Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Landslide

The soft heat of sunlight played patterns across Hermione's eyelids. A lazy stretch accompanied her drowsy ascent to consciousness. Her body woke languidly, feeling the energetic lethargy of a late morning rise: the sleep in the eyes, light mist of oil around the nose, the gentle insistence of the sun...

Hermione sat straight up. The previous night came rushing back all at once. She checked her watch, which was still on her wrist from the night before, then she released a breath of relief. There was still an hour and a half until she would need to be at the assembly.

Hermione looked around. Tom was nowhere to be found, but his clothes were laid on the chair by the bed.

Her face twisted into one of incredulity.

Tom Riddle's clothes are laying in my hotel room, she thought.

She craned her head and could just barely make out the sound of water.

Tom Riddle was showering in her hotel room.

Tom.

Marvolo.

Fucking.

Riddle.

Hermione twisted her lips to the side wryly. This was certainly a shitstorm she'd gotten herself into.

She glanced at the sheets, but they were crisp and clean.

Thank Merlin.

Hermione promptly extricated her ruined blouse from her body and fell back onto the bed, throwing a hand over her eyes. What on earth had she done?

Well, it was pretty obvious what she'd done.

She'd fucked Tom Riddle.

Well, he'd fucked her, truth be told.

She couldn't even blame it on the alcohol. She hadn't even drunk very much last night.

"Oh, Merlin," she breathed.

"Are we feeling regretful?"

Hermione sat bolt upright at the sudden intrusion of Tom's voice. She gripped the sheet and held it against her chest. He was crossing the room from the bathroom, his black curls glistening and wet with a sheen of moisture over his chest.

He was wearing only a towel.

Godric's ghost, he was fit.

Very fucking fit.

"No," she murmured distractedly. She tried to tear her eyes away from the sight of him but it was like watching an automobile accident happen. She couldn't stop watching.

The instant he reached the chair where his clothes lay, he dropped the towel.

Hermione instantly averted her eyes, looking down at her hands, at the window, at anything but a completely nude Tom Riddle.

What in Salazar's name was happening?

After a few moments, she glanced back over at him, and to her relief, he'd donned his trousers and was currently buttoning his shirt. Finally, her eyes met his, and she found him staring at her with an unmistakable smirk on his face. His eyes were laughing as he looked down at her, seeming every bit like a pompous Julius Caesar, gazing out over his victory at the siege of Alesia.

"Are you going back to London?"

"No," he replied.

Her eyebrows lifted. "You don't have to work?"

"I took time off."

"Oh," she murmured. "Where are you going, then?"

His black eyes turned on her, skimming her where she sat beneath the sheet before he responded. "Albania."