#seollem

“You’re not in this for the cards. You only want to humiliate me by making me take off my clothes,” she accused, setting her cards face down on the table.

“Something like that,” he admitted.

“Let’s level the playing field, then.” She slid one of her cards to the side. Then she pulled off one of her shirts, leaving her shoulders bare in a camisole. His eyes widened in surprise. “I’ll take off something for every card I set aside.”

“I get to choose what you take off, then,” he demanded, blatantly admiring the freshly revealed skin and making her feel horribly self-conscious.

“Not a chance,” she shot back.

“No deal, then,” he shrugged, turning his gaze back to his cards and pretending to rearrange them. “I’ve almost won, anyway.”

“If you win right away, this whole game would have been for nothing on your end.”

“How so?”

“Would you be satisfied if I simply lost the stage like this, fully clothed?” she asked, scrambling to think of a way to turn this in her favor.

He nodded. “I do enjoy watching you lose.”

She scowled.

“But… I would enjoy it much more to see you lose while nearly naked, clinging to the hope that you might actually win.” He waved his two cards in front of his face. “And the odds are not in your favor.”

“Alright, you get to choose, then,” she conceded, crossing her arms.

Tom had been right to suggest something to take the edge off. Had she taken him seriously, perhaps she wouldn’t be six rounds in, completely sockless, wishing she had a buzz to ease her nerves and her irritation, as he was obviously enjoying watching her experience this stone-cold sober.

Smarmy git.

He played a yellow three, and she frowned at her pathetic hand, ignoring his smirk. She could take off another of her dwindling clothing items, or test the odds of potentially getting a yellow card. Tom was only down a jacket and a tie. Knowing him, he would go straight for his shirt next. The thought made her blush. Hoping he didn’t notice, she drew another card and flipped it face up onto the stack with a deep sigh of relief.

Yellow reverse. The gods were smiling down on her.

“Just tell me the truth, will you? I’m getting sick of half-answers from all of you,” she huffed.

“I’d be happy to, but the truth lies at the end of Stage 2.”

“Let’s get on with it then.” She threw her arms in the air in frustration. Every interaction was like a game in itself at this point. It was a wonder she hadn’t already crossed the finish line.

“Right now?” He raised an eyebrow, finally looking at her.

“No time like the present,” she insisted.

“My thoughts exactly,” he agreed, rising from his chair with purpose.

She watched him walk to the cupboard behind his desk, eyes narrowed. “So, what is it this time?”

“Another game.” Of course it was. Designed for him to win, she was so sure.

“I’m so tired of games,” she groaned.

He laughed. “That doesn’t bode well for your career.”

Hermione and Lavender had fought before, especially in the beginning of their freshman year of uni. Massive blowouts over the pettiest things that she once thought they’d never overcome. Lavender taking too much time in the bathroom in the morning led to Hermione being late for class, missing five valuable minutes of prime notetaking; At the time, the offense was unforgivable. 

When Hermione’s noisy stress-cleaning at 4am, three hours before Lavender had an exam, led to a spat over Hermione’s inconsideracy, which in turn spurred Hermione to lecture Lavender about how she wouldn't have had to clean in the first place if Lavender weren’t so messy; the argument that ensued was apocalyptic. 

Lavender getting ill all over the bathroom, and then using Hermione’s face towel to clean it up had led to Hermione calling Lavender a disgusting, sloppy drunk; Lavender didn’t speak to Hermione for weeks. 

Somehow, through it all,  they’d managed to strike some sort of balance, and walked the line between best friends and roommates. What felt like thousands of midnight meltdowns and drunken bar fights to defend each other’s honor later, they’d sorted it out.

But this… Hermione knew the instant she raced up the stairs after her fleeing friend that this, they might not recover from.

Hermione marched into the conference room with all the false confidence of a man in a sorority house. Fake it till you make it, Lavender always said. And with years of testing that theory, she found that Lavender may finally have been right about something.

While Draco schmoozed the board members, a specialty of his, she busied herself with the easels, setting up the story boards in a line across the front of the room. She could feel the eyes of the executives burning into her back, as they often did in this industry. That was all right, though. She was well-prepared to gracefully deflect the backhanded compliments about how impressive she was for a woman. Another specialty of Draco’s: training her to suppress her feminist urges in the corporate world. She might have been screaming internally the entire time, but at least she got the investments she needed. And that, he assured her, was what was most important.

She stood back to admire her work once more, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She’d practiced for this. She was ready. This game was her baby, her everything, four years in the making. It was good, exciting, suitable for all ages and genders. The future of gaming. All she had to do was convince this room full of suit-clad men with no gaming experience of the same.

-Infinite Spin, Chapter 22. Read it here.

“Already planning the wedding?” she teased him with a nudge.

“Absolutely not. But Tom does seem smitten with Hermione, and you know how young, idealistic people are. If things get serious and he runs off to California with her…” he trails off uncomfortably. “I simply want to make sure she’s in good hands.”

“He does have very nice hands.” Flip.

The stars looked different from up here. More menacing than dazzling. The once-calming glittering black of the night sky opened up before her like the jaws of a faceless monster, eager to swallow the Edinburgh whole, and all of them with it…

Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger, Harry Potter x Alone Out Here AU

inspired by @batmansymbol's amazing book.

Tom found Hermione exactly where he thought she’d be: sniffing the black leather binding of a book on African tribes and bouncing on her heels. He chuckled at her childlike excitement, reminding him of the way she’d run her sapphire-painted fingers lovingly over the newly released Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartridge the month before.

He wondered if she would dance while reading this, too.

Read it here!