#problematic romances

[ariel-riddle]

There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the Great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike … but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me.

Fave Ship Series: Tomarry

[ariel-riddle]

Hello, lovely~ I know you’re probably busy with your life and current WIPs, but I have a question. So, you posted this idea of a fic about Hermione adopting Tom as a little kid and I was wondering if you would write about it. Again, i don’t mean to overstep or anything. Anyway, have a nice day~

Of course! I’m working on ch4, now (it’s been one of my nano projects), but here’s something from ch3.

If anyone wants to help alpha or beta this mess, let me know! Should be about ten chapters, no more than 50k. Famous last words.

Hello, Tom greets, unconcerned if he’s caught hissing, but careful not to say too much. His fingers form a ladder for her. The snake flicks its tongue in response, before tilting her head to study him. “I want this one,” he turns to tell his guardian, all but forgetting their chilly exchange moments before.

“She’s gorgeous,” Hermione kneels down to examine the creature, placing her hand on Tom’s arm. “What do you want to name her?”

Tom tries not to scoff. Snakes already have their own names, and to call them something else is insulting, but she can’t have know that. What’s your name? he whispers to the green beauty.

Zephra, she replies, what are you called, little one?

Tom clenches his jaw, not happy to disclose it, and not particularly happy with the simplicity of his name. Tom Riddle, he reluctantly offers, would you like to leave this place with me?

The snake doesn’t respond, but instead twines her lithe body around Tom’s arm to peer at his guardian with inquisitive red eyes. Who’s this? she inquires. Feeling protective, his back straightens and he narrows his eyes at the creature. The snake’s tongue flicks out to taste the skin of Hermione’s wrist, and she doesn’t flinch away. She’s been in the presence of the Ancient One, young master. Tom frowns, pondering the odd statement. The Ancient One?

This is Hermione, he hisses with an edge of possessiveness. She cares for me.

I like her taste, Zephra says, can we keep her?

Tom turns wide eyes back to Hermione to find her watching him closely in quiet amusement. She doesn’t seem bothered by he and Zephra’s interaction, or his unusual affinity towards her. Tom wonders at his snake’s assessment of his guardian. He’s always held the opinion of snake’s in high regard. They are good judges of people, he’s learned long ago.

“I think they’ve bonded,” Hermione remarks to the shopkeeper, “how much will it be?”

Tom cradles Zephra protectively to his side, allowing the little snake to stay curled along his wrist and refusing to cage her for the walk home.

I will keep her. I will make her adore me.

[ariel-riddle]

Harry, however, had never been less interested in Quidditch; he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy.

Fave Ship Series: Drarry

[ariel-riddle]

When you fall in love, it is a temporary madness.

Fave Ship Series: Hansy

[thevarletlush]

[ariel-riddle]

Just wanted to share a little project that I definitely shouldn’t be working on, but the idea won’t leave me alone. It’s a mess and unbeta’d and I’m not exactly sure where some of the plot lines are going, but I’m three chapters in, and if my outline is correct this should be about a ten ch fic. I’ll start posting once I’m close to finishing, but for now here’s a little snippet.

Her Charge | In which Hermione is tasked with traveling back to the past and assassinating Tom Riddle before he becomes too powerful, but finds herself becoming his guardian instead.

The orphanage doesn’t typically receive visitors at this hour.

He’s greeted by a frazzled Mrs Cole, and his sharp mind rapidly puzzles together the scene he arrives to.

Indeed, they have received a visitor this evening. What’s more, he’s confronted with a strange woman, but her presentation is quite the opposite than that of the woman he met earlier that day.

Where unruly brown curls had captured his attention before, it’s sleek, coiffed locks he sees now, styled and arranged in a smart twist. Her hair frames delicate features, and Tom can’t imagine her having business here. She wears a chocolate brown drop waist dress and high T-strap heels. She carries herself like she’s used to dishing out orders, and her expression is cool and bored.

“There must be some mistake,” Mrs Cole is saying, “I wasn’t informed of this.”

“I assure you,” the woman makes an imperious gesture with her hands, “you’ll find everything in order.”

Mrs Cole shuffles through a sheaf of papers the woman seems to have handed her and Tom edges discreetly closer to get a better look. “I. . .well yes, it does all seem to be here, but you see, I wasn’t informed anyone would be leaving today.”

Leaving? Tom’s eyes snap up to the woman again who seems quite unconcerned with Mrs Cole’s pleas. He thinks she must be coming for one of the younger children—they always want the younger ones. He cranes his neck to view the paper and steps closer, but the top sheet is disturbingly blank. He examines Mrs Cole and can’t surmise what she’s so busy reading, but her lips are moving as if she sees something Tom cannot.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, she glances up and catches Tom in her line of sight. Her eyes narrow when she sees him, as if he’s somehow to blame for this odd turn of events.

She turns again to the woman, her eyes beseeching. “You can’t mean our Tom.”

And Tom freezes in his tracks, holding in a stunned breath.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” she recites, “is there another?”

The weight of her words crash over him and his eyes snap up to the woman who radiates an impressive amount of power and control over the situation. He’s at a loss for why she’s here, why she’s asked for him, and then it occurs to him.

Can this. . .

No.

She can’t be that good of an actor. She can’t be that invested in retrieving him. But the hair—though differently styled—is the same exact hue. And he supposes anyone can change their clothes. She’s wearing rouge and a beige stain on her lips instead of the grime she’d chosen to adorn herself with earlier. In the end, it’s her eyes that oust her. The deep brown eyes that boldly find his, and seem to skewer him to his very soul.

Tom is stunned and he’s pretty sure he’s standing there gaping. Finally, he remembers himself, and takes in a breath as he slips his mask back in place.

When he realizes his error, it’s too late and Mrs Cole has already seen his interest. A gleam passes over her eyes and Tom can practically see the idea forming in the matron’s mind.

“He has an appointment,” she whispers lowly, and the stunning woman whose promised to save him from this place and might not actually be a tramp after all, stoops in closely—albeit reluctantly—to hear. “A special visitor is coming. . .” and then Mrs Cole is pulling the woman aside to explain further, no doubt about the ‘special priest’ who’s been summoned thanks to the first botched. . .Tom doesn’t want to think about it, but he is suddenly quite sure he wants to kill Mrs Cole—quite earnestly—actually. Something palpable cracks in the air, and it feels like a current of what electricity might feel like.

The swotty bitch whispers in hushed tones to his Might-Have-Been-Savior, and Tom feels his hope deflating. She won’t want him now! Mrs Cole will make sure of that!

Much to his surprise, the woman leans away and laughs.

The sound is. . .not unpleasant. Lulling, even, though Tom can tell it isn’t genuine. There’s no amusement in her eyes. On the contrary, she seems disgusted, and her disgust seems rightfully directed at Mrs Cole.

She waves a dismissive hand. “That won’t be necessary,” and there is an undeniable authority to her words, “call it off, if you like, it’s no concern to me.”

For the first time, he’s aware of the audience they’ve drawn. The other children look on enviously and Tom takes an involuntary step closer to the woman who has come to claim him. He revels in their envy and his eyes take on a greedy sheen. She’s come for him like she promised, and not even Mrs Cole and her countless tales against him can push her away. Tom feels something that might be gratefulness well in his chest.

Mrs Cole looks aghast. Her mouth flaps like a fish, but nothing comes out. Finally, she manages to make one last ditch effort to postpone Tom’s escape. “I’ll have him packed and ready to go in the morning.”

Tom’s pulse pounds. How many different things can happen between now and then? Perhaps he’ll do something to anger Mrs Cole, and then he’ll have to answer to Eric. Tom doesn’t want that. He can very well find himself in the hospital and by the time he’s come to, the woman will have grown tired of waiting for him.

“We leave tonight.” Her crisp tone brokers no room for argument. She turns, and for the second time that evening he feels the heat of her full attention centered solely on him. A smile lights up her face, transforming her cool demeanor into one of abject concern and affection. It feels glorious. The other children’s envy is palpable, now. “Tom, dear,” she leans down and extends a hand in invitation. “Are you ready to leave?”