Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Sleepover

Hermione felt awkward staying at Tom Riddle's flat for the first time. She would need to remind herself to pack a toothbrush from now on in her beaded bag. It was a habit of growing up as a child with dentists for parents. She couldn't just not brush her teeth before bed. It just felt fundamentally wrong.

Tom offered her his shirt to sleep in and she took a minute for herself in the bathroom. Mainly to scourgify his dried cum off her thigh and remind herself to breathe. Everything in his flat was so... normal . He had a normal toothbrush and toothpaste and a bed and a dresser and a mirror attached to the back of his bathroom door. His towel hung on a hook in the bathroom. Hermione swallowed. She had not prepared herself for the normality of being in Lord Voldemort's bathroom. It was just too weird to be this normal.

Hermione used the toilet because she knew it was good to do that after sex and then she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was in slight disarray, falling in wild ringlets down her back. She took off the stockings and garters and put them in her beaded bag. Then she unhooked her bra and laid it aside. She slipped her arms in the sleeves of his shirt and buttoned it up. It was perfectly white and pressed to perfection. It smelled like him. Everything in this flat did. A mixture of whiskey and smoke, cedar, oud wood, and amber.

She hadn't intended this to happen tonight, but here it was. She was going to stay with Riddle. He'd asked her to. Not only that, but he wanted her here every night, he'd said. She couldn't imagine he'd actually meant that.

The first time they'd slept in the same bed, it had been somewhat of an accident. They'd come together in a violent, feverish tangle of limbs and passed out almost immediately after. This time, she was thinking about it. She was choosing this.

For a moment, she nearly hyperventilated. It was all just too intimate .

Get a grip, she told herself. You've had his penis in you. There's nothing more intimate than that.

She placed a hand on the bathroom door and opened it slowly.

Tom was currently standing with his back to her. He wore nothing but his boxers, and his back muscles rippled in the dim lamp light. His closet door was open, and he appeared to be selecting his work clothing for the next day. He seemed to be very much a creature of habit, Hermione mused. Everything in his flat seemed to be pristine. Spotless. Everything perfectly placed in some odd semblance of order that only Riddle understood. He laid his clothes and robes out on a chair. The way he placed his trousers, neatly folded, onto the chair, then his belt on the left side over the back of the chair, then his tie on the right side, his socks folded once and in the center, then his shirt draped over those, then slid his shoes under the chair... It was as if he had done it a million times before and could do it in his sleep.

Hermione's brow furrowed. Her curiosity won out over her nervousness. "Do you do that every night?"

He turned, having obviously not heard her come out of the bathroom. He looked to the chair where she gestured. "What?"

"Do you... always lay them out like that? In that exact pattern?"

He looked at the chair with his clothes laid out as if he were seeing it for the first time. "Ah... I suppose I do. I never noticed."

The corners of Hermione's lips turned up and she bit back a smile. His eyes narrowed as he took in her expression. "Are you finding something funny?"

"No," she choked out, trying not to laugh. "It's just... you seem a bit OCD."

His brow drew forward sharply. "I seem a bit what ?"

"OCD?" she murmured, surprised when he acted as if he had no idea what she was talking about. "Obsessive compulsive disorder. It's sort of a... behavioral disorder of sorts."