Veal & Venison {Tomione || 1940s/1990s}

40|| Bishop to D7

40|| Bishop to D7

When Harry awakes the next morning after a tumultuous sleep, the tent is quiet of all activity and the wind can be heard brushing against the tent. And though there is no rush to awake or even rise for each day, Harry swings out from the light covers of the lower bunk, seeing no Hermione or Tom in the opposite or above beds even as he places his glasses on his nose. Stepping up and from the specific area, Harry is slightly startled to find them both on couch, Hermione curled up on one side with him on the other. And though there is little contact made between the two, their presence together on the couch seems more than just platonic. Maybe this is due to how their feet are touching, or perhaps it is how their faces are almost innately curled to face one another, so that they may awake to the eyes of the opposite. But whatever it is, Harry is greatly concerned by the sight and worried for Hermione.

Deciding then that he does not wish to see more, Harry moves into the kitchen, turning his back to the two with utter awareness of his surroundings. Taking a ladle for soup in his hand, Harry is quick to play on his initiative, reaching into the cabinet and beginning his beat on the pots and pans.

Hermione and Tom are ungracefully startled awake by the banging and ringing of kitchen utensils in the nearest room. The girl sits up immediately at the noise, so attuned to war that she immediately supposes it is an attack, grabbing her wand in one hand and looking around for the intruder. Tom, on the other hand, casually brushes through his dark locks with his long fingers, as if knowing they are not in danger simply because he usually poses as such a role. Catching movement in the corner of her eye, Hermione takes notice of Harry's intentional actions, dropping her wand in a huff and rubbing her free hand over her face, pans continuing to play their music.

"I know you are not cooking, Harry! So please, will you stop the racket!" Hermione yells angrily into the other room, halting the sounds altogether. Simply put, Hermione is crabby, given the long previous night, surprise of Tom Riddle, and unkind awakening. And though one might expect the previous Dark Lord to be incapable of morning cordiality, he is in a positively better mood than Hermione. Grinning at her scowl, Tom is relieved by her actions; for a moment, he feared that Hermione might be different in this time, but this does not seem to be the case given her commanding attitude and grouchiness at ineptness.

Harry walks into the room after placing the ladle down, astounded for the second time in minutes at the vision of Tom Riddle chuckling at a scowling Hermione Granger. But, indeed, the actions are founded in fact, her face stretched into a cranky look with her bushy hair puffed around her. Then there is Tom Riddle, looking absolutely perfect, perhaps other than the strewn Hogwarts robes he still wears. They'll need to change those.

"Good morning," Harry greets with a small smile for Hermione. "I know this is quick, but have you found anything?"

Hermione sends him a fiercely harsh look, one that Harry is simply not used to receiving given her tendency to express scowls instead. Maybe, then, Tom is bringing out the darker aspects of her personality. "About what exactly? Our horcrux search," Hermione questions sarcastically, sending Tom a contemptuous look as he flinches upon reference of the horcruxes but then turns cold towards her, "or his miraculous moment through time?"

Harry Potter looks between the pair that he cannot begin to understand. Their friendship and closeness is simply shocking to his eyes and ears. The Hermione Granger that Harry knows would never have let Tom Riddle get close, and yet Harry supposes there is more going on here that Hermione has let on. Hermione must have recognized something good in Tom Riddle for this to have happened.

Harry shrugs off the thought and an answer with "Both I suppose."

Tom sits up fully on the couch, only then realizing he still has his book tucked into his lap, open. "Well, I think I found the source of my own mystery."