"You look so much like a whore, Mother."

Tom awoke with a start, fists curling into his bedsheets. He pushed himself into a sitting position, back against the headboard, and ran a shaking hand through his hair, now damp from the sweat that clung to his skin. It was the same dream, the one that had plagued him for years now. The images terrified him - he did not think of his Mother in that way, he despised her, thought of her as a pathetic creature. Yet nearly every week these sordid images appeared before him so clearly it were as if he were simply recalling a memory.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his temples with his palms. A set of long, deep breaths calmed his racing heart and the visions slowly began to fade from his mind. He threw the heavy duvet off away from his body and stripped off the white t-shirt he wore to bed, throwing the damp cloth to the floor. With a flick of his fingers, a glass of water hovered in front of him, which he immediately grabbed and gulped down thirstily.

These dreams had gotten worse, more intense, since the creation of his second horcrux. He peered sideways at the unassuming leather diary that sat on his bedside table - surely this could not be the source of the problem? He'd been careful, read about all the dangers and side-effects that came with splitting one's soul, and dreams of screwing his own Mother had not been on the list. He settled the empty glass down on the table next to the diary, before turning away and pulling the thick duvet back over his shoulders.

If he was going to have sex dreams, they could at least have been about his new tutor. He smirked into his pillow as new images filled his head. When she had snapped during their first tutorial, a strange arousal came over him. No-one had spoken back to him like that, not for many years, and it excited him. He would have loved to shred her clothes at that moment, bend her over his desk and fuck her until she knew who she was talking to. The Master of Riddle Manor, the Heir of Slytherin, the most powerful wizard the world would ever know.

As he pictured her, naked before him, he moved a hand down over his chest, then stomach and began to stroke himself slowly. He barely took the time to look at her body, he didn't need to. She felt soft, she moaned as he clawed at the skin of her back and that was enough. Her hair felt coarse and crisp as he pulled it backwards, jerking her back against his torso. As he pushed into her, she shuddered and arched, her insides tightening around him -

A month had passed since her first evening of discussion with Merope and now, Hermione met with the Riddle matriarch more than she saw her son. Not that she minded, he still treated her abhorrently, whilst Merope offered her a wealth of knowledge that proved integral to her studies. She was a fascinating character, with experience and intellect that was unrivaled - even her Professors at Hogwarts could not have gone into the intricate details of magic in the way she did. The Dark Arts were her passion, that much was obvious.

The previous evening she had explained the merits of darkness, something Hermione had never considered.

"Certainly, there are spells that should never be touched - the Unforgivable Curses, for example. But, there are those out there who will use them and there is little Light magic that will counteract them."

"But surely darkness should be fought with light?"

"In some cases, yes. Dementors cannot be defeated, truly defeated, without a strain of the Patronus charm. But they are creatures of pure darkness. Humans are not, due to the manner in which they are created, truly dark. Thus, fighting darkness with darkness is often the best manner in which to handle things."

Hermione sipped thoughtfully at her drink - an Old Fashioned, which she had recently learnt was Merope's favourite beverage and she herself had grown quite fond of - and furrowed her brow. "I had never considered that."

"Tell me, Hermione. How would you kill a man who has consumed unicorn blood?"

"I've no idea, I thought it gave one eternal life."

"Not exactly. What do you define as 'life'?"

"I suppose I would define life as a condition of being, the existence of an individual."

"One with the ability to grow, perform functional activity and change. If one drinks unicorn blood, it will keep you in a state of existence, yes, but you are never truly alive," Merope replied, with a smile. "You cannot grow, you cannot change. You will stay in the same state as at the point of consumption. Unicorn blood is pure, it is Light - in order to kill such a being, something so out of touch with what we define as 'living', one would need Dark magic."

"And how would I do that?"

"Unicorn blood is pure, it should not be attached to any soul that is dark - and we must assume here that the person consuming said blood is one of dark inclination, who else would slay such a lovely creature - thus, in order to tear the purity away, you would need to sever the connection. Velox fractura, is the incantation."

"But that-"

"Is a dark spell. Usually used to drive a person insane - to split their mind in two. But when applied to a being that has consumed unicorn blood, it will tear the pure life from their blood."

"Killing them," Hermione finished, nodding.

Merope smiled at her and leaned back into her armchair. "Quite."

They sat in thoughtful silence for a moment before footsteps from the hall drew their attention away.

Tom entered the room, curtly nodding at Hermione before turning to Merope. He held out one hand, in which sat a small package, wrapped in brown paper.

"Mother, something has arrived for you."

"How awfully late for mail!" the woman said, getting to her feet. She approached her son, who passed the package to her. He looked back at Hermione and gave her a strained smile.

"May I join you for a drink?"

"Of course, darling," Merope said, happily. She clicked her fingers and another Old Fashioned appeared, hovering in front of Tom. He grabbed the glass from the air and took the seat on the sofa next to Hermione. She shuffled closer to the arm, a little uncomfortable with his closeness.

"Have you had a pleasant evening, Miss Granger?" he asked, reclining in his seat. He plucked two cigarettes from his top pocket, offering one to her. She accepted, despite her skepticism. Why was Tom acting so pleasantly toward her? This was a first.

"Excellent, thank you. And yourself?" she replied, placing the tube between her lips. He stared at the end for a brief moment and it burst into flame. Hermione very nearly rolled her eyes at his display of magic, but held herself back, taking a long drag to calm to flame.

"I had a pleasant day, thank you Hermione," he chuckled, letting the smoke curl out of his mouth before breathing it back into his nose.

"Any more work on the Patronus?"

Tom smiled darkly and let out a long stream of smoke. "Not yet, but I think I have pinned down the memory that should do it."

"Which is?"

"The first time I saw Hogwar-'

A loud crash interrupted him. They both turned to see Merope, still standing with the now-open package in her hands, glass shattered around her feet.

"Merope? Are you alright?" Hermione asked, rushing to the woman's side. Tom remained where he was, but settled his glass on the table in order to face them.

"Y-yes, my dear. Sorry, just-" the older woman replied. Her words were hushed, her stare distant and vacant. She clasped her hands around the brown paper, concealing the contents of the package. Hermione glimpsed it for a second, but confused her. "It's nothing. I jus- I need to retire for the evening."

Merope turned away from Hermione and Tom, clutching the package close to her chest. "Goodnight, darlings."

"Goodnight Merope," Hermione called, watching the woman's silhouette fade as she disappeared into the darkness of the ballroom.

For a moment, Hermione stared vacantly into the shadows. The item looked like a tusk, or the tooth of some gargantuan creature - what could have perturbed Merope so much about it?

"I wouldn't worry about her, Hermione. She has odd moment now and then. Has done ever since my Father passed."

She turned around, to see Tom standing close behind her. "I see. Sorry, I just-"

"It's nothing to worry about."

"Of course, sorry."

The two of them walked back to the seating area, Tom taking his Mother's armchair this time. Hermione felt uneasy, much preferring the company of Merope, but forced herself to try and relax. He was just a boy.

"I gather that you have been spending a lot of time with my Mother," he said, reaching across the table to pick up his glass.

"Yes, she is a fascinating woman. I can see where you get your power from."

"Hmm. Perhaps. She never knew how to use it, whereas I do."

"What do you mean?"

"Mother possesses a great deal of power, but what does she do with it? Nothing. The strongest spell she's cast in years was on her hair."

Hermione frowned. "That's probably not true."

He smiled, stubbing out his cigarette with one hand and raising his glass with the other. "I, on the other hand, have dedicated myself to using that innate magical ability to strengthen myself. There is little I can't accomplish."

She smirked, draining her drink. "Your arrogance will be your downfall."

"My arrogance?"

"Yes."

Tom waved his hand over her glass, refilling it. "We shall see."

"What is it you're working on? You told me that you had your own studies to complete during our first tutorial. What are they?"

He sat back, fixing her gaze. "Eternal life."

Hermione laughed, though quietened when she saw his serious expression. "Really? Oh come on, that's something even magic cannot do."

Tom rose from his chair and moved around the table to sit next to her. She didn't shy away this time, instead watching him closely. His delicate features looked beautiful in the dim light of the room, the shadows cutting his cheekbones.

"A lot of things can be overcome, Hermione. By those who dare to explore the realms of magic that most are afraid of," he said, quietly. "How do you think my Mother and I survive in this isolation, alone?"

"I don't understand."

"Aside from yourself, have you ever seen anyone inside this Manor?"

"No, I don't believe I have."

"Then how..." he began, cupping his palms together. After a second he opened them, revealing a rosy apple. Hermione's eyes widened as she observed it, before looking back at him. He was waiting for her gaze. "Do we manage to create sustenance?"

"Gamp's Law says that should be impossible!" she cried, taking the apple from his hands and turning it around in front of her. He gently lowered her hand with his and leaned in closer.

"Nothing is impossible."

His thumb ran smoothly over the hand he still held.

Hermione tried to muster something to say, but found herself unable. The Riddles possessed something fantastic inside of them - not their magical abilities, but the capacity to push beyond what was the norm. It astounded her.

So lost in her thought, she barely had time to realise that he was kissing her. Tom's free hand moved to the back of her head and held it softly, urging her to follow his lead. That bitter smell returned, more intoxicating than before and she complied, turning her head as he desired, letting that kiss consume her.