Prompt: Perfect Disease

Pairing: Tomione


"I understand that on your journey to becoming Emperor of the World that, contrary to popular belief, there were a few bumps?" The young reporter was leaning forward intently, her brown eyes focused on the Emperor of Magic as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, her only sign of nervousness and discomfort.

"Indeed," He agreed, his deep baritone solemn in it's seriousness, "Every path paved for greatness has its trials and tribulations, mine was something I had to deal with since I was born." He paused, his dark eyes taking on a hint of mistiness from memories long past, perhaps of his childhood or some trying period in his life,"I was born with a very rare disease, as a matter of fact I am the only living wizard suffering from it."

He leaned back in his chair, deciding not to mention that he killed every other wizard, witch and muggle suffering from the same illness, Tom Riddle did not share anything whether it be positive or negative, it's why he officially made it a law that everyone with the same name as him was to change it or be punished with death.

"Really?" The reporter, Hermione Granger (if he recalled her name correctly, which he was sure he did, he was never wrong after all), looked at him in surprise- probably taking in his healthy manly physique, "May I ask what illness you suffer from?" The quick quotes quill she brought with her was scratching furiously on parchment.

Tom noted, that unlike a certain pest-like woman, that this reporter didn't spell her quill to write revolting descriptions that were barely even half true but instead had it charmed to write down words and descriptions as they were said and done, the bare minimum and factual for whatever article that she would write up later.

"I do not mind, I believe my loyal and loving subjects deserve the right to know." He paused, bracing himself, "You see, I was born Perfect. Everything I do is never wrong and beyond talented, it's just scary how amazing I am." There, his deepest darkest secret was out. The whole world would now know his pain, and while it nearly killed him to admit a weakness to anyone, let alone millions of readers, he felt that it was time to get it off his broad, attractive chest.

The reporter let out a small gasp, her small, delicate hand coming up to cover her mouth as sympathy shone through her kind brown eyes. Involuntary her other hand reached out to cover one of his own, "I'm so sorry, I- I didn't know. I wont put that in the article if you don't want me to."

"No. . . No. Leave it." His words were brave and stronger than before, "It feels good to say it out loud. I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, am Perfect."

The woman looked at him in wonder and a new sense of respect and, was that desire? Of course it was. The Emperor of the World was easily her senior by 20 years and he was still a handsome specimen. Witches love Emperors.

He puffed his chest out, perhaps he would let her comfort him. After all, aside from her bushy hair and slightly large front teeth, she was nearly perfect. And while she wasn't cursed with his Perfection, she was close enough to it to understand his pained and tortured past.