Tom woke up with a very peculiar feeling in his head. He must have blacked out, because he couldn't remember anything from the past few hours…not to mention his growing headache. He thought and thought, but he could not come up with something that had happened, and it was starting to annoy him. Then he spotted a stone basin on the bed table next to him and he groaned as it all started coming back to him. He now wished it hadn't, because the disgustingly white face with scarlet eyes came flooding to the front of his mind. But it wasn't just the face that gave him the frightening, ghastly feeling. It was the high-pitched, merciless, unforgiving laugh that accompanied it in glaring eeriness. Briefly, the image of the dark-haired, apple-eyed boy drifted into his brain; the one tied to a hard and cold gravestone against his will. Then, the picture that was probably worst of all—the gristly scene of the handsome, smart, and brave boy lying on the ground, slain so carelessly…never to wake up again. He kept his eyes open for fear of remembering more unfriendly pictures, but new ones overcame him now, even in consciousness.

A voice appeared to his right, calm and patient. "Tom? Tom, wake up."

He again closed his eyes, but the laugh would not go away. Simultaneously, he opened them again and twisted his head to look at her. "What." He said lazily.

"Tom, I didn't mean to shock you that much." She said.

He felt himself getting angry. Maybe his ears were going also. "Excuse me? You didn't think it would shock me that much? You just told me that the ugliest, coldest, cruelest person—is he even a person, Hermione?—is…is…ME! How did you think I'd take it?" he yelled.

She didn't flinch or start crying like he expected her to. She just sat there, staring. It was almost worse than showing emotion. "You needed to see what you would become. You needed to see why you have to change. You saw that boy in pain tied to the gravestone? He's my best friend in the whole world. His name is Harry James Potter, and that was you torturing him. You can't seriously want to become that creature, do you?" she said, almost monotonously. Her every word stung him until he felt numb all over. She was right.

"If—If Harry, you say, is alright, what about that other boy? The one on the ground? He turned out fine, too, didn't he?" Tom asked shakily, though somehow, deep down, knowing the answer.

Hermione's stare never faltered, though her eyes now shone with tears. "No, Tom, he isn't. Cedric Diggory. That was his name. Wormtail killed him with your wand. Without even the slightest bit of thought. You saw that baby-looking being? That was you before you became essentially human. You want to know what you said? 'Kill the spare.' The spare, Tom! Cedric was not a spare. He didn't deserve to die, and yet you killed him. Harry—did not deserve to be tortured like that. You want to know something? Harry has fought you every single goddamn year he was at school, with the exception of our third. In total—he has fought you five times, Tom! And he hasn't died. Doesn't that mean anything? It means he will never give up. Never! He is stronger than anyone has ever expected. At only 14, he got away from you, carrying Cedric's body and the cup! He got back injured but safe, only to be surrounded by screams over what people saw and then get interrogated, but not after he was deceived by someone he trusted! Please tell me you don't want to cause all of that, Tom! Please!"

She was shedding a few tears now, although her voice stayed as strong as ever. Tom listened to her intently, becoming all the more disgusted with each sentence. Had he really done those things? Had he really commanded this man—Wormtail—to kill that boy, Cedric? Without giving it any thought? Just murdering him right there? Had he really caused Harry and Hermione that much physical and emotional pain? He was absolutely revolted by himself. He would even go as far as to say he was frightened of himself. He didn't know what events exactly caused him to transform into that beyond evil man, but he did know one thing. And that was that he would never turn into…that. No matter what would happen, he would not torture people like that. People that have done nothing to him, or people that didn't deserve to have anything happen to them. He would not be that person.

"Hermione, listen." Tom started, taking an uncertain breath and staring at his hands. "I don't know what turn of events occurred to make me look and act like that, I really don't. But I can promise you now…I promise on my life…that that will not be me. Please believe me, Hermione. Look at my eyes, and tell me—do I look like the person that would want to cause intense pain to your friend Harry, or kill people without a care in the world? Because I don't. And I won't."

Hermione did not manage a smile, but her eyes sparkled. She never moved from her sitting position by his bed, but she fidgeted a little. "I believe you, Tom. Just don't you dare let me down. Don't you dare go back on your promise. I want to show you two more of my memories. Just to confirm that you really mean what you say. They are happier than the one you just saw, and they show Harry's attributes. How strong he really is. You ready?"

Tom nodded, and Hermione moved to where the bowl was and once again closed her eyes, putting her wand tip to her temple and extracting a silver substance. This time, Tom did not see Harry in the bowl, but instead a dark lake, and two shadowy figures by what looked like a wood. He followed Hermione's example of putting his head into the mass, and felt the familiar yet unnerving swirling sensation as he was delved into Hermione's memory.

He fell to the damp ground, expecting to feel pain, but it never came. A hand reached down to help him get up, and he saw Hermione was already on her feet. She regained her position at staring across the lake, but Tom took to looking around. He nearly jumped back in amazement, but even so, he stumbled a bit. Standing but seven feet from them was a younger Hermione watching the same scene with a younger Harry. He stared at the present-day Hermione in question, but she didn't look at him. He followed her gaze, and saw two men—a man probably in his 30s, but he was very thin and looked weak; also, a certain familiar black-haired boy…

Now Tom was really getting weirded out. Not only was there two Harrys, but also two Hermiones, all of different ages. And now, to worsen his reeling brain, a hundred gliding figures in ragged cloaks came soaring slowly down to where Harry and the man were. Even though he was not affected by them, his bones still turned to ice at the sight of the impending dementors. He watched in utter horror as they started to suck the life out of the two human beings at the edge of the frozen lake. He saw silver wisps project limply from the younger Harry's wand, when, after the third try, he started to fall. As he did, Tom caught a movement out of his peripheral vision.

The older Harry had sprung up from his position by Hermione, and ran up to the edge of the lake. Holding out his wand, he shouted something and a bright, silver stag erupted out of the tip. Tom's eyebrows rose dramatically as he recognized it as a Patronus—a corporeal Patronus. He watched as the stag galloped hurriedly across the ice and start charging at the dementors. As the deer's antlers hit each of the dementors, they slid away as if branded. Tom tore his gaze away for a moment to look at Hermione, but to his disappointment, she almost looked bored as she was watching the scene unfold. Tom directed his stare back to the young Harry just in time as he saw him pass out cold on the hard lake rocks…but not before giving older Harry a strange look as if he thought he was someone that shouldn't be there. Tom's Hermione now touched his arm, and in a flash of light, they fell into some sort of stadium stands.

Tom recognized it immediately as the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. This time when he looked at Hermione, she had an excited glow about her as she watched. Tom's lips twitched as he, too, looked up upon the field. The game was in play—he found what Hermione was looking at. Clad in scarlet and gold robes was a boy lying attentively on a polished and new broomstick, his green eyes darting around. From what Tom knew, Harry must have been Seeker—he was the right build, his arms jerked every so often as he would notice something, and he was flying high above the others. Tom was about to ask Hermione exactly what they were doing at a Quidditch game, when Harry made a sudden move. There was a collective gasp around the stadium as they watched the young man press his body against the broom.

The other team's seeker was tightly following Harry, but Harry was still way ahead. Harry was streaking towards the ground in a blur of gold, red, black, and green, and was now so close to the sand that Tom was sure he was going to crash. Apparently so did the other Seeker—he was now circling above Harry. As the boy was probably half a foot from colliding with the solid dirt, he pulled out of his extreme dive, his shoes touching the grass. Tom's eyes widened in astonishment and respect as the boy jumped off his broom, clutching tightly in his right hand a tiny, fluttering, gold ball. Harry James Potter had won the game.

Hermione, now smiling broadly with pride as she looked upon Harry's grinning face, grabbed Tom's arm again, and this time there was no flash, but instead a swooping feeling, and once again they were on the Hospital Wing bed. Hermione, still smiling, pushed the table slowly away from them, and turned her head towards Tom. She stared at him for a few moments, before raising her eyebrow as if to tell him her point was proven. He returned her look, only with one of feigned bewilderment.

"Don't you see, Tom?" Hermione said excitedly. "Harry's not only brave and strong, but he possesses so many other qualities. In that first memory, that was in our third year—he was 13. He produced a stunningly solid stag Patronus to drive over one hundred dementors away from his younger self and his godfather. I will explain what that scene was if you would like…but later. In the second memory, you were witnessing the final game of Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and Harry won the Quidditch Cup using something called the Wonky—sorry, Wronski—Feint. He's not only an exceptional flier (which he is), but he is also strong mentally, physically, and magically, and an extraordinarily brave and a wonderful, true friend. Why, you ask, would anyone want to hurt him? I cannot answer that, Tom, for the answer lies within you. Ask yourself that question, Tom, and think hard. Is there any reason? Any at all?"

Tom, foolishly, did indeed think as he stared absentmindedly at the blanket on the bed, his vision sliding out of focus as he concentrated. He wracked his intelligent brain for any scrap of an answer, but none came to him. Images of Hermione's three memories flashed slowly through his mind—of the maze, the graveyard, Cedric, Voldemort, Wormtail, the Death Eaters; the dementors, the two Harry and Hermiones, Harry's godfather; finally, Harry diving down and winning the Quidditch Cup. He again tried to come up with a response, but the bare truth was that there wasn't one. He didn't want to cause all that pain and suffering. He didn't want to hurt Hermione.

"No, Hermione. There's not." He said bluntly.

Her forehead creased in a nameless emotion or thought, and she did not smile, but instead frown. Like she didn't believe him. Tom felt his anger rising again as he looked at her expression. Why didn't she think he was telling the truth? Why? He rolled his eyes at himself as he battled himself internally.

"Hmm…let's think, genius." The realistic and sarcastic voice said.

"But why? I've given her recent reason to trust me!" the hopeful one replied.

"Yeah. Recent reason. Or have you not taken in anything she's shown you?"

"Of course. Why do you think I feel like crap?"

"Because you just found out you nearly killed Harry, hurt Hermione, and did kill Cedric!"

"Oh. Right. Well, I guess she does have a point."

"I always win. I love it."

"Shut up."

"You don't trust me, do you." Tom said tonelessly, still not looking at Hermione.

"I'm predestined not to! It's been wonderful these past few days…like something out of a twisted dream. But I can't ignore the fact—no matter how hard I try—that you turn out to be the most sadistic and cruel person known to man and wizardkind! You don't really expect me to just drop all of my future knowledge and forget everything you've done, do you?" she cried, as if daring him to contradict her.

He didn't dare risk her fury. "No. I don't. I guess it's just rather hard for me to imagine everything. And I know," he added quickly, looking at her retorting expression, "everything you've told me must be true because I trust you…but it's just…I don't know. I mean, how would you feel if you wake up one day as the amazingly talented and revered Hermione Granger, and then find out in the worst possible way that in the future you turn out to be the evilest sorceress in the world? That's how it is for me, Hermione. The whole concept of it is a bit hard to grasp." He said truthfully, trying to put it into context, but he couldn't put the feeling into words.

"Yes, I suppose it is. But please don't become that man. Please don't, Tom. I don't think I could handle it. Seeing you become him would almost be worse than experiencing his wrath. It just—I don't think I could go back to my time and tell Harry that I helped you not become Voldemort, yet then I find out that you have. I would never forgive myself!" Hermione exclaimed, giving a small yell of frustration.

Tom's blood ran cold, and he could have sworn his heart stopped beating. He thought he would die if she really meant what she had said. "G—Go back?" he stammered in disbelief.

Hermione looked at him, a certain distressing sadness in her eyes. "Tom, I have to. My whole life is with them! I mean, I have a life here, too, but it's only a half-life, Tom. I don't know anyone here; everything I have ever known is in the future! How can I stay here? If I did, I'd be being selfish and inconsiderate of—of Harry, of Ron, of my parents, of everyone! I came back to stop you becoming evil, and you've promised me you wouldn't, so my mission is done! I can't stay here any longer, Tom. I shudder to think of the damage I've done by being here this long. Don't you see? The longer I stay here, the more effect it will have in the future! Harry might not even exist!" she explained convincingly.

Tom knew she was right, but it broke his heart to think of losing her right as he was beginning to care for her. The world was so unfair. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Right. No problem…" he said brusquely, but he knew his face and eyes betrayed his crude tone of voice.

She reached up a hand and held it to his face, where she felt it burn underneath her. "Tom, I—you know how much I would like to stay, but I—I just can't Tom! It's not meant to be. You and I—it's been wonderful, but it's just not in the cards right now. I'm sorry." She took her hand down and looked away in shame.

He stared at her for a few moments, taking in everything about her. Her honey-almond, expressional eyes; her golden-brown, slightly untamed hair; her glowing, bright and cheerful face…her caring devotion. He couldn't believe one smart, talented girl could hold so much of it. He knew she would die to save Harry…that she would stay with him to the very ends of the earth, no matter what. She had put on such an indifferent persona, but lately he could see through it. She missed her own time like nothing else. He felt horrible and selfish inside—he had taken advantage of her coming here and didn't think of her well-being and how she was coping emotionally. He had gotten angry at her so many times, for small, petty reasons and frankly, he didn't see how those mattered now. All he knew was that he couldn't live without her. Even if she did go back, he had to make his intentions known.

"Her—Hermione…" he stammered, taking a silent but deep breath. She looked at him with dimly sparkling eyes. "I love you."

She stared at him in utter shock and she looked like she thought she was hallucinating. Her mouth was open in the slightest way, and for as still as she was being, she could have been a marble statue. "W—What?" she finally managed to say, though it was in a sort of hoarse whisper.

"I love you." he repeated, liking the taste of the words on his mouth. So this is what it felt like to love. He had always thought it was for weaklings and people who were all feeling and no power or strength. He had been wrong. About everything. He really couldn't believe he was professing his love to someone he had only met but little over a week ago. When he had never said those words to anyone in his entire 17 years of existence. It was simply surreal and logically incomprehensible…yet…it felt so right.

"I—you—you c-can't l-love m-m-me!" Hermione spluttered, the stunned look not yet gone from her now flushed face.

"I can, and I do." He said confidently.

To his horrific surprise, Hermione got up unsteadily from the bed, her head in her hands. She was shaking it from side to side, as if in denial…or rejection. "No…no…not now…not here…not with him…" she was muttering to herself.

Tom only caught a few words, but each one hurt him more than the next. "Harry…murderer…Voldemort…I can't…no…" How could he prove to her he wasn't that man? What more could he give her than his word and his…his love? Against his will, he was again getting frustrated extremely fast. At her, at the world, at himself, at everything. His aggravation steadied for a second as he realized this was probably the first thing that had to go in his change. Damn, this would be harder than he thought.

"Hermione." He said, wondering if she would tell him what he was asking himself. She didn't seem to pay attention. "Hermione." He said louder.

She stopped her pacing, but she didn't look at him. "What." came the muffled reply.

"What can I do to prove to you that I'm not evil?" he said forcefully.

This time she took her hands away from her face to reveal eyes welling up with new tears. She sighed in exasperation, but he wasn't sure whether it was at him or herself. "Tom, please. Just—Just give me a few minutes, okay? It's kind of a lot to handle. The whole 'you saying you won't turn out to be evil' when in reality I'm not sure I can trust you because, I mean, come on. What evidence besides your word has there been? Then you go and claim that you l-love me? The great Tom Riddle who is genetically incapable of love saying that to a girl he met shortly over a week ago? It's just too much right now." she said emotionally, going back to pacing, but keeping her eyes forward.

Tom kept his head still, although his dark eyes were sliding back and forth, watching her every move. He was trying to think of things to say, but every time he came across the start of a sentence, it would all fall apart, and he would be back to square one again. He clenched his teeth, attempting to think of something to do, however, she wasn't helping his brainstorming at all, considering she was just walking in the same line back and forth. Vaguely, he wondered what had kept her so attentive with Black, and he found himself getting…though he absolutely hated to admit it…jealous. Why did she have to make his life so complicated? One minute he was all fine and perfect being controlling over people, the smartass of the whole school, and having more than the occasional girl fawning over him. The next, she comes into his life and everything just demolishes itself? The irony was very slowly killing him.

He was suddenly aware that the target his eyes had been following had stopped, her face set in a way showing she was making some sort of decision. She took a shaky breath and opened her mouth, but closed it. He arched an eyebrow at her, and she glared at him mockingly. For a moment or two, they locked gaze, amber eyes meeting coffee ones. Apparently his voice didn't work anymore, or otherwise he was put under a Silencing Spell, for he couldn't form any comprehensible words. So he was glad she finally made up her mind of what she was going to say.

Taking another breath, but not breaking eye contact, she began. "Tom, I—I don't really know how to say this, but—"

She walked over (their eyes were still bored into each other's), and sat on the bed. He swallowed as he tried to extract information from her eyes, but was unsuccessful. "I—I've never said this before…I love you too, Tom."

He stopped blinking as he stared into her abashed and blushing face. Slowly, he tilted her chin up, and kissed her full on the lips for a few seconds before he looked her in the eyes. "But you have to leave. I get it." He said, unable to keep the mournfulness out of his voice.

"Yeah…I have to…" she agreed, slightly breathless, her eyes showing her sadness.

"Well you should probably go get ready." He stated, possibly a bit colder than he meant to.

"Yes. I'll be back to say goodbye I suppose."

He watched her limp form walk slowly out the door, and although he should be head-over-heels in sadness, he couldn't help but feel a little elated. She loved him. This was remarkable. Now he would really have to go find Antares and thank him.

"But," he thought, "after I say goodbye…"

Hermione flung herself to the ground and pulled her knees up to her, crying. She didn't know why exactly…she had gotten the cold, heartless Tom Riddle to say he loved her, and she had returned it. So why did she feel so miserable? This is what she wanted…wasn't it? She was a mess of emotions and feelings, and her visible tears hardly showed what agony and distress she was feeling inside. That was the bad thing about thoughts and sadness…no one could tell really how bad you felt internally. She was faintly aware of a splash somewhere near her, but she didn't think anything of it until she felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over her right shoulder.

She looked to her right, and saw a ghostly hand resting on her arm. Hermione was now grateful for it, for it numbed her now. "Oh. Hey, Myrtle." She said dully.

"What happened? It was Riddle, wasn't it? I can haunt him for you if you want, you know." She said, a little too gleefully for Hermione's comfort.

"No," she said quickly, "that won't be necessary, Myrtle."

Myrtle's face fell as she resumed her sympathetic—and rare—look. "Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry."

Hermione's head whipped around to stare at the young ghost. For the first time, she was glad Myrtle was there when no one else was. Hermione had always thought of her as boring, sensitive, and annoying, always doing the most irritating things. Now, however, Hermione saw a worried, empathetic, and comforting girl who anyone could confide into. Hermione smiled, the first true smile in a while, and she wished Myrtle was solid so she could hug her and just cry. Just the same, Hermione looked at her with tear-filled eyes and laid her head on her knee, looking over at the transparent spirit.

"Myrtle, I just don't k-know w-what to d-d-do!" Hermione wept.

"Well you have to go back, don't you?" Myrtle asked softly.

"Of course I do! My whole life is there! I don't even know how much has changed with me just being here! Harry m-m-might not e-even ex-exist! I've completely screwed everything up, haven't I? I was just trying to help, and look at what a goddamn mess of it I've made! This is horrible, Myrtle! What do I do?" she sobbed.

Myrtle, it seemed, found this amusing. She started laughing quietly, though her hand was still floating reassuringly on Hermione's shoulder. With a deathly glare, Hermione slowly turned her head to look at the shaking ghost. She gritted her teeth in annoyance, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything about it. She couldn't stop Myrtle, no matter how hard she tried. Perhaps this was what Myrtle thought was funny? If it was, she had a really sick sense of humor.

"And what," Hermione asked through clenched teeth. "is so funny!"

The ghost stopped laughing, but still snickered. "Oh, Hermione, isn't it obvious?" Myrtle said, as if it was the most blatant thing in the world. Hermione stared at her in impatience. "You need to bring him back with you!"

Hermione was one inch away from fainting. Was Myrtle joking? Take Tom back with her? Now she knew Myrtle was crazy. Harry and Ron were right. Harry and Ron…oh how she missed them. Their stupid, juvenile jokes, their laid-back manner, their startling adorability, their everything. Maybe Myrtle was right? Would it be possible to take Tom back with her? What would it change?

"Hermione." Her rational side chastised herself. "Don't you go getting far-fetched ideas now, too. You know that's impossible. It would set off the dimensional balance. Think about it. If you take Tom Riddle back with you, there will be two of the same soul living in one world. You have to stabilize it. That's what Dumbledore was talking about when he was telling you about how awful things happened to people who mess with time. This is one of them, Hermione! Don't be all lovestruck now. When you have to make one of the most important decisions of your life. Think if it went wrong!"

She sighed in defeat. Her conscience was right. She couldn't take him back with her. But she could take as much of him with her as she could. "Thank you, Myrtle. Thanks a lot. I'll see you in the future!" Hermione said, running off.

Hermione started hurrying out of Myrtle's bathroom and down the halls. Suddenly, she felt temporarily blinded as she saw spots in her eyes. She blinked and looked around to where it had come from and came across a rather excited looking boy with big eyes and…a camera.

"Sorry, Miss. I haven't seen you before and I need a picture of everyone." He said, fairly quickly.

"Hey!" Hermione called as he started to walk away. "What's your name?"

"Oh. Andrew. Andrew Creevey." He replied shakily.

Something flickered in Hermione's brain. Where had she heard that before? She gasped in recognition. Colin! "Hey, can you do me like a huge favor?" she asked desperately.

He looked at her in confusion, but also in gratitude. "Sure! What?"

"I need you to take a picture."

"Tom. I can't bring you back with me. I just can't." Hermione said sadly. She had asked Andrew to wait outside while she told Tom.

"Yeah. I figured." He said sadly.

"But I did find a way for us to remember each other forever." She said timidly.

His eyes glimmered with disappointment, and Hermione took a deep breath. "I could never forget you…Hermione Granger." He replied quietly, looking down.

She would not cry. She just wouldn't. "Just a second."

"Andrew! Andrew?" she asked, not seeing him and her heart sinking.

Then a figure zoomed in front of her, and she got startled as his eager face appeared in hers. "Yes?" he said, absolutely shaking in excitement. If she hadn't been so miserable, she might have laughed. But as it was…

She led him into the room, and Tom looked up, but his face got impassive and he put on a sneer. "What is this doing here?" he said rudely.

"He is going to take a picture of us and duplicate it so we can both have one. Please don't ever forget me." She explained, feeling a knot in her stomach.

Andrew looked away, pointedly. Hermione had to give the kid credit—at least he was more sensitive than Colin was. "You ready?" he said, his eyes still in the other direction.

"Yeah." Hermione said. She got an idea.

Wrapping her arms around Tom's neck, she kissed him very impetuously and lovingly, and although he wasn't expecting it, he took hold of her waist and returned it. They were only slightly aware of the flash that encased them, but paid it no mind. Hermione was the first to realize that they were still in Andrew's company, and she blushed as she tore herself apart from Tom. Andrew was pretending to be playing with his camera, but Hermione knew he was just waiting.

"Thank you, Andrew. I owe you one." She said, alerting his attention. "How fast can you make them?"

"Oh, really fast!" he exclaimed proudly. Taking out his wand, he muttered a spell with his face screwed up in concentration. There was a puff of purple smoke, and suddenly Andrew was holding a pile of pictures.

He started to hand the top one to Hermione, but stopped, as he put on a sheepish grin and put it back on top of the stack. Hermione and Tom put on skeptical looks, but watched him just the same. Taking out his wand again, he muttered, "Effingo."

Hermione was very impressed as he performed a perfect Duplicating Spell. She had to wonder why Colin and Dennis hadn't inherited their grandfather's magical ability. Andrew picked up the two pictures and gave one to Hermione and one to Tom. Hermione gave him a warm smile, and she could even tell that Tom was slightly (but not amazingly) awed by Andrew's talent—both in spells and photography.

He looked Andrew in the eyes. "Thank you, Andrew."

Andrew nodded, and he left, though Hermione detected a huge, rather goofy smile plastered on the young man's face.

She turned back to Tom and Conjured a quill and scarlet ink. Taking his picture over to the table, she wrote:

Dear Tom

I will never in my whole life forget you or the wonderful

time we had together. I will miss you with all my heart

and I will never love another quite like you.

I love you.

Hermione

Feeling the familiar burning sensation behind her cinnamon eyes, she shakily handed the picture back to him, as she saw the ink wavering on the moving picture. She looked at her own, and saw that he, too, had written a message:

My lovely Hermione-

I just want you to know my promise. I swear…on my life

that I will never become evil. I don't think I could live with

myself if I hurt you that much. If I hurt your friends. But

even if for some inexplicable reason that I do…please end

my life without a second thought. I would rather have spent

one week in ecstasy with you than live out the rest of my

life without you.

Yours Forever,

Tom Riddle

Now Hermione was in sincere sobs as she once again flung herself upon him, crying into his shoulder. "You won't become evil, Tom. I know you won't."

This isn't the last chapter, everyone, though I fear that the next one might be. I'll try to maybe write a sequel to this, but I don't know if I will. I hope I didn't make you guys cry? Though I did when I wrote this.

Thank you to all who have stuck with me this long time:

Hermionegranger2007, animerocksjapanrocks, Chou hime, Indaic, MandaPandaAR (thank you soooo much, you make my days—love ya lots!), san01, Kat (have to give a big thanks to you, too), Moonstone, Lauren, grounded angel, Mrs Pierre Bouvier (thanks for sticking with me the whole time!), a walk in the dark, Angelic Bladez (you too—I owe you for reading every single chapter of this one!), BlueEyed Fairy (thanks a billion trillion sweetie!), Frosty Princess Katie love your penname, btw!), and…

Mistic Elf for being my first reviewer EVER!