Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Through the Floo

Hermione browsed the library of Malfoy Manor, waiting for Tom. The library was dark save for a few magically lit torches, and the low dancing of the flames in the fireplace. The few portraits hanging along the walls were asleep, but they still made her anxious; she'd never trust the Malfoys, nor their portraits. She laid her hand against her gossamer skirt, ensuring that her wand was still in place in the holster strapped to her thigh.

She was too nervous to look at the books lining the shelves, so she took a seat on what looked to be a Queen Anne sofa in front of the fireplace. She ran her fingers along the carved wood frame, thinking to herself that it likely wasn't Queen Anne, but she wasn't abreast of the styles and trends of wizarding furnishings. She'd bought all of her decor from muggle designers.

The sounds of the ball reached her as distant echoes... the voice of Celestina Warbeck crooning... the low hum of voices and the tinkle of laughter... Hermione's heart beat rapidly, and she began to bite her nails in apprehension. She hoped Malfoy wasn't looking for her.

She hadn't intended to cave so easily to Tom, but there had been something quite sincere about his words. It hadn't been his typical charming act, but a string of confessions that rolled off his tongue with the ease of a man speaking pure truth.

He loved her. Hermione believed it.

But was he good for her?

With one breath he confessed his devotion, and with the next, he uttered death threats and spoke whimsically of murder.

Hermione leaned her head against the sofa's back, wishing she had a drink.

She wasn't even sure why she'd decided to come here and wait for him. Hermione felt she was being sucked back into a vortex, a black hole that would swallow her whole.

She thought of the kiss. Of his hands stroking her skin, of his stomach pressed to her chest. The way she'd had to strain on her tiptoes to return his kiss, which was passionate despite the fact that she knew he was restraining himself.

She'd done it now. Tom was a worse addiction than euphoria elixir. She felt as though relenting to that kiss was a kind of relapse, and now she was terrified that she would be even more addicted than she was before.

Can nothing be forgiven?

You should know better than anyone the impact you've had upon my heart, little witch.

Part of her had worried that he was manipulating her. Using her to gain information about the future. Voldemort had been ever present in Hermione's mind, tainting her image of Tom. She'd convinced herself that any dalliance they had would be ended eventually, that his true colors would come out at some point, and then she'd have a reason to kill him.

But that hadn't happened.

Your pretty hands are the only ones that can stay my wrath.

She heard his whisper against her ear, feverish and laced with desire.

I love you.

Hermione sighed, knowing she was fucked.

"I'm fucked," she breathed.

Not only because she desperately missed Tom Riddle, but because now the whole wizarding world would know it.

She started suddenly and stood at the sound of the heavy library doors being opened. A beam of light streamed in and then disappeared as Tom walked through and closed the doors behind him.

"You came," he muttered, as if he hadn't really believed she'd have waited for him there. "I thought I might have to drag you out of your flat by your hair."