Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Pens & Parchment

Hermione woke up on her couch feeling very hungover. She might have had a little episodic breakdown the previous night after portkeying back to London from Bulgaria. It had finally sunk in that she was likely trapped here in 1948 for good, and she reacted in the most healthy way imaginable. She got roaring drunk.

Additionally, she had given up trying to process why she was attracted to Tom Riddle. If she kept thinking about it, it would drive her crazy, because there was no rhyme or reason to it. It just made no sense. No matter how much she tried to remind herself of the hideous and terrifying Lord Voldemort from her own time, it did her no good. She couldn't get Tom out of her head. Snippets from that night in Bulgaria kept replaying over and over in her mind.

The sound of his voice... the things he'd whispered in her ear as he drove into her. The way his skin felt against hers... his unique, masculine scent.

"Merlin, help me," she groaned, fully exasperated with herself.

She didn't want to be late for work. She was the reporter charged with writing about the ICW convention, and she had scrolls and scrolls of notes which she had to condense for her article. She threw on her robes, cast a charm on her hair, effectively taming it, and ran out the door.

She had woken rather late and so she hadn't had her morning tea, which was a travesty, so she approached the little breakfast stand across the street from The Daily Prophet with intent. In front of the stand there were shelves of magazines and newspapers. She glanced at Witch Weekly and then bought a copy of Rumours! She still kept up with what they were writing even though she'd effectively silenced their lies about herself. They had taken a massive hit in their readership, with subscribers cancelling left and right after Eulessia's article about Hermione and Piksy hit the front page of The Daily Prophet .

The server handed Hermione a steaming tea latte of earl grey and vanilla. Hermione inhaled the scent of it with a smile, immediately feeling more awake and alive. She was still rather tired and hungover, but there was very little that a good cup of tea couldn't remedy.

She pulled a few sickles out and went to pay, but the server said, "Oh, I'm sorry Miss, but the gentleman already paid for yours."

Hermione's brow furrowed, and she turned to where the woman was gesturing to find Tom Riddle standing there with an open copy of The Prophet in one hand and a cup of hot coffee in the other.

"I've said it before, but you're not very aware of your surroundings," he said, cutting his eyes at her.

Her cheeks grew hot. "What are you doing here?" she bristled.

He looked up from his paper and stared at her blankly. "I come to this stand every morning."

"Oh," she breathed, then nodded. "Right. I know."

His eyebrows lifted. "You know?"

She froze. "I mean... I sometimes- I can see the stand from my, er... window. By my desk."

He turned to look up at the upper floors of The Daily Prophet's offices. Then he looked back to her. "I see."

Hermione looked away awkwardly. "Well... thank you for the tea. Have a pleasant day." She turned and began walking away swiftly.

Tom grabbed her arm and stopped her. "I know I said I would owl, but I got back rather late last night and fell into bed straightaway." He held up his cup. "Thus, the coffee."

She looked with wide eyes at the cup and then at Tom, then she shrugged. "There's no explanation necessary."

Tom pressed his tongue against his cheek. He stared at her, seeming somewhat confused by her demeanor. "Right."