Hello!

This is an idea that I have been playing around with recently after recently discovering the Tomione pairing. It's something I never imagined I would have an interest in but it's extremely fun to write/read and opens up a lot of possibilities that I have found lacking with other stories.

Here's hoping you enjoy it! Let me know!

Hermione skidded to a halt. Her hair blew behind her, smoke clogging up her lungs as she looked around letting her eyes adjust to the air around her. Where the hell was she?

That day had started relatively normally. It was her final year at Hogwarts, a year to take back her education after they'd destroyed Voldemort once and for all. Harry and Ron had both chosen to accept the Ministry's offer to start training to be Aurors. Hermione on the other hand wanted her NEWTs. She and Ron had put their relationship on hold, succumbing to the pressures of fighting a wizarding war and trying to pick up the pieces mind was focussed on what she needed to do. She wanted to get into a job the right way, the normal way. As if life would ever be normal again.

Hermione watched on as Voldemort brandished Harry's body around like a toy, like a toy that he had never liked, a toy that he had finally broken and was relieved and overjoyed that he would never be forced to play with it again. Her heart was breaking, she felt it shatter in her chest, piercing her lungs and making it impossible for her to breathe. She collapsed to her knees. Harry was gone and suddenly the world seemed that little bit darker.

Hermione already had homework. The library was abuzz with first years talking loudly about the War and staring at her like she was some exotic specimen so Hermione had found herself looking for the Room of Requirement. Even though it had "burnt out" in the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had a feeling that its magic had been powerful enough to relocate it, powerful enough to keep it going. Surely it had faced similar destructions in its history. Over the course of two days, she moved her way around the castle, trying a corridor at a time. She'd walked past every stretch of corridor chanting 'I need a room to study.' She had been right. She finally found it on the second floor at the end of her second day. When she walked inside, the room was like a shrine to her being, inviting her in. There were throwbacks to earlier years, personal touches that only her mind could have comprehended. A book on Polyjuice potion, a SPEW badge, the smell of fresh grass in the air but out of everything, there was one item that caught her eye. It sparkled even though there was no light source, as if trying to attract her eye and lure her towards it. Lying on the side unit was a time turner. It couldn't possibly have been the same one, but it was a time turner all the same. Curiosity got the best of her. Just put it on your neck. Twist it. Just a couple of turns should suffice. She pulled the timeturner around her neck and gave it a turn or two. A turn too many it would seem.

**ATTM**

When her feet finally hit ground, she stumbled over to the walkway, vomiting in the gutter. She desperately held her hair back from her face as she emptied her stomach. Where the bloody hell was she? What was she doing here? She couldn't remember. She tried to recall something, anything but it didn't work. The only thing that was readily available to her was her name. Hermione. My name is Hermione and I am a witch. My name is Hermione and I am a witch. She repeated it to herself, terrified that she would forget it should she stop. She searched around herself for clues. She found her wand in her back pocket and tapped it lightly just to reassure herself that it was there. Her instincts took her over to a stall where papers were on sale. No – not just papers – the Daily, come on Hermione think! The Daily Prophet! She hastily picked up a copy, scanning it worried. Her heart sank and she wasn't sure why. September 1945 resonated in her head as though it held some importance even though she couldn't place her finger on it.

Hermione looked at the boy manning the paper stall, as he held his hand out expectantly looking at her as though she was out of place. Well of course she was, she could see that. Everyone was dressed completely differently. Why? And what did he want? Money. He wanted money. Knuts, sickles, galleons – her mind repeated to her. She tapped her pockets down, but she had no money.

She placed the paper back down, walking down the street, wondering what she was going to do. Two things were clear – she needed money and she needed her memories.

A few weeks later…

Hermione had secured a job at Flourish and Blotts as soon as she walked in off the street. As soon as she decided that she wanted a job there, her mouth managed to talk the manager into hiring her on the spot. On one condition – that she wore more appropriate attire. She told the manager of her plight, well what her mind conceived, and he kindly offered her an advance. They sealed it with magic before he handed over enough money for a couple of suitable outfits and a weeks-worth of boarding.

She'd been staying at the Leaky Cauldron since. In between aiding and serving customers, she used the books to piece her life and memories back together. She'd figured out a few things. She loved reading. Her spells were coming back to her as soon as she read of them. She'd finished most of the spell books in the store, trying to claw back what she'd lost. Somehow she still felt as though she was miles away.

**ATTM**

Tom was sauntering down the street, careful not to brush past anyone walking in the opposite direction. He wasn't a fan of contact, unless it was on his terms. It made his skin crawl, his lip curl. As soon as he picked this book up, he could return back into the comfort of Knockturn Alley where nobody liked to be touched. He turned the knob to Flourish and Blotts with his leather gloved hand, stepping over the threshold. A chime rang out overhead as he walked into the apparent deserted bookshop. Tom stalked forward, removing his gloves and placing them in his pocket. He cleared his throat loudly when he reached the till, a small gasp echoing from the furthest end of the shop. A girl of around his age came sauntering gracefully from the back of the bookshop, a book open on her arm. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun, an emerald dress adorned her body – half sleeves made of lace. It fell to her bare knees, swaying as she walked.

"How can I help you today?" Hermione smiled, placing her book down carefully on the counter. A smile crept across Tom's face as a vulgar answer rang in his head. He craned his head to read her name tag.

"Hermione." He rolled the name around on his tongue as though tasting it, perfecting the pronunciation. "Where does that originate from I wonder?" Hermione wished she could tell him, wished that she knew herself. She settled on smiling sweetly.

"Maybe my parents were just cruel." She mused, her hands finding themselves in the pocket of her apron. "Subjecting me to a life of constantly having to sound my name out." Tom smirked at her. Witty.

"Maybe they were that." He tittered. "I'm here to pick up a book that I ordered last week." He handed her an order form and she was quick to retrieve it from under the counter. They exchanged a small smile as she handed the book over to him.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" She asked, placing a quill into the fray of her messy bun.

"Not currently." He said simply as he placed his long, slender fingers into the gloves in his pocket. "I'll let you know the moment I think of something." He gave her one final smile before he turned and left the shop, without a second glance. Hermione found herself resting on her elbows at the counter. Tall, dark and handsome. She quickly regained herself from her little fantasy. Men like that don't look twice at women like you. She turned on her heel, getting back to what she was good at, engrossing herself in a little book on hexes.

She saw Tom again later that week. He didn't approach her at first. She was wandering on the higher level of the shop as he sauntered around the bottom. Every now and then she would catch him looking at her, and she would look away embarrassed. As she was returning books back to their appropriate shelves, she felt his breath on her neck, his presence obvious behind her. She skirted to the left, eyes glued to the book shelf. He shadowed her, mimicking her movements. She rounded the shelf, to find him standing in the aisle already, looking amused.

"Can I help you?" She asked, looking concerned. Tom looked at her. She was wearing red today.

"What House were you in – assuming you went to Hogwarts?" He ask nonchalant as he ran his index finger down the cover of a nearby book, not breaking eye contact.

"Gryffindor." It rolled off her tongue with pride. The handsome stranger nodded.

"Funny, I never saw you there." He said openly, as though expecting her to answer him. She replied with a shrug, turning back to the shelves. She was sure she heard him growl lightly under his breath before he forced himself between her and the bookshelf. "Who are you?" He questioned her seriously, staring into her eyes. She felt as though her head was being intruded, as though he was searching her for information. She blinked.

"Hermione." She shrugged, laughing before heading back down to the counter to serve.

**ATTM**

Tom returned to Nott's mansion that night in a similar mood to what he had been in all week. He had been fairly prickly this week, more so than usual and nobody could figure out why. Nott and Abraxas were commonly regarded as his very inner circle, but even they were unsure as to what had led to his latest mood swing. He retired to his quarters early, calling for Nott later that night when most had gone to bed.

"Close the door." He ordered, his back to Nott as he looked into the fireplace. "I need some advice."

"Certainly my Lord." Nott levitated an armchair to join his friend at the fire. He sunk into the plushness of the chair, watching Tom carefully as he waited for him to speak.

"I've met a girl." Tom said emotionlessly. Of all the things Nott expected for him to say, it wasn't that. Nott paused, waiting for elaboration but it didn't come. Tom was tapping his fingers on the side of his chair expectantly.

"Oh." Nott must have expressed too much emotion in his wording as Tom turned to face him.

"Not in that way." Tom laughed at the thought. "Although, she is fascinating."

"I'm sorry my Lord, I just don't understand where this is going."

"Her mind. I gazed upon it and Nott – you would not believe the things I have seen." Nott still wasn't following, Tom was growing tired of having to explain everything to him, syllable by syllable. "I think she is a Seer. A talented one. In her eyes I saw the future. Spells I have never heard uttered. Advancements I didn't even imagine were possible. She could be the key to everything." He seemed excited, the static sizzling in the air.

"What is your plan?" Nott asked, knowing where this was going.

"Plan?"

"You always have a plan." Tom's lip twisted into a faint smile.

"Yes. I plan to make her acquaintance. Befriend her, if you will. All while I pick her mind. I'll feign an interest, charm her and who knows, she may help us willingly."

**ATTM**

Tom and Hermione had more encounters as the weeks passed. Tom gave her very mixed signals. It was hard to describe. His visits were both the best and worst parts of her day. She enjoyed the attention of the handsome stranger, the clear attraction but she couldn't supress the feeling in the pit of her stomach that somehow this wasn't right. It seemed one sided as though somehow she was destined to lose.

Hermione had been working at Flourish and Blotts for a month and a half when Tom came strolling into the shop one afternoon.

"Hermione, a pleasure as always." He stared right at her, as she tried to stop herself from unravelling.

"Lovely to see you again." She had never asked his name, always second guessing, afraid of overstepping. "What can I assist you with today?"

What you always assist me with, but what you're never aware of. Tom thought. "I would like to see your manager actually. Is he here at all?"

"I'll just grab him for you, two moments." She smiled, breaking their eye contact and narking Tom. He casually leaned against the counter as he thought One. Two. Time's up. She came skipping out of the back office a couple of minutes later, an older gentleman hot on her heels. The man smiled as he caught sight of who was waiting for him. He extended his hand to the younger man, shaking it generously.

"Well if it isn't Tom Riddle – how long has it been?" Tom was about to answer when he caught sight of Hermione. Her face had lost all colour as she steadied herself against the bookcase behind her. He stared at her, probing her mind. What lay there startled him, forced his hand as such. Two words, being repeated over and over like a mantra.

Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort.

Hermione felt unsettled for the rest of the day. All she knew was that Tom Riddle was Lord Voldemort and that Lord Voldemort was bad news. Somehow, somewhere down the line he had tried to hurt her. Once her shift was over, she skirted out of the shop door and counted down the paces until she was at the Leaky Cauldron. Her feet were about to step over the threshold when an arm looped into hers, pulling her around the corner. Tom Riddle stood before her, tall and imposing. He sneered down at her, holding her arm tightly. Hermione squirmed, trying to wriggle herself free, her spare hand reaching for her wand.

"Do not even think about it." He threatened, squeezing her arm forcefully. "Come on." He pulled her further into the alley. Her feet stuck fast, her mind adamant that he was going to kill her. Her free hand caught a grip on her wand and she turned it on him as he laughed. He laughed. "Do your worst little witch. Surprise me." He released her arm, knowing that she couldn't escape him. Her mind sprang to her earlier thoughts – he was going to kill her.

"Avada Kedavra." She whispered. A tiny green spark flickered at the end of her wand, sending a light wave over Riddle who chuckled at the sensation. Without a word, he flicked his wand, disarming her. Her hand was wrapped around her wrist once more as he pulled her after him, into the darkening alleyway.

"Now where did you learn a spell like that?" He tittered as they stopped, Riddle deeming it far enough. "And if you did learn about that spell – you should have learnt that you have to mean it." His hands wrapped around both of her shoulders as the world around them faded and distorted. Hermione came to on her knees, Tom dragged her by her arm up to a large and expensive looking house.

"Let me go." She cried, trying to break free of his grasp as her feet skidded along the floor. He ignored her. He dragged her through the corridors, small groups of men his age watching them with wonder.

"Maybe he's decided to finally take a wife." Dolohov joked as Nott looked on seriously. Something was wrong here. Tom would never act so rash unless he had very good reason. Nott followed leisurely. The girl was screaming the house down as Riddle dragged her to his private quarters. Nott increased his pace, worried that Tom may do something he'd later regret. He finally caught up to them as Tom was launching her across the floor of his living room. She scrunched herself in a heap, chest heaving, face buried in the floor hidden under her hair.

"My Lord! What is the meaning of this?" Nott asked seriously. Tom turned to him with a face full of thunder before he stalked over to her, standing above her. His voice was stern but steady.

"I will ask you again. Who are you?" The girl cowered below him, trying to make herself as small as possible.

"Hermione." She whimpered quietly. Tom growled, his hands clenching at his sides. His wand was on her as he mumbled 'Crucio'. Her body twisted unnaturally as her screams echoed around the house, shaking the foundations. As soon as Tom removed his wand, her body stopped flailing instead incredibly still as she lay unconscious on the floor.

"Well that was quick." Tom complained as his fun was ruined, moving her hand slowly with his shoe. He turned to Nott, not a concern in his eyes.

"Why?" Was all Nott managed to splutter. As far as he was aware, Tom was visiting the bookstore weekly, taking a small peek at what this girl had to offer, the potential she held. And then suddenly, he had abducted her, tortured her right there in the living room and for what reason? What could have possibly warranted such a reaction?

"She found out that my name was Tom Riddle." He said, quelling a reaction to his own name.

"And?" Nott was confused now.

"She recognised it. I saw it in her face, in her expression." He explained, pacing the room, twirling his wand between his fingers. "I decided to explore her thoughts. The only thing she was feeling was fear. The words on her mind? Lord Voldemort." Nott took a sharp breath. All of a sudden Tom's actions made sense. How could she possibly know?

"Fear?" Nott asked.

"Fear." Tom confirmed. It had bothered him, more than he cared to admit. Yes he wanted to incite some level of fear, but he didn't want it to be all that he was known for. He was made for far greater things. Nott shook his head, pointing his wand at the girl who laid unconscious in the middle of the floor. His levitation spell lifted her with ease as he directed her towards Tom's quarters. "Wait – I don't want her in there." Tom complained.

"Tough." Nott responded. "You can't just go torturing people and leave them lying all over the floor. Maybe this will make you think next time before you act." Tom scowled, but knew that Nott was coming from a good place and after all, it was his house.

**ATTM**

Hermione awoke screaming and burning. Her joints were aching, her head pounding as her eyes felt like they would burst. She closed them, burying her head into her pillow. A strange scent filled her nostrils and filled her with fresh fear. It smelled like him. She checked the blankets and under them to make sure she was fully clothed.

"You're awake." A voice spoke from the corner of the room. "Good." She looked over expecting to find Tom looking at her, but instead a fair haired boy looked at her, his eyes gentle.

"Who are you?" She repeated the same question that was being asked of her time and time again.

"Everyone calls me Nott."

"Theodore?" She asked, knowing in the back of her head that this wasn't right.

"Thanatos." He corrected. "I prefer Nott. You weren't far off though. Theodore is my brother." She just looked at him plainly, terrified to her core. She pushed herself to try and remember. Remember what it was she could have possibly done to deserve this. "I must go and alert Tom, he asked me to get him once you awoke." Nott said, nervously. Hermione squirmed up the bed, the sheets wrapping around her legs.

"Please. Don't." She practically begged. "Just let me go. I won't say a word to anyone."

"It's out of my hands, sorry."

Tom entered the room within five minutes. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, his hands buried in the pockets of his trousers as his eyes were trained carefully in on Hermione. She closed her eyes, terrified to look upon him, terrified of what fresh ordeal he would have for her.

"Look at me Hermione." He demanded. She obeyed, scared of the alternative. He looked at her and her mind started to sear as though he was fishing for information. He frowned, pushing harder but gaining nothing. It had been so easy in the bookstore. One look and she would reveal things to him. Little snippets of the future. And now? Nothing. He pulled back, frowning. Nott stood idly by the side of the door, watching on. "Let's try something different." Tom decided.

"Where are you from?" Tom asked.

"London." She answered, quietly. A bubble of memory popped in her mind. As quick as it had come, it had gone.

"How do you know me?"

"From the bookstore." Her hands were wringing the sheets around her, nervously.

"How do you know Lord Voldemort?" She cringed, trying to dispel the memories that were threatening to surface. Tom was watching eagerly, his eyes narrowing. "How do you know Lord Voldemort?" He questioned again, his voice firm and pressuring.

"He killed my best friend!" She cried, burying her head in her hands and bursting into tears. She had no idea who she was crying for but she felt an earth-shattering pain as though she'd lost part of herself.

Tom looked on at her in wonder. Surely, nobody else could be using the title of Lord Voldemort. A question was rising to the surface in Tom's brain and he had to ask it. It was unrealistic, almost impossible but it would explain it – her lack of memory, him not seeing her at Hogwarts, her sudden appearance in his world.

"When were you born?" Tom asked. Not looked at him as though this was trivial.

"The 19th of September…" She started.

"Year?!" He barked.

"19…79." She recalled.

Thank you for reading my stories! Let me know if you like this story/have any feedback or criticisms. It's a very new idea and I'm still getting my bearings with it!

All of my love,

Until the next time.

~Sapph