In the summer of 1944, there had been a thin veil of light that illuminated the path in which Tom was headed. It was during that summer that he had met someone. Her name was Gemma Davenport, and in finding her, he found something very important within himself – the capacity to love. Albus Dumbledore had been wrong about him. The small part in Tom's heart that allowed him to love was not a work of fiction. It was real. It was miniscule, in comparison to his thirst for power, but it was there.

It thrived in Gemma's presence.

It frustrated him, of course, to have the weakness of all weaknesses, but there was something to be done. Tom knew, just by looking at her that first time, that she was unhappy. Her smiles were frequent and her laugh was contagious, but something about Gemma told him her life was far from perfect, and it was in that realization that Tom developed a plan. He could never be truthful towards her. He could never hope to share anything more than a few words with her. But on the day Gemma came to him, hysterical over the sudden death of her father, Tom knew what had to be done.

"It's all right," he told the girl, sitting beside her, overlooking the River Thames. "Have a drink. You'll feel better."

She had looked upon him with hose vibrant eyes, searching for an answer to her heartache, but he could never give her what she wanted. Tom had the ability to love, but he did not have the ability to care. Gemma took the potion he had given her, under the assumption that it was a spot of whiskey or something of the like, but her thoughts came to an end, when suddenly she fell onto his lap…unconscious. The glass rolled from her fingertips and into the river, lost forever…along with any chance the pair of them had at being together.

Tom had used her, against her will, as a piece to his plan of ultimate survival. There were few things in the world he feared, and death happened to be the top of that list.

He performed the necessary protective spells around her and transported her unconscious body to Crystal Cave, where he made certain she would be safe. There was a feeling in his chest, a feeling when she drank the potion and a feeling when he left her in the cave. He couldn't quite distinguish it, seeing as he'd never felt anything like it before, but over time, Tom learned that the feeling was guilt. Perhaps remorse over what he had done to the only person in this world who knew his soul and not his madness.

But he needed her, and she needed an escape.

As it turned out, he had never once visited Gemma since leaving her there over fifty years ago. Tom couldn't bear the thought of waking her and explaining to her, what he had done. She could never know. She had to love him. She had to dream of him. She had to be the one rock in his life that kept him from going totally and completely insane.

Yet, there he stood…fifty-five years later…watching closely as her bronze eyes flickered open.

"I'm here," he told her, brushing the chestnut hair from her face.

She was the most remarkable person he'd ever met, and to think she was a Muggle made absolutely no sense to him, but Tom realized, long ago, that many aspects of the universe weren't meant to be understood…just accepted. He accepted the fact that he'd fallen in love with her, but he didn't know how to apply that love and take care of her. He'd never been taught how to do that. He'd never been shown. But he couldn't just leave Gemma, after her father had passed, and stand idly by as she married another man and started a family of her own. He needed to have her. He needed to be with her, always, and giving her a part of his soul allowed him to have his cake and eat it too.

The magic had kept her young, exactly the way he remembered. She was tall, slim, brunette and brown-eyed. Her clothes were made of silk, as he had arranged, and yet, the image of the lonely girl he'd seen standing across from his father's gravesite was still clear…in every glance and every angle. Tom recoiled, as he gained sight of his pale, translucent hand. He was, of course, an entirely different man. She wouldn't recognize him. In fact, she would be repulsed. His eyes had been reduced to slits. His skin was almost corpse-like and there was not one strand of hair on his head.

Tom stepped back, several times, shaking. He wasn't ready. It had been fifty-five years and still, he wasn't ready.

"Wh – Where am I?" Gemma moaned, half-consciously.

The miniscule portion of his heart that was capable of feeling something came to life as the words left her lips. It was like an electric current had run through his entire body and ignited his senses. He couldn't see, think or hear anything outside of this moment, and every last shred of his attention was devoted to her.

Her hands grabbed at the sheets underneath, and for a moment it looked as though Gemma would fall back asleep, but her eyes opened, wholly, and she inhaled. Her chest rose. Her back arched. Her legs shifted and she stirred. It was hypnotic in its own way, the way she moved.

There was a hitch in Tom's chest, as he watched. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't escape. Every part of him was present. The warmth in his body overtook his usually chilling exterior, and in doing so, blinded him into thinking everything would be all right.

Gemma sat upright, slowly, still dazed. "Father?"

"Your father isn't here," Tom suddenly said, detached from his venomous tone. "He died in his sleep, over fifty years ago."

"I know your voice," she breathed, struggling to see against the torchlight propped near her bed. "I…I know…I know you…I know that…I know that voice…" Gemma blinked several times over, until the truth came to her in the form of a single, numbing realization. "Tom."

His name in her voice was enough to throw him completely off balance, and into a whirlwind of regret, over what he had done. The wizard backed away some more, immersing himself in the shadows. Now more than ever, he would not allow her the chance to see him as he was.

"You're right," he offered, lips quivering. "I am Tom, Tom Riddle…and you're in a place called Crystal Cave."

Gemma shifted her gaze towards him. "Come in the light, Tom. I – I can't see you."

There was tension building in his muscles. He couldn't focus. "I won't let you see me," he answered, helplessly. "There's something wrong with me." It was like adolescence all over again. His confidence was nonexistent. She remembered a handsome young lad, not a tyrannical wizard with distorted facial features.

"Are you hurt?" she asked; a knee-jerk reaction to being a nurse.

Tom tilted his head down, ashamed. "No."

"Let me see you," Gemma spoke, softly. "I – I can barely see anything in this…this cave." She lifted her arms from her sides and had a look at the witch clothes adorned on her body. "What is this?" the young woman asked, perplexed. "Better yet…where am I? Is this supposed to be some sort of…of…of…" Her voice went quiet. The strain in her features released, replaced with something of a different make. Gemma glanced to where Tom was standing, hands shaking and eyes filled to the brim. "I remember now," she whispered. "I…I came to you after my…my father…after he died…and…and you gave me something…"

It was happening. It was happening so fast, he could barely keep up. Tom resisted the urge to spell her silent, knowing his controlling nature had been the reason he found himself in such a mess to begin with. "I'm sorry," was all he could manage to say, without falling facedown onto the ground and willing himself to die.

"You…You drugged me," Gemma spoke through trembling lips. "I trusted you, and you did this." She glanced around the small part of the cave, in which this reunion was taking place. "You brought me to this – this lair and…and…you…you –"

"I haven't touched you," Tom interjected, suddenly realizing where her thoughts were heading. "I swear on everything that is right in the world. I would never do that to you. I would never hurt you." For the first time since she had awoken, there was conviction in his voice. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but I brought you here to protect you. You're the safest you've ever been under my – my –"

"Control," Gemma finished, pained. "That's what you are, Tom. You're controlling."

His face fell. "I know. I'm sorr –"

"Don't apologize," she added swiftly. "Just take me home. I want to go home. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be around you."

"I would, if I could," he answered, voice ridden with guilt. "You don't have a home anymore, Gemma."

Her face screwed with confusion, and then panic. "Have – Have the aerial attacks continued? Did – Did my house get bombed?"

"No." Tom swallowed hard, knowing the next few moments would define whatever became of their bond. "Your house was demolished decades ago, to make room for a development of new homes," he explained, as though he'd kept tabs on everything related to her all this time. "In – In fact, the war itself has been over for half a century."

"What do you mean?" Gemma asked, bewildered. "What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm trying to say," Tom started, working through his nerves with several calming breaths. "Is that –" He paused, exhaling. "It's been fifty-five years since I gave you that…drink."

"That can't be true…" She narrowed her eyes and shook her head, slowly. "That would make it –"

"The year 1999," he finished, knowing the only way to distract her from what had just been revealed, was to reveal something else – something far more alarming. Tom buried his shame, as low as he could, and stepped forth, out of the shadows. "Hello, Gem. It's been a long time."

Gemma clapped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes went wide with shock, horror and disbelief. She stared at him, from head to toe, a good fourteen or fifteen times, before doing as much as blinking. There were no words to describe her current state of mind. She simply…reacted.

"I know what you must be thinking," Tom started, avoiding eye contact. "I do not resemble the young man you remember, but his blood flows through my veins, and his memories are my memories." He'd never found it so difficult to articulate his thoughts. "If you could find it within yourself to forgive my actions, I would…I would bow to you and forsake everything I have."

"I…I always knew there was always something peculiar about you," she admitted, finally speaking. "But I never imagined anything so…so…"

"Hideous?" he asked, darting his vision in her direction, for just one moment, long enough to note the fear in her eyes.

"What are you?" Gemma inquired, fifty-five years too late.

He glanced down. It was a long time coming, and although he'd thought about this moment for half a century, he'd never been able to fashion a proper response to that question. He couldn't give her the answer she deserved. He couldn't be the one she deserved. It wasn't in his nature. It wasn't in his blood. It wasn't in his being.

"He's a man," someone said from behind, stepping into the lair. "He's a man who was born and bred into a world of cold, unyielding darkness. He's a man who was never given the chance at a proper life. He's a man who was segregated from the very beginning and sought comrades in the only way he knew how."

Tom fixed his attention to the source of the all the commotion, and found Hermione Granger standing beside him, about six feet away, with her eyes planted firmly on his last, living horcrux.

"He's a man who fell in love with you," Miss Granger continued. "Despite every fibre of his being telling him it's not possible."

Gemma stared between the pair of them, alarmed. "Is – Is this your girlfriend?" she asked him.

"No," Miss Granger answered, in his place. "I have a boyfriend, or, well, someone like a boyfriend, and right now he's dying somewhere in this cave," she explained. "He was attacked by one of the creatures roaming this place, one of the creatures designed to protect you from people like me."

"What is she talking about?" Gemma demanded. "What are you people? Why do I need protection?"

"Because of me," Tom finally said. "I've done horrible things to countless people." His eyes drifted to hers, and in them he saw a trace of recognizable emotion. She was listening to him, intently, the way she had during their many walks along the River Thames. "Miss Granger, here, is one of those people and she's here to kill you…in order to kill me."

There was no longer fear in Gemma's eyes. She looked blank. She looked exhausted, despite sleeping for fifty-five years. She looked tired of all the things that were being thrown around, the things she didn't understand and maybe didn't want to understand. There was only one thing clear in her expression, and it was her desire to find peace after so much suffering.

"Are you…an alien?" she asked, the wheels in her Muggle mind turning.

"Something like that," Tom answered, quietly. "I'm different from you."

"And you," Gemma turned, facing Miss Granger and regarding her as though they were akin, which, in a way, they were. "You're – You're here to kill me?"

Hermione paused a moment, before nodding. "I'm here to destroy the last part of Tom's soul, which is necessary in order to remove him from this universe…once and for all." She stared at him, briefly, and carried on with her speech. "I've lost many loved ones because of him and although I do not wish to hurt you, given that I don't know a thing about you, it is the only way…"

There were so many things playing in Gemma's mind. She didn't know what to do or what to say. There was the matter of her location and her father and her apparent leap through the time. There was the matter of Tom and what he had done to her and whether or not anything with him, even the slightest glance, had been genuine. She had felt something for him from the moment they met, from the moment she laid eyes on the handsome, charming, supernaturally intelligent young man that was Tom Riddle. It then occurred to her that supernatural was the keyword in all of this, but Gemma couldn't think anymore. She couldn't breathe anymore. The possibilities in her mind were beginning to fade, almost as quickly as her energy.

"Gemma," Tom called out, in a panic. "Gemma!" He rushed to her; dropping any form of shame he had over his appearance, and cradled her body in his arms, wiping the hair from her face. "Gemma, look at me. Gemma, you have to focus." The man closed his eyes, as though it would put an end to this nightmare, but it didn't. "Don't leave me."

Her eyes were closing with an air of finality. "I'm dying, Tom…"

"No," he retorted, firmly. "No." The wizard allowed her to rest on the bed, and turned on his heel, wand withdrawn. "What have you done to her?" he exclaimed, throwing his Mudblood Death Eater a menacing glare. "Speak the truth, or so help me God, I will burn you from the inside out."

Hermione backed up, shakily holding out her own wand, which turned out to be the Elder Wand. "N – Nothing. I've done nothing. It's probably the magic wearing her out, now that she's awake. She's a Muggle. Magic overwhelms their systems," the girl blurted, trying her best to think of a logical reason as to why Miss Davenport was fading. "I – I –"

"Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, jerking his wand at her and watching as green sparks shot from the end and collided with the back wall, as Miss Granger dove out of the way, just in the nick of time.

She panicked, attempting to shield his jinxes and dodge the curses. The girl was out of practice but a far better dueler than he'd imagined, maybe even better than the father of her child. She was quick and unpredictable, and focused more on counter curses than any sort of attack. It was clear the wheels in her mind were turning, even in a moment of chaos.

Game on.

"Incendio!" A surge of energy shot from her wand and met with him, sending him back a couple feet, before he recovered.

There were burns on his face from the impact, given that it was the fire charm, and the only reason it was strong enough to have any sort of influence on him was because of the wand in use. The Elder Wand made this match close to even. The Elder Wand may have saved Harry Potter's life, had the young wizard thought to recover it from Albus Dumbledore's gravesite, but he wasn't as savvy as Hermione Granger.

She sent another spell and then another, using his brief recovery time as ample opportunity, but Tom dodged all the others, ignoring the pain along his face and neck, from the collision.

There were pieces of rock flying all over the place from their duel – some blunt and some sharp as a dagger. Everything was a threat, even the air. Tom directed the duel away from Gemma, as far as he could without traveling through the tunnel and into the pit of Inferi. He shot curse after curse after curse, collecting Miss Granger's spells into a ball of energy, just as he had with young Draco, and waited for a pause in her steady course of spells before delivering it to her, harshly.

She opened her mouth to shield but the words barely had a chance to leave her lips. Her eyes went wide with terror, as the orb of flaming power rocketed through the air and engulfed her in its brute force with one final blow. Her scream echoed throughout the cave, sending chills down Tom's spine. He thought to disarm her and make sure the Elder Wand was finally in his pocket, given that he was its new master, but there was no time.

The wizard hurried to Gemma's side and lifted her into his arms, rocking back and forth, holding her tight. She was still breathing, but only faintly. He could feel the life slipping away from her, because with her rested part of his soul. He could feel her pain. He could feel her anguish. The same was true in vice versa.

"You're safe now. Nobody will harm you, so long as I am here. We can be together, just like you wanted. Us."

"I – I'm dying," she struggled to say, as though the words would be the last she would ever speak.

"Don't say that."

"I'm dying," the girl repeated.

It was true. He could see it and feel it. "This is all my doing," Tom blurted, burying his face into the crook of her neck. "I'm so, so sorry, Gemma. I'm…I'm sorry for everything."

Her breathing grew slight. "As am I," she uttered, speaking words with multiple meanings. "I loved you, Tom. I really, truly did."

He separated from her neck, long enough to notice the change in her expression. It went from pained to peaceful, but before he could make any form of a remark, a pool of blood collected in his throat. Tom glanced down, and found a sharp, jagged piece of rock pierced through his chest.

"Wh – Why?" he choked out, spilling blood and looking to his lady with desperation.

There were tears streaming down Gemma's face and the last rays of sunshine abandoned her eyes. She was dying, at the same time he was, and her final act in the universe had been to murder him, which told Tom everything he had been too afraid to admit.

He was and would always be, a monster.