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

44|| King to H8

44|| King to H8

    Hermione and Tom look up to Harry's sudden action and obviously overwhelming sense of betrayal, poignant on his face.  His grass green eyes, greatly lighter than Tom's, are shining with a new sense of understanding, and one that is corrupting of trust.  It scares Hermione to a great extent: the fact that Harry is becoming more reliant on himself, simply because his mentor had a mistake-filled past.  Hermione wants Harry to trust her entirely, but with all that's happened to him, she doubts he is capable of such things.

"I heard you speaking with Tom earlier, and it reminded me: where's my wand?" Harry asks, obviously avoiding the previous subject only to brood on it later.  "I'll take the watch."

From the twitch of her wrist and falling eyes, Hermione obviously hesitates under the question.  Harry narrows his eyes at her in response, apprehensive to the facts and suspicious of the worst, simply because situations usually mean trouble for Harry Potter.  And from the ground beside Hermione, Tom turns his eyes upon her figure, curious as to what exactly happened.

"Hermione. Where's my wand?"

Picking herself up slowly from the ground, only to crouch away beside her sitting blanket, Hermione snatches up the side of the cloth to reveal a pile of twigs, some larger than the rest.  She grabs these ones, revealing the state of Harry's wand to be nothing more than a broken stick, only strung together by a phoenix feather--the core.  Hermione hands the wand to Harry with an apologetic expression, something to be expected with all that they've lost.

"It's my fault," Hermione says regretfully, slightly fearful of Harry's response.  "As we were leaving Godric's Hollow, I cast a curse and it rebounded...I'm sorry, Harry, I tried to mend it but wands are different--"

"It's done," Harry cuts her off.

"Maybe we can--" the bookworm goes to offer an alternative, again being quieted by the tired Boy Who Lived.

"It's done."

Tom frowns at Harry Potter for his show of disrespect, something Tom is not acceptant of, given the respect most people held for him and Hermione.  To the 1940s boy, it seems especially rude to talk to a woman in such a tone, but from the way Hermione nods in reluctance at the end of the conversation, he figures it is less immoral in this time.  Interesting.

"Leave me yours.  You get back in the warm.  And give me that," Harry says, pointing at the locket upon Hermione's chest, the one she'd been wearing for the past few hours, making her more silent than usual.  And though Hermione goes to speak, Tom is quick to offer his help with the same intention as always.

"I can take it," he offers.

Harry revolves his gaze to the previous Dark Lord, a boy he cannot quite understand--fitting of his name, Riddle.  But Harry knows Tom is fiercely protective of Hermione and devoted to her.  He knows that Tom is worthy of his trust simply because he will not betray Hermione, and therefore himself.  So, instead of outright denying the offer, Harry says, "No, you'll hold it tomorrow.  I'll take watch."

Handing it over gently, both Hermione and Tom stand to their feet, the boy departing into the tent as Hermione lingers in her gaze on Harry, his internal conflict obvious.

"He loved you, Harry," Hermione says, referring to Dumbledore, the man Harry perceives to be false now.  "I know he loved you."  Her hands trail through the black hair on Harry's head, softer than the coarse and curly hair of Tom Riddle, but more unruly in flow.  Harry closes his eyes at the feeling, a gesture of comfort that he ought to have felt from his mother if the world had been righteous.  But it disappears with her departure into the tent, like how his mother disappeared before Harry was old enough to remember, leaving him alone to this world, though this time, he wishes to be alone.