/Tomione; Modern AU.- Teacher/Student /Hermione is a lonely, curious girl and Tom is vile man, both hunger for tragedy.
"Let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn."
Donna Tartt
I
She finds the book on an empty park bench. The cover is dark and the pages are thin and a tinge of yellow marks the tips of them. Hermione quickly pockets the slim book into her winter coat and continues home.
That night, she takes the book out and analyzes it in the moonlight. The book, which seems to glow red in the light streaming through her window is a threatening shade of black. The only marking on the leather cover are the initials TMR. The pages contain small, precise text that stands out against the white background.
The book feels impossibly warm in her hands, a comforting sense opposing the chill in the air. She opens it and reads the first line: Death is man's God.
Hermione feels a sense of morbid curiosity settle in the pit of her stomach. Her gut twists as the word Death stands out like a bloodstain on a white blouse.
Her eyes involuntarily continue their feast, When a flower withers away, and perishes, it is forgotten. But when a person plucks the flower, they in their hands hold the power of death. A man will die and his existence turns into a myth. A man will murder another, and his existence turns into a legend.
She lightly closes the book and swallows the words. The words rest heavy in her head, curving against her skull and pressing on her cranium.
Hermione glances at the clock on her nightstand, it reads 3:11 in sharp red light. The numbers glare at her and she shuts her window. She places the book under her pillow and lays her head against it.
Through the night she feels the book beating against her, like a pulse.
Hermione's long walk to school is measured in, light steps as her mary janes click against the concrete, and the echo of the leaves she steps on and crushes.
She arrives early and heads to the school library, with a fleeting smile at the librarian she heads to the back, to her own spot.
After skimming and revising her homework, she reaches for the book. The sunlight from the library window illuminates the cover. It glows like an ember.
Hermione cautiously looks around, the knowledge that the library is empty does little to settle her unexplained trepidation.
She continues reading, What is greater than becoming a God among beings, the essence of humanity is to obtain power. To conquer death, to be immortal are as akin as a wound and blood.
The bell for class rings. The sound cuts through the words that scorch her eyes and leave her breathless.
Hermione arrives at her designated seat, three minutes late. In her hurry she fails to notice the absence of the regular professor Slughorn.
In his place stands a tall man with fine cheekbones and dark hair. He sets his cold gaze on her and his lips poist to a grim line.
"I do not tolerate tardiness, Miss-?" He pauses in question.
"Granger, sir. I apologize." Hermione responds. She feels her stomach drop, she dislikes having teachers disapprove of her.
"Well, Miss Granger, an apology is hardly a reason to avoid punishment. You will stay after classes." He says. Hermione nods in response and escapes his gaze by glancing down at her fidgeting hands.
Her eyes rise to the board where the words Professor Riddle are written in vivid white chalk.
All students remain silent as the substitute lectures.
After completing all her classes, Hermione makes her way to Slughorn's classroom to serve her penalty, feeling discontent.
The class is silent and Hermione finds Professor Riddle sitting at his desk, with a book in his hands. He lifts his eyes to her, before she makes her presence known and Hermione is taken aback by the observation of how dark his eyes are. Pupil and iris bleed into each other and form a dark hue.
Hermione takes a seat in the front row, in front of him.
"Professor, how long will my punishment last?" She questions.
Half of a smile slides on his lips as he answers, "Eleven minutes, Miss Granger."
She finds the amount of time odd, but he hardly seems like a person to approve of having his decisions further questioned. His perspective of her is faulty enough, and she reluctantly remains quiet.
Hermione recalls that world war I ended on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. She also recalls that world war II was a continuation of world war I.
She expects him to return to his book, instead he directs a pointed gaze at her before questioning, "Miss Granger, why were you unpunctual?" He stresses her title and Hermione feels abashed. As if he had somehow acquired the knowledge that she possesses such a contentious book.
She feels the presence of the book in the room like one feels pain to a wound.
"I, got distracted reading, professor." She answers as evenly as she can, "I was in the library early, but it seems it was futile as I was still tardy." She continues.
"Pray tell, what book managed to fascinate you so much that it interfered with your schedule?" He inquires. His wording seemed delicate enough, but Hermione couldn't help but linger on his baleful tone. She studied the arch of his eyebrow and the intensity of his eyes, noticing that he was attractive. The observation merely assisted in fueling her unneasiness.
"It's a book I found." She confesses, because it feels impossible to lie under his scrutinizing gaze.
"I am also fond of reading."He replies, and drops the topic in an instant, his eyes slide back to his book.
The book in his hands is pitch black, and his long fingers lightly pull the thin pages. His fingers are thin and straight, and against the dark cover they stand like light. Hermione averts her eyes. She feels uncomfortably warm with his presence.
Hermione takes out another book, and forming a layer between them, she raises it in front of her face. The false protection does little to settle her apprehension. Behind the book she lets out a soft sigh of relief. She doesn't read, behind the book she studies him.
Unbeknownst to her, he is also studying her.