a/n: Heyy guys! Another update! I hope you guys really really really are enjoying this, and the reviews are kick butt, so thank you so much!:)

So, to anyone who reads these little author notes, I just have a question: What is a Beta? I've been hearing that word around with various authors on ff and I'm wondering if I need one, lol:) Thanks if ya know!:)

Tom might get a teensy weensy bit OOC here, just a warning:)

Disclaimer: Prop. of Joanne Rowling:)

Chapter Eleven:

Bare My Soul

Hermione felt a disturbing sense of security wash over her as Tom's hand gently stroked her hair, holding her tightly against his bare chest. Her mind kept coming up with logical reason that this was wrong-she had gone to the alcove in the first place to confront him, not to strike up a deal with him, he was (possibly) a murderer, he knew more dark magic than Grindelwald himself, not to mention he was Tommy, her Tommy, her best friend since...

She sighed, resolving that, if she really thought about it, could she honestly say she was surprised? Everyone else saw it coming. She was the only one that was oblivious, and if she was honest with herself, she wasn't that oblivious at all.

Apparently Tom's thoughts were along the same lines as hers. "Do you remember back in fourth year," he mused. "The name they used to call you."

Hermione snorted. "Which one? There was, 'Our Lord's Mistress', and then there was 'The Snake Charmer' and then of course, Lady Riddle-"

"But you can't forget my favorite," he said. "Naturally, it was the one you hated the most. 'His Dark Lady'. Do you remember it?"

"Ugh, how could I forget?" Hermione groaned. "They'd call me it in class sometimes, too! The idiots!"

Tom chuckled. "I always went over the moon whenever they called you that. His Dark Lady." He smiled, possessively molding her to himself, tucking her head under his chin-not that she minded. "Mine."

Hermione frowned, not liking the tone of his voice. "Why do you want me, Tom?"

"You're the most powerful witch I've ever met," he responded immediatly. "You and I together-we're invincible, like I've been telling you from second year on-invincible."

She felt her heart crumble a little at that. It was always power with him-the need to be the very best he could be. "So it has nothing to do with me?"

He sat up, raking a hand through his hair, and she slid backwards so that she was sitting criss-cross on his lap. His dark eyes studied her in that perturbing way that she didn't like but she didn't hate either.

"I'm not going to tell you I love you," he said finally. "And I know you're smart enough not to expect me to."

"I am," Hermione agreed, unsurprised.

"But I will admit that I am...unsettled...when I'm not with you. You're...you're one of kind, Duerre."

He seemed to actually struggle saying the words, and Hermione hid her smile in his shoulder. She knew that was the best she was going to get from him, but coming from Tom, that was practically as good as 'I Love You.'

He leaned back against the headboard. "And you, my little mouse?"

She pursed her lips, seeing the triumph in his eyes, as if he knew what her answer would be. She wanted to be honest, to say that he confused her to know end, but then-

Be a Slytherin, him out of suspicion.

"I love you," she answered, trying to sound as honest as possible. A sinister smirk curled his lips, as he pulled her back against him.

"I know."

That presumptuous jerk! How dare he assume that she loved him based on his own whim! A cruel, very un-Hermione-ish smile lit up her lips.

I'll show you, Mr. Know-It-All.

"Come in!"

His ancient voice sounded tired and weary, and Hermione felt a stab of pity for the man who didn't deserve the tribulations of the world. She had never understood Tom's hatred of the man, but she regarded him highly.

"Miss Duerre," he said, looking mildly surprised. It was very rare that any of the Slytherins associated with him in less the had to.

Then again, even the professors knew that Hermione wasn't your average Slytherin.

"Sorry to bother you, Professor, I just...may I sit down?" He solemnly nodded towards the empty chair.

"Would you care for a lemon drop?" Hermione declined, wondering how best to approach the subject.

"Professor...Professor, to cure the students that were attacked, Madam Bonham needs to brew a Mandrake draught. They've...they've been petrified."

Dumbledore sat up straighter. "I...how do you know this?"

Hermione felt nervous under his gaze, which seemed to look through to her very soul. "Since the first attack, I've been doing a lot of research. For a very long time, I didn't come up with anything. Then, one day, I was reading Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and came across the entry about Basilisks. Later, I read something about the term of Petrification, and concluded that the only way a student could have been petrified was through the reflected gaze of a Basilisk."

Dumbledore blinked several times, and then stood up, moving towards a bookcase that sat behind his desk and skimming over some of the books spines. "You, of course, understand what this means, Miss Duerre?" She felt a swell of pride that he understood that she was intelligent enough to be aware of what others weren't.

"Yes, sir. The heir of Slytherin is at Hogwarts, and they've opened the Chamber of Secrets. Only they can control the Basilisk, because whoever they are, they're a Parselmouth." Hermione hesitated, wondering if she should mention what else was on her mind

No, Hermione. Even in the wizarding world, hearing voices isn't a good sign.

But Hermione ignored her inner-Tom, who would confide in no one for help and work on his own to get to the bottom of the mystery. "Professor, if I told you something, would you be suspicious of me."

Hermione was surprised when Dumbledore turned and smiled knowingly. "Just because I am an old coot, Miss Granger, does not mean that I am deaf nor blind. I've heard the whispers too, and I can honestly say, you are the last person I would suspect."

She was startled and ashamed to find that she felt tears brimming at the corners of her eyes, so surprised at how vindictive Dumbledore's trust in her was. "Thank you, Professor. I just...twice it's happened now. The first time, the night after Waywell Samson was attacked. I had been researching in the library till very late. I was walking back to the common room, when I started hearing...voices."

He was staring at her intently, and she continued. "It sounded like...like a...hissing...sort of...and..."

Dumbledore looked like he was thinking very hard now. Finally, he spoke, "Did you know...I can understand Parseltongue, Miss Duerre."

Hermione knew that her face was ridiculous, but she hardly cared. Dumbledore? A Dark wizard? It hardly made any sense! "Relax, Miss Duerre," he said, smiling as if he sensed her presumptions. As I said, I'm an old man, with many years of solitude. I've learned the langue, but alas, cannot speak it."

"I'd prefer you didn't," she said honestly, and Dumbledore chuckled.

"Therefore, what you heard, that night, in the halls, was the Basilisk. It was moving to it's home, most likely."

"I wonder where it is," Hermione mused aloud. "If the castle has been searched numerous time...perhaps it lives in the Forbidden Forest."

Dumbledore shook his head. "If the Basilisk lived in the Forbidden Forest, no other life would be able to exist. They feed on nearly everything."

Hermione frowned, staring down at the stone floor. "Sorry, sir, I just...I want to figure this out. I actually care about the other students, unlike..." She stopped, her gaze hardening.

"I am not unaware of your housemates emotions towards the other students, and I understand that it isn't they're fault, it's just...how they were raised." His voice was gentle, and it infuriated Hermione.

"I don't understand it, Professor!" she objected. "I was raised in the exact same type of household they were raised in! My parents looked down on Muggleborns and blood traitors too. But...I don't like the idea of an innocent Muggleborn dying for something they can't help."

Dumbledore perused her carefully, peering at her over his long, folded fingers. "Interesting, isn't it?" He said finally. "It's the nature-versus-nurture argument, isn't it? Perhaps, you are simply more wholly good then you're classmates, Miss Duerre."

"But they're good people," Hermione insisted. "Just...not regarding Muggleborns."

"Perhaps that is the determining factor," Dumbledore said, not unkindly. "It is not the depth of our goodness, but when we choose to apply it." Her frustration didn't seem to be abated by his words, so he continued. "The majority of your classmates could turn out to be heroic...if they have the right guidance. However, bad influences placed in the wrong situation can bring out the evil in all of us." Hermione didn't need to ask who he was referring to, but was annoyed with her self when she felt a rush of defensiveness at his implication. He leaned closer to her, his blue eyes suddenly very serious.

"Miss Duerre...is there...something you wish to tell me?"

This was it. The moment of truth-the turning point. It is not the depth of our goodness, but when we choose to apply it. Was this the when? Was he testing her? She knew, if she could just seek out of the bravery within her, she would open her mouth.

But then Tom's face appeared in her mind, smiling, laughing at a joke she'd made, teasing her about her erratic studying patterns, looking at her, or the two of them, just talking. Did she really want him expelled, or worse, to rot away in Azkaban for the rest of his brilliant life?

"No sir," she said finally, studying her hands. "Nothing"

He sighed. "Very well, you may go." She felt the sting of the dismissal, but more than anything she heard the disappointment clear in his voice, and it wretched at the pit of her stomach, making her feel worse than just a complicit. Making her feel like a criminal.

She walked into the Slytherin common room and sat down next to the boys, feeling very emotionally drained. None of them said anything, but she saw Abraxas glance at her unsurely.

Moments later, Tom strode through the portrait, looking emmaculate as ever, and his eyes immediately swiveled to her face. "Where've you been?" he questioned sharply. "I've been looking all over for you."

"I was speaking with Dumbledore." She tried very hard to keep the threat out of her voice. Tom was impassive in front of the boys, but she saw a calculating glint in his eyes. Before he could address her, Ignatius spoke.

"What were you talking to that old coot for?" He boomed in his deep, baritone voice. "Ruddy bastard gave a a detention for swearing in his class!"

"You do swear too much, Ignatius," Hermione reminded him.

"The Hell I do! The git was just looking for an excuse to get me a trouble! Bloody Jack-Ass -Weasley can't say a sentence without swearing, and Dumbledore didn't do an damn thing! Pssh, swear too much," the last part was a scoff, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'll admit I'm curious, too," Tom said softly. "Why were you talking to Dumbledore?"

"I was asking him a question about our Transfiguration project."

Tom gave her a look that clearly said, "Bullshit," but she ignored him, turning away from his perfect face to stare moodily into the fire.

The next morning Hermione awoke with a gasp to find Tom hovering over her, his lips pressed against her collarbone.

"Where are the girls?" She said immediatley, attempting to look around at the empty dormitory, but Tom kept his attention firmly on him.

"Hogsmeade," He breathed, before lowering himself on her, supporting most of his weight on his hands and knees, but she was still very aware of him. " I confess I was...disappointed...when you didn't come to me last night."

She looked at him in surprise. "The boys were in there."

"That's what curtains are for," he said slyly. "And silencing charms-although the latter wouldn't be necessary if someone wasn't so loud." He seemed to revel in the deep blush that stained her cheeks.

"It isn't my fault," she protested as his lips left a trail down her neck.

"Your right," he agreed. "It isn't your fault that I pleasure you so."

"No," she argued, growing angrier by the minute. She sat up, and he leaned away from her, looking quite put-out. "It isn't my fault that someone is a murderer."

All to quickly, he slammed her against the headboard, his hands gripping her upper arms painfully tight. "You told," he hissed.

"No!" she said quickly, wincing at his grip. "I-I just said that I'd found a cure for the petrification, and that-ow, Tommy! You're hurting me!"

His eyes seemed to light up with sadistic pleasure, and with a snarl, Hermione brought her knee up, effectively hitting him in the groin. He groaned, falling off of her and rolling off the bed, moaning again as he hit the floor with a pronounced thump. Hermione acted quickly, jumping off after him and attempting to locate his wand. She found it within his robes, and started to move away with it, when he reached out, grasping her ankle and pulling her to the floor with him. She let out a yelp of fury, attempting to claw at his hand grasping her. He let out a roar as her nails penetrated his skin, drawing blood. He grasped her shoulders, rolling them over so that he was hovering over again, only this time, instead of looking down on her with soft, admiring eyes, his eyes were full of malice and fury.

"So this is how you treat someone..." He breathed. "-when you love them?"

Hermione's movements still quiet suddenly,and she stared up at him, her breathing laborous. "Why would you tell? Why would you do that to me?" His innocent-boy voice caused Hermione to feel a little remorseful towards her betrayal. Afterall, did he really deserve it?

Stop it. He's playing with your head.

"I-I didn't tell," she argued weakly. "I...I wouldn't do that to you." She felt her stomach turn at the raw honestly of her words as seh remembered her moral conflict back in Dumbledore's office. She hadn't told, but she was certain Dumbledore knew. However, it would be very hard for him to nail Tom with no evidence, and if she knew Tom as well as she thought she did, she knew he would never be stupid enough to give himself away.

"Mmm, I know you wouldn't." Hermione's eyes were drawn back to Tom's face. He stroked back her hair, all traces of anger gone. "But Dumbledore is...suspicious...is he not?"

"Yes...he knows who's behind the attacks."

"Very well," Tom said affirmatively, not looking frightened, but contemplative. Then
Tom looked at Hermione with an emotion that she couldn't recognize. "Stay out of dark corridors late at night," he said softly. "It only goes after Mudbloods, but we wouldn't want any...accidents. I would be..." He hesitated. "It would be a shame if it got you."

It would hurt me if something happened to you.

"And," he held up a hand, reaching into his robes, and moments later, he withdrew a small hand mirror. "Carry this with you at all times."

"Tom-"

"-It's necessary," he insisted.

"No, Tom, listen, why don't you just stop? Why students? They're just children. You're just a child-"

"I am not a child!" He said sharply, loudly, and his voice seemed to echo around the empty dormitory.

"Then quit acting like one," Hermione's voice was not mean, but held a discernable amount of concern which Tom did not understand. "It's alright to have you're own opinions, but when you start acting on them, and it affects other people, you're going down the wrong road."

He blinked uncomprehendingly at her, and she sighed defeatedly. "Nevermind. I'll...I'll see you later, Tommy."

He caught her hand as she walked away and she turned to face him questioningly. His face was open, vulnerable as he stared at her pleadingly.

"Don't make me choose."

"What?"

"Don't make me choose," he repeated. "Between you and...and..." he didn't seem to be able to say it.

"Why?"

"B-Because...well you know why. I can't stay away from the Dark arts, you know this, and you...well you're..." He tried to act casual, but Hermione could see the tension in his eyes. "You're my right-hand man," he said, grinning weakly. "My first mate. You can't...you can't make me choose."

"I don't want this, Tom." Her voice was hoarse. "I don't want to watch the world collapse."

He scrunched up his face, as if smelling something very bad, and bowed his head. "I don't...I don't want to be a monster." he admitted quietly.

She took a few steps closer to him. "Then don't."

He let out a bark of laughter that held no humor. "It's too late."

"It's never too late!" Hermione insisted, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, turning away from her .

"Leave," he commanded, and before he turned to face away from her, she thought she saw his eyes watering.

"Tom-"

"Leave," he repeated. "Please...please, just go."

Hermione dropped her hand to her side and then hesitantly moved towards the door, giving him a final backwards glance before closing it behind her.

a/n: Good? Bad? Somewhere in the middle? So I tried not to make Tom fluffy, exactly, just honest. I hope you guys really liked it! I had a sudden vision of Tom and Hermione going all Twilight-status, with Hermione standing in the middle of a forest with Tom behind her, and Hermione's like, "I know what you are" and Tom's like, "Say it, Out loud!" Haha I think that would be cool:) Sorry, I'm on a Twilight bust right now:)

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