I have been MIA. So I am squinting my eyes and my face is contrite and I really really want to apologize. Here is the next chapter of The Room of Requirement series and I hope you enjoy it. I have written out a rough draft of the story already so that you won't have to wait quite so long between chapters anymore. Suggestions, reviews and thoughts are most welcome.

The whole experience of meeting Hermione left Tom shaken.

There was his shocked pride in having managed a piece of magic so complex, so groundbreaking, he wanted to thump his chest and declare his superiority to the world, to the professors, to his knights. Too bad he couldn't indulge in something so reckless.

There were his demons that taunted, put him down, whispered insidious lies that he wasn't enough of a wizard to hold on to a witch. They wouldn't let him sit still until he gained control over the next insurmountable challenge, defeat time and maybe fate itself. What use was his overwhelming magic and smarts if he couldn't even bend the path of his life. Tom could hardly sleep, couldn't sit still, couldn't even eat without constantly scribbling on parchment, working through the arithmancy of time travel, forming, discarding, plowing through magical theories, his ideas and his ancestor's journals.

There was also the excitement over having met the witch his magic felt was Tom's match. Women were obviously attractive to the rampant teenage hormones raging in his body. He couldn't control biology, but he had iron control over his response to such stimuli. Even at seventeen, he had never been and would never be one of the wizards, or men, who could be manipulated through their baser instincts, led by their dicks to be precise.

No. He did all the leading. Always.

But Tom respected his magic above all things. A close second came his legacy, the blood flowing through his very veins. The fact that his magic chose a mate for him, that had to mean something. What that significance could be, only time would tell. For now, Hermione Granger, time traveling witch extraordinaire, remained a fascinating mystery he was driven to solve. Didn't hurt that his hormones wholeheartedly agreed with this quest.

However, Tom Riddle's mania meant rough days for the Knights of Walpurgis. Riddle was a hard task master. He drove the Slytherin group to exhaustion, to catch up on Arithmancy, dueling, and extra studies. That was, in addition to their seventh year course load and NEWT studies, planned and monitored by the illustrious Head boy.

Even the general student body noticed something was going on with the usually extremely pleasant and charming Tom Riddle. Where in the past he would have given warnings or taken house points for an infraction, Tom took to doling out detententions for the slightest of misdemeanors.

Crocket, Avery and Winickus, all Slytherins, got to clean the quidditch changing rooms for a week, without magic, for skipping a class because quidditch practice ran fifteen minutes over. Jess Lafington, Slytherin seventh year, mixed lacewing flies with Angel's trumpet to cause a poison gas incident in the Potions Lab. Slughorn brushed it off, but the accident rendered all other potions in vicinity ineffective. For the waste of Tom's precious time on his perfect potion, Lafington had to clean the ceiling of the potions lab, without magic, with just a rag, a pale of water and a long ladder. Two Hufflepuff couples, caught allegedly snogging in different parts of the castle, were seen scrubbing the fifth floor corridor, without magic, equipped with toothbrushes and pales of water.

Celestina Warbeck, reigning popular witch of Gryffindor who had the bad habit of acousting Tom between lessons to ask inane questions, was seen perched on a creaky ladder, dusting the top shelves of the Library without magic and bemoaning the destruction of her hair and nails from the decades of dust those shelves had accumulated. For the noise she made, she got the additional lovely task of polishing ten wooden shelf racks. They were huge. Warbeck couldn't get rid of the wood polish stains on her hands for a month. Afterwards, she steered clear of the Head boy for the remainder of her Hogwarts career.

Alphard Black had taken to following Tom around the castle, conjuring up pails of water and rags for students that got detentions.

A week into the clean-up tyranny, Dumbledore caught up to Riddle at breakfast.

"Tom. How are classes going?"

"Professor Dumbledore. Good morning." Riddle gave a quick bow of the head, all polite, "Classes are good, sir. Thanks for asking."

Dumbledore peered at Riddle, over his half-moon glasses. A few nearby students slowed down and perked up their ears to hear what was being said, especially a passing Celestina.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, Riddle?"

Tom met the professor's gaze placidly.

"Nothing of note, sir."

"Hmmm. I have noticed you have been giving out a lot of detentions lately. Hogwarts hasn't looked cleaner in ages." Dumbledore smirked, "But lengthy detentions do steal from the study time of students. Taking off points works as a deterrent too, don't you think?"

Riddle's answering smile was bland, polite as always, his shoulders lowered in respect.

"You are right, sir. However, doing things the muggle way, how should I say it, builds character, no? Wasn't it you who gave me this sage advice when I petitioned to be allowed to build wards around Wools?"

Dumbledore's smirk slipped a little.

"Of course, Tom. I would still suggest, be a little more discerning in giving out detentions."

"Of course. I will think of something sir."

"Carry on then."

"Yes sir. A good day to you." Riddle mentally rolled his eyes, gave a deferential nod and walked off to Ancient Runes, his first class of the day. He had no intention of sparing a single thought to alternate punishments. Forcing witches and wizards to menial labor without using magic amused him and gave him a vindictive sort of pleasure. He was going to take his amusement wherever he could and forget about old Dumbldore.

Days passed without success on the time travel equations. Tom steadily grew more sadistic with his inner circle. It started with cutting remarks on lack of intelligence, pedigree and inbreeding, progressed to slashing and burning hexes in practice duels. On a good day, the Knights were scared of Tom. Now, they started going as far as faking illnesses to the school nurse to spend their nights at the hospital or misbehaving to get detentions with professors. No one wanted to be on the business end of Tom's wand. Two nights ago, Tom Riddle completely lost control of his anger and crucio-ed Alphard Black and Antonin Dolohov for failing to solve a smaller equation he had given them four days to solve.

The Knights were walking on eggshells around him. If they were left walking, that is.

Abraxas was the one who decided to brave a conversation with the man he considered best friend and lord. He'd worked hard on his part of the equation and had finished it in the early hours of the morning. Instead of catching some sleep, Malfoy decided to shore up some courage as he followed his morning routine an hour earlier than usual. Tom Riddle always got to breakfast before anyone else and Abraxas thought it best to catch him there, in the vicinity of teachers and surrounded by delicious food that always put Tom in a good mood.

At the doors to the Great Hall, Malfoy spotted Tom sitting at his usual spot at the Slytherin table, finishing up a cup of tea, a piece of dry toast in his other hand. He walked to the table and murmured a good morning before taking a seat at Tom's side. Riddle nodded in acknowledgement and put his tea cup down on its saucer before reaching for marmalade.

"I finished my part of calculations. If I may, I have a question." Abraxas whispered.

Tom nodded for the boy to proceed without taking his eyes off the toast he was smearing with fresh orange marmalade. Malfoy muttered a privacy charm around them before continuing, earning him half a smile from the head boy for the use of wandless magic without being told to, not to mention getting ahead with the work he'd been assigned.

"Putting all parts together would theoretically give us a time frame that we can travel to and from. However, even if we find the exact parameters to travel without killing ourselves or our future offspring, how exactly are we going to manage the jump itself?"

Tom glanced around the Great Hall, his eyes resting briefly on head girl Hestia Diggory at the Gryffindor table and moving over to the staff table.

"We'll use a time turner of course." He murmured.

Malfoy's hand shook only a little when he poured himself a cup of tea and took a fortifying sip.

"Of course, my Lord. But aren't time turners highly guarded Department of Mysteries artifacts that no one can get a hold of?"

"They are. However, we don't have to mount an attack on the Department of Mysteries. Yet. One of those contraptions can be had right here at Hogwarts."

Abraxas choked on his tea.

"Pardon me." He snatched a folded napkin off the table and wiped his face. "There is a time turner at Hogwarts? Who has it?"

"Professor Dumbledore." Tom nodded a polite greeting to a staring Dumbledore at the Staff table, he always stared, the old fool, and then turned his back to the professors, fully facing Abraxas, " Most years, he lends it to Gryffindor's brightest to push them into picking up the slack for the rest of their lazy house. They have a nice system going, I must say. Choose a book smart student, give them the means to take more classes and assignments than they could have managed fairly and in return expect them to pick up slack for a few chosen housemates. You see, their quidditch players can practice hard for matches without having to study and write assignments to pass muster, the lagging students can get hours upon hours of tutoring without affecting the time traveler's schedule and the rest of them can have a bloody good time all the while Gryffindor wins the house cup most years."

Abraxas poured Riddle some tea while he absorbed what he'd heard, added milk and honey, and pushed the cup towards his friend.

"You sound almost bitter. How do you even know this?"

"I pay attention Brax." Tom picked the tea cup and took a sip, smiling in appreciation when the tea was exactly to his taste, "Head girl Diggory has it these days. I have seen her disappear from the back of classrooms and reappear in supposedly deserted corridors. She is spread so thin that last time she used the turner she didn't even see me when she pulled a chain out of her robes and literally twisted the golden thing in plain sight. I mark potions and advanced runes assignments for the professors. I know for a fact Potter, Pruitt and Weasley, their quidditch stars, didn't write their own essays. Take all Gryffindors in our year, divide them in four groups and those groups have similar essays amongst themselves, with the difference of a few paragraphs here and there. All coming from Hestia and her Gryffindor prefects at the top, trickling down to the others. They are so blatant, it boils my blood."

Abraxas nodded wholeheartedly, getting angry too. This was cheating, something they knew Dumbledore was wholly capable of. Malfoy also knew that Tom hated cheating and skipping on classwork. Riddle drove the Slytherins to work hard. Falling grades were punished creatively. Study schedules were distributed at the beginning of the year for everyone in their house, worked upon by the head boy and their house prefects. All of them were expected to study and follow schedules diligently. And still they lost the house cup more times than not. Quidditch and class assignments were a big part of the house scores, and no one practiced as much as the Gryffindors while still turning in all homework on time.

Tom was staring at Hestia Diggory again, who seemed to be trying to write in three different parchment sets arranged in front of her. The head girl's hair was a bird's nest, her robes a little askew, her breakfast untouched.

"Diggory's grades are slipping." Tom continued, "She has missed submitting a Potions essay, but oh her classmates' work was all there, clearly worked on by the head girl. Poor thing. We should divest her off the offending artifact. It has started to interfere with her studies. We can't have that, can we?"

"No, we can't have that, my Lord." Murmured Abraxas, agreeing with Tom, as he lifted the privacy spells in time for Dolohov and Black to join them. Both the boys looked a little peaky, eyes flitting from point to point restlessly. Dolohov's robes were dragging to a side, the collar not quite aligning with his shirt and tie.

Tom glanced around to check if anyone was looking and then pointed his wand at Antonin, dragging his uniform in place and straightening up his tie. Then he turned his complete attention to Alphard Black, particularly to the white residue clear at the side of the wizard's nose.

"Salazar's balls, Alphard." Riddle hissed, "Clean yourself up. Did you share with Antonin too? I told you not to spread this sickness in our house."

Alphard grabbed a napkin and ran it around his nostrils, hands shaky. Dolohov looked a little startled and ran a finger around his nose too.

"Haven't slept three nights." The Russian replied, voice hoarse, "I begged Alph for whatever he was using to pick him up in the mornings. I am sorry, my Lord."

Tom let out a frustrated sigh.

"Sort yourselves out and don't use the honorific in company." He spit out, "You all know the price of the things we are trying to accomplish. It requires discipline, stamina and a strong mind. If you can't pull yourselves together, no point including you in our further endeavors."

Dolohov and Black flinched at the words. For years they had worked hard to be in Riddle's inner circle. Getting dropped from their positions at that point would lose them all the respect they'd earned from their peers and destroy their glorious plans for the future. The two boys hastened to reassure Tom of their strength and ability and quickly started on breakfast.

Lestrange was next to arrive, bags under eyes showing he hadn't slept much either. The others ignored him and for a while the only sound that was heard was the clink and clatter of cutlery as the Slytherins ate their breakfasts. Noisy chatter could be heard from the other tables as more students came in to start their day. The snakes ignored it all.

"Have we set the date for our next study group?" Antonin asked, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"I'll let you know." The Head Boy told them, wiping his hands on a napkin as he got up from the table.

"If you can't sleep or find your nerves," Tom fixed his gaze on the wizards of his inner circle and lifted his satchel to his shoulder, "Try brewing calming droughts and dreamless sleep in your spare times. You might get extra credit from Slughorn if you share it with him."

With that he left his fellow Slytherins to their own devices and started towards the second-floor girl's lavatory. He needed some peace and quiet for research.

After a long night of working on time travel theory and equations, Tom Marvolo Riddle fell on his bed in the Head Boy dorm and stared at the ceiling. Despite the late hour and exhaustion, his mind refused to shut off. Tom could feel the beginnings of a massive ache in his sinuses and jaw, aftereffects of focusing too long on something without catching any break. He knew the ache would spread to his head and then not go away for a couple of days. He also knew, given the odds he was working against, there was no way he could sort himself into a relative calm, at least enough to avoid the oncoming agony.

It was good that he'd learnt to live with pain long ago.

Tom closed his eyes. And opened them again when he saw Hermione Granger turning to mist in his arms. He struggled to empty his mind. Her soft robes had flowed like water through his hands. He'd never intimately clutched material like that. His dates to school parties were always perfectly turned out, Tom wouldn't allow for anything less than, the girls always belonging to the highest houses of the British Wizarding world. And yet, none of them had the softness of Hermione Granger. Was it the robes, or was it the girl, her magic?

It was magic, Tom decided. Definitely the magic. Then she and the magic she brought turned to ether..

Tom got off the bed and started pacing. One night was all he got. And then she went away. Just like all good things of his life fucked off to, the Devil only knew where. Tom felt like breaking something all over again. If only there were muggle studies books in his room to destroy. Tom thumbed the Gaunt ring in his finger, drawing focus and calm from the magic held within.

Why did this girl evoke so much turmoil?

Sleeping was going to be a fruitless endeavor. So, Tom picked up his satchel and settled at his desk to study an ancient tome he'd nicked from the Restricted section. It was a history of sorts of ancient dark magic, written in runes. His eyes settled on the runic notations, his hands gentle on the delicate parchment, and as his mind went to focus on translating the symbols, Tom Riddle felt some tension ease out of his shoulders. This was familiar, reading forgotten runes and putting his brains to good use. He even found notes on a forgotten summoning spell, an arcane ritual powered by the blood of a magical creature and used to find other magical creatures or artifacts. The professors and headmaster of Hogwarts would have a collective apoplexy if they knew such books existed in Hogwarts Library under their very clean noses. Too bad most couldn't decipher ancient runes as well as he could.

Their ignorance was his gain and Tom decided to take notes in his journal. He got out the black leather journal, opening it to the first page as usual. The horcrux, keyed as it was to Tom and only Tom, was an excellent place to write forbidden things. It took in knowledge like a semi sentient being and previous notes could be summoned by Tom's command.

Tom picked up his quill and placed his left hand on top of the journal to hold it open. It felt off. He put away the quill and opened his mind to the horcrux.

The young wizard recoiled and flipped the book shut. A cold sweat ran down his back and he stared at his horcrux. The small black journal was fine, perfectly crafted leather creasing flawlessly over thick parchment pages. The gold lettering of his name glinted on the cover. A tease and a warning of what lay inside. When Tom had created his first horcrux, the journal had positively thrummed and glowed with the magic of his soul piece within it. Now, Tom couldn't feel his soul nestled in the pages anymore. There was nothing there. The journal was inert, void, as if it had never been his precious ticket to immortality. The only remaining sign of his ownership was his name on the cover. For all intents and purposes, the journal was empty. His soul wasn't in it anymore.