her.

Tom stood across the expanse of hollowed out earth, at the side of a twin grave containing a twin coffin. The headstones they'd ordered had matching engravings. It had been Jean's request to be buried beside her new husband, despite their short marriage she'd managed to update her will accordingly. Always the organized woman. If only she'd known her final wishes would be put to use so soon.

Tom held her steady in his gaze, black weeds crawling out from the dead ground, tendrils wrapping around her ankles and spiraling up her legs, creeping up, up, up.

She swallowed thickly, jaw set. His expression was void of emotion, but his eyes were a blazing torch, illuminating the somber pocket of the cemetery with scorching heat and light.

And for the first time, Hermione willed the flames to consume her, to end this misery once and for all.

The Priest stepped forward, the same man who married the departed only two years prior, and threw a handful of dirt onto her mother's coffin. The pebbles echoed off the lid, drawing her gaze back down.

The weeds slid under her clothes, up her spine, wrapping around her neck, constricting her airway. Her vision blurred. She let the abyss take her, grateful for the silence, the emptiness of the dark.

. . .

The post-burial repass was held at their home. Every room on the first level was filled with mourners in varying shades of black and gray. The world was void of color, of warmth.

Hermione had sequestered herself upstairs in her bedroom for the better part of an hour. But she could still hear people talking, hushed whispers winding their way up the stairs, down the hall, through the gap beneath her door.

Such a tragedy…

… so sudden…

… just skid off the road…

...died on impact.

...those dear children…

… and poor Tom, having just started college.

She couldn't bear the noise, the deafening hum of voices, all tangled together, indiscernible and yet each one startling clear, ringing through her head like a battle drum.

Her Aunt's voice had been the loudest of them all, for she kept saying Hermione's name, slowly drawing near as she searched the home for her wayward niece.

Has anyone seen Mione?

Have you spoken to...

… looked upstairs?

...think I saw her around back...

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her reflection in the dresser mirror, the glass bordered by photographs and science fair ribbons, birthday cards and scribbled affirmations.

She tipped her head, the world around her turning to haze as she held her stare, studying the flecks of gold in her irises. The same as her mother. A sharp pain lanced through her chest. She pressed a hand to her sternum in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood, crimson soaking through her dress, pooling on the floor-

A sharp knock sounded at her door. She blinked, pulled from the dark reverie, quickly standing.

The knock sounded again.

Her Aunt had found her.

Hermione sighed, fists clenching at her sides as she slowly crossed the room, bracing herself with a hand against the knob, preparing for the look of sympathy, the pity that would surely be foisted upon her.

She took a deep breath and opened the door, assurances ready on her tongue-

The words quickly turned to ash, spilling into the back of her throat and choking her.

Tom stood before her, black suit filling the narrow opening between door and frame, eyes bright and malevolent.

She quickly tried slamming the door closed but his foot shot out, dress shoe wedging itself in the jam, causing the door to bounce back, opening more. His hand curled around the wood, the battle was over, his strength easily surpassing her own, pushing the barrier away and stepping inside.

She backed up rapidly, heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings inside her chest.

"What do you want, Tom?" Her voice sounded frantic, broken.

"Merely to see how you're doing, Hermione. You've been up here since we returned from the cemetery."

She swallowed as her back hit the dresser, stalling her retreat.

"I wanted time to myself."

"That's understandable." He shut the door with a deafening click that snipped away something inside her, causing her heart to drop.

He turned to face her, the sharp lines of his face casting shadows across the hollows of his cheeks and brow, enhancing his already sinister presence. "But it's not healthy to be alone at a time like this."

She tried to keep her breathing steady, hands bracing the lip of the dresser behind her, nails digging into the wood, carving crescent indentations.

"I was just about to come down."

Her voice still betrayed her heightened nerves like a neon flashing sign. He smirked, tucking his hands in his trouser pockets, walking towards her with slow calculation.

"We'll head down in a moment. I haven't got to spend any time alone with you since I got back."

She wet her lips, heart jolting painfully with every step he took.

"When did you get back to town?"

He tilted his head, gleaming eyes roaming her face, lingering at her lips.

"Yesterday. You know that. I came straight here after I got the news."

He stopped just before her, so close she could feel his breath on her face, cascading down her chin and neck.

"When the police called the school they said you'd already left two days prior."

His eyes flickered back up, something wild in their depths.

"I finished my last exam. A friend and I decided to start the holiday break early. His family spends Thanksgiving in Maine. He invited me up for a few days. We were on our way when I got the call."

A great pressure welled up inside her, pressing on her lungs, expelling all the air.

"How do you do that?"

He raised a brow.

"Do what?"

She clenched the dresser like a vice.

"Lie so flawlessly."

A beat. Then two.

And then he surged forward.

The length of his body pressed against her, causing her to arch backward over the dresser, knocking over picture frames and textbooks as she slid across the surface in a vain attempt to flee. But his hands moved faster than her eyes could process, grasping her upper arms and pinning her in place, shoulder blades flattening against the mirror, the edge of the counter digging painfully into the small of her back.

"I think you're trying to imply something, little sister." His voice was calm, detached, surreal in the wake of his wild eyes and brute force. "You know I hate it when you're passive aggressive." He shook her for emphasis, eliciting a yelp of pain. His face hovered so near to hers their noses touched. "So why don't you just say it out loud?"

She bit her lip, tears tracking down her cheeks unbidden. She hated breaking in front of him. Hated it more than she hated herself.

"I'm not implying anything-"

"Shh," he hissed across her lips, searing breath invading her mouth. "No more lies, Hermione. I always see right through them, remember?"

She tried to turn her face away but he released one of her arms and grabbed her chin, forcing her head forward, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Just say it."

"I don't-"

"Say it, Hermione!"

Her chest quaked, tears continuing to stream, expression a crumpled tapestry of pain and misery.

Tom blinked. He released her chin, easing back a fraction, just enough to allow her to suck in a gasp of air, enough to turn her head down and tremble with the force of pent up emotion.

He studied her in silence a moment more.

Then he sighed deeply, sliding an arm around her back and pulling her off the dresser and into his body, dropping his forehead against hers. His shoulders relaxed, though his arm remained an iron band at her back.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered, his other hand pushing her long hair back, revealing her red-rimmed eyes to his gaze. "I got carried away. This day…" He swallowed thickly. "It's been a lot."

He nuzzled his head against her. "Don't be angry, Hermione."

His words ghosted across her lips. They tasted sweet on her tongue. A mouthful of sugar that eroded her teeth, decayed the bone, ate away her insides like acid.

"I'm not angry."

He nodded, forehead still pressing hers as his fingers trailed across her scalp and cupped her nape, holding her head in place.

"They knew."

She jolted, his hard muscles absorbing the shock. She opened her mouth but no sound emitted. His eyes flickered down, staring at the soft pink expanse.

"They knew, Hermione."

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click. She was coming apart at the seems, limbs falling loose, dropping to the carpet at his feet. Only his arm around her middle and hand at her neck kept her head attached to her torso.

"They didn't know, Tom."

He inhaled deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring, arm pressing harder against her fragile ribs, fingers clenching at the base of her skull.

"How can you be certain?"

She wet her lips, soul separating from her body.

"Because if they did, neither of us would be standing here."

A heavy knock sounded at the door.

"Hermione? Are you in there?"

They flew apart like similarly charged magnets. Tom backed into the windows, flattening the blinds in an attempt to steady himself. Hermione caught herself against the demolished dresser top, barely having time to glance down at her dress to make sure nothing was amiss before the door flew open and the owner of the worried voice came striding in.

"There you are-" her aunt stopped short, eyes landing on Tom hovering at the window like a dark sentinel. Her mouth pursed, throat clearing. "Hello, Tom. I was wondering where you'd disappeared to." She folded her hands before her, eyes narrowing. "I didn't realize you'd found Hermione. You told me you didn't know where she was."

His jaw flexed before his mask slid back into place, pristine and debonair as always. "I didn't. I decided to help you search. Figured I'd check upstairs while you looked outside."

Her nose twitched. "Well…" She gazed at Hermione, brow raising. "I hope I didn't interrupt."

Hermione's heart leaped into her throat as she held the woman's keen gaze.

"Of course not. We were just getting ready to head back downstairs," Tom supplied with easy precision.

Her aunt's eyes darted once more to him, face stern. "I am sorry about your loss, Tom. Thomas was a good man. He made my sister very happy."

Tom blinked, the statement obviously throwing him off guard, but he recovered in the next heartbeat, nodding politely. "I appreciate the kind words, Ms. Applegate."

Her expression pinched. She hated when Tom called her by her surname, and she knew Tom was well aware of that fact. Hermione watched the silent showdown with great trepidation. She couldn't handle the tension, her frayed nerves stretched to their limits.

"Aunt Mia."

The woman blinked, turning to Hermione with a surprised expression, as though she'd forgotten her niece was even in the room.

"Did you need me for something?"

Her aunt cleared her throat.

"Yes, dear. I wanted to tell you I've taken time off work so I can help get the house sorted. But if you'd be more comfortable staying at my place then-"

"I'd prefer to live here until it sells."

Her aunt's mouth closed. Somberness stole across her face, aging her rapidly. Amelia and Jean had different fathers and shared very few common features, much to Hermione's relief. She didn't think she could bear looking upon her mother's likeness, a mask worn by an imposter.

"I'd like to stay a while and help as well."

Amelia's back went rigid. She glanced over her shoulder. "What about Yale?"

"I can take a semester off without being penalized, extenuating circumstances and all that."

Her nose twitched once more. "I see." She took a deep breath. "We'll talk about it tomorrow after we've had time to process everything a bit more."

She held his gaze. "I'll be staying the night."

Tom smiled, teeth sharp and hungry. "That's very kind, Ms. Applegate. But unnecessary. I'll be home-"

"I'd like to be close to my niece during this time." The finality of her voice brokered no room for argument. "I'll be right down the hall."

Hermione's body throbbed. Her aunt and brother continued to stare at each other for a short eternity, neither one willing to glance away first, so she took matters into her own hands, stepping forward and gaining both their attention.

"That's great, Aunt Mia."

Tom's right eye twitched.

"Walk downstairs with me?" She prompted further, smiling at her aunt.

Amelia blinked, shoulders relaxing.

"Of course, dear."

She grabbed Hermione by the arm, the same spot Tom had held her pinned, and directed her towards the door. As they passed over the threshold Hermione glanced over her shoulder, sparing Tom a parting look.

His face was a placid lake.

But his eyes…

They spoke volumes across the empty expanse. The message was quite clear.

We aren't finished, little sister.

. . .

Hermione lay in bed staring at the ceiling, surrounded by a pool of darkness that was split down the center by a beam of moonlight.

She tossed and turned on the mattress, not in an attempt to fall asleep, but in an effort to stay awake, sharp and cognizant of every passing noise and dancing shadow.

It was only a matter of time until he came for her.

Every successive moment she remained by herself was by his grace alone. Perhaps he did it to afford her the semblance of privacy, the illusion of solitude.

But he most likely did it to torture her. He knew the treacherous thoughts plaguing her. He'd implanted them himself, dug his thumb into the recesses of her psyche and placed the seed, covering it with soil and watered it steadily, watching it grow and spread through every crack and crevice with vicious glee.

His cruelty knew no end. She'd chased the horizon to the far reaches of time and space, only to end where she began. Back to his watchful eyes. His pointed teeth.

She rolled over to her side, facing the wall.

And then she heard it.

Footsteps down the hall.

He knew which floorboards creaked, knew which spots to avoid if he wanted to make a seamless entrance.

Tonight he was announcing his arrival.

It marked a huge turning point in the twisted game they played.

Their parents were gone.

There was no one to hide from.

She blinked, wondering at the fate of her aunt as her door slowly creaked open, the hinges screaming in protest as though they too were watching in judgment.

Light from the hallway cast across the wall in front of her, his silhouette carving through the center, stretching from floor to wall, a shadow demon.

He stepped over the threshold before coming to an eerie standstill. The only noise in the universe was her thudding heart, the blood rushing through her ears.

Until finally, he moved. The shadow extended out as he pushed the door closed, banishing the light, extinguishing the silhouette.

"I know you're awake."

She continued to lay with a death-like stillness.

"I wasn't pretending otherwise."

"Hm."

She heard the muffled sound of his bare feet crossing the carpet, the rustle of clothing. She held her breath as the mattress dipped beneath his weight, causing her slight form to tip back towards him. Cold air met her thighs as the cover was raised, his own legs sliding under.

And then an arm laced across her middle, elbow resting at her stomach as his sinewy forearm took position across her chest, between her breasts, his large hand resting atop both her own where they lay near her face. His fingers twined through hers, knuckles bumping, colliding. Her shallow breath fell atop their palms.

She closed her eyes as the arm drew her back, pressing her along his front. He'd removed his shirt. His chest pushed her forward with every deep breath, his heartbeat pulsing between her shoulder blades, reverberating through her limbs.

Her legs were curled up towards her middle, otherwise, she was certain he'd have entangled them as well, twisting his vines around every part of her he could grasp.

"You're freezing."

His lips grazed the shell of her ear.

"You're burning up."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling along her spine. The arm not strapped across her middle slid beneath her neck.

"You're wearing my shirt."

She opened her eyes.

"It wasn't intentional."

His fingers played idly with hers.

"Aunt Mia," she whispered, voice tense.

"Is passed out face first in bed for at least another eight hours."

Hermione's shoulders tensed. "What did you give her?"

He ignored the question, as she knew he would.

"I've missed you."

She watched the pad of his thumb trace lines over her dry cuticles. The silence swallowed them whole.

"Did you miss me?"

Her throat swelled with the toxic chemicals he emitted with each breath.

"Are you really doing this right now?"

He released a frustrated sigh against her neck. Her eyes narrowed in the dark.

"Our parents are dead, Tom."

She listened to the uptake in his breathing, felt the quickened pace of his heart.

"My father was already dead to me."

She blinked as he went rigid as a board behind her.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

Hermione didn't wait for him to elaborate. She did know what he meant, had seen the strained relationship between father and son play out each day for two years.

"He loved y-"

"Don't."

His arm flexed in warning. She fell silent.

But the tension was unbearable. Against her better judgment, Hermione lowered her arm and laid it atop his, gently scraping her nails across his inner wrist, following the lines in his palm.

The result was instantaneous.

His chest rumbled pleasurably before he rolled her onto her back, propping himself on his elbow to gaze down at her. The darkness hid most of his expression from view, but the moonlight fell across his eyes, casting them in a supernatural glow.

He leaned down, she felt his breath across her mouth. Just as the plush warmth of his lips met her own she turned her head away.

"Tom."

He went motionless, still poised above her.

"Not tonight," she whispered to the wall, tears burning behind her eyes. "They're watching us."

She heard his unamused laughter, it sounded spiteful, full of rage and hatred. It terrified her. Not because of what he might do, but because the sound echoed the feelings trapped within her own heart.

He finally slumped down, half his body pinning her flat, his face burying into the crook of her neck.

"Of course. They wait until death to pay us any mind."

She bristled at the words, and yet she knew they weren't said for her benefit, so she didn't respond.

His muscles finally loosened, relaxing, weighing her down into the sheets. His warmth seeped into her skin, caused her blood to sizzle and snap within her veins. She released a slow breath, emitting steam.

"Tom?"

She felt the bob of his Adam's apple against her shoulder.

"Hm?"

Hermione stared up at the ceiling once more, lost to the vast emptiness of it all.

"We're all alone now."

He shifted slightly.

"We'll never be alone, Hermione." His hand lowered, dipping beneath the hem of her shirt. His shirt. His warm palm rested atop her abdomen, making no move higher or lower, simply laying possessive claim to a body he long ago deemed his.

"We'll always have each other."

She blinked, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes and down the sides of her face, soaking into her hairline.

His words weren't meant to comfort or console. Tom didn't waste time on such things.

No, they were a simple truth. A statement of fact.

Hearing them aloud punctured her heart. She felt herself deflate slowly as the last of her life force drained away, pouring over the sides of the bed and pooling along the floor.

And come morning, Tom would step through the river of red without pause or issue, tracking it through the house before washing it away completely, watching idly as the last bits of her broken soul swirled down the drain.

Saturday, June 6, 1998

"Mione, he's here!"

Hermione blinked, turning around at the familiar sharp whisper.

"Who's here?"

Lavender laughed, rolling her eyes. "Who do you think, genius?" She bounced giddily on her heels before leaping forward and grasping Hermione's wrist. "Victor!"

Hermione's mouth opened and closed as she was hoisted from the porch and into the backyard. The crowd had grown steadily over the past hour, many faces extending beyond the guest list, neighbors and acquaintances drawn in by the sound of laughter and music and the smell of barbeque.

Aunt Mia had spared no expense in throwing Hermione a graduation party to remember.

Still, Victor's presence certainly wasn't her aunt's doing, and Hermione knew it wasn't her own doing so that only left…

"Lavender, what did you do?" She twisted her arm in an attempt to extract herself from the girl's manicured clutches.

The blonde glanced over her shoulder, face bright with conspiratorial glee.

"I believe the words you meant to say were thank you so much for being the most amazingly awesome best friend a girl could ever ask for, Lavender!"

Hermione scowled. "I haven't inhaled enough propane to sound that utterly stupid."

Her friend laughed, facing forward once more as she navigated them through the throngs of guests.

"If you must know, I invited Oliver and told him to bring some friends. Who he chose to bring was totally up to him, and it just so happens that when he mentioned who the party was for Victor practically leaped in the car like a giant German shepherd."

Hermione raised a brow, still trying to tug herself free.

"Why a German shepherd?"

The blonde shrugged. "Because he has an accent."

"He's from Moscow."

"And?"

"Moscow's in an entirely different country! Why not go with a Russian terrier or spaniel-"

"Oh my god." Lavender stopped walking abruptly, nearly causing Hermione to topple into her. "Please don't talk about useless information when we're in front of the guys."

Hermione blinked. "Useless? You were the one who brought up dog br-"

"Seriously, Oliver and his friends are all Sophomores or older, please don't embarrass me."

Hermione flushed. "I didn't realize I did."

Lavender sighed, expression softening. "You're brilliant, Mione. I love when you prattle off random information. It's really interesting." She reached forward, playing idly with Hermione's curls. "But some people can find it a bit…"

Hermione glanced down. "Overbearing?"

"I was going to say annoying as fuck. But that works, too."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What are you doing inviting Oliver anyway? Isn't he dating some girl that went to Beauxbatons?"

Lavender scoffed loudly at the mere mention of the private prep school. "His parents tried to set him up with some stick up the ass WASP, but he doesn't want that." She smiled, flipping her own hair back with obvious pride. "He asked me to go to Homecoming with him."

Hermione blinked. "They have Homecoming in college?"

I thought I'd finally moved past such horrors.

"Of course they do! Well, his fraternity does anyway. Now come on!"

She grabbed Hermione's hand and recommenced dragging her across the yard.

"Lav, I really don't want to-"

"Victor is smoking hot, super smart, and totally interested in you. There's no reason why you shouldn't want to, Hermione Granger."

Hermione swallowed thickly, pulse and dread rising in equal measure as the sound of distinctly male voices could be heard just beyond the vegetable garden. She made one last ditch effort to escape, but only succeeded in her tripping over her own feet and toppling sideways into a chip and dip table, dragging Lavender down with her.

The blonde screamed as though plummeting off a cliff's edge, taking the brunt of the fall while Hermione landed half on top of her, half in the grass. People stopped mid-conversation to rush to their sides.

"Oh my!" An elderly neighbor shuffled over. "Are you girls alright?"

Hermione pushed her hair from her face, pulling down the hem of her sundress as she rolled upright.

"Oh- um, yes, yes we're fine."

Mortified didn't begin to cover it.

She glanced sideways at Lavender, who scowled openly as she scraped onion dip from her blouse.

"I'm going to kill y-"

"Hermoninny?"

Hermione blinked, Lavender's threat fell on deaf ears as she glanced up, the glare of the sun blinding her. A broad figure stepped forward, Victor's face coming into view, the light radiating from behind his head like a halo.

Hermione blinked twice more before finding her voice.

"Hi."

She wanted to slap herself in the forehead.

His face was drawn with concern. "Are you okay? Lavender?"

The girl groaned, lifting a strand of salsa soaked blonde hair.

"Fuck."

Hermione cringed. "Let's go to the bathroom and-"

"No, no," Lavender held up her hands. "I can wash up on my own. You and Victor hang back." She shot Hermione a meaningful look. "And talk."

Hermione's jaw ticked as Lavender sprang to her feet, tipping precariously on her wedges. Victor reached out and helped steady her.

"Thanks, Vic." She smiled at him, then shot a wink to Hermione over her shoulder. "You kids have fun. I'll be right back."

Hermione was left gaping like a fish in her wake, forgetting she was still sprawled atop the remnants of the broken table until a large hand appeared before her.

"Please, let me help."

Hermione bit her lip, too embarrassed to meet his gaze as she placed her smaller hand in his, allowing him to haul her upright.

She quickly pulled her arm back, brushing away invisible debris from her dress for the excuse of busying herself with something.

Victor watched her with an amused gaze.

"Leave it to Lavender to create such a stir."

Hermione smirked, chancing a nervous glance up.

"It was actually my fault. I suspect she's plotting her revenge in the bathroom."

His smile was dazzling, transforming the hard lines of his face into something truly beautiful.

"You look very nice today."

She blushed, tucking a curl behind her ear, studying the grass at their feet.

"Oh. Thank you. So do you."

He chuckled. "How would you know? You've barely looked at me all day."

She looked up in surprise. His smirk was self-deprecating. "Of course I only noticed because I was staring at you." Now it was his turn to glance away, studying the same blade of grass. "I'm saying this wrong, making it sound, how you say? Creepy."

She laughed, the sound escaping her in a slightly shrill pitch, nerves still overtaxed in the wake of her tumble.

"No." She shook her head, stepping forward, gaining his hopeful gaze. "You aren't sounding creepy at all."

She bit her lip, flushing brightly when his eyes flickered down to track the movement.

Her chest swelled.

"I'm glad you came today. I meant to invite you myself but I've been so busy with everything I let my aunt handle the party planning and she's never met you so…" She cleared her throat to stem the flow of word vomit.

He smiled. "I understand. Graduation is a busy time." Someone walked behind him and he moved closer to allow them room to pass. "I heard you got accepted to Yale. That's incredible. Congratulations."

The blood drained from her face.

His expression fell, sensing something amiss.

"I'm sorry, did I-"

"No, I-" she shook her head, gesturing nervously with her hands. "You didn't, I did- I mean, yes, I was accepted into Yale." The blood came rushing back, turning her face a blistering red. "I just... " she inhaled deeply. "I'm just overwhelmed thinking about it. But thank you, I am very excited."

She prayed for the ground to open wide and swallow her whole.

But in true gentlemanly fashion, Victor took her harried excuses in stride, pressing her no further on the matter.

"I was nervous before starting Uni as well. Especially since it was my first time leaving Europe."

She was grateful for the lifeline, eagerly accepting the change in topic.

"That must have been terrifying, traveling so far from home. Did you come to America by yourself?"

He nodded. "Just me. And yes, it was rather scary but mostly thrilling. A real adventure."

She felt her chest loosen.

"But weren't you scared being on your own? If something bad happened when you first got here you wouldn't have had anyone to turn to."

He shrugged lightly, taking a half step closer yet. "That's what makes it an adventure."

She smiled. "I suppose it does."

They stared at each other for several beats before both glancing away with nervous laughter. Her hands flexed awkwardly at her sides.

"When Oliver told me about the party I was surprised."

She glanced up, anticipating his next words with bated breath.

"You don't seem like the party type." He sighed, shaking his head. "That came out wrong. I mean, when I've seen you at parties, you never seem to be having a good ti-," he stopped short, brows drawing in. "I made it sound even worse, didn't I? I don't mean to cause any offense-"

"It's okay." She glanced at their feet once more. "I know what you mean, and I don't take offense. I'm really not the party type. I'm more of the stay at home and study until I fall asleep beneath a pile of books type."

"That isn't a bad thing. Look at where it's gotten you. Into the Ivy Leagues, while the rest of us barely scrape by at State."

She smiled, meeting his earnest gaze. "Don't be modest, I hear you're doing pretty well for your-" there was a shift in the air. A pressure differential, a vacuum effect that sucked up all the oxygen around her. "Self."

Her spine went rigid, gaze locked on Victor, unseeing.

He tilted his head. "Hermoninny?"

Victor's voice sounded muffled, underwater. She slowly released her breath, feeling her feet lift off the ground as she floated high above herself.

He was here. Somewhere. Watching.

"Hermoninny?" Victor's voice was louder, closer, his hand gently grasping her arm. "Are you alright?"

She swallowed thickly. "Y-yes." She took a step back, pulling free. "I just- I have to go."

He blinked. "Go?"

"I mean- I have to check on Lavender. See if she's okay."

The light faded from his eyes.

"Oh. Right. Of course."

She took another wide step back, chest rattling. "I'll talk to you later, Victor."

She was hardly aware of her words, barely registering his polite response, her sole focus was on getting as far away from the crowd as possible.

It's in your head, he isn't here…

She cut a quick path through the partygoers towards the back porch.

You checked the schedule over a hundred times, he's still in Washington D.C.

She pulled open the sliding glass door with such force it shook the frame. A few people glanced over their shoulders, she paid them no mind.

Talking to Victor overwhelmed me, threw me off, that's all...

She took a gasping breath in the empty kitchen. But the moment she braced her hands against the counter voices emerged from the hall, laughing sharply.

Her aunt.

I can't let her see me like this.

Hermione spun on her heel and sprinting into the living room, nearly colliding with a familiar body.

"Whoa! Mione! Where are you running off to?"

Adrenaline surged through her veins, making it difficult to stand still.

"Oliver." She wet her lips. "Have you seen Lav?"

He raised a brow. "I saw her take down a table out back. Fine work there."

Hermione smiled anxiously, hands fidgeting before her. "Right. Have you seen her since?"

He shook his head, holding out his solo cup. "You seem tense. Have a drink."

She peered over the rim, the smell of whiskey invading her nostrils, turning her stomach.

"Thanks, but I'm good."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm heading out back, wanna come with? Vic's been looking for you since we arrived."

Hermione clutched the back of the couch, nails digging into the suede fabric.

"We talked."

Oliver smirked. "I see. Explains why you're running like Cujo's at your heels."

Hermione paled. "That's not-"

"I know he's a bit eager, but trust me, Vic's a good guy. Better than most. Sure of a hella lot better than me." He laughed, swaying a bit on his feet. "You should go out with him this summer before you head off to Yale."

Yale Yale Yale Yale Yale…

She swallowed thickly, vision hazing at the edges.

"Right. I need to find Lavender."

Oliver drew back, mouth tipping down at the corners. "Just think about it, Mione. You won't always have Lav to hide behind. You can't make it on your own out there. You gotta have friends."

Her heart lurched in her chest.

He burped into his fist. "Fuck. Think I'm getting drunk." He chuckled. "Strong stuff. Probably should switch to Coke."

She nodded. "Probably." Her voice was barely a whisper, his words taking root deep within her chest and strangling her vocal chords.

Oliver peered into his cup and backed away slowly, seeming to forget she was even there to begin with. Hermione lingered with her weight slumped against the back of the couch for several more heartbeats, the crowd of people around her paying her no mind.

"No one's watching us," a ghost whispered in her ear. "No one ever watches us."

She blinked rapidly, dashing for the stairs, galloping up so quickly her sandal fell off. She groaned, removing the other shoe and tossing it down the hall in frustration. She stopped before the closed bathroom door.

"Lavender?"

Silence greeted her.

She knocked loudly, in time to her racing heart.

"Lavender?"

More silence.

Hermione slowly turned the knob. "Hello?"

She opened the door, revealing a perfectly empty bathroom.

"Dammit."

She peered over her shoulder, the hallway equally void of life.

Hermione started to pull the door closed, intent on resuming the search for her dip splattered friend, when the sunlight streaming in through the window gleamed off the tub faucet, catching her eye.

She hesitated, biting her lip, pulse still thrumming madly.

Don't even think about it! You have an entire party devoted to you downstairs…

And yet before she even finished thinking the statement she was stepping into the tiny room, pressing the door shut and pushing in the lock with her thumb.

Just a few minutes reprieve, then I'll head back down, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Speaking of bushy…

She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, running her fingers through the tangles and snarls in her curls. Her hair had been smooth and sleek when the day started, but the humidity had undone hours of hard work in a matter of minutes. She glared at the rebellious strands, turning away to face the tub, already feeling the tension lift from her muscles.

She had no intention of taking a bath.

Her greatest pleasure was derived from simply sitting within the empty basin itself, feeling the cool porcelain against her skin, the muffled echo of sound as she submerged into the white depths. It was like sinking into quicksand, limbs going lax as an invisible weight took her under.

Hermione stretched her legs out before her as she leaned back, arms resting atop the wide lip.

She tipped her head back, the sounds of the party occurring one floor beneath her slowly fading away. She was sequestered on a desert island, alone at long last. Finally free of the demons at her back, nipping her heels.

She forgot about her earlier panic, her over-reaction to everyday social anxiety. She'd imagined the eyes upon her. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

Her lids felt heavy, the long stretch of silence lulling her to sleep. Her eyes finally closed, darkness surrounding her.

A knock sounded at the door. Hermione's eyes snapped open, body jolting, elbow colliding hard with the side of the tub.

"Ow! Shit!" she hissed, cradling the bruised joint.

The knock sounded again, heavier this time.

Hermione blinked rapidly, glancing around. She felt like she'd lost time.

Did I fall asleep? Crap.

She quickly scrambled out of the tub, steadying herself against the sink, gazing at her pale reflexion in the mirror. She looked like a ghost.

Am I real?

Is any of this real?

She shook her head, pushing the strange thoughts aside as she crossed to the door. She cleared her throat, trying to awaken her sluggish vocal chords.

"Sorry, coming!"

She twisted the knob, the lock popping out against her palm. She pulled the door open, apologetic smile firmly affixed to her face.

"It's all yours-"

She fell silent, heart stuttering.

"What's all mine?"

She shook her head, stepping back on numb legs.

No.

This isn't real.

Tom pushed the door open further, stepping inside, promptly closing it behind him.

He smiled, his face just as it appeared in her dreams each night.

Haunting. Beautiful. Malevolent.

And then he pushed in the lock, the noise causing a shockwave blast that crushed her lungs and broke her bones.

She eyed the door wearily, rocking back on her heels, an animal trapped between fight or flight.

He saved her from having to choose.

He surged towards her, catching her wrists as she braced her hands against his chest, attempting to keep the beast at bay, using his sure grip to twirl her- for a heart-stopping moment she was thirteen years old again, dressed in a gown too mature for her slight frame, spinning around a dance floor with a laughing bride- and then she was pushed forward, hips crashing into the vanity.

She gasped in shock, the pain hit her a moment later. His hands released her wrists, pressing flat against the marble counter on either side of her body, caging her in.

His chest pressed along her back, broader, more muscular than she remembered. His arms felt miles longer as well, his spine stretching to eternity past her shoulder. She struggled to breathe, gazing down at the empty sink, hair falling forward and curtaining her face, offering her a brief reprieve from his reflection.

But she felt his eyes burning a trail along her skin everywhere they roamed.

He leaned in, pressing harder against her, causing her to inhale sharply as the counter cut into her pelvis. The heat at her back was even more painful. She was burning alive, nerve endings melting away.

"Happy graduation, Hermione."

He lifted a hand to pull back the curtain of her hair on one side, exposing her flushed cheek to his scorching gaze. He wound the long locks around his fingers like twine, tipping her head back, baring the long column of her throat.

With the new position, her eyes were forced upward, unable to hide any longer. She met his stare dead on, chest heaving as she struggled to find her breath. His other arm looped around her middle, drawing her back from the counter, holding her flush to his body, suspended on bare tiptoes. His head dipped down, lips grazing her ear as he held her gaze, a shadow passing across his face as a cloud moved over the sun.

"Quite the party you're having. Imagine my surprise." He tugged her hair for emphasis, her head tipping back further, scalp aching. "Not being invited and all."

She swallowed, the motion getting caught in her throat, some obstruction cutting off her airway.

"I didn't want a party-"

"Ssh." He nuzzled her neck, his arm flexing around her hips, causing her to squirm. "No more lies."

"I'm not-"

"Hermione."

The deep rumble of his voice was more sinister than the words themselves. Tears blurred her vision.

"Aunt Mia planned it all. I didn't want a party. She insisted."

He opened his mouth against her shoulder, teeth dragging along the exposed skin, pulling the strap of her sundress down her pale flesh.

"I can almost believe that. Meddlesome bitch that she is." His eyes flickered up, catching her gaze in the mirror. "Still doesn't explain why I wasn't invited."

Her toes were cramping against the hard tiles as she struggled to support the remainder of her weight upon them.

"You were in Washington-"

"Clearly I'm not."

"I thought you were!"

"Is that why you had it today? To keep me from coming?"

Tears finally tipped over the rim of her lower lids, cutting dark tracks down her face, laced with mascara.

"When have I ever been able to keep you from anything you wanted?"

His jaw tensed, eyes flashing, hunger clear in their depths.

"I hate it when you lie to me."

She inhaled slowly, finally forcing air into her tightly drawn lungs.

"Welcome to my world."

He held her gaze for several more beats. Then his hand released her hair, slowly unwinding, blood rushing back into her scalp, causing it to tingle. She wiped her eyes, smearing her makeup, the feel of his heartbeat pounding into her back as he kept her pinned against him.

"I came to visit you before summer started. I'll be gone until the semester begins."

Her heart lurched, hands lowering to grip the forearm cast across her.

"Where are you going?"

"Europe. We're meeting with investors."

She swallowed. "D.C. was a success then?"

"Hm." He lifted his free hand to play idly with her hair, eyes drifting to focus on the shimmering caramel locks.

"Th-that's great, Tom."

She bit her lip, cursing herself for the tremor in her voice. Sure enough, she caught his attention once more, in the worst way possible. Her fear awoke the lounging beast, his arm tightening around her, her hips feeling as though they would crack down the center. She bit her tongue, fighting against the pain.

"Are you looking forward to starting Yale, Hermione?"

She fought to keep her voice steady this time, keep her limbs still, body complaint.

"Of course."

He watched her reflection with an eerie stillness only seen in predators before the kill.

"Soon you'll see me every day. Just like old times."

Her lips quivered. "You'll be too busy with classes and your new startup to pay any attention to a freshman."

"I'm never too busy for you, little sister."

She couldn't fight back the shiver the words induced. His pupils dilated rapidly, swallowing the grey. They gleamed black and sinister, teeth sharpened to points as they sank into her shoulder, dimpling the skin.

Her breath came in short pants, eyes watching the motion of his mouth as he slowly devoured her alive. Warmth pooled in her center, spreading outward in tendrils of lapping heat.

She was liquid melting into him, head tipping back and eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling as he tore into her flesh, his arm pulling her upright and taught on her toes as his other hand splayed over her thigh, skimming up, up, up, dragging the bottom hem of her sundress, talon-tipped fingers prickling at the thin cotton of her underwear.

"This fall, you're mine."

She swallowed thickly, the English language an abstract concept as the roughed pads of his fingertips pushed the dampened fabric aside and slid along her most intimate folds. She keened, arching back and pressing harder against him, the muscles in her neck straining as her head lolled on his shoulder.

"You've always been mine."

His words unleashed something wild within her, clawing at the surface of her skin, desperate to tear free.

Fingers slipped inside her tight entrance, her body clenched, gripping him hard, drawing a low moan from his throat. Liquid heat cascaded down her thighs in a brilliant show of shimmering sparks, a volcanic eruption.

"Say it, Hermione." He pressed into her walls, curled his knuckles against the hidden bundle of nerves nestled behind her pelvic bone, rendering her mindless as her knees gave out, only his arm keeping her upright.

"Say it."

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming rivers down her face.

"I'm yours."

He snarled like a ravaging wolf before rewarding her with a searing open mouth kiss, tongue invading her mouth and mimicking the motion of his fingers.

As light exploded behind her lids and her body disintegrated to ash her mind constructed one last cognizant thought. She whispered it against his lips with the awe and reverence of a dying woman about to meet her maker.

"I'm a monster."

He slowly withdrew his hand, trailing secretions along her inner thigh. She watched with sated detachment as he sucked each glistening finger clean, tongue slow and meticulous, savoring the taste.

He held her gaze, whispering soothingly into her ear.

"That's what I love most about you, little sister."

Sunday, August 23, 1998

The door crashed open.

It banged off the entryway table, knocking a photo frame to the floor, the glass cracking across the likeness of Hermione's smiling face.

The wind howled through the hallway, the storm in full force, an angry tempest raging through the cul de sac, masking the sound of Amelia's shrill scream.

She ran for the kitchen, hands out, desperately grasping at the open air, as though some weapon would materialize within her reach if she only imagined hard enough.

He caught her halfway through the dining room, grabbing her arm and spinning her around, slamming her up against the wall, his face a chilling mask void of emotion, eyes flat and black, narrowing on her dangerously.

"Tom!" She gasped, eyes wide with horror. "Let me go this inst-"

"Where is she?"

His voice was edged in steel, making her mouth clamp shut on instinct. The hand at her bicep squeezed painfully, the other wrapping around her throat, not exerting any pressure, not yet.

"Where is she, Amelia?"

"She- she's at school-"

"No. She isn't."

Amelia blinked rapidly, tears in her eyes.

"I don't understand-"

"She was supposed to arrive five days ago. She never did. I checked her supposed dorm, the R.A. has never heard of a Hermione Granger. So I checked with a friend at the registrar's office, and imagine my surprise when I find out Hermione never even applied to Yale."

Amelia paled. "W-what?"

Now the fingers at her throat squeezed. Her eyes bugged. "I didn't know!"

His jaw ticked, lightning flashing in his gaze, mirroring the raging chaos outside.

"You're lying. You helped her construct the bullshit story-"

"Tom! I didn't know! She told me she got accepted to Yale! She showed me the let-" She coughed and gasped for air as her airway was cut off. She clawed at the metal claw around her neck, thrashing uselessly.

He loosened his grip a fraction, just enough to allow her to suck in a single greedy breath. Then he started to choke her anew.

"If you didn't know she was lying then why don't you look surprised to see me?"

The veins in her forehead bulged, her face stricken. "She- she warned me that you'd be coming-" her voice was strained, pleading. "She said to beware the monster, that it would be coming for me."

Tom blinked. "She said what?"

Amelia's eyes started to roll back in her head. Tom growled, releasing her entirely, watching in disgust as her frail body collapsed in a heap to the floor, heaving with each wheezing breath.

"Fucking pathetic."

He stepped away, running his hands through his hair. "No fucking clue where your own goddamn niece is." He was talking to himself, pacing the dining room with every muscle tensed, alert. "She thinks she's so fucking clever. Thinks she's gotten away." He laughed without humor, the sound causing Amelia to rear back, shuddering against the wall. "She has no fucking idea what she's done."

"Tom…" Amelia cringed, rubbing at her purple marred throat, expression caught between terror and plea. "Please… leave her alone. She's been through enough-"

"She's been through enough?" He exploded, grabbing a chair and throwing it full force at the wall, relishing the explosion of wood fragments. Amelia shrieked, cowering back further. He chuckled darkly, eyes wild. "You really are fucking clueless aren't you? No idea what the hell is going on right under your nose."

She blinked slowly, peering up with hesitation and obvious confusion. But she wisely kept her lips pressed thin. Tom reared back, inhaling sharply, sweeping his fallen hair away from his eyes.

"I'm the only one who can protect her. She needs me. And if you truly cared about her you'd help me find her." He scowled. "But you won't. Because you're useless. As useless as they were." He shook his head. "You'd only slow me down anyway."

Her eyes widened, a haunted look passing over her pale face. "W-what are you going to do?"

His shoulders drew back, spine straightening, posture impeccable.

"I'm not going to kill you."

She visibly deflated with relief.

"I need you alive."

She drew back slightly. "For what?"

He rolled his eyes. "Bait, obviously. How are you still not getting this?"

Amelia folded her arms protectively across her chest. "I'm not going to help you lure her back here. Wherever she is, she's better off-"

She stopped abruptly as Tom lowered to his haunches directly in front of her. He moved with a graceful ease that seemed grotesquely out of place beside the destroyed chair and violent storm at his back.

"Oh, Amelia. You really don't get it, do you?" His deep voice dripped with acidic sympathy that corroded her skin. He reached out a hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, only for it to fall loose again as she averted her face in obvious disgust.

"I won't have to lure Hermione back." He smirked, eyes dancing with sinister pleasure. "She'll be headed home soon enough, whether she wants to or not. She can't fight it once it starts."

Amelia blinked, body trembling with a knowledge her mind was slow to manifest.

"F-fight what?"

He tipped his head, eyes roaming her face. "The hunger."

Lightning split the sky and illuminated the bay window at his back, casting his handsome features with unearthly luminescence, a dark angel fallen from the warring heavens.

His smile turned feral at the dawning realization in her eyes. At the fear.

"I think you're finally starting to get it now."

Thunder chased the lightning, a deafening boom that shook the foundation of the home.

"I'm not the monster she warned you about."