PART ONE
I / 29 November 2012
"This is stupid," Hermione murmured, mostly to herself.
Tom paused, looking over his shoulder at her. "Do you always think so much?"
She didn't understand the question, and told him so. He laughed, pulling keys out of his pocket. The lights of a matte black Range Rover flashed, and she considered just how fucked she really was.
"Get in," he demanded, pulling the back passenger door open.
Hermione looked up to see that he was smirking, humor reflecting in his eyes brightly. "I'm not sure I should."
He licked his lips, nodding as his phone chirped in his pocket. "We're just going to talk, Hermione."
"About what?
"Get in, I'll tell you."
She frowned, watching as he leaned against the car seat. He reached into the trunk and pulled out two bottles of Fiji, offering her one. "Come on, Granger. Sober up. I need you level headed for this."
"For what? I'm not helping you with anything." She fidgeted, running her fingers through her hair, and added, "Illegal," in an equally snotty tone. "Besides, I don't even know who you are."
"You don't know who I am?" He asked, smirking. He took a sip of his water. "I'm Tom Riddle, love. And you're Hermione Granger. You got put out of law school for outing your celebrity-professor as a serial rapist-"
"That's confidential," she told him quickly. "You have no right bringing that up." Swallowing, she added bitterly, "And I didn't get put out. I left voluntarily. I'm not going to work for a filthy, low-life, lying rapist."
"Why didn't you kill him?"
"Excuse me, Tom Riddle? I believe that's your department."
"I like the way you do that," he laughed, pulling his phone out of his pocket as it rang. He looked at it long enough to decline the call, and then tossed his iPhone into the front seat.
"You like the way I do what?" She asked, brushing a piece of straightened hair away from her face.
"Make everyone feel as though they're beneath you."
She rolled her eyes, "I don't think you're beneath me."
He smiled, and it was completely unfair, because she hadn't been prepared for it. "That's lovely, Granger, because I do prefer to have a bit more control."
"You're disgusting."
"Of course, we do have to get creative in my truck-"
"Right," she turned to leave. "Have a good evening, Tom Riddle."
"Granger! Wait." She heard the car door close, the echo of his shoes against the parking lot pavement. He touched her elbow once he was close enough, causing her to stop. "I can't let you leave drunk. Have the water. Let me call you a cab."
She didn't tell him that she wasn't drunk, that she couldn't be, because she didn't drink. That would have given her away as curious. "What do you want to talk about, Riddle? I'm not going to talk about what happened at Cambridge. You and I have nothing in common, yet you've activity sought me out and know my history."
"We have a little in common," he suggested, still offering her the water.
She took it, twisted the cap off, and offered it to him. He sipped it a few times before handing it back, smiling smugly at her.
"We both made our first kill at 15."
II / 1 December 2012
Tom leaned in, sweat and sandalwood clinging to his skin, the sweet cloves of his cigarettes on his breath. Hermione found that she wasn't turned off by it. Not the way she had been a few days ago, when the only thing she knew about him was that he hung out –from time to time, at least- at the gas station near her house. Instead, she found herself looking up at him, stupidly, between her lashes, her bottom lip tugging between her teeth for the briefest of moments.
She ran her hand through her curls when she realized what she was doing.
He chuckled.
"Riddle," she started, but there wasn't anything else left for her to say. She felt herself caving.
"It's okay, Granger," he said, loud enough for her to hear over the club music, but low enough to keep it between the two of them. For some reason, it was the most reassuring thing she'd ever heard, and it was hilarious.
All of it, really: the fact that her life had completely derailed in just a few days; that she'd found solace in a common criminal; and, insanely, she was seriously considering his offer.
She groaned, again tugging her hand through her curls.
Tom reached up and touched one, twisting it around his finger with a disgusting amount of care. "These suit you, love."
"I'm not a murderer, Tom. I killed….I killed someone, but I'm not a killer. I'm not a murderer."
He exhaled, and she took a deep, embarrassing breath in. Smiling –she cursed, out loud, and he laughed as he let go of her curl, fingers brushing from her temple to her jaw-, he told her, "You look beautiful."
It was all she'd needed.
III / 5 December 2012
Hermione walked in to see Tom sitting in an armchair, a girl on his lap. She froze, her throat feeling as though it were swelling, pressure forcing it out of her mouth. She coughed, but it was masked by the sound of someone calling, "Tommy boy! Your girl is here."
He pushed her shoulders, glazed eyes meeting hers blankly before recognition filled them. She noticed that they were both high, both still smoking, both dark and beautiful and way out of her league. But, Hermione resisted bolting, a small but reassuring confidence filling her suddenly.
A slow, sickening smile pulled over the other woman's features, "You're Hermione," she purred, pushing off Tom and standing, "I'm Bellatrix."
Someone behind them made a cat-like sound.
Bellatrix was barefoot, a lovely 6 foot something, with a black satin skirt pulling over her hips and dark eyes under heavy lids. Even wasted, she seemed incredibly aware of herself, and her power, tugging thin fingers through heavy, black curls. Diamonds sparkled in her ears.
"She's harmless," a blond told her, but she recognized it as a lie. "I'm Abraxas."
"Hermione Granger."
He tugged her elbow, pulling her over to the corner bar, "I know who you are." From the corner of her eye, she saw Bellatrix sit back down in Tom's lap, his arm drawing around her waist as their eyes followed her. "What's your poison?"
"I don't drink."
He froze, tilting his head. After a moment, he laughed. "Charming."
"Really, don't bother, Abraxas," she told him, watching him set two glasses on the bar top.
"It's Christmas, Granger!" He told her, half filling one of the tumblers with vodka.
"Hardly," she laughed him, glancing over her shoulder to see that Bellatrix was talking about something or another to Tom, her index finger drawing circles over his open palm. But, he was watching her, eyes steady and heavy.
Despite herself, she offered him a smile, her dark red lips pulling slowly over her teeth as her eyelashes brushed her check. He smirked, winking at her as he trapped Bellatrix's hand in his own. She turned away before he kissed it.
"Sure, Abraxas. Just one, I suppose."
He grinned, grey eyes sparkling as he picked up the crystal top of an ice bucket. "An assassin then, for our future Mrs. Riddle."
She swallowed, running a hand through her curls. Honestly, she should have questioned it. She'd wanted to. But, when she opened her mouth, all that came out was, "What's an assassin?"
Abraxas laughed.
IV / 8 December 2012
"You've killed someone?" Bellatrix set her drink down on the table, black eyes on Hermione as though she was hunting. There was humor in her voice that the softer woman didn't like, and a dark, cruel look in her eyes that rubbed her wrong as well.
"Bella," Atticus Lestrange warned, drawing his arm over Hermione's shoulders. He smiled when she looked up at him, squeezing her arm comfortingly he said, "Don't worry, Grange. I've got your back."
"Oh, get a room. Geez," Bellatrix complained, glancing to her right to make sure Tom was paying attention. He was; glossy eyes focused sharply upon them. There was nothing in them, though. It was as though he felt absolutely nothing toward any of them.
Lestrange laughed, letting go of Hermione and knocking back another shot of vodka. "I'm going to be honest, Grange. I can't do this sober."
"Do what?"
"She's not going with you all," Tom told them, waiving the waitress over. He ordered everyone another round of drinks, as Bellatrix said, "Obviously not. I don't know why you brought her on, Tom. Really-"
Hermione picked up her steak knife, her creamy fingers wrapping slowly around the blackened handle. She felt Tom's eyes on her again, a small smirk on his face. Lestrange knocked back another shot.
"She's pretty, I'll give you that," Bellatrix continued on, and Hermione almost stopped- because this was Bellatrix Black, the only woman she'd ever been self-conscious around, considered her pretty. And it was stupid really, it was just that she was beautiful and bold and so intelligent that it usually physically hurt to look at her; and Tom allowed her to be so underneath him, when Hermione had thought that she'd had a chance, which was even stupider.
But, she suddenly had a lot to prove.
"-and that doesn't mean you can bring in just any old-"
She tossed the knife the same way she'd seen Ron do it, and it was as though everything stopped for a moment. The blade nicked Bellatrix's neck before sticking in the cushion behind her. Lestrange howled in excitement as he slammed another glass onto the table.
"Are you sure she can't come tonight?" He asked, looking between all of them, his smile growing larger by the moment. "Hermione, you should come. Just to watch, you know?"
"She's staying. We ordered dinner," Tom told them, getting up from the booth. "You two are late though, so go."
"She just tried to kill me, Tom," Bellatrix cried, fingers brushing the blood in disbelief.
"If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead."
Lestrange hooted with delight, and Tom suppressed a chuckle, tapping the table as he said, "Take it out on your assignment, Bella, love. Out, now."
She whined as she got up, pouting at Tom sweetly enough that he kissed her forehead soothingly. "Have fun, okay?"
"Will you be home when I get there?" She asked, loud enough for Hermione to hear.
Tom smirked, eyes meeting hers over Bellatrix's head. "Maybe."
"Maybe," she repeated, turning to look at Hermione. She ran her tongue over her lips, the blood slipping down her neck and soaking into the collar of her sweater.
"Bella, baby," Lestrange got up, drawing his arm over her shoulders as he pulled her away.
Tom sat back down, puling the knife from the cushion before picking at what was left of the appetizers. She watched as they left, frowning when Lestrange leaned in and sucked the blood from Bellatrix's neck. Her squeal of delight seemed to echo in Hermione's ears well after they left.
"I should go- it's late."
"We're having dinner, Granger. I ordered your favorite."
She frowned, wanting to ask what her favorite even was, but he smiled, and she was still weak.
"Come on. It's Christmas." He was still smiling.
She smiled too, looking down at her hands for a moment. "Barely, Tom!"
"You're my only friend."
She laughed, looking up at him. "Right. I forgot."
"So, you'll stay?"
Before she could answer, the waitress set a plate of lobster ravioli in front of her. It looked nearly as good as her mothers, and it hadn't been on the menu. It wasn't even in season. Laughing, she looked up at him.
"Could I try one?" He asked, already leaning over his food to take some.
"What do you want from me?"
The waitress refreshed their drinks.
"Do you have any plans for the tenth?"
"No. Why?"
He took another one of her ravioli. "I want to go to Mexico for a few days. In a week or so."
"What does that have to do with Tuesday?"
"Oh," he rested an elbow on the table, propping his face in his hand as he watched her eat. "I need a favor in Italy."
V/ 23 December 2012
"Granger!" Abraxas greeted, pounding his fist on top of the Benz before walking over to her. "Look at you. All brown!" He wrapped his arm over her shoulders, shaking her as Tom got out of his Range Rover. "How was Mexico?"
"It was nice."
"Nice," he grinned, nodding his head as grandly, silently instigating. "When do you leave for Thailand?"
"You're going with him again?" Bellatrix asked, somehow managing to make it sound genuinely horrible.
"Yeah," she murmured, passing a hand over her braided her. "We leave on Boxing Day."
"They're taking a romantic, winter holiday," the blond teased, squeezing her shoulder.
Tom simply grinned, neither confirming of denying his friend's ridiculous statement. She squirmed uncomfortably, really wanting to say something, but the rage that filtered through Bellatrix's eyes felt like a soothing balm.
As Abraxas let her go, Riddle brushed her jaw with his thumb, lips puckering as he smirked, before walking over to Bellatrix, who was waiting patiently by the car.
"Was he that charming the whole trip?"
"A smidge less," she replied. "I brought you back something."
He accepted the candy with a handsome smile. "My wife is going to kill me."
"You're married?"
He unwrapped the lollipop, observing the scorpion inside before sticking it in his mouth and pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Two kids, too."
"How old are you?"
He smiled, "I like the way you do that, Granger."
She rolled her eyes.
"I'm 27. How old are you?"
She blinked, disbelieving, looking over at Tom and Bellatrix. "Them too?"
"Tom'll turn 28 while you all are in Thailand-"
"What an asshole. He didn't even tell me."
Abraxas grinned. "He doesn't care to admit his mortality, Granger."
She'd noticed.
"Bella will be 29 next year, I think." He continued, unlocking his phone and showed her his children. "Apollina turned 3 in August, Nissim will be 1 on 7 January. Loves of my life, I'll tell you." He looked up from his phone, grinning, "After you, of course."
"You two love birds ready, or what?" Bellatrix called, arm slinking around Tom's waist as her eyes locked with Hermione's.
"It's actually you and I tonight, Bella," Tom spoke up, shaking out of her hold and walking over to she and Abraxas.
"What?" Bellatrix asked, unashamed of her obvious joy. She glanced at Tom's truck as though it was something incredible.
Hermione would have been lying if she didn't admit to the pulse of pleasure she got when Tom pushed his keys into her hand and Bellatrix looked as though someone had stolen something from her. There had almost been nothing better in the world before that moment.
Abraxas handed over his car keys, seeming almost excited by what was happening. "Case in the car?" He questioned.
Before Tom could answer, Bellatrix brushed a hand against Hermione's scarf, thumb skimming the cashmere before saying, "Lovely. Did your boyfriend give them to you?"
Saying yes would have been easier, because the last thing Bellatrix would ever suggest was that Tom was anyone boyfriend. But, she was already on a roll tonight.
Hermione touched the Burberry affectionately, purposely using the hand holding Tom's car key. "It's not mine, actually. Just borrowing."
Bellatrix turned to leave without another word, and Tom smirked as Abraxas laughed heartily. "The two of you are miserable, you know?"
"Isn't she married to Atticus?" She asked.
"Engaged to his brother, actually. There are a few Lestrange boys," Abraxas told her.
As she frowned disgustingly, they laughed. "Case is in the car. Give me a minute with Granger, Malfoy."
"Yeah. Drive safe," the blond said as he turned and walked away.
Tom offered her a handsome smile, taking a step closer. "You'll come over later?"
"Maybe," she smiled.
He brushed a knuckle over the curve of her cheek. "Maybe?"
Bellatrix honked the horn, and Hermione laughed. "I hear your little pet gets a bit frisky when you take her out to play."
The look of surprise the flickered across his face, so dull and understated, caused her to smile. They tugged a hand through their curls at the same time. Bellatrix pressed the horn again.
"You should wear my clothes more often, Miss Granger."
She refolded his scarf around her neck before shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. "Why's that?"
He shrugged, smirking. Leaning in, Hermione kissed him hard, startling even herself with the behavior. As she pulled away from him, a small smirk formed on her lips. "I'll see you at your place," she told him, kissing the tips of her fingers and waving toward the Benz before she walked away.
As the got into Tom's Rover, Abraxas shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You're playing with fire, you know?"
"Feels good," she told him, waiting for the other couple to pull off.
He hummed in acknowledgment. After a few minutes, he asked, "Granger, have you ever killed a man?"
"A few," she murmured, pulling onto the highway. "Don't tell Tom, though. He thinks my body count is three."
He laughed. "He really hasn't let you kill anyone?"
"I took care of someone a few weeks ago. Why?"
Humming, he looked through the file Tom left him. "By yourself?"
"I prefer to work alone. It's cleaner."
"That's why you aren't with Bella, then. Well, that and the fact that she'll kill you the first chance she gets.
"Say, what'd you do in Mexico, then? I thought he took you so you could get some practice?"
"Why would you think that?"
"Why else would he take you with him? He went there to take care of Fudge."
"He told you that?"
"Yeah."
Smiling, she propped her elbow against the door, biting her knuckle for a moment. "Fudge has been dead in Italy for the last two weeks."
"You're fucking kidding me."
"No."
"How do you know?"
She glanced at him, a slight frown on her face. Shrugging, she refocused on the road. "Tom likes to talk in the morning."
"Huh," he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So. What'd you do?"
"Nothing. We just holidayed."
He was quiet for a long time. They'd nearly reached their destination when he asked, "You really don't want me to tell him you've killed a few people?"
"The less Tom knows about me, the better."
Abraxas offered a sad laugh, as though he knew exactly what she meant. When they were nearly there, he said, "Don't tell Tommy-boy about my kids and we have a deal."
Hermione looked over at him, half-confused by the fact that Tom didn't know about his children, and half in awe. "You have my word, Abraxas."
VI/ 25 December 2012
She drew her fingers over his stomach, tugging at his happy trail before poking at a prominent vein. "Happy Christmas, Mr. Riddle," she murmured, offering him a pretty smile.
He brushed a hand over her hair, his thumb smoothing over her cheek. "I bought you a gift."
She blushed, laying her head on his stomach as her face heated. There was no real reason for her embarrassment. But, she was a little drunk from the scotch, and a little tired from the night before, so it was easy.
He laughed, and the sound was so light that she wasn't sure if it was real. She hadn't expected him to be so gentle. "What?"
"I didn't think I'd be here so long. Yours is at my house."
He brushed her hair again, causing her to look back up at him. "You got me a gift?"
She frowned, "It's Christmas, isn't it?"
"I didn't realize you cared."
Hermione froze, her entire body going so rigid she almost feared that she'd snap in two. After a few seconds, he smirked at her, a playful look forming in his eyes as he smirked. She wondered, briefly, if he was high. But his eyes were as clear as they were dark, reflecting light as day shined through his window.
"You have a nice home," she told him quietly, attempting to distract herself.
His smirk turned into a smile, the corners of his eyes creasing charmingly. Tom licked his lips, but his smile didn't fall. "Move in," he suggested, leaning over to grab something from his bedside table.
"Really, Tom," Hermione half complained, sitting up. "You know-"
"I know, Hermione," he told her, sitting up and propping himself against the headboard. He turned the box over in his hands a few times. She recognized it as a book instantly, and felt her heart speed up. "Just a suggestion. You know. In case," he passed her the gift, prompting her to open it.
She ripped the emerald colored paper off to discover that it wasn't a book, but a jewelry box. Glancing at him, he smiled encouragingly. There was a necklace lying within; a circle of diamond that sparkled beautifully as a tremor shook her hands. "Tom."
"It's nothing really," he sat up, pulling the jewels from the box and placing them around her neck. They fit almost tightly against her, more like a collar than a necklace, the lowest diamond resting surely against the soft spot between her collarbones.
He relaxed again, admiring them as he leaned against his headboard. "An old family heirloom. Really. I couldn't imagine anyone else in them."
"We barely met a month ago," she reminded him.
He hummed, far from interested. "Seems like much longer," he told her casually.
She couldn't deny that it. Somehow, it seemed as though they'd known each other forever. Swallowing, she drew her bottom lip into her mouth for a barely a second before remember something he'd told her about his childhood. Frowning, she said, "Tom! You're an orphan. What the hell do you mean, 'old family heirloom?'"
He laughed. "You got me, Hermione. So, it's a new one. No problem. We could pass it on to our kids."
"We aren't having children. We aren't even dating."
He watched her critically, a curious light in his eyes. "Okay," he murmured, reaching for her hand. "Most people just say thank you."
"Thank you," she told him sincerely, fingers smoothing over the diamonds around her neck. They were too much, though –too cool, too heavy, too personal-, and there was too much pleasure in his eyes as he looked at her.
"You're welcome," he opened an arm to her, and after a moment's hesitation, she curled into the free space next to him, happy for his warmth. "Just don't tell Bella they're from me. She'll kill you."
He laughed, but it wasn't a joke.