A/N: Okay, I know this chapter is fairly strange and ironic, but I really love it. I'm sure some of you will hate the whole Tom/Hermione relationship but I don't care! So, um, read on and review! And if anyone knows if Dipet has one p or two, let me know.

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Chapter 2

"How intriguing, Professor Dipet, I wonder where she came from," said a deep voice.

"Yes, very mysterious indeed, my dear Tom, though she has a very strange pendant around her neck, an hourglass if you will." Hermione couldn't recognize either voice, and couldn't feel any part of her body, other than her outrageously heavy eyelids that refused to open.

"She's in terrible condition, I do wonder what happened to her. She seems around my age, perhaps she is a lost student or something?" She was vaguely aware that she was lying down on a bed, her head on a pillow.

"I doubt it, I would know of her already, Tom. What I want to know is how she suddenly appeared in my office, falling directly into your lap." Her eyes were opening slightly, and she could make out two figures looking down at her curiously. One was old and rather pudgy, while the other was tall and skinny, with neat black hair and pale skin. Hermione's nerves were awakening, and the cuts from her battle with Bellatrix were beginning to sting. A small moan escaped her lips and she shifted, trying to roll off her bruised side. The elderly man peered down at her cautiously and the teen observed her closely. She was in a right state, that was sure, but she was still pretty, he noticed. There was an air of elegance around her, and he once again wondered where she had come from. Hermione whimpered into her pillow, but didn't move for several minutes. The head master grew impatient.

"Madame Bloomfield, will you inform me if any change is made concerning the girl?" A frantic looking witch who was bustling around an occupied bed toward the end of the ward nodded. "Coming Tom?" Dipet asked the boy who was still staring thoughtfully at the scared patient.

"Could I stay here? So that a student's here when she wakes up?" The professor shrugged.

"I suppose so, you are head boy. I'll see you later then Tom?" He nodded, and the boy sat down in an armchair next to the bed as the man left the room.

This girl was absolutely fascinating. She left him with questions he couldn't answer, and he hated not knowing the answers. She was a puzzle, a riddle if you will, and he wanted to solve her. Little did Hermione know, she was already changing the future.

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When her eyes finally could open all the way, Hermione had to bite back a scream. There, staring directly at her, grey eyes and all, was a younger, hardly recognizable, Voldemort. Hours before, though actually years later, he had hexed her, killed her best friend, and ordered the torture of her parents. Yet there he was, calm as cake, leaning casually back in an armchair, looking into her eyes.

"Hello," he said simply, and she gasped quietly. He was talking to her. Even as she franticly tried to relax, she realized how attractive he was. With crisp black hair, aristocratic features, and a small mouth, she felt attracted to him. She felt ready to vomit. Realizing that he was waiting for a reply, she squeaked,

"Hi." He propped his head in his hand and continued to examine her, while she did her best not to flee from the room. It was obviously the middle of the night, and they were the only two people in the ward. She gathered that she was in a much older hospital wing. She shivered slightly, feeling only a thin sheet covering her.

"Are you cold?" he asked softly, his voice even and smooth, not yet the dark and twisted hiss it was in her time. Goose bumps bubbled on her skin. She didn't answer, words having left her, and he stood up and fetched a blanket from a closet across the room. Was Voldemort being considerate? He came back and unfolded the blue quilt, layered it above her, and sat back down and resumed staring at her once more.

"Thank you," she mumbled, and he chuckled softly. Did I just chuckle? He asked himself. Blast, one girl pops up and Lord Voldemort turns into Dumbledore! But he didn't argue with himself for very long. He wanted to learn more about this girl.

"Who are you?" he asked, and watched at the girl bit her lip, only to release it, pain stretched across her face. "Are you okay?" he added, as tears crept into her eyes. He felt concern for this wounded girl, and surprised himself by actually want to help her. She shook her head weakly. "What happened to you?"

"So many duels, so many hexes," she murmured into her pillow, not paying attention to what was spilling out of her mouth, almost delirious from the pain. "So many lives lost." Riddle looked at her, perplexed. Trembling, she added, "Everything's gone."

"What's gone?" he asked her, captivated, wanting more answers but only receiving more questions.

"Everything…" she was loosing conscious, and he watched as she fell asleep, feeling oddly protective of this girl. He would look after her, he decided. He would help her. Extending a hand, he pushed back some wispy hair from her scratched skin. It was odd how you could feel totally in control, then meet one person and doubt all that you had planned.

Not feeling bashful at all, he kissed the sleeping figure softly on the forehead, before he molded back into his chair, preparing to dose (A/N: sp?) off into dreamland.

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The first thought Hermione had when she awoke several hours later was one of comfort. She became aware that her legs were smooth and unscarred, and her hair had no fleck of mud nor was it messy at all. When she bit down on her lip, it didn't sting. She was wearing her simple cotton skirt and blouse, and there was no longer a sheet or blanket covering her. She felt rested and ready to go seduce Voldemort. She giggled softly, and heard someone mumbling above her. Opening an eye, she was once again met by Tom Riddle, who was hovering over her, healing the giant bruise on her side. The irony of the situation stuck her, him healing the wounds he had caused. But she let him continue as all the pain from the final battle faded away. In its place were fear, hopelessness, and loss. She chided herself for mourning her lost friends. Pull yourself together Granger, you're mourning people who haven't even been born, and don't have to die if you do your job.

"Feeling better?" Tom asked quietly, as he sat back down in his chair, having finished his task. She rubbed her eyes and wondered if he had been there all night.

"Yeah," she croaked, her voice sore from all of the screaming when- no, don't think about that. "Thank you." The boy didn't acknowledge her words, just continued to watch her. The silence was unnerving, and she gulped under his gaze.

"Where did you come from?" he asked blatantly, as she wondered how to answer. Maybe playing dumb was the best way to go. She wanted to forget after all.

"I don't remember," she said, watching as curiosity built behind his eyes. "I just remember pain, hurt." She had to keep him interested so she could make him fall for her faster. The sooner she could do that, the sooner she could go home. If she could go home, that was. She might have to stay. Stay, and never see Harry and R- stop thinking about that. "Then it was over." Tears welled in her eyes, and she sat up nervously, glad that she wasn't wearing a flimsy hospital gown around him. He seemed so innocent, captivated by her mystery. But he wasn't so innocent, had he already killed his uncle, his father, Myrtle? Did it matter? He would kill Harry, kill everyone. The last thread of self-control broke, and she began to cry. Tom stood up and perched next to her on the bed, not embarrassed in the least. In his presence the tears intensified, and she buried her face in her hands, letting herself wallow in grief. A pair of strong arms pulled her to him, and she cried onto his shoulder, not caring at all.

Tom however, was thinking too much. This wasn't him! He was cruel, heartless, and anti-compassionate in all forms, and yet there he was, supporting a girl he had just met, who had fallen into his lap during a meeting with the headmaster. Why do I care? He thought, rubbing the girl's back softly. Why does it pain me so much to see this hurt? He was a murderer, and yet one crying teenager took his guard down. Was he Lord Voldemort, or was he just another power hungry teen? So much for heir of Slytherin…

Hermione realized in the middle of her crying jag, this was not Voldemort. This was a boy, who was still coming into his own. He was still impressionable, murderer or not. She was to help him, which was her job. Prevent him from becoming the monster who- no don't think about that.

"Thank you," she whimpered into his sweater, no longer afraid of the boy supporting her. "Uh, where are my manners?" she asked rhetorically, pulling away from him, wiping away tears. She extended her hand awkwardly, turning herself sideways to face him. "Hermione Granger," she said as he turned her hand and pressed it gently to his lips.

"Tom Riddle," she said smoothly as he let go of her hand, surprised to find that she wasn't blushing or even flustered at his move. It was even as if she was expecting it. She was.

"Aren't you the charmer, Tom," she was flirtatiously, but blanched at her idiotic comment. She was not a flirt, but a bookworm, and had never bothered in trying to attract male attention. Studies had always come first, so she had never actually tried to flirt. He ignored her embarrassment.

"You aren't the first person to say that." It surprised her how low key he was. Almost like Harry, she thought. What a thought.

"What's the date?" she asked.

"December 20, 1944," he said. "You popped in during holiday break." She nodded vaguely. That would give them some alone time. This whole idea was almost comical.

"You don't go home for break?" she asked, wondering how much he would tell her. He folded his arms over his chest.

"I don't like to return to my muggle orphanage." She could understand, it was like Harry and the Dursleys. "You know about magic, right?" he added skeptically, though his face remained stoic.

"Of course," she said, laughing nervously.

"Good." They sat in silence, as she magicked (A/N: sp?) her face clean. "You should probably go see Professor Dipet now, and arrange what you should do." Hermione finally realized how nervous she was. She was alone.

"Come with me?" she inquired as she slid off the bed.

"Of course, how else would you know where to go?" he said with a small smile.

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A/N: So, next chapter Tom does some mind invasion, and learns about guilt. Teaser?

"You're hiding something aren't you? You should tell me before I find out myself. Come on, confide in me!"

Then, in the next chapter after that one:

"Well, who do we have here?" Rosier asked rhetorically. "Does Tom have a little girlfriend he didn't tell us about? What are you afraid of, we just want to talk to you."