A/N1: Plot setup: Time-travel AU where Hermione has traveled back to 1950 with the aim to nestle her way into the Knights of Walpurgis. She has caught the attention of Tom Riddle, who is working at Borgin & Burkes. Even if she's determined to kill him, the loneliness after nearly a half year in another era has gotten the better of her and she decides to err-, let's say enjoy some intimacy while spying in his apartment. Two birds, one stone basically.

So, Tom Riddle is an evil bastard. He's power hungry, got leader ship potential (in his evil way) and at this point he's created two horcruxes. He controls his knights, works a day job at Borgin & Burkes and plans world domination by night. I've read that some people who are in charge in their daily life, might lean towards being in less control between the sheets.

I've actually written a plot synopsis for a full-length story, but I've come to the conclusion that I don't have time to write all of it, at this point in my life. The story will be an adventure/horror/drama story, and this is snippets of the juicy bits.

Full steam ahead, folks! Mature content on its way.

August 27, 1950

Riddle eyed his tie, swirled it between his pale fingers. It was made of silk and had a deep dark green shade. The rest of his shop uniform was in pristine condition. As always immaculate and correct. His job at Borgin & Burkes was the perfect cover, to research and put his paws on dark magical objects. He prided himself on his job, his spotless performance as the shop boy. Riddle never allowed himself to make a spotless performance. He looked into the mirror; the only remaining piece of his suit was the tie he held in his hands. His work shift was about to start soon.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was never late for work. Never a minute late. Not even a second. No sick days. Always there. Someone to be trusted. He turned up like a clock. Speaking of clocks, the ticking in the kitchen announced that time went on, unforgivingly, without him moving a muscle. Something kept him on the spot, in front of the mirror of his small bedroom, located in his small flat.

Riddle gripped the tie harder.

Stretched it between his hands.

He curled the dark fabric around his left wrist. Pulled slightly.

Pulled again. Harder this time.

The blood flow in his left hand started to get restricted. A tingling sensation spread slowly in his fingertips.

He closed his eyes to pull up a memory of her and allowed himself to fantasize.

His left hand started to feel cold.

Riddle pictured her in his room, right in front of him. He pretended.

He pretended she touched him.

Shoulders.

Arms.

Chest.

The deep brown eyes sparkling of mischief. A wicked grin on her face. The infuriating young woman who had stepped into Borgin & Burkes with wild hair to sell a falsified object. He knew it was the case from her smug attitude in the shop. Her copying spell was the most powerful he had ever seen. Even if none of the diagnostic spells proved his suspicions correct. The long lost, young cousin of Hepzibah Smith, arriving from a war-torn Europe with no backstory, had landed a job in the department of Mysteries. Pure blood contacts, obviously. Connections could get you everywhere in the corrupt Ministry of Magic.

However, Abraxas Malfoy's reports had proved that she was not entirely just a fraud waltzing into the Ministry, carried by the Smith surname. Hermione Smith was competent. Her field of competence was magical artifacts, an interest Malfoy shared with him.

She was also bloody annoying. Bloody annoying full lips with that taunting smile, chocolate eyes, trim waist, pale neck... delicate shoulders. Shoulders he wanted to grip and pull her closer. In her proximity he would lean down and whisper all the foul, decadent things he wanted to do with her.

Riddle imagined she knew what she wanted. She would demand it of him, and he would happily oblige.

He pretended again. He imagined that she would, just simply, have her way with his body. And he would let her.

The sensation in his hand was starting to grow very uncomfortable. He had continued to pull on the silky loop, restricting even more of the blood flow in his hand while he was wrapped up in his fantasy. Riddle released the half knot and stretched his fingers. Blood returned.

Time to leave for work.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was never late.

October 31, 1950

Tom Riddle was an excellent host, according to Hermione. A small hiccup had occurred when they arrived in his flat and he hurriedly stalked into his small kitchen to collect pieces of parchment and a dark notebook on the kitchen table and threw it into a cupboard when he thought she didn't see him. His stressed manner had diminished, he took on the role as host and offered her white goblin wine.

Two simple wine glasses levitated and were filled by a levitating bottle in thin air. He smirked and she tried her best to not roll her eyes due to his obvious show off. She had already guessed he was proficient in wandless magic.

The pureblood hospitality must have rubbed off on him. He had a refined way of speaking, a perfect dialect, which she suspected was self-taught. Hermione had a hard time believing the children at the orphanage were supposed to learn to speak like that. As an orphan boy he must have had a foul mouth. Speaking of foul mouth; he must have also had teeth filled with holes. Hermione had read in Hogwarts – a History that muggleborns up until the mid-1900s were gathered into a group before the sorting and taken to the hospital wing. Their usually poor dental health was taken care of by potions and magical altering by the matron. Their hair was checked for lice and a general medical check up was performed on each new student.

He must have been lined up with them when he arrived as a first year. Tom Riddle, heir to Slytherin himself and descendant from the house of Gaunt, had been introduced to Hogwarts as a muggleborn with cavities and lice in his hair. She couldn't help but imagine a dark haired boy who was scolded for his dirty face by a motherly matron, who was dressed in a similar uniform she had seen Madam Pomfrey wear, and then being sent off with a stern reprimand to be a good boy and behave at school.

Tom Riddle's teeth must have been fixed, eventual lice removed, perhaps even getting a new haircut before being sent off to the sorting with a freshly cleaned face.

Did he pick up on the pureblood dialect among his house mates? From professors at Hogwarts? Before knowing anything about his ancestry he must have done a perfect job to camouflage his simple background in war torn London.

Sometime during his Hogwarts years, he had dropped the orphan boy identity, and sometime later he had found out about his true ancestry and the path to becoming Lord Voldemort had begun.

She was standing face to face with the morphed version, something between Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort. The devil himself. And boy, the devil was charming. Hermione enjoyed herself immensely, sipping on her glass of white wine while discussing goblin war in the sixteenth century and its role of wizarding Britain's economy. Riddle flashed perfect straight white teeth, was perfectly groomed in a classical casual way, and carried himself with confidence.

He was attentive and thoughtful, possessed vast knowledge on the subject to a point Hermione could not help but admire. She remembered both Harry and Ron had fallen asleep occasionally on Professor Binn's lessons. As a teenager that had enraged her, but today, oceans of times later the memory produced a lump in her throat. What wouldn't she do to find them sleeping with their noses in books again?

The memory of both their sweet faces drifted away and was replaced by Riddle's face again.

They were standing by his book collection, the bookcase filled one of the walls, from ceiling to floor, in his small living room. He seemed to be very proud of it but managed to sneak anecdotes and book titles into the conversation without bragging. Smooth and socially competent, as always. She scanned the bookcase thoroughly after something that at least resembled the diary. Nothing.

Her glass of wine was half empty by this point and she excused herself to use the loo, he pointed out the door and offered to take care of her wine glass in the mean-time. Hermione stepped inside the loo and noted that it was, just like the rest of the flat, quite small. An ordinary porcelain sink, a normal toilet chair, a small bathtub, a mirror cabinet. White tiles on the walls and dark tiles on the floor. Neat and clean. Hermione could not help but giggle at the thought of the dark Lord having to visit the loo, like the rest of the mortal did.

The cabinet caught her attention. Something drew her closer, even though she was not keen on opening other people's cupboards to spy, she did so today. Slowly, to avoid any sound from the cabinet's door, she opened it up.

A comb, a tube with some sort of product, toothbrush-.

Hermione's heart stopped.

The Gaunt ring.

She was positive it was the second horcrux.

The golden ring with the dark resurrection stone was laying in his mirror cabinet. He must have taken it off before going to bed one night. A piece of his soul was contained in that ring, and he decided to haphazardly throw it around his flat without second thought? That arrogant git!

She closed the cupboard with a beating heart. She decided to actually do what she was supposed to do in the loo and thoughts raced in her head while she sat there with her knickers by her ankles; it was possible he also kept the diary here in the flat. It was not in his bookcase, nor was it flung onto a coffee table in the living room.

As she exited the loo, someone knocked on the front door. Riddle's eyes squinted and the wine glasses in his hands levitated onto a coffee table with ease and perfection. Hermione found herself being shoved gently into the kitchen by hands on her shoulder blades.

"Would you mind staying here, until I get rid of him? Must be my landlord," he mumbled and closed the kitchen door before Hermione could answer. She was standing in the simple kitchen listening to the front door being opened and distorted male voices speaking.

She had already started with snooping around; she might as well continue. Hermione marched up to the cupboard she had seen him hurriedly close earlier and opened it, while listening for a continuation of the conversation outside the kitchen door. Parchments and a black leather book, a notebook. Her breath quickened. This might be the diary!

She flipped through the pages, none of them were blank.

Instead each page was printed.

The cover was black and discreet.

Hermione went to the first page.

The book title: How to Charm Witches – the Complete Wizarding Guide, made her raise her brow. Did Riddle buy this? One look behind her shoulder at the closed door, muted male voices on the other side was heard. No footsteps. Hermione carried on reading. It was printed back in 1942 and seemed to be well read, with dog ears and coffee stains all over the book. This was not the impression she had of him handling his books. He seemed to pride himself on keeping his belongings in pristine condition.

She flipped through the first pages; a handwritten note caught her attention.

To Tommy,

This guide has helped during my early Hogwarts years and since I already know the book inside and out, I think it is time it benefited another owner. Looks get you far, but charm will take you even further. Best of luck!

Graduation 1945, O.B

Hermione stared at the beautiful handwriting. Who was O.B? Possibly the previous owner, who seemed to be a classmate to Riddle. How did this O.B manage to give Riddle this type of book, with a cheeky message attached, without Riddle hexing him to death? Calling him Tommy? Unless O.B already was dead and buried. Why did Riddle keep it then? From her research she had concluded that Riddle already was charming and manipulative in his Hogwarts years. With his good looks and mild manner, he should not have had problems in that department. Tom Riddle, the prefect, the Head Boy, top of his class, the handsome student… having problems with witches?

Hermione recalled the Hogwarts Yearbook from 1944 she had in her possession. Riddle had already at that point in life been handsome. He looked even better today, she acknowledged sourly. The slight roundness of his face had melted off, leaving sharp and high cheekbones. He had allowed his hair to grow a little longer, perhaps a style he preferred now when he didn't have to play the perfect schoolboy with water combed hair anymore. The new hair cut suited him perfectly.

The muffled male voices continued behind the kitchen door.

Hermione noted he seemed to be reading a chapter, a piece of parchment was stuffed between the pages somewhere in the middle. She flicked to that page.

Chapter 11

In which you want to tell your witch that you gladly let her lead the way!

You have got your witch by now, congratulations! Perhaps you have been dating for half a year, or you are already married. Now it is time for you to tell her about your secretive fantasies; the fact that you would love her to be the dominant bed chamber partner. Who can blame you? You probably already fell for her no-nonsense attitude and do admire her leadership style; it is only natural to bring that aspect of her personality into the bedroom. Our easy ten steps program will help you explain and introduce her to-

She had read enough to get the picture. Hermione blushed violently and closed the book with a thud. She quickly threw it back into the cupboard and closed it. What in Merlin's name did she just read? Did young Voldemort have this type of fantasies? The crazy snake-man with world domination plans, is he the same man as Tom Riddle? Her face, neck and clavicle flushed aggressively by this new information. She had spent over half a year stalking him in 1950 and trying to nestle herself into the Knight's association, fruitless so far. On the run between the years 1998 and 2001 she had meticulously gathered information on the young dark Lord, but this type of intimate information was not exactly what she ever thought she would be able to possess.

His front door closed. Footsteps advanced on the kitchen door. Only a split second before he would open the door, Hermione performed a wandless cooling charm on her flushed body parts.

"He's gone," Riddle announced.

Hermione spun around.

He knitted his eyebrows together. "Are you quite alright, Hermione?"

"Yes, of course," she piped back.

He closed their distance and lifted her chin with a gentle push by his left index finger. His right hand moved her fringe away and checked for a temperature.

"I am fine," she muttered.

He didn't seem to find any temperature change and removed his hand. "Excellent!" With a hand pressed to the small of her back, he guided her out of his small kitchen. "I have no idea why my landlord decided to show up at this hour," he said with a dark look in his eyes.

"Demanding rent?"

"No, not quite like that. The old bat keeps turning up to share his conspiracy theories." He made a circle motion with his finger and pointed to his head as if to say; old people, huh?

Hermione was not sure the landlord had shown up at his doorstep. She had a suspicion it was one of his associates who had turned up instead. Someone of the Knights.

Riddle morphed back into his host role. Offered her the half empty glass again and pulled her back towards the bookcase to continue the discussion.

Hermione noted he kept his hand on her back, rubbing small circles. He was also standing much closer this time. Their height difference was not as prominent now when she wore higher block heels than usual. However, he was still the ideal of tall, dark and handsome. He could have made it as a muggle movie star, she was sure; he nailed the acting part and had the looks for it.

Sometime in her slightly dazed state, he had collected the now empty glass and with a quite charming smile had leaner closer. Her musings behind her occlumency wards had shut his words out of her mind for a moment. She snapped back to reality and faced an amused Riddle, he looked like he expected an answer.

"Excuse me, did you ask a question? I must have drunk too much, silly me," she slapped her own forehead to put emphasis on her words. Looking around with furrowed brows and clasping her hands together to play her part.

"I simply stated," he leaned in closer. This time he was very close. She breathed in his exhaled breath. It was quite pleasant. He wore a cologne, she picked up something fresh and earthly in that masculine scent. Another scent entered her nostril, this one distinctly more synthetic. The scent of a hair product? Perhaps to keep his perfectly tousled fringe in place. Her eyes raked over his face, cheekbones, sharp nose, and beautiful grey eyes. "That you do dress well in that deep shade of purple, Hermione," he ended the sentence with a cocky smirk. Hermione wore a witchy dress that was heavily influenced by the early 1950s muggle fashion, ever since she had started to pose as a pureblood, she had to blend in, and her dresses was a way to do so. Her muggle heritage bled through anyway, she had found herself uncomfortable in the most witchy outfits and settled for something in between instead. Whenever another witch brought that up, she would mumble something about the difference in continental European fashion.

She felt a blush crawl upwards over her neck towards her face. "Black suits you well," she expressed breathlessly while she cast an eye behind his back, the closed door to his bedroom. The last room in his flat she hadn't seen yet. It was quite possible he kept his diary in his bedroom, now when she had searched the rest of Riddle's flat, it could be behind that closed door.

And if she played her part well enough, he might as well invite her there soon enough.

Riddle looked down on his white shirt, his eyes traveled even further south, to his black trousers. He looked up again with a flirty smile.

Well, this was awkward indeed.

Hermione harbored suspicions that Riddle might have misunderstood her intentions slightly. Three weeks prior, when they had gone out to share a meal together and for the first time, she had full access to him for a prolonged time of a couple of hours, she had sidestepped slightly. She had carefully laid out clues and used her knowledge of him against him. A manipulative dance, where she played the flute and he was the charmed snake.

Hermione had waited until the right moment, when their meal of shepherd pie was half eaten, she had decided to throw a quote into the conversation. A quote Harry had repeated to her after he had seen a memory in Dumbedore's pensieve during his sixth year. Her heart had been beating mercilessly when she finally whispered the line with a surprisingly steady voice.

"Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies."

As Hermione leaned backwards into the chair again, trying to hold off a smug smirk, she had stared into his eyes, searching for clues.

His pupils har dilated rapidly. The usually grey eyes turned black.

She thought she had bought herself a ticket into the Knight's circle.

Riddle's grin grew and he had grasped her left hand softly, his thumb circling the back of her hand.

Hermione's smile had faltered slightly.

So, now as she found herself in his flat, being entertained by the dark Lord himself, while he did his best to impress her, she contemplated her choices.

To leave – and then find herself back on square one, failing her mission to kill him and eradicate the Knights?

To stay – and perhaps prolong her waiting to join by a few weeks, months, a year? This option still gave her a chance.

She had located his ring and now she had to find his diary. Then he would be mortal once again, and she would be able to finish him. A part of her, screaming loudly at the back of her head, was utterly lonely and wanted intimacy. If staying meant she would be able to rest in someone else's embrace just for a short while, she was extremely tempted to do so. Even if it was the dark Lord himself offering his arms. Maybe she should simply close her eyes and try to focus on the barest aspect of their encounter; the fact that he was a beautiful young man seemingly willing to please her.

Hermione stayed.

She rested a hand just over his beating heart. He was warm. So human? During their shared meal at the Leaky Cauldron she had noted distinctly human qualities about him. Riddle's usually pale face had gained a faint blush as he ate, soft pink colour stained his cheeks. His eyes had lit up, simply by eating. He must have been hungry, Hermione mused, and tried to not stare too obvious. Tom Riddle, Voldemort, seeker of power and immortality; loved to eat food. She supposed growing up on rations in the muggle orphanage had made him appreciate a nice warm meal. So human.

Her hand traveled up over his chest, to the back of his neck and her fingers weaved into his hair. Now when his hair was longer, the hair in the back of his neck curled. She drew circles with her fingertips and watched his reaction. Riddle had melted under her touch and his eyes were nearly closed. Her other hand traveled across his chest, shoulders and down to his biceps where she decided to squeeze his muscle gently.

Another human trait: he absolutely loved being touched. Even if he had no idea what love was, he seemed to respond well to physical touch.

With softly applied pressure on the back of his neck, she drew him closer, he obliged and leaned down to press his lips to hers. Their lip lock was… hesitant. Lips being pressed against each other lightly. Hermione slid her hands to his shoulder and stepped closer. Riddle seemed to have regained control over his muscles and now his arms found her waist to pull her even closer. Lips resting against each other, moving softly. As they collected their breath, they rubbed their noses together. The tender lip massage continued and one of Riddle's hands traveled over her back up to her hair. Something stirred beneath the cool exterior of his.

Hermione waited eagerly, squeezing the muscles in his shoulders and increased the heat of the kiss.

Riddle reacted to it and gripped her hair demandingly.

Hermione sighed with content into his mouth, a sigh he seemed to swallow down.

Her feet lifted from the floor and only her toes remained in contact with it. Riddle hoisted her up and half carried her towards the sofa in the living room. Hermione broke away from his lips.

"Not there!" She panted and he stared back eyes narrowed with slight confusion. "My back will hurt, sofa's too soft," she explained.

He nodded, let her down again, and changed direction towards the bedroom. She found a cufflink of his and threw it behind her back before he pulled them into his bedroom. Hermione worked on the buttons of his shirt; both were gasping for air.

His bedroom was also small like the rest of the flat, with a simple one-man bed, bedside table, and a wardrobe all in dark wood. His bed sheet was deep green and Riddle closed the matching green curtains with a flick of fingers. Now she pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Riddle was lean, built like a swimmer or perhaps a ballet dancer. Hermione mentally rolled her eyes; he had so much potential in many different areas, yet he decided to maim his soul and walk down a dark path.

Riddle started unbuttoning her dress while she unbuckled his belt and pulled down his zipper. His eyes rolled back into his head as she fondled him.

Hermione led him towards the bed. He found the bra clasp and undid it, dropped the piece of clothing on the floor and yanked down her knickers. She mumbled something about a contraception spell and collected her wand from the hidden wand pocket in her dress on the floor by a flick of her finger. After an intricate wand movement and a pink lightning, she picked up where they had left off.

He pushed her down against the soft bedding and for a moment Hermione simply enjoyed his weight on top of her while he kissed her feverishly. She was soaking wet by now and aching for anything, in her unstable state she found herself not exactly caring what it was. With fear she realized she would have allowed him to do whatever he wanted with her if he chose to do so, and she would have begged for more. She gasped for fresh air once again and stared into the ceiling to gather her thoughts in her sluggish brain. He busied himself with kissing the valley between her breast when she suddenly grabbed a fistful of his inky locks and hissed to him that he had to head down with his mouth.

Riddle took instructions very well, Hermione noted with delight. She whispered instructions and commands, and he responded with lips, tongue, and fingers. His tongue massage against a sensitive bundle of nerves resulted in rocking hips and hums of pleasure. Hermione shifted her position and straddled his hips, Riddle sat with his back pressed against the tall wooden footboard of the bed. His head lolled back, exposing his neck, she trailed soft kisses in an upwards motion and found his jaw.

Hermione sat up on her knees, kissing him furiously. Riddle ran his fingers up her inner thigh and found her wetness.

The exact amount of pressure and pace from his fingers were rewarded with her breathy moans. "Oh yes, don't stop!" Hermione writhed and her hips started to rock once again, she clutched his shoulder with her left hand and grabbed onto the wooden footboard with the other for support. Wet sounds filled the room along with the scent of her arousal. "Faster! Harder aahhh-," she moaned. She felt her muscles clench in the same pace as her hips rocked. Her body moved on its own and her mental state was shattered all over. Her breathing even aligned with the heavenly muscle contractions; inhale together with a hip rock backwards, an excited exhale with the forward motion of her hips. Hermione moved her hand from his shoulder and grabbed onto the footboard, caging him with her arms.

He did not mind that.

Hermione looked into his eyes. They were black from full blown pupils and he looked wild.

That was it. She came and cried out in pleasure while spasms engulfed her whole body and she fell against him. He pulled out his fingers, they were covered in her slick.

Hermione collected her breath while he rubbed aimlessly on her back. After nuzzling his hair for a moment, she noted his right arm making a steady movement and something hard poking her bottom.

Time for round two. With one hand on his chest, and the other the align him at her wet entrance, she smiled at him before she sank down slowly. Hermione scanned his facial expression closely while she started rocking gently. His hands moved from her waist to her hips to help her set the pace and angle to his liking. She did her best to follow his wordless instructions and noted with delight that he closed his eyes, breathed heavily while his body tensed up. He must have been riled up already since it didn't take too long time for him to get his release. Riddle moaned and writhed underneath her, fell back with his head on the tall footboard again and cried out. She could not help but giggling softly at the sight of him falling apart in a boneless puddle before her. It was intoxicating seeing him completely lose himself like that.

Hermione laid down next to him and stared into the ceiling, waiting for his breathing to slow down and depend again. He slid down from his seated position and laid down next to her. With a sigh he flicked a finger and the wardrobe door flew open. Hermione's head snapped to get a good look. Cloaks, robes, shirts, shoes and two drawers. From the upper shelf, a green blanket flew out and landed on top of them. The wardrobe closed again. Hermione concluded that the wardrobe was not important to check. The bedside table remained, and perhaps a peak under the bed was necessary. Now she just had to wait for him to fall asleep. When he did not do that she huffed. How in Merlin's name would she be able to search his wardrobe and bedside table if he still were awake?

A dreadful realization hit her; Riddle did not seem to be cuddly and perhaps he was waiting on her to leave. Hermione suspected she was on her way to overstay her welcome and huffed in irritation, she sat up and magically gathered her clothes in a heap. One look behind her shoulder to confirm Riddle was still awake. She rolled her eyes and dressed herself, using magic to speed up the process; underwear, stockings, dress, shoes. Her wand, check!

It had been pleasurable, but not fruitful in the way she expected. The diary was still out of sight and she couldn't possibly check the bedside table now. At least she could pretend to drop her shoe, Hermione dived down and scanned under the bed. Nothing. Not even dust. Pointless.

Hermione laced her shoe and left his bedroom. "I will see myself out, you can stay in bed."

Fabric rustled beside her. The bed creaked and his clothes flew through the air.

Hermione was on her way to get her cloak when Riddle turned up behind her back. He had dressed himself in record time, looking a bit disheveled. Pale skin contrasted to red swollen lips and tousled hair. He looked good, that bastard. She imagined she looked like a mess compared to the male model in front of her.

"You are leaving?"

"Yes, work tomorrow." She was confused by his sudden change of mood from apathetic to… caring?

"Let me walk you back to your home."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up into her fringe and stayed there for a moment. "You don't have to do that. Go back to your bed and get some sleep." The idea of giving away her home address to the dark Lord made her uneasy.

"Hermione," he said softly, using her first name, and approached her. "I will not be able to sleep a minute if I don't know you came home safely. There are anti apparition wards in all of Diagon Alley and you'll have to walk."

Was this something entirely 1950s? She had noted with irritation that dating was different in this time, even in the magic world. Not as obvious as it had been in the muggle version of the 1950s, but a difference compared to the 1990s. Was it expected to be escorted back home by the man in question after sleeping with him before marriage? Hermione bit her lip and contemplated. Maybe she could lead him to the wrong door? She nodded shortly. He released a breath and his shoulders sank. Riddle went to collect his cloak himself.

An idea formed. Hermione vanished one of her silver ear-studs discreetly.

"I must have dropped an earring!" She waved her thumb towards his bedroom door again.

Riddle nodded.

She went back into the bedroom and managed to close the door halfway without being to obvious. Time to check the bedside table.

It opened without a sound.

Empty.

Merlin's pants!

Hermione duplicated the ear stud again and went back to Riddle. He waited for her and watched her struggle with the jewelry. Wordlessly he raised his hands to help her, she gave him the small piece of silver and he attached it again.

Pushing her hair away gently he started speaking. "I will travel," Riddle informed shortly. "For nearly two months."

"Where?"

"East."

"East as in…?"

"Eastern Europe."

"When do you leave?"

"At the end of next week, hopefully I will be back before Christmas, or at least that's what I have promised my employer. He wasn't too keen on me leaving." He opened the door and lead them out, into the night. Hermione, who planned on leading him to a false address, tagged along. "I hope to get back sooner," he said with a crooked smile. In the streetlight Riddle looked like a dark prince in a muggle fairytale with his black cloak and ruffled hair.

"I hope so, as well," Hermione whispered. I am going to kill you, Voldemort.

End of part I
A/N2: Hope you liked it; next installment will be more. You're gonna have to wipe the fog off you glasses and windows ;-), at least I had to….

Characterization of Tom Riddle: As I mentioned earlier, I'm toying with the idea that someone who's very much in charge in his daily life, might actually enjoy someone else taking the lead in the bedroom. I've also recently read that it is a common fantasy men have, since just following along takes away some of the stress to perform. However, he's still a selfish bastard and that will follow along more in next chapter.

I mentioned that he takes good care of his belongings, a trait I included based on my own experience growing up poor. You tend to take very good care of your belongings (even if they might be cheap to begin with), since you might not be able to replace/mend them.

Regarding the teeth speculation, I've just completed a Medicine History Class, and I wrote a report on dental experiments in Sweden during the late 1940s and early 1950s. The Swedish dental health was awful (99 % had cavities) and early dental experiments were conducted on orphans. The experiments were later moved to institutions for people with mental handicaps. Awful piece of European history. Even the story is set in the wrong country, I've decided to include that bit of history in the background anyway.

Characterization of Hermione Smith (Granger): Described as bossy in canon and I think that is a good thing! Hermione Granger is the character that is the most closely linked to time travel in the books and her interest of knowledge makes her interesting to put up against young Tom Riddle. In my AU I planned that she should have spent roughly three years (late spring/early summer of 1998 to autumn of 2001) on the run from the Death Eaters, gathering information on Voldemort's early life and practicing occlumency wards before she traveled back to 1950. (I am afraid the boy who lived, did not survive this AU). She is supposed to be tougher in this installment, hardened by her unsafe life on the run.

O.B: I might as well give you a hint. He is supposed to be Orion Black. In this AU I planned to write him as a carefree pureblood with lots of humor and charm (where do you think Sirius gets it from?), he would also be a part of the Knights (I don't think that was the case in canon, but his age is close enough, so yeah). The book he allegedly gave to Riddle after the graduation ceremony, was supposed to be a practical joke on Riddle's behalf. Even if Riddle, by this point, has proved he is the heir of Slytherin and has managed to claw himself up the hierarchy of Slytherin House, Black still considers himself, from the most noble house Black, to be able to be on equal foot with Riddle. This character was also supposed to be very valuable to the Knights and therefore he should be given a bit more leeway by Riddle.

Knights of Walpurgis: So, the pre-Death Eaters. In my head this first generation consists of young pureblood wizards who are bored with their comfortable lives. The members consist of people originating from the sacred 28 and during their early twenties, not yet married and burdened with family life, they are spicing up their dull life with illegal activities under command of Tom Riddle.

I believe that during the years post Hogwarts, when the pureblood heirs are living lavish lifestyles and their Master is slaving at Borgin & Burkes, their morale might be faltering. Voldemort will reign them in again, of course.

Mistakes? Point them out in the comments, please!