Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Paris, Acte 1

Hermione and Tom awoke on New Year's Eve in Tom's flat, their limbs entangled. Tom's employer had attempted to make him work (said he'd taken off too much time recently) but Tom simply refused to go in, and since the sheisty Borgin couldn't actually fire Tom (he made the shop too much gold), he acquiesced to letting him have the day off for his birthday. The Daily Prophet had already finished printing their issues for the next two days and so Tom and Hermione effectively had the next two days off.

Hermione lay with her head on Tom's chest, still half asleep.

Tom stroked the bare skin of her back softly as he recalled what he'd dreamt of a few nights prior.

He had been barely lucid, in a sort of dreamlike state when he heard Hermione's soft whisper.

I love you, Tom Riddle .

Tom was sure that he had dreamt it, but the sound of those words uttered in her voice drove him insane; it had echoed throughout his consciousness for days.

Tom swallowed as his dark eyes rested on the witch in his arms. She was like a tight chain around his heart, slowly constricting, sucking the breath from his lungs.

She stirred, sighing as she lifted her head to look at him.

"Happy birthday," she mumbled.

He smirked. "Good morning."

She moaned sleepily in response.

Tom chuckled and began to extricate himself from her, much to her disapproval. "Don't fight me, little witch, I'll bring you some tea."

He left and after a bit, came back with a cup of coffee and a cup of tea, which he handed to her as she sat up groggily, hugging the sheet to her bare chest as she propped herself up on the many pillows she'd brought to his flat.

Tom took a sip of coffee and sat it on the table beside his bed, then pulled his cigarettes out of the drawer, took out a cigarette, and began to light it.

After a few sips of tea, Hermione asked, "What do you want for your birthday, Tom?"

"Sex," he breathed, expelling smoke from his mouth and nostrils. "And lots of it."

Hermione rolled her eyes, thinking to herself that all men were the same, murderous dark lord or not. "You idiot. You have that every day."

He laughed under his breath. "So I do."

"So what do you want? Be serious."

He flicked the ash into the ashtray beside his bed. "I don't want presents. I want to go on a date. With you."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "In public?"

Tom took a drag. "We can keep to the muggle sector if you're that embarrassed to be seen with me, little witch."

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "It's not that and you know it."

"What is then, darling?"

"I... Well, I don't know. I suppose I'm just so high profile these days that I know the papers will have a field day with whomever I'm seen with and I don't want the interference."

Tom inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs in silence before releasing it and reaching for his coffee. "You had no qualms about being seen with Alphard Black or Gaspard Dufresne. Or any number of other idiotic wizards."

"But I don't care about any of them."

Tom ran his tongue over his teeth. "And you care about me?"

Hermione huffed. "Well, obviously."