Hermione slept beside Tom Riddle that night. It was not the first time – not even close. But it wasn't an intimate experience. It was just as cold and lonely as it would have been if he simply took what he wanted and left her. Maybe even colder. Maybe even lonelier.

Sleep was hard to come by whenever Riddle was in her bed. On occasion, Riddle would wake her, his lips forming that hissing language that he and Harry spoke, as he navigated what Hermione imagined to be the darkest of nightmares.

When she awoke the next morning, Riddle was gone, as if he had never been there except for the red bruises on her neck she charmed away with her wand. She wasn't sure why she did it. All the Death Eaters knew about her relationship with Riddle. In any case, she felt safer without evidence of their sordid affair marked on her skin. Especially since she would be spending part of the day with Bellatrix Lestrange who wanted Riddle for herself.

The door to her bedroom opened without a knock. She knew immediately who it was. Only Riddle would invade her privacy without a second thought.

"Are you still interested in going to the library today?" he asked as he barged into her room, slamming the door behind him.

"Yes," replied Hermione.

"I've sent Bellatrix on a different mission. Time sensitive."

Hermione couldn't decide if she was relieved or annoyed. She didn't want to spend the day with a woman who would see her tortured and dead. Still, Hermione needed to find what the Order sent her back in time to find. A difficult task seeing as she wasn't quite sure what it was.

You'll know it when you see it.

That was what Dumbledore told her. It was all he told her and she would be lying if she said she wasn't downright angry about that. In the meantime, she was doing what Riddle asked of her – researching an old wizarding secret society – though he was about as exact about what she was looking for as Dumbledore was.

She sighed. "I'll go a different day."

"No need. I shall be accompanying you."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You?"

"Yes," Riddle hissed, grabbing Hermione's chin. An unwelcome heat surged through her veins. "And I will not hear you complain about it. Understand?"

"Yes," she said, grimacing.

His eyes narrowed, hot and red like hellfire. He slammed her against the wooden wardrobe so hard it nearly toppled over. She gasped, loving and hating his ferocity at the same time.

"Yes, what?" Riddle snarled.

She gritted her teeth together. Hermione hated saying it, the words that left a bitter taste in her mouth and a tingling feeling the pit of her stomach. "Yes, my Lord."

He bit her ear so hard a tear formed at the corner of her eye. "Good girl."

A storm brewed in the air, creating a heavy mist in the sky. Hermione tightened the coat around her body as she walked beside Riddle down the busy London street. There was a private library near the Leaky Cauldron that only ministry official's used – but apparently Riddle had placed the librarian under the imperious curse so he and his Death Eaters, and now Hermione, could come and go as they pleased.

The inside of the library was dimly lit, piled with old books and smelled something like Professor Snape's potion store room. A twinge of loneliness pricked at her insides. She hadn't been back to her own time in weeks. She was due for a visit. Surely the Order had more to tell her and she would need to report on what she'd been doing for Riddle.

Well not everything she'd been doing for Riddle.

"I need the ancient historical section," she whispered as per library rules. "Are you going to wait here or are you going to follow me?"

Riddle leaned over her shoulder, his fingers digging into her back. "I came to keep an eye on you and that's what I intend on doing."

Hermione nodded, then swallowed as she headed to the far back corner where a wooden sign hanging from the ceilings read "Ancient Texts." Riddle stayed at her side.

She turned the corner into the dark, secluded section of the library. A strange power pulsed from the pages – an electricity she could feel in her bones. Her eyes lit with all she could discover within these texts. Hermione bit back a smile as she glanced down at the words on torn piece of parchment she brought with her.

The Origin of Mysteries by Merlin

Hermione breathed out a long breath. Could a text written by one of greatest wizards of all time be within touching distance? Hermione ran her fingers along the old binding, her eyes searching the small letters for – and there it was. A thick book wrapped in torn leather.

She nearly screamed. A cold hand was on the back of her neck, another on her hip. Her body held immobile. A quick tongue licked behind her ear as an unintelligible word was hissed.

"Riddle – are you crazy? This is a library," she whispered as his breath steamed, dampening the tiny curls at the nape of her neck from her pulled back hair.

"What's the worst that could happen." Riddle ran his wand down Hermione's neck, over her tight sweater and around the curve of her hip.

"For starters we could get caught-" she started to protest, but her face was pressed against the spines of old spell books, his hard body flush against her back.

"If you want me to stop, say 'I don't want you, My Lord.'" His hands were at the bottom edge of her skirt as he slowly pushed the fabric up her thighs. She knew it was crazy. Knew she should stop him, but her heart beat too quickly, her mind fuzzy with want.

"That's what I thought," Riddle growled, a sound that terrified and intrigued her. Confused her mostly.

Hermione shivered as she heard his zipper.

"We're going to get caught," she whispered. Riddle fingers rubbed the sides of her legs, numbness spreading out from his touch.

"I won't have to fight you to be silent today, will I?"

Hermione's mouth fell open as she took in slow breaths. "No."

He pressed painfully close to her. "No what?" he snarled.

They were in a library for goodness sakes – she couldn't just - he wanted her to beg. To act like he was her master. Just because they were sleeping together- that did not mean he could control her. Riddle needed to know that.

"Leave me alone," she snapped. Hermione felt his heat pull away from her, his dizzying, intoxicating touch abandon her now aching body.

"As you wish," he said coldly, grabbing the book they'd come for off the shelf and slamming it on the table. Hermione jumped. "Finish your research. You have fifteen minutes and we're leaving."

Hermione stood there, breathing heavily, as she pushed her skirt back down to her knees.

Horrible bastard.

In the time constraint that Riddle had given her, all Hermione could find out about the secret society (that was so secret no one knew its name) was that Merlin had started it, and it was not related to the muggle myth of the Round Table.

Hermione was walking back to her room after grabbing a bite to eat from the kitchen. She stopped around a corner when she heard Riddle's smooth voice.

"You did well, Bellatrix," hissed Riddle as Bellatrix kneeled before him, the dim light from the hallway washing over their faces.

Her black eyes stared upwards. "How well, my Lord?" She looked so weak, so small, at Riddle's feet. It made Hermione sick.

Riddle sneered, his features icy cold. "Don't beg for a compliment, Bellatrix."

"I wasn't, my Lord. I just wanted to make certain I was serving you as well as you liked." She scooted closer to him. Hermione gripped her wand but didn't quite know why.

"Well, yes-" he said, looking uncomfortable. Hermione could no longer stifle it. She let out a small laugh. The mirthless glares of both Riddle and Bellatrix shot to her.

"Stupid mudblood-"spat Bellatrix, standing, her hand wrapped around her wand.

Riddle's eyes stared unwaveringly into Hermione's as he spoke, making her hands sweat. "Bellatrix enough. I will deal with the mudblood. Return to your chambers, now."

Hermione cringed at the word mudblood on Riddle's lips. The same lips that left kisses and bites all over her skin.

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix bowed and scurried off. Hermione and Riddle stayed in the hallway, both with their wands out, staring at each other with the kind of intensity that could burn a city to the ground.

As quickly as she could, Hermione headed back to her bedroom. Riddle was steps behind her.

"Can you save the lecture?" snapped Hermione as she stormed to the window, looking out the glass to the small moonlit wood.

"You will respect Bellatrix as one of my servants, do you understand?" Riddle snarled, grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her back to face him.

"You don't respect her!"

Riddle's eyes narrowed as he leaned in whisky and toothpaste on his breath. Like usual. "Of course I -"

"Riddle, you can't stand her."

He latched onto her other arm, his face contorted in feral rage. "Don't call me by my filthy muggle father's name."

Surprise and confusion washed over Hermione. Enough of it to change the tone of her voice. "I always call you Riddle," she said softly.

He let out a long breath through his nose. "Not tonight."

Hermione tore away from his grasp. "I think I'll decide what to call you."

"Sit down," he breathed, his left eye twitching slightly. Hermione held her ground. "I said sit down!" Riddle shouted so loudly it made her shudder. Deciding to pick her battles, she sat on the edge of the bed.

Hermione looked up at Riddle. There was something about him when he was angry. His cheeks flushed, his eyes flashed, his muscled tensed. Hermione couldn't feel her legs he looked so powerful, wanton.

"If you think she's so much better than me. Go to her. I'm sure she'd be happy to service you in more ways than one," said Hermione under her breath.

"Maybe I will," spat Riddle.

Hermione tried to pretend a pang of jealousy didn't shoot through her... it couldn't have... what did she care who Riddle had sex with. "I'm not stopping you."

With a wild snarl, Riddle rushed to the door, his hand about to grab the brass handle. Then he turned, his piercing gaze cutting through Hermione. "I don't want her."

"Why not?" asked Hermione. As she thought about it, it was a perfectly valid question. Bellatrix was a rich, beautiful pure-blood who worshipped the ground he walked on.

He stood straight, calm, cool, once again. "There's no satisfaction in riding an already trained horse. I like to subdue them myself."

Even though she could feel the terror thrumming through her, she held her gaze and said, "I'm a person, Riddle. Not a horse – and so is she."

Those long, elegant fingers curled into fists. "I said not to call me that name," he said it once in english and though Hermione did not speak the language she was sure he said it again in parseltongue. He drew his wand and a red light flashed from it. Hermione was ready for it and blocked the curse.

It was a frenzy of shooting lights and curses and shattering glass. Back and forth. Back and forth. Never so much as a simple hex getting through on either side. It was a stalemate until Hermione ducked instead of blocking a spell with her wand and sent a hex right at Riddle's face. He snarled as magic cut his lip. A trickle of blood oozed from the skin and dripped down his chin.

They stopped dueling.

Riddle stomped up to her looking strangely calm, the kind of calm that comes before a tornado rips everything beautiful from the earth. "You obnoxious, insufferable dirty little mudblood."

Hermione stepped closer to him, her whole body racked with hormones and adrenaline, all caused by the sweaty, wild man in front of her. "You insulting, delusional sociopathic half-blood."

Without time to breath or think, Riddle's mouth was on hers, his tongue buried in her mouth, making it hard to breathe. Frantically he worked at the buttons on her shirt and when he ran out of patience, gripped the fabric and tore the remaining buttons away, leaving her in nothing but a green lace bra. One, she suddenly remembered, he had many months ago given her. Riddle smirked running his fingers over the delicate fabric.

He kissed her neck as she worked his shirt off. Riddle threw her hard on to the bed, her head barely missing the headboard. His weight crushed on top of her, his tongue licking up her neck, as she reached down to push off his pants.

They'd done this enough times to have a bit of pattern, a give-and-take, a sordid dance. Her whole body craved his perfect touch. Every flick of his fingers, every bite of his teeth. The way he could hold himself above her without any effort at all.

She was blinking back her desire, trying to hold on as long as she could, never sure when it would happen again, though it seemed to be happening more and more frequently. The only time she could forget about the fear and the responsibility was during moments like this.

He moved, changing their position and Hermione couldn't help but gasp his name, "Riddle."

His movements stopped. "What did I say?" His nails gripped into her arm.

"I – I didn't- Come on." Hermione leaned in to kiss his neck and he pushed her back.

"Say my name," he whispered, his arm locked around the back of her neck, moving slowly, making everything spin.

"I did-" Hermione didn't understand what he wanted.

"My other name. My true name."

Hermione's heart skipped. She couldn't... he'd never. Maybe he'd settle for - "My Lord," she whispered.

Riddle pulled her in tighter, so much that it almost hurt, but it didn't. It felt incredible – perfect – insane. "That's not what I meant. Face what you're doing and who you're doing it with. Say my name." His tongue darted inside her ear with the quickness of a snake's. "When you call out my name, I want you to say it. Lord Voldemort."

She twitched at the sound of the name, her insides becoming thick and toxic. She couldn't. He wouldn't make her.

"I can't."

Riddle gripped Hermione's shoulder and pushed them apart. He stood from the bed, leaving her there alone and gasping for air, as he stormed away and slammed the bathroom door.

Thanks for reading. Please review! I know some things are off with the time as in Bellatrix and Lucius would be much younger if Tom is still young - though in this story is Hermione is twenty and Riddle twenty-eight. Thanks for all the favorites and follows and reviews.