Her heart hammered as she rapped at the office door. Harry's words rang in her head, but she couldn't bring herself to further examine them past, Harry knew.
He at least suspected, as did Draco. Everyone knew Hermione was Professor Riddle's favorite student, perhaps even more than the other professors favored her; and what lover of men hadn't had a crush on him at some point.
Hermione had heard the envious sighs of her peers when she started assisting with the Defense Club.
"You're so lucky, Hermione. You get to spend so much time with him."
It was embarrassing at first and made her feel a prickle of guilt later.
Before she could delve any deeper in that pool of thought, the door swung open, and Tom stood before her.
He wore a white button-up with the top buttons undone to reveal pale, sculpted chest, sleeves rolled up strong forearms, and plain black trousers. His lips quirked at the sight of her. "I'd almost thought you'd forgotten. Come in, sweetheart."
Tom guided her to sit before returning to his desk; he didn't take a seat but pulled out a decanter and two small crystal cups. "It's a cordial," he informed her as blood-velvet liquor filled the crystal. She took one and sipped the sweet drink that warmed her to the toes. "Though it seems you've had plenty tonight." His eyes danced with amusement.
"I'm not drunk," Hermione said in defense.
"No, I should hope not." Tom stroked her cheek. "If you were, I'd worry about taking advantage."
Her cheeks flared hot as her stomach whirled. "Taking advantage?"
He hummed and leaned forward until his breath stirred against her lips. "Yes. I don't want you to regret anything." Before she could question further, his mouth sealed against hers, stealing her breath. His mouth tasted of the cordial as his tongue swept across hers, and the dizzying lust became a storm.
Her hands clutched the front of his shirt even when he pulled away.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart." He chuckled at her wide-eyed stammering. "I've thought quite a bit about what to give you to mark this occasion."
"I don't need anything," she insisted.
He smiled and shook his head. "I know, darling, but I want to give you a gift. I considered— well, some of what I considered, I don't think you're prepared for yet, but I finally found something fitting." He took a small black box from his pocket and her heart raced. "It's not very pretty as these things usually go, but it is one of the few heirlooms I've managed to track down from my family. Giving it to you is nearly giving you a piece of myself. It is my hope to someday do this more properly but let this suffice for the moment."
Tom pressed the small box into her hands. She opened it with shaking hands; he cupped them in his own to steady her.
Tom spoke rightly that it wasn't the prettiest ring. It would look more at home on his own hand, with the heavy gold band and the large, square-ish black stone, but it dried her throat and clenched her heart with its appearance.
"I— I couldn't poss—"
"None of that," he cut through her excuses. "You are the only person other than myself I would trust to keep this, Hermione." He produced a fine gold chain and plucked the ring from her fingers. "I advise not using magic on it. It will... well, it will be resistant to much, hence why I did not resize it for you." The chain looped over her head and the stone lay against her chest. "There. Perfect." His eyes shone, dipping from the stone and to her face, and she sensed pride in it.
Hermione fingered the ring; it was warm and reminded her so strongly of him that she wondered if it was enchanted. "Thank you."
"No, my love. Thank you." Fingertips stroked down her cheek. "You're no idea what this means to me, what you mean." His eyes darkened until she could hardly see the midnight sky blue; they had trailed back to the stone resting just below the notch of her throat. "I have spent my life alone, collecting followers and contacts. There have been one or two I might nearly call friends."
Knuckles brushed up the line of her neck. She was hypnotized.
"None of them have had your... potential. Severus is too dour and set in his ways; he was even as a boy. And the other, well, there's nothing more to speak of."
"Bellatrix?" she whispered, hardly realizing he spoke of another one of her professors.
Tom chuckled. "No. She is a tool, and one that must be handled quite firmly at that." He tucked a curl behind one ear, lingering there. "But you, my dear. You are intelligent, malleable, beautiful, resilient. You will only become more powerful as you go.
"And like me, you know what it is to be 'other' in this world. My magical heritage was hidden from me, and even now there are wizards who consider me lesser in spite of it."
"I don't have that," she whispered, fearful that pointing out her muggle birth might cause him to realize this was all a mistake.
Instead, the red glint flared, and he smiled coolly. "You will be a figure of magic before long. It will be written into your very marrow so that none can deny it."
"How?"
She searched his gaze for answers but read only ambition in the shine of his eyes. "I have researched arcane spells, rituals, potions. I daresay there are few who can match my knowledge; even Dumbledore, who foolishly disdains what we may learn from the Dark Arts, hasn't my repertoire. I have found magic that will bind us closer than any magical marriage and will bolster our strength together and apart."
Hermione jolted in his tender hold. "Marriage?"
He chuckled. "I am not saying we will enact that magic tomorrow , sweetheart, but did you imagine I would settle for a fling? That I had a passing interest in you?"
"I didn't know what to think. I've been confused about so much, and—"
"Let me assure you, darling, that I want nothing less than eternity with you." His words were a vice around her heart, thready and golden and tying her so tightly she could hardly breathe; she didn't know if she wanted to, or if she'd rather die at this moment.
His fingers wove into her hair, cupped the back of her head. "I knew you were special the moment you first stepped into my classroom; you have no idea how pleased I am with how you've grown over the years; it's been a pleasure to help mold you into the witch you've become."
"Tom..." His praises sang through her until she was weak, clinging to him. He smirked in the face of her desperation.
"Do you need something, darling?" His voice dipped low; his breath stirred against her cheek.
Hermione wanted, needed him, but didn't know how to word what she desired. She wasn't one hundred percent certain what could slake this thirst and wasn't less sure she wanted to confront that part of her.
She wanted him to do it for her.
Tom nuzzled from the corner of her mouth to her ear, and she trembled. "Can you not say it?" A small sound came from Hermione's throat, but nothing more; he chuckled. "I think I know." His lips ran down her throat as he spoke, and the hand not in her hair eased under the hem of her skirt to squeeze her thigh. "Don't I, love? Don't I know what you need?"
"Yes." It hurt to speak through the knot of her vocal cords, but he was pleased at the vocalization.
His palm trailed to her outer thigh and up til he flirted with lace at the joint of her hip. "And I so want to give it to you, sweetheart." His tongue lapped at the curve of her ear.
Then he drew back. "However, I am still your professor. It is risky for us to engage in even this much."
Tears— whether of rejection, mortification, or unfulfillment, she did not know— flooded her eyes.
Tom tutted and wiped away the salt of them. "I know, love. We've been waiting so long, haven't we? Soon, just a little longer."
She nodded and sniffled back more tears, mildly comforted that he wanted her as well. A thought came to her. "Oh! Draco, he took my diary with him when he left the manor, the one linked to yours."
"Did he?" Tom's expression fell flat.
"He promised he didn't read it," she said. "He just knew how important it was to me and wanted to make sure his father didn't get to it."
"He truly cares for you." He kissed the corner of her mouth, sighed, and leaned back. "You should go, sweetheart, before I can't help myself." Hermione hesitated; Tom chuckled and waved a long, pale hand. "Go rest. You still have classes tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Tom."
"Goodnight, my Hermione."
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