#tinsels

both of you had given up communicating with each other, expressing irritation and anger by scowls, eye rolls, and loud sighing. tom had gotten used—but not unaffected—to your perverted feelings, irately ignoring his penis when it twitched.

he had gotten so used to his hatred for you, he nearly forgot about his distaste for dumbledore. the deputy headmaster catching him off guard during transfiguration, surprised by the young man's less than perfect behavior. tom had tried, so hard for the past few weeks, to not show his disdain towards the situation and you in public, but there was only so much a man could mask.

"tom," dumbledore had asked him after class, with you waiting patiently outside. for the first time since he had visited him in the orphanage, the man hadn't looked at him as if he were a threat. "how is the arrangement holding up? any issues that need to be addressed?"

"no, sir." tom gritted his teeth, smiling a pinch too hard. "everything is alright ... well, as much as it can be. has there been any development towards a solution to fix this predicament?"

dumbledore had the decency to act disheartened, though tom knew better. the longer he was attached to you, the less dumbledore had to worry about his schemes. "i'm afraid not. not to worry, the headmaster and i are looking at other sources. i give you my word we'll find a way."

tom nodded, leaving the room feeling nothing but vexation.

"i think we should kill longbottom," you said casually one night, your voice slightly echoing in the dark room.

he froze, weighting your words. was it a test? to see if he was the monster you suspected he was? perhaps an order from dumbledore to weed him out? but he felt no deception, no genuineness, but no deception.

"are you making a joke?" tom asked, sitting up from his makeshift bed on the floor.

you arched a brow, staring down at him. "am i not allowed to?"

tom kept his eyes on you, only laying back down when you turned your back to him. he took the olive branch, mentally tired from the psychological—-and physical—torture.

"i know this spot in the dark forest." offered tom, the corner of his lips quirking up at the thought of feeding the idiot to the wolves.

"of course you do," you scoffed, and tom felt unexplainably pained. "how uncreative."

he scowled, the olive branch felt hollow, as if disguised as fireplace poker to incinerate him. "what do you suggest, then?"

by the morning, tom had gotten no sleep, and laid on his lap was a list of ways to rid of elias longbottom. ways a lot more innovative than his idea. he wondered if he was going mad at the thought of inviting you to his group of knights.

another week passes, fallen snow sticks on the ground, and christmas decorations are thrown around the castle. tom continues to read, trying to calculate how to severe the magical bond without killing himself in the process; he'd be more than delighted if you died. a bonus.

slughorn had asked for volunteers for a new project he was supervising, and ever the perfect student, tom had offered himself as a participant. you had snickered beside him as slughorn revealed it was to decorate the great hall christmas tree during hogsmeade weekend. your laughter came to an end when you realized tom had indirectly volunteered you.

his genuine smile was a lot scarier than his evil smirk, you thought. but more handsome.

tom stared at the towering pine in front of you both, decked in exactly two ornaments so far, one placed by you, one placed by him, and both of you had glared at each other the entire time.

you found it easy to get into christmas spirit, twirling the tinsels around the tree whilst christmas music blared in the great hall. the castle was empty of students, and slughorn had shown up to gloat about his star students working together, babble about his legendary parties, and dip before the elves had dragged the christmas tree in.

"that's hideous." tom scoffed, studying the golden tinsels puked on the evergreen tree. "it's as if you allowed a pack of cornish pixies to have an orgy on it."

after a month of your era inappropriate, foul language, tom had taken to using your own words against you. he no longer had qualms about a woman speaking so abrasively.

you hold up an ornament, a fake silvery icicle. "here. this should replace the stick up your ass."

with narrowed eyes, tom snatched the ornament from your hand, hanging it up on the tree. his decoration box was filled with silver and green, suspiciously slytherin.

"why is everything in your box monochrome? does the concept of color and festivity offend your bland taste?" you arch a brow, carelessly throwing red tinsels onto your part of the tree.

"your lack of color coordination offends me deeply," he replied, glaring at the messy gold tinsels tangled with red ornaments. "it's disgustingly gryffindor."

you glare back at the slytherin, watching him carefully hang a snake ornament on the tree. "red and gold are christmas colors, you cunt."

tom takes a physical step back, eyes widening slightly at your words. he hates how you can surprise him so easily, he hates it even more that he found amusement, albeit shock, with how you express your emotions.

christmas music continues to swell as you both glared at one another. tom reaches for the gold tinsel wrapped around the tree and rips it off, golden tinsels floating in the air and landing on your hair.

with a scoff, you grabbed a red ornament from your box and threw it at his chest. it bounced off his robes and rolled down to his feet. tom's brows furrowed, his hand snaking into his own box.

tom lifted one silver ornament, one of those ridiculous, delicate, blown‑glass serpents he'd procured specially for this project, and held it between two fingers like a weapon.

you raised your chin. "don't you dare."

he dared.

the ornament arced through the air, glittering ominously, and thunked harmlessly into the tree beside you. you blinked. tom blinked. he had clearly meant to hit you, but would rather die than admit his aim had betrayed him.

you laugh, leaning against the tree for support whilst tom raged in front of you. "your aim is so ass."

"can you not!" he seethed, fighting the urge to stomp his foot like a petulant child. "use such repugnant language? you are a harlot!"

you gasped mockingly, pure glee pumping through your veins at the future dark lord throwing a tantrum at your choice of words. "as if you could afford me."

tom grits his teeth so hard he's positive you heard one of them chip. he turned back to the barren tree, three ornament hanging on and half a tinsel scattered across one side. "i will not let you turn this into a circus. this tree will be ... exemplary.”

you snorted. “riddle, the only exemplary thing here is your reality‑defying belief that you’re good at this.”

he ignored you and drew his wand and flicked it at a box of silver ornaments; they obediently levitated into a perfect grid formation, each one precisely equidistant from the other.

you snorted. "you're arranging them by angle.”

“they must be symmetrical,” tom huffed, as though it was obvious. “otherwise it looks deranged.”

you grabbed a handful of red ornaments and chucked all seven at once toward your side of the tree. they thudded in, bounced, tangled, and one lodged itself squarely into the tinsel gordian knot you had created.

“fixed,” you declared.

tom inhaled sharply, a long, violent, suffering inhale. “why do you insist on being feral?”

“because you hate it,” you answered sweetly.

he did. he absolutely hated it. hated how your emotions punched through the bond and rattled around in him like loose change in a dryer.

he reached for one of his fragile glass serpents to hang it precisely at eye level, only to feel your eyes on him.

“why snakes?” you asked, leaning forward. “are you overcompensating for something?”

tom froze mid‑hang. “do you ever intend to stop speaking?”

“not when you react like that, no.”

he shoved the ornament onto the tree a bit too hard and nearly cracked it. the frustration flared in him, yours answering it, overlapping like two badly tuned strings. he hissed under his breath and stepped back, trying and failing to regain composure.

“you've mangled the entire left side,” he accused.

“you've sterilized the right side. it looks like a hospital ward.”

“this is a christmas tree, not—”

“an altar to your ego?”

tom's glare was cold enough to put frost on the ornaments. "i despise you and your entire wellbeing. i despise your bloodline for creating such a vile, rude, obnoxious, sinful, tantalizing, voluptuous monster."

both of you stop to think about his choice of words. you smirk as you realize he indirectly called you sexy. "you think i'm pretty?"

he glowers, but an undeniable shade of red flushes across his cheeks. "i think you're wicked and incredibly depraved—what are you doing?"

you made your way towards him, leaning close to him as he leans back. you grab an ornament from his box, shaking the hogwarts crest between your fingers. "just perusing your assortments."

tom feels your breasts against his chest, and he stumbles back against the table, unable to move away. "must you do so so close to me?"

you felt slight panic from him along with a shot of lust. heat pooled around your stomach at the thought of having sex on the slytherin table. you smile up at him, biting your lip. you wonder what it would be like to kiss his.

reaching further into the box, you pull out green tinsels and wrap it around the future dark lord's neck. you heard his breath catch as your nails grazed the side of his neck, and the tension quickly felt heavy.

to ease it, you leaned back an inch, tightening the tinsel around tom's neck. when he doesn't immediately rip it off, you can't help yourself. "it seems as if the bond has helped you enjoy choking as i do."

it's enough to break any man, and tom riddle was a horny one at that.

he smashes his lips against yours, bending his neck to capture your lips. it's clumsy and overwhelming for someone who's whole facade is being perfect, though he can't be faulted for never having kissed anyone.

it catches you off guard, your lips still against his frantic ones as you try to make sense of the situation. you vanish your thoughts as you guide him into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his tinsel-covered neck.

his lips are surprisingly soft against yours, and you slow down the rhythm, moaning into the kiss as you push him to sit down on the table. without breaking the kiss, you climbed onto his lap, his hands immediately gripping your waist.