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He normally didn't notice individuals in the audience at their shows, preferring instead to see them as one organism, moving to their music, but something about her stood out.
Maybe it was the way the green and black corset she wore showed off her tiny figure and that her denim shorts were skintight. The expanse of skin between the hem of the shorts and her knee-high black boots was perfectly innocent and tantalizing at the same time.
Maybe it was how out of place she seemed. Nothing about her seemed to fit with their usual audience, expect maybe her age. She seemed too pure, to sweet, too innocent to be in the crowd of thrashing, angry metal fans.
Maybe it was despite her fragile and delicate looks, he had watched her punch an overly handsy man in the face with a calm, almost apathetic expression.
Or, maybe, it was the way she seemed to know all the lyrics to their songs. He could see her mouth moving in time with his as he sang. She didn't jump, dance, or mosh, in fact she was leaning against the wall, plastic cup of luke warm, cheap beer dangling from her fingers, but she knew the words, and she had closed her eyes, head swaying back and forth during Lonely Day, so she must like the music.
"TOM!" Abraxas hissed, pulling his attention from the girl to the band's lead guitarist. "Can you try to focus? What the fuck are you staring at?"
Tom quickly looked away from the girl and refocused as Abraxas started strumming the into to one of their most popular songs. After a few bars Thoros joined in on his bass and finally Edmond on the drums. Tom closed his eyes feeling the music build from its mellow start, until it exploded with energy and the entire room was jumping, well almost the entire room.
"WAKE UP!
(wake up)
Grab a brush and put a little make-up.
Hide the scars to fade away the shake-up.
(hide the scars to fade away the...)
Why'd you leave the keys upon the table?
Here you go create another fable.
You wanted to
Grab a brush and put a little make-up.
You Wanted to.
Hide the scars to fade away the shake-up.
Why'd you leave the keys upon the table?
You wanted to."
The crowd sang and moved with them, though he wondered how many of them really understood the deeper meaning behind the words. It wasn't until the chorus that he snuck a peak at the girl again, wanting, for some unfathomable reason, to know how she felt about this song. It was his pride, between the metaphors and rhythmic changes, he had put a lot of work into it.
"I don't think you trust, in, my, self-righteous suicide. I cry when angels deserve to DIE."
Her eyes were closed again, lips moving along like she was trying to completely absorb the music. He knew, right then, that he was going to talk to her after the show, no matter what. The song continued, everyone moving and singing with him. Live concerts were always a rush, the power and connection he could feel with the crowd.
"We're the Death Eaters, Goodnight!"
Tom was moving almost as soon as he finished speaking, hopping off the edge of the stage, moving quickly dodging fans, not wanting to miss the chance to speak to her.
She was frowning and typing angrily on her phone as he got close, so she didn't notice his approach. If he hadn't been so distracted, he would have thought of something clever and charming to say, he was thought to be quite charming, but he didn't, instead he was mesmerized by how she was leaning against the wall, one knee bent, foot braced on the wall behind her.
"You don't belong here." He could have smacked himself, he missed charming completely and went straight to asshole.
She raised her eyes slowly from her phone, flicking over his dark torn jeans, silver chains and long sleeve tan Henley and up to his face.
"Oh?" She raised one eyebrow at him, "I wasn't away that this was private property."
"No, I just meant..."
"I know what you meant." Her calm, even tone didn't change but he could tell he had upset her by how quickly she had cut him off.
"No, fuck, damn it." Apparently, his usual charm disappeared around a woman he was actually attracted to, "You just don't look like the people who typically come to these shows. That's all I meant."
"Hmm..." She hummed, searching his face, as if to see if he was lying.
"I like the music, it's..." her phone buzzed, interrupting her sentence. Her eyebrows pulled together, and a slight downturn appeared at the corners of her lips when she read the incoming text. "Shit."
"Something wrong, love?" Tom asked, stepping a little closer, close enough now to notice she smelled like vanilla and strawberries, a distinct difference from the dive bar they were currently in.
She shook her head, typing quickly again.
"Nothing I can't handle," She absentmindedly assured him, and then muttered, "Overbearing, Overprotective, Smothering...."
"So, you liked the show?" Tom decided to change the subject, hoping she wasn't just talking about him. Maybe he could salvage this trainwreck.
"Fishing for compliments?" She looked up at him through her lashes, and he felt his heart pound at her coy expression.
"More curiosity. I'm Tom by the way, Tom Riddle, Lead singer of The Death Eaters." He held out his hand hopeful she would put her hand in his.
She considered him briefly and for a moment he thought she would reject his gesture, but she put her tiny hand out and into his own, much larger, hand.
"Mia."
He turned her hand and pressed his lips to the back of her hand, watching closely as a blush spread over her cheeks.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mia."
"Ms. Granger." They both looked over towards the voice at the same time and Tom raised his eyebrow at the large man who was glaring at him.
He was large, very large, he was the same height as Tom, several inches over 6 feet tall, but this new man looked like he could bench press a car. He was wearing a suit and had a buzz cut. If he had to guess, Tom would have guessed that he was private security.
"Greg," She sighed, looking annoyed at the newcomer, "you couldn't have given me even 5 more minutes?"
She looked pointedly at her hand, which Tom still had a hold of.
"You slipped away for nearly the entire night, Ms. Granger. It's time to go."
She sighed and looked back at Tom, who was very, very confused.
"I'm sorry Tom, I wish I had more time to talk to you. Greg, you got a pen?" Greg handed her a pen and Tom watched, slightly dumbfounded as she wrote a number on the back of his hand, "That's my private number, text me sometime?"
He didn't even have the chance to nod before she was slipping away from him and walking towards the door, gigantic Greg following close behind.
"Dude, do you even know who that was?" Tom looked over his shoulder at Abraxas, who had come up behind him. "That was Hermione Granger, member of the Golden Trio, Griffin Records number one group."
Tom wasn't sure what was more surprising, that a member of the most popular Pop group in the world had shown up at a tiny little dive bar and listened to his band all night or that Abraxis could recognize her on sight.
"How do you even know that, Brax?"
"My nephew, Draco, is a fan. Took him to a concert last month." Abraxas looked down at Tom's hand, "Holy shit, did she give you, her number?"
Tom looked down at the number on his hand, a smile creeping over his face, "Brax, I'm gonna marry that girl."