The plan was always to kill him.
She came back to the past with the knowledge that Tom Riddle had to die.
The Order lost brutally at the Battle of Hogwarts, and any surviving members scattered to the wind.
It took Hermione three months to track down an occupied safe house.
By the time she did, she was ready. Ready for orders, ready for instructions, ready for a plan.
It was a bit of a shock to find out when she finally encountered other members that they had all but given up. Minerva McGonagall, Lee Jordan, and Hestia Jones had to break it to Hermione that they didn't know of anyone else who survived. In the three months since that fateful day in May, Hermione was the first survivor they had encountered.
All four adults were at a loss; exhausted from all the running and defeated by their low numbers.
Until Minerva looked Hermione in the eyes and pulled out her time-turner.
The four of them put together a plan — one last mission for the Order of the Phoenix.
Hermione Granger would travel back in time and kill young Tom Riddle.
It made perfect sense — an easy mission in comparison to the last year of her life.
But he was so charming. And quick-witted. And utterly fucking brilliant.
His brain was ultimately what drew her to him. She was never one for charming men.
But he was just so smart. Her mission required her to get close to him and so she gained his attention with mysterious statements and deceptively barbed quips — but she kept their discussions focused around magical theory and spell creation.
She let herself get complacent, really. It was so nice, so unfamiliar, to feel safe.
As ironic as it was, Tom felt safe.
She didn't have to be strong, didn't have to be the one doing the fighting.
Tom was strong. Tom could protect her.
And he did.
She contemplated a Plan B. A plan where, instead of killing him, she could change him.
If anyone could do it, it was her. They got along as well as two people with their depth of trauma could. Their physical chemistry was unmatched. Their intelligence complemented each other.
But his temper was omnipresent; bubbling within him like a second skin.
And Hermione felt it viscerally.
Tom's anger had been festering since the moment in the Muggle orphanage that he realized he was special, he was different, and all it ever got him was ridicule. The moment Albus Dumbledore set an orphan boy's wardrobe on fire and called him a thief.
He got under her skin — infecting her with his particular brand of hate-fueled logic. Logic that could convince even the most brilliant people that somehow his choices, his tendencies were justified.
She whimpered as he trailed tender kisses down the soft skin of her neck, refocusing on the moment instead of getting lost in her thoughts.
Tom collapsed on top of her, briefly pinning her to the bed with his weight, before rolling over to the side. Hermione instinctually tucked herself into his side and let herself revel in the closeness for just a moment. He wrapped his arm around her, his chest rumbling contentedly.
She smiled at him tenderly and leaned over him to reach for her wand. His hand smoothed across her back as she stretched and Hermione felt nauseous at the thought of what would come next. Instead of casting a cleaning spell like he was expecting, she stunned him.
Because unfortunately, alongside his beauty and his brilliance, he was also violently unhinged.
She knew, when the attacks started, that she'd have to kill him.
His solution, the Death Eaters, a magical war — it was all a lie. She'd seen how it plays out. No one else deserved to die for this.
Her Plan B — seduction — had failed. Tom Riddle was immovable in his quest for immortality and power and it would be the downfall of Wizarding Britain. And so as she sat next to his bound and silenced body, she knew it was time for Plan A.
With one tiny twist.
She withdrew the goblin forged dagger from her beaded bag carefully. Basilisk venom was an extremely controlled substance in the United Kingdom, especially back in the late 40s. Thankfully Ron wasn't the only one in the tent that was haunted by Harry's proclivity for nighttime parseltongue lessons. Her eidetic memory didn't hurt, either.
If it hadn't been so bloody convenient for her, she might have been concerned with how easy it was for her to procure a rooster, sneak into Hogwarts under Harry's invisibility cloak, and slaughter the basilisk to harvest its venom.
Her efforts culminated in the venom-imbued dagger currently sitting in her lap.
With a cautious glance at the still-stunned Tom, she grabbed his hand and removed his Gaunt family ring from his finger. Glancing at the innocuous-looking family heirloom, she eyed the Resurrection Stone curiously for only a moment. She didn't feel compelled to use it — she would see anyone who existed beyond the Veil soon enough. Setting it aside, she pulled the diary that she'd pilfered from his belongings earlier that day.
Sighing, Hermione ran her hands over the two Horcruxes almost lovingly. She could feel the magic in them; Tom's magic. Bits of Tom's soul that called to her and whispered filthy things in her ear instead of the harsh vitriol it used to spit at her from the locket. With a sorrowful look at the dark-haired man slumped on the bed next to her, she unsheathed her dagger and stabbed it decisively through the diary.
It screamed and Hermione felt like a piece of her soul died too.
The ring spoke to her more vehemently now, as if it knew she was coming for it next. Filthy things in a cheap imitation of Tom's rich baritone, telling her how badly he wanted to fuck that tight little pussy, how he wanted to mark her with bruises, how she was all his; he owned her, possessed her, loved her.
She snorted at the last one. Tom Riddle didn't love. Hermione was fairly convinced he was a sociopath, incapable of feeling the true spectrum of human emotions. She knew that even when she had realized that she'd fallen in love with him.
Steeling herself, Hermione placed the ring on the destroyed diary and raised the dagger. She occluded harshly; blocking out the frantically whispered promises from the Horcrux, the pleading tone it took just before the blade pierced the ring, the scream that rang out in Tom's voice when she succeeded.
Hermione dropped the dagger as if it was hot and took shuddering breaths, struggling to hold her mental walls in place. Tears streamed down her face without notice as she fought to come to terms with her actions. It felt like her heart was breaking. Like she'd just killed a vital piece of herself and she felt something crack in her chest at the thought of living like this. Living without him.
Tom wasn't even dead.
Yet.
She'd lost sight of the mission, let herself be distracted by the maelstrom that is Tom Riddle. A sob fought its way out of her throat as she mourned the death of her innocence, her childhood, her mission, her lover.
She had to do this. She failed. This was the alternative.
Sniffling but feeling somewhat more level-headed, Hermione wiped her face. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her wand to bind, silence, and secure Tom.
Hermione hit him with a rennervate and he woke frantically. She briefly wondered if he could feel the missing pieces of his soul; the parts of him that once existed in the things that meant so much to the little orphan boy he used to be. Still was, if you looked close enough.
Hermione could see it in his eyes. Tom was bloody fucking brilliant at Occlumency — like everything else, she thought snidely — but she learned how to read him, how to break through his barriers without actually breaching his mental walls. They burned with fear for a single moment, before Occlumency walls were enforced and he hid his true feelings behind sheer, visceral anger.
He strained against the bindings, mouth working furiously despite the powerful silencing charm she placed on him.
Hermione stepped closer and smoothed the damp hair off his forehead, ignoring the silent threats pouring off his tongue. "I wish your mom had been a little stronger," she whispered and his entire body went rigid. He hadn't known she knew. "I wish she'd stayed around a little longer."
She could practically feel his tangible magic filling the room, regardless of the suppression ward she'd placed on him. Thankfully he had yet to perfect wandless magic, which was even more difficult to do under duress.
Hermione stepped back and the ruined Horcruxes came into view. Tom's eyes were so wide she thought they might fall out of his head. His shock lasted for a few moments before his anger was back and he was furious.
She almost smiled; he was so beautiful like this.
"I wish your dad were good." He twitched hard, trying to break the body bind. He wouldn't succeed.
She palmed the dagger and stepped closer, reaching out to thread her hands through his thick, curly hair once more.
"I wish Dumbledore understood." If looks could kill, Tom would have murdered her where she stood. He hated the mention of his former Transfiguration professor on a good day. Which this was decidedly not.
A tear slipped down her cheek involuntarily. "I wish we met before they convinced you life is war. I wish…"
"You know I'll fucking kill you," he hissed through clenched teeth, sneering at her while successfully breaking through the silencing charm. "There won't be anywhere you can hide from me."
She smiled at him then; softly, sadly, "Not if I kill you first." As her words registered and a shocked look flickered across his face, she slit his throat.
All he could do, as he bled out, was stare up at her with fear and horror and just the tiniest bit of awe — because holy shit he didn't expect this, didn't see it coming — and he sees everything coming.
Hermione watched the life slowly bleed from his eyes, his two Horcruxes destroyed by his side, and knew she couldn't live like this. The pain of losing him, the guilt of it being by her hand. His eyes trained on her, the betrayal clear in them. It was too much.
She did the only thing that could have shocked him further. Cupping her hand against his cheek, she used the same knife she'd just slit his throat with, his blood still wet on the blade, and slit her own.