Megan should be ashamed you followed me before her so here's a prompt for you Tomione " how long until he gets home? "
Lol shaming your girl in your tumblr-sister’s ask box. I love it. xD I thought of like 10 different ways to take this prompt (cheating au? parents au? crime boss au?????) but this one literally popped into my head when I sat down at my laptop this morning so enjoy~
She knew they couldn’t be heard, but the quiet, unhappy whimpers from her four-month-old did nothing to help Hermione’s viciously frayed nerves. Leisurely footsteps echoed down to her from the hardwood floors above as her would-be-assailant spoke to the stillness in the house.
“Come now, Miss Granger, I’ve no intentions of harming you or young Leviathan.”
Mrs. Riddle, she corrected mentally, despite the shudder that ran through her when her son’s name sunk through the floorboards.
“If you’re trying to wait him out, my dear, then I regret to inform you that he can’t get through these wards without my knowing. Let me free you from him, child. It won’t hurt.”
She did her best to ignore him by focusing on her son. Unfortunately, the baby had awareness beyond his age, no doubt a result of having two unusually brilliant parents, and was sensitive to her anxiety. Logically, she knew the safe room was secure enough for her to relax in, but her hands still shook as she pulled the collar of her shirt down and held her inconsolable child near until he latched on.
He quieted, but unhappy grunts and tiny sniffles make him shake despite the comfort she offered him. Humming his favorite lullaby did little to soothe him further.
She hoped he’d fall asleep.
“How long until he gets home, Hermione?” echoed down to her. “How long do you think it will take him to realize he can’t get to you?”
Hermione glared at the ceiling, inhaling sharply when she heard a familiar snort.
“I don’t know, Albus. How long will it take me?”
Bright, sickly green rays peaked through the floorboards before something heavy crumpled and knocked a cloud of dust free. Hermione held her breath, ears ringing as her heart hammered in her ears.
The basement doorknob turned, the hinge squeaking quietly as the door swung open. She could see the light on the staircase.
A choked sob caught in her throat when Tom reached the bottom landing. He crossed the room, stopped a few feet in front of her, and waved his hand. The wards shimmered away like thick curtains.
Tom’s eyes were hard, but she could see the relief in them. The leftover fear.
“It’s over,” he murmured. He reached for her and after shifting their son’s weight fully into her other arm, she reached for him. His stillness made her trembling look so much worse than it felt.
Tom tucked her against his chest, kissing her hair first, then their son’s. He kissed a tear off his cheek, the top of her breast, her collarbone, then finally found her lips.
“You were right about him,” she whispered.
Tom sighed. She expected him to respond with a quiet ‘I know’. Burning tears blinded her when he gave her a tender “I’m sorry” instead.
