The Dark Lord's Playbook of Nefarious Misdeeds

White Cliffs In My Rear View Mirror

Previously...

Bloody hell, I rather adore this young woman. I still don't know whether to kill her or keep her, but I like her.

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Hermione POV

Inching towards Dover

We both had been rather quiet after that conversation two days ago, which looking back was borderline flirting. I think we both are a little confused, well I know I am confused. I still don't completely trust him; he can be unpredictable and that worries me. It's difficult because for the most part I have to rely on him, my life is at the moment completely in his blood-stained hands. I guess the biggest problem aside from his wonky moral compass is my loyalty and friendship to Harry. How can I build a potential friendship with someone who murdered his parents? It feels like the biggest betrayal, that no friendship could survive.

I trudged in silence behind Tom as he seemed to know where the hell we were going. If it was up to me, we would have been lost a while ago. I was no girl guide. The only thing that gave me hope that we were going in the right direction was the change in the air. A saltiness that could only be associated with the ocean.

Up ahead I could see where the edge of the forest stopped and opened up onto a flat grassed area, leading right to the edge of the cliffs. I smiled and ran ahead, ignoring Tom's calls for me to stop. I couldn't help it, I needed to get out of the forest and feel like we are making progress. It was at least 200 metres I thought to the edge as I sprinted as fast I could in this dress. My beaded bag, thumping at my side rather roughly to the rhythm of my feet pounding the earth. I stopped to a slow walk as the edge of the cliff was approaching, the last thing I needed in my excitement was to slip over the edge and fall to my death. Tom would not be able to save me then. The wind was whipping about, my hair kept blowing in my face but I didn't care, the smell of the fresh briny air was....it smelled like freedom. I could see off in the distance the enormous sail ships both coming and going, to and from France and elsewhere. It was an amazing sight.

"Hermione", Tom was a little breathless after having to run after me. I know I was a slight magnet for trouble after all.

"Tom, just look", I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and roughly turned him so he could look. I pointed out at all the sailboats, their large sails billowing in the ocean breezy, while dipping and cresting on the rough channel swell. It was a sight to see. Looking at this image in textbooks was one thing but viewing in person was another.

"It's amazing isn't it?", I wonder what he thought of my childish reverence. I couldn't help the small squeal of excitement that escaped me.

"It is a rather enchanting sight", he replied but he wasn't looking at the boats. I didn't think too much on it, I was too caught up in the thrill of the moment.

A few hours later, I was hot and sweaty from the walk and descent down to the Dover port. What I wouldn't give for another dip in the tub like I had two days ago. I'll be eternally grateful to Tom for filling the bathtub for me.

What struck me first about the port was the outrageous smell of urine and fish. It kind of dampened the backdrop of the brilliant gleaming limestone chalk white cliffs. There were people everywhere. I was astounded by the sheer number of people at the port. They were all bustling about, moving crates of food stuffs, bottles clinking, large trolleys with the Royal Mail logo stamped on the side rolling by and men shouting. I stepped closer to Tom so I wouldn't get bumped and lost in the crowd of people. They just kept walking not caring if they ran into you or not. Towards the furthest end of the docks, there were stalls set up for people to buy tickets on to some of the ships for transport across the Strait, some where you could buy small servings of some type of food (I assumed this was for the dockworkers and for the crew of the boats) and I noticed even discreetly there were sex workers lingering in the back. Really, they were everywhere! I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking because I was lost in this particular train of thought, that I had bumped into a man who smelled like salt and bad body odour. He had a few sores on his face that immediately repulsed me. I tried not to show it because that would be rude, if he had a genuine medical condition. They looked similar to the ones on the lady's face from the brothel who was fellating the gentleman in the hallway. His pants had seen better days and his shirt was stained various shades of yellow from sweat. His hair was long and shaggy, haphazardly tied at the back with a black ribbon fraying at the ends and he had rough looking facial hair that was well on its way to being a beard.