24: The Lion's Mane

Tom stepped out of the shower for the second time that day. His mood had not improved. He had woken up earlier that day hard and stiff all because of a dream.

In his dream, Tom found himself standing in the middle of the bathroom looking towards the large, oval-shaped tub. Submerged in a tub filled with bubbles was Hermione. Only the top of her shoulders and up was out of the water. Her mane of hair was thrown up into a messy bun. Brown ringlets brushed against her neck.

Tom's dreamself moved forward until he was standing directly behind her. He pressed his hands into her shoulders and started messaging them. She moaned a low guttural sound before whispering his name in pure ecstasy. He felt his hands sliding down lower, dipping into the warm water, finding himself wanting to hear that sound again.

Tom woke up panting and hard. All because of a dream. All because of her. And he hadn't even gotten to shag her in his dream! He had never become hard because of a woman before. Usually, only the use of particular dark spells made him hard. What was happening to him for him to become like every other idiot boy he knew?

He had thrown the covers off of him and walked to the bathroom for a cold shower, hoping it would work. It didn't.

After he was dressed and his mood still sour, he walked out to the small quidditch pitch. The day before he had found replicas of the bludgers and snitch in the shed. He pulled them out and released the bludgers. He then mounted his broom and took off.

The weather outside was beautiful. It was warm but not too hot. The sun was shining but not too brightly. It was perfect weather for a game of quidditch. It was not perfect weather for Tom and his dour mood.

He spent the morning dodging bludgers. Wind whipped through his hair and tore at his clothes. His mind was slowly clearing with each dive of his broom.

A bludger came at him from the side. He dove down to avoid it. After leveling out his broom he looked around the pitch to take note of where the bludgers were. Movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

Looking through the window of the third floor he saw Hermione. She was curled up on the little settee with a book perched on her lap. A hand drifted up to her neck and brushed a piece of hair away, exposing her neck just for a second before more hair fell to cover it from view. Just that one movement caused him to be hard with want. It also distracted him greatly from his surroundings.

A bludger smashed into the back of his broom, snapping it. He plummeted down toward the ground, crashing hard.

Tom was sprawled out on the ground on top of a broken broom. He cursed at the predicament he was in. After untangling himself, he pushed himself up off the ground. A twinge of guilt swept through him at the sight of the broken broom.

"Are you alright, my boy?" Tom mentally cursed. At least she hadn't seen him make a fool of himself.

Dippet rushed to him with surprising speed for such an elderly man. Dippet laid a wizened hand firmly on his shoulder. Concern laced eyes peered at him through fluffy white eyebrows.

"I'm fine, sir," Tom bit out in frustration.

The hand on his shoulder increased its grip. "Let me check." Tom obediently stood still while Dippet ran diagnostic charms on him.

Dippet's wrinkled and weathered lips lifted up into a smile. "It appears you escaped from sustaining major injuries," Dippet glanced down at Tom's broken broom. "Shall I do something to repair it?"

"If you please, sir." Tom hated to ask for help but he was rubbish at mending charms.

Dippet flicked his wand hand and the broom magically mended itself. "Good as new." Dippet turned to face Tom. "It's not wise to be distracted while on the field. You best tell her how you feel."

Drat. How could that old man be so oblivious yet so observant?

"I don't know what you mean, sir," lied Tom. Just then, a sleek, black owl flew up to the library window where Hermione was. They watched as she opened the window and took the letter off of the bird's foot. Before she closed the window, she petted the owl's head.

With a growl, he left Dippet. The smile on her face at the sight of the letter haunted his mind. He marched into the house and up to the second floor and straight to the bathroom for his second shower that day. The first was to help relieve him of his lustful thoughts while the second was to wash away the sweat and jealousy.