A/N: Hi! I did originally post this chapter on Monday, but through some glitch it was never available here on ffnet. I've deleted it and reposted it, so hopefully everyone is able to read it now. If you were one of the few able to see the chapter and leave a review, your review might have been deleted but I did get them and so appreciated them! Thank you all so much for your reviews, favorites and follows! I hope you all had a fabulous Halloween weekend :) You can follow me over on tumblr (nauticalparamour) where I post sneak peeks, story updates and answer questions.

Please let me know what you thought of chapter eight and be on the lookout for chapter nine soon!

March 1945

Visiting Hermione seemed dangerous when he couldn't sort out his feelings for her. The witch made Tom's head spin with how hot and cold she could be towards him, and he sensed that she was battling something inside herself when it came to him. But, he could understand. He was going through the same back and forth.

He could admit that he wanted her desperately now, to possess her in every way possible. But, he was left with the sinking feeling that she might be trying to use his body's reactions against him. The thought of being used was enough to send Tom into a panic whenever he imagined going farther with Hermione.

Tom Riddle was a wizard to be feared. He was determined to become the most powerful wizard the world had ever seen and he wasn't going to be derailed by something as trivial and embarrassing as what was between a witch's legs.

He attempted to ask his friends about their experience with witches casually, but he left thinking that perhaps they didn't know as much as they let on. Alfie made no secret that witches didn't hold much interest for him at all - he'd much rather be deep in a book. For all their boasting Louie and Gus had seen one set of knees between the two of them. Evan could wax poetic about his witch, but it seemed that she had scolded him for fondling her. Edmund had sat silent and smirking, obviously the one out of them who had the most experience, but he wasn't willing to share it, if only perhaps because he saw how interested Tom was.

None of what the Slytherins shared had been as intimate as the moment he and Hermione had shared in the bathtub. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps he knew the most of the mysteries of what lie beneath a witch's robes. He had seen the curves of her body, the mouthwatering fullness of her breasts barely concealed. None of the Slytherins had only a few bubbles to separate them from a naked witch, let alone one as beautiful as Hermione.

But when Edmund had asked about his mystery witch, who they were all so curious about, Tom clammed up and kept silent. There was no point in their guessing games, seeing as she wasn't a student there, but he didn't want to share the newfound experiences he'd shared with her. He didn't want to share anything about Hermione with them.

They might tarnish her.

Even though she might be dangerous - more dangerous than Dumbledore even - Tom was like a moth to the flame and found himself climbing the stairs to the Dark Tower on lazy Sunday afternoons, to bask in the light of Hermione, even if it was only for a few hours. He might regret it later, when he was feeling drunk with desire, but it couldn't stop him from coming back.

The Hufflepuffs were playing Slytherin down on the Quidditch pitch and Tom knew that they would be undisturbed by Dumbledore for several hours at least. When he walked in the room, he was surprised to see Hermione standing at the window, her hands pressed against it tightly.

At first Tom thought she might actually be watching the game. Despite her saying that she didn't enjoy the sport, he supposed that months in a tower with little in the way for entertainment might even make wizards on brooms chasing a snitch seem like a good time. But then he really watched her and saw she was concentrating, whispering spells as if her life depended on it.

"What are you doing?" he asked, coming to stand behind her.

Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice. "You snuck up on me again," she said with a frown. "I'm becoming less aware in here. Losing my edge."

"You seemed awfully focused on whatever it was that had your attention," he offered in explanation.

"Last night I had the crazy idea that I should try to break the window to get out," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Dumbledore has thought to ward the door, but surely he didn't think I would try to get out this way. I might fall to my death."

"We can't let that happen," Tom said with a frown. The thought of Hermione dying was...unacceptable at this point. "That's a smart idea. I don't know how I didn't think of it before."

He didn't think of it before because he didn't really want to let Hermione free, at least not when he had nowhere to take her.

She laughed. "You don't know everything, Tom," she teased. "Anyway, I've been at it all morning, and I've had no luck, so it's probably just a terrible idea anyway."

She leaned back against the glass, looking like she was suspended in the air, and for a moment Tom felt his breath leave him. Hermione was an incredibly beautiful witch, and he wondered how he'd failed to recognize it when he first met her. Straight nose and well shaped lips, meant to be kissed - cheeks prone to blushing with just a few remnants of summer freckles - wild hair that he dreamed of tangling his hands in to hold her just so.

But it was really her eyes that captivated him. They were a warm brown, mischievous and bright. They communicated every emotion she was feeling. And when she looked at him, her pupils always expanded slightly revealing the affection she held for him, even after their rocky start with one another.

He could hear the murmur of a great, far off roar, which signified that Hufflepuff had wrestled a hard fought ten points from Slytherins keeper. It brought him back to the task at hand. He pressed his hand against the pane, feeling for any residual magic. "Have you tried a bombarda yet?" he asked. If there was a way to blast out the glass, it would likely be that spell.

She shook her head. "Yes, but I couldn't cast it without a wand," Hermione explained, before turning to face him with a sad, yet hopeful look on her face.

Her eyes were wide and imploring and it took Tom a few seconds to realize what she was asking him for. Another intimacy.

His hand was wrapped around his wand before his mind could catch up, holding it out for her to take. It was incredibly personal to use another witch or wizard's wand, but here he was not giving a second thought to letting Hermione take his.

It was only after she had wrapped her dainty fingers around his wand that he felt that familiar bolt of fear, nearly stopping his heart. What if she tried to use it against him?

But she didn't. Instead she quickly cast a shield charm, before trying to blast out the window as calmly as if she were trying to levitate a feather. "Bombarda!"

If Tom had been impressed with Hermione for mastering wandless magic before, seeing her cast magic with a wand in hand after not using one for over half a year was even more so. She made magic look easy and cast with an arrogance that she was born to do this. His mind immediately conjured scenarios of Hermione working beside him. She was clearly powerful, and even if he didn't have a growing attachment to her, she would be a good ally to have.

To Hermione's disappointment, though, the bombarda didn't even crack the glass. She rolled his wand in her hand, looking at it with a smile. "Merlin, it felt great to use a wand again," she said forlornly. "It's been so long. It feels like I had my right arm tied behind my back and now I can use it again."

Before he could ask for it back, she strode around the room, using his wand to perform common little household tasks around the Tower. Pillows were fluffed and cleaned, her bed was made, and the mantle was dusted.

When she turned back to face him, she wore a look on her face that told him how loathe she was to part with the wand so soon. But, dutifully, she held out her hand and offered it back to him.

"Thank you for letting me use your wand, Tom," she said solemnly. "I know it couldn't have been easy to... to trust me with it."

She was right. It was hard to give up that extension of himself for her use when he really knew so little about her. Hermione had rewarded that trust, though, and he could see some of her walls crumbling down. Maybe this was his true chance to get her to open up to him.

"Of course I trust you," he lied. If he had thought for even half a second about it, he wouldn't have trusted her with it.

Hermione was standing in front of him, her neck straining to look up into his face. She frowned for a moment, thinking over her next move. But then she was pushing up on her tiptoes, her arms pressed to his shoulders, pressing her lips to his in a tight kiss.

Tom gave in for a moment before he pushed her away. "Hermione," he said, barely biting back a groan at the feeling of parting from her. "I don't want you to kiss me if you are only doing it to trick me. You don't need to use your body to get me to help you."

Although, it would be an added bonus, he thought.

She smirked. "How chivalrous of you, Tom," she quipped, teasing him, before she tried to kiss him a second time.

He rebuffed her, wanting to be clear. "I'm serious, Hermione," he said, without any emotion on his face. "I'll help you get out of here without kisses. Seeing the look on Dumbledore's face will be more than enough for me to continue with you."

Hermione stared at him in confusion for a few beats. Perhaps she was embarrassed or felt the sting of feminine pride to learn that Dumbledore was enough of a driving force for him to help her and that her advances would do little to sway him. Or maybe she was fighting that internal battle where he was concerned again. She drew her eyebrows together, before her face relaxed.

She looked up at him so prettily, with her pink lips parted. "But I really do want to kiss you," she revealed, looking like the admission pained her to admit. "I...I find myself drawn to you."

Tom smirked at her. "You say that as if it's a bad thing," he teased.

Hermione frowned. "I shouldn't like you," she agreed.

Wrapping his arms around her, Tom pulled Hermione closer until they were pressed against one another. It was the first time he'd instigated any affection with her, but it felt right for him to be in control of the situation. His hand found the delicate curve of her jaw and turned her face upwards until she was staring at him like a sunflower to the light.

And then he kissed her.

He was tender at first, finding his confidence, but he could not stop himself from deepening the kiss for long. The slide of her tongue against his, the heat of her mouth was enough to sear this memory into his brain forever. Tom let his fingers press back into her hair, tangling into the strands to hold her in place against him, an embrace that she would not fight against.

He wanted to change her mind. She said she shouldn't like him, but he wanted to make her desire him so much that she would no longer care what she should or shouldn't do. He wanted her to never second guess the feelings that she had for him again.

And it seemed to be working. Hermione was just as invested in the kiss, her arms straining to wrap around his neck, fingers playing with the fine hairs on the back of his neck. She did not work to hold back the moans of appreciation she gave him when she did something that she particularly liked.

Tom's feet seemed to move on his own. He was walking her back towards the bed, eager to focus on Hermione and Hermione alone. She seemed to understand and pulled him against her when they met the soft mattress, cradled by the half dozen pillows that adorned it.

Shaking, his fingers found the few buttons at the top of her fitted witch's robes. It took a bit longer than it would normally take him, he was sure, but in the end, he got the wretched thing opened.

He didn't trust himself to look at her, not yet at least. He was afraid that he might lose his nerve if he looked at her, flushed and spread out on the bed waiting for him. Would her lips be bruised? Would her breathing be quickened from her desire for him?

Instead, he broke their kiss and began a torturously slow trail of kisses from the curve of her jaw, down the side of her neck. Hermione shivered and moaned under him, giving Tom a rush of power he never would have expected to get from a witch. His tongue pressed and sucked against her pulse point. He was amazed to feel her heart racing, glad to know that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he found that he finally had the courage to cup her breast. He gave a shuddering breath, face still pressed into the arch of her neck, as his fingers found the thin lace of her brassiere, the only thing separating him from her hot flesh. Hermione arched herself into him, her nipple a hard straining point under the fabric. Tentatively, he ran his thumb across the tip, and gave her breast an appreciative squeeze.

"Oh, Tom," she whispered, her head falling back against the pillow, her hair a cascade around her.

His cock, already hard in his trousers, gave a little jump at hearing his name on her lips like so. Unable to stop himself, he ground himself against her where he was cradled between her welcoming legs. He swallowed thickly when Hermione only opened her legs wider, hiking up one side of her robes so that she could. His other hand found the skin of her thigh, hot and firm under his touch.

Salazar, his mind was spinning out of control. He felt drunker than he'd ever been from imbibing, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Again and again, he ran his thumb across her nipple, eventually pulling down the fabric of her brassiere. He was amazed when she didn't stop him, not even when he gave her nipple a quick pinch. Instead, she rewarded him with another moan, more wanton the rest, and a thrust of her sex against his hard length.

Hermione knew what she wanted, and she was soon pressing his head further down, until he was face to face with her breast. It was small, but well formed and perfect. He pressed kisses around the cashmere soft skin, until he finally wrapped his lips around it's pink tip. That got more of a reaction out of her than he anticipated.

"Oh, Tom, please," she begged, her hips rocking in even time against him, looking for something.

His cock was throbbing with every bump she gave him. Daring to hope, he let his hand trace up the inside of her thigh, until he found the place where they were pressed together. His eyes watched her face while he made the initial contact with the edge of her knickers. Hermione had her lower lip caught between her teeth, body still in anticipation of what was to come.

Apparently, he did not move quickly enough for her liking. Her own hand shot down to meet his. Before he knew what was happening, Hermione was pulling his hand inside her knickers, and his fingertips were touching her sex. He shuddered again. She was hot and slick and Salazar, he didn't know what to do.

Hermione guided him, though, putting his fingertips just where she wanted them - on the firm little button at the top of her sex. She showed him how to move in a circular pattern, pressing down until the pressure was just right.

Tom could feel her hot breath against his ear as she puffed away, gasping again and again while he touched her. He didn't have much time to contemplate it. Hermione deftly opened the front of his trousers, slipping inside to wrap her delicate fingers around his cock. Unbidden, he thrust into her welcome hand.

He found her lips once again, if only to swallow up the breathy moans of his name before it drove him absolutely mad. He was finding it difficult to focus on the feel of her sex under his circling fingertips when she was such a quick study with his cock. She seemed to have him figured out after only a few slides of her hand.

There was too much going on. The taste of her on his tongue, the smell of her sex in the air, the feel of her body under his, and the persistent tug on his prick all sending him hurtling towards orgasm faster than even he was able to.

He was about to lose it all when she finally stiffened against him, pulling her mouth away from his so that she could breath out his name once again. He found himself thrusting against her hand, desperate to follow after her. It didn't take long before he did, spilling himself in her waiting hand.

Tom stilled, catching his breath for a moment, before he rolled over to lay down next to her. He felt embarrassment slip in. He couldn't believe that he'd cum in his trousers like some sort of fourth year, but then he'd never had a witch touch him like that either. He felt his cheeks heat up when he realized that Hermione had cum also, and he felt pride at being able to do that to her.

Cautiously, he pulled his hand out of her knickers. Sex was a lot more messy than he would have thought.

Hermione gave him a well satisfied smile, rolling onto her side to face him. She didn't look to be embarrassed at all, not even with her breast still exposed and her robes pushed up around her waist. Instead, she wandlessly cast a cleansing charm, looking cool as ever.

"That wasn't what I expected," she told him, her voice a bit deeper than usual.

Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise. "So you did expect something like that to transpire between us?" he asked in wonder. "I'll have to listen to you explain it in detail some time."

Only then did she blush. "I just mean, I didn't think that you would just take the lead like that," she explained.

"Why not?" he wondered aloud.

"You just seem sort of shy when it comes to witches," she explained with a smirk. "Or at least shy when it comes to me. Sometimes I think I'm going to scare you off with my forwardness."

"You are very...modern," Tom said after a moment of consideration. Modern, the word seemed to suit. He wondered if it was a peculiarity of her being muggleborn. Perhaps they didn't place the same importance on virginity that purebloods tended to. "You seem willing to go after whatever it is that you want. Like me."

Hermione stilled for a moment, but nodded. "Yes," she agreed. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. "And what is it that you want, Tom?"

You, he thought.

He kept quiet, thinking over the best way to answer her. He didn't think that he could tell her all of his plans, not when she was a muggleborn. Knowing Hermione, it wouldn't be well received, especially not in the afterglow. What was the point in ruining the good mood between them in that moment?

"Well, most immediately, I want to get good scores on my exams," he said. "Better than good, actually. I want to do better than everyone else."

She laughed. "Doesn't everyone want that?" she questioned.

"No, I don't think they do," he answered her, thinking of his friends. They didn't need to do well on the NEWTs to be accepted, not like he did.

"I suppose you are right," she agreed. "And after school? What do you want to do then?"

Tom rolled onto his side then, so he could look at her face and watch it for any reaction she might give. "One of the Professors here, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, is going to retire at the end of the year," he answered, wetting his lips. "And I am going to take his post."

Hermione snorted. "Okay," she said. "And when that doesn't work out?"

He felt annoyance begin to bubble up. "There is no point in thinking like that," he told her. "I will get the post."

She laughed at him, before rolling to face him once again. "No you aren't Tom," she insisted. "You aren't going to get the job, because you are too young. You have no experience as a Professor or in the field. You should think about a back up plan."

"A back up plan?" he seethed. How dare she think that he was going to fail at something as simple as getting a post at Hogwarts?

"Yes, a back up plan," she repeated. "Or else you are going to end up doing something completely undignified like being a shopkeeper at Borgin and Burkes!"

There was something about the specificity of her statement, of the way that she talked so confidently - like she knew - that made a cold shiver dance up his spine. How did she know that Mr. Borgin had sent him a letter offering him a position. "That won't happen," he insisted.

"Really, I am just so...so annoyed with you Tom!" she said. "How can a wizard as powerful of you have such low career ambitions? You could do anything you wanted if you just did a little bit of planning."

"I want to be a Professor," he insisted.

She laughed at him again. "What's the real reason, Tom?" she asked. "Because I can't see a reason why you'd like to be a professor. You don't seem to enjoy teaching, not really anyway, and I know your thoughts on the Dark Arts."

He felt himself fuming once again, wondering how it was that Hermione knew more than she was letting on. How could she have guessed that he had more of a reason for wanting to stay at Hogwarts than for the job? Did she know about the Chamber? About the Basilisk? How did she know all of this?

It seemed that it was only part of the mystery that she was hiding from him. This was what made her valuable to Dumbledore, why she was seen as dangerous enough to keep locked up in a Tower like a princess. Only, it infuriated him to no end that she dared to question him, to suggest that he wasn't quite as capable as he found himself to be.

"What would you have me do then? Hm?" he questioned, wondering what exactly she was planning, what exactly she saw for his future.

Hermione was silent for a few beats, biting her lower lip. She seemed to be warring with herself, perhaps questioning what she should divulge. "I would rather see you at the Ministry," she said finally. "It's no secret that the Ministry is struggling and I think you could do a lot of good there."

Tom frowned. The Ministry seemed so confining. He didn't want to be pressed into a box and forced to jump through bureaucratic hoops. "I want to do things my way," he said, irked.

"So, you could change the Ministry to suit your needs," Hermione said. "There is a lot of conflict between muggles and wizards right now, and who better than someone who was muggle raised to help ease the conflict."

"Be careful what you wish for," he said coolly. "Perhaps you and I don't have the same vision of muggle-wizard relations."

"I-I don't think that we do," Hermione stammered out. "But, I still think trying diplomacy is better than the alternative."

Tom didn't want to talk about his future anymore, not when he felt so tilted and unsure of himself in that moment. He didn't like the feeling that Hermione had plans for him, plans that she wasn't being entirely forthcoming about.

"And what about you?" he asked meanly. "What do you want out of the future?"

Hermione gave a great sigh, before answering quickly. "The only thing that I want is to get out of this bloody tower," she answered. "Revenge might be nice, too."

That piqued Tom's interest more than he cared to linger on. He loved the idea of a vengeful Hermione, taking control of her life and of her magic and punishing the wizard who had put her there - Dumbledore.

Before he could stop himself, he was pressing another kiss to her lips. "I promise you this, Hermione," he said, their noses touching. "I promise that before the year is up, I will get you out of this tower. And I can help you get your revenge."

She shivered at the promise. Perhaps she hadn't thought that revenge was truly in her grasp, but Tom knew that he could give it to her. Instead of talking any longer, she kissed him back passionately, enough to take his focus off their future.

Faintly, in the background, he could hear the announcer gleefully telling the cheering students that Slytherin had caught the snitch and won the Quidditch match. With a groan, he pulled away. "I should be getting back to Slytherin," he told her with true disappointment. "Everyone will be back soon enough, and it will look odd if I'm not celebrating with them."

He hated to leave her. He could spend the rest of the day kissing her if she would let him, and his heart beat double time when he realized that she likely would.

Tom stood up from the bed. It felt odd to leave her after the intimacy that they had shared that afternoon. He knew that he wouldn't likely forget what they had shared for a long time. If anything knowing what Hermione felt like under his fingers, he would be even more haunted by her than he already had been.

Hermione was disappointed, too, but she made no move to stop him from leaving. Instead, she busied herself with fixing her robes, telling him goodbye. "I hope that I will see you again soon," she whispered.

"Of course," he agreed. He shut the door behind him, locking her away once again.