Love [Tomione]

Chapter 1: a fresh start

SC: I WANNA BE YOURS| ARTIC MONKEYS

Hermione Granger.

People believe in 'the one'. Do you believe in that?

Over the last two weeks, ever since we have first met - I have spent some time finding more about you. As ironic as it sounds, there is nothing about you I could find.

You see, I have gone through the Ministry's records. Impersonating officers through glamour charms, obliviating them or simply using an ' imperio'. I tried all of my to go options.

What I found was that there were no records of a 'Hermione Granger.' No record at all. No Gringotts account. No parents. No school traces. No birthdate.

Not an American. I doubt that based on your distinctive London accent. Besides, I have also made a trip to New York. Just for you. I found that Ilvermony had no such student named Hermione Granger.

Hogwarts was a straight no. I knew every student from the school till the moment I left. You appear to be a fresh graduate- so we must have been in the same year.

Beauxbatons- another trouble I had to go through, dear. Paris was surprisingly chilly during this time of the year. Again, no student named Hermione Granger.

I wonder why.

Were you ever Hermione? Do you even exist, Hermione Granger? I believe it is your name. Hermione. Daughter of Helen of Troy. Queen of Sicily.

Since I could not discover much about your background except for the fact of your parentage- I have decided to find out more about your current life. I had to make sure you were safe and sound.

A simple modified point-me spell led me to a comfortable flat located in South East England. 56 Evans Street, Little Whinging, Surrey. The first floor. #1-02 to be exact.

You have a set morning routine. At 5.15am, you get out of bed to make your breakfast tea. Chamomile if you're feeling stressed. Earl grey if you want a little pick me up. Usually you would finish breakfast at precisely 7am. Shower by 7.30. Leave your flat at 7.50.

I wait for you to apparate. I make my move.

Your flat is warded. Not a problem- I went through them with a breeze within minutes and you wouldn't even feel them being intruded.

I step into your flat. A routine I have found familiar. There are stacks of books. Many on transfiguration, potions, runes and the Dark Arts.

Tom breaths in. He smiles.

Jasmine. Lilies. I remember. The faint scent of rosemary from your hair.

The furniture is shabby, slightly old. You don't mind it.

His fingers approach the tattered cotton of the couch.

Something catches his eye. Black lace draped over the wooden chair.

Tom's mind was in a trance. His mind was occupied with the one memory repeating in his head from the week before.

He had finished work and had made a commitment to stop by Hermione's apartment every night. Those blue curtains had always been open, revealing the many insights into the happenings of Hermione's activities. He had peeked into it.

My, was it a good decision he made.

She was not wearing stockings, once more( thank salazar). Her shapely toned legs stepping out of those atrociously short skirts she wears. He catches a full glimpse of her red knickers. He swallows hard. Then she had proceeded to take off that black blouse of hers, revealing perfect, firm breasts, heavy in a matching bra. Nipples that were pebbled due to their recent exposure to the cold air. Something stirs in his loins.