A/N: No beta. So sorry for the errors, and please point them out if you see any. SO SORRY FOR THIS WEIRD STORY. It just... went this way. HAHAHA

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I wish I owned Tom Riddle.

...

Hands United: A Fundraiser for the Abused and the Abandoned. That was tonight's event. Truly, Hermione thought this event could be the last on her list of "Most Hated Attended Events" seeing that it had a great cause, and it had great beef in the buffet table.

Yes, you read that right! Beef and buffet in one sentence is a blessing to Hermione's one miserable attendance.

Though no matter how hard she tries, neither the noble cause nor the beef remove the fact that the people in attendance still suck. So freaking bad. Politicians, business owners, and perverse old men disguising to be sponsors filled the hall. One old geezer had the audacity to put his hand on her back and slide down. She stiffened at the action, but recovered quickly. First, she turned her head to face him, graced him with a smile, and held his hand in hers. She squeezed, he yelped. He glared at her for a moment, but when she said sorry so seductively, and blew on his hurt hand, he excused himself to go to the restroom.

It was a regular scenario, no biggie. That's why over the years she have learned different counterattacks to different types of advances. Though oddly—but surely, she was grateful—that anyone who have attempted to take advantage of her in an event never shows up in any future ones she attends. She wonders why but always shrugs it off not placing any importance to it.

She rolls her eyes, and walks away to get farther from where the old geezer was.

Since she had no one to talk to (because Harry and Ron, her eternal supportive friends who always without fail saves her from being lonely in these events are both late), and nothing else to do but to eat and drink, she started her way to the buffet table to get her fill. For whatever happens, I blame Harry and Ron for not being here.

All she had to do was eat and drink her sorrows away. So at the first opportunity, she didn't miss the chance to get a glass of wine when a roaming waiter passed by.

…

Hermione Granger was never a fan of formal events.

But. Being the Marketing Director of the biggest—and most corrupt—company in the city makes it necessary for her to go. She absolutely hates how she can't let the job go even after so many years.

What can she do? The pros drastically outweigh the cons; much like an elephant to an ant.

No, her boss is not one of the pros. No matter how much her girl friends' constantly remind her that her boss, the great Thomas Marvolo Riddle, alone should be enough reason for her to stay. They say she's lucky. That maintaining a close proximity to his perfection is a blessing. That his presence alone exudes charm so affecting, panties are dropping within a one-mile radius from where he's standing.

Absolutely ridiculous. Though, yes, her boss is one stunning human being, and yes, she just might have a teeny weeny bit of crush on him… With him graduating Business Management in Harvard at the age of 18, and being a multi-millionaire at the age of 20, one can't help but admire the genius that is Tom Riddle.

Hermione being a pragmatist, sees that as a ridiculous reason to stay in this highly stressful work. Besides, they don't know how much of an evil, conniving businessman her boss really is.

Anyway, she focuses on the practical stuff. The pay is A-mazing and uncontested by other companies who dared to snatch her away from Voldemort Enterprises. It helped her pay off the huge amount of student loan she had in one go, and was able to buy a house in cash. In cash everybody! This job also made her able to let her parents (who have had Alzheimer's since she was young) transfer to a good care home.

So it made sense not to resign right? Right?

Ugh.

May it be an auction, a fundraiser, or a gala, she would much rather spend her supposed free time to stay at home, watch movies, eat ice cream, and sleep early. Attending these events are just pure torture. In three different levels.

First, before the event. Certain expectations have to be met when invited to these kinds of things, and on top of the list of said expectations is how you look. Close friends of hers, especially those who went to school with her, would know that she most certainly did not—and do not—enjoy dressing up. Not to mention, shopping. Just thinking about it makes her cringe in disgust and roll her eyes in frustration. Add to that, make-up. Had she already used the word torture? Maybe death is a more appropriate term…

What's worse is that Ginny always uses this fact to her advantage. Hermione, for the life of her, really can't go do all of these things herself, so she lets her supposed best friend help her out. Well, "helping her out" might be true depending on whose perspective. If that's what you call making her wear a red floor-length totally backless silk dress with a plunging neckline—then no, Hermione doesn't agree with you.

But a good reputation she must maintain, so if wearing almost nothing, means maintaining—and hopefully strengthening—connections for the company, then consider the challenge of wearing red-floor-length-backless-silk-dress-with-plunging-neckline accepted.

Second, during the event. God. Must she even begin to describe what goes on during these events? Of course, she has become one of them too, and she hates herself for letting herself be a part of it. And that she's so good at it that her boss actually increases her salary by 10% every six months, and increases it further when a competitor company offers for her to transfer. Big deal, huh? Money aside though, Lord help her.

The flood of pretentiousness in the room almost always suffocates her. It could be so horrible to the extent that there was this one time she had to actually use an inhaler to help her get through. If the event was not that bad she would always be rushing to a quiet place every half an hour to get some peace and be able to release the built-up tension of anger in her body. Even the restroom is not safe! What with it teeming with gossipers and backstabbers trying to escape the ears of their subjects.

Lastly, after the event… Actually nah, it's not much of a deal. Actually, this is the least threatening out of the three. It was necessary for her to have alcohol in her system if she were to survive each and every event she attends. She just had to deal with the hangover. All she had to do was sleep it off, and have some hot soup when she wakes up.

Easy.

…

Hermione wakes up to the rays of morning light peeking through the window.

She squints, and starts to feel the familiar sting of a hangover.

Eyes kept shut to control the pain, Hermione puts the base of her palm at the side of her head, and slowly sits up from the bed. The blanket slides down allowing the comforting breeze to caress her bare skin.

Bare… skin?

Hermione quickly retrieves the blanket to cover her breasts. Her eyes burst open so fast she might have been the first human being to invent an eye cramp.

She takes in her surroundings.

Green curtain. Silk silver blankets.

Her hangover intensifies.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

A trophy sits quietly at the bedside table. "Forbes' Top 1 Enterprise" it says.

Awarded and addressed to no other than Thomas Marvolo Riddle, CEO.

"Good morning, Ms. Granger," her boss appears at the bedroom door in all his regal pajama glory, looking hot as hell with disheveled hair, "or should I now officially call you Hermione?"

Well, forget about torture, and death. That formal event definitely put her straight to hell.