#does anyone read tomione ficlets?

[sodamnradd]

(tomione, cw: tom riddle is his own warning!)

She’s trying not to tremble, sitting perfectly still in her seat. One leg crossed primly over the other.

Members of the Order flank her sides. They call themselves the ‘Good Side’, but the tremor in Hermione’s jaw begs to differ. She clutches her velvet skirt and exhales deeply. You could hear a pin drop as they wait for Tom to arrive.

He has that effect on people—the ability to turn a crowded room into a noiseless vacuum. The promise of bloodshed poisons the air like smoke.

A beam of green light blinks through the darkness, and the idiot guard who made the mistake of standing between them crumples to the floor.

“Riddle,” starts Mundungus as Tom strides through the red curtains.

Tom snaps his fingers, and Mundungus’ voice gurgles, choking on his last breath.

Hermione’s heart skips a beat, watching the spectrum of emotions in Tom’s dark grey eyes, meeting her gaze through the mask they forced her to wear. The Order planned to negotiate with Tom first: convince him to forfeit Knockturn Alley in exchange for his wife, hoping he wouldn't spot the damage they'd inflicted on her until it was too late. Too daft to realize that if Tom is in the room, he always has the upper-hand.

Tom rips the mask from her face and grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back to look at her mangled cheek. His irises flash red like ember. It's all the emotion he reveals before he’s cold, impenetrable Tom Riddle again.

Shame crawls over her skin. He warned her this would happen. Warned her that the moment she became Hermione Riddle, she was as good as dead to her old allegiance. She thought she could be the voice of reason in a century-long turf war. She was the first Order member to wed a Knight. The only one. She thought she could make peace.

“Where’s Dumbledore?” demands Tom, never taking his eyes off her. “Since he’s starving for my attention.”

“You thought he would come?” Moody laughs and Tom’s mouth curls.

He drags his thumb over the wound on her cheek. The sudden burst of pain makes her hiss. She shuts her eyes and Tom’s grip goes slack.

Hermione’s skin tightens, sewing itself back together.

When the pain recedes, her eyes open to a room full of green mist.

Tom hoists her up to her feet.

“Riddle.” Panic laces Moody’s voice. He’s wriggling, trying to move his arms and legs. But it’s like he’s nailed in place. The mist grows potent. Tom pushes her in front of him as the Order begins to wheeze and writhe, suffocating.

They’re outside, breathing cool air, before Hermione realizes the toxic mist did nothing to her. Her lungs are as clear as they were before.

“They’re all going to die, aren’t they?” she asks bleakly.

“You foolish woman.”

Before she can respond, he's pushed her up against the wall, hand twisted behind her neck, snapping her necklace off and tossing it away. He knows they put it on her. Dolled her up to send a message. Touched her.

And then he kisses her. Hard. Punishing.

Her mouth is throbbing by the time he pulls away.

Tom growls, eyes crimson again, placing his forehead over hers. “If you ever disobey me again—”

“Don’t.” She cuts him off sharply. “Speak to me that way.”

His grip tightens, bordering on painful, and then he lets her go. “I’m going to find Dumbledore, and mince him into a thousand fucking pieces. And then I’ll deliver him to every one of his living Order Members before I kill them too.” His gaze lingers on her cheek, right where they wounded her. “I’ll save his heart for you, my darling. Watch you bleed it dry until you learn to stop making decisions with yours.”

His eyes rake over her dress. He tucks a curl behind her ear. A whisper touch. He presses his lips to her temple as his magic curls around her possessively. The world slips from under their feet.

He carries her home.

(679 words, photo prompt from twitter)

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