Authors Notes: Okay, I would've posted this sooner but decided to do a bit of rewrites about this chapter instead. Feel free to leave a review at the end!


The hotel room had been rather cramped with two twin beds next to each other, however this was likely due to the already cramped room. However, for what had now been a week in the detour, the weather had been rather pleasant. Occasionally over cast but it hadn't rained. Hermione had been vaguely amused that most of the buildings were the same; more of the cliche designed buildings remained however this was likely due to them not being torn down yet for more modern looking buildings that would dot the city. As fascinating as it was, she did find herself wanting to go back home— only there wasn't any means to.

They had wandered into the magical side of Paris, which was slightly more modern compared to London, albeit more eccentric. Tom had seemed preoccupied in this thoughts as they walked through the city. He had refused to tell her exactly what the problem was. They had stopped at a coffee shop that had ceramic dragons that guarded the tables. For some reason Tom kept looking around the place and out the window was if he was trying to see someone. When they walked out of the coffee house, Tom had made a sharp turn down an alley, dropping Hermione's hand as he so insisted on having her hold, and Hermione's mouth was left agape. The spot he had left her at had a number of stores closed and she was standing in front of perhaps the only open shop on the street.

As she backed up to look at it she found the sign had been so worn over the years that she couldn't quite make out the words. However, the bright red light that lit up the equally red curtains in the windows had a sort of eerie vibe. Perhaps she should've walked away before a woman walked out of the shop, wearing deep purple robes, and her black and blonde hair had been curled rather tightly. Her eyes had crows feet around them and an anxious look on her face. The woman grabbed Hermione's wrist and dragged her into the shop. Somehow she found herself not protesting despite vaguely wanting to.

The lights in the small shop were rather dim. At this point, Hermione gave a sigh of annoyance realizing this was probably another false "seer" like Trewlany. Why was the bullshit divination always trying to make her reasonable world… frustrating.

"You are not from here," the woman said, the French accent was rather thick. Hermione gave a small nod. "You are attempting to drive out the darkness."

"Yes," Hermione said flatly.

"You will fail. To drive out the dark, you will have to condemn another soul in it's place."

Then the woman threw Hermione out of the shop, putting up a Closed sign, and turned off the lights on the curtain. Strange.

"Oh good, you stayed," a familiar voice said. Hermione turned around to see Tom walking close to her with a square black box under his arm.

"You just left!" Hermione snapped.

"I had a… thing. Important thing. Besides, we should leave."

"Good idea, this place is kinda creeping me out."

"I mean, we have to leave Paris. Now."

He had grabbed her arm and they apparated into the hotel room. Tom waved his wand, opening the box and putting the new box inside of it. Then he turned the main box into a suitcase after he made sure their belongings were together. He put the key on the outside door handle before he grabbed a confused Hermione before they apparated once again. When the nauseating feeling faded, Hermione saw that they were in a forest. This is when he would kill her. He had probably grown bored of her and Hermione yanked herself out of her grip before she pointed her wand at him.

"What are you doing?" Tom asked, rather nonchalantly.

"So this is where you plan to kill me then? Is that right?" Hermione shouted. The memory of the Snatchers cornering her back in the Forest of the Dean replayed itself in her mind.

"No. That would be counter productive, and why would I do that?"

Her glare on him only firmed.

"You're from the future, if that silver tongue of yours would talk I could get some information that could better advance society," Tom ranted. "If you're not going to tell me anything, yes I would kill you. But you're from the future and for some reason I would rather not do that."

"You want information? Fine! Nobody knows you as Tom Riddle in the future!" She snapped.

He had a rather pleased look on his face. She wanted to laugh as to how even without his memories, he was still somewhat the same especially when she had repeated the line about his name. But he didn't remember that, and she wanted to crawl in a hole and forget that she had met Tom Riddle again.

"Anything else I should know about my future?" He asked.

She didn't know about the horcruxes the first time around. He didn't know that she knew about the horcruxes this time. Every inch of her was pleading with her mouth to not be snarky.

"You become less pleasant. Which is saying a bit much. But physically and mentally primarily," Hermione said.

"I'd rather not have that happen," Tom sighed. He walked over to her and grabbed her hand. "I have a… friend of a friend's friend that I need to meet quickly. After that— Nice."

She reluctantly followed him and could see that past the forest was a rather extensive pasture and a barn house and a quaint house not far from it. He had her stand near the nearby willow while he went over to the house. Tom knocked on the door of the house and started speaking rather perfect French to the young woman. She gave a small huff of annoyance. "I'm out of touch with French" my ass, she thought. An older man walked to the door and Tom walked in. It had been sunset when he walked out of the house, the girl was much colder to him when she walked him out. He gave a slight jog as he went to meet Hermione by the tree.

"Shall we be off?" He asked. She grabbed onto his arm and they went away from the farm.

They had ended up at the front of a hotel that was rather large and isolated. Hermione could've sworn she could smell sea salt. Where they really this close to the beach? He'd taken her hand and led her into the place. Why did he have to be controlling like this? The front desk attendant had been a rather snooty fellow and when Tom gave the name Malfoy— the other mans superiority retracted ever so slightly. They had then been walked up to their room by the bellhop— of whom was a boy no older than sixteen— and Hermione's skin was crawling as Tom's hand touched her back. This man had no memory of her where it was a rather unpleasant thing to acknowledge that he might as well be someone different. The bell hop left and they walked into the room. The other side of the wall had a large patio door, and the furniture looked like it had never been used.

She looked around the room, stunned by the chandelier, and thought that it was't unlikely to suspect that in the future the room would be divided into smaller rooms to be rented out in the future. Of course, this appeared to be of the magical sort where the probability of that occurring was perhaps smaller. There was however, only one large bed past the French doors on the left.

"I apologize, I had booked the room before your existence," Tom said.

Hermione looked up at him, half wanting him to get into the bed with her and fuck her senseless again, and the other half wanting to be repulsed and ask if the couch could be expanded for sleeping purposes. He walked over to the coffee table and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"Didn't know you took up drinking," she stated. Damn it, what if he started to put the pieces together of knowing her?

"Miss Clearwater, I'm an adult, I can do whatever the hell I like," Tom shrugged. Clearwater, she'd forgotten about the alias of a last name. He kicked his feet onto the table. "Speaking of which, Jean could you come over here for a moment?"

Cautiously, she walked over to him. Internally, she wanted to leap from her body and never return to this accursed hotel room. There was hardly a ray of sunlight left before the lights in the room turned on by themselves. He looked up at her as he took another sip from his glass.

"Would you mind leaning over and telling me you love me?" He asked.

"Why on Earth would I do that?" Hermione asked defensively.

"I'm wondering why you've decided to raise your tone with me since nothing I've ever said nor done prior to this would've elicited this reaction."

"I've known you for what, two weeks— give or take— but it's absolutely ridiculous to ask that of a person! Besides, why would you even want me to do that?"

"You remind me of someone."

"Great."

Hermione crossed her arms and looked away from him. Jealousy would be the incorrect term to use. Perhaps used, her information to him about the future was minimal and vague at best, and she hadn't revealed the full extent of her magic. She was hardly useful to him in those aspects. So why not keep her around and figure out why she looked so similar to the girl he didn't know that was actually her? Her hand itched for her wand, maybe crucio him, only what if she broke the wall of the memory charm?

"It would be easier if I did a legitimus instead," he said.

She tried to keep her face as devoid of emotion as possible. He wasn't that different from his future incarnation apparently. There were things she needed to be kept in her head. She did as he had asked. Even if she had spent the last couple of years practicing Occulmency, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"I love you," she said.

When she pulled away, she noticed his hand had held onto the hand that she was using to balance herself on the couch.

"That… was definitely familiar," he grinned smugly.

"You're incapable of emotion so why was that so inherently important to you?" Hermione questioned, pulling herself away from him.

"I have this… very faint memory from five years ago of a girl telling me she loved me. I don't remember it and it does… intrigue me as to how any one could tell me that when I don't remember a goddamn name."

His free hand traced itself over her lip. She wanted to feel disgusted. Only her memories of Tom, her feelings, wanted him to do something about it.

"And what do you intend on doing with that girl if you ever find her?" Hermione asked; she tried to keep her voice from wavering.

"Get my memory back if she nows how, and see if I can control her," Tom shrugged.

"You're vile."

She pulled herself away from him and slammed the doors to the bedroom shut. Hermione cursed herself for nearly being senseless in almost allowing Tom to seduce her when in the reality, he would've gladly used her as carelessly as he did with his followers.


It had been rather intriguing seeing Jean try to hide her emotions. He didn't even need to pry into her mind to see that her eyes were giving everything away. She was likely to be the girl from the Room of Requirement he just had to wait to see how long it took her to break. Having to wait for her to give him back his memories— or other wise lead him to whomever had taken his memories— was absolutely grueling. He ought to just break into her mind— only then he'd have to put up with her screaming about his intrusion that it would irritate him enough to kill her. Tom looked at the doors to the bedroom.

The lights had been shut off and there wasn't a sound coming from the room. Save for the brief moments of Jean throwing the pillows onto the floor— he could've sworn he heard one knock over something on the table in there. Briefly he wondered if Jean did have feelings for him. Most of the time she did comply with him but only recently had she become more anger prone and hostile. He'd place her in Gryffindor but she never said anything about where she came from. The only thing she had mentioned was that there had been a war. He wanted to pry and figure out this puzzle she had given him.

He waved his wand and the lights in the remaining rooms had dimmed. There was always something off about Jean and he hated it. The way her magic had cackled around her when he asked her to lean over was powerful and yet she had no idea. Annoyed, he altered the pillows position on the couch before taking off his shoes. Normally he'd never have a problem with peering into another persons mind for information, but despite the need for wanting to figure a mystery out on his own, he wasn't sure why the idea bothered him so much about Jean. After all, she was stuck with him.


Hermione had woken up in a rather groggy state and hadn't bothered to go into the bathroom to wash up. She ran a hand through her hair and noticed it was frizzy again. The sun was bleeding through the window and she crawled out of the bed and decided to maybe dislike Tom a little less. Would she forgive him for the threat of using a legitimus? No.

The first thing she saw, when she walked out of the bedroom, was Tom leaning over the table with his hand on his nose. He was finishing up a white line.

"You know that's horrible for you!" Hermione said; a moment later she realized it had come out more of a defensive shriek than anything else.

He finished the line before looking up at her. His hair had fallen in front of his face.

"Maybe that's how you ended up without a nose in the future," she said, attempting to sound indifferent.

"And who are you to judge?" Tom questioned.

She poured herself a class of wine that had been in a bucket on the table. Briefly she remembered someone telling her at one point when she was younger "when you get older, you realize everyone does coke." She wanted to scream at whomever had said it, although she couldn't quite place who had told her, much less what the conversation had originally been about.

"What did you mean by I don't have a nose in the future?" Tom asked defensively. He touched his nose as if to make sure it was still there.

"I can't tell you," Hermione smirked.

"You know only prostitutes drink before noon."

"At least I'll have a nose."

"You keep going on about that so you ought to just tell me."

Hermione shrugged and lounged on the couch as she drank the wine.

"Your hair's bushy," Tom said.

"I'm aware," Hermione said.

"How about a walk on the beach?"

"I hate the beach."

"Why do you hate it?"

"Because the sand gets everywhere and I'd rather be on a street or two before the beach to avoid it."

"It's Nice, you might as well tolerate the sand."

"I didn't bring anything to walk on the beach with."

"Just wear what you normally would."

"And get sand all over it? No thanks."

Why were they arguing about the beach?

"Okay, no beach then," Tom said. "Can you please tell me anything useful about the future?"

"Nope. That would probably disrupt the time stream further," Hermione shrugged. She took a sip of her wine looking out the window. There was a looming overcast. "However, Sunset Boulevard comes out in… I dunno early January I think of next year. I'd love to go see that when it's at it's first coming out."

"That's rather useless information."

"What are you going to do? Stab me to death?'

"A killing curse would be cleaner."

"That's illegal, Tom."

She walked back over to the table for another glass of wine before Tom stopped her.

"I wouldn't kill you because you're far more interesting than you know," he muttered.

He moved closer to her as she attempted to step back. This only lasted two steps before Tom held onto her waist and kissed her. It felt so… familiar. Too perfect. She leaned herself closer into him as the kiss deepened.

"Please… please tell me about me in the future," Tom said, breaking the kiss.

"I can't—," Hermione said, her breathe hiking as he kissed her neck.

She wanted to stay in this moment. Only she remembered who he became in the future… a man that she would vehemently oppose. This…. This wasn't her Tom but he wasn't outright Voldemort— yet. His hands wandered and she wanted to give in. As familiar as the feeling was, there was also an essence of detachment. This wasn't her Tom. This was someone trying to physically manipulate her for their own gain. Frustrated, she pushed Tom off of her and in the process dropped the wine glass.

"I thought you would've done that sooner," he said indifferently.

"What? Push you off or drop the glass?" Hermione questioned.

"Drop the glass."

"Don't talk to me for the rest of the day."

He gave a small nod and Hermione went back into the bedroom fuming. She had meant to calm down and ended up taking an angry nap. When she'd woken up again, the lights were off and there was a violent storm outside. Anxious, she walked out to the main room and found that it was empty. There was a small note from Tom on the table that plainly said I'll be back soon. The glass she'd dropped earlier had been repaired and on the table. There was a ringing in her ear and Hermione found herself walking back into her room where her bag was. She opened it up and summoned the box. It had a strange glow around it. Maybe it was just her eyes adjusting from that nap.

There was seething strange in the way the ring wanted her to put it on. At least it wasn't like the locket where it caused seething bitterness and jealousy. But how much worse was the ring? She pushed the box back into the bag and went back out of the room, trying to avoid the box. She had to destroy the horcrux. Then it was the diary and Tom Riddle would be dead. As she lounged on the couch she wondered if it was possible for her to break out into cabin fever. If that happened perhaps it'd end up being similar to the Shining and she could stab Tom Riddle to death. That was unrealistic and would likely end up with her dead, movie or no movie resemblance.

For all it was worth, it was easier to push him away and hate him than it was to admit "after he kissed me again I fell in love with him all over again." He had also started basically a genocide in the future and was absolutely morally bankrupt. Of course if she was rewriting time then all of that could be avoided. A rat ran across the room and Hermione was nonchalant throwing a cutting curse at it. She looked away from it as she continued to drink the wine.


Tom had walked into the room with his coat over his arm as he waved the lights on with his wand. However, Jean was merely lying on the sofa with another wine glass in hand.

"What on earth are you doing sitting in the dark?" he demanded.

"Oh god, I've done something to upset Master Riddle," Jean said sarcastically.

Ignore the boner, ignore the boner. Dammit.

"I brought back dinner," Tom said as he walked over to the dinner table with the bag.

"And I thought Gryffindors were the ones meant to be chivalrous," she responded.

"I'd prefer the term polite. It's a universal term."

She looked over at him with more of a scowl before she went back to ignoring him. It would definitely be easier to kill her at this point with how insufferable she was being. There was an awful dead smell in his nose.

"Do you smell that?' he asked.

"I killed a rat while you were away," Jean said. "You really should consider the sanitation of a hotel."

"You killed a rat?"

"Cutting hex."

"You... don't strike me as someone who would kill for the hell of it."

Despite the fact that she had been rather open, nonverbally, earlier, he could tell that this time she was bottling up her emotions. Perhaps not the best idea but this would lead to wonderful results in observation. Well, more of an entertaining spectacle. It was actually killing him, metaphorically with his horcruxes safe, with her not liking him right now. He wasn't sure why she did. Probably some pathetic petty ass reason. He'd expected her to be more pleasant after waking up from that nap. Only she wasn't. This was nearly impossible for him to experience when everyone at Hogwarts, even those dumb Gryffindors with their pride, were able to like him. To trust him. Even after Hogwarts and he'd been at Borgin and Burkes. Why did she hate him all of a sudden?!


Hermione had picked up the paper as she saw Tom disposing the rat. It hadn't looked like Peter Pettigrew but if it had it would've given her more satisfaction. There was a tinge of guilt, mostly over how she had killed the rat instead of just dumping it outside. Of course it still probably would've fallen to death but she could give herself the illusion of being humane. The moment she started thinking about this, she started thinking about the war, and being trapped in the past with Tom Riddle. There wasn't a way for her to go back, as far as she knew, and he was rather... He had such an act. Bringing back dinner, what did he expect? She'd be ever so grateful that she'd give up every piece of the future that she once knew? Sure the food was good but it wasn't enough to warrant her giving information.

Much like a ghost, she went to the room and slipped into a nightgown before going to bed. The thing kept scratching her in areas to where she wished she had her old clothes. What did people like about the 50's anyway? She'd had a dream, more of a nightmare. It had been the Battle of Hogwarts, only there was a small boy standing on top of a pile of rubble. He looked about seven, with thick black hair and pale skin. He looked like Tom. She was trying to run to him, and she saw Tom also running towards him. She wasn't sure why either of them were, besides the battle going on around them. Then there was a flash of green light that had hit Tom and she had woken up. Hermione was confused to the wet stuff on her face before she touched it and found that she'd been crying.

The door clicked open and she frantically went for her wand. Where was Ron?

"Relax, it's just me," Tom said. Hermione lowered her wand. "You were shouting my name."

"Just... just a bad dream," Hermione said.

He sat at the edge of the bed.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asked.

"I'm stuck in the bloody past, and I can't get home and... I'm sorry for taking it out on you. You know, being confused and alone here and whatever," Hermione said. Not a complete lie.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

Silence.

"You know, if I could get you home I would," Tom said. It was an obvious lie.

"And give up your means to achieve world domination?" Hermione joked.

"You could never be just a means to an end. Besides, why would I want world domination?"

She crossed her arms and tried to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

"You're doing it again," Tom said.

"What?" Hermione snapped.

"Trying to pretend like you don't care."

"You know, I should pretend I don't care because at least that ways I don't have to think about the alternative."

"And what's the alternative?"

"You're doing that thing where you're pretending to care!"

"Jean..."

She wasn't sure how she'd gotten close to Tom Riddle. Or how he had moved up the bed closer to her. Because the next thing she knew was that she was kissing him and his hand was running itself over her arm. Why? The only thing she wanted to do was feel, or at least ignore the negative feelings. Tom had pulled off his shirt and he'd pinned her under him. It was passion, it was curiosity, it was dysfunctional. And there was something enthralling there that had never occurred with Ron. She smirked through the kisses as his hand tried to tame her hair. Hermione had hiked up her night gown, practically begging Tom to take her before he pulled away. He had rolled over to the side of her, trying to catch his breath.

"I should... go back to the couch," he said.

She had turned onto her side to face him.

"Just stay, Tom," Hermione said.

He had smiled at her in the moonlight. Her hand had messed up the normal perfect texture of his hair to where the waves looked more natural. She didn't mind that he had held her as they slept. She didn't mind even if his future self planned on mass murder. She didn't mind even if she was going to kill him. If she didn't and she tried to save him, someone else would become just as horrible.

/

The following morning, Hermione had slipped into the shower and when she returned to the room, found Tom gone. She shrugged and found a pair of more casual clothes to wear for the day before going back into the bathroom in an attempt to tame her hair. After using sleek easy that she'd gotten it had been able to at least tolerate ringlets. When she'd gotten out of the room, the door had shut.

Tom had walked in with two small bags in hand and a letter.

"I brought you a pastry," he said.

"Am I ever going to leave this room?" Hermione asked. She looked up at the chandeliers. "Feels like a cage now."

"It's only a cage if you make it one."

She rolled her eyes irritated. Her stomach growled and she looked at the bag that had the pastry in it. Here she was, in the middle of a... not quite an argument, and her mind was preoccupied with eating!

"You know that's besides the point I'm trying to make, right?" she scoffed.

"Well, you didn't want to go to the beach," Tom shrugged.

"Isn't there a library or something around here?"

"We're... in Nice, it's France, and you want to hole yourself up in a library?"

"Problem?"

"Fine, I think there's some book shop or something on the boardwalk that I passed by we can go to. And you should really eat that pastry."

"Urging me to eat something that I have no idea how it was prepared, god, did you put a love potion in it?"

He gave her an odd look and the small laugh Hermione had faded.

"It... it was a joke, Tom" she said.

"Don't make jokes, you're horrible at them," Tom sighed.

"Don't you dare tell me what I can or cannot do."

She grabbed the bag and started eating the sweet as they walked out of the hotel. At one point she had glanced at his hand, wondering what it would be like to hold it out in public. Then again, he was halfway to becoming Lord Voldemort and she wanted to let go of the bile forming in her mouth. They had reached a bookstore, and through a back door it was actually larger on the inside. Tom had pulled a book of the shelf without looking at it before sitting in one of the plush chairs that dotted the floor. Hermione meanwhile, took her time looking through the rows of books. Some of them were in French, a few in English.

There was one in German that had a time turner like shape on the front. She found a translator towards the back referencing between the two as she sat on the window ledge of the shop. Roughly thirty minutes into it and she couldn't find any thing that was useful in going forwards in time or possible alterations in a timeline. She shut the book and waved her wand to return them to their places.

They ended up leaving at some point; Hermione had lost track of the time when she noticed Tom walking over to her. She could see the sunset over the water between the street blocks.

"So why France?" Hermione asked.

"People I need to talk to," Tom shrugged.

"That's it?"

"Yes, why?"

"You spent the morning chastising me about not wanting to go out while we were in France, and you, just decided to come here to talk to people on what? Your quest for world domination?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You shoot small first and then grow to the point where world domination is effortless."

There was a moment of silence and a strained look on Hermione's face. Her mind was racing at the possibilities he could've achieved in the future if they hadn't stopped him with his newer information. Tom had noticed and gave a small laugh.

"You don't think I'd actually do that? Did you?" he asked.

"I don't know you and you don't know me," she forced out, she did know him just not the him he was now. "So it's reasonable to believe that it's a possibility."

The alley they had stepped in on their way to the hotel ended up with three wizards blocking the path. It couldn't have just been a troll. The men were screaming at them in French with wands pointed towards them. Tom had defensively pushed her behind him as he raised his own wand. Unfortunately, one of the men had hit him with a stunner after this. Hermione looked down at him, confused at his protectiveness and disappointment in his failure to prevent himself from defending them. The men continued to scream at her as they moved in; she didn't quite feel like she was in charge of herself. She had to protect Tom, even if he didn't quite know her.

She hit one of the men with Snape's curse, one of them backed away and his companion moved closer at her. Hermione shouted levicorpus before blasting him. While she raised a shield charm, the other man hadn't been fortunate enough to avoid the deceased and ended up with blood on himself. He started to run away before Hermione casted a spell to pull him back. Her heel dug itself into his chest as he shook; he was begging for mercy. She looked over at Tom, the stunner was starting to deteriorate. Then she looked back at the man, he couldn't have been older than thirty give or take, and there was some undefinable rage coursing through her. Crucio was perhaps unwarranted.

"Jean, stop!" she heard Tom shout.

She looked back at him as she held her wand at the man.

"You can let him go," Tom said. "He's the weaker one, I doubt he'll tell anyone about us."

"Yes, as if his friend didn't try to attack you and who knows what they would've done to me! What makes you think he'll just keep quiet?" Hermione screeched.

"Jean, just let him go."

There was a, not quite feigned actually near genuine, look of concern on his face as he look at her once he had gotten up. The man was trembling at this point.

"Jean, stop, oui?" he asked.

Who was to say this man was any better than the snatchers? She moved away from him but before he was fully up she had conjured a dark smoke like tentacle around him. His eyes bulged as it choked him to death. Hermione transfigured the two remaining bodies into rags before throwing them in a nearby dumpster. Tom looked at her in a combination of terror and glee.


The walk back to the hotel had been stiffening. Tom had noticed Jean had started to loose the cold powerful demeanor she had as they walked into the cramped elevator. Her hand was gripping the handle rail to where her knuckles turned white. He hadn't seen anyone perform that level of magic in... he hated Dumbledore but he had to give the man credit where it was due. Then he opened the door and it seemed like she was more so dragging her feet closer to the bedroom before she gave up and fell onto the bed.

"Jean," he started.

Her arms had wrapped around a pillow underneath her.

"I'm a monster, aren't I?" she muttered.

"You were incredible," Tom admitted.

She shot up and glared at him as tears started to pool.

"I just... I killed three men. Three! A rat... a rat's nothing but I just. I didn't feel like me," Jean said in disbelief.

"You probably saved us," Tom said.

"Maybe, maybe not. Just, I'm not that different from you and I hate it!"

He looked at her confused. Yes, she was a brilliant witch. Keeping her alive had paid off. But it was such a bizarre statement, as if she knew him! The real him, not the facade he played to win her trust. She buried her face in the pillow and he found himself stroking her hair. He had found himself vaguely missing the bushy mess of curls she had compared to the artificial ones. Tom tried to force the thoughts out of his head.

She wiped away the tears on her face with the back of her cardigans sleeve before she looked back at him.

"Why are you even here still?" she asked. "Or better yet, not kicking me out?"

"Because you are... brilliant Jean Clearwater," Tom forced out. It wasn't forcing out at all actually but he wasn't about to admit to being authentic with this girl.


Hermione didn't mind that Tom had helped her tuck herself into bed. Or that he went over into the kitchen and brought her back a hot chocolate. It was strange that her magic felt at ease when she had performed that type of magic earlier. Tom didn't seem to care, much. He had sat on the other side of the bed as she drank from the mug. There was soft lighting in the room and the rest of the hotel room had been left dark. She'd finished the hot chocolate and put it on the nightstand before realizing she was rather warm in the outfit she had on.

She'd slipped the cardigan off and regretted it when she realized the sleeves were still short. The scar.

"What?" Tom said, looking up from his book.

"Nothing," Hermione said; it was not nothing, her voice had accidentally hitched.

"Well, what do you think about the Muggle born versus Pureblood debate?"

"The what?"

"Back at Hogwarts they let in Muggleborns despite Slytherins concerns which are far more reasonable than people give him credit for. I'm just wondering what your thoughts are on it in, being from the future."

"I can't say Pureblood's are superior. Just, they usually... at least the extremist that disagree with my statement aren't... kind to people like me."

He looked at her confused before he could see the scar on her arm from the way she had turned herself to look over at him. Mudblood. She wanted to wear it like honor, which made more sense in the future. How many people could say they were able to endure Bellatrix Lestrange's sadistic modes of torture? Only here, here it was a fifty fifty chance that she could still live. At least, next to the future Lord Voldemort.

"Okay, I mean muggleborn's aren't... generally meant to be in the wizarding world but Jean, I can't just ignore talent like yours," he said.

"That's brilliant," she sneered. Everyone like her was still meant to be scum in his eyes. Unworthy of magic as he would later put it.

/

The next couple of days were strained. He did acknowledge her but it was... more like picking at a scab. She had gone down to the lobby and the younger girl had a forced smile on as she passed Hermione her coffee and toast. Tom had briefly mentioned the night before that he had to go see someone up in Marseilles. She went back up to her room, vaguely pleased she had managed to leave the hotel room. Not that she couldn't but even brief movement was good. Most of the day she attempted to read whatever Tom had. Although Harkfords Magical Ailments and Divine Sorcery bored her with it's pretentious attitude towards the dark arts and the analysis from Cassandra Trewlany about dream divination had her frustrated. Then again, this was a man that would later take a fraudulent seer's prophecy seriously enough to kill a family, and attempted murder on her best friend.

When he did get back, it had been more of a sudden apparition onto the couch. He looked gaunt and worn out. Hermione had stepped out of the bedroom surprised.

"I hate dealing with incompetent wizards," he sighed. Then he forced himself up and nearly fell over walking before Hermione had to catch him.

"Let's get you onto the bed," she suggested. "Maybe you'll feel better in the morning."

"Yes, the morning."

He dragged his feet along as she guided him to the room. She had pulled his shoes off and threw the comforter over him as he looked at her, nearly confused or high. She started to walk out the door before she heard him mumble.

"Thank you," he said.

Hermione looked back at him but he had already passed out. He looked peaceful, for not being on a murderous rampage yet. She wanted to blame the random thank you on a concussion, yes, that was a plausible explanation. Only he had frozen her out to an extent after finding out about her true blood lineage. She laid on the couch looking at the chandelier. Sure, the woman back in Paris had probably been a fraud. Most likely. She looked at her hand curiously. Could it have really been her that had killed those men? Of course it was, she knew, back in her mind, that she had known what she was doing. Then it terrified her that it could've been influenced by the so-called damnation. If she was any closer to possibly curing Tom, even though the plan was to kill him, then was she the soul that was to end up taking his place? She looked back at the room where he was sleeping. Then the thought occurred to her that made her want to jump off a cliff. She was in love with him, again.