December Prompt #1: Snow.


Tom dropped the bleeding heads onto the floor beside the decapitated bodies that were surrounded by melting mozzarella cheese, olives, tomato slices, and a lot of blood. He looked up at Hermione and, in the most sheepish tone he could muster, said, "Oops?"

Hermione groaned and dropped her head into the palms of her hands. "This is why we don't go out to dinner with friends, Tom!"

"I'm sorry I couldn't help myself! He was just there…"

"I'll go find something to clean this up with," Hermione grumbled under her breath. She hitched the train of her long red gown up to her shapely calves and gingerly stepped over the oozing body with a slight grimace. Her matching heels click-clacked on the white marble floor as she made her way towards the kitchens and supply closet.

Tom usually had a strong control on his impulse, but their redheaded waiter seemed to have been begging for it. It was like every time the man glanced at Tom, he was giving him the sultriest bedroom eyes and whispering breathlessly, 'Murder me, Tom. You know you want to… Go on, Tom… Pick up the knife and chop my head off… Make me bleed… Make me choke on my own blood and beg for my life… Do it, Tom… You know you want to hear me scream...'

"I can't believe you just chopped their heads off!" Abraxas Malfoy said, standing behind them. Tom turned his head and shot him a half-hearted glare, and Abraxas rephrased his statement. "I mean I can't believe you just chopped their heads off in front of us. You usually wait until you're alone, don't you?"

"Yes, but Ronald was flirting with Hermione right in front of me," Tom stated, crossing his arms and nudging the still-bleeding bodies away with the toe of his shoes. He frowned and muttered, "I'll have to make it up to her somehow."

"You'll have to think of something special," Harry said, curled up against Abraxas. He glanced down at the gaping neck wounds and nodded appreciatively. "Good job on that smooth cut, though. How do you always do that? I can't get the final cut to be so smooth."

"For that, you have to start working out, my love," Abraxas said, dropping a soft kiss on Harry's hair.

Harry scrunched up his nose and said, "Nah, I don't think I will. My arms feel like limp noodles after just five push-ups."

"You're so delicate, yes, you are," Abraxas cooed, nuzzling Harry's neck. Harry giggled and cupped Abraxas's face to kiss him.

Tom rolled his eyes and turned away from the obnoxious display of affection, ignoring the fact that he would endeavour to replicate the exact scene as soon as Hermione set foot back in the room. As if he had summoned her by magic, Hermione walked out of the kitchen just then, carrying a large bucket, a box of latex gloves, and bleach. She stopped a few feet away from the bodies of the waiter, the maître d', and the two chefs who had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She tossed the three men the items, still scowling at Tom. "Clean this up. I'll start wiping the place down."

"You're a lifesaver," Tom cooed, mimicking Abraxas's high-pitched voice, but his words just seemed to annoy his love.

"Save it, Tom," she snapped, walking back towards the supply closet and bringing back a large bottle of dish-washing soap and a towel. She hitched her dress up and tied it around her thighs before starting on cleaning all the fingerprints from the items they had touched.

Tom couldn't help but smile as he chopped the redhead's body into smaller pieces with the butcher's knife. Some poor sod would have the dead man's flimsy meat on his pizza on Christmas day. Tom hummed under his breath while he worked, already thinking of ways to make it up to Hermione.

Today was both Christmas Eve and their fifth anniversary, and Tom knew by the look on Hermione's face as she scrubbed the utensils down that she was annoyed at him for ruining their dinner plans.

Harry wiped his forehead and let out a relieved sigh as he got to his feet. "Whew! Scrubbing floors is hard work! I've got a newfound appreciation for all those maids now."

"If it were up to me, you would never have to scrub floors ever again. I would just tie you to my bed and never let you leave," Abraxas said, wrapping his bloody arms around Harry's hips and pulling him flush against his chest. Harry grinned as Abraxas began whispering in his ear—it was certainly something dirty if the look in Harry's eyes was something to go by.

"Stop it, you two. We don't have time for that," Hermione snapped, not even looking up at the couple. "Someone ruined our plans for the night by going off the deep end and killing our only server."

"He kept looking at you like he wanted to put you on the menu!" Tom argued, dropping the knife and getting to his feet. He stormed up to Hermione and cupped her face, staining her jaw with the blood of the dead man. "You know how I feel about people objectifying you, right?"

"Yes, but you didn't need to kill him now, did you? You could have maimed him and then murdered him later after dinner," Hermione said, her lower lip jutting out petulantly. She crossed her arms and looked up at Tom. "I just wanted to enjoy the evening with you at home, possibly with a good book and dinner, but you're the one who brought me here and then messed everything up with your homicidal urges."

Tom sighed and pulled her into a tight hug, pressing his lips to her head in a soft kiss. "After this, we can go out and do whatever you want, I promise. Are you happy now?"

Hermione tilted her head back and gazed at him from under her sooty ashes. She licked her lower lip, immediately bringing his attention to her mouth. "Anything I want?"

"Anything you want," Tom breathed out, his gaze trained on her mouth. Even after spending five years together, she could easily distract him with just a swipe of her tongue.

"Great! We'll go home and build a snowman in the garden, and we'll stay outside and watch the stars and drink hot cocoa," she stated, stepping away from him. Tom immediately pouted at the sudden emptiness, but he knew he'd had it coming.

"Can we go home now?" Harry whined.

Tom silently gestured at his clothes, which were stained with blood. Abraxas smirked as he began undressing Harry right there. Hermione covered her eyes and said, "Abraxas, please! Harry's like my brother—I do not want to see him naked."

"You're missing out, my dear," Abraxas said, tugging on Harry's belt and yanking it out with one smooth movement that secretly impressed Tom, who had never been able to pull his belt out like that before.

"No, thank you," Hermione said quickly, turning her back on them. She stepped back and looked around the now-clean restaurant floor. She tapped her chin and asked Tom, "What are we missing?"

"The register." Tom removed his latex gloves and handed them to Hermione to burn while he pulled on another pair. He went to erase their names from the guest register, already planning on writing down aliases.

Once the quartet was sure there was no evidence lying around, Tom wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist and said, "Let's get out of here."

"See you on New Year's Eve?" Harry asked, his form dwarfed by Abraxas's large coat. Tom tried to ignore the love bites peeking out from under the coat, but it was almost impossible—there were just so many of them! What was Abraxas trying to do? Eat Harry alive?

"We'll have to see about that," Hermione said, giving Harry and Abraxas a quick hug as if it was just another day out with friends. Tom rolled his eyes and waited for her to return to his side. After the goodbyes were done, Tom dragged her out of the restaurant.

Snow had already begun to drift down from the sky, dancing in the light of the streetlamps, a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. The trees were cloaked with coats of white, and a black-haired man chased a woman past them, hurling a snowball at the redhead's back. Her high-pitched squeals made Tom think of the squeals that had escaped the dying waiter's lips just before Tom's knife had slid into his trachea.

Smirking at the image, Tom pulled Hermione closer, their breaths mingling as they huddled together for warmth. Hermione's hand snuck into his back pocket, and he almost jumped at her cheekiness. She laughed and placed her head on his side as they strolled down the road. As they were in no particular hurry to get home, Tom didn't pick up the pace.

"It's so pretty, isn't it?" Hermione whispered, gazing up at the snowflakes with an adoring smile playing on her lips.

"Eh, I've seen better," Tom said offhandedly, staring down at her. It was true; for Tom, there was nothing prettier than his Hermione. She could be covered in flour or blood or soap suds, and she'd still look like an angel to him. She was sent down from the Gods to try and bring him back to the holy side, but instead, he'd taken her and she had fallen into his arms and down to the depths of hell where they now ruled together.

Hermione seemed to understand what he was hinting at because her cheeks tinged pink as she met his gaze. "You've got such a silver tongue…"

"That's true, but I've never lied to you, have I?" Tom brought them to a halt.

It was true. Tom had never lied to Hermione about anything. She knew about his 'homicidal urges'—as she liked to call it, but he just called it his hobby—and she still loved him. The first time he had snuck back home after a happy murder spree, Tom's face had been hidden under so much blood. Hermione had taken one look at him, sighed, and told him not to get any blood on the carpet.

He had fallen in love with her that day. He had also promised himself he would never lie to her.

Now, as Tom brought his hand up to caress her cheeks, he pressed his forehead against hers. He bent down and stopped just an inch away from her mouth. "I'm sorry I messed up tonight. I should have tried to control myself for a little while longer."

"You're so lucky Abraxas booked the place for the night! What would have happened if someone just happened to walk in on you slicing Ron's head off?"

"I would have had to kill them too?"

"Yes," Hermione said with a sigh. She then kissed him sweetly before smiling up at him. "I'm just happy you didn't get blood on my clothes."

"I love you," Tom murmured, his heart full. She never failed to surprise him.

Impulsively, Tom swung her up into his arms and twirled her around, making her giggle at his lighthearted actions. He knew she always loved it when he pushed past his natural 'fuck-off-or-I'll-murder-you-with-whatever-I-have-on-me' attitude.

When he finally put her down, she gave him a beatific smile that made his soul ache with longing for something he couldn't name. "Race you home?"

"But… you're wearing heels… I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"You think I can't run in heels?" Hermione demanded, her shoulders tensing.

Tom opened his mouth to reword his sentence when he noticed her lips twitching. "Ohhh, you got me."

"That I did, love," she said, wrapping his tie around her fist and pulling his face down to hers. She moaned against his lips, and Tom tightened his grip on her hips and brought her closer, unable to help himself from slipping his tongue into her mouth and tasting her sweetness. She tasted like the red wine and chocolate ganache they'd had at the restaurant.

And as Tom and Hermione stood there in each other's arms, kissing in the falling snow, their hearts beating as one, a clock in the distance began to chime midnight. Carollers walked by, singing and calling out "Merry Christmas!" but Tom and Hermione were lost in their own blissful world.