Four Times We Kissed... (Tom Riddle x Reader)

December 25, 1942 - Fifth year.

The decorations were just wonderful! They were like like he muggle ones your father used to fantasize about; immobile baubles that Jung from the tree, electrical on-the-coffee-table-toys that, with the press of a button, lit up and danced and sung. The muggle decorations couldn't beat wizard ones.

But Slughorns... His decorations were beyond amazing! Your face showed it.

His were bright and made so much noise that was drowned out by the festive music playing (both muggle and wizard). It filled you with joy.

"Tom," you mused softly, holding his arm with your left and Hus hand with your right. "Look." You pointed at he flying ornaments. And the colors - everything.

"What about it?"

"It's nice," you replied, looking in awe.

"It's dreadful." He said bluntly. You gasped and hit his arm.

"It is not!"

"Too bright," he scowled at the lights.

"Oh, please." You scoffed and tugged at his arm. Your sudden change in mood was noticeable. He didn't say anything about it.

Thirty minutes later, Slughorn was trying to get his guests to play a game ("It's called Pin the Tail on the Pig!" He laughed to himself).

Tom scoffed - what else is new, you thought - and swore under his breath.

The game went slow at first. (It was optional to play, neither of you have the wish to be blindfolded and made a fool of). Slowly, people got the hang of it and they started laughing joyously rather than menacingly and at their peers.

Tom and yourself were standing under an archway. And then the unexpected happened.

"Professor! Tom and (Y/N) are standing under the 'mistletoe'!" A boy cried.

"Huh- wh- oh! Tommy boy! And Miss (Y/L/N)! What a pleasure. Always a pleasure." He looked at you two expectantly, with a knowing look. "Well..?"

"I-I'd rather not-"

"Of course, sir." Tom nodded his head slightly and turned to face you.

He was taller than you. Something inside you told you to look up. To look up and stare (Tom hated staring, he told you that once).

For the first time in four years, you really, really looked at him.

His flawless hair; the curve of Hus lips, of his nose. The way his eyes held certain shine - something evil, something good, something conflicted - the way his jawline was defined but not too.

And then you leaned up on your toes and kissed him. You kissed those perfectly curved lips.

And he kissed you back, hands resting in your upper arms, and then sliding down to your waist.

"Oh, we should get back to our little game, yes?" Slughorn tutted and turned towards the next student. "Potter? Were you next?"

Christmas couldn't be better.