Happy birthday, Tom Riddle - not Lord Voldemort.
Bonus Pairing: Hermione/Tom
Prompt: We're coworkers who hate each other but you had too much to drink at the staff New Year's party and admitted your love for me I don't know how to act around you now
The sound of clinking glasses, gentle music and low murmurs made Tom bristle with annoyance. Frustrated, he glanced at his watch and tried not to scream. Have to survive the next eighteen minutes and fourteen seconds. Thirteen. Twelve…
He had always hated the compulsory Ministry gatherings and often left the moment it was deemed appropriate enough. For the time being, he went around the room, making small talk with his colleagues, charming his superiors by laughing at their terrible jokes, clinking his glass with them as they toasted the new year, with his perfect smile plastered to his face.
He caught sight of Granger, who swayed on her feet, her eyes closed, near the drinks' table. Even from a distance, he could see that his partner was already inebriated. His jaw clenched with irritation at how vulnerable she looked in her state, and an urge to throttle the witch rose in his chest. Didn't she know she represented him, too? They were partners! He had never liked her holier-than-thou attitude — even though she was morally superior — and they often ended up in heated arguments.
He managed to excuse himself from Abraxas' incessant chattering and made his way towards Granger. He may not like her attitude, but she was the only person at the party he could tolerate to an extent. Pretending he hadn't seen the people trying to grab his attention, he finally reached Hermione's side. He leaned back against the wall and slowly swirled the contents of his glass around, his eyes trained on Granger, whose eyes were still closed. "I predict you're going to embarrass yourself tonight."
"Just because I'm not sober doesn't mean I'm going to embarrass myself, Riddle," she stated, slowly opening her eyes and glancing up at him.
"If it were anyone else getting drunk, I would have said that I expected better from them, but it's you," he drawled, and Granger glared at him but suddenly burst into peals of laughter. "May I inquire as to what's so funny?"
"You may," she said cheekily, and it was Tom's turn to glare down at her. She giggled as she reached up and patted his cheek. "Oh, you're so cute when you're angry. That's one of the reasons I love you so much."
She went back to drinking her wine, humming under her breath as she swayed to the music and giggling at something only she knew, but Tom's mind had stopped working. He had never expected her to say something so startling to him. I love you. Tom couldn't move, and neither could he breathe properly. Wondering how drunk she was, he stared at her and finally said, "Granger, what are you talking about?"
"Nothing," she said, giggling at him, tilting dangerously to the side. Tom grabbed her arm to steady her. "Oh, thank you, Riddle," she said with a lazy smile on her face. "Is it time for the ball drop?"
Tom absentmindedly glanced at his watch and shook his head. "Three minutes and fifty seconds left."
"Hmm," she mumbled, looking up at him curiously. "Who will you kiss, Riddle?"
"Definitely not you," he muttered and watched her face fall. She stumbled closer to him and hung onto his robes with both hands. "Oh, you're going to regret this so much tomorrow, and I can't wait to see your face."
"Can't you just kiss me once? I won't ask you to do it again, I promise," she whined. The scent of alcohol wafted to Tom's nose and he almost gagged. "Come on, Riddle, please…"
Amused, Tom watched her pout and try to bat her eyelashes at him. He knew there was a ninety per cent chance she wouldn't even remember her pleas the next morning, so he sighed and said, "Fine, I'll kiss you at the ball drop, but please stop touching me."
"Okay," she murmured, but she didn't let go of his robes, and Tom had to stand there awkwardly, waiting for the stupid countdown to begin.
When the Minister began the countdown quite exuberantly, Tom looked down at Granger and hissed, "Get ready, witch. Remember this is a one-time thing."
10.
She smiled goofily and closed her eyes, and Tom's stomach revolted at the thought of kissing her. He had half a mind to leave her standing right there, but he wasn't that evil.
9.
Tom had never thought of her as conventionally pretty, but as she stood there with her eyes closed, he was free to study her and think over his feelings.
8.
Her thick brown curls framed her face perfectly, and Tom was reminded of the many times he had seen her push her hair out of her eyes in a huff. Her hair was an entity of its own, and he'd always teased her about its volume.
7.
Her eyelashes held his attention. Long, thick and dark. He had never seen her cake them in the black paint most women used, and he was suddenly grateful for her simplicity.
6.
He was hit with the urge to run his fingertips over her lashes and see if they were as soft as they looked. He didn't know how to react to that desire, so he kept his arms stiffly by his sides, his heart pounding against his ribcage.
5.
Her full lips were slightly parted in expectation, and Tom's eyes were drawn to her mouth. Her lips were a pale pink that reminded him of a rosebud. The top lip was thinner, but not too thin, and it had a natural cupid's bow. He had stared at her lips when she bit her quill in concentration, drank from her mug, screamed at him about something or the other, or when she applied lip balm to keep them soft. He had never thought he would want to feel her lips against his, but there he was.
4.
Oh, how many times had he wished to shut her up! Her mouth often got her into trouble, and now, here she stood, waiting for him to kiss her. Tom swallowed the lump in his throat as he slowly started to lean towards her.
3.
He scrunched one hand into that tumble of hair, those curls that defied rules and gravity with equal contempt, and wondered how she would react if he kissed her before the countdown finished.
2.
Making a swift decision, Tom closed his eyes and closed the distance between them. Her lips were softer and sweeter than he'd expected them to be, and her eyelashes gently tickled his cheekbones as he angled his head. She sighed against his mouth, and despite the smell of alcohol on her breath, Tom was horrified to realize that he liked it.
1.
The screams of 'Happy New Year!' and cheers reverberated throughout the large hall, but Tom was too focused on kissing her to pay any attention to his surroundings. He slowly swiped his tongue over her lower lip, and she moaned, her mouth parting easily at his ministrations. He pulled her flush against his chest, placing his hand on her waist, his other hand still fisting her hair.
When they parted and she finally opened her eyes and gazed into his, Tom's breath hitched in his throat and his stomach began somersaulting. Her skin was flushed a pretty pink, her lips were wet and reddened, but her eyes held his attention for the longest time. At that moment, her eyes sparkled brighter than the stars, and Tom suddenly realized he had never seen her look more beautiful.
The realization terrified him so much that he quickly let go of her and stepped back. "Go home and sleep it off, Granger," he barked at her and pivoted on his heels, storming towards the exit, his heart warring against his head at his actions. He didn't see the lone tear trailing down her cheek.
Hermione frowned as she glanced over at Riddle, who sat stiffly at his desk with his eyes trained on the thick tomes in front of him. He hadn't looked at her while they researched for their next case together, and neither did he taunt her about the bags under her eyes or her atrocious hairdo. For some reason, she had a feeling he was ignoring her, but she just couldn't pinpoint the exact reason for his behaviour.
When she tried to start a useless argument with him and he didn't budge, Hermione finally lost her composure. "What is wrong with you, Riddle? Why aren't you looking at me? Do I have something on my face?"
"No, you don't." He still didn't look up from his book, and Hermione gritted her teeth in annoyance and stood up from her chair. She stormed towards him and stood in front of his table with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed.
"Talk to me!" she barked, and finally, Riddle looked up and locked his gaze with hers. Something in his eyes startled Hermione, but she didn't know what it was.
"Did you mean it?" he asked calmly, his eyes searching hers for an answer for once Hermione didn't know.
"Did I mean what?"
"That you love me," he stated, and the floor beneath Hermione's feet gave way. She almost fell backwards at his statement, terror evident in her eyes. Riddle cocked his head to the side and murmured, "You do… don't you?"
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, but Riddle had heard the slight tremble in her tone and knew he was right. She swallowed and tried to compose herself as best as she could. "That's ridiculous! Why would I love you? We hate each other, we don't get along, and—"
"And you still love me," he said as he stood up from his revolving chair and strode towards her. His eyes were dark with that same intense emotion, and Hermione couldn't look away from him. "Do you remember anything from last night?"
Hermione squinted as she tried to remember what he was talking about. She remembered getting ready for the party, Apparating to the Ministry and conversing with a few colleagues half-heartedly. She remembered reaching the drinks' table and sipping on a glass of elf-made wine. "Uhm, not really. I remember reaching the Ministry and… I started drinking… You came over, and—and nothing. Oh, Merlin, please tell me I didn't do anything embarrassing!"
Riddle stared at her for a few moments, his lips pursed, and then, he shook his head. "No, you didn't do anything embarrassing." Without another word, he turned and stalked out of their office, leaving Hermione to wonder what she had done.
Later that evening, Tom paced in their office, his knuckles clenched by his sides. How could she not remember their kiss when all Tom could think of was how soft and perfect her mouth had fitted against his? How could she not remember the way he had buried his hand in her brown mane and clutched onto her waist? How could she not remember the way she had sighed into his mouth so contentedly as if there were no other place she'd rather have been than in his arms? In his rage, he kicked the table's leg and grimaced at the pain surging through his ankle.
He didn't know what he wanted from Granger, but at least some recognition of the fact that they had kissed would have been nice. Ironically, the fact that she might not remember their kiss had urged him on in the first place, but now, all Tom wanted to do was shake the bloody witch and yell at her for her inebriated state. "It's all her fault!" he snarled under his breath as he continued to pace. "How dare she make me feel these… these emotions? Who gave her the fucking right?"
"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, Tom," Abraxas said, standing in the doorway. Tom whirled around with a murderous look in his eyes, but Abraxas didn't even flinch as he was used to the dark-haired man's outbursts. "Oh, stop looking at me like that. Now, sit down and tell me what's got you in such a tizzy."
Abraxas and Granger — Tom had to reluctantly add the latter — were the only two people who could get away with that tone in his presence, and Tom clenched his jaw as he sat down opposite Abraxas. He pursed his lips, refusing to speak, and Abraxas sighed, aware he would have to speak first.
"Do you want me to make small talk first? Talk to you about the weather and how it's snowing as usual? Maybe you'd like me to talk about the family? No? Very well, then… Let's get straight to the point. You were obviously ranting about Miss Granger. It couldn't have been anyone else. No one else gets on your nerves like she does."
The name 'Granger' immediately set him off, and Tom snarled, "I don't know what to make of that bloody witch! She thinks she can just ask me to kiss her and then forget all about it, while I sit here and—"
"Woah, hold on! She asked you to kiss her?" Abraxas' grey eyes were wide with disbelief. "What did you tell her?"
"I refused, but she looked so pathetic that I finally kissed her," Tom said angrily. "And now, she doesn't even remember anything because she was drunk, and—"
Abraxas interrupted him again. "She was drunk? You took advantage of a lady while she was drunk, Tom?"
"She asked me to!" Tom barked, fisting his hands. "I told her it would be a one-time thing, and I didn't expect her to remember anything today. But she really didn't remember anything from last night, and I am furious at her for making me feel like this!"
Abraxas stared at Tom with furrowed brows. "You're… furious at her… for forgetting that you kissed her? But you just said it was a one-time thing. Why would you be mad at her for forgetting it?"
In his rage, Tom blurted out, "Yes, but that doesn't mean she should forget it. How can she forget it when I'm unable to?"
Pin-drop silence. Tom could hear his heart thundering in his ears, and he glared at his hands in his lap. Abraxas slowly blinked, trying to comprehend what he had just heard. "Tom… what?"
"Forget it," Tom muttered, uncharacteristically slumping down in his chair. "You wouldn't understand."
"Oh, I understand. I understand there's something else going on, but you're being stubborn about it. I'm not sure what's going on in your head, but you're obviously not happy about accepting it."
"It's not fair," Tom whispered, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "She doesn't remember anything."
"Then, make her remember." Tom shot him a dark look, which Abraxas ignored again. "Or I could Obliviate you, and you can be done with this whole mess."
"No," Tom hissed, suddenly sitting straighter. "I'll force her to remember it." He shot to his feet and stormed out of the office, calling out over his shoulder, "Lock up when you leave."
"I don't even work here," Abraxas muttered to himself as he began to Charm everything back to its place.
Hermione had almost reached the fireplaces when Riddle stormed towards her with that same unusual glint in his eyes. He reached down to grab her by her arm and pull her towards him. She squeaked, "What are you doing?"
"Showing you what you asked me to do last night," he replied calmly as he dragged her towards the hall they had been in the previous night. She gawked at the back of his head, terrified by his explanation, and she tried to think of what she had asked him last night.
Ever since she had met him on the Hogwarts Express at the tender age of eleven, Tom Riddle had always been an enigma to her, and she had done her best to understand him but had never been able to reach her goal. Throughout their Hogwarts years and well beyond, even though they were the best students in their year, they had never got on well with each other.
When Riddle dragged her towards the corner, she frowned as an image of his fake smile as he spoke to the Minister flashed through her mind. He suddenly swung her around and asked, "Do you remember anything now?"
"Uh, no," she said awkwardly, glancing down at where his fingers were wrapped around her wrist. "Could you let go of me?"
Riddle glared at her but didn't let go. Instead, he pulled her closer, and Hermione's heart almost gave out at his proximity. He growled, "Anything?"
"N-no…"
He gritted his teeth as he let go of her wrist and placed his hand on her waist instead. Pulling her flush against his chest, he buried his free hand in her hair and pulled her head backwards. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead against hers and hissed, "Do you remember anything now?"
A faint memory of Riddle staring down at her with disbelief flitted in front of her eyes, but she swallowed and shook her head nervously. She didn't remember what she had asked him to do the previous night, but if it was anything close to the dirty fantasies playing in her mind all the time, she didn't want to embarrass herself any more.
"Fine, if that's how you want to play…"
He kissed her. Without any warnings or permission or hesitation, he kissed her like he had kissed her the previous evening. His mouth moved over hers so expertly that Hermione wondered how many times he had kissed her before.
Suddenly, the memories of the previous evening crashed into her like a wild Erumpent: giggling as she gazed at his mildly irritated expression, drinking the elf-made wine, and… her confession. And Hermione stiffened against his body. He pulled back, his eyes trained on hers, and questioned, "Now?"
She tried to keep her expression neutral, but Riddle was a master at reading her body language just as much as she knew how to read his. His wicked smirk sent shivers down her spine, and when he leaned down, she blurted out, "Yes! I remember now!"
Riddle stepped back and scrutinized her. "Now, tell me if you meant it."
Hermione had nowhere to run; she was trapped both figuratively and literally. She swallowed and thought, 'Hopefully, I can Obliviate him if he reacts too negatively.' She took a deep breath in and whispered the two words that changed their lives.
"I did."
He stared at her for a few moments before he said, "I thought you hated me…"
"There's a fine line between love and hate," she murmured, her heart already cracking at his imminent rejection. There was no way he would return her feelings; Hermione wasn't optimistic about her chances with him. "It's fine, Tom. You can just forget anything I said to you; it's completely fine."
She tried to turn away from him to hide the tears prickling at her eyes, but he grabbed her wrist and stopped her. "I don't love you," he said calmly, and Hermione thought, 'Way to twist the knife in me, Riddle.' But then, he continued, "I don't love you, Granger, but… Hey, look at me."
Hermione wanted to refuse, trying to preserve the dignity she had left, but he tugged on her hand and turned her to face him. He reached down to cup her chin and tilted it up so that he could examine her face. His normally hard eyes softened as he stroked her cheek, and he said, "Granger, I don't love you. Not yet. But… if I can feel so terrible after you seemingly forgot our kiss… I don't want to imagine how you'd feel."
"You don't have to pity me, Riddle," she muttered, trying to escape the situation. Could someone either send me on a one-way trip to the sun where I can instantly combust and die or Avada me right here? "I don't want you to—"
"Have I ever done something I didn't want to?"
"Uh… No." Truth be told, Riddle was one of those only people who could get away with refusing their superior's orders, while Hermione didn't have the ability to say 'no' to anyone. She wasn't a complete pushover, but Tom was the more assertive of the two.
"Then, why would I pity you? I don't." Tom stepped closer to her and said, "Truthfully, I sometimes want to shove your research down your throat. Sometimes, I want to kick you out of the office so I can get some peace and quiet. Sometimes, I want to—"
"I get it, Riddle! You hate me! Just let me go, and we'll never speak of this again," she cried, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Tom groaned and wiped them away. "I messed this up… Let me explain, Granger. I don't love you — I told you that — but I don't hate you either. Now, Umbridge, I hate. Fudge, I hate. Dumbledore, I abhor. You? Not as much."
"Well, thank you for that compliment," she grumbled sarcastically, trying to think of a way to die on the spot.
"Ugh, Merlin, why is this so difficult?" Riddle let go of her wrist and stepped back, running his fingers through his hair and messing it up. Hermione had never seen him look so tense before — not even when they had gone head-to-head in their NEWTs. "Why can't you understand that I don't hate you and that I could grow to love you if you just gave me a chance? Why is this so difficult to get out? How do those ordinary people do this so easily?"
Hermione listened to his rambling and realized what he had been attempting. She couldn't stop herself from chortling and clapped her hands over her mouth, but he had heard her. He whirled around and glared at her. "It's not funny, Granger. I'm trying to ask you to go on a date with me, and you're laughing. How inconsiderate of you."
"It is funny!" she argued quickly, giggling behind her hands. "I can't believe you're messing up. You never do anything wrong."
He glared at her but finally sighed and took a step towards her. He took her suddenly clammy hands in his and said, "Unfortunately, I'm human, too… Okay, here goes… As I know your schedule like the back of my hand, I'm aware that you're free tomorrow after five. I shall pick you up from your flat, and we will… go on a date to get to know each other — which confuses me as I already know you so well. Anyway, get ready and don't be fashionably late. Clear?"
"Wow, that was the most romantic way I've ever been asked out," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, and Riddle pinched her thumb. "Ow! You jerk! I'm not going out with you."
He sighed exasperatedly and asked, "Would you like me to woo you properly? With flowers and sweets and"—he shivered with disgust—"presents?"
"What a gentleman," Hermione said with a laugh, but she shook her head. "You wouldn't be Tom Riddle if you did any of those things, so no... I'll be ready by six."
She pivoted and was about to leave the hall when he suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her backwards. She stumbled and tripped, falling backwards into his arms. "Riddle, what are you—"
Raising his finger to shush her, he leaned closer and whispered, "If we're going to… dating, call me Tom, Hermione."
And with that, he closed the minuscule distance between their mouths and kissed her again, his minty-fresh breath mingling in their mouths. Hermione remembered the way he had kissed her last night, but this kiss was something entirely new. He seemed more confident in his abilities now, kissing her like she belonged to him. Hermione would have protested to that silly notion, but her eyes rolled to the back of her head when his tongue finally caressed hers and she lost all coherent thoughts.
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