Twelve Days of Christmas
Author's Note: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!
Ohmygoodness! We're almost doneeeeeeee! I Ann thinking about doing a companion piecein Riddle's POV, but I have no solid form in my mind yet. It may be a Christmas fic for next year!
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me
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Two chocolate frogs
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On Christmas Eve, Hermione Granger finds herself in the Leaky Cauldron. Staying in the castle will drive her to the edge of sanity and march to the Head Students quarters and either hex Tom or . . . or . . .
She frowns bitterly and sips on fire whiskey in hopes to dull her senses and dilute the rush of memories and the accompanying emotions the revolves around the issue of Tom Riddle
He's a complex wizard and his intentions are unclear and while normally she rises to a challenge, accepts it, embraces it even, she finds herself utterly drained and unable to handle him.
And what the bloody hell was he on about yesterday in her office? She is not like him!
When she hears the chair scrapes next to her and the way her magic simmers she cannot help but to release an unlady like groan and shoots a glare towards her unwanted companion.
Seriously?
Tom actually laughs. "Is that a way to greet someone, Hermione?"
She really wants to flip him off or hex his handsome face. He is all fake today—politely nods to the bartender, a very slight, charming smile on his face.
Instead, as he is about to order, some irrational part of her makes her push over the fire whisky and turns to face him. She watches in a slight trance as his pretty eyebrows crawl up his pretty face.
"Professor," Hermione tries to hiss, but it sounds more like a slur. Tom then let's a real smirk smooth across his mouth and takes a slip on her whisky, though she watches as he seeks out the slight print her lips left on the glass first before drinking from the very same spot.
She shutters and busies herself by flagging down the barkeep for another drink.
They sit like that for a moment, or it must be longer because they finish two other drinks. Alcohol is certainly effective on the young dark lord.
His smile is more. . . alive. Genuine. It is the soft curve of his lips and the depths of his dark eyes sparkling to her in a merry bliss.
Companionship. Tom Riddle wants a companion; someone who understands, hermind supplies, though she keeps it from passing through her lips.
As exhausted as she feels, the holidays draining her very core, she returns his mirth expression. The young dark lord then gently sliding over a very small wrapped item.
"It's not quite what you are thinking," he interrupts the wary expression that warps the contentment from her soft face.
Her eyes flicker downward and land on a chocolate frog wrapper. A bubble of disbelief laughter manages to escape through her lips, probably loose from the alcohol.
It is such a simple gesture, yet a wonderful thing at that. She briefly wonders what sort of card will be awaiting her, as her memories flutter to Harry and Ron, trading cards and mocking each other over who had the most. She shoots her gaze upwards to the once again stoic Tom Riddle. Her lips pull easily into a gracious grin.
"I remember these!" She giggles deliriously, taking hold of the candy. Her fingers don't quite function the way she wants them to, and when she finally rips open the wrapper, the frog immediately leaps out, as if she was a first year again, trying the devious candy for the first time. "No!" she squeaks, her reflexes slow from the alcohol as she almost literally leaps across the counter in a failed attempt catch it.
Tom abruptly laughs so loud that it makes her jump at the booming volume. His magic spikes along with his mood and Hermione doesn't flinch. She barely notices the other patrons of the bar stiffening in response to his magic, but to her it feels entirely different, nearly leaning closer to him as her own magic quivers in response.
When she swivels around in her seat to him, he is holding another chocolate wrapper. "Try again."
And so she does.
This time, Tom is there to help her as she wildly clasps her hand together to try and catch her treat.
"Little bugger!" Hermione slurs a bit. Tom's hands encase her own as she finally snatches the magical candy.
The connection, the skin on skin contact, makes her magic riot and something that she cannot explain, or refuses to, stirs inside of her chest.
Tom is looking at her with wide, blown eyes as he breathes in, heavily. Hermione cannot help but to shudder as he leans in, pressing his forehead to her own, unable to pull away.
"Tom," she whispers weakly. "N—not. . . not here. . ."
He is quiet at first, simply breathing deeply with his eyes screw shut.
Then, "Meet me at the head dorms. Tonight," he murmurs.
She pretends she doesn't shiver as his words ghosts over her skin and right to her soul.
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