September 3rd, 1942

Hermione was fifteen years old when she woke up in Tom Riddle's room, decades in the past. When her eyes fluttered open, he was standing over her, suspicious and perplexed.

"Who are you?" She demanded, sitting up.

"You're the one who popped into my room." His tone was a mix of bemused and accusatory, as though unsure of what to think of the new arrival.

"I've never seen you here before."

"I've never seen you here before," he mimicked, curiosity animating his otherwise glassy gray eyes.

"I'm going to go see Professor Dumbledore," Hermione responded with her nose in the air. "We'll see what he has to say about this."

"I'll lead the way."

Hermione followed the boy up from the dungeons, but quickly noticed he wasn't heading in the right direction. "The Headmaster's office is this way," Hermione pointed to her left and then crossed her arms and waited for the dolt in front of her to understand her meaning.

"Yes," he replied in a snobbish tone. "You asked to see Dumbledore. His office is this. Way." He slowed his words down to a halt, the effect even more condescending than hers.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but being no stranger to time turners, she kept her mouth shut, noticing for the first time in her post-pass-out haze that the boy's uniform was a slightly different design than the typical Slytherin uniform. The snake looked more as though it were preparing to strike.

"What's your name?" She demanded as she dutifully followed him.

"Tom Riddle," he said with a huff. The name was strangely familiar, as though she had known or heard of someone named Tom Riddle, but it was as though there were a wall up in her brain when she tried to access the information. I must have hit my head, Hermione mused to herself. "And yours?"

"Hermione." She dropped the surname to try to assuage any effects she might be having on time, although if she were more than a few hours back, the effort was likely wasted.

"Surname?"

"Typical Slytherin question," she diverted.

Tom Riddle decided to ignore her after that, finally leading her to Dumbledore's office.

"I think I can take it from here," she said when he didn't budge.

"I want to see what happens."

The news wasn't good. So, after learning that apparently such time travel was only known to happen due to "soulmate bonds," Hermione was downright irritated.

"Can I go back to my own time?"

"No," Dumbledore responded sadly.

She glanced over at Tom Riddle under a curtain of busy hair. He was crushed.

October 23rd, 1942

"I've been impressed with your performance in class." Tom Riddle was night and day from the day she met him until now, but she felt like she had a better sense of him in her first minutes of meeting him than she did with his layers of charm.

"That's a lie, Riddle—"

"—Tom," he corrected. It wasn't the first time.

"I've had to catch up in everything. I'm usually much better in school." She did not appreciate being buttered up; she was a genuinely good student. There was no reason for anyone to pretend to be impressed by her when she was third in the class—behind her "soulmate," of course, and his pathetic blond friend who was related to Draco Malfoy. She couldn't hold herself back from telling him, of course, that she had punched his grandson. He was not amused.

Everyone seemed to know about her time traveler status, and was in awe that somehow the universe had "selected" her to be Tom Riddle's. The girls at school were inexplicably obsessed with him, and kept their distance out of jealousy. And the boys gave her a wide berth, as well, because she was essentially claimed, which was uncomfortable. She didn't know Tom Riddle, but she still had this weird feeling whenever she heard his name. It wasn't a soulmate kind of feeling.

November 2nd, 1942

"Why do you hate me?" Tom asked (she had finally given in and called him by his first name). He was tracing her bottom lip with his thumb and she wanted him to kiss her, but he seemed more interested in talking. Although she wasn't convinced about the soulmate business, he was undeniably handsome. His thick dark waves were usually perfectly in place, but occasionally one would escape, draping down his forehead to frame his face, which was dominated by high cheekbones and eyes that would be more beautiful if not for their typical frost.

"I don't hate you."

"But you don't believe in soulmates."

"No."

He sighed.

December 26th, 1942

Two of five students left for Christmas—it was more uncommon in this time period, Hermione learned—and they still hadn't kissed.

They did have time to chat, however, and considering she had already splintered the timeline into a thousand little pieces, Hermione didn't mind sharing.

"So a baby stopped a dark wizard?"

"Yes."

"That sounds absolutely ridiculous."

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know why any more than you do. All we knew is that Voldemort was gone."

"Voldemort." Tom looks like he was thinking hard about something. "The name sounds so familiar, almost like it has an echo in my memory."

"That's exactly how I feel about your name."

"I wonder if it has to do with the time travel?"

"Perhaps. I've been researching it but I haven't been able to find anything yet. Then again, I am only the third documented case of someone going back this far and surviving. I've been thinking it's time to go to Dumbledore."

December 27th, 1942

Dumbledore wasn't helpful.

"I've never heard of anything like that happening, although this sort of spontaneous time travel usually only happens after the occurrence of a traumatic event. Perhaps this memory loss is linked to that."

"But I was just reading, the last I remember."

"Yes. The last you remember."

Hermione sighed.

"I'll look into it," Dumbledore assured her. She wasn't reassured.

April 24th, 1943

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

"No." Hermione couldn't put her stock into that sort of thing, and she saw Tom's face fall, again. She wanted to lie and say "yes, Tom, I believe; you are my soulmate," but she couldn't do it. It's not that she didn't want him to be her soulmate. He was the most intelligent person she had ever met, and had an insatiable curiosity for knowledge that only she could match. His loyalty to her was obvious and fierce from the day in Dumbledore's office, despite his hurt feelings that she would want to leave him—her "soulmate." And there was the fact that he was so beautiful. The passage of months had either turned his cold eyes to smoldering or she had warmed to him. It didn't matter.

"I want to. I really, really want to."

It was enough for then, at least.

Tom pushed her bushy hair back with one slender finger and looked like he was about the kiss her, but instead lunged down and scraped his teeth against her neck before deepening into an unexpected bite that made Hermione gasp for air.

"You're going to leave a mark," Hermione said breathily, clutching his jutting hipbone with her right hand to steady herself as he started to suck where had bitten down.

When he was done, he looked straight into her eyes with his—yes, definitely smoldering—eyes and said, "yes. That was the point," before kissing her surprisingly softly, with a slightly open mouth at first before slowly slipping his tongue in between the opening, waiting patiently for her to follow suit.

August 12th, 1944

She hadn't seen Tom all summer, as he was at the orphanage and she with Aberforth (who had graciously taken her in). It was less painful than it had been the summer before, as they had already done it. But when he walked up to her in Diagon Alley, it was as though she had forgotten the effect he had on her.

"Tom!" She shouted.

He just smiled. He wasn't going to shout.

When he made it to her, he greeted her with a kiss on the forehead. "Darling. Did you make Head Girl?"

"Yes," Hermione said with muted enthusiasm until she confirmed he made Head Boy. "And you…?"

"Are the Head Boy," he smiled reassuringly. "You can be excited now."

"Thank you for your permission," Hermione joked, but she couldn't suppress her wide smile any longer.

"We are the perfect couple," Tom said in a cocky tone as he traced the outline of her jaw.

"Yes."

"And soulmates."

"No."

Tom just shook his head, exasperated.

June 4th, 1945

The wedding was well-attended. Hermione didn't love her dress—too vintage for her, but vintage was modern or something like that. Time traveling was confusing, especially accidental time travel.

Tom schmoozed more than she wanted him to, but she was happy and very much in love.

"Soulmates?" He asked at the end of the night, nose-to-nose and close enough that he was blurry.

She sighed, but it was with contentment. She leaned against him, bodies molding together just hours after their wedding. "Yes. Soulmates."

April 22nd, 1957

"Congratulations, Mrs. Riddle, you must be so proud."

"Yes, of course, thank you for coming," Hermione responded on autopilot. Political functions had become a mainstay in her life, something she never would have dreamed of for herself, but she seemed good enough at them. Tom had just been elected Minister, and she could feel the power radiating off him. It felt oddly familiar, but she couldn't place it, so she shrugged it off, continuing to shake hands and smile.

July 1st, 1957

"Tom, what's this?"

"The Sorcerer's Stone—or a Stone, as it were. I had it commissioned for us, Hermione."

"Tom, I told you that Voldemort tried to steal this stone while I was a first year at Hogwarts. I don't want anything to do with it."

"Hermione," Tom whispered reassuredly, "I'm not Voldemort. And I see no reason why we can't live forever. The Flamels seem completely unaffected by the Stone."

"I have to think about it Tom."

"Hermione, I have to have you take it with me."

"Tom—"

"You're my soulmate."

They drank the elixir after dinner that night.

September 30th, 1981

"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Riddle."

Hermione just nodded. She couldn't imagine why Dumbledore had summoned her back to the school after all these years. She had only seen him in passing since she graduated.

"I have this for you."

Dumbledore held out a blue potion. "I believe it will restore your missing memories from the future."

"Why now?"

"I confess I've always had it, Mrs. Riddle, I just thought it might be best for you to keep the repressed memories forgotten."

"And why have you changed your mind?"

"A long time ago, you mentioned you feel something is missing regarding your husband's name."

Hermione felt chilly. "Yes."

"I'm concerned about him, frankly, Mrs. Riddle. I have been since I picked him up at the orphanage, but you seemed to be such a good influence. I'm sure you've heard that he pressured my good friend Nicholas Flamel into making a Stone for him."

"That was decades ago, Dumbledore."

"Yes. But lately he's been acquiring more powerful artifacts, Mrs. Riddle, many of them dark."

"Tom doesn't believe in the difference between light and dark objects, Dumbledore. He has a fascination with storing magic in things. It's harmless."

"That's not all, Mrs. Riddle. There have been rumors circling around from the Department of Mysteries. The story is that they have found a way to plunge others back in time several years."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You don't think Tom is my soulmate. You think someone sent me back in time."

"I don't know the answer to that, Mrs. Riddle. It certainly seems to be a possibility."

Hermione hesitated. "How does the potion work?"

"Drink it laying down. It will plunge you into the memories, much like a pensieve."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Dumbledore said seriously, studying her.

Two hours later, she was laying on her bed. Tom wasn't due home for ages, and she impulsively owled in to tell her work she was feeling under the weather. Given her nearly perfect attendance, no one would question it.

Part of Hermione felt like she was betraying Tom by taking the potion, but Dumbledore was just being absurd. Her memories logically could have nothing to do with him, and no one would send her back in time. It just didn't make sense.

The potion tasted of freesias and acetone, and she coughed before being sucked into a memory.

She saw the flashes that she had forgotten—an old diary with her husband's name on it, and then Harry speaking: "The words Tom Marvolo Riddle appeared, but then rearranged themselves to read I am Lord Voldemort."

No, no, no, Hermione chanted to herself. She could feel hot tears despite being stuck in her own memories. She wished desperately she could pull herself out of them, but it seemed impossible.

The next memory picked up after her memory had faded entirely.

She saw the third task unfold, and Harry bring Cedric's body back from the maze. In the craze, Mad-Eye Moody grabbed her and got her far enough away to apparate. He wasn't Mad-Eye Moody.

"So, this is little Hermione Granger." It was Voldemort, but the voice—oh Merlin—the voice sounded exactly like Tom's.

She looked over to see Ron tied up in the corner of the huge drawing room they were in. "Please don't hurt him!" She burst out.

"I won't if you drink this." It was an orange liquid bobbing around in a glass vial.

"What is it?"

"It will knock you out and make you forget a few things."

"Why?"

"Because, Mudblood, I am tired of you interfering in my plans."

"Then you'll have to kill me," Hermione said more bravely than she felt.

"No. I think if I take out just a few memories—you realize I'll have to mine your mind first to find out which memories—and send you back in time, you'll join me. And it would be much more pleasant to have you working for me than against me. I also find it personally satisfying."

She had to watch as Voldemort performed painful Legilimency on her. Past (or future) Hermione and Ron screamed in unison, and then she tearfully drank the liquid before waking up on her bed—her shared bed with Tom Riddle.

She sat in the dark for hours, waiting for the man himself to come home. She had calmed down, mostly, but one question was buzzing through her brain.

"Did you know?" She demanded the moment Tom came in through the floo.

"Did I know what, darling?"

"Who is Voldemort?"

"I don't know." And after thirty-six years of marriage, she felt confident he was genuine. And she felt a small triumph over the Voldemort of her time because sending her back had only made him better, and not in the way he thought. She had thought about leaving Tom, of course, when she first left the memory, but he truly had become a different person, and he was her soulmate, even if fate didn't send her back in time because of it.

"Soulmates?" She asked tentatively, needing the comfort.

"Yes. Soulmates," Tom agreed, pushing her tear-streaked face against his chest for a tight hug.