A/N: Well, I certainly got the writer's block with this one but no matter, it's here now. Hope you all enjoy. =]

Tempora Abducto.

by Flaignhan.

"I think I need to say something to him."

Dumbledore straightened in his chair, his overgrown eyebrows creasing as he surveyed her. He said nothing, just made a small gesture with his hand, encouraging her to continue.

"He's not following the path that he should. And if he doesn't...I mean, I know his time line. I know where he was born, where he grew up, I know about you setting fire to his wardrobe..."

At this comment, Dumbledore's eyebrows raised out of their frown, though he did not enquire as to how she had come across this information. His self restraint remained, as ever, infallible, and he allowed her to continue.

"It all seemed just right, until Christmas, and now, well. It's like I'm in an alternate univ – " she trailed off, her eyes bulging in their sockets, not seeing the wall ahead of her.

"Relax, Hermione," Dumbledore said, reaching out one spindly hand to pat her own reassuringly. "You're not in an alternate universe."

"How would you know?" she asked, wincing after the question came out in a much more accusing tone than she had anticipated.

"One cannot travel across time and universe at the same time. Whilst the curse that was cast upon you was cast rather badly, it was not enough of a mistake to send you into another universe. Magical theorists aren't even sure if travelling between universes is even possible, so I am sure you are still in the same universe."

Hermione nodded, although she would have liked a much more concrete answer than 'not sure it's even possible'. That just sounded like famous last words to her, but she took a deep breath, pushing her constant anxiety down into her stomach.

"Do you think I should say something?"

"Do whatever you feel is right."

She groaned inwardly. What felt right to her was allowing him to continue on his politics route, and hope Lord Voldemort never showed up. How many lives would that save? But what if somebody worse came along? What if somebody without Lord Voldemort's shortcomings came along and managed to kill Harry when he was much younger? What if the new person never got defeated?

Of course she didn't know whether Voldemort had been defeated, but that was much too far off for her to be fretting about it now. She didn't think her nails could handle it if she was constantly biting them for the next fifty years, so she put it from her mind.

Hermione left Dumbledore's office an hour later, after a fairly successful Occlumency lesson despite all the to-ing and fro-ing in her head about what the right course of action was. She found, almost unsurprisingly, that her legs were taking her to the library, and when she arrived, she spotted him immediately, in the furthest corner, reading a long roll of parchment that she imagined would be handed in during their next Charms lesson.

"Hi," she said, sitting down in the chair opposite him.

He looked up, his lips curving into the smallest of smiles. "Hello."

"I need to talk to you," she said, not sure how exactly she should go about the conversation she was starting, or whether she'd actually make it as far as the whole point.

"So talk," he said, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms out in front of him before bringing them to rest on the table, hands linked together as he waited for her to say something.

"You're not..." she sighed as she tried to think of the appropriate phrase. 'A mass murderer'? 'An evil psychopath'? She tapped her fingers on the desk until she arrived at some suitable wording. "You're not who you're supposed to be," she said. "You're not a politician."

His face dropped a little, but he regained his confidence almost immediately. "What d'you mean?"

She leaned forward, her voice low as she whispered, "What does the name Lord Voldemort mean to you?"

To her surprise he began to laugh, earning himself the glares of a table of nearby Hufflepuff seventh years, whose expressions quickly dropped when they saw just who they were glaring at.

"Merlin's beard, you really do know everything about me! I haven't been called that name for over a year."

"What?"

"It was just...look, everything got out of hand...I had these ideas but...well let's just say they weren't particularly nice ideas –"

"I know exactly what your ideas were, and still are!" Hermione hissed.

"No, honestly, I'm done with all of that now. It was foolish. Besides, why take by force what I can take by charm and intelligence?"

Hermione couldn't argue with this, but then she remembered the gold ring that used to sit on his finger, black stone glittering as it reflected the flickering candlelight.

"Have you destroyed your horcruxes?"

He shifted in his seat. "What makes you think I have more than one?" he asked.

"Seven," she said. "Not yet, but that's the plan, isn't it?"

He scowled.

"Lord Voldemort is a name that witches and wizards will fear to speak in the future, and as much as I hate myself for telling you this, that's your future. Not politics, not teaching, Lord Voldemort is – " she stopped talking abruptly as Arcturus Black skulked over.

"Are you finished with that, Riddle?" he asked in a reedy voice, pointing to a brown, leather bound book sitting on the desk in front of Tom.

"Yes, would you like me to scourgify it before you take it? In case any of my half blood germs are on there?"

"No that's quite all right, I believe my immune system has strengthened after sharing a dormitory with you for seven years..." he snatched the book off of the table, threw a poisonous look at Hermione and sauntered away, like an angry cat.

"I don't want that life," Tom said quietly after he was sure Arcturus was out of earshot. "Why be feared when you can be adored? People won't kick up a fuss if they adore me, but if they're scared of me..."

"Lord Voldemort is coming," Hermione said, "whether you like it or not."

She got up from the table and left him to ponder his future.

"There has to be a solution," Tom said, pacing up and down the empty classroom.

"There's not," Hermione said quietly, perched on the desk by the window, her eyes following him as he wandered back and forth in front of her.

"There's always a solution."

"If there's always a solution then why am I still here?" Hermione asked, fixing his eyes with a firm stare.

Tom stopped his pacing, thinking for a moment before he answered. "Because maybe, I'm not so keen on sending you away."

Hermione's grip on the edge of the desk tightened momentarily, Tom's eyes flicking down as he noticed, then back up to her face again.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"It just means if I really wanted to get rid of you, I'd find a way, but right now, what I really want to do is find a way of not being Lord Voldemort."

"I've told you," Hermione began, but she was cut off.

"I don't care what you've told me. I want to live my life how I want to live it, not how you say I wanted to live it."

"Well unless you're planning on splitting yourself in two then it's not going to – "

Tom placed his hand over her mouth and she stopped midsentence.

"Split myself in two?"

Hermione nodded and he lowered his hand.

"Go on..." he said encouragingly, arms folded across his chest as he waited for Hermione to provide him with more details.

"Well, I suppose if you can split your soul into seven, you could...I don't know, grow a body to hold one of your horcruxes? Then it can live the life of Lord Voldemort and you can..."

"Go into hiding? Not much of a life, is it?"

"Well I don't know, do I? You wanted solutions, there's a solution. Take it or leave it."

"How the hell do I make a body? I suppose I could use an Inferi..." at Hermione's dark look, Tom stopped thinking aloud.

"You go and work in Borgin and Burke's when you leave school, so you'd probably be best off telling the Ministry you can't - "

"Borgin and Burke's?" Tom repeated in disgust. "I work in a shop?"

"Yes," Hermione said defiantly. "All sorts of things turn up in a shop like that, you never know what you might find."

She saw it, just momentarily, a flash in his eyes. Curiosity and excitement, as well as hunger for the rare kinds of treasure he knew she was alluding to.

"What might I find?" he asked, moving towards her, placing his arms either side of her on the desk, blocking any exit she might have been able to take.

Hermione's eyes dropped downwards before she looked back at him, smiling as though she wasn't intimidated by him in any way shape or form. He was smirking, and she knew it was because he could see the wobble in her smile, the hint of uncertainty behind her eyes that was always there whenever he made any sudden movements or they were completely out of earshot of anybody who might be able to assist her should he turn into a murderous raging lunatic.

"Well," Hermione said, arching her back to gain a little distance between them. It didn't do her any good however, as Tom leaned further forward to compensate, his eyes glued to hers as he waited for an answer.

"Well?"

"Well, I don't know. Relics, maybe?"

His smirk broadened. "What kind of relics?"

"Old ones," Hermione breathed, still attempting to lean away from him, and still having her efforts deemed useless as he followed her movements, his face getting closer to hers with each passing second.

"How old?"

"Older than Dippet," she said quickly, and he chuckled, his hot breath fluttering over her face.

"Are you going to tell me anything worthwhile?" he asked, so close now that their noses were almost touching.

Hermione shook her head.

"That's too bad," he said, pulling away from her quickly and smoothing his robes down. "I'll see you tomorrow in Transfiguration."

He left, and it was a short while before Hermione's heart slowed to a more regular rate.

She stared at the ceiling, an indignant huff exiting her lungs as she glanced over the clock for what felt like the millionth time that night. Hermione had not slept a wink since she had laid her head down on the pillow over five hours ago. Instead, she had shifted from one position to another, and then to another, before deciding that really, she had been most comfortable in the first position anyway.

And still, she did not sleep.

She knew why, of course, though she was loathe to admit it to herself. Even letting the words form in her head would make it all seem far too real. Right now, it felt like she was trapped in some sort of fairytale, where the handsome prince and deadly villain had merged into the same person.

He was a murderer, that she was sure of.

However, he seemed quite keen to be very much the opposite of that.

But he was a liar, and that she was sure of too.

And then, there were the times he had kissed her. From what Harry had said from his experiences in the pensieve, Tom Riddle had never had a friend, let alone a girlfriend.

Not that she was his girlfriend of course.

But he had kissed her, and that went beyond the usual boundaries of friendship.

And you enjoyed it.

She ignored the taunting voice in her head and rolled over onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow.

He seemed desperate to not become Lord Voldemort, so desperate that she was sure he couldn't be lying. She had seen him lie before, she knew what his style was. Now, there seemed only to be genuine panic.

Regardless of all that, he had already killed four people, perhaps more.

And yet he was the only one she could really talk to.

But she was being selfish, what did it matter who she could talk to – this was the course of history she was talking about! Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort were one and the same. There was no way he'd be able to create a new body in time to start wreaking havoc on people. It had taken him thirteen years to find a way back before, and that was with all the knowledge of the dark arts he had acquired over the years.

Tom Riddle was a schoolboy, he didn't have a hope in hell. He would have to settle for being the one person, just like everybody else.

And then, with a wide eyed gasp as she sat bolt upright in bed, it hit her.