Warning: Necrophilia
"I'm home," Tom calls from the front door.
He dusts off his clothes and takes off his outer robe and his shoes. His arms get goosebumps from the cold of his and Hermione's apartment.
He sees Hermione sitting on the sofa with the television on. Scattered books are abandoned on the coffee table.
"Have you been watching the telly all day long?" Tom laughs. "What happened to your research?"
Silence fills the air.
He rolls his eyes at her and turns off the television with his wand. "Am I supposed to believe you then? Those books are from this early morning and we know how fast you can devour books.
They've been married for years now. It's perfectly fine to take a break now and then and watch the television all day long. She doesn't have to get shy on him whenever she does.
And, this is the most important, he gets jealous when she's more focused on her research than on him.
Tom thinks he's the only husband in the world who gets jealous of books.
"Have you cooked dinner yet?" He kisses her forehead in greeting.
Cold touches his lips, as always.
He sighs. "Fine. I'll cook dinner. Again." Then he reminds her. "We have a fireplace, you know. You should use it. You might get sick if you get too cold like that."
He hears her answer in his mind.
"I've heard that excuse before," he says. "You could at least be more wifely next time," he teases.
He laughs at her barbed response. Oh, his wife could be so prickly when it comes to wifely duties. But that's one of the things he loves about her: how lazy she can be with cooking.
Besides, he cooks better than she does.
He starts a fire in the fireplace before entering the kitchen to prepare for dinner.
She occasionally cooked before but then she stopped suddenly with no warning. He was a bit confused then, but brushed it off when she said that she'd rather eat his homemade food every day.
That was sweet.
So he cooked. And even now, months later, he's still the only chef in this home.
After he finishes preparing their dinner, he sets the table for two and serves the food.
He goes to the living room to call Hermione to the table.
He leans against the door and crosses his arms. "Dinner's ready."
She's acting cute again. Apparently, she wants him to carry her like a baby to the table. Her neck and back hurt from reading all those books.
It's more likely that they're hurt from all the laying around on the couch, watching TV.
He shakes his head in fond exasperation. "You're high maintenance, you know that?" Still, he strides to her to slip his arms from under her and bring her to the dining room.
She's heavy in his arms.
"You're gaining weight."
He kisses her lips to silence the squawk that's going to come. It's been a long day since he's been without her and he moans from having to taste her lips again.
But she doesn't move her mouth against him in retaliation to his comment on her weight.
He pulls away, his lips twitching, controlling his urge to smile. "I'm not calling you fat."
They've been together for years and she still looks young and beautiful as ever. Unfortunately for Hermione, they never had a child. Every time they try, the child somehow comes out stillborn.
Which, Tom will admit, relieves him. He doesn't know what he will do to the child if it ever lives. Competition for his wife's affections with the baby doesn't sound like a good marriage.
He places her on the seat across from him and arranges her limbs because she insists on being a child. Her limbs offer resistance. She's being playful again.
Once he finishes arranging her, he finally sits on his chair so he can begin eating. He's famished from all the work he did today.
He tells her about his work, about how her friend Potter keeps interfering with his plans, about how suspicious Weasley is of him, and about how easy it is to manipulate people.
Hermione's a good listener. She sits there, staring at him in understanding, barely talking. Tom would rather hear her opinion but he supposes that just ranting to her is good too.
He looks at her plate and sighs. "You're not going to eat again?"
His wandhand twitches and she looks at her plate, surprised.
"Right. As if I'm going to believe that my rant is oh so riveting." Then he furrows his eyebrows, worried. "Are you sick? You look pale."
She's always pale and a bit purplish. She has been for a long time.
Perhaps she is sick.
"Let's get you to bed. You look like you need rest."
He levitates the dishes to the sink and carries Hermione to their bedroom. Once inside, he sets her on the bed. Her skin is too cold so he pulls the covers around her, almost cocooning her.
"You worry me sometimes," he says.
He leaves the bedroom to shower. When he returns, she's already asleep.
He burrows himself under the covers and holds Hermione to him. He shivers from her temperature but he won't let her go.
That was one of his wedding vows to her: hew will never let her go.
She tried to though, but in the end, he was able to stop her. And now she's always with him. Forever.
Her soft behind presses against him and he feels himself stir.
It's been a long day and he missed her.
She's sleeping though. When she finds herself sticky with his seed, she's going to get angry at him.
"Hermione?" He gently shakes her. "Wake up."
But she's deep asleep.
Tom has a better idea. He'll wake her up with him inside her.
He shifts her gently so she's underneath him. His length brushes her thigh. He's hungry for her.
"Hermione…" He takes a whiff of her scent. It's a bit different since the incident a long time ago but she still smells delicious as always.
He remembers when he smelled nothing in the Amortentia in his sixth year. He thought he was devoid of love, he thought he was broken. Love was a weakness anyway, he thought.
Then he met Hermione and he wasn't so broken anymore.
He takes off their robes, his excitement rising as more articles of clothing disappear.
He wraps her legs around him, shuddering when his length brushes against her entrance. A hand kneads her breast while the other reaches for her clit. He has to prepare her.
"Hermione…" he calls but her eyes won't open.
She won't wake up.
She never wakes up.
He enters her. He makes love to her.
But she never wakes up.
"You said you'd never leave me."
"Tom, please-"
"Don't you remember our wedding vows?!"
"I'm doing what's right!"
"Then what I will do will right things between us."
He stares into her brown eyes, so full of life. Vibrant. Intelligent. Compassionate.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Now her eyes see nothing. They're dead.
Now she won't ever leave him again.
The next day comes and he arises yet again. Hermione lays beside him, still sleeping.
As expected, his seed messes her thighs. He feels a sense of male pride from marking her though, no matter how dirty it is.
He carries her to the bathroom, to their bathtub. It's time for the husband and wife to do husband and wife things, like taking a bath together.
She's a heavy sleeper, his Hermione. He manages to clean between her legs before she wakes up.
He dresses her. He carries her to the living room, arranges her limbs, and turns the television on.
The scattered books from yesterday are different today. Instead of books on Alchemy, they are now about Ancient Runes. They're still messed about though.
He waves his wand and her eyes open.
She's watching television again.
End Note: Tom preserved Hermione's body through magic. I couldn't fit that into the story but it's not that important anyway. This fic isn't at all important actually. Lmao what the hell did I write. I hope it was creepy enough though.