Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at

http://download.archiveofourown.org/works/9487712.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Character: Hermione Granger, Tom Riddle
Additional Tags: Teacher-Student Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Smutty
goodness
Collections: Lemonade
Stats: Published: 2017-01-28 Words: 4997

Professor Riddle
by jadepresley

Summary

When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of
obsessive love - Horace Slughorn

Notes

This oneshot is by Jade Presley and is not eligible for voting consideration.

Disclaimer: All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to
JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this writing.

See the end of the work for more notes

When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive
love - Horace Slughorn

Most things are much simpler in theory.

For example, Headmistress McGonagall finding a replacement Professor within a day of their
usual Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher being called away is, in theory, a good thing. The
transition for Hermione will be quick and smooth; shes so far ahead in her seventh year course
work that the disruption will barely register for her.

Simple. Easy.

In theory.

She's late to her first class with him; the prefects had summoned her in the middle of the night
when a group of students were caught drinking, and she overslept.

Of course, being Head Girl allows her certain privileges that other students are not privy to, and
it's unlikely any other professor would begrudge her arriving a minute or two late to class -- but
she hasn't even had a chance to meet him yet, and she hates the thought of making a bad
impression.

She skids to a stop outside the already closed classroom door and pulls out her textbook, silently
cursing herself again for oversleeping. In her haste to get inside she misjudges her push, and the
door swings open with a loud screech of hinges and a thud as it swings back on itself. A furious
blush creeps up her neck as all eyes snap towards her.

"Ah, you must be Hermione."

The deep voice is soft and laced with a hint of amusement, and she freezes when she sees the face
it belongs to.

He's at the front of the classroom, sitting atop his desk, facing the class. The sleeves of his navy
blue shirt are pushed informally up to his elbows, a thin sliver of pale chest peeking through the
spot where the top button is undone. His dark hair is styled neatly across his forehead and his
piercing eyes seem to glimmer as he regards her.

Hermione suddenly feels incredibly aware of the tendrils of wild hair falling across her face, the
hasty knot she had thrown her curls in mid-run seeming childish next to the perfectly polished man
watching her. Her flush deepens, and she pulls her textbook closer to her chest.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she says, immediately horrified by how unsteady her voice sounds.
"Professor... er - "

"Riddle," he offers, giving her a lazy smile that shows his teeth and makes her breath hitch in her
throat. "It's quite alright - I was still introducing myself. If you would like to take your seat?"

Hermione hurries to sit down by Harry and Ron, the burning feeling of his eyes following her as
she moves. She shushes her friends when they try to ask why shes late, grateful that they seem to
be oblivious to the sudden heat shes feeling.

Get a hold of yourself, she scolds herself. He's a teacher!

She lifts her gaze again and finds his eyes still on her, and she quickly becomes very interested in
the grainy patterns across the parchment on her desk.

"For today," Riddle is saying, "I'd like you to revise chapter fourteen, and then once I've been able
to review your current curriculum more thoroughly, we'll move forward. Hermione?"

Hermione jumps and hopes her face is impassive as she looks up again.

"Sir?"
His lips quirk at the edges. "Headmistress McGonagall has advised me that you may be able to aid
me this afternoon with a full review of the curriculum. I'd be very grateful for your assistance, if
you have the time?"

"Er - yes. Yes, of course I can," she says quickly. "No problem. This afternoon is fine."

Can't afford distractions this year , one part of her brain screams at her as he shoots her that smile
again before turning back to address the class.

So handsome, though the other part sighs in rebuttal as she opens her textbook and tries to throw
herself into revision

He's sitting behind his desk when she arrives at his office later that day, parchment and books
spread out in front of him. His dark hair is ruffled now from where he must have been running his
hands through it all day, and Hermiones first thought is to wonder if this is what his bed hair
looks like. Her second thought is that she needs to get a grip.

He's frowning when she enters, but when he looks up and sees her his expression softens.

"Hermione," he says warmly, standing to greet her. "I'm so glad you're here."

Her cheeks warm at the casual comment.

"It's no trouble," she tells him, returning what she hopes is a confident smile. "I'm happy to help."

How very accommodating of you, he says, standing. "I'd hoped to meet you properly before
this, but unfortunately I was held up, and class was rather rushed today." He steps around the desk
and holds out his hand. "Professor Tom Riddle."

She takes his hand, and the feel of his fingers wrapped around her own causes strange sensations
to erupt in her stomach.

"You had hoped to meet me, sir?" she asks a little breathlessly, forcing her eyes not to stray to the
pale chest still peeking through his shirt.

"Of course," he smiles again. "Headmistress McGonagall assures me that you're the most reliable
student she has, and she was confident you would have me up to speed with my seventh year's
course work in no time."

What did you expect? her brain scoffs. Why else would he have wanted to meet you?

She realises their hands are still linked and quickly pulls hers away, embarrassed that she didn't let
go sooner.

"Yes, of course," she says, dropping her eyes to hide the ridiculous and inexplicable
disappointment she's feeling. "Shall we get started, then?"

Two hours have passed before she knows it.

He summons a chair for her, placing it beside his own. His arm brushes against hers more than
once throughout the afternoon, sending a jolt of electricity through her body each time. She can
smell his sweet cologne, and every so often, when she answers a question, he turns and holds her
gaze with eyes so intense it makes her breath catch. By the time they are finished reviewing the
first chunk of the course work her palms are clammy, the back of her neck feels hot, and her
insides are tingling. She has never reacted to anyone this way, has never been so affected so much
by someones mere proximity.

"Your knowledge of this subject is rather impressive, Hermione," he tells her, flicking his wand to
clear the books and parchment from his desk. "More advanced than some of the fully qualified
witches and wizards I know. Would I be correct in assuming this extends into your other classes?"

Hermione's chest swells at the praise. "I try to keep ahead where I can, sir," she says, not hiding
her smile.

"Professor McGonagall said you spend quite a lot of your time studying," he comments neutrally.

"I suppose I probably spend more time in the library than most," she admits.

"Your dedication to your education is admirable," he says, his voice low. "I do hope, though, that
your time isn't all spent on business. He tilts his head, considering her. Do you allow yourself
time for pleasure, too, Hermione?"

Hermione falters, her mouth dry as his blue eyes bore into hers.

"I - uh - "

He chuckles. "Forgive my questioning," he says. "You are a rather intriguing young lady, and I
find myself curious to know more about you. Perhaps you would deign to assist me again in the
future?"

All she can do is nod, and then he is dismissing her. She doesn't realise shes holding her breath
until the door closes behind her.

She often finds him watching her. He never looks away, never appears unnerved that he's been
caught by her, and he never, she realises with a strange swell of pride and trepidation, seems to
pay anyone else the same attention. He simply holds her gaze and offers her that lazy smile that
causes her stomach to knot.

She's constantly talking herself down from reading too much into the looks, biting her lip a little
harder every time he makes an offhand comment and is seemingly oblivious to the implications
behind it, because he couldn't mean it in that way . Hes a teacher, a professional, and shes
nothing more than a silly school girl with a crush.

Itll pass , she tells herself. Dont dwell on it. Dont put him in a bad position by making it
obvious.

None of it means anything; calling her to his office several times a week to assist him, his hand
lingering on her lower back as he ushers her from the room, the pointed looks when he says I look
forward to seeing you again; I'm glad you came; don't forget to take time for pleasure too,
Hermione - none of it means what her brain twists it into.

That doesn't mean she can't use the memory of the words, of the casual touches, when she's alone
at night. She closes her eyes as her hands slip beneath her nightgown, and she's lost almost
immediately in the image of his broad hands touching her; of his lips ghosting along her jaw; of
his skin, hot and perfect, against her own, and his name is always on her lips as she brings herself
to climax.

Harry and Ron dont like like him -- they think something seems off -- but she waves away their
concerns when they voice them.

Hes a new teacher, and I know our course work back to front. He needs my help.

Needs me, her brain supplies unhelpfully.

Cant someone else help him? Ron grumbles.

No, Hermione snaps too quickly as the image of another faceless girl taking her place, being the
recipient of his smiles, his looks, flashes through her head. She clears her throat. No, I - sorry, but
you know what I mean. No one else knows the work.

And if, after that, Professor Riddles summons always seem to coincide with her scheduled plans
with Harry and Ron, meaning she has to cancel on her friends -- and if he stops asking if she will
assist and simply tells her that her help is required -- she doesn't notice.

Shes walking through a dimly lit corridor, heading back to her dorm having finished patrolling
the halls, when she bumps into him.

He reaches out and grips her arm to steady her when she stumbles, and she finds herself pressed
closer to him than she should be.

Im sorry, sir, she says hastily, making to step back, but he doesnt let go of her arm.

What are you doing out here alone, Hermione? he asks softly. His usually blue eyes look grey
in the muted light provided by the sparse torches mounted on the walls. The pressure on her arm
increases, and she feels herself leaning forwards, closer to the warmth of his broad chest.

I was headed back to my room, she tells him. I was finished rounds and I -

She is cut off by a single finger brushing across her forehead, pushing an errant curl back off her
face. The touch is soft, lingering, and then he traces a slow line along the side of her face, down
her cheek and to her jaw. A shiver runs through her and her eyelids flutter.

Dangerous things lurk in the shadows, Hermione, Professor Riddle murmurs. Be mindful of
who you find yourself alone with in these halls.

Dangerous things, Professor? she whispers, lamenting as he pulls his hands away from her.

Youve nothing to worry about, of course he says, still close enough that she feels the swirl of
his breath as he exhales. Not with me watching.

He is eyeing her with a fierce intensity, and shes sure she imagines it when his gaze falls to her
lips.

Good night, Hermione, he says pointedly, and then his lips quirk at the edges. And have...
pleasant dreams.
Its absurd to think he might know the things she thinks of in the privacy of her bed, of the images
her mind conjures each night revolving around the fingers that had just caressed her face - its not
as though he can read her mind - but she cant help the momentary panic she feels that he knows,
that he wont summon her anymore because shes crossed a line.

He is gone before she can speak again, and the corridor feels much colder without him there.

He doesnt mention their meeting again over the next week. He continues to call on her, to watch
her, to let his fingers graze her back when he ushers her from the room, but he never
acknowledges their strange conversation.

Hermione wonders if he is trying to forget it happened, if the intimate touch had crossed a line that
he doesnt want to risk crossing again. And then she wonders if shes remembering it wrong, if
shes made it into something more than it was.

Her mouth goes dry when she looks up one evening at dinner and finds his eyes locked on her; a
darkness, an unmistakable hunger, emanating from them.

He crooks a finger at her, beckoning her to him. She moves without thought, clenching her
shaking hands, and approaches him at the staff table.

I require your assistance this evening, Hermione, he tells her, his stiff voice more formal than
usual while surrounded by other staff. Be at my office in one hour.

She nods obediently, not trusting herself to speak, because this time its unmistakable when his
eyes linger on her lips.

She feels rather foolish when they spend two hours covering the coursework of the sixth years.
Shes not sure what she had been expecting, or hoping for, but she is adamant as she packs away
her quills that she needs to stop getting so carried away with this. Its inappropriate of her; wrong.

"I hope you don't find my need for your help burdensome, Hermione," he says as he stacks the
parchment and books they've just finished with on his bookshelf. "I would hate to be a cause for
distraction."

You have no idea, she thinks with mirth as she stands and stretches her legs.

"Not at all, Professor Riddle," she assures him. "I like assisting you. I enjoy your company."

She blushes when she realises what she's admitted.

"Do you, now?" he muses as she tries to cover her embarrassment.

"Well, I mean, you're an excellent professor," she tells him, fiddling with a pleat of her school skirt
to avoid looking at him. "Your... insights, and your mind, they're quite fascinating, and your
conversation is always stimulating and I - " She's rambling. "I'm sorry. I'm going to stop before I
make a bigger fool of myself."
His low chuckle is such an indecent sound that Hermione almost groans aloud.

"Don't be embarrassed," he tells her. He reaches out to touch two fingers lightly to her wrist, and
she's certain he must be able to feel her erratic pulse. "And don't be sorry. I also find you rather...
stimulating."

She looks up and swallows thickly as his eyes bore into hers, never breaking contact, the feel of
his fingers still burning in the most pleasant way against her skin.

He has inched toward her at some point, and she's surrounded by his intoxicating scent.

"I should - I should get back to my dorm," she says, paralyzed by the eyes that are holding her in
place.

"Yes, you should," he murmurs, though he makes no move to step away from her.

The fingers touching her wrist begin to move, feather-light strokes caressing her pulse point.

"Professor Riddle - " she breathes, and he smiles, slow and purposeful. He reaches to cup her
cheek, and his hand is so warm against her skin.

"You should know," he says, "that I didn't come here because of a desire to impart my wisdom
into the minds of eager students."

She's trembling. Terrified. Burning with want.

"Then why did you come?" she whispers, not daring to look away lest she wake up from
whatever dream this is.

A single finger trails down her cheek, mimicking his actions from the week before, and then it
slowly traces her bottom lip. Her lips part without her permission, and she feels a shiver of
anticipation run through her.

"I came here for you," he murmurs. "I came because I'd heard of your brilliance and of your
power. I had to see for myself if you truly were there brightest witch of your age." His hand
moves to her jaw, his touch feather light across her skin. "Power is... desirable," he says. "And
you, Hermione, are a very powerful witch."

"I'm hardly - "

He presses a finger against her lips again to silence her.

"But you are," he says. "You are powerful, and you are so very, very desirable."

He has her pushed back against his desk before she can take a breath, her lower back pressing into
the wood, his face just a breath from hers. His hands splay on the wood on either side of her hips
as he leans into her, his cheek grazing hers.

"What is it that you desire, Hermione?" he breathes, his lips sweeping across her lobe. "What is it
that you want?"

She sucks in a breath as his teeth scrape over the sensitive skin below her ear.

This is wrong , she tries to tell herself with a shudder. He's a teacher, it's against the rules, it's -

Any protests she has fall away as his tongue, warm and enticing, traces the curve of her neck. He
grips her hips and hoists her up, sitting her on his desk, and he nudges her knees apart to stand
grips her hips and hoists her up, sitting her on his desk, and he nudges her knees apart to stand
between her legs.

"Tell me, Hermione," he says, his hands fisting in her skirt at her thighs. "I've seen the boys in this
school watching you, lusting for you, yet you never seem to notice. Never seem to want . So tell
me, he murmurs again, tell me what it is you want."

Youve been watching me, she breathes, biting at her bottom lip again. You know what I
want.

His hands trail down her legs towards her knees. He reaches the bottom of her skirt and she very
nearly moans aloud when he grazes her skin, his fingers teasing along the edge of the hem.

"Tell me."

"You," she gasps out as his hands finally slip below the hem and disappear beneath her skirt. His
palms begin to move slowly back up her legs, torturously slow. "I want you."

His hands are hot on her skin, and her breath is coming out shallow and short, and she's so
overcome with need that it's unbearable.

"Sir," he says firmly, digging his fingers into the soft skin of her thighs possessively. "You will
address me as sir or Professor."

Hermione doesnt hesitate. "I want you, sir," she repeats.

"Good. You're such a good girl." His fingers reach her underwear, teasing across the fabric with
the barest amount of pressure, and she tenses. "If you want me to stop, just say so," he croons into
her ear, tongue lapping again at her sensitive skin, breath warm and alluring. She swallows, and
shakes her head. She cant, wont , stop now. She can feel his grin, and then his fingers hook
around the edge of the thin fabric.

She lets out a breathy gasp as he slips one, then two fingers between her folds, her hands reaching
for his shirt to brace herself as he presses slowly inside her.

"You're so wet, Hermione," he purrs as his fingers begin to pump slowly. "Have you thought
about me doing this to you before?"

She can only nod once as he begins massaging her clit and her head falls back, her hands
dropping behind her to steady herself. His mouth latches onto her neck, lips and teeth teasing her
skin. A needy, desperate sound comes out of her throat, and her legs widen unconsciously as her
need to give him more, for him to take more --to take whatever the fuck he wants -- takes over her.
He pushes her skirt up, bunching it around her hips.

"Do you touch yourself when you think about me?" he murmurs, his fingers moving painfully
slow.

"Yes," she blurts before she can think, her back arching as she desperately tries to earn more
friction.

"Show me."

She hesitates, opening her eyes to meet his hungry gaze. "I - I don't know - I've never - "

"Please," he says, "show me." And his voice is so low, so eager, that she finds herself lifting her
hand from the desk and tentatively reaching between them.
His eyes are wild as he watches her slip her fingers beneath the fabric of her underwear,
tentatively stroking herself, and his own fingers began pumping in and out of her earnestly.

"Yes," he breathes. "You're such a good girl."

Her head is thrown back again as he latches onto her throat; the sensation of his mouth, and his
fingers, and her own hand all working simultaneously the only thing in the world that she can
think of.

"Can anyone else make you feel like this, Hermione?" he whispers against her neck and she
shakes her head. "Say it," he demands.

"No one else, Professor," she pants. "No one - no one can do this - only you - I only want you."

"That's right," he says, a possessive growl in his voice. "No one else can make you feel this way.
Only me. Do you understand, Hermione? You belong to me."

Hermione nods vigorously, the words barely registering; only knowing that this has to continue,
that she needs more. She can feel her climax building, the heat pooling in her core, desperate for
release.

"Professor," she gasps out. "Sir, I - I'm going to - "

His ministrations stop suddenly and he takes hold of her wrist, pulling her hand away. Hermione
lets out a noise of frustration.

"You'll come when I say so," he tells her firmly. The command in his words, the authority and the
possession, sends an unexpected thrill through her body.

He keeps his eyes fixed on her as he reaches for her shirt. He undoes the buttons one by one, and
she arches into every graze of his hand against her skin. His eyes roam across her chest, and when
he mutters a spell under his breath she hears the sound of fabric tearing. She glances down and
sees her bra now in two pieces, a neat tear straight down the middle, leaving her chest exposed to
his determined gaze.

"Perfect," he hums appreciatively, reaching out to cup one of her breasts, a thumb dragging across
her nipple, and she barely suppresses the moan the feeling elicits.

"Professor Riddle," she moans. "Please - I - "

"Undo my trousers, Hermione," he instructs, and she reaches for his belt immediately, hands
fumbling to get it undone. He yanks his trousers and underwear down as soon as the clasp is free,
and her breath catches at the site of his fully erect cock.

"Touch me," he says. Hermione hesitates again, her inexperience causing a bubble of nervousness
in her stomach.

"I haven't - "

One of his hands fists in her hair, pulling her head forward and he catches her lips in a soft kiss.
Its undemanding, reassuring, and when his tongue nudges at her lips, she opens for him, hands
groping at his shirt to pull him closer.

"Touch me," he repeats against her lips, and this time she complies, reaching for his cock and
wrapping her hand around him. She gives him an experimental stroke, and he moans into her
mouth. Feeling emboldened by his reaction, she begins to pump her hand up and down.
His kisses become hungrier, his hand in her hair clenching to hold her head in place. He devours
her mouth as she strokes him, nipping at her bottom lip, lapping his tongue against hers. She
begins to move her hand faster and he growls, and then he is pushing her skirt out of the way,
bunching it around her hips again, and in one swift tug he rips her underwear away.

He bats her hand away from him, gripping her hips and yanking her forward so that her cunt lines
up with his cock.

He guides himself forward, pushing into her slowly, and she arches her back, groaning loudly as
he fills her. He breaches her inch by inch until he's fully sheathed by her and then he pauses,
waiting for her to adjust.

She wraps her arms around his neck, their foreheads pressed together as she pants. The initial ache
gives way to pleasure, and she needs him to move.

"Okay," she says. "Okay, move."

When he stays still, she groans again.

"Move, sir ," she pleads.

"Good girl," he says. He begins to move, drawing almost all the way out and then sliding back in
slowly. Hermione brings her legs up and wraps them around his waist as his hands reach around
her to cup her arse. He lifts her slightly from the desk and she is completely at his mercy; the
hands holding her decide her pace as his thrusts begin quicken.

His mouth finds her neck again, and he bites and licks his way over her skin. Some part of her
mind registers that he'll leave a mark, but then another decides that it wants to be marked by him,
wants to be his, completely.

"Tell me, Hermione," he demands again. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You, Professor," she pants as his fingers grip her harder, forcing her body back and forth to meet
his thrusts.

"That's right," he growls possessively. "You want to please me, don't you? You want to do what I
tell you do. You want to be a good girl for me."

"Yes - I - god, yes, Professor."

"Touch yourself," he says, "but don't come until I tell you to."

Her fingers are on her clit immediately, working furiously as he fucks her. Her climax is building
quickly again and she doesn't know how she'll be able to stop it, but she forces herself to slow
down, because she wants to - no, she needs to please him.

He's groaning into her mouth, panting as his thrusts become faster, more erratic. He catches her lip
between his teeth, biting down. The pain and the pleasure are too intertwined to know which is
more dominant.

"Such a - such a good girl," he manages. I wanted to take you the moment I saw you,
Hermione, he huffs. But I waited, because I wanted to make sure you were happy, and now
youre going to repay me arent you, he pants. Youre going to do as I ask and make me
happy.

Shes fighting, trying to control her release, trying to do as he asks, and his words are a jumbled
 mess somewhere in the back of her mind. Her breaths are uneven and hot, and shes agreeing, too
lost in her bliss to question why she shouldnt, to question what they mean.

His mouth is on her ear again, biting harshly, and then he is whispering, "Come for me,
Hermione, now. Come for me."

And then she's letting go, coming undone as she rubs her clit desperately, her cunt clenching
around him as violent waves of pleasure crash over her, and he's groaning loudly as his hips stutter
and he's losing control too.

Her chest is heaving as he presses his forehead to hers, and they are still meshed together in a
tangle of arms and legs and sweaty skin. He pulls out of her after a minute, and she feels a sudden
emptiness at the loss, the regret she would have expected to feel not surfacing. He holds her chin
with his thumb and forefinger, blue eyes boring into brown.

"You'll be back here same time tomorrow," he tells her. She nods, because of course she will,
she'd be back sooner if her school work allowed it. He catches her lips in a soft kiss. "I meant
what I said," he says. "You're mine, Hermione, and youre going to make me happy, arent you?"

"Yes," she says, sighing into him, still euphoric, not quite recovered from her high, not seeing the
strange look in his eyes as he looks down at her.

And in theory, post-sex rambling is harmless enough; simple words she doesn't really register
saying before her brain begins to work properly again, words that should be brushed off; ignored
or catalogued away as nonsense.

Obsession, though, has a funny way of twisting things.

Obsession can burrow its way into a mind, demanding attention, and finding rationalization in the
most obscure places. It can begin as the tiniest thought - I wonder if she is a brilliant as they say -
and it can fester and morph into more dangerous ideas as time passes - If its true then she should
be at my side, only I can nurture such a brilliant mind. If allowed to grow, it can create ideas so
convincing that theres no reason to hesitate in acting on them. It can take hold and justify creating
an emergency, forcing someone out of a position. It can persuade that invading anothers mind is
necessary , because Im what she needs and I have to make sure she doesnt want to stray.
Obsession can so easily convince the hardest of hearts that their actions make sense, that their
motives are pure.

Say it again, he says.

I belong to you, she murmurs contentedly.

And if his hold on her is uncomfortable and possessive; if hes discretely prodding at her mind
again and has taken her words as a declaration of loyalty; if his brain is already devising the ways
in which this beautiful, powerful witch is going to help him gain the power he seeks now that he
has her, she doesnt notice.

End Notes

Eternal love and thanks to Olivie for beta'ing this for me!
Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!