I love Tomione stories with love triangles between Hermione, Tom and Draco.
It struck me the other day, thanks to a friend's insight, how weird it is that Voldemort chose a method for regaining his body that requires him to be nurtured like a baby. For someone as power-hungry as he, he put himself in a position to be very powerless - certainly the author did. But where babies are cute and lovable, baby Tom is disgusting. I wonder if he has been restored to this form because he was destroyed trying to kill a baby, or because this is what he believes himself to be deep down, or what. Maybe that's just how Horcruxes work and Tom had no choice there. Even if it's not Tom's choice, though, he certainly chose the location where Peter would nurture him: The Riddle Manor, a place you would think he would want nothing to do with. Peter (his symbolic father) and Nagini (the Snake, so the association to his Slytherin mother is clear) are playing his parents. If Nagini is already a Horcrux by that point, fair enough, she won't abandon Baby Tom, but Peter... Tom is testing Peter constantly, certain that Peter wants nothing more than to walk out on him, even as he knows Peter has nowhere to go. Honestly, no wonder Harry is that upset over the idea of parents abandoning their children -- he has seen where this leads. Both Tom and Harry are orphans, but only one of their fathers walked out on them and that narrative is incredibly important to both.
The Untold Years, Chapter 37: Best Kept Secret
“Can’t a girl have any secrets?” “Why would you want to keep them from me?" “Are you trying to tell me you don’t have any secrets from me?” “That is a discussion for another day.”
Between Hogwarts and the First Wizarding War, there is a time in Tom Riddle's life that no one talks about. There are plots and lies that not even Dumbledore knows. And there is a woman. When Tom meets her, there is a familiar feeling that runs through him right away. The desire to possess something very rare and powerful. He had felt it for the basilisk, for the ring, and now for her. She is a woman as mysterious and deadly as Tom himself, and he cannot wait to wrap her around his finger and use her to further his plans. Instead, she will alter them - and him - forever.
READ AT AO3 + FFN
Harry: I can fit the whole world in my hands
Tom, scoffing: That's impossible
Harry, cupping Tom's face: Is it?
Tom: *clearing his throat as he tries not to blush*
Tom: The world is a cruel place, my old friend.
Tom: Everywhere I go, all I see is death, and destruction…
Abraxas: Probably because you’re the one causing it.
“When she didn't have nightmares, she dreamt of murder.”
Voldemort: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine!
Bellatrix: How can you still say that?
Voldemort: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.
Returning Tom Riddle . 9
I want more Tom fics that actually treat Dumbledore fairly, thanks 👏👏 Part 8 | Part 10
It was as if Tom had this notion that everything about himself, especially his victimhood, existed on a higher plane. His plights were more egregious than any other, and the cause to rectify them nobler than any other. Tom did not recognize anyone, would not follow the examples of anyone he deemed lesser than him, but anyone who he perceived greater than himself he despised. He lorded himself over those whose talent and capabilities he perceived were lesser than his own, but those who could stand equal to him were detested obscenities that threatened his illusions of grandeur. Of safety.
Pairings: Tom Riddle/fem!OC Warnings: Tom being Tom (to the best of my abilities), fem!OC, Hufflepuff!OC
Dumbledore, who had been feeding Fawkes salted crackers over his desk, turned to see Tom by his office entrance. He looked to his clock and saw it was about an hour until dinner, precisely when they agreed to meet.
"It seems that I've lost track of time." Fawkes cooed quietly before finishing the last of the cracker held between Dumbledore's fingers.
In Dumbledore's office there was a large cast iron chiminea, standing quadruped and occupying one side of the room. He had placed a rug and two great armchairs on the ground before it, both ancient in appearance but well cared after with use of charms to keep the cushions plush and fire-proof. In silence and completely stillness from Dumbledore's part, fresh cuts of wood appeared through the metal mesh work of the firing belly and were sent into a full blaze. The smoke funneled up but did not escape out the capped top, seeming to disappear somewhere in a magical draft that led outward and left the room conveniently clear and fresh. Dumbledore sat himself in one of the chairs with a great sigh.
"Take a seat Tom," he bid, "I understand dinner will be served in an hour but I don't think a small treat to tide us over would be condemned."
Tom rejected the offer with a plain 'no thank you' before he sat himself in the opposite chair. Slowly, Tom leaned against the back rest, crossing one leg over the other and his hands finding each other in his lap.
"I saw Miss. Mohr enter the Great Hall for the last few minutes of breakfast this morning. I assume your session ended early today?"
"I was under the impression that she took to breakfast before meeting me."
"She does, usually by herself, but it seemed she returned only to speak with her more bed-married friends."
Since entering the room to having sat down Tom's expression had remained one of careful neutrality. It was only now that there was a near imperceptible tension in the corner of his lips, as if to stop them from pulling down, or like they wanted to retreat behind his cheeks. His hands, embracing each other in a lattice of fingers, curled tighter for the briefest moment before they relaxed once again.
"We're not here to discuss Miss Mohr," he said.
"No," Dumbledore conceded. "No we are not, but this is the first of our scheduled biweekly meetings and I believe there's not much to talk about. The students are all still in review and from the papers you've returned to me no one seems to be in need of additional tutoring. Your project also seems to be progressing as expected considering its difficulty. I thought we may speak of other things." Tom scoffed quietly at that, and for a moment he was beginning to resemble the boy Dumbledore had first met over seven years ago, not this strangely configured young man who had taken his place. The boy who wasn't so warped, just angry. So very angry.
"What would we even begin to talk about?" Tom's question was sardonic, almost accusatory. "You wish for me to regale you with stories of what I've been up to while I was working at Borgin and Burke's?"
"Your employment there hadn't been very long, I imagine, but you've always found time to be your enemy. You wouldn't have let it constrain you in anyway if you could manage it."
That was the correct assumption, and instead of offended Tom seemed almost pleased.
"I have managed to see more of the world than what you might have expected, given how briefly I've been away from Hogwarts," Tom began. "Not always physically, but in the little artefacts that pass hands until they reach us here. Papyrus writings from Egypt, tablets and seals from Iraq, rune stones from the Nordic countries, gold from South America — and what's better than handling them is speaking to the people who own them. Collectors are both greedy and proud, and they may not be bargained off their finds but they're more than willing to brag about them. And do you want to know something, professor?" Mocking and smart, Tom's expression lifted into a smug, taunting smile.
"Nothing I have seen of the world and its stories has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic."
His kind of magic. What an odd way to phrase it. As if dark magic belonged to him in some way. As if dark magic had any kind of loyalty.
"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places…" Dumbledore responded. In the wrong things. In the wrong people.
"Is that so? Perhaps then you should have chosen love as the start to my fresh researches here at Hogwarts instead of this silly counter-curse project."
"I would have written you a referral to the ministry myself to become an Unspeakable had I held any belief that you'd take it seriously."
Something almost like a laugh escaped Tom, because they both knew he would have hated that. The two fell willingly into logistical conversation discussing the classes, lesson plans, projections of future performance for certain students, all the while as Dumbledore managed to separate his inner thoughts from Tom's mental prying while they exchange words.
There are general questions that haunt Dumbledore's life, and have haunted him well before he'd ever come to know Tom Riddle. One of them was to wonder what he could have done better, and when that question was posed specifically regarding Tom it became a difficult debate. He believes he's done everything he should have done and was able to do, and he knows that the only reason why he would ask why he didn't do more is because he's realized very late what's threatening to emerge. He accuses himself of past negligence and fault in the past only because the terror of the future is so horrifying, not because what he had actually done was inadequate. It's a natural human response to regret, but it does very little if at all to help him ease his worries. If anything, at times it does the opposite. When Dumbledore looks at Tom, seated regally in the chair opposite him, he doesn't see the boy who strung Billy Stubbs's rabbit over the rafters of his orphanage. He sees someone steeping in deepening shades of blackness, darker and darker, like he sought to embody bottom of the ocean and the creatures that dwelled there.
Sometimes Dumbledore wondered if, in the chaos driven by two great wars that seemed to tear the world apart in ways inconceivable, he should have paid more attention to Tom. Spoken more to Tom.
That idea is usually, and harshly, dashed with the knowledge that such an approach wouldn't have worked. Before they had even met Tom had lost all respect for authority. He never trusted them despite his good reputation with the school, striving only to use them before they could use him. Tom did not, does not, and would not respect him just for being a wizard, not even for being a famously powerful wizard. What Tom feels for him is fear, and what would he have been able to accomplish in approaching Tom when Tom could never feel safe around him? When it became harder for Tom to loosen his shoulders and tongue, to think straight and look forward? What Dumbledore thought Tom needed was companionship, positive examples in the form of peers circling his age who were like him, who could possibly relate to him. Slytherin had an especially strong legacy of backgrounds filled with challenge and a protective fraternity because of it. He hoped Tom would have found friends there to support him and show him that he wasn't alone in suffering an unhappy home life. If not from Dumbledore himself, Tom had so many positive examples available to him in the form of other professors and his own classmates.
But Tom respects none of them either.
It was as if Tom had this notion that everything about himself, especially his victimhood, existed on a higher plane. His plights were more egregious than any other, and the cause to rectify them nobler than any other. Tom did not recognize anyone, would not follow the examples of anyone he deemed lesser than him, but anyone who he perceived greater than himself he despised. He lorded himself over those whose talent and capabilities he perceived were lesser than his own, but those who could stand equal to him were detested obscenities that threatened his illusions of grandeur. Of safety. And seeing what he sees now, Dumbledore was a little relieved to have stayed away, because should he have to step forward it would be so much harder to face Tom had he become any more important to him. Dumbledore wasn't sure if could face another dark wizard he had known and loved a second time.
Perhaps he should have discouraged Dippet from accepting Tom's application, perhaps he should have refused the offer to teach two subjects. It was dangerous to trust Tom to the world, where there was nothing to constrain him. He had no family, no home, no friends, no loved ones — nothing to stop him from freely exploring the darkest and foulest graves of magic. It was dangerous to let him into Hogwarts as well, where he could easily groom the minds of younger students to his self-absorbed agenda — thoroughly, fully, completely — until they became nothing but an extension of himself. When Dumbledore agreed to accept Tom as an apprentice of sorts because he weighed that it would be the lesser of two evils. He may be in the school together with other students, but not every student would be as easily manipulated like Tom believes them to be, and Dumbledore had attached a weight onto him.
Had Ahriel Mohr not had her own reasons to stay at Hogwarts Dumbledore would have never let him back into the school.
As much as possible up until now Dumbledore had avoided involving current students in his confrontations but it seemed as if, with Tom, that would be inevitable. He had a great feeling that, if not now, then eventually Tom's misdeeds would cycle back to Hogwarts. Tom treasured the school more than he's perhaps treasured anything else, and saw the school as good as his own. He will always come back to it, no matter his age, because he was always terrible at relinquishing anything he believed was his. Rightfully or not. Ahriel just happened to present herself at an opportune moment, her circumstances colliding with his rising concerns in uncanny coordination.
His original hope was that she wouldn't have to do anything, that she'd just be a natural hindrance that would, together with the counter-curse project, would slow him down. She would meet Tom more often outside of class, would be a bit more privy to his whereabouts and activities in places and times Dumbledore could not track, and she was unguarded against his gentle legilimency. It was an unfair expectation of him to place on her, especially while she was unknowing. He trusted her to Tom only because he trusted himself to protect her. It was a grievously, selfishly hopeful plan that was starting to twist in ways he had hoped it wouldn't. She was coming onto her own. When they spoke after class Friday morning he saw it. She was asking herself questions, poking at the holes in her reality that she had remained willfully ignorant of before. She was losing sleep, she was doubting herself, and she was scared. Not of Tom, rather she was guilty for Tom, because she still believed Tom to be a good person. Tom was the biggest danger presented to her yet, it was just that no one could prove it yet, and that made him so much crueler. He had considered breaking his silence. When she stood before him between periods, while her classmates left and were soon to be replaced by eager third-years, at the sight of her cloudy eyes he felt the words fall onto his tongue before he could even think it. But would she believe him if he told her? And if she believed him, would she stand against Tom? And if she chose to stand against Tom, would she know how to? Ahriel was a good person, and what he saw in her was similar to what he saw in Newt Scamander; someone who was unconcerned with power and prestige, not because they were ignorant, but because they genuinely found no purpose in obtaining it no matter how skilled and deserving of it they were. She stood for the everyday good, the common good, and he wanted to believe in her. He wanted to tell her what he knew so terribly but he couldn't.
"We will be expected in the Great Hall soon," Dumbledore announced as his hour with Tom drew to a close, passed with idle talk that they forced each other to entertain. Tom was wearing a frown, clearly unhappy that he was unable to penetrate the professor's mind in the course of time they had, but stood and headed to the office door first. Dumbledore stayed behind, staring at the fire that burned in his chiminea like it would warm him despite the cold gust that had filled his chest before he put it out with a wave of his hand.
If his life had taught him anything, it was that what he wanted to do and what he should do rarely ever aligned. When he last followed what he wanted to do he nearly fell into dark magic himself.
. . .
Ahriel was scrubbing her cauldron down with a mix of ashes, animal fat, and sand, preparing to wash it out with hot water when someone pointed it out to her, a Gryffindor in the class who had just finished his washing up beside her.
"You've got a note in your pocket, Mohr."
When she looked down she saw it, the tiny white corner of a piece of paper folded up that must have gotten into her robes one way or another. She didn't hurry her cleaning because it, continuing to rub her primitive soap mix into every nook and cranny of her cauldron possible. She had only begun ladling in boiling water when Zedekiah, who she shared the next period with, walked up behind her.
"You really take as long as possible cleaning your cauldron," he said as he saw her swirl the solution, dumping it out only to replace it with another two or three large ladles full of hot water, throwing it against the sides.
"This is a cast iron cauldron," she said matter-of-factly, expecting him to immediately sympathize with the damage the heavy chunk of metal had struck upon her wallet. He looked fairly unimpressed. "And you've never interned under a potioneer."
"That Potter fellow really broke you in didn't he?" Her answer was a grim nod as she, for the third and last time, brought more water into the well and swirled it around the bottom and all the sides before dumping it out into a collection of waste material left out for the class. She set her cauldron upside down to dry on an empty spot in the shelves, casting jinxes over it to prevent anyone from using it in other classes before she slung her bag over her shoulders and dug into her robes for the note. It was unevenly folded up in fourths, as if the person had written it in a rush, and the scrawl inside was similarly haphazard.
"Confession?" Zedekiah leaned over as they briskly made their way through the halls to Ancient Studies. Ahriel pulled away from his curious eyes, crumpling the note in her hands before stuffing it back into her pockets.
"No," she said flatly, more than tired of her friends penchant for romance and theatrics. He gave her a suspicious look, and she could feel his hand creeping behind her to snatch the note from her pocket so she slapped his hand away and began walking faster.
"We're going to be late," she called, to which his response was a very immediate, "whose fault is that?"
Her attention wasn't very distracted through Ancient Studies, nor was it distracted through Apparition, or Herbology. The note only came to bother her during dinner when she felt as if someone from across the room was watching her. She looked up several times during the meal to scan the tables to find no one's eyes on her unless she was caught staring at them first. She reasoned that the note must have been a prank put on her by one of her classmates, because who would leave a note in someone's pocket telling them to be careful?
Careful of what? There were so many things to be careful of and the author hadn't specified anything, so she continued to ignore them when they appeared in her pocket after her next potion lesson, then in her bag the one after. She didn't let it bother her during her time with Riddle either, pushing it far from her mind as he told her that St. Mungo had yet to respond to them before setting her about casting reparifarge repeatedly against various objects he had purposely mistransfigured. Over and over with increasing difficulty until he begun to conjure eldritch combinations of various creatures that made her squirm and she couldn't cast them away with a simple spell taught to third years. Those unsettling abominations, combined from the likeness of ocean dwellers, moles, fungi, and all sorts of other things had entirely muted any thoughts about the notes that may have lingered in her mind as Tom began walking her through advanced spells for undoing transfigurations a good few months before the N.E.W.T. level class was expected to cover them.
It had been an inconsequential annoyance in her life that she was willing to quietly handle until the arrival of her very next potions class, and instead of reading be careful the note had asked, are you okay?
…How exactly was she expected to answer that? She suspected that whoever was doing this to her was using magic to get the notes to her, but she couldn't exactly cast a tracking spell about the potions classroom like she had in the prefect's bath to discover her anonymous writer. There was too much foot-traffic and magic was being performed regularly. She'd be left with a mess of gold dust everywhere from the room being used by a third of the student in the school. At least she could narrow down her list of suspects to people who were in her class, as the note only ever appeared towards the very end of the period. Very obviously she couldn't just ask everyone in her class if they were the one leaving her notes after every class. Whoever the writer was wanted to stay unknown or else they wouldn't have bothered to contact her in such discrete ways to begin with, especially if they were truly concerned for her. Maybe not unknown to her, but unknown to someone.
Thinking, she came to an…idea. Not a very good idea, but it was something nonetheless and more than what she wanted to put up with for something that might have just been an immature prank. She wrote her reply in the corner of her notebook before tearing it out as quietly as possible to avoid Professor Slughorn's notice. She made a show of hurrying through her washing, so much so that the Gryffindor who had first noticed the note in her pocket pointed it out aloud, and she couldn't have thanked him enough.
"Got somewhere to be Mohr?" He asked as she roughly shook her cauldron dry and flipped it upside down, a little crooked from how she normally put it, sliding her note under it.
"Not places to be but messages to send," she answered as she hurried to the door as if she really had news to deliver.
"You didn't put jinxes over your cauldron!"
"No one who doesn't have business with me should be touching it!"
The next message she found was tucked between the pages of her textbook and she gave a tired sigh. In her reply she had specifically instructed her author to leave the next note in her textbook if they managed to find her own message tucked under cauldron, but she wasn't particularly happy with the results.
I can't tell you who I am, it read, and Ahriel felt a headache brewing viciously behind her eyes. She kept the note until after dinner, where she threw it into the fireplace in the Hufflepuff common room with no small sense of annoyance.
"At this point it might be harassment. You should try talking to Professor Slughorn about it." Zedekiah had been lounging the entire time on the couch, watching as she flipped her book open, fanning through the pages in her search. Her throat flexed as she swallowed and shook her head, not trusting herself to reply to her friend calmly with her rising irritation. Zedekiah reached into his bag and pulled out a tiny ball wrapped in foil before tossing it to her.
"Lemon?" He asked as she caught it.
"Why are you asking me that?"
"I have lemon drops and hard caramel in my bag and I didn't really care to look when I tossed you one. I know you don't like caramel though." Ahriel sank down beside him on the coach, pulling the bright yellow fans of the wrapped undone before popping the even brighter round of yellow into her mouth.
"Draught of Living Death?" She questioned as she looked over at the book Zedekiah had in his lap. He was taking potions his seventh year as well to fulfill his core class requirements, but opted out of taking the N.E.W.T. course. He wasn't bad at potions, but frankly he hated it.
"Any advice? No one's been able to make a complete brew in an hour, so I'm told."
"Don't use a copper cauldron, the salt will destroy it." Her head fell onto his shoulder as her eyes scanned the brewing instructions on the page. "Don't use pewter either, the powdered root makes the entire thing acidic, unless you can manage using a muggle pewter pot big enough."
"I didn't think the metal was important," he muttered, "I saw someone brew a Cure For Scale Rot in copper last year, and Moonseed Poison in pewter even though it's acidic."
"Because wizards just coverup any possible mishaps with spells without understanding the problem," she muttered, her voice becoming drowsy. "If they messed up on the protection spells it'll ruin everything. Well, in the case of Moonseed Poison it might be better to brew it wizard-made pewter to increase it's lethality."
"What's the difference?"
"Muggles actually learned that they had to remove the lead." Her voice had dropped off to a whisper, but despite her obvious fatigue there was worry in her frown that seemed like it would trouble her if she tried to get any rest.
"…You should talk to someone." Ahriel only shook her head again, her hair rubbing against his shoulder.
"I don't want to cause anything."
"You think any of the professors will make a scene?"
"Not initially, but eventually it will come to that if they suspect bullying."
"Then what about Riddle?"
Ahriel pulled herself off Zedekiah's shoulder to look him in the eyes properly at his suggestion, her frown deepening and her brows furrowed to the center.
"He's not a professor," Zedekiah pushed in gentle persuasion, "and he was only a student just last year. He should be able to relate to how you feel. He knows how the school works from a student perspective and will probably understand that you want to keep everything discrete."
Ahriel said nothing at first, contemplating the answer with herself as the lemon drop dissolved on her tongue. The flavor reminded her of Tom, not for anything that he did, but it brought her to the moment he had asked her to review his application to St. Mungo. There had been a strange pause in the conversation where he didn't say anything, and she had left him very confused after he dismissed her. She knew about her time at St. Mungo, mostly because there were pictures of her there, but she didn't actually remember much of it. Yet in that strange rest that fell between herself and Tom suddenly she remembered lemon drops and the younger face of Mrs. Truang, the decade-serving head Healer of the Potions and Poisoning Ward when she was just freshly promoted.
"Yeah…" she answered, her drowsiness doing her a favor to hide her hesitance. "Maybe I'll talk with Riddle."
That 'maybe' felt strangely heavy on her tongue.
“You don’t understand,” Tom said, eyes heated and tone near-frantic. Not to diminish her, he wouldn’t do that - but because some part of him, somewhere down in the miserable depths of his fractured soul, badly wanted her to. This last trace of his lonely life before this ascend to godhood, the one sliver of it that he cared to keep by his side. “You’ve never truly understood.” There, just hovering near the edges of his words, sat despair and grief for what they used to have.
Vile divinity was a lonely mountain to live on.
Who would want to be lonely, Tom wanted to ask, but he didn’t. Because she wasn’t anymore the girl who’d come from that same dark, dank orphanage, who’d eaten the same gruel and weathered the same storms as he. They both carried a rage within them, they were both angry at the world, but where Tom had decided to fight for himself, she’d come to fight for all who were like them. Why look the world in the face when it had turned its back on you?
Instead he stood tall and matched her gaze for fervor. “Better I turn my back on the world than let it turn its back on me,” he hissed, “None of the people you so fiercely protect would reach out their hand to you if you were the one in peril. They wouldn’t, because you’re an orphan rat, just like me.” His nostrils flared - anger flashed in brown eyes, alongside something else. The remnants of hope, like embers of a dying fire. “I thought you, out of all of them, would understand. The hunger…” He swallowed. “How it devours you if you let it.” Pinpricks of heat colored his cheeks.
“Aelin,” he whispered, and it sounded almost like the boy he used to be, who’d shown her the snake hiding next to the tree by the garden wall. “Don’t you miss how we used to be?”
cont. / @malascion
Some wallpapers for my new phone
Art but me
Harry: - Why are you so happy? Voldemort: - I have a gift for you Harry: - Marvolo, I tell you the same thing every time, you don't know how to make gifts! Please don't! Voldemort: - You'll like it this time Harry: - You say that every time you end up giving a fucking dragon!! Voldemort: - Calm down, I took into account my previous mistakes. He's perfect! Harry: - I hate you
Summary: Florence is forced by her grandmother to take Tom to the mall, and in there he gets to meet her best friend who, unlike her, do not mind him at all.
Word count: 2.1k
Warnings: a bit of language ???
Prologue | Chapter 1
When Florence headed downstairs the next morning, her grandfather was watching the news in the living room and her grandmother was serving Tom breakfast. She had almost forgotten all about him. “Good morning.” She walked towards the kitchen.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Her grandmother replied brightly. Tom stayed quiet and just nodded slightly as a greeting, although she wasn’t really looking at him. She busied herself while pouring some of the remaining coffee into the mug in her hands. “Any plans for today?”
Florence gave a small shrug. “I was planning on going to the mall with Sidney and Alec, nothing much.”
“That’s great!” Evelyn exclaimed. “You should take Tom with you.”
Florence almost dropped the mug as her head snapped up to look at her grandmother, who paid no mind to her as she served more eggs and bacon into an empty place and placed it on the table. Those were probably for Florence, but she suddenly wasn’t too hungry anymore. Tom stared at the old woman as well, wondering what in hell made her think that he wanted to go anywhere with her filthy muggle granddaughter. “Grandma, I don’t think that’s a good idea-”
“Oh, of course it is!” Evelyn dismissed her. “He needs new clothes, and at the same time he can take a look around town and get more familiar with it.”
That time, Florence could not help herself when she glanced at Tom’s direction, who had made eye contact with her almost at the same time. He didn’t look particularly happy about what was being discussed, but when she noticed his lip twitch she knew that watching her discontent was amusing to him. “But maybe you guys can take him shopping.” She suggested, hopeful for a change of plans.
But, of course, that was not going to happen. “I’m sure Tom wouldn’t like to hang around an old couple like ourselves.” Her grandmother chuckled. “Perhaps It’s best that he hangs around people his age, don’t you think?”
Florence held back a groan. “Fine, then.” she turned to Tom, again, who was now innocently biting down on his toast. “We leave in two hours. You better be ready.”
On the drive to the mall, Florence noticed how curious Tom looked as he stared through the car window. It was almost like he had never seen anything like it before, and she couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t like their town was something magnificent. “So, Tom,” She began, gaining his attention as he came back from an apparent trance. “what did you really come here for?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“There must be a reason why you’re here, right?” she kept her eyes on the road, but Tom still noticed the suspicious look on her face. “I don’t think you made it clear before.”
Tom bit the inside of his cheek. He wished that she would simply shut her mouth and leave him alone, but he knew that she would be breathing down his neck from now on. And he needed to do something about that as soon as possible. “I was just looking for somewhere to start over, that’s all.” He simply said. “Sometimes It’s necessary.”
“Bullshit.” He heard her say quietly.
“Is there something you wish to tell me?” Tom questioned while trying to stay serene. He certainly was not used to that sort of treatment; usually, people would not give his words a second thought and they would just simply go along with what he told them. This girl, however, was already starting to make things too difficult for him.
“I just know that you’re hiding something,” when they stopped at a red light, she finally turned to him with a death stare. “and, trust me, I will find out what it is.”
Tom laughed lightly. He did not know how she, a single pathetic muggle, could ever beat him at this game that she wanted to play. “I doubt you’ll find much.” He told her. His tone was still calm. “After all, I’m nothing out of the ordinary.”
She turned back to the road. “We’ll see.”
The rest of the drive was quiet, but somehow it felt longer, and Florence hated it. She wanted to jump out of the car just so that she could be far away from Tom. Fortunately for her, they managed to arrive at the mall eventually. She walked in front of him, not really caring if he was following. But of course he had to; if he could be anywhere he would but, as much as it pained him, he needed to stay close. At least until he figured out a way to fix the bloody Time-Turner.
Once inside, Tom took in his surroundings. The mall was big, much bigger than the shopping centers back where he was from. It was also packed with loads and loads of people, it almost reminded him of Diagon Alley. The differences were that this mall was filled with muggles, was much more spacious and it seemed to have a wider variety of stores, which actually surprised him. Florence seemed to know exactly where she was going, because she was walking fast while looking straight ahead without stopping. Although Tom couldn’t deny that he was intrigued by the entire place, he had to keep up with her. They stopped once Florence began to wave at two figures standing at a fair distance, gaining their attention almost instantly. The boy and the girl made their way towards them with smiles on their faces. They all said their hi’s to each other, hugging included, except for Tom, who was just standing there and waiting for them to finish with their ridiculous greetings. Florence’s tone was bright and excited, very different from the one she used whenever she talked to him. “Oh, is he with you?” the girl, whose hair was hidden under a beanie, turned to Tom with a curious look on her face.
Florence's smile dropped, but she tried not to look too bothered by the fact that she remembered Tom was still there. “Yeah. This is Tom, he’s staying at our house for some time. Tom, these are Sidney and Alec, my best friends.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Tom smiled politely at both of them. The more time he spent in the future, the more he regretted it.
“Are you from around here?” Alec asked curiously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”
Tom shook his head, but before he could reply Florence spoke up first. “No, he’s visiting from London. He’s my cousin from my dad’s side.”
Both of her friends nodded slowly as they took in the information, looking almost impressed. “Anyways,” she continued, not wanting the focus to be on Tom for much longer. “where shall we go first?”
“Can we eat something first? I’m so hungry.” Sidney whined, and Tom tried his best not to look too irritated.
Alec rolled his eyes. “I told you to eat something before we came here.”
“I did,” Sidney said. “but It’s not enough for this poor girl’s stomach.”
Florence chuckled. “It’s okay, I’m getting a bit hungry, as well.”
When they reached the food court Tom looked through the many stalls that were packed with even more people, who were either waiting in line or already eating at the tables. He thought the Great Hall was always too crowded, but at that moment he wished he was back there. “What are you going to eat?” Florence was standing right next to him and he hadn’t realized when she moved closer to him. He also hadn’t realized that the other two had left them.
Tom settled with the first name he spotted. “Uh… Chipotle?” She laughed quietly. He stared at her blankly. “Did I say something funny?”
“Not really.” she shook her head, resisting the urge to smack him across the face after hearing the sound of his tone. “Just didn’t think of you as a Chipotle guy. But anyway, I’ll be over there at Subway, and we’ll just get a table once we order.”
“Wait-” he tried to stop her but she left as if she hadn’t heard him; Tom had a feeling that she had pretended to not do so. He silently cursed at her before walking towards his destination.
He tried to act as normally as he could, following the lead of the people who came in line before him. He had to wait next to a couple of young muggles, who were not able to keep their hands off of each other, and it made him sick. When it was his turn to order, he mimicked what the others did, hesitantly asking for some ‘tacos’ and then handing the lady money from the amount that he was given by Evelyn.
Once he had his tray of food, he scanned the tables to see if he found the others. It took him a while, but he finally spotted them, all thanks to Alec and Sidney who were waving him over. Florence did not bother to look up from her food, not even when he took the empty seat next to her.
“So, Tom,” Sidney spoke after all of them had already begun to eat. Tom took a bite of one of those taco things, after struggling with it for a few moments. It was surprisingly not half bad. “did you come here on your own, or did anyone accompany you?”
Tom swallowed and cleaned himself up with a paper towel before answering her question. “No. I’m here by myself.”
“And what do you like to do?” Alec asked after biting into his burger.
Tom stared at him. “What?”
“You know,” Alec smiled. “do you like to watch movies, or do some sort of sport, or maybe you like, I don’t know, TikTok?”
Tom furrowed his eyebrows. “TikTok?”
Tom noticed how the two girls’ eyes were on him, Florence finally looking up to hear him out. He shook his head. “No, I don’t really like the ticking sound of a clock, but thank you for asking.”
Alec and Sidney exchanged confused looks over his answer, while Florence just kept staring at him like he was an alien, or something similar to it. “No, I meant…” Alec sighed in defeat. “You know what? It’s fine, you don’t have to answer anymore.”
After that, it was mostly quiet, something that Tom was grateful for. He didn’t want to keep interacting with them, even less so when he did not understand half of the things that they talked about. It was frustrating; he was used to understanding everything from his surroundings, everything they told him, but now he was lost. He needed to find a way to go back soon, before he lost his mind.
Tom also needed to go back, just so that he did not have to wear the ridiculous clothing that the muggles had come up with. When they entered one of the best clothing stores -according to them, at least-, he did not see too many things that were quite for his taste, which made it much harder for him to decide what to buy. Alec tried to help, but his sense of style could not be more further away from Tom’s. He was more about being extravagant and using all kinds of colors, and Tom could not picture himself wearing something like that in his entire life. He would rather lose his chances at immortality.
While they were still at it, Florence and Sidney were looking through clothes from the other side of the store. “You never told me you had such a cute cousin.” Sidney said suddenly, grabbing a black sweater and eyeing it.
Florence raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
Sidney shrugged. “It doesn’t, I guess, but if you’re going to bring him around, at least tell me beforehand so that I can look more presentable.”
Florence laughed. “Why? Don’t tell me you like him already?”
Her friend bit her lip, holding back a smile. “Well, not necessarily, but…”
“But, you know,” Sidney said. Florence had an idea of what she was going to say. “if something happens, it happens, right?”
“Right.” Florence was starting to think that maybe lying about Tom being her cousin was not the best idea. She barely knew anything about the guy and she didn’t trust him, so she really didn’t want Sidney getting too involved because God only knew what he was capable of. The last thing she wanted was for any of her friends to get hurt.
But before she could lose herself in her own thoughts, Alec had made his way towards them. “Where’s Tom?” Sidney asked.
“He’s still looking for something to pick.” He answered, motioning to the many racks behind him. “He has a very… specific taste, I guess.”
The two girls nodded in understanding. Alec leaned in closer. “He’s so fucking hot, though.”
“Right?” Sidney hushed.
Florence groaned. “Seriously, you too?”
Alec raised his arms innocently. “Well, who could blame me?”
“I’m done with you two.” Florence rolled her eyes before walking away from them, leaving the two of them giggling like maniacs.tom
Ministry gala with Dratomione <3
Sorry for super late post i forgot tumblr exist sometimes aksjakjskakss
Coming in dark with Day 17 of the @creature-kinktober fest (Venom/Parseltongue). (I know it's a day late, but at least it's up now, right?)
I got real hung up on Day 3 because it has turned into A Fic, and I'm a slow-ass writer. So, after 2 weeks of agonizing about getting behind, I finally got my act together for this non-con, un-HEA Tomione/Volmione one-shot.
Hermione Granger is captured, and Voldemort knows the best way to break her Occlumency walls. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Hermione pushed herself to her feet and immediately froze. Grey skin shifted smoothly into silvery scales, an inky black zig zag swooping down his back like a serrated blade. His torso stood erect while his long, thick serpent’s tail slithered beneath him to coil into a ball. Reddish-brown eyes, like chunks of amber, with onyx-black slits for pupils pinned Hermione in place. She felt her pulse skip into full tilt, like a rabbit high tailing it for safety. A long, thin, forked tongue fluttered out from between lips that slid into a sly smile after sensing her reaction. Tom Riddle - Lord Voldemort, himself - had come to see her. Quick as a strike, Voldemort’s arms snatched Hermione before her fight-or-flight could catch up to her revelation. His hard body was all muscle beneath his skin and scales, and though she squirmed valiantly, she really had no shot at escape.
Tags: Major Character Death; Rape/Non-Con; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; Dark fic; War Fic; Prisoner!Hermione Granger; Voyeurism; Non-Consensual Voyeurism; Everything is Non-Consensual; Explicit Sexual Content; Venom - freeform; Paralysis; Naga!Tom Riddle; Naga!Voldemort; Choking; Nipple Play; Forced Orgasm; Occlumency (Harry Potter); Legilimency (Harry Potter); Eaten Alive; But Not Vore; HP Creature Kinktober 2021; Un-HEA
When Hermione went back to Hogwarts for her 7th year, Ron wrote her letters every single day. It wasn’t until McGonagall finally let him visit her using the Floo Network in the Headmaster’s office.
welcome to hogwarts, tom! toshiro mifune is now taken.
I saw tom riddle in the Great Hall the other day. Apparently the fifty five year old slytherin is a pureblood and identifies as cis man (he/him) and aromantic pansexual. They’re here at Hogwarts as a visitor. They look a lot like toshiro mifune, I wonder if they’ve noticed! Either way, the Daily Prophet says they’re cunning, analytical, and pure evil. I hope to see them around! (aloy)
Chapter 17 of To Live is the Rarest Thing is up!
A disastrous trip to a waterpark (thanks, Dudley!) unleashes almost 200 lifetimes worth of memories, and now Harry is stuck as a ten-year-old while his soulmate is a wraith set on killing him.
A very old and cynical Harry sets about correcting Tom’s poor life-choices while avoiding Dumbledore and his Order’s panicked searches for the Boy Who Disappeared.
As far as Harry is concerned, the whole world can fuck off. He couldn’t care less he’s finally Harry Potter again, or that he can finally see his original loved ones again. The only thing that matters is getting Tom back safe and sane and with his soul intact.