Breaking Hermione

Young And Beautiful

Hermione

Later that night, as I lay in Tom's bed pretending to sleep, a million thoughts raced through my head. Tom was in love with me. How could I ever sleep now? I rolled onto my back, staring up at the canopy of his four poster bed. I was sleeping with my enemy. Again. What did he get from this? Was he truly in love with me? Was I in love with him?
The Elixir of Euphoria lasted for hours, and deep into the night the way we made love was violent and passionate. He loved sex. I could feel his desire for me in the way he touched me, the way he fucked me. Tom was always quite rough with me, even to the point where my last breath seemed moments away, climax as a kiss of life and death. Cherry wine laced with the sedation of the Draught Of Peace was our usual additional measure to ensure each other's safety asides protection, but it did nothing to dull the flames of dark power between us. It only heightened the heat and danger, a deathly interwining of lost souls. I knew I shouldn't, but the temptation was hard to refuse. I needed him. The feeling of him inside me. We both knew the devils hand and together were as poison and antidote, unknowing of which one we were. Our souls were as one, and we were on fire. I was mixing magic and potions, falling for Tom's charms and then wondering how I was becoming so evil.

He was a drug, a rare and potent dark magic in the form of a beautiful man. How could I resist? It was a strange fairytale that he claimed me as his, and that he was mine. I hardly dared to believe it could be true. Could I give up everything for him?

Quietly, I slipped on my satin nightgown and carefully ventured silently out of bed. I could see my reflection like a pale ghost, startled in the fragment of glass not hidden behind the satin curtains concealing the window. It was strange sleeping in a room under the Great Lake. Somehow it made me feel even more trapped. Tom was laying toward me sound asleep, his pale face calm and peaceful. I wondered what he dreamed of. He looked like an angel, lost in a world I would never know. It wasn't fair how such an evil man could be so beautiful. I wandered over to Tom's wardrobe hardly daring to approach the ornate box again. As I walked over to his desk I noticed protruding from Tom's bag that I had never seen before. A diary. My heart jolted. Horcrux. Yet of course it wasn't, not yet anyway. It wasn't a normal past time of mine to go rummaging through other peoples personal belongings, but Tom was an exception. He was deceptive and methodical, and he didn't carry anything on him for no reason. Was this a lead? What did Tom write in his diary that would've compelled him to value it enough to turn it into a Horcrux?

My heart was pounding. Perhaps Tom wasn't asleep, could he have left it there in the hopes I would find it? After a moments deliberation, I decided I was too curious to let this pass. He wanted me, did he? Well, I was a woman who liked to know everything about the man I was with. No more secrets. No more lies. Maybe if I found more information I could process my feelings for him. I found my wand, and cast the silencing charm muffliato as a precautionary measure. I knew I wasn't careless enough to wake him but I couldn't afford anyone else in the vicinity to risk such a crucial moment and ruin my chance. Tom, stone cold sober to find me reading through his private diary was not a side of him I wanted to evoke. Gently, I prised the black leather bound book out of his bag. I would have felt more comfortable extricating the monster book of monsters as I already had one beast to contend with. Miraculously, Tom had appeared to have refrained from using the usual protective charms on his diary. No imminent defensive magic. Could he really not have not considered the possibility that I was this much of an adrenaline seeker? I was becoming more reckless than Harry and Ron combined, yet like them I was a Gryffindor at heart. Always I threw myself boldly into harms way just to challenge my intellect. I quickly flicked through the pages, making sure it was legitimate. I could see his elegant cursive writing, and in my minds eye could see the slant of his hand as he wrote meditatively and thoughtful, unknowing that these were pages of information just waiting for me to read. I replicated his diary within a few seconds using a very carefully applied duplication charm. I thought back to Dumbledore's Army. Was this how Harry felt, always living in a darkness with his opponent braving a dark world?