Author's Note: I have finally recovered somewhat from a week long flu, and hope that this chapter hasn't been too terribly effected by my sickness addled mind. It's a dangerous thing. Thank you to everyone who has favorited this story, and those who have added it to their alerts. And of course a special thanks to the reviewers of Chapter Eleven: Skylaran, Someone's Charm, laenamoradadeROGUE, AnnaOxford, Audrie the Clever Girl, Anita03, Dragul, Mega 700201, JuliaLestrange, CinnamonSilverTiger, hatersfuelmyflame, Ceralyn, Gnorack (your question is answered in this chapter, my friend!) and several guest reviews.

You are all beautiful unicorns and I appreciate hearing your thoughts.

Disclaimer: All properties are owned by JK Rowling and I am making no financial gain from this story.

Chapter Twelve: Sinking

'This is how easily the pit opens. This is how one foot sinks into the ground.'

-Rita Rove, "Persephone, Falling"

The woods were silent; an eerie sort of silent that seemed out of place. Not so much a quietness as it was an absence of noise and life, the trees stilled to an unnatural point and without the sound of wind whipping through their limbs. There were no scuttling feet across the forest floor, no birds cawing in the cold, winter air.

There was nothing to suggest that anything had ever existed in this corner of the world, and that Tom Riddle was the first and only person to explore it. He made no noise as he moved, no snapping from twigs beneath his impossibly clean shoes despite obviously stepping upon some, no crunch from the thin layer of snow under his weight. Even he was powerless to stop the disconcerting quiet, and he shifted uncomfortably. Where was he, and how had he gotten here?

He stopped suddenly, one knee bent somewhat as he paused mid-step. He could hear something, something that would otherwise go unnoticed in the general clamor of sounds. But it stood out in the obscene silence, and he began to twist his torso, craning his head to listen and discern the origin of the sound.

"Hello?" he called, his voice echoing. He was met only with the return of his own voice as it faded into the void, straining to hear more.

After a moment, he found the direction of it, and began to follow, using his hands to push aside the tree branches before him. The sound became louder and more defined, and he began to realize, with piqued interest and raised brows, that it was the sound of his own name, spoken into the uninhabited world. It did not take him much longer after to recognize the voice as Hermione's, low and soft but filled with everything she would not say. She tried to hide from him, but could only conceal so much, her eyes and her voice constantly betraying her.

She sounded frightened- frightened and in pain, the emotions making the sound of his name waver and tremble, and he frowned. He moved faster, slowly building up to a run as he moved closer to wherever Hermione was, her cries of pain meeting in quicker succession, the end of his name fading into the start. He hadn't even realized he began calling back to her, shouting out her own name, until he heard it echoed back to him, his voice sounding just as terrified as her own.

An eternity went by before he finally saw her, standing in a clearing that had been thoroughly trampled. She looked dreadful, her skin whiter than the snow that weighed down the trees, deep blue bags beneath her sunken eyes. She was wearing her pajamas, crisp and clean over her bruised and bloodied form. She was shivering in the cold, her lips blue and visibly chapped.

"Hermione," he breathed in relief, shirking his robe off as he approached her. What was she doing out here, so under dressed and in such a terrible condition? He wrapped his robes around her, the thick fabric nearly swallowing her as she looked up at him, her brown eyes wide and dull looking. Clasping his hands onto her shoulders, he frowned. "Hermione? What happened?"

Before she could respond, an explosion of green light filled the clearing, a static electricity charging the air around them. He closed his eyes against it, gripping tighter onto the witch before him as he felt her slump forward, her full weight pressing into him. When he finally opened his eyes, he looked down at her in his arms, her face looking up unseeing into the cloudy sky.

"Her...Hermione?" he whispered, jostling her somewhat in the hopes she would awaken. But she did not, her head rolling to the side with the movement. His throat tightened with the realization that she was dead, struck by a killing curse. He had encountered enough lifeless bodies to recognize the listless glaze to the eyes, the sudden heaviness to their bodies.

A knot twisted in his chest, his jaw clenching in anger. No. He had gotten so close to her, had worked tirelessly for months to earn her trust, to seduce her so that he could make her his. And just like that, she had been taken from him, ripped away from his grasp. He growled low in his throat, whipping his head up to see who her attacker had been, who had killed the brilliant witch who he had deigned to be his.

Standing on the opposite end of the area, just outside of where the trees began to become denser, was the same beast he had seen in Hermione's memories. The half-man, half-serpent like monster, with his wand held out before him. His mouth pulled into a wry smile, stretching the taut, white skin unnaturally. It was then that he noticed the teeth, crooked and yellow and sharpened to a point, spaced out in his jaw in the manner a of a snake. Tom grimaced in repulsion as he reached for his own wand, desperate to kill the man who dared to take his Hermione away from him.

But he could not find it, and he palmed helplessly over his pockets, panic flooding him. He always had his wand on him, where could it be?

His question was meant only by another flash of green light, and his heart jumped into his throat, suddenly- painfully- aware of the fact that he would die.

And then he woke up, snapping his body forward so that he was sitting up on his bed, his heart pounding hard against his rib cage. Before reason came to him, he was hastily groping over his bed sheets, his hand slipping under his pillow. When his fingers wrapped around the warm handle of his wand, he sighed in relief, his shoulders sagging. He ran a hand through his hair as he pulled the wand out from its hiding spot, allowed himself to gather his bearings.

He was not dead- thankfully. He was no stranger to nightmares and would wake from them on occasion, more often than not having them confront him with his own inevitable mortality. He despised them and the light-hearted feeling they would induce upon waking, when you realized you were in no harm all along, feeling powerless against whatever mechanism within you churned out your dreams. He hated anything that took away control of his emotions, something he worked so hard to maintain.

Pushing the curtain aside, he found that the room was empty, and judging by the light filtering through the windows, through the Great Lake, it was about midday. He had taken the opportunity to sleep through most of the morning while the other students attended their classes- he was simply too exhausted from his night to even entertain the idea of schoolwork. Of course, it shouldn't have been a surprise when aspects of what he had seen in Hermione's mind worked its way into his subconscious, the image of a war-torn and bloodied witch and that terrible beastly thing that had killed her two friends. He shuddered, thinking back to the paper white face and the deep red eyes.

What on earth had that abomination been? He could not ask Hermione, not yet at least. The potion would cloud her memories of what had occurred under the effects of it, and it would only raise her suspicions if he asked her about what he had seen. He had designed the potion the way he did it so that, if he desired, he could still earn her trust afterwards, and revealing that he knew about her life before Hogwarts would certainly raise some flags for her. No, he would have to research it on his own.

He changed into his school uniform, deciding to visit the library. Perhaps he could find something in one of the many bestiaries provided to the school, and he could effectively put the mystery that was Hermione Dumbledore to rest.

He could hardly stop himself from smiling smugly, the familiar feeling of success warming him. He was not used to failure- for what Tom Riddle wanted, Tom Riddle got. And she had been no exception. She could hide nothing from him, and he could now rest easy knowing that he was not welcoming someone into the Knights who could not be trusted. All that was left was to continue to work on her and invoke the need to have power that resided within her- within everyone, for who did not wish to be feared and respected when the only other option was to be fearful? He would exploit her desire for power, her greed, and shape it to his own liking, just as he had done with the other sixth year boys. Of course, he would have to test her- something to prove that she would be capable of doing what was needed of her. But that would come in due time, and he was certain that with the right coaxing it would not be an issue.

He left the Common Room, a spring to his step as his strode purposefully through the dungeons, the air refreshingly chill as winter seeped through the stone walls. He felt more content and even joyous than he had in some time, feeling pleasantly at ease with the chaotic future before him. Crane would become a thing of the past, he was sure, leaving Hermione to be all his. And she would become the first additional body to his Knights, the first real recruit. He could skip with excitement, the anticipation of what could come when the barrier was dropped, when he could finally plan openly with her. What ideas could she bring to the table, what perspectives could she add to help them along in their path? No doubt, they would be just as thrilling as anything else she had to say- if not more. And in return for all her assistance, for the brains and the power she would bring, she would rule over the kingdom that would fall before them, by his side. She deserved no less than this, and he and only he could provide it for her.

There was no doubt in his mind that she would be his, that without Crane to get in the way she would have no one to distract her. She had no family, aside from Dumbledore who she already distrusted some and it would be easy enough to turn her against him. He would present himself to her when she returned from St. Mungo's, protect and comfort her and ensure that she would feel safe with him so that she would never stray. She would be his, because what Tom Riddle wanted, Tom Riddle got.

-xXx-

(Four days later...)

"Would you like some more tea, my dear?" Dumbledore asked Hermione from across his desk, gesturing towards the tea pot that sat on the tray between them. She shook her head, sliding her empty cup onto the desk before rubbing her eyes, tiredly. She had just returned from St. Mungo's, her eyelids heavy in exhaustion and from the healing potions they had provided her, making keeping them open a chore. Dumbledore had tried, without success, to have her sleep some before meeting with him, but she was determined to speak with him. She did not want to deal with Riddle without having spoken to the elder wizard first, feeling nervous about meeting the Dark Lord once more.

She did not recall much from that night, and in fact could hardly even remember falling ill in the first place. She knew that Riddle had indeed broken through her wards, and had seen nearly all of her memories, most of which she had altered. The only moment of clarity she had, was in the few seconds before he dove in, the time between him finding the scar on her arm and him tearing through her mind. She ran her right hand underneath the sleeve of her left arm, grazing her fingertips over the raised surface of the carved word.

Mudblood.

The wound did not heal, not thoroughly, at least. Bellatrix had ensured that to be the case when she scrawled it into her skin, cursing it. At the time, she did not hear what the curse was, nor did she recognize what it could have been, but now she was beginning to suspect that it may have been borrowed from the same curse used to create the Dark Mark. The moment Tom had touched it, her arm felt as if it had been consumed flames, and had been just enough to pull her from the high of whatever potion he had used on her. The pain had been fleeting, lasting only as long as his touch, but had been intense and her fingers curled at the thought of it.

She sighed, slumping forward in her chair. She had failed- even if she had successfully hidden her memories, she had allowed herself to become careless. Tom Riddle had poisoned her, and she had let him, getting distracted by her schoolwork- of all the things! If she hadn't been so disappointed in herself, hadn't been so caught up in relaying to herself of just how stupid she had been, she would have laughed. She could practically hear Ron now, the ginger haired boy rolling his eyes as he jeered. 'Homework would be the thing that got between you and defeating the darkest wizard of all time.'

"It is not your fault, Hermione," Dumbledore said, startling her from her thoughts. She narrowed her eyes at him, accusingly, as if wondering if he too had simply strode into her mind. She did not trust herself anymore, as it were, and Dumbledore, seeming to sense this, rose his hands in front of him, his palms facing her. "You've barely said a word since you've arrived, and you look terribly upset. I understand you feel as though you've made an irreparable mistake, but I assure you everything will be alright."

She snorted. "Alright? Everything will be alright? Because of me and my stupid mistakes, Riddle got into my head and saw who knows what," she said. Then, with a groan, she slid forward, covering her face with her hands as she propped her elbows on her knees. "And Crane was expelled because of it."

Perhaps that was the worse of it, knowing that through her attempt to change the future for the good, she had effectively taken away another person's future. She had been devastated when she learned of his expulsion, and had even tried to convince Dumbledore that she could contest it, say it wasn't Crane. But it would do no good- for if Crane were cleared then suspicion might finally- rightfully- fall onto Riddle. And if Riddle were expelled, the entire timeline might have been altered too much. No, Crane was yet another person who would have to take the fall for the Slytherin boy, who would have to sacrifice his future in the magical world for a cause that did not even exist yet. All because Hermione had selfishly befriended him, enjoyed his company and his friendly smile, and she had let him fall prey to Riddle's wrath.

Dumbledore sighed, smiling softly as he looked at her with kind, sad eyes over his half moon glasses. "Hermione, you are the brightest witch I have had the pleasure to know. Every day, my colleagues inform me of your above average knowledge in the various courses, and I have personally witnessed a great deal of what you offer, both academically and intuitively. But you are making a rather silly mistake of confusing failure for being human," he said, chuckling when she lifted her head from her hands, her brow wrought in confusion.

"Sir?" She sounded almost indignant, as if this were not the time for a performance appraisal. He could only laugh.

"You have suffered through a great tragedy, and despite all that you had lost and stood left to lose, you agreed to go through it all again in the hopes that it would help those you love. You have taken on an extremely altruistic act, one which offers little to gain for you personally, but much left to lose. In doing so, you left behind any friends and family you might have had and came to a time and place where you have none- for while I have grown quite close to you in our short time together, I also understand that I am a paltry version of the wizard you knew," he started, shaking his head when she straightened in her seat, poised to defend him. When she snapped her mouth shut, he continued, "It would be cruel to expect anyone to not feel lonely in that standard. And you should not fault yourself for wanting something so human as companionship. You are, after all, human, and you will do as we do. Err."

She frowned. "But I can't err. People are depending on me, and I almost wasted all of their hard work," she said, thankful that Snape and the Dumbledore of her time were not around to see her make such a grievous mistake. See her fail in the one thing they had warned her of most. Do not forget who and what he is. No matter how polite, how tender or how caring he pretends to be, it is all just as much an act as yours is. The words echoed around in the caverns of her head, and she winced at them, knowing she had become too relaxed around Riddle.

Her self-deprecating thoughts were cut short however, when Dumbledore spoke with a startling firmness and authority. "Listen to me: I cannot say for certain why you were the one chosen for this specific task, as I have not lived through that lifetime. But I can make speculations, and I daresay one of the reasons why you above anyone else seemed fit for this role is because of the very nature that you are condemning. You have a desire to love and protect, you are loyal and you yearn to be surrounded by companions. You are a dangerous person, not just because of your skill, but because of your ability to love, wholly and without malice. Love, friendship, comfort...these are human luxuries we all afford ourselves, and you should not be ashamed of wanting to take part of it, even if it results some slip ups.

"It is this need in you that separates you from Tom and his followers, and will keep you tethered to the light. No matter how close to their circle you find yourself, you will always be more powerful than any of them. You have made a mistake, but it wasn't because you were wrong for this, or because you are incompetent. It is because you are the exact right candidate for this task, and because you have the desire to trust and to be near those whom bring you joy. Please, do not denounce your humanity, Hermione," he plead, his voice growing softer now, like a lullaby.

Leaning back in her chair, Hermione chewed her lip. She hated how much more at ease she felt, hearing his words. A part of her, the part of her that had a near compulsive need to be correct and had a terrible fear of failure, wanted her to continue to wallow in her wrongdoings. But what good would that do? Crane was gone and could not come back, and she could not risk Riddle being expelled. She had a job to do, one that she had strayed from when it came to a lull and it seemed as if she was making no progress. She would have to move forward, there would would be time for guilt later.

"So what do we do now?" she asked.

Dumbledore was silent, chewing his lip as he pulled a crystal candy dish in front of him. He gestured to it, silently offering her some, and when she declined, he shrugged, popping a candy into his mouth and sucking on it as he thought. Finally, he said, "I understand you do not remember much of his perusal of your mind, but I believe you provided sufficient enough evidence to have him not doubt you." She opened her mouth, her brow knitted, and he smiled, interrupting her. "Tom is very talented, but still has much work to do in way of occlumency. I was able to skim the surface of his thoughts when I've seen him around the castle and in class, and it seems as though he has not turned against you. I know this has not been an ideal situation for you, but, looking towards the silver lining, I believe the plateau we have experienced will come to an end and that Tom will hopefully begin efforts to turn you against me so that he can have you properly join his following." He seemed inappropriately delighted by that fact, as if the promise of being betrayed was something he took pleasure in.

"I hope so. I don't know what we would do otherwise," she mumbled. Suddenly, she snapped her shoulders back, looking at the older man with a determined glint in her eyes. "I promise, sir, that I'll be more vigilant this time. I won't let anyone or anything distract me from Tom."

Dumbledore grinned, scratching his thin thoughtfully. "I trust that you will do well, Hermione. However, you'll be of little use to us if you make yourself ill, so I must insist that you return your dormitories and sleep. You could certainly use some rest."

Blushing, Hermione smiled, secretly grateful for the dismissal. She was beginning to feel light-headed in her exhaustion, and was having a hard time focusing her eyes. She stood from her seat, politely shaking her head when he offered to escort her down to the dungeons. With a softly said goodbye, she made her way over to the door, stopping when Dumbledore spoke once more.

"Hermione...Crane isn't the first student to be expelled due to Riddle's actions, is he?"

She paused, her eyes lingering on the smooth oak door as she chewed her tongue. She had seen Hagrid about the school grounds here and there, had resisted the want to run up to him and hug him, knowing that it would be best to keep her distance.

Twisting to look over her shoulder, she frowned. "No sir, he isn't."

Dumbledore sighed, his eyes falling to the surface of his desk. "I suspected as much. Enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Dumbledore. I look forward to seeing you soon."

"Good bye, sir," she muttered, opening the door and slipping through.

The castle was quiet, classes were in session and students were busy preparing for the mid-terms coming up soon before winter break. She made it to the Slytherin Common Room without incident, greeting several ghosts on her way through but not encountering another student. She knew it would not be long before she would have to talk to Riddle again, would have to pretend like she was hurt by what Crane had done to her and as if she did not suspect Tom in the slightest.

And she would, she would play pretend as best as she could and would do whatever it was she had to to get on Tom's good graces. He wasn't the only one who could take control of a situation, and she would be damned if he had the upper hand over her, not again. It would only make it that much more delightful when the tables would finally turn, and she would bring about his demise.

-xXx-

The library was surprisingly empty, considering the approaching exams at the end of the term. Several huddles of students were spread throughout the room, but the aisles between the bookshelves themselves were relatively empty- particularly in the restricted section, where Tom Riddle was the sole occupant. His school robe slung over one arm, he slowly strode down one of the cramped aisles, having to walk in an awkward side step in order to fit comfortably.

'I do hope we get a better librarian soon,' he thought with a sigh, stepping over a pile of books that needed organizing. She was, without a doubt, one of the more abysmal librarians in existence, he believed, and it was near impossible to find anything in a neat and reasonable manner. As it were, he had spent over an hour between the clustered shelves and had found nothing of use to him.

Dark blue eyes pausing over the weathered spine of a black book. He reached out and pulled it from the shelf, flipping through the pages and scanning the various contents. 'This could do,' he thought, sliding down against the shelves so that he was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed.

The book was a collection of creatures and their origins, focusing on typically dark or half-breed varieties. The pages were thin and ink smeared his fingers as he leafed through the book, but he continued to scan through them. He had, hitherto, had no luck in his research since he had begun it four days ago, and he had nearly worked through every book provided to him. He had even briefly asked Professor Kettleburn if he had ever heard of such a creature, but the man had laughed it off, not quite taking Tom seriously.

After skimming over all five hundred or so pages, he closed the book, grunting in frustration. Nothing. Whatever this thing had been, it did not exist in documented history, and perhaps Hermione was the only living witness to it. It did nothing to ease his curiosity, of course, and he began pondering ways he could perhaps broach the subject with the witch when she returned, ways that would not suggest he knew anything.

He stood and slipped the book back onto the shelf, not being careful enough to ensure it was in the right place as there was no system to them anyway. Clucking his tongue once more at the disorganized shelves, he looked through the titles again, pausing when he came across one with a crisp and neat looking spine, as though it did not get opened often. Tilting his head to the side, he grimaced when he read the title, his nostrils flaring.

Crafting Original Spells and Potions Using Muggle Theory

Perhaps he was being paranoid, but he had the distinct feeling that Dumbledore had placed it there in the hopes that Tom would find it. It wouldn't have been out of the realm of possibility for the old fool, as he knew that Tom had a terrible habit of spending much of his free time in the restricted section.

He had to concede, as much as it pained him to do so, that there were certain benefits to muggle theory, just as Dumbledore had explained to him when Hermione had first become ill. It was essential to have at least a basic understanding of it in order to properly create a potion of your own, or any other charm or curse. But he certainly would not lower himself to look at the book, regardless of any benefits that could be derived from it. He would not give Dumbledore that pleasure as, once more, he was sure that the man had intended for Riddle to stumble upon it.

"I should have checked here first."

Snapping his head to the left at the voice, he glowered, watching as Athena moved sideways through the aisles over to him, her lips pulled into a bemused smile.

"What do you want, Zabini?" he hissed, narrowing his eyes at the sudden intrusion.

She grinned, pouting her lower lip out innocently. "Why do you sound so angry?"

He did not answer her, merely frowned as he continued to move down the aisle and away from her. She was up to something, she had to have been. She had not spoken to him, or even treated him politely, since the failed night they had spent together. Not as if he could entirely blame her, but he did not at all appreciate the nasty rumors he heard about himself in the following weeks. He knew he should have obliviated her, but she stormed out so quickly he barely had the chance.

"I was talking to you. You might not want to walk away from me, I have some news you'll be interested in," she said, and he felt his jaw clench at her words.

"I don't take orders from anyone," he stated, turning around the bookshelf and into the adjacent aisle. Athena followed.

"No, you give them. Unfortunately, I'm not a little lap dog you can order around, and I won't do as you say just because I'm afraid of you, like the other students you have at your beck and call," she said, her voice turning rapidly from overly-sweet to commanding. He paused, surprised momentarily as he had never heard her become so aggressive, but did not turn to look back at her, instead he continued to weave around the shelves. While it took a physical effort for him to not curse the girl for her rudeness, he had to admit a part of him was intrigued, not necessarily by the news she claimed to have for him, but more for the sudden domineering nature. He would allow it to play out for a little longer, curious to see where she was headed.

"They're my friends, and they're not afraid of me."

She laughed now, throwing her head back and opening her mouth to show her perfectly white teeth, her dark curls falling down to her mid-back. "You're lying. And if you aren't, you're incredibly deluded. Everyone in Slytherin is afraid of you, and that's exactly what you want, isn't it?"

He frowned, attempting to looking distraught instead of proud. "Why in Merlin's name would I want that?"

She shrugged, looking as though she were merely having a conversation about the weather, bored and nonchalant. "You get off on it." At his raised eyebrows, she smirked, smugly. "I can tell. I'm a lot more perceptive than you think, and you, Mr. Riddle, enjoy making your fellow students squirm."

He finally came to a stop now, swiveling quickly on his feet as he rounded on her. He stood mere inches away from her, his head bowed down to look her in the eye as he stood almost half a head taller than her. He was close enough that his breath disrupted her hair, little curls swaying with each exhalation. She jumped at the swift movement, and he smiled, raising his hand up to her hair, grabbing a lock between his fingers as he softly tugged at it, twisting it around his fingers. "Now why, Miss Zabini, would I enjoy such a thing? You're making some awfully large claims about me, without providing much evidence," he said, his voice low.

He could feel her shiver at his words, and his smile grew. Raising her chin in an attempt to not look as terrified as she felt, she said, "Because I've been studying you, lately. I've often wondered why someone like yourself hangs around with the lot you do, there's no reason for you to be friends. You're refined, charming and gentlemanly. Nott's alright, but the others are childish." She paused then, licking her lips as she swallowed nervously before adding, "And they're careless. I overhead them talking a couple weeks ago. Something about a new world. One that you had promised them. And it doesn't sound quite as wholesome as you claim to be."

He stilled, his fingers tightening around the hair he had within his grasp, and Athena grimaced at the pain but did nothing to stop him, her eyes wide. All of his muscles clenched, frozen in position, as he resisted the need to storm off, to find his supposed loyal followers and destroy them. Punish them for- once again- being so insolent and stupid. But first, he would have to deal with the girl before her, erase her mind of whatever she thought she had heard.

But as he was reaching for his wand, she spoke again. "Whatever it is you're promising them, I want in on it too."

He frowned, pulling away from her as he removed his wand from his pocket and trained it on her. She eyed it, nervously, but then returned her gaze to his eyes, a confident look to them. "At first," she started, a slight waver to her voice. "I didn't think twice about it, I assumed that whatever world they were talking about was just a fantasy built out of Pure-Blood loyalty. I didn't think you were capable of doing what they said you could. But then, a couple days ago, I saw you hide over there, and watched you fill a box of chocolates you stole from Hermione with something," she said, gesturing over to one of the many alcoves of the library, hidden by two pillars and a bookshelf coated in dust from little use. "And then you turned it on Crane. You got him expelled for what you did, and no one even questioned it. No one would ever think that you were capable of something so awful- they decided that between you and the Gryffindor Golden Boy, he was more guilty. And then I got to thinking that maybe Crane isn't the only one who you've used as a cover up. That you maybe make a habit of framing innocent Gryffindors."

He laughed, the sound deep and gruff and not entirely genuine. "If you're suggesting that I'm the one who killed that girl last year, you're daft. Hagrid was housing a dangerous creature in the school, and for that he suffered the consequences."

"You don't have to lie about it. I never liked Warren. I for one was quite elated when I heard the news of her death. So for that, I applaud you. Do not misinterpret my intentions here, Riddle. I'm not going to turn you in. In fact, I admire you. You have the entire school eating out of the palm of your hand. My father always said actions speak louder than words, and if your actions prove anything, it's that there's something to gain from being in your company. And I want it," she said, stepping closer to him. "When the boys were talking about this world, they mentioned that power would once again be regained to Pure-Bloods, no more of this...mudblood sympathy. My father lost his job at the Ministry at the start of the school year- they said that his prejudice was unbecoming of a Ministry official and that they needed to separate themselves from anyone who might agree with Grindelwald. Do you know who they hired in his place? A mudblood."

Still keeping his wand aimed at her, he raised his other hand to his chin, tapping it thoughtfully. He had never considered recruiting anyone other than Hermione, as she was the only one who had sparked his interest. And while he did hope to grow as large a following as possible, he did not dare to risk it just yet, concerned that someone would turn him in. Yet, he had never seen this side to Athena, and he had even slipped into her mind, had perused her thoughts while she spoke. He quite liked what he saw in there. Perhaps there could be something to gain from considering another recruit.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't obliviate you right here, right now," he demanded.

She smiled. "Because unlike your current group of misfits, I had the forethought to cast a silencing charm on us before we began this discussion, so no one can overhear us. Because I have top marks in most of my classes and am decent with a wand. Because my family, in a last bid attempt to save their name and their wealth, is trying to marry me off to the Malfoy boy who graduated some years back. Someone who has quite a lot of ties to the Ministry, and quite a bit of money. Whatever it is you plan on doing to start this world of yours, you'll need both, and I can get it for you. Abraxas was very charmed with me, and I'm sure he would be interested in your endeavor. Interested enough to sponsor you," she said, her voice low and excited as she spoke, her dark eyes bright with need and want.

"Malfoy? You expect name-dropping that family of blonde aristocrats is going to win you any favors?"

"Say what you will about their reputation, but they practically own the Ministry. And they're one of the wealthiest families in all of Britain."

He chewed his lip. She had thought this through, and she wasn't wrong- there could be something to gain from having such a large and well known Pure-blood family on his terms. Still, he would not open his Knights to just anyone, not yet at least. He had standards to maintain, he had everything to lose if he were compromised.

He pocketed his wand once more. "You have one week to prove your worth to me. If you fail to do so, I will punish you for wasting my time and then erase any and all memories. I will not be gentle either, and you should fully expect a lifetime spent on St. Mungo's psychiatric ward should you disappoint me. And do not think you could turn on me, I have more than shown that I am quite adept at manipulating a situation to my need, and I will not hesitate to throw you in front of a train if I suspect any disloyalty. Understood?" he proposed curtly.

She nodded vigorously, her curls fluttering around her head with the motion. "I understand, Riddle."

"My Lord," he corrected.

She hesitated, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "I understand, My Lord."

He smirked. "Good girl. Now, what is this news you had for me?"

She jumped. "I almost forgot! Dumbledore's back. She's in the dormitories now, my brother overheard Parkinson mention it at lunch," she said.

His eyes widened. "You'll take me to her, then. Open up the door for me since I can't get in myself. Come," he said, turning suddenly as he made a quick exit from the section. She followed, having to maintain a jogging pace to keep up with his long strides. He would deal with his followers later, would teach them what it means to be responsible and cautious. But for now, he would spend all his focus on Hermione, would use his signature charm. She was his priority.

When the pair had made it into the dungeon, the corridors empty and eerily silent as it often was, Athena asked, somewhat breathless, "Is the Dumbledore girl...is she one of them? And if so, why did you try to poison her?"

Tom hesitated. "It was not my goal to poison her, and not yet. But she will be. And, should you still have a brain in you by the time that happens, you better have the sense to address her properly," he barked, clearly not too pleased with the dismissive way she referred to Hermione.

"And what way is that?" she asked with a raised brow as they came to a stop outside of the door to Slytherin, her chest rising rapidly as she tried to catch her breath.

Tom did not look at her as he walked through the entrance, only smirking as he said, "Should you not disappoint me, I will be your Lord, and she, your Lady."

-xXx-

Tom stepped into the room and walked towards the bed to the far right, with the curtains drawn tight around it. The door clicked shut behind him, but he ignored it, moving forward and grabbing hold of the green silk in his fist. Pushing them to the side, he smirked at the sight before him.

Hermione was curled up on top of the bed, the covers rumpled from beneath her and her knees tucked into her chest. One hand was fisted somewhere underneath her pillow, and the other was curled under her chin, her hair fanning out around her and forming a halo. Her lips parted some as she breathed rather heavy in sleep, a strand of hair in front of her face moving with each inhalation and exhalation.

He had hoped that she would be awake, as he had the tendency to be rather impatient and still had some work he had to get to, especially with the knowledge Athena had given him. But he thought better of waking her up, partly out of fear that she would become startled or angry with him, and partly out of finding her peacefulness somewhat charming. He nearly laughed then, his eyes widening at that. He had never found anything to be particularly charming one way or another, least none that he could remember. Yet she had a way of breaking through those barriers, he had learned. He quite enjoyed the soft sound she made with every breath, her tousled hair resting carelessly across the pillow.

But it was growing rather late into the evening, and if he wanted to finish his homework and fit in an impromptu meeting with his Knights, she would have to wake up.

Settling himself gently on the mattress, trying his best not to disturb her with his added weight, he reached a hand out to her shoulder, whispering softly.

"Hermione."

He shouldn't have been surprised that she was a light sleeper. And he really should have expected nothing less than for her to jump up from her sleeping position, taking only a second to find her wand and point it at him in a panic. But his eyes widened nonetheless, pulling his hands back in a gesture of surrender. "It's just me. Tom," he said, watching as recognition came to her, as she realized she was not in danger.

"Oh, Tom," she said, lowering her wand to her side. Then, with a frown, she asked, "How did you get in here?"

He ignored her, only smirking in response to her question. "Oh, what does it matter?" she muttered to herself as she stretched, the hem of her shirt rising with the motion to reveal a sliver of creamy flesh.

"How are you feeling, Hermione?" Tom asked softly, shuffling closer to her as she drew her knees into her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She blinked the remaining sleep from her eyes, rubbing the heel of her palm into them before running it over her hair and trying to smooth out some tangles.

"Alright, I guess," she answered slowly, eyeing him through narrow slits.

He frowned, but said nothing as he pulled himself forward so that he was sitting beside her at the head of the mattress, slinging his arm over her shoulders and holding her into his side. "I was terribly frightened that night. I thought I might have lost you," he said, idly tugging on her curls in a delicate manner. He wasn't necessarily lying, he had indeed been very concerned for her well-being. It was something of great strife to him, and he was still very conflicted over it all, of the feelings he had toward the witch. She had done what he thought was impossible, and had endeared herself to him. Much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to appreciate her presence in his life. Over the past few days that she had been gone, he had been not only less tolerant and more prone to rage-filled outbursts, but was also devastatingly bored.

Before her arrival, he was content and even preferred to be left alone with his thoughts. He had companions for no reason other than the necessity of it. He was building a following, and maintaining friendships was, at the moment, a tedious part of that. He had hoped that eventually he would grow to be so well known, so well respected, that witches and wizards would flock to his side to serve below him, just as Athena had done moments earlier, and he could do away with the guise of friendship. They would join him because they admired him, and they would obey him because they feared him. Not because they found him charming and thought he could assist them in their Potions assignments.

Nott and the others were never more than the start to his following, and he could hardly care less when he sat in silence for hours while they passionately discussed Quidditch. But when Hermione came to them, she brought with her a like mind, conversations to be had and an intelligence to meet and debate with his own. They would argue over differing opinions, have entire conversations about potential unexplored uses of various herbs and plants. She was a near constant presence to his side, and with her sudden absence he had learned that, much to his surprise, that perhaps he wasn't entirely content with being alone.

"I'm fine, Tom. Honestly, no need to dote," she said, shirking away somewhat from his embrace. He furrowed his brow, wondering if she might be feeling a little off due to some potions they had given her to heal.

He shrugged. "Not doting. I'm simply being a friend," he said, but he moved away from her, settling his hands into his lap. "I couldn't possibly understand what you're feeling. You must be so hurt and betrayed, having someone you trusted do something so heinous to you. I only wish I could have done something, perhaps helped you sooner before you became so ill."

She pursed her lips, sighing after a moment in resignation. Then she was leaning into him, her head laying on his shoulder as he felt her short hair cascade over him, tickling his neck when some fell into his shirt collar. He could hardly stop his growing smirk as he once more wrapped an arm around her waist. She considered him a friend, she trusted him and would rely on him from here on out. Him, and only him.

'No Gryffindors to get between us now,' he thought with a smug grin, gripping onto her side protectively. Possessively. She was his.

"I really don't want to talk about it, Tom," she muttered, and he nodded, resting his own head down on top of hers, the thick cushion of hair like a pillow.

"Of course, we'll talk about something else," he said, then after a moment of thought, added, "Perhaps you'd like to hear about the schoolwork you missed out on? You can borrow my notes, they're very thorough, and I'd be happy to help you study them. When you're feeling up to it, that is."

She hummed in response, and they sat in silence for quite some time, Tom tracing circles on her arm as she pressed into him, her breathing soft and even. Thinking that she had fallen asleep, he let his hand slip from her upper arm, grabbing hold of her bare forearm and turning it over, the red and angry looking scar just as he remembered it, messy and unhealed.

Mudblood.

He made to touch it, his fingertips caressing over the spiky tip of the M, when she hissed, pulling her arm tightly against her stomach. "Don't," she said, her voice high. "It hurts."

He frowned. "Why? When did you get it? Shouldn't it be healed by now?" he asked, twisting so that he could look at her.

She hesitated, pursing her lips before explaining, "It's cursed. It won't heal, and it still hurts if someone touches it. I've tried everything on it, but nothing works, so I just try to deal with it as best I can."

"That's dreadful, Hermione. I'm sorry," he said, wrapping his arms tighter around her. Yes, he would find the man who did this to her, and he would torture him slowly. Maybe he would even take Hermione with him when the time was right, and he would let her exact her own revenge. He could only imagine how beautiful she might look in that moment, high on the euphoria of dark magic. With the rush of power that came from taking the life of another person, from acting as the one true decider of life and death.

He pressed his lips to her head in a loving manner, smirking when she grew still in his arms, and then rested his chin on the top of her head. He could hardly wait.

-xXx-

Author's Note: I have no idea why, but I find it endlessly amusing that they are such completely pages at this point. Tom is just so arrogant, and has no idea that he's being played like a violin. It's good fun for me.

I was surprised by how many people rose to Crane's defense, and it almost made me reconsider my decision to expel him. But rest assured, this is not the last we see of him, he will eventually make a return and even plays a pretty pivotal role.

For answers to any questions, sneak peaks into stories and just general Harry Potter related things, my tumblr account is Renee Hart blog.