A/N: Welcome to my newest Tomione! I've been writing this for months, uploading it to the A Year With Tom Riddle Fest on AO3. It just went live, and I have 4 more chapters to write in this story and it'll be done. I won't be posting any additional chapters on AO3 until I'm finished crossposting it here and on Wattpad. I'll be cross-posting every Tuesday until I'm finished. The story will be 18 chapters long.

Please heed the following warnings: smut, so much freaking smut, sex rituals, violence, death, Horcruxes, dark!Hermione, dark!Tom, and major character death are all depicted in this story. If this isn't your cup of tea, please go ahead and turn back now. This will be the only warning you get.

I would be entirely remiss if I didn't thank my alpha brownlark42 and my beta RachaelLA26 for their hard work over the last few months. So many thanks to them!

If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! I make a new mood board for each chapter of this story, find them on my Tumblr crochetawayhpff, my facebook Shan Crochetaway, or on the AO3 story!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1: Albania

August 2002

Valbona Valley National Park, Albania

Boredom. It was a state that Hermione Granger wasn't sure she'd ever contemplated as much as she had in the last week. Currently, she was lounging on the only chair on the front porch of a very remote cabin in the Albanian mountains. It was a gorgeous August afternoon, with the sun shining through the forest of pines that surrounded the cabin. A dust mote caught her eye and she watched as it traveled through the air currents, her fingers trailing across the skin of her thigh in a mesmerizing pattern. The chair wasn't very comfortable—a homemade wooden sort—and there weren't any cushions for it. She'd probably have been more comfortable if she sat in the chair properly, instead of sitting with her back to one arm and her legs draped over the other. But there wasn't anyone around to see her, so Hermione decided she could sit however she liked.

When Hermione was younger, she'd thought it was silly to be bored. There was always something new to read, something new to learn. She felt as if she'd lived her life at a breakneck pace for years. Until the end of the war really. And now? Now Hermione found herself bored quite often. Maybe she wasn't cut out for a life not lived on the edge? During the war, all she wanted was the war to be over. For her friends to be safe. To live a normal life.

Normal life was boring. Hermione had a job in her dream department in the Ministry and she estimated she put about sixty percent effort into the job on any given day. At Hogwarts, Hermione had almost killed herself to make the best grades, to learn and know everything, to keep Harry and Ron from death or expulsion. As an adult, she was rapidly coming to terms with the fact that she just didn't care. She couldn't care.

She wondered idly if this was depression or just plain old apathy. If she'd spoken with her mother, she knew that Helen Granger would advise her to get laid. An odd thing coming from one's mother, but Hermione was used to Helen's bluntness. And to her ideas about what made life bearable. Good sex was a requirement in Helen Granger's world and thus, had passed that requirement on to Hermione.

Half the reason Hermione found herself on vacation, alone, in the Albanian mountains was because of the lack of good sex in her life. Had she truly been attempting to mend that rather large hole, she would have vacationed in Paris or Rome or somewhere—anywhere—with a night-life. Instead, she was punishing herself. She'd realized it the moment she'd taken the key from the old Muggle man she'd rented the cabin from.

It took her three days to figure out why she was punishing herself and it all boiled down to one word. One person, really. Ron. Ron was not good in bed. So, Hermione had taken the advice of Helen Granger and dumped him. Breaking his heart in the process. Even though that had been over a year ago, Hermione still felt guilty about it. She could still see the hurt and pain on his face as she told him it was over, that she was done. He hadn't done anything wrong. Unless you count the being bad in bed thing and was that really Ron's fault? Or were they just not sexually compatible?

If she were honest with herself, Ron wasn't the only reason she was punishing herself. Or, rather, dumping Ron wasn't the only reason. It was also the look on Ron's face everytime Hermione was photographed with a different date for the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly. It was for the disappointment in his inability to continue being friends with her. Before they'd even begun dating after the final battle, Hermione had asked him if things went sour if he thought they could still be friends. He'd promised her. Swore up and down that she would always be his friend.

Until she wasn't.

So, Hermione found herself in a remote cabin punishing herself for her transgressions against Ron. Despite the fact that Ron had his own transgressions against Hermione. After their breakup, he'd gone back to Lavender Brown, an attempt to make Hermione jealous as she'd been in their sixth year.

But, Hermione knew how bad Ron was in bed now and wasn't jealous. She was sad. Sad that their relationship had dissolved after the breakup. Sad that Ron thought that he could win her back, even after she said never again. Sad for Lavender. Sad that Ron was essentially using Lavender in the hope that Hermione would want him again. When that relationship hadn't lasted long, Ron moved on to someone else. All with the hope, the wish, that whoever it was would be the person to make Hermione jealous enough to want him again. Hermione knew that ship had sailed. She wouldn't ever want Ron again. And until Ron got over that they couldn't be friends.

Hermione sighed and stood from her chair. The sun was beginning to slowly sink behind the mountains and, instead of making herself dinner, Hermione decided to open a bottle of wine.

It wasn't her habit to drink as much as she had in the last week, but vacation was for drinking. Another of Helen Granger's maxims. One that Hermione hadn't truly lived until this boring trip. Thankfully, she'd brought plenty of wine along with her and she smiled as she opened a new bottle. A French pinot noir, one of her favorites. Hermione had used to like light and fruity wines, but now she much preferred wines that tasted like dirt. The dirtier the better. She took a deep breath as she poured the fragrant red into her glass, swirling it around to release all the fragrance notes.

Setting her glass down to allow the wine to breathe, Hermione crossed the room to the one bookcase in the entire cabin. She'd brought a small library of books with her and had unpacked them immediately. Books needed to breathe as much as wine did. Trailing her fingers along the spines she tried to find one that would pique her interest but came up empty. She wished she had packed that romance novel her mother had slipped into her latest package. Another of Helen Granger's vices, romance novels. The smuttier the better. Hermione didn't usually care for them: but right now she felt like she could use something to keep her attention, even if it was a trashy romance novel.

Sighing, Hermione ended up grabbing the only novel she brought with her; The Brothers Karamazov. The sun set quickly this high in the mountains and by the time she turned around to retrieve her wine it was dark beyond her windows. The wind kicked up, howling around the corners of her cabin and Hermione shivered. Seriously, why had she chosen Albania of all places?

Hermione pulled her wand from the holster on her arm and secured the windows and doors of the cabin with a quick flick, adding a few wards as well as a Muggle-Repelling Charm. She wasn't scared to be on her own in the wilderness, but something about this cabin had creeped her out since day one. She couldn't quite put her finger on it and compensated by using her magic to ensure her safety. She felt a little bad, knowing it was a Muggle cabin, but so far had not heard from the Albanian Ministry about it. Which made Hermione think that the Albanian Ministry didn't care as long as no Muggles were around to see it.

When Hermione had arrived at the cabin she'd cast several cleaning charms on the whole thing. It was practically rundown though also cheap, which fit Hermione's budget. The sofa itself had let up such a cloud of dust when she'd cast a Scourgify at it that she'd done it three more times. It was an old chesterfield and sagged something terrible in the middle. But Hermione found she quite liked the faded green plaid of the thing. And it was surprisingly comfortable. Far more comfortable than the bed.

Picking up her wine and book, Hermione laid down on the sofa and tried to lose herself in the pages of nineteenth-century Russia.

She wasn't entirely successful.

It wasn't long before Hermione found herself with the thick tome down on her chest as she traced the boards in the ceiling above her. Half the reason she'd had such a hard time concentrating on anything was because of her job. She should love it, it was exactly what she'd set out to do. Well, it was at least in the department she wanted to be in. Ever since her days of researching laws to save Buckbeak and knitting hats for house-elves, Hermione had known she wanted to work in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. But now that she was finally there? Not only was it dreadfully boring, but she was treated as little more than an assistant. Typing things for her boss and fetching tea. It was downright humiliating some days. Hermione told herself over and over again that she just had to work her way up, but she'd been there for almost three years. If they were going to promote her, they would have done it by now.

She had hoped she could use this vacation as a way to try and figure out what she really wanted in life. Did she want to be stuck as a Ministry drone for the rest of her career? More and more she was beginning to think that could not be the answer for her. If it was, she feared she would waste away, mentally. Already her mind felt atrophied from disuse. Look at this vacation. She'd had two whole weeks to herself to research and read whatever she wanted and she couldn't organize her mind enough to focus on anything. Not even fiction!

Hermione finished her glass of wine and stood to pour herself another. She grabbed the bottle and set it on the coffee table. How had her life come to this point? Being bored on vacation seemed like a problem she shouldn't have. And yet here she was. Instead of lying back down, Hermione sat on the sofa proper and filled her wine glass, thinking over her career options. Obviously, her job at the Ministry was going nowhere. Would it be better to try a different department? Should she attempt to use a little political influence to secure herself a better job? It felt entirely too scummy to do such a thing, but she was at a loss. Perhaps she should give up the Ministry career entirely and see what else was out there. Surely, someone would want to hire her right?

The last thing Hermione remembered before passing out that night was finishing the bottle of wine and stripping to her shirt and knickers to sleep on the sofa.

August 1949

Valbona Valley National Park, Albania

Tom Riddle blasted another tree apart. Another tree another dead end. Why in the hell had Helena Ravenclaw picked Albania of all places to hide her mother's diadem? He'd assumed that it would have been easy to find. He'd tried every magic detection charm he knew and he was still unable to find the blasted thing. He'd followed her directions to the letter, but obviously, something must have happened in the eight centuries since she'd hidden the diadem. The worst part was that Tom knew he had to find it in order to continue on with his plans. He couldn't allow his goals to be interrupted this early in the game. Two Horcruxes just wasn't enough. Seven was a very magically powerful number and seven soul pieces split apart would make him unstoppable. He knew it was maybe a little foolish to hide his soul in relics from the Founders of Hogwarts, but when the idea had come to him, he found that it appealed so strongly to him that he couldn't let go of it. Besides, if he chose something mundane, what did that signify about his soul? Tom was anything but mundane.

He continued blasting trees as he made his way through the thick pine forest. He had almost run out of areas to search. There was still the other side of the mountain, but that side was practically uninhabitable, and so he decided to save it for last. The worst part about Albania was the boredom. Tom didn't really think of himself as someone who could or ever would be bored, but nothing changed in the forest. It was all the same, every day, and it was beginning to drive Tom a little mad. Trudging back to the tiny cabin he'd rented from an old Muggle, Tom considered his options. He wouldn't leave without the diadem, but he needed a new way of searching for it. How does a person go about finding something that doesn't want to be found?

Perhaps that was a clue. Perhaps Helena Ravenclaw had put some sort of additional enchantment on the diadem making it hard to find. Tom would have to think about it to see if there was a way to find it despite any sort of hiding enchantment. He was glad he'd brought his personal library with him. While he'd read most of the books in it, he knew there would be something of worth. Especially since he'd commandeered half of Abraxas Malfoy's library as well. If Tom didn't have anything regarding hiding enchantments, he was sure Abraxas' would.

A month stuck in an Albanian forest was enough to drive anyone a bit mad, which made Tom thankful for the Never-Empty flask of Firewhisky Thoros Nott had gifted him. It was a new invention and Tom found it aided him quite well in his need to get drunk each and every night if only to drown out the everlasting boredom of being trapped in a cabin in the woods.

Tom snorted when he came across said cabin. It was more like a shack. There was one tiny bedroom, a great room that encompassed both the living area and kitchen and an even tinier bathroom. That was one thing Tom had been thankful for was modern plumbing. There were even some places in wizarding Britain that hadn't updated to modern plumbing. Insanity. If the filthy fucking Muggles could do it, the wizards ought to be able to at least match them. Yet another reason that Tom knew he would be best suited to rule the wizarding world. He'd begun gathering followers when he was at Hogwarts, but he wasn't ready to return to Britain yet. He needed to make a few more Horcruxes. And he wanted to travel the world, learn some new magic. Some different magic. But in order to make that happen, he would need funds. This trip was mostly self-funded by his job at Borgin and Burkes. The next time he went abroad, he planned to take Abraxas and Thoros with him. Perhaps Edgar Lestrange as well. Edgar was older than Tom, but he'd followed Abraxas Malfoy around like a puppy when they'd been at Hogwarts. He could prove to be useful.

Tom collapsed onto the small green plaid chesterfield sofa in the middle of the great room. He was exhausted from stomping through the woods all day looking for that blasted diadem. The last thing he wanted to do was make himself dinner. Resolved, he Summoned the Never-Empty flask from its place on the mantle and took a healthy sip. Perhaps if he got drunk enough he'd forget that he was alone in the middle of the woods.

He was halfway to his goal when he had to urinate. Standing unsteadily, Tom lurched toward the tiny bathroom. Thankful once more for modern plumbing he relieved himself, groaning loudly as his full bladder emptied. The pipes groaned beneath the shack as he flushed the toilet and turned on the tap to wash his hands. He looked in the tin mirror above the sink and decided he looked like shit. It didn't matter, there wasn't anyone around to look at him anyway.

On the way back to the couch he stumbled against the small table and hit his head hard on the wall.

"Fucking shit," Tom muttered rubbing his head. A board in the wall had come loose and was hanging open. Tom blinked at it. It seemed to be a hidden compartment, he lifted the board entirely and discovered not only was it on hinges there was something hidden inside. A golden necklace, a long chain and at the end of it was a pendant. A rather large one. It had three concentric rings and in the middle of it all was an hourglass. Tom had never seen anything like it. He almost chalked it up to Muggle jewelry when he realized there were runes written on each of the rings. His mind was too drunk, too unfocused to make much sense of them, but Tom thought that maybe, just maybe his luck was turning around. He'd have to take a closer look at the necklace in the morning. He clutched the necklace tightly in his hand as he made his way back to the couch. He collapsed on it, finally passing out with the necklace still clutched in his hand.

Unbeknownst to Tom, his fingers twitched and moved in his sleep, causing the rings on the necklace to begin rotating.