Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You should bring him home."

"Huh?" Hermione glanced up.

She had been staring down at the swirling steam of her coffee mug, lost in thought when her mother spoke in that musical voice of hers. The soft gold of the afternoon light flittered through the windows of the little kitchen of her mum's house. Hermione had been visiting over the weekend and — bless her heart — Evelyn knew that there was something bothering her daughter. 

"You've been with him for six months now and you haven't even told me his name." Her mother passed her the cookies on the old white porcelain plate with the pretty blue swirls and whorls on its circular edges. A large plate that Hermione often piled cookies on as a child, baking with her mother, awed by the design and decided to herself that it was a magical one. 

The tray never ran out of cookies. 

And now Evelyn was home alone, ecstatic at every opportunity to see Hermione and making sure the old plate  — that was once Evelyn's mother's and her mother's before her — bore a mountain of Hermione's favourite kind of cookies. One with with a chocolatey base and filled with butterscotch. 

Evelyn Susan Granger was a sweet soul, kind to everyone she met.

God above, Hermione couldn't tell her mother who she was dating. Her parents had done everything right for her and they brought her up perfectly. 

The best parents a girl could ask for, really — she had wanted for nothing all her life. 

No, she couldn't tell her mum of Tom. Especially with what she had walked in on a week ago and the disaster that followed after.

Hermione knew quite well that Tom was... Creative with punishing his enemies. She just didn't know how enthusiastic he was about it or how often he was busy with that occupation. 

All she had wanted was to surprise him with shawarma and chips from the Yemeni restaurant close to her college. There was something addictive about their garlic sauce, but it was a small shop that sold out quickly at lunch so Hermione hurried to get two meals.

Tom had been stressed about work all week and had refused to talk about it, claiming that the last thing he wanted was to worry her. She had found that rather charming. So when her class were cancelled that afternoon and she was free to do as she liked, Hermione decided to treat him to lunch.

She had been texting him and calling him to ask if he was in the office that morning, but he barely ever answered her calls during any regular day and today was no different.

It hadn't bothered her though and she didn't think too much of it.

A big mistake, that was. 

But Hermione was just a girl in love and she was obsessed with her boyfriend.

So that Tuesday afternoon, she had decided to go to his office anyway. 

Tom, however, had been occupied. 

Also another thing to take into consideration was that, while Hermione knew Tom was a little on the psychotic spectrum and being with him meant they would always be something strange about, she didn't quite expect to walk straight into a scene of torture in his city office atop the skyscraper he owned.

Out there, in the open. So very public. 

There were three people hanging upside down from Tom's very posh ceiling. Two of them had passed out and one was in a verbal argument with Tom when she entered — and froze — by his office door.

Both men turned to her.

One clearly annoyed by the intrusion, the other absolutely ecstatic. 

"We're busy." The man hanging from the ceiling snapped at her, swaying slightly as he shifted in the rope binds holding him up.

"Now, now, Karkaroff. Be nice. Thats my girl right there." Hermione's dark haired boyfriend grinned as he walked over, completely unperturbed by the scene she had found him in.

He was wearing a powder blue shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead, grazing a brow. Dark eyes glinting with amusement. Twenty seven year old Tom Marvolo Riddle was a handsome man and girls openly gaped at him when he passed by, admiring everything from the serpent tattoo on his left arm to that beautifully evil smirk on his face. He charmed everyone he met with nothing more than a glance their way.

But Hermione was in no state to admire him just then. She was still too stunned, staring at the man who was surprisingly okay with being tied up and was currently scowling at her.

Tom tsked.

A slender forefinger trailed down the side of Hermione's face, trekking a path to her chin, grasping it gently with a firm thumb and turned her gaze to him.

"You know how much I hate you looking at other men, sweetheart." His dark eyes seemed to darken even further and Hermione's lips parted in a soft exhale. "Eyes on me, darling. And only me. Theeeere we go."

His voice was a lazy drawl, stirring up heat low in her belly with barely any effort. It was stupid really — the amount of power he held over her. She had no business falling for him. He was older by five years and the type of guy all her friends begged her to stay away from.

Tom was effortlessly charming, all pretty smiles and pretty words. Honest, too — but only with her. 

And there she was, like a puppet he owned, and she had played right into his hand when he had decided he wanted her, content with staying there.

Because he loved her. 

Even if he did have three people hanging upside down from his ceiling. In hindsight, that didn't bother her as much as it should have. It was a mere surprise. 

He kissed her then, stealing away all her senses, all her attention. He kissed like magic. 

Like promises, like sin.

Like every unholy thing she knew she shouldn't want, but did. His hand was home at the back of her neck, the other flat low on her back, pushing her up against him. His tongue in her mouth, owning her every breath. 

She was his. 

And only because he had decided she was.

They had breakfast at his office after. She sat on his lap as he carried on arguing with the only of his captives still awake — Igor Karkaroff — who had apparently been a manager at one of the nightclubs he ran for Tom. There had been large sums of money missing and Tom wasn't letting Karkaroff off till he had given an explanation acceptable enough.

Hermione almost felt sorry for Karkaroff, having to watch them eat while he couldn't move. She asked Tom if she could give the hanging man a chip or a bit of chicken, voicing her worry for the captive.

Tom decided then it was time to remind Hermione that she wasn't allow to feel anything for anyone. The lobby leading up to his office was empty and she was greatful for it. It was a beautiful sight, outside the glass walls of the office. One could see the city bustling with life if they were to look down from the high rise of the building.

And Hermione looked then, but saw nothing.

Felt nothing, but pleasure.

Cold glass against her bare tits, all of her naked as the day she was born. She was panting as he pounded into her from behind. Her hair fisted by him, tugging it back and making her arch.

It was everything a girl could want.

His voice was warm growl of something sweet by her ear. "Who do you belong to, baby?"

A shift of his hips had her crying out a new note. "Just you, Tom. Only you!"

It was not the three abductees that had Hermione concerned really. Or the fact that her boyfriend fucked her in the open where anyone could have walked in, but he promised her the men who did would not leave with their eyes. 

His cruel promise made her gasp and clench down on his cock. He could be as brutal as he was honest.

Well, brutally honest too. 

It was probably a very good thing that no one did happen to drop in though, because Hermione was certain that Tom would keep the promise. She had learnt he was very much like that, going to maddening attempts to show he cared in his own sick little way. He tried and he never stopped trying to show her he loved her. 

It was adorable as it was horrifying.

Still, what had her questioning her future with the trigger-friendly CEO only happened just after he had helped her dress up once more. Then he pulled her onto his lap, dotting little kisses across her face and telling her how lucky he was that she was his. She had closed her eyes, leaning into the safety of his embrace. Her head against the hard panes of his chest. 

It had felt so right. 

Till it wasn't. 

"Hermione, love?" Her mum's voice cut through her musing once more. Warm was her hand when it covered Hermione's own. "Are you alright?"

Hermione nodded, blinking out of her reverie and  managed a small smile at her very concerned mother. 

"Yes, mum. It's just that." She paused, wondering how she would go about it and decided on telling her mum that she wanted to break up with Tom instead of worrying Evelyn about what had already happened. "I've broken up with my boyfriend."

It was a lie, but it didn't feel like a lie because she was actually considering breaking up with Tom. He had held her close after the Incident and told her it was not her fault.

She had agreed and privately decided it was his.

"I.. It's a right mess and..." She swallowed, the words suddenly painful in her throat and she blinked away a few tears. "I guess I'm just not over it still."

"Oh, sweetheart." Her mother was sympathetic, walking over and wrapping her arms around Hermione. "Oh, my poor baby. I'm sorry, darling. Don't worry. Don't cry. I know it's happened too close to that dance you were talking about. We'll.. We'll do something. Wait! I think I know someone who might be willing to accompany you there."

The dance? Oh, fuck. There was a dance, wasn't there? One at her college next weekend. She had forgotten all about that what with the Incident and her shaken feelings after.

"Who do you have in mind, mum?" A smile tugged at Hermione's lips. She was both amused and greatful that her mum remembered everything she told her and that she was the same as ever.

Evelyn had always tried to fix all of Hermione's problems for her when she was little. And here she was again, springing into action for her only child, and apparently time and her husband's death hadn't changed that. 

Her mother beamed back, excitement flashing in her eyes, parting her lips to say something but she was cut off by a ring at the door. 

"Oh, that must be him." Hermione's mother hurried to the door. Hermione wondered vaguely if her mother had intended for her to go with the dance with the milkman. She pulled her phone out, scrolling through to the messages as she waited for Evelyn to return. 

Her eyes caught Tom's last message from that morning after he had left their apartment for work. 

Tom: You're so perfect, darling. You're like a dream I didn't know I could have. God knows you're too good for me. Too sweet for me. But I'm a greedy bastard and I'm going to keep you anyway. 

God above, she was so weak for his words. She couldn't fall for it, not after what had happened.

She knew he wasn't going to take it well — their break up. She only hoped he wouldn't be too dramatic about it. 

A familiar voice, deep and friendly, spoke to her mum at the door and immediately caught her attention. Her eyes widened and she slipped her phone back into her pocket, curiously making her way out to the front where her mother was talking to —

"Draco Malfoy? This is a surprise." Hermione grinned at the tall blond man in jeans and a hoodie, who beamed back at her.

Draco Malfoy had long been a part of Hermione's life.

He had been an arse to everyone and their mother back in middle school, but had become firm friends with Hermione by the time they were in high school. They did homework together, shared a group of friends and she never felt like there was anyone who could keep up with her love for books than Draco himself.

Of course, he had apologised for being an arse when they were younger many times over and she as much as cherished their friendship, she still managed to tease him about it.

It had been a while since she met him, though, as they were studying at different colleges now and life had a tendency of speeding by.

"Granger." Draco’s smile was bright, the golden light making his platinum hair glow with an almost empyrean grace. "Didn't expect to see you at home this weekend. How have you been, little swot?"

The familiarity of the old nickname made Hermione giggle. "Perfectly well. And you?"

"Never better. It's been a while hasn't it?" His grey eyes softened as he looked down at her. "You've changed."

She raised a brow. "I have?"

His smile turned bashful, lifted his hand to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. "Your hair looks better."

Hermione laughed.

She had forgotten how easy it had been to laugh with Draco. He had always been concerned about his own hair, styling it all the time, and would brush hers out as well, scolding her for not giving it the treatment it needed. "Yeah, I don't use as much heat as I used to."

"Yeah. It's a miracle you still have got a head of hair. What with you attacking it with a hair iron every morning before high-school."

"Hey, you weren't any better. I could have sworn you kept hair gel companies in business all by yourself." 

"That was middle school." His pale cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink. "I was a child."

"A absolute little ferret is what you were." Her eyes crinkling with mirth. "Always throwing your dad's name around."

"I was a right royal shit," Draco agreed good-naturedly. "Can't believe it took mum and dad getting a divorce to get me off my high horse."

"Poor Narcissa," Evelyn sympathised. "She was always such a sweetheart and we got on so well together. Do thank her for the berry pie, Draco." 

Hermione noticed the pie in her mother's hands when she mentioned it, having been too distracted with her old friend to notice the pie. Or the mischievous gleam in her mother's eyes.

Realisation dawned on Hermione. So her mum had been expecting Malfoy? And that's who she wanted Hermione to go to the dance with? That wasn't the worst idea and she supposed it was a great chance to reconnect with the prat.

Draco Malfoy was a safe bet. He was someone she had known for a long time and what better way to get over Tom than get under someone else?

Draco, however, was none the wiser to the plans brewing nonverbally around him. "Mum was really upset when she heard you were unwell, Evelyn." He told Hermione's mum. "She knew you were partial to her berry pies and made one from the berries she had grown in her own orchard."

"How is she doing? I hope she's well," Hermione asked. She had rather fond memories of Draco’s very proper mum.

Narcissa had been surprisingly nice when Hermione went over to her place for the first time for a study session, which had caught Hermione off guard because she was under the impression that Narcissa was as sour as Lucius Malfoy when they were younger.

The couple would stand away from the rest of the parents during events with a dark scowl on their faces and their spoilt brat of a son standing before them as though he was a little prince.

After the divorce, Hermione learnt that Narcissa had a fond heart for children and often wished she had more. Her green fingers worked magic in the garden around her house, all beautiful flowers and tall trees.

And Narcissa Black had a beautiful smile — one that Draco had inherited.

But she was raised a lady and she didn't quite approve of boys and girls alone together in bedrooms even if it was to study. So she opened her beautiful hall and dining room, turning it into everything a group of children would need to get through multiple study sessions and other extra assignments to get into colleges of their choosing. 

Her maid, Dobbline, was tasked with making snacks from the children every time they were over. Dobby, as they called her fondly, was a gentle soul with kind hands that made the most wonderful pastries. 

"Mum's doing alright." Draco looked down at his feet, his voice faltered. "Dobby passed away a few months ago. It's been hard on her."

That would have been a devastating blow to Narcissa who saw her old maid as more of a friend than a servant. Hermione felt a pang of regret about not keeping in touch with him over the two years they'd spent at college. She reached out a hand to rub his arm in what hoped was reassurance, but was surprised to feel the flex of a rather muscular bicep under his black hoodie. 

"I'm sorry." But for a moment she wasn't sure what she was sorry about because just then she wanted to see those arms for herself. Marvel at what they had become.

Draco met her gaze. "Thank you, Granger."

A gentle smile on his face. A twinkle of an unnamed emotion in his eyes. Too soft to be of the kind of desire she was used to. 

Could it be?

No, of course not. 

Besides, the dance. They could have a bit of fun. He would get it out of his system and they would be the friends they always were. 

"It's lovely to see you again. Truly." She was rubbing his arm. It was large and thick and what the fuck was he eating lately because she sure couldn't remember Draco bloody Malfoy being as fit as fuck before. 

His palm was large when it cupped her face. The slow stroke of a calloused thumb along her soft cheek made her flush.

"It's wonderful to see you too," he said softly, his gaze dropping to her lips and then up slowly to her eyes once more. Hermione had to stop herself from smiling now. She was sure of his feelings. Heck, even her mum could see it at this rate, old and oblivious as she could be at times. 

Draco could at least tried to be a little less obvious. He had "I'm in love with you" in neon across his forehead, practically screaming it at her. 

She didn't have to worry about the dance. She would have a date, she was certain, even after breaking up with Tom. 

The two of them watched Draco walk down the drive to his Audi — one of the latest models in silver that looked straight out of a magazine, no doubt a gift from his father to keep the boy on his side — and they watched the car speed off. 

"A fine boy. And one you have always liked," Evelyn remarked, raising her brows at Hermione with intent before she turned to go back into the house with the pie in her hands, leaving her daughter alone. 

The evening was cool, peaceful.

Her thoughts were not. Nor her task ahead. 

For Hermione had to inform her very psychopathic boyfriend that their relationship was over.

Chapter Text

The penthouse she shared with Tom was cool and dark. The lights dimmed at the late hour.

Hermione's lower lip had disappeared in between her teeth as time ticked away, drawing her closer to the now. The smooth contours of her face illuminated by the flickering glow of the linear electric fireplace on the wall opposite the couch. A glass of red wine sat idle between her fingers, sloshing around slow, because she was lost in thought.

The bottle of merlot on the mahogany coffee table was half empty.

The silence was a chilling one. The kind that was always followed by a storm that caused the kind of havoc one couldn't easily recover from. A sign of calamity and chaos. 

But Hermione Granger was stronger than her anxiety. She wouldn't give in. 

Her eyes flickered to the glowing dials of the number less clock on the wall. 

It was almost time for him to come home.

The housemaid scurried to the front door, her eyes lowered, kept averted from Hermione. Over the four months she had lived with Tom, not once had his housekeeper addressed her directly. 

Hermione wondered if Tom had ordered her not to. 

Or perhaps the housekeeper was careful — a wise decision when working for a madman, Hermione assumed with a sip of her drink. 

Not two minutes later, the front door swung open quietly and in strode the tall, lean man in a billowing coat of ebony as dark as his hair and his eyes. His gaze settled on hers and his lips curved up into a smirk. He removed his coat with one fluid motion — the luminesce of the silver Patek on his wrist making his action even more faultless and ethereal — and he handed it to the waiting servant without looking away from his girlfriend. 

Hermione knew it was a bad idea to indulge those glittering eyes and that sinful smile. It was too powerful a combination, with its ability to make her mouth run dry and heat to pool low in her belly.

He chuckled lowly, crossing over to her after the maid left as quickly as she came, dissappearing to the back quarters of the penthouse and leaving Tom and Hermione on their own devices.

"Hello, my sweet."

"Tom."

She rose to her feet, unable to keep her smile off her face as he drew close, looming over her. His expression both hungry and tender, wanting to watch and wanting to worship. 

"Oh, I have missed you, precious." He breathed like she was the only thing that kept him alive and that made her forget every inkling of what she had planned for that evening. 

Perhaps the drink addled her senses too. 

Rich bergamot and honey vanilla filled her senses as he enveloped her in a warm embrace, his mouth on hers. She was lulled into the delightful experience that was being his, her lashes fluttered close and she drowned a moment or two.

"The office is such a miserable place when you're not on my lap, sweetheart." He whispered between kisses and the memory of Karkaroff's lifeless face at the foot of the stairs at Tom's office rippled to the foremost of her mind. She pulled away from the intense kiss rather hastily.

A flush rose to her cheeks as the man licked his lips, his hands firmly placed on her back and he frowned, eyeing her carefully. He could always tell. She didn't know how, but he always did.

"Something's wrong." Not a question.

She couldn't hide it from him. Not then, not ever. 

Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth and she flushed deeper. How was she go tell him that she didn't want this anymore?

When her body wanted him, so very obviously, and just as much as her every bit of common sense screamed at her to run away.

"Tom, I—" She stuttered, losing the bravado she had previously possessed when she looked up into his dark eyes, as dark as an abyss, staring down at her.

His face was gentle and warm against her cheek. "Darling, you're trembling."

Was she? Oh, bloody hell. 

The hand on her cheek was now wrapped around her nape, tilting her face up fully so she could no longer hide from him. 

"What's the matter, darling? Do I need to make someone bleed, or is it something I can kiss better, because, baby, I'm not against doing both." His eyes grew heavy lidded as he cooed down at her. She swallowed hard, mesmerised by his unending gaze, fighting a need to tell him everything about everyone. 

Draco's smile — so beautiful, like his mother's. 

No, she couldn't tell him about Draco. It would be kinder to put a bullet between Draco’s eyes herself. She tried not to think about Draco when Tom was looking at her like that. Because she was afraid he could read her mind. God, she was being silly.

It was a real good thing he couldn't, because it wasn't possible. The world wouldn't have survived if Tom Riddle could read minds. 

She focused instead on a more unpleasant memory. Karkaroff's empty eyes, staring off into nothingness.

"Tom, we need to talk," She began, wishing she could get over it within the next ten minutes. The burn of his attention was too scalding on her soul and she couldn't breathe. 

Tom tilted his head to a side. His eyes narrowing slightly. Hermione was sure her breath had frozen in her chest — turned into icicles, piercing her heart inwards before she could even attempt to break his. 

"It's about another man?" He guessed, his hold tightening on her nape but not hard enough to hurt. "Is it not, my lovely?"

Her pulse fluttered under his thumb resting so casually on her neck, but not as innocently as she had assumed it was. He could tell if she lied because of the change of her heart beat, her pulse. She swallowed hard and his gaze tracked the bob of her throat before it dragged up to her eyes. His lips twitched, amused, when he saw that she knew she couldn't lie. Not to him anyway.

"Yes." She admitted slowly and gasped when he grabbed her by her waist, hauling her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. "Tom! What are you doing?!"

"Don't think I can stand to hear another man's name out of your pretty little mouth unless I've got my tongue in your cunt and I know you're mine." A hard smack on her arse make her squeal again. He took two steps a time to get up to their bedroom. 

Fuck, he was hot, with his succulent and dirty perfect mouth. 

Also fuck because she was trying to break up with him here and him being a sex siren wasn't helping.

"Tom!" She gasped, squirming and couldn't help the giggle that erupted from her lips when he dropped her onto the bed. "Tom, we were talking. I need to talk to you."

He tugged his tie loose, that awful smirk lighting up his handsome face, so sharp along the jaw that she often feared kissing along it would leave her lips bleeding. 

"Oh, you're talking, sweetheart. I'm eating." He crawled into bed to her. Lean, corded forearms planted on her either sides and his lips a breath away from hers.

There was reverence in his gaze, like she was every real thing in his cold, dark world. Like she was the only religion he believed in. 

This could not get even harder, could it? 

"Tom," She whispered, her voice unusually shaky and vulnerable. His eyes softened and he leaned in, placing the gentlest ever kiss on her cheek.

"Is it the Karkaroff thing, love?" He sighed softly, grazing his nose down the side of her face and breathed her in.

She squeezed her eyes tight. It was too intense. He was too intense. He was everywhere, forcing himself into her her every sense. 

His scent, his voice, his warmth. 

Every inch of her was a slave to him, especially her heart. The quickened pulse always responding to every flick of that gaze her way. He was the tide that would draw her in and she was most certain it would kill her one day. 

"I shouldn't have come." She tried to remember what she had planned on saying. His patient answer was gentle. So uncharacteristically gentle.

"It's not your fault."

He moved down her, placing kisses along the length of her little dress, breathing her in. She sighed, weakened by all of him and the ache between her legs that he seemed to summon at will. Her hands found home in his beautiful hair of their own accord. 

"It is." She tried to insist. 

He only chuckled lowly, continuing with his sensual ministrations on her burning skin. "He was living on borrowed time anyway."

"No. I.. I should—" 

"Hermione," Tom glanced up. He was patient with her in a way he was not with anyone else, she knew well. She wished he wasn't right now. It would be easier to leave him then.

Oh, who was she kidding? She would have hate-fucked him if it ever came to it. And she would have done it gladly. 

"I would have killed him anyway."

Of course, he would have. Little bloody thirsty piece of unholy goodness and sin. 

She held his gaze a moment that stretched on far too long, dragged by her every heaving breath. Then mumbled. "You can't know that."

"But darling, I do. Hush now. Don't think about it. Just feel. Feel this. Feel the things I've wanted to do all day. God above, I'm crazy about you, my pretty girl."

The light brush of her dress against her thighs and the softest of kisses on the inside of her contours. She let out a little moan, unable to keep a hold on her sanity as he made another move to unravel the frayed bands of her conscious mind with another kiss on her knickers.

Close, but not close enough.

That was the problem with having an awfully sexy boyfriend, you see. He was almost impossible to break up with when he brought the sexy out to play. And Hermione was struggling. 

Her back arched. Her words a needy whine. 

Her mission tethering on failure. 

"Tom, baby. Please."

She felt him smirk against the crook of her thigh, where he nuzzled her. His breath warm, coaxing out goose flesh where it had never been before. 

"It seems that my little student of literature and arts has indeed forgotten to use her words." A finger hooked on a side on the white cotton, tugging it aside to expose a peek of her glistening core. "How... Unfortunate."

Warm breath on her clit had her curling her toes. 

"What a shame." She glanced down at him, her stomach clenching at the promise of what's to come, but he continued to speak. "Good girls get what they ask for and Hermione, darling, you're not being very good are you?" 

Hermione squirmed once more, not for the sake of lust this time. Well, not only. If there was anything Tom knew — and used — of Hermione was her need for approval. And the man did praise. Often and freely.

But he also knew how easy it was to punish her. 

"I'll be good."

He merely tutted at the plea, making her feel dismissed, and she hated it, the need to please a vice around her throat. Lust soaking through the cotton of her knickers. 

He knew what it did to her and the bastard enjoyed it, holding her hostage by her own heart. 

Merlin, she was losing her mind.

And she was quite sure she was forgetting something, something important. But even that too slid from her mind when a clever finger stroked agonising circles on her clit.

"Tom!" she cried and felt the bite on his fingers digging into her cheek, forcing her to look at him while he continued to tease.

"Words, my sweet." Soft, light. And still commanding. 

"Please!"

"Not till you ask me to. Explicitly." His fingers no longer stroked the growing embers of her arousal and she let out a rather frustrated scream. 

"Tom! Please! I need you."

"That's better, isn't it?" He cupped her cunt, giving it a gentle squeeze before he let go and brought his hand down on the sensitive bit of her with a smack, making her cry out in pain and pleasure. "Do you need me to lick your pretty cunt, darling? Do you want to come on my tongue?"

"Yes." Her head was light, her words breathless as he moved down her. "Yes, please."

He peeled her knickers off while she pull her dress up and off her, wanting nothing more than to feel him everywhere. Wanting nothing more than be drowning in him once more.

And he was excellent as always. His tongue swirled and dipped before his lips closing around her bud, with a gentle suction. His fingers pumped every thought out of her head till she came, screaming his name like it was her own personal hell chant.

The high she came down from also brought her the clarity of mind she seemed to sorely lack when she was around him. 

Tom, however, was unzipping his slacks, proceeding with their usual mating dance. "Tell me, my sweet Hermione, do you want me to fuck you? I need to hear it. Tell me what you want from me."

Oh, she wanted it. She wanted him to fuck her so hard, but how would that fit into her breakup plan?

What a mess this all was turning out to be. His cock head dragged along the slit of her heat and she moaned, her eyes shutting of their own accord. One of her legs was on his shoulder.

It probably was more unkind to break up with him after fucking, right?

His voice rasped, oblivious to the end of them and all he knew. "Tell me what you want, Hermione."

The head of his cock pushed in and he teased with slow thrusts of the tip before he pulled out, leaving her wanting and wild.

How she loved when he did that. 

He was such a great fuck. Truly. 

Steeling her will, the curly haired young woman said a prayer to the stars and answered him, her eyes still shut tight. 

"I want to break up with you."

Silence. The warm drip of his precum throbbed against her clit and she didn't dare open her eyes, shifting ever so slightly to enjoy him for the fair few minutes she had left. 

When he spoke, he was uncertain. "What... What are you saying?"

Hermione had never heard him unsure of anything before and it was temptation enough to peek at him. Which she did.

His brows furrowed, his expression lost. A bead of sweat rolling down the side of his handsome face. "Are... Are you joking?"

She shook her head. 

"You want to leave me? Leave this?" He turned incredulous, but dragged his cock along her slit again, making her whine.

"I need to." She wriggled, moaning as he breached her finally, spreading her around his thick shaft as he sank into her depths. "I can't stay."

"Why?" He began to fuck her in earnest, still frowning, now more annoyed than upset. But, god, was he as good as ever. 

"I have to." She repeated, losing herself once more as heat coiled in her belly. He always felt so good. 

"But you're mine." He punctuated it with a sharp thrust. Making her squeal. "You can't leave me."

"Tom—"

"Is it because of Karkaroff?" Another sharp thrust and she saw stars. Yes. Just enough. A little more and she would have that high she craved. 

"Yes... It... It was upsetting."

She clenched around him, but to her surprise, he pulled out with a mirthless laugh. She gasped, pushing up on her elbows, surprised that he had stopped and had moved away. "Tom?"

His hands were on his face. She thought she saw the slightest tremble on them and that was worrying. She hoped she hadn't broken him, but she said nothing and eyed him carefully, her heart still racing in her heaving chest.

Slowly, he dragged those large veined hands up his perfect face and through his silky black hair. Then finally looked down at her. 

His eyes glinted, feral. Angry.

His words even more so. "Is that what you want? You want to leave me? Warm another man's bed?"

She swallowed hard, thinking of Draco and regretted it immediately because Tom could read her so very well. His lips curved up, but that smile wasn't a happy one, and he leaned in to breathe against her face. 

"There is no one who can make you feel the way I do, darling. And you know that. Fly if you must, little bird. But you'll come crawling back to me eventually."

"Tom, wait." But he picked his pants, turning to leave the room with one hard last look thrown her way, before he slammed the door behind him. Leaving her to stew in the misery of her own making.

What she had done was right, she told herself. Even if it did hurt. Mostly because she was sore and immediately missed the way he kissed her everywhere to soothe her after sex every time before this one. 

She couldn't stay with him. Not with what had happened that day. 

Not after Karkaroff—

Fuck... This was hard. But it was right. 

It was right, but then... Why did it feel so wrong to walk away from him? 

Chapter Text

Moving on from Tom Riddle was a feat Hermione Granger had deemed impossible from the minute she left his penthouse that night.

Her friends had told her it was a bad idea and looking back, it was. First to date a random stranger who she had struck up and enjoyed a conversation with at a coffee shop, then moving in with him two months, or more specifically, twelve dates later. 

But Tom had been pursuasive and loving, and she had been charmed by him and his every word. Something about him just called out to her soul, lulling her to a daze that had her believing in the possibility of happily ever afters. 

A strange phenomenon for someone who had always been a cynic about love.

Hermione, did, however believe in the magic of orgasms by the swish and flick of a sharp and clever tongue. Very few had the patience to do it right, and there was nothing better than the high that came along with it, making one feather-light in the head, almost floating away in bliss.

Untethered to this earthly plane.

A wonderful feeling, truly, and one she had delivered unto her many a times by one Tom Riddle, her ex. 

The King of Cunnilingus, as she had once referred to him to her former flatmate and best friend, Pansy over lunch after class one day.

Pansy had agreed with her — that it was completely normal to give up one's entire lifestyle for a man who could treat you right and fuck you right. But then Pansy was in love with her family's married gardener — a large, quiet man who had a beard and a shy smile, going by the name of Neville Longbottom — so perhaps she wasn't the sanest person to offer advice. 

A fact that was set in stone, however, was that too often does a woman land with a man that could do neither. A circumstance that would leave her wound up and frustrated, needing the warmth of cum and cuddles desperately. 

When Hermione had met Tom, she had almost given up on men entirely. The guys her ages were abysmal and what some made up for in brawn, they lacked for in brains.

She had been miserable, sipping her coffee all lonely when he walked into her life, all smirks and pretty face. His confidence attracted her the most and when they conversed that day, she couldn't help but wonder if this was God apologising for the rest of mankind.

Now, she wondered if she had somehow summoned the devil himself.

Tom Riddle clearly was a man used to getting his way and he did, very easily so with her. He decided he wanted her when he saw her sitting there with her lonely cup of coffee for company and he had her not too long after. 

It was unbelievable as it was true. 

A part of her wondered now of the ease in which she left him.

It felt too simple, almost like a trick. She hadn't seen him since he had stored out of the bedroom and when she crept out of the penthouse that night, to take her car to her mum's, he was no where to be found.

The person she did see was the housekeeper, with her gaze lowered and her face an unreadable mask as always.

Maybe Tom had planned for this.

Maybe he had wanted her to leave all along. 

That thought ached worse that the break-up itself, because she would never know with Tom. He was the sort of person who was always five steps ahead and it was entirely possible that he had manipulated her into leaving so he didn't look like the bad guy. 

Oh, the pain.

So heart wrenching and one of her own making. 

A ache she inflicted on herself with her overthinking. Of him, of her life before him, of how much she was ruined for anyone else now. She hurt some more when she thought of the life that was now a thing of the past. Because while it had a price, it had also been something of a dream. 

When she left, Hermione abandoned all most everything she had used during her stay with Tom. The many couture dresses from various designers for everything from parties with her friends to dinners with him had all been paid for by Tom and she didn't think feel comfortable taking any of it. 

She also left behind an entire closet of shoes and handbags Tom had picked out and paid for before she had moved in. They had all been gifts, from the very start. And she had been so surprised to see them all settled into the beautiful wardrobes of his closet room when she first came visiting, not knowing that she would agreed to staying with him before the evening was out.

The ones she had loved the most, however, were the little trinkets he had got her. Little bangles and necklaces, earrings and jewelled hair clips. All of them in silver and gold. And Hermione had never been much for jewellery before. 

Her favourite was a little bracelet, one with a charm of a sun and a moon. He had put it on her wrist one evening when they'd cuddled to watch a movie she had picked. He told her she was his sun and he was the moon, existing in the light only because of her.

It had been two weeks before the Karkaroff incident. If she hadn't known she loved him before, she knew with certainty that she loved him then. 

Tom had confessed that night that he had ordered them all — the clothes, the shoes and the jewellery save the charm bracelet — when he realised she was the one for him, on their second date. She had gazed up at him, curled against the hard panes of his torso, too fuckdrunk to think much of it.

Now, however, it seemed another testament to Tom Riddle getting his way without anyone even realising that he was manipulating them. 

Hermione knew she had been naive back then. And perhaps, in a way, she still was. 

How could one be anything else in the face of such generosity and love? 

Hermione Granger came from a rather comfortable life, with parents who doted on her every need. When it came down to it, however, she was just a girl and Tom had catered to her every girlish delight without her having to ask. It had felt like magic. 

Maybe it was magic, in the form of a curse. 

Because she couldn't stop thinking about the life she had decided to leave behind. 

To anyone else, a relationship of six months may now have sounded as one that wasn't of great consequence, but Hermione had grown into herself with Tom. Had embraced her femininity. 

During the period, she decided she loved fashion and shoes just as much as she loved books — and for that hobby, Tom had books from the genres that Hermione fancied hand delivered from the publishers before they hit the book stores. 

The life had been a dream. 

The cost of which was paid in blood. 

Literally. 

A price Hermione felt was too high when she stared down at one Igor Karkaroff at the foot of the stairs, laying in a pool of his own. The memory made her feel cold and a shiver ran down her spine. 

What a daunting sight that had been. 

It was a blessing that she had her mother on her sideand Evelyn had been nothing, but supportive. She had even stored all Hermione's old things from before the twenty two year old moved in with Tom.

Evelyn did, however, let Hermione know that she had worried when Hermione had left her shared dorm back then. Hermione answered patiently, saying she remembered every concern her mother had raised back then. 

For now, she was home. The commute would be longer and dreary, but she was still lucky to be able to travel back and forth daily.

Things would get better, she told herself. She would be okay.

Unfortunately, two days after her break up from Tom, she caught herself wondering if a little murder maybe worth the marvellous cock pounding deep into her like it had done every night for a long time. 

This was an unexpected problem. 

The man had fucked her up thoroughly and fucked her well, it would seem.

Her cunt was being a traitor, begging her to go back to him so he could treat her the way her body ached for. But the trouble was, she wasn't only missing the sex. Every night, Tom had wrapped his strong arms around her, trapping her tight against the hard panes of his chest and Hermione drifted off to sleep listening to the soothing beat of his heart. She discovered now that she was entirely dependent on the feel of him to fall asleep. 

So now her sleep remained restless.

Her bed cold. 

Her cunt empty. 

And not a message from Tom.

Not that she wanted him to text or had expected it. She only wondered how he was faring, it was all. 

She tossed and turned in bed, feeling tired from college and her travelling, knowing with a feeling of dread in her stomach that she would have to do it all over again the next day. She kicked off her blanket and plucked her phone from her bedside table, scrolled through her contacts and then set it down again, deciding that she would contact Draco in the morning.

She also made a mental note to inquire about dorm availability so she wouldn't have to suffer the long travel. A cold draught had her scrambling for her blanket once more, and when weariness gently held her hand and lead her to sleep, she was thinking of Pansy and how she complained that the gardener would pretend he didn't see when she bent over to show her knickerless ass at him. 

Sleep wasn't a comfort it once was, but it was here. 

And she was greatful. 

The hour was late.

Hermione Granger stirred in her sleep in her room on the upper floor of her mother's two storied house. As she turned, she threw her arm out — accustomed to the luxury of a king sized bed — but now her arm slung off the single bed, hanging off the side. 

And yet, Hermione continued to sleep. 

There was a soft chuckle, one that she wouldn't hear and a man pushed off from the wall of a dark corner in her room. He watched Hermione snore softly into the pillow, turned onto her stomach she was, and his eyes softened as much a two pits of coal could. 

"Hello, sweetheart," Tom purred, gazing down at her with a tenderness he had reserved only for her. "Look at you, sleeping so fitfully when your body knows it belongs in my arms. You miss me, love."

He turned, inspecting the modest room from the books on a rack against the wall to the bag she had left abandoned by her dresser to the the painting on the wall. A painting that had him surprised. 

It was an artwork of two figures on a canvas of dark and light. To anyone who appreciated art as much as Tom did, the expression of love was clear in the picture of two teenagers standing on an old bridge, their backs turned away as they watched the fireflies in the night sky.

There was a name inscribed at the bottom of the painting with a date.

"Congratulations on getting into the college of your dreams, love."

— D. Malfoy."

Tom's brows furrowed, tilting his head to a side as he surveyed the picture carefully. The name was oddly familiar. Malfoy. Where had he heard it before? 

"Young love, my sweet?" he murmured, "But this name was not on the list you gave me. When you spoke of your ex lovers. D. Malfoy... No, I know you wouldn't have lied to me. Or perhaps... You never did realise he was in love with you."

He glanced over the shoulder of his coat of ebony to the girl who was blissful in her slumber and a feeling of tightness in his chest overcame him. It wasn't a sensation he was accustomed to and it always made an appearance around his little bird, especially when they started dating and it was time for her to go home.

He couldn't have that — the feeling of almost suffering a coronary failure when she turned away from him — that he broke every rule in his book and convinced her to stay with him. But then, he had always disregarded his rules for her.

He was an atheist till her lovely smile had him believing in god. 

She didn't know how much she had changed him, how much she had softened him. It terrified him as much as it excited him for this was the first time he had ever felt affection for another. 

Tom Riddle didn't do relationships, not till her.

He was drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, and even now when she had left him, he couldn't keep away. 

He remembered clearly when he saw her for the first time, feeling rather sorry for herself. Her beautiful hair loose and and pinned back, but an errant curl slipped out, hanging over her small, sweet face and his feet began to move towards her even as time stood still. 

No, Tom wouldn't stay away from her. Not even death would keep him from her. He would take her with him, if it came to that. 

A shuffle towards the bedroom had him glancing away from the painting and to the large Russian man who ducked in through the door.

"The downstairs is covered," Antonin Dolohov said, his narrowed eyes canvassing the room closely. "Set them up in her car as well."

"Good." Tom hummed, slipping his fingers into his pockets. "Good. I've set the cameras in here. We are almost done."

"Almost?" Dolohov raised a critical brow. "What else is necessary?"

"Nothing that I need your help for, Antonin."

"Are you going to fuck her?"

"What the fuck?" Tom gave him an incredulous, almost horrified, look. "While she's asleep? Definitely not. I'm not an animal."

"Hard to remember. You did have that Charlie guy choking on his own cock for lunch today." Dolohov grinned, clearly enjoying riling Tom up. Something he'd done for years. The two of them had been friends since college and while Tom was the brains of their operation, Antonin was the muscle. "I never understood why you give a shit about this girl."

"Because she's mine." Tom gritted his teeth, moving closer to Hermione now drooling onto her pillow through parted lips. "The stars themselves fear a love as powerful as ours."

Antonin clearly couldn't care less. "Then kidnap her. Chain her to your bed. If she's as yours as you say she is, she wouldn't mind."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" 

"You don't understand."

"Then tell me."

Tom crouched down beside the girl, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the side of her mouth with a feather-light touch. "When little birds get startled, they take flight. You have to remind them where home is and that takes time. But once they have learnt their lesson, nothing and no one can lure them away."

Dolohov didn't speak as he watched Tom carefully fasten the bracelet around Hermione's wrist, one with a charm of a sun and a moon, sealing the clasp shut with the flame of a cigarette lighter he had pulled out from his pocket. 

"That sounds like a well rehearsed story, Riddle. Have you been telling yourself that?"

Tom had taken two days to come to terms with the break up and had, in fact, been telling himself that. But he wasn't going to admit it.

He clicked his lighter off and popped it back into his pocket, standing up to his full height and maddened even further that he was shorter than the Russian prick. 

"Antonin, if you value your grandmother's life, you will shut your mouth this instant."

Dolohov stepped closer, growling as his large tattooed hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Keep babushka out of this, Riddle."

Tom smirked back, unfazed by their proximity, but his attention was drawn to the sleeping girl once more when Hermione grunted and flipped over again.

Apparently he had been careless enough to let his emotions show on his face because when Dolohov spoke now, he was gentler. Almost pitying. Tom hated pity. 

"It was unfair of her to blame you. I was there, you know. It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was." Tom said stubbornly, glaring up at Dolohov as though daring him to challenge it.

His friend smirked. "No it wasn't, you sap. She shouldn't have been there in the first place."

"I should have answered her call."

"Still, you didn't —"

"Antonin," Tom's tone turned deadly. "Enough."

Thankfully, Dolohov was smart enough to shut up because Tom didn't trust himself not to do something stupid if he hadn't.

Like wreck that stupid painting on Hermione's wall by Dick Malfoy, whoever he was. 

And that would surely wake Hermione up. 

He inhaled deeply, trying to will away the uncomfortable ache in his chest as he remembered how Hermione had been that day. Cold, clammy, trembling. How she had sobbed into his chest when he hugged her tight, kissing her forehead repeatedly. 

Telling her it was his fault and he would take care of it. And that she didn't have to worry, she would be safe. 

That he would protect her. 

But she had left anyway. 

And now, he was going to watch her every move and win her back. 

"Let's go." He turned on his heel and Dolohov followed him out in silence. 

Chapter Text

"So.. You said you left it behind at Tom's?" Pansy tilted her head as she inspected the bracelet on Hermione's wrist, holding her arm up and squinting at the seemingly innocent looking piece of jewellery closely. "Are you sure you didn't accidentally leave with it? You did say you were quite upset."

Hermione was sure she had left it behind at Tom's and couldn't imagine how it ended up on her wrist. She had woken up that morning as usual, stretching awake when the soft tinkle of the pretty little accessory. She had stared at it a moment and it had stared back petulantly. Several tries to take it off had failed and she didn't have the time to worry herself about it, hurrying off to college.

But what she did do was tell her best friend about it over lunch and the two couldn't figure out for the life in them how Hermione had managed to clasp it so tight. 

Reluctantly, the curly haired girl sighed. "Maybe I did leave with it. Maybe I thought I removed it but I might have accidentally fastened it tighter somehow."

"Imagine if Tom came over while you slept and put it on you himself," her friend joked. "How romantic would that be?" 

"Oh lord, would any man go to those kind of lengths?" Hermione laughed at the ridiculous thought. "Books and fairytales, perhaps. Not real life, Pans. I think I've damaged the clasp somehow. I mean, I was in a hurry to leave."

"That can happen." Pansy nodded, letting go of Hermione's wrist to stab at her Caesar salad moodily, upset on Hermione's behalf as well as reasons of her own. "You were upset."

"I can't stop feeling awful about it, though. It's not mine. Well, not anymore. A mechanic might help me snap it off, don't you think? But it's going to be so weird to go meet Tom to return it."

"Oh no, it's definitely yours. That's probably reason enough why the bracelet came along with you and refuses to leave you alone. No, I don't think you should return it. Besides, the break up is not your fault, it's his. Men." Pansy huffed, taking a well practiced bite of her lunch and then dabbed her perfect, full lips on a napkin. "They strut around and break our hearts. And what are we left with, but crumbs of who we used to be."

Clearly, Neville was still ignoring Pansy and while Hermione didn't think he was wrong acting clueless about the younger girl's infatuation, she did know how deeply Pansy felt for the gardener.

Hermione felt responsible for it in a way, since Pansy had moved back home with her parents because Hermione had moved out of their shared apartment to Tom's. And then had set her sights on her parents' new and rather fit gardener. 

Hermione gently tried to make her friend see reason. "Neville is married, you know." She began. 

Pansy merely scowled back. "That's an excuse, Hermione. She baby trapped him, Hannah did. And I still don't think it's his kid." She added with a sniff. 

"Well, clearly, he thinks so and he's trying to be honourable." Then Hermione added under her breath. "Unlike most who merely aspire to be monsters."

"Sorry? What was that? I didn't catch you."

"No, nothing. Pansy, you need a shag. And not with Neville. You're better than that."

"Aren't you supposed to be on my side?" 

"Pans, I love you, but let the man go."

"Finnnnneeee." A sigh. "All I want is an older man who is good with his hands. Is that too much to ask?" 

Hermione made a noncomittal hum, browsing through a copy of Anna Karenina that she had begun to re-read that week. She smirked when she felt her friend level a glare her way. 

"I'm listening!" She chuckled when she looked up to meet Pansy’s glare. 

"I'm so stressed and you couldn't care less." Her friend huffed, pulling out an emergency bar of chocolate from her backpack. One that Pansy stashed away for an overtly stressful day. "At least you had your chance with an older man and gave it up like an idiot."

Hermione's smile slipped and Pansy tried to amend her words in a hurry. 

"That's not what I meant." She rambled. "Clearly he was trouble and he would get you into his terrible dark life and —"

"It's fine." Hermione cut her off and stared down at her book once more. Maybe she had fucked up with the best gift life had ever given her. 

Then she thought about Draco, who she had texted that morning, and the sadness ebbed away by a bit. 

Hermione hadn't told Pansy the particulars of that day, but she had let on that Tom was a crazy man who dealt with shady people. Pansy said she had seen it coming, having met Tom a few times and had felt very unnerved around him. 

It hadn't mattered to Hermione. She thought Pansy was being bitchy as always.

Just as she was now. But Pansy was uncomfortable about what she had said, clearly not intending the bitchness that often escaped her.  "I'm sorry, you know. But I do get jealous sometimes. You live a dream of a life."

Hermione rolled her eyes and smirked. "Sure."

"I'm serious. Men can't help but want you. You and your beautiful curls, your big brain and bigger tits." Pansy relaxed too, giggling. "You know, we aren't the problem. It's men. What good are they anyway? They're a bunch of dicks."

"Well, you kinda do like their dicks."

"Oh, yeah. Fuck, I do." Pansy thought a long minute. "You're right. I do need to get laid."

"Have we changed our stance about men then? They're not dicks?" 

"Oh, no they most definitely are."

"So, men are a bunch of dicks," Hermione teased. "But they're also a bunch of dicks?"

Pansy grinned wide. "See? You get me, Granger."

The girls burst into a peal of laughter, and for a moment, Hermione didn't worry about a thing. On thing a girl needed to survive the madness of the world was definitely another girl, preferably on the same level of crazy as her.

A best friend.

Someone to talk to and cry with. Someone who wouldn't judge you and would cheer you on. Someone who knows the awful things a girl wants her partner to do.

Something on the lines of "I want him to choke me while he fucks me. Hard. Hard enough to taste death and pass out" would not be judged and instead get a "Tell him, girl. Sleeping with you is a gift and he needs to act like it" in answer.

In all ways that she could be, Pansy was there for Hermione. And Hermione for Pansy.

And yet, Hermione couldn't bring herself to speak about that day at the office without cold sweat beading across her forehead.

Her hands turning clammy and a sort of sickness overcame her, making her feel terribly nauseous. 

No, she couldn't tell Pansy.

Not because she didn't trust the girl. Lord knew she was the only person who knew the exact shade of pervert Hermione was. But telling Pansy everything would be exposing her friend to true, absolute darkness. 

Hermione didn't want to scare Pansy away. 

She couldn't bear to lose her. 

Her phone beeped, but before she could pick it up off the table, Pansy did and unlocked it. 

"Love, I'm waiting for you outside," She read aloud and her eyebrows flew up into her hairline, whipping her head towards Hermione. "Love??? You've already got another man?" 

"He's always called me that." Hermione shrugged, reaching out an open palm for her phone which her dumbfounded friend obliged automatically. 

"Who is he?" Pansy demanded, watching Hermione tap out a message. "Why is he waiting outside? Granger, how many secrets do you have??"

Hermione merely flashed her a cheeky grin, tapping on her phone again. Pansy’s eyes widened as she took in Hermione's pretty outfit — a green sundress with white flowers. 

"You're going on a date!" Pansy exclaimed loudly. "And you didn't tell me!" 

"He's an old friend. I need some ungodly sex to feel like myself again and a date for the dance that's coming up." Hermione smirked, sipping the last bit her strawberry milkshake before she stood up and pulled the strap of her bag onto her shoulder. Pansy gaped at her as Hermione turned away, who couldn't help but call out over her shoulder.

"Oh, and did I mention he's an artist and good with his fingers?"

She laughed as she heard Pansy erupt from behind her. "Bloody hell, Granger! You are living the dream!"

It did feel like a dream just then.

Or maybe it was just Draco, standing there down by the entrance of the campus grassy grounds beside his silver Audi. He was wearing dark jeans and a darker t-shirt that hugged the bulge of his bicep as he raised a hand to his hair, looking around rather nervously.

His other hand held the biggest bouquet of pink roses and peonies in crinkly pink paper.

The girls out by the front, sitting under the trees were eyeing him in a manner that Hermione's back straighten, but it didn't matter. Draco was there for her and she was smug about it, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she made her way towards the visibly anxious man. 

A moment later, Draco's slate grey eyes found her and he broke into the biggest grin she had ever seen, so warm and bright. He had his mother's beauty, truly. All clear skin and bright eyes. 

She still couldn't believe he had agreed to hang out with her over just a few texts, almost jumping at the chance. 

In fact, Draco had travelled two hours from his own college to meet her. Given the hour, she was sure he would be missing out on a few lectures too. Just for her. 

How sweet. 

"There you are, little swot. I'd been looking for you," He wrapped an arm around her, a large palm flat against her back, but not low enough to be disrespectful. Draco then kissed her forehead, giving her the bouquet of flowers and Hermione blushed at the tenderness he showed her. 

"Hey Draco," She tilted her chin up at him, smiling as sweet as she could. "Thanks for coming to see me."

She had a feeling of unease which she kept hidden away, wondering if he would be offended that she didn't call whatever it was they were doing right now a date. But Draco didn't seem to mind. He kept grinning and held the door open for her, helping Hermione into the passanger seat of his car and closing the door behind her carefully.

Hermione watched as he hurried around the car, climbing in with flushed cheeks and reminding her of an eager little pup. It was so... Cute in a way. He was still so much the same guy he used to be back then.

It had always been so easy to boss him around. 

Any thought of Tom Riddle slinked away with its tail between it's legs and shut itself in a cupboard at the back of her mind, for Hermione was determined to enjoy herself and maybe get an orgasm out of the day as well. 

Elsewhere, a man narrowed his eyes at a screen in a beautiful office in a high rise building. He watching the tracker named Hermione Granger leave her college earlier than she should have been.

Her car, however, was left behind in the car park of her college. 

A few taps on his keyboard later and her laughter filtered through into the quiet room, twisting his heart in the confines of his chest. 

Another low voice — a deep manly voice —had his jaw ticking, clenching his fists tight until his knuckles turned white. 

He couldn't hear what they were talking about, their voice muffled because Hermione's phone was tucked away somewhere. It was maddening him to no end. 

Tom tugged at the obsidian tie around his neck, swearing softly to himself. Unfortunately for him, he had a meeting with a few clients today. Important ones. The kind a Riddle had to meet. His company was one he had inherited when his elderly father had passed a few years ago, and most of it needed him at the helm, making important decisions. 

Thankfully, he did have help when he needed it, especially for his more nefarious exploits. Help in the form of someone who enjoyed the bloodshed, someone with a thirst for violence. 

A Patek wrapped wrist sank into his pocket and he drew out his phone. 

He had a call to make. 

Hermione and Draco had a wonderful time together, laughing over ice creams about the memories they shared and then giggling over a movie they watched together at a small cinema that Draco took her to.

His hand grazed hers as they shared a box of popcorn during the movie, lingering against hers for a while and a side way glance told her that he was blushing, all flushed a pretty rosy red on the apples of his pale cheeks.

It had been lovely.

Draco had thought of everything and it cemented her every suspicion that he had harboured feelings for her for quite a while. 

She was almost certain that she would get the fucking she wanted and grew incessantly excited when they got back to his car. Draco promised her a surprise and had fallen quiet with a blush on his cheeks as he drove, sharing quiet smiles with her till he pulled up at the most peculiar spot.

"We're here." He whispered, swallowing a bob in his throat, but she couldn't understand why he was so nervous. They had pulled up close to a wood of sorts, but surely this was his plan. What was he panicking about?

"Granger, do you trust me?"

Trust.

There was too much grey area condensed into that small word, too much power given away too freely.

But Draco’s eyes were shining bright, beautiful and honest. He was looking at her with pure, unbridled affection and she couldn't help but pity him for holding a candle for her so long when she had barely given him a thought during the time they spent apart.

Was it guilt that had her reaching out and giving Draco’s hand a squeeze, letting her lips curl into a smile she hoped mirrored his own?

Maybe it was. 

But what was it that had her softening her voice into a new note, one so vulnerable, one that she didn't know she was capable of?

She wasn't sure. 

"Draco, you and I have been friends for years. Of course I trust you."

She believed what she said. She knew he would never hurt her. 

A flash of something akin to pain passed through his eyes but he said nothing. Lacing their fingers together, he raised her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on every knuckle in quiet reverence.

And for a moment she forgot her sins, feeling worthy of his admiration and worship. 

Then he whispered, dipping his gaze away to stare instead at the console between them. "Hermione, I have spent years admiring you. You are beautiful inside as you are out. You deserve every good thing the world offers and then some more."

Her eyes widened and Draco looked up once more, meeting her gaze. Grey eyes somehow turned liquid moonlight.

He stumbled over his next few words. 

"When... When you texted me and told me that you've missed me." Hermione blinked a few times, but let him continue. "And you've not been feeling like yourself and you wanted to. I knew what I had to do. And know this, it's been a privilege to have been here today. To be the one you wanted to spend time with."

He looked away again, towards the road before them where a sleek blue car turned and shot off into the night. It looked expensive, but Hermione was still trying to follow what was happening. Still trying to comprehend the weight of his words. 

Draco swallowed again and turned to her once more, a smile curving his lips and mischief dancing in his eyes. 

"There, Theo's gone. It's ready. Now come with me, but I'll need to blindfold you first. Is that okay?" 

Hermione nodded and while Draco gently tied a silk blindfold over her eyes, she wondered a mad moment if he was going to propose. 

Which seemed ridiculous. 

But what if he did? 

What if she accidentally said yes and they married before they fucked? 

Oh, Pansy would lose her mind. 

It wasn't the worst thing, she thought to herself as he held her gently, an arm snaked around her back holding her beside him, leading her through the rustle of leaves and grass. He would do everything she wanted and their children will probably inherit Narcissa's beauty.

Also, she wouldn't have to worry about work since Draco came from money, and she could spend her days reading and amusing herself as she pleased. 

They came to a halt, drawing Hermione out of her little daydream and Draco tugged her blindfold off gently.

She gaped at the scene before her. 

Fairy lights decked the small clearing with a view of the stars above. On the grass was a lovely, large blanket laid out, surrounded with cushions of every shade of pink. Dainty little dishes of little cakes and treats. Mini éclairs sat at the top tier of a beautiful tray, a row of the smallest doughnuts in the middle, iced in pink frosting and the bottom level had a variety of fruit all cut into bite sized pieces. 

There were plenty of savouries as well. Everything from mini sliders on a small tray to a little pile of cucumber sandwiches to even a bowl of chicken wings, all glistening in a red sauce and garnished a sprinkle of sesame seeds.

Two large pitchers of glittery pink and orange drinks sat nestled in the middle. What a marvellous spread it was. 

So lovely that Hermione was rendered speechless for a small eternity. 

Flustered, Draco hurried to explain.

"Back at Elsie's party over spring, at her mum's cabin in the mountains, we were watching fireflies over the old bridge. It was just you and me. You loved it there, looking up at the little lights. And you said you wished we had a picnic to share. That it would feel magical." Large gentle hands on her biceps turned her towards him. A little nudge of his thumb on her chin tilted her gaze to him. "I can't give you that view or the fire flies tonight, Hermione. But allow me to give you a fairy tale picnic."

Hermione was frozen in shock. 

Draco’s eyebrows worried together. "Hermione?" 

When she finally found her voice, she spluttered, "But, Draco. That was five years ago. We couldn't have been older than seventeen. I don't understand.. How— how do you even remember?" 

His answering chuckle was soft and sad and Draco lifted a hand to cup her face, thumb stroking along the softness of her cheek. 

"Because, sweetheart, it was then that I knew I was truly, madly and deeply in love with you." His forehead dropped to hers, his eyes fluttered closed and he took a ragged breath like it ached to speak his truth. "And I was too much of a coward to say anything. I watched you dance with other guys. I watched you leave. When all that while, I—"

His voice broke with the emotion it carried, his eyes squeezing together as his chest heaved.

Warmth pooled inside her, a swirling maelstrom of affection and guilt — grief about the girl she had been, lost on the path to the woman she had become. Her hands were small against the sharp contours of his face. Warm against his cool skin.

Words she had read earlier that day echoed in her pysche, taunting her. 

"Every heart has its own skeletons." 

But hers were a graveyard filled. She was not worthy of him, she knew. 

Thickly, she said, lined with woe.

"Draco, hush. I... I'm sorry. All of this, everything is so perfect. You are so perfect. I remember who we were then. You were my best friend. If I had know..." Her own breath grew shallow, her throat tightened, but she pushed on. "You would have been easy to love. Because of who you are. I'm so sorry."

"We're here now. Fuck, I'm so sorry. Don't cry, Hermione." His finger flicked a warm tear off her cheek. "I'm still easy to love, I promise."

She was crying. Why was she crying?

Maybe it was time. Maybe the agony of being was too much now and everything was crushing down on her. For she was, but human.

And it was okay to crumble. 

And sometimes when you fall apart and you've got to pick yourself together, you wish someone knew how to lace the broken bits of you with their arms.

Which was what Draco did. He held her against his chest till the steady beat of his heart calmed her down.

"I'm not worthy of you, Draco." She mumbled, embarrassed about herself and who she had become. "I'm not who I used to be. You don't know what I've done. How terrible I am now. I'm not that innocent girl anymore."

She definitely didn't like to be spanked and gagged at seventeen, that she was sure of. 

Draco laughed and held her tighter. "I don't need to know what you've done, love. I see you, Hermione. And I love every single inch of you, even the broken bits you try to hide away behind your beautiful smile." 

Oh, this was all too much. The tears came easy now and he kissed her forehead. Then her eyes. 

He was so kind. So tender. "I love you just the way you are, my sweet little swot, and that won't ever change."

"You want me, Draco? Truly?" He was entirely demented for wanting her. His love for her would burn him up like Icarus in his hubris. Why did he not see that? Why did he care so much for the broken husk of who she was? 

His eyes darkened. And she was spellbound once more. 

"You don't understand, do you, love?" His voice grew lower, huskier and his thumb traced the plump of her lower lip. "I want you a million different ways and then in a million different more." 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Fuck. 

"Is that right?" She licked her lips, watching his gaze dart down to them once more and then back up to her eyes. "Have me then."

He didn't hesitate, crushing his lips down to her. Breathless, she found that she was pinned against a tree soon after, and he swallowed her every moan, as his thigh ground against her core. His hands were everywhere, feeling her and she tugged her head back for a breath, lightheaded.

Draco continued to kiss her, his hot lips moving along her jaw, down her neck, along her shoulder blade.

An approving rumble from the depths of his being, erupting from his solar plexus, and rolled into her. Their bodies moved against one another, kept apart from the curse that was their clothing.

She was a phoenix on fire, rising above the earthly pane, and he was fanning her flames of desire. She was on the cusp of erupting merely by the constant grind of his thigh aided by gentle fondling of her aching breasts. 

Till she saw a pair of eyes in the darkness from the other side. A soundless flash of light.

Those eyes were dark. Obsidian and familiar.

Tom?

Her soul sank back into the shell of her human body. Those eyes retreated into the darkness of the forest behind it. Hermione didn't know why, but she was suddenly chasing after them — those eyes — having shoved Draco to a side.

The person was fast, speeding through the forest and only by sheer will did Hermione keep up. Armed with a stick she had picked up, she cornered the bastard when he slipped on a patch of mud, curving to a halt with his long dark hair fallen over his face. 

"You!" She was trembling, holding the stick up with both her hands. "Why— Why are you here?"

A cruel laugh and he looked up, a wicked grin slashed across his face. 

"Scared, kiska?" Antonin Dolohov purred.

"I'm not."

But she knew then that she had fucked up. Where Tom was crazy, Dolohov was worse. And she had followed the beast to a dead end, only because she thought she was following him home.

Fuck, she needed therapy desperately. 

And Draco. She needed to get back to Draco. 

"You should be." Dolohov pushed up to his full height, rolling a knot out of his massive shoulders. "I'm not a good man. And you, little kitten, you're here alone with me."

"Why are you here?" She repeated, trying not to let the tremble of her body seep into her words. She was unsuccessful.

His grin grew wider. "Pictures for my Pinterest. Your little picnic would do well for my account."

She stared at him. 

He raised a brow. "Haven't heard of a joke then? Okay."

Hermione had met Dolohov plenty of times while she was with Tom. He wasn't someone she would call more than an acquaintance. In fact, she couldn't remember him making an attempt to converse with her before, much less joke around. 

"Shut up. Or—" 

"What are you going to do, tiny thing?" Cobalt eyes gleam, amused. "Are you going to kill me?" 

Hermione was taken off guard by his taunt, just like he intended apparently. She stepped back automatically and the stick fell from her hands. She couldn't think, troubled and upset.

"Look at your silly face. You're scared of your own self now." Dolohov laughed.

He was a very strange, very large and a very Russian man.

And he was moving to the motorbike parked behind the tree. "Run back to your boyfriend, Kiska. Wouldn't want him crying now, do we? He was already on his knees back there, begging for you."

It was only after Dolohov had sped off into the distance when Hermione's brain decided to work once more. Cold dread filled her soul and her stomach spasmed with worry. 

Just how long had Dolohov been watching them?

And why?