Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations owned by J.K Rowling. Absolutely no profit is being made from this.

A/N: This was for a challenge on the Gutter City Tomione Forum called Happy Birthday Hermione. Since it's her birthday on the 19th of September. Hope you all enjoy.

There were a number of reasons why Hermione Granger's twenty-first birthday was probably one of the most unhappiest days of her life. For one, she overslept. A night of tossing and turning had left her bitter and dissatisfied. And of course her over-sleeping has led to her being late for work. And then there's the fact that she wasn't able to celebrate her birthday with her friends, who were out touring America on some self-finding trip.

For the first time ever, she was left to celebrate with herself. And last but not least, there was no way that her boss, Tom Riddle, would take her being late lightly.

Hermione Granger working for the one classmate who was supposed to be her equal. What do you make of that?

After scrambling out of her tangled red sheets, and thick, heavy tan comforter atop her four poster bed, she had gathered her clothes and began dressing only to find a rip in her new pantyhose. She was fuming, trying to hide the hole in the side of her knee with one of her longer skirts she hardly ever wore. She prayed to any god out there that no one at the office would notice.

Some coffee aught to make things a little better, she tried thinking positively.

But she had forgotten to buy coffee after work yesterday. She stood there staring at her coffee pot, cursing herself for thinking too much about eating, showering, and trying to sleep that she didn't get to think about running to some store for her coffee. To Hermione, a coffee-less morning was sure to ensue a rather shitty day.

After putting on a long, flowy black dress skirt, an old and simple white blouse where the neck tied into a bow, pulled her brush through her tangled brown hair, quickly brushed her teeth, and applied simple, barely-there brown makeup to bring out the brow in her eyes and hide the dark circles beneath them, she had slipped into her dressy black pea coat, heels, and had gotten into her car to find that her battery had died.

Of all days.

London was dreary and wet today, sheets of heavy rain continually pouring down with no mercy. And while walking and signaling for a taxi, some stiff bloke drove past her in such a hurry in one of those expensive cars that one of the tires closest to her had hit a pot hole filled with murky rain water, rising up and splashing her feet, soaking her feet and pride.

She had stood there with her lips formed into a thin line, on the verge of tears while a taxi finally saw her raised hand and drove over to her. It could have been worse, she tried to assure herself. You could have been covered in the sheet of water instead of just your feet.

By the time she even made it to the office, she was more than one hour late and her stomach was rumbling with the hunger from her skipped breakfast. She hoped someone had brought in some donuts to sit in the break room. But there wasn't when she got to check, even though she eyed the empty donut box in the trashcan with hatred.

She eventually stood at the sink in the break room, her hands gripping the corners of the counter, knuckles white. Her plain thin lips were formed into that thin line all over again.

I just need to calm down. She took in a deep breath and then let it out, shakily.

"You're late."

The surprised, smooth male voice made her jump. She gasped, turning around quickly only to catch eyes with her boss.

"I'm sorry," was the quickest thing she could think of and spill from her lips.

Tom Riddle looked as perfect as he always did. He stood there, tall, dark, handsome, and Hermione couldn't help but blush – he had that effect on women, no matter who the woman was. She looked away from him, from the man who's body was wrapped in an expensive black tailored suit and green tie that made him all the more handsome. (In a way, him wearing green always, somehow, felt as if it resembled his dark, cunning traits. His dark wavy hair was combed back today, and the gray of his waistcoat pulled out the lightness of his green eyes, which appeared to be a shade lighter than usual.)

"What happened?" He asked her. There was curiosity there in his voice. And maybe concern? No. But it was obvious he knew Hermione Granger to never be late unless the time was under some extreme circumstances.

Hermione's shoulders lifted into a shrug and she forced herself to stay together.

"Just a shitty day," she murmured as she turned back around and dumped the stale coffee that was in her foam cup she had sat down beside the sink. The break room coffee was never good and Hermione wanted to know who was in charge of making such a loathly adversity. But it was better than nothing.

"You look a mess." He chuckled. Bloody chuckled. Like it was some fucking joke to him. Her shoulders rose a bit towards her ears and she held her breath.

Yes, of course Hermione had always made sure she looked her best for work. She always wore a short, knee-length pencil skirt with some pretty red, golden, or white blouse tucked in. Her hair was always up somehow, whether braided back, pulled half up, pulled into a high, straightened ponytail, or maybe even just straightened and pinned back at the sides. But today was obviously not that kind of day.

Another reason to make the day worse, her boss saw her as a mess, which made her feel all the more disappointed than she initially should be.

The last few years she had spent at University with Tom, she had developed a crush on him. But that's all it ever was – a crush. Surely it was nothing more. He never did anything to her and she was lucky too. She had seen from a distance for a good four full years of how he tormented people who spoke down to him, thought they could make a fool out of him, or somehow just made him angry. He was merciless. To everyone but her.

Of course there were the days where he was so pissed off to the point he'd yell at her. But that was all he did. And it was never even wounding words. He would just raise his voice as if that were his solution of getting his anger out towards her. It must have worked nonetheless.

Tom cleared his throat as if to gather Hermione's attention, but she ignored him and refused to turn back around to face him. She was still waiting for the heat to leave her cheeks. By now, her throat ached from the tears she had been holding back.

When she didn't respond to him, he huffed a sigh and said, "Your office is a mess, Hermione."

That got her to turn around. Her face had turned from an upset look into an angry scowl.

"That's impossible. I had just reorganized it!" she shot at him with disbelief. Now she was confused, thoughts of the rotten day forgotten.

Tom shook his head, his lips tilting into a half-smile. He used that when he was trying not to smile period or when he was up to something.

"No. I meant someone left things that are clattering your office."

Hermione was already brushing past him, angrily walking down the aisles of the office cubicles as her black heels made both a clicking and squeaking noise of annoyance and wetness with every step. She eyed the door to her office, which sat right next to Tom's. She was his assistant slash secretary, had been since graduation. Her office was half of the size of Tom's, a small desk, comfortable chair, computer, a view of London, and a bookshelf filled with novels upon novels she had helped Tom publish in the past five years. She had just recently bought new pens, cleaned out the drawers of her desk so she could fit new things in there that had been piling up on top of the desk. She had just gotten a new computer too, updated, which sat neatly in the middle of her desk. She had just cleaned the windows too, vacuumed the carpet, even taken out her own trash before the building janitors could (because she always liked taking care of her own messes). How on earth?

She opened the metal door to her office and the smell hit her nose before she saw the sight.

Her office was covered in bouquets and baskets of ruby red roses. A fancy green glass face sat on the corner of her desk filled with at least half a dozen. A smaller crystal-clear vace sat on one of the corners of the bookshelf, and everywhere else, roses cluttered. The place smelled like a flower shop and barely left room for her to get to her desk.

Slowly, she walked in, her eyes covering every inch over and over as if she were trying to find proof that this wasn't real. It couldn't be.

Who would do this?

Outside, the sounds of people working at their cubicles had stopped, even the rain outside the building had stopped. All talking had hushed and eyes on the doorway. Hermione turned around and looked at Tom.

"Who the hell sent these," she demanded. She rarely demanded anything from her boss, but this really topped her over the edge of her boiling frustration of the day altogether.

Tom, who had been leaning casually against the doorway with his hands in his pockets, shrugged, curving his lips up into an I-don't-know smile.

Hermione didn't know a single man who would be interested in her enough to send her hundreds of roses like this. It left her baffled. And pissed-off.

She walked over to the vase on her desk, barely making it as a few baskets of roses sat in the smack-front of the desk. She eyed the parchment note hanging around the neck of the vase in a black ribbon. She ripped it off angrily. Inside read,

Happy Birthday Hermione.
You deserve any beauty that equates to yours.

She wanted to rip the note in half. Who had the nerve to do such a thing? It was her work place. How dare them – whoever did this.

Of course on a lighter note, she was secretly flattered. She adored roses, loved their beauty, and for someone to compare their beauty to hers... It tugged at the heart of the hopeless romantic deep inside her, but overall she ignored it.

Whoever it was demanded her attention though, and she hadn't been interested in a single guy since... She sighed. Whoever had sent her his, must have some interest in her. And if it meant that it'd take her mind off of her own interest she had in the back of her mind, that she still had for Tom, then she'd accept it.

"I don't need my office anyways." She was so aggravated that she was on the threshold of tears. "I'm sorry I'm late. I hope I didn't throw you off your schedule."

She pulled a planner from her purse and opened it shakily. "Last night after you went home, Jon Yotes called about his transcript."

Tom nodded and looked at the Rolex watch on his wrist. "Come to my office then. He'll be wanting a phone conference with us. Oh and Hermione?"

She was just making her way from the office, burying her planner back into her purse when she looked up at Tom with moist eyes.

Tom hesitated, looking at her before he said, "You'll have to stay over tonight again. But this time I'll be here."

Great.

Hours passed by. And by the time Hermione had begun to feel light-headed with starving herself over half the morning, lunch time had come around. A salad and fries had seemed to have satisfied her for waiting for a dinner later on that evening, which she had to run and get for her and Tom while everyone else headed home for dinner with their families. Outside, the rainclouds were long gone and the setting sun was bright and orange, shining through the building almost blindingly.

By now, Hermione's feet had dried, but they were cold and uncomfortable. The only thing on her mind anymore around that time was a hot bath.

"Whoever sent you those flowers really must fancy you," said Tom over the sandwich Hermione had picked out for him (and of course he liked because after being his assistant slash secretary and knowing him long before that, she knew his tastes by now).

She shrugged, biting into her sandwich and looked down at a transcript on her lap. "I went over this during lunch and I think it's a no. Too much needs to be changed about it," she murmured, setting her sandwich down so she could hand the thin transcript over to Tom.

"Why do you say that?" He asked as he took it and furrowed his eyebrows.

"No solid plot. It needs to be revised all over again. Maybe even some things added to it."

Tom nodded his head. "You really don't want to talk about the flowers, do you." There was an edge in his voice that made her look up at him and freeze mid-chew. She hadn't heard that edge in years. It was demeaned, ill-mannered, and unfriendly. And most importantly, he had never once used it towards her before.

There first meeting doesn't count of course, even though she remembers it too perfectly, how she had accidentally knocked his books over the first day of University in their Editing class, and how he had nearly cursed her out of the room. Of course his sudden burst of anger had alarmed her so much she didn't get to feel offended. But after weeks of being pushed into odd group projects, his annoyance towards her had died down. And when they had began studying together for quizzes and tests in their Literacy classes, even ate together at the university's caffeteria, only then did they become equals, regardless of the fact that she now worked for him today.

"Why do you." She scowled at him. She sat her sandwich aside and crossed her legs, brushing a few crumbs off her lap. "If it's the clutter you're worried about I can have them out by tomorrow." It not like she should even care about the roses anyway.

She soon got to her feet and let out a heavy sigh. "I'm taking a break."

She left Tom's spacious office and went into her own. The place still reeked of fresh flowers and she stared at the roses with less anger this time. She walked over to one of the baskets and touched the smooth, silky petal closest to her. In all honesty, she wasn't a flower person, but she couldn't help thinking about how beautiful the flowers really were.

"I thought you'd like them."

Hermione's eyebrows pulled together in confusion as she turned around and allowed her eyes to meet with Tom's. He was leaning against the doorway the way he did earlier. He looked so casual, and begrudgingly offended. Only this time he wasn't wearing a half-smirk. It was a cordial expression.

"I...I never said I didn't," she murmured with a gentle shake of her head.

This was Tom's doing?

Tom looked around and sighed. As if he regretted the mere sight of the roses.

"We were friends once," he murmured as he pushed himself off of the doorway and began walking over to her. His voice was just above a whisper, gentle (maybe even a little too gentle for Tom himself to use), and his walk towards her was almost like a snake, domineering as if he were trying to intimidate her.

So you think, she thought with a scowl towards him. She looked away from him and ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers caught in a few painful tangles, but she swiftly ignored them.

"Why did you pull away from me? After two years of being friends...what made you stop?"

He thought we were friends? It felt like a slap in the face. She had always felt like she was just there. Never as a friend. Yeah, she had liked him a lot, but to force herself to pull away from him was really that bad of an idea? He took it seriously?

Must have. It was the hundreds of roses in sight that proved it.

Tom stood a few feet away from her, towering over her with an intense look when she turned back around to look up at him. When he reached out a tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and his knuckles had brushed across her cheek, she couldn't help but suck in a breath and refuse to move.

Never in the years she had known him (and even fancied him) had she thought anything like this could possibly, ever happen. But he was so close now that she could feel the heat radiating off of him in a cloud of realization that this was it. She had done it. She had beat the demons within her and had found her happy ending.

"Happy Birthday, Hermione," he said softly in her ear when he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, leaving a tingling sensation behind.

He curved his index finger and tilted her chin up with it, his touch soft. She could smell him. A mixture of spice and spearmint. It suited him, almost too alluring for her. He forced her to look squarely up at him all the while he leaned in quickly and crushed his lips with hers, his one arm wrapped around her small torso so he could pull her close to him. She practically melted into his embrace and grabbed at the collar of his suit jacket to keep herself close to him, possibly even try to be even closer. His lips were smooth but rough, hungry as if not only him, but she, had been waiting for this for a very long time.