Hermione sat at one end of the High Table with the other staff during the evening. She had finished her meal early, but normally lingered to be courteous while the others talked. Generally, she felt self-conscious at mealtimes.

While sipping her tea, she took out a book to read. It was probably the safest book she could read in public. Thankfully, the seat next to her was empty. It was Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil, which she had purchased in muggle London the day after her little jaunt into the world of the Diadem Horcrux. Perhaps she might be able to get some insight into Riddle's thoughts. He was a complete enigma.

Hermione tensed when someone appeared in her peripheral vision. Minerva McGonagall had taken a seat next to her. Their previous conversations had all been McGonagall gently admonishing her for her teaching methods.

"Professor Kraus. I wanted to have a discussion with you about the Slytherins."

"Wouldn't it be better to talk to Horace about that?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Well, it's a matter of their point deduction and detentions lately. Don't you think you're being overly harsh with some of them?"

"Harsh? Coming from you, Professor McGonagall? When the Slytherins give your own house the most grief?"

"I just wanted to offer some guidance. You don't want your students to be afraid of you. Fear is not the same as respect."

"Really? I'm pretty sure that the students respect me more now that they fear me."

McGonagall sighed. "It may be a matter of experience."

"This again," Hermione scoffed. "Didn't you start teaching when you were relatively young as well? Anyway, thank you for your advice. I'll take it into consideration."

Her gaze dropped back down to her book, effectively dismissing the other witch. She was tired of McGonagall's lack of trust, especially on nights when the Animagus would continue to follow her as she ran various errands around the castle.

"Another thing. I wanted to talk to you about some of your DADA lessons," McGonagall continued, undeterred.

"What about them?" Hermione asked nonchalantly.

"Well, they're a bit unorthodox, wouldn't you say?"

"You are aware of my background as an Auror. I'm not going to waste a single lesson. These students need to be prepared for the impending war."

Silence.

Hermione continued, "Or didn't Albus tell you? I'm certain he did. Otherwise, you wouldn't have followed me around all those evenings."

"You knew?" McGonagall asked, her voice slightly defensive.

"Of course I knew, I may be a novice as a teacher, but not as an Auror, and I know when I'm being observed and followed."

"I fear we may have started off on the wrong foot. You must understand my reservations about all this."

"How much did Albus tell you?"

"He told me enough."

"That tells me nothing."

McGonagall's eyes darted around them, leaning in close to Hermione's ear. "I'm well aware that you're a time traveler."

Hermione leaned back in her chair and exhaled. She cast the Muffliato charm. "You and the Headmaster are closer than I realized. Then you should know, Minerva, that you taught me Transfiguration, and that I was a Gryffindor. You were both a friend and a mentor to me. So put your suspicions aside and stop observing me."

McGonagall's expression softened. "It's not that I don't believe you. It's that time travel is extremely dangerous. You shouldn't even be here. The absolute havoc your presence here can create for the timeline alone — "

Hermione chuckled. Who was the one who let her borrow a time-turner in her third year? Who was the one who made her swear she wouldn't tell anyone she had it? "So, what would you like me to do? Disappear from the face of the earth? I'm trying to help here. I'm doing my best to do the bare minimum that wouldn't completely devastate the future but still make a significant enough of a difference to help save lives."

"You should be aware that dark lords will always exist. One goes, and another will take his place. Better the devil you know, than the devil you don't."

"Did you know him?" Hermione asked.

McGonagall paused for a second before averting her gaze. "Yes, when Riddle was Head Boy, I was Head Girl."

Hermione turned completely to face her, eyes wide. She was astonished. That was definitely news to her. McGonagall had never mentioned that before.

And was the older witch...blushing?

What the fuck?

"He was brilliant, even at that young age. But no one really knew him. He was a terribly lonely person," McGonagall said quietly.

Hermione's eyes narrowed on McGonagall. Who wasn't to be trusted here, again?

"Oh, Minerva, you don't know what you're saying. He's despicable. You don't know what he's capable of, and just how far he took this wizarding war."

"There was always something off with him, of course, but he was a genius, and terribly solitary, even when surrounded by his adoring peers. You didn't know. The Slytherins despised him for a long time, and I don't think he truly ever forgave them for it. Every summer, he had to return to that dreadful Muggle orphanage and — "

"Minerva. Are you...I don't know, trying to defend his actions? What is this?" Hermione hissed. This was unbelievable. Riddle's charm truly spared no one, not even the straight-laced witch in front of her. "Does Albus know this? Your...your misplaced sympathy for the devil, as you say?"

"Nonsense! You don't know what you're talking about. I understand what he becomes, and what he's done. I just...I don't know if you have what it takes to go through with it when the time comes — a young, impressionable witch like yourself."

Hermione gently shook her head in disbelief. "I've never seen you blush in my entire life. You're not quite the McGonagall I knew from my time. But don't worry, I get it. I do. He's wickedly charming, brilliant, powerful, and…" She leaned in close and murmured into the other witch's ear, "unbearably handsome." She leaned back and examined the indignation in Minerva's expression.

"That never once mattered to me," McGonagall stated sharply.

With an arched brow, Hermione acknowledged that obvious lie and continued, "But the things he's done in the name of blood purity would make you retch. You're a half-blood witch, aren't you, Minerva? You once told me that your father was a Muggle Presbyterian minister. Well, I'm Muggle-born. You do not need to worry about me. I will do whatever is necessary."

Minerva sighed, and nodded. "I suppose I believe you then, Professor...Hermione. I'll have faith in you." She reached over and clasped Hermione's shoulder and offered her a kind smile.

Hermione swallowed down the unexpected rush of emotion at the tender familiarity. It was especially difficult when confronted with someone she greatly respected and was once close to. A piece of home, her past — the future. The one she needed to return to.

But more importantly, could she go through with it — destroy those parts of him he went to great lengths to preserve?

Hermione had an agenda the following weekend.

She was dressed in one of her more attractive robes, and her hair was tamed into glossy waves. Thinking how to best bring up her request, she walked quietly next to Abraxas Malfoy as he escorted her to the library. Every time she glanced over to try and catch his eye, he steadfastly refused to meet her gaze.

She wondered if he was displeased with her. Perhaps he hated what she was wearing? It was the transfigured green robes she had first worn while interviewing for work at Knockturn Alley. When she first stepped out of the green flames of his fireplace, he had furrowed his brows the moment he saw her.

After the last time she shared her mind magic with him, she had assumed that they had become friends. He was so much more than she could have imagined and had been incredibly kind and generous. Along with his ability to make her laugh on occasion, his charming personality always put her at ease.

He, Rosier, and Voldemort were the only people she talked to. It seemed like Voldemort also kept her a secret from his other followers. The fewer people who knew about her association with him, the better. She didn't want to lose her only employment and housing at Hogwarts if word spread that the new DADA professor was a dark witch.

She just felt so lonely at times. Because she spent all her time on lesson plans, Voldemort's training and books, and her own research, she never made the time to interact with the other Hogwarts staff.

The atmosphere was getting decidedly awkward as they continued to walk together in absolute silence.

She stopped abruptly and firmly grasped Malfoy's elbow. Startled, he turned back to look at her, his gaze dropping to where her fingers now rested on the warm skin of his forearm. She didn't realize his sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows.

Hermione immediately pulled away as if burned, and examined his left forearm intently. Where was his dark mark? Did he keep it glamoured? The way she kept her own scar hidden?

"I apologize. I just have a question, Lord Malfoy. Is your library where all the books in the manor are kept?"

He frowned. "Why are you suddenly addressing me as Lord Malfoy?"

"Well, you seemed distant today. I was wondering if I should be more formal with you."

He sighed deeply. "You don't have to call me that, especially when we're alone. As for the books — for the most part, yes. Why? Can't find what you're looking for in the library? Did you finally manage to read everything?" The teasing incredulity in his voice brought a smile of relief to her face. So he wasn't upset with her?

"Well, I was wondering if perhaps you had books that are even more rare stored somewhere else. I'm just very curious, and your family is well-known for its rare and valuable collections."

Malfoy preened a little. "Well, of course, we do keep certain books in the Gringotts vault. But there are a few first editions that I do believe would impress even you, right here in the manor."

She couldn't keep the gleam of excitement out of her eyes after hearing that. "Please, you must show me. I'll do just about anything to see first editions!"

That had to be where Tom Riddle's Diary was hidden. It better be there, because she was not looking forward to breaking into Gringotts and escaping on a dragon again.

"Anything?" Malfoy teased.

"Just about." Her voice was tight. She couldn't afford to spill any more of her secrets or create any more lies.

He watched her with piercing light blue eyes that didn't match his teasing tone at all. "Of course, I'll show you. I don't need anything in return. It would be my pleasure to share with you what some of what my ancestors have collected since the very beginning."

"Where do you keep them?" she asked, as casually as she could manage, despite her heart pounding with anticipation.

"My private study. I don't normally take visitors in that one, so they are very secure." He turned to share a wry smile. "I get to enjoy them selfishly."

Hermione nodded. She understood that feeling and would probably have done the same.

Malfoy led her down an unfamiliar hallway as her nervousness grew.

If Riddle's Diary was there, what was her plan of attack? Her mind spiraled with all the possibilities.

"Did you get my invitation? You never responded," Malfoy interrupted her reveries.

"Oh, the invitation to your Christmas Masquerade Ball?"

"Yes."

"I apologize. I haven't given it much thought. I'm not one for big parties. Also, isn't my identity supposed to be a secret, for now?"

"It's a masquerade. No one will recognize you anyway. I also don't believe the Dark Lord intends to keep you a secret for very long. Well, do let me know. It's in two weeks."

"I'll consider it," she lied. She had no intention of running into Death Eaters in their fancy clothing and suffering their bigoted pure-blood views.

"You know, you remind me of him," Malfoy muttered, as he stopped in front of a door and began waving his wand over it.

"Him?" she asked, even though she knew.

"The Dark Lord. You know, when it comes to rare books."

She supposed she did know. But she didn't know whether she should be pleased or dismayed to share similarities with Voldemort.

Hermione scrutinized the spells he used to protect his study. Fortunately, they weren't blood wards, but they were complex, and numerous. Malfoy tore them down quickly in front of her.

She couldn't believe how he was so trusting. She already had a solid notion of how to remove them herself.

Malfoy pushed open the door to an opulent and masculine room. It wasn't too large, and felt intimate and cozy. The smells alone were enticing. Rich leather and wood. Old books. Her favorite.

She immediately spotted the glass cabinets on either side of a path leading straight to a handsome mahogany desk. She quickly inspected the ones closest to the door before noting that Riddle's diary wasn't among them.

Slightly disappointed, she listened half-heartedly as Malfoy began to present his rare collection to her one by one. He was like the overly knowledgeable tour guide at a museum, with her as the sole visitor. They slowly made their way down the line.

Whenever Malfoy turned away from her to give the history behind how a certain text was obtained and by which valiant ancestor of his, she concentrated intently on every part of the room.

She was truly appreciative of having the privilege of seeing incredibly rare first editions of books she would normally die just to be near. However, she was much too distracted extending her power as surreptitiously as possible to feel for a fragment of Voldemort's soul in the intimate space.

There was only one glass cabinet remaining, and she was running out of time.

Malfoy now stood facing her, with his body obscuring her view of the last cabinet, which was right by his desk. "Now, I've been saving this one as a surprise. The ministry doesn't even know about this one, and I'm sure the Department of Mysteries would love to get their hands on it."

He moved aside, and Hermione gasped.

But not because of the contents in the glass cabinet.

"May I present to you the Grimoire of Morgan le Fay," Malfoy said.

In the back of her mind, a part of her was screaming to have Morgana's Grimoire in front of her. But all of her attention was on the bookshelf behind the glass cabinet.

There it was.

Sitting out in the open on an inconspicuous shelf. It was shelved with other books of its size and color. The spine gave nothing away. For all intents and purposes, it appeared to be a simple journal bound in black leather.

Hidden in plain sight?

She only knew it was there because she was so attuned to his Horcruxes by this point. She had worn Slytherin's Locket for so long, and she recently became uncomfortably acquainted with Ravenclaw's Diadem.

Hermione couldn't believe it. Why didn't Voldemort command Malfoy to protect it at all costs? It seemed like even Voldemort's inner circle never truly learned of the existence of the Horcruxes. Even if they were aware of their master's immortality, they were unaware of the true significance of these objects.

Now that she found it, she couldn't seem to tear her eyes from it.

Malfoy had paused in his speech, and she could feel his curious gaze upon her. He followed her eyes and began to turn towards the upper shelf of the bookcase when her hand shot up and cupped his cheek to keep him from turning. Incredulous eyes dropped to hers.

Without thinking, she flung her arms around his waist, and laid her head against his chest.

She couldn't allow Malfoy to see that she had noticed the Horcrux. It was her fault that the diary seemed to hold her in a trance. That fragment of Voldemort's soul was alluring in a way she couldn't explain. Was it because it was his first? And therefore held the biggest portion of his soul?

It was the least corrupted, and the purest of them all.

There was no way she was going to risk Malfoy noticing that she had seen it and relocating it before she could get to it. She embraced him tightly as she contemplated what to do. She couldn't knock him out, steal it, and obliviate him right now, could she?

No, she couldn't take that chance, and Malfoy wasn't a simple opponent.

Voldemort's right-hand man? She knew that Malfoy wasn't the lamb he pretended to be.

Belatedly, she realized his heart thundered against her ear.

Malfoy recovered from his shock. His arms were rigid at his sides, not moving to touch her. "Well, if I had known a book this rare was what stirred your passion, I would have brought you here on the first day," he chuckled quietly.

Her mind couldn't process his words, and she had no response for him. Gnawing on her lip, she strongly considered knocking him unconscious with her magic.

"Hermione, this really isn't appropriate,'' he husked.

Did he think...oh no.

Hermione's face started burning and her grip on him began to loosen.

Oh, how humiliating.

Now it appeared as if she had thrown herself at him after seeing one of his priceless treasures.

What kind of witch did he think she was? And now she was about to get rejected after 'throwing' herself at a wizard she didn't even want to begin with.

The heat radiating from her face was incredible. Eyes averted, she stepped back and mumbled, "I'm...I apologize, Lord Malfoy, I don't know what came over me." She turned towards the door to leave.

Forget the diary for now. She'll return for it later. This was simply too humiliating.

"No! You misunderstood." Malfoy lunged after her wrist and pulled her back hard against his chest, his hands on her upper arms. He buried his face in her thick curls, took a slow, deep breath. "I want you to call me Abraxas, please, Hermione."

Hermione froze. Every muscle in her body tensed.

What should she do? What type of crisis did she just thrust herself into?

Abraxas rubbed his hands up and down her arms soothingly. One large hand encircled her waist. Then it splayed wide on her abdomen and pushed her against him more firmly.

When his fingers trailed upward and softly traced the underside of her breast, her breath hitched as she began to tremble.

Fuck. What was he doing?

Was this her way into the inner circle? Seduce one of his subordinates? Or attempt to? It wasn't like she could possibly seduce Lord Voldemort. Even if he found her appealing, which was very unlikely, he was probably not interested in this kind of thing.

A solitary being who tore apart his soul multiple times in order to suffer immortality alone and revel in world domination would presumably scoff at the idea of romantic relations.

As for sexual relations, he likely imagined its only purpose was for reproduction. Who needed an heir when the plan was to live forever?

Abraxas, on the other hand, was indeed very mortal, and made his intentions quite clear. He was a dashing, experienced gentleman, but she had no experience with seduction. She never quite gained confidence in that area but didn't think it ever really mattered. She had her wits, intellect, and had confidence in her magic.

Due to societal pressure, she had gone on a few first, and last dates with wizards from the Ministry, but her expectations for a partner were far too high and unrealistic, and she quickly became bored with those encounters.

All those wizards wanted to talk about was her role in the war, work-related politics, and Quidditch. Her go-to icebreaker was to ask them about the last book they read, or what their favorite book was. She was never impressed with the responses she had received.

When they first met, Abraxas knew exactly which book she was referring to during her intellectual ramble. How many people were capable of doing that?

She never quite considered herself to be a romantic. Of course, she thought about it sometimes, but she never doggedly pursued it like some other single people her age — not that there was anything wrong with that.

If she attempted something here, she would feel like a complete fool. She couldn't possibly play a game she didn't comprehend.

Through her thoughts, Abraxas continued to caress her.

"I couldn't even look at you today without wanting to — " he sighed into her hair. "Why are you so pretty? You're driving me mad."

His other hand trailed up to her clavicle before gently encircling her throat. With his thumb, he lifted her jaw towards him.

Deeply conflicted, she leaned her head back against his chest to gaze up at him. She took one look into his intense blue eyes, and froze.

Her heart dropped to her gut.

Fuck.

Hermione pulled away from him gently and stepped out of his arms.

The color of his eyes was all wrong.

His scent didn't intoxicate her with nuanced wood and fresh citrus either.

But she felt terrible for causing this mess and leading him on now. She turned around to face him, but couldn't meet his gaze.

"Abraxas, you're absolutely right. This was inappropriate. I apologize for my shamelessness earlier. I just got a bit dizzy from excitement from seeing Morgana's grimoire. Must have been because I didn't have breakfast. Thank you for lending me your support earlier when I nearly fell over. And thank you so much for taking the time to show me your collection. I really appreciate it. It was magnificent. I actually have to leave a bit early today. I've got plenty of lessons to plan that I've neglected all week." She was completely rambling now, but she didn't know what else to do.

He nodded tightly, and offered her a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Hermione took a deep breath, and walked towards the door of the study. She snuck a glance over her shoulder at Abraxas.

Arms crossed, he was leaning against his desk and staring at the ground. He looked disappointed.

She left the study and walked to the Floo entrance, grabbed the floo powder, and tossed it into the fireplace.

Luckily, she didn't have to see Voldemort until next week.

He said it was going to be a very special lesson. One that she had been waiting for.

After arriving back in her room at Hogwarts, she sank to her knees and covered her face in humiliation with her hands. She messed up. She hoped Abraxas will forgive her. Clearly, she didn't know what she was doing at all.

However, her mind couldn't stop working. She knew where Tom Riddle's diary was now. She needed to get her hands on it as soon as possible before it was relocated.

Right. Abraxas Malfoy was planning a masquerade ball at the manor.

Well, now she must attend.

She'll steal the Horcrux and then replace it with a convincing replica. If Voldemort ever found out — well, it was stolen during the ball and could have been anyone, really.

The Dark Lord had plenty of enemies.

A/N: Hey guys, this story is cross-posted on Ao3 too. I also have some more explicit oneshots there, if you'd like to check them out (FFN rules are weird). I am happy you guys take the time to read this story, so big thanks to all of you who made it this far!

Accidental Abraxmione shippers, for the next few chapters…brace yourselves. Tomione shippers, hold on to your hats, it's going to be a wild ride. Next chapter will have plenty of your favorite dark lord.