Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The three were walking toward the village with Tom waxing enthusiastic about a ritual he wanted to perform, Minerva protesting that it was a dark and dangerous rite, and Hermione telling Tom he should be careful. As they entered the village, three thugs barred their way.

"Pretty girls," said the first.

"My, don't they look prim and proper," said the second.

"We'll take the starch out of them," said the third.

"I'll run and get the dark chocolates," said Tom, disappearing into a nearby alley.

"Tom, you weasel!" shouted Minerva, but then she and Hermione were too busy with counter spells to think about their cowardly companion.

Minerva and Hermione were backing up and putting up a desperate defense when Tom appeared behind the three thugs and quickly dispatched them.

Now. I could do it now, thought Hermione. I could save the world. I could get away with it. Everyone will think he went down in the scuffle.

Tom looked at Hermione, her wand poised to strike at him. He nodded, and his thoughts came through clear. Save the world?

Minerva interrupted. "Tom, you weasel." She was giving him an admiring look.

Back off, you old hag, thought Hermione.

"You've redeemed yourself, Tom," said Minerva.

"Redeemed?" asked Tom. "I don't want redemption. I'll live with what I am."

"You don't mean that, Tom. Nobody can do that. The weight is too much."

Tom smiled. "Should I travel to Jerusalem? Or London? Or merely dunk myself in the lake?"

"You mock what you should receive graciously," said Minerva.

Hermione took his hand, saying, "You promised me dark chocolates," thinking, I'll save you. Let me in. I will dispel your burden.

"Dark chocolates or not," said Minerva. "Those ruffians shouldn't have dared to appear so openly. Something's going wrong."

This rest of the weekend went quietly enough, and Monday began with Potions, but Tom's and the class's usual skill seemed to desert them.

"It's the week before the Holidays," the instructor said by way of explanation.

When no one was looking, Tom passed his hand over the cauldron. Hermione felt a chill as something forbidden slipped in. Tom, looking around to check if anyone had seen him, stirred the solution as it coalesced into its proper form. The potion by Tom and Hermione was the only successful one. Later, in the hallway, she could no longer contain herself.

"You juiced it up."

"Is that an Americanism or a bad pun?" asked Tom.

She was thinking that his use of the Dark Forces would grow and grow until he was dependent on them and then they would consume him. She noticed they were alone. She braced herself for the ultimate act. It was up to her to save innocent lives by taking one. She brought her wand up for an unforgiveable, but found herself staring into a pair of knowing eyes.

"For some reason, you occasionally consider killing me," said Tom, "but you're afraid that if you do so, your soul will fracture and you will leave part of yourself in this world."

Hermione was backing away.

"This world? What does that mean?" asked Tom. "Splitting one's soul? An interesting concept."

Hermione was petrified. What had she done? What would he do?

"We can explore all that later," said Tom. "If we don't hurry, we'll miss a Transfigurations class, and Minerva will kill me."

Later? Explore? We? wondered Hermione as Tom took her hand and they dashed to the second floor.

Later in Transfigurations, after the instructor's initial demonstration and while the other students sat baffled, Hermione watched as Tom folded a piece of paper, waved his wand over it, and turned it into a butterfly. It flew around the room to everyone's delight before landing back on his desk. Tom evinced sadness as his wand turned it back into folded paper as the assignment required.

"Can't have too many beautiful butterflies in the world," he said looking at her.

This man is terrifying, thought Hermione. She took a deep breath. I'm wet.

When the class had ended, the hunger in her grabbed him and pulled him to a remote alcove where she plastered herself against him. He told her she was lovely. Her lips plundered his. Her tongue probed for his. Fire ran through her. She came up for air. He told her she was sweet. She clung to him.

"What are you doing for the Holidays?" he asked.

"Anything," she said.

He nodded. He liked that answer. "Want to stay with me at the Grim Old Place?"

"Yes."

That Saturday, during the train ride, he assured her that he was welcome there and that, as his guest, she would be welcome too, although she should brace herself for Walburga who was quite the character. There was no way out of introducing her to Walburga, and she would have to be taken in stride. Late that evening, Hermione entered the bastion of pureblood privilege, ready for whatever reception she might receive. Everyone was asleep except for the keeper-of-purity who was keeping vigil.

"Filth. Filth. I can smell her from here."

Tom put his arm around Hermione's shoulder. "She's a vampire. She's staying with me."

"She's more than that. Tom, what have you done?"

"Pleased to meet you," said Hermione. "You have a lovely home."

"Harrumph," went Walburga.

"Wasn't she fun?" asked Tom as they climbed the steps to his room.

"Not as much fun as I'm going to be," answered Hermione.

And it was only a little while later that Tom was deep inside his vampire, a vampire not caring whether or not he was inexperienced or clumsy, only caring that he was her Tom, a vampire crying out his name.

Later that night, Hermione sat bolt upright as she sensed the familiar icy fingers reaching for her. Tom, too, sat upright. His wand illuminated the room before he waved it and sleepily said something like, "Be gone." He paused, only half awake, and in the glow of his wand, it struck Hermione that the room was cozy, not grim at all. Tom flopped back down, followed by Hermione who cuddled around him. For the first time in a long time, she felt as though her heart was pumping real, warm blood.

She woke the next morning, sprawled across her lover. She kissed him awake, almost feeling guilty about it until he rolled over on top of her. Her legs opened, and Tom took in all the little noises of Hermione Granger. Later, as they were descending to the kitchen, Hermione was deciding she had spoken the truth last night. It was a lovely home, quaint but lovely.

When they reached the kitchen, Walburga and two wizards had finished their breakfasts. Tom introduced them as Jack and Griswold who were brothers.

"All hail Tom," said the two wizards, rising their tea cups.

Hermione looked puzzled.

"Hasn't he told you?" asked the two wizards.

They all agreed it was better if she knew. Tom had concocted a pain-killing potion and the two brothers were selling it to the non-wizards. They regarded it as a temporary windfall because of the war, and they were saving and investing the fabulous profits. They had heard that Hermione was smart. Perhaps she could help them invest wisely. They were discreet, waiting until Tom was back at school before engaging in risky transactions with the non-wizards. Tom remarked that Minerva was suspicious despite the precautions.

"What a witch," said the two brothers.

"You profit from other peoples' pain?" asked Hermione.

"We profit from relieving their pain," said Jack.

"Others profit from causing them pain," said Griswold.

Since Tom was secretly wealthy, he and Hermione could enjoy the delights of London if they were careful. They strolled through the streets full of Holiday preparations and crowds although they hardly noticed any of it. They returned that evening to find the two brothers in a strange humor.

"Potions today were a bust," said Griswold.

Jack raised his hands in mock protest. "It wasn't us, I swear. It wasn't too much Holiday cheer."

"It's her," said Walburga.

Jack cocked his head at Hermione. "Hmmm."

"It's the two of them," said Griswold, "too much sexual energy. I wouldn't have believed it possible."

"Are you daft, man?" asked Jack. "Look at that lovely vision before you."

"Do you two always carry on so?" asked Hermione.

"It's her, you dunderheads," screeched Walburga, storming out of the room.

Tom offered to assist with the potions, but Hermione, remembering his use of Dark Forces, protested, and to her surprise, the two brothers supported her, declaring it was better to ride out the current rough patch by giving over to the season's celebration. Later, Hermione wondered if Walburga was correct and she was disruptive, but Tom replied that Walburga regularly confused upsetting her with upsetting the universe.

The no-time, other-world existence in London continued until no time had them boarding the train back to the other world. But this trip, the train stalled, and the students arrived late and disgruntled. The next day, several stairways stuck in mid transit, and people had to be rescued.

Tom, standing by a wall that was crumbling, looked around and said, "It's like our world can't hold it together anymore. I don't know why. Nobody can do anything. If we make enough money from the pain-killing potion, we might be able to set things right, but we don't know how much longer that business can thrive."

"The war will last two more years," said Hermione, wanting to help Tom, "but there will be a long period of slow recovery and more wars after that."

She stuck her fist in her mouth. Omigod, what have I done? She saw realization dawn on Tom.

"How do you know that?" Her strangeness fell into place. "You're from the future, aren't you?"

Hermione nodded.

"Are you trying to change things? You know that can't be done. You'll crack our world. It'll only turn out for the worse. Look what's happening around you. Why didn't you heed all the warnings?"

"There were no warnings," said Hermione.

"You're kidding me. No one told you. That's not possible," he said.

He looked at her. "You're telling me the truth. No one warned you. What kind of shoddy education did you get?"

Tom had a moment of insight. "The future is terrible, isn't it?"

Hermione was silent, trying to find a way to tell her Tom why it was terrible.

"Yes, it must be, otherwise why would you take such a risk, such a personal risk, even not knowing the damage you would cause." Tom paused. "What has the school come to? What has wizard kind come to? Someone needs to rescue us from what's going to happen. How long would it take? We dare not jump to the future. How long would one have to live to set things right?

"Tom, don't talk like that."

"What, not try? Not try to do everything I can? I thought more of you than that, Hermione."

He looked into the distance. "What must I become?"

"Tom, please, don't think like that. Desperate solutions only make things worse."

"Like you did?" asked Tom. "But I'm not going to time travel. I'm going to do it naturally. No harm will come."

She heard the castle clock fall, banging and clattering to the stone floor. She saw an orange streak in the clear, blue sky.

"I think I know how this thing works," said Tom, placing the chain around her neck and twirling the mechanism, "Have faith, my love. Whatever it takes, I'll be there for you."

Hermione was thinking "Wait, aren't you going to kiss me goodbye," but the earth under her feet rumbled, and before she could get it out, she was in another place.

Tom regarded the now empty space before him.

Hermione looked around at her flat. Was it the right flat? Was it the right time and place? She wandered around the places she knew. She visited her friends and checked and rechecked the date. All was the same as when she had left it.

A year later, Hermione was looking at a display of the dark chocolates that Tom had bought her for a distant Christmas when she thought she caught a glimpse of him walking past outside the shop. She dashed into the street and ran through the crowd. She searched until everyone had gone home and the stores had closed and everything was empty.

END