AN: Did I say I love you all? Because I do, so cyber chocolate for everyone. *woohoo!* Thank you so much for the reviews! You're all onto something regarding the plotline…and your ice cream flavors of choice are most fascinating. Unfortunately, I've been disconnected from the Internet temporarily (alas, I suffer from Pitiable Gal Who Can't Pay the Cable Bill Syndrome and no, it isn't contagious) and so all my updates until further notice will have to be made via library. There shouldn't be any delay unless someone sets the computer lab on fire, so no worries there…

Anyway, happy Tomione reading!

"How could you lose a seventeen-year old witch, you dumb fucks?"

Tom Riddle hit Dolohov with another slash of flames. Crabbe and Goyle were on the floor, writhing under the force of the Cruciatus Curse. "Well? Answer me," he commanded when Dolohov had stopped jerking in agony like a headless chicken.

"I-I don't know w-what happened to her!" Dolohov's usually deep baritone was a hoarse plea. "One minute she was there and the next she was gone-"

"Was it the Disillusionment Charm?"

"I-I d-don't think so-"

"Stop stammering, idiot," Tom snapped and pressed his foot down on Dolohov's throat, making him choke. "When I let go, you will tell me exactly what you saw. Do you understand?"

Dolohov struggled to draw breath. His face purpled. "…yes, my Lord."

Tom got off him. "Go on."

Dolohov took several large gulps of breath before speaking. "Well, Granger went to the Hog's Head and we followed her in. She went in the back where the toilets are so Crabbe and Goyle grabbed a booth nearby, because we figured she'd come back out, right-"

"Get to the point."

"I-I was watching her and she got something out of her bag, but it was really dark so I couldn't see what." Dolohov started to sweat at the impatience on Voldemort's face. "A-and she just vanished! I don't know how!"

He arched a brow. "Perhaps I'll have a look," Tom said, Stunning Dolohov before he could try to resist. He gazed into his wide, terrified eyes and leveled his wand. "Leglimens."

Tom saw inside Dolohov's mind. He leafed through memories, seeing more than one telling fantasy of him and Elphaba Wictz, and brushed those aside until he reached what he wanted. Suddenly, Tom was in the pub in Hogsmeade he'd only seen through memory since that wretched Dumbledore never allowed him to go anywhere off the castle grounds. This must be the Hog's Head, he thought, delving deeper in Dolohov's head, who whimpered under the oppressing force of his magic.

He saw Hermione walk through the dingy bar to the back and strained to see what she was doing through Dolohov's poor vision. Just as Dolohov had said, she reached into a bag – it was beaded and very ugly, he noted – and took something out. It was some fabric. A blanket? She put it on and vanished, making Tom blink in surprise. What was that? More importantly, where did Hermione go?

Tom released his spell and Dolohov fell to the floor, groaning. "You're all morons," he said, lifting the Cruciatus Curse from Crabbe and Goyle too. "What shall I ever do with you?" he pondered quietly.

"I am so sorry, my Lord. Please forgive me," Crabbe groveled, squealing like a pig when Tom cast a Slicing Hex on his tongue.

"Save your half-arsed apologies for someone who cares enough to listen," he sneered. "Now since you apparently can't carry out the simplest of requests, I'll have to take care of this mess." Tom flicked his wand and the door slammed shut behind him on the way out. Brushing a stray black hair back into place, he strode down the hall and headed to the Slytherin common room. A band of Hufflepuff girls hastily hid something smoking behind their backs, flushing and shooting him lusty looks as he passed.

Tom sighed. These idiots were always disappointing him. Why must he do everything himself?

She'd taken down two birds with one stone. Grindelwald was dead and Hermione had the Elder Wand, something she hadn't counted on getting until next month. Yesterday, her plan had been a wreck and terribly behind schedule, but now she was far ahead of the task. She just had to destroy the Elder Wand.

Right.

Hermione stared at the wand in her hands thoughtfully. She hadn't been sure whether or not the Killing Curse would work since the castor of Dark spells had to have utterly genuine intentions for it to be successful, but she'd had so much magic there in the midst of the battle that executing the curse had been effortless. Plus, the Elder Wand just seemed to…bend to her, like it was made for her and her only. Casting a spell had never been so easy.

Power had been Dumbledore's weakness in his youth. Was it hers too?

Well, it won't hurt to hold onto it until I find a place to properly dispose of the thing, Hermione reasoned. After all, it might come in handy.

She had just stowed it in the beaded bag under her bed – a temporary residence until she could find a better hiding place – when Elphy suddenly strode in, a teary Rosy Parkinson and Fabia Lynch on her heels. Hermione quickly dropped the mattress, trying to look casual as they came toward her. Taking in their expressions, she did a double take. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"You mean you haven't heard?" Rosy sniffled. "It's Meredith. She just came back from St. Mungo's this morning and they've got her in the hospital wing now. She was attacked!"

"It's just like fifth year," Fabia said darkly.

"Oh relax, drama queens," said Elphy, coming over to Hermione's bed and taking a seat. She fingered the perfectly even ends of her long strawberry-blonde hair, the only outward sign of her unease. "She hasn't woken up yet, so no one knows what happened exactly."

No one except me, Hermione couldn't help thinking.

"But Gregovitch found Meredith and says he was sure someone else had been in the classroom with her-"

"Gregovitch is a dim-witted, handicapped halfblood who is so poor he couldn't afford to live in an outhouse," Elphy said sharply, cutting Rosy off. "He probably thought he heard voices and saw a dancing troll, too-"

"Dippet just doesn't want the Ministry here again," Fabia snapped. "He almost got fired last time-"

"This is not like fifth year, so just shut up and stop talking about it!" Elphy shrieked, shocking the girls into silence. She took a deep breath and recomposed herself, closing her eyes briefly. "You know we're not supposed to."

Fabia scowled. "So what? Tom isn't here now, he won't know-"

"Don't Fab," Rosy warned. "Just drop it."

"But I-"

Elphy and Rosy stared her down and the Slytherin reluctantly quieted. Hermione's heart was about to burst out of her chest. She knew what really happened in the Muggle Studies classroom last night, but she'd promised Riddle she would not tell anyone. Riddle, who had all the Slytherins sworn to secrecy and unwilling to speak of the Chamber of the Secrets, even in utmost confidentiality. Voldemort, who she was to keep from immortality.

Now Hermione had to protect him.

"What if Meredith wasn't attacked?" she said, speaking for the first time, and Fabia's fiery gaze flashed to hers. "I mean, she could've left the dance early and gotten lost, right?"

"It's just not like her," Fabia said, shaking her head. "She was really looking forward to the soiree."

"Lots of people were drinking. Maybe she had too much spiked pumpkin juice and tripped on something," Hermione suggested.

Elphy, relieved there was an explanation that did not involve violence or the Chamber of Secrets, agreed readily. "Meredith is a light-weight," she said, smiling. "I bet she had one too many Butterbeers."

Rosy giggled. "She probably thought Regulus Black was in that classroom and bumped her head trying to go down on him."

"Did you see her go Hermione?" Fabia said, turning to her. "Everyone else was busy dancing. Maybe you saw something?"

All three girls turned hopeful eyes on Hermione.

"No, I didn't," she said apologetically. "I was talking to Slughorn."

"Oh yes, I remember I saw him go up to you," Elphy muttered, frowning. Her eyes suddenly lit. "Wait! Meredith danced with Tom. I bet he knows something-"

"No!" Hermione shouted.

They stared at her.

She blushed, backtracking. "I mean… Tom and I left the dance early, so he couldn't know anything. He was with me."

Fabia and Rosy gasped in shock. Beside Hermione, Elphy smiled cattily. "You and Tom, huh?" she said smugly. "Alone?"

"We talked."

"Ah, of course," Elphy said meaningfully. "You 'talked.'"

Riddle so owes me for this, Hermione thought, glaring at her grinning friend.

"Well, the bitch was probably drunk again," Elphy said resolutely, changing the subject. "Mer does like to get tipsy at functions."

"It still doesn't make sense," Fabia grumbled.

Elphy ignored this and, examining her manicure closely, scowled when she found a chip in the blood-red paint job. "Ugh, my cuticles are horrendous!"

"Why don't we have a girl's night tomorrow?" Rosy said. "Christmas break will be here in a few weeks and after that exams are coming up. It could be fun."

"What about food? Games?"

"I bought sweets at Honeyduke's today," Fabia offered.

"Ooh and my Auntie Helga just sent me a new makeup set!" Rosy chirped, clapping her hands.

"Fine, we'll meet here tomorrow at nine o'clock sharp," Elphy said. Seeing Hermione stand, she looked up. "And where do you think you're going, sneaky witch?" she taunted. "Off to snog a secret beau whose name rhymes with – ahem – fiddle?"

"Ha ha, very funny," Hermione said drily."I didn't eat anything actually, I'm going to run to the Great Hall and see if anything is left."

"Do you want us to come with you?" Elphy asked.

"No thanks, I'll probably be back late," Hermione said, already drifting toward the exit. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"We're having girl's night, don't forget!"

"I won't-"

"Oh Hermione, don't bother with the Great Hall. The food will be all cold," Fabia said suddenly, pulling a silver brush through her short bob and glancing at Hermione over her shoulder with a smirk. "Go straight to the kitchens and tickle the pear on the fruit painting. The house elves will give you whatever you want."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks."

With that, she ducked out the door and went downstairs, avoiding eye contact with anyone on her way out. She wasn't in the mood for small talk and she wasn't going to the Great Hall either.

When Hermione arrived at the Room of Requirement she entered the same room she and Riddle had researched essences in. The towering bookshelves reached the ceilings and were crammed with texts, an arrangement of wooly furniture and a cozy armchair with an afghan hanging over the back waited for her. She sighed. Finally, some peace and quiet.

She fell asleep in the middle of a book that turned out to have no information whatsoever on essences, but was very helpful in distracting her from guilty thoughts of Gellert Grindelwald and Dumbledore. She was drooling on the armrest when the sound of tapping woke her up.

Hermione opened her eyes to find Tom Riddle's incredibly black orbs staring straight into hers. She gasped, skittering back, and snatched up her wand. The corner of his lip curled in an amused smile at her reaction.

"You look so peaceful asleep, like a little child," he commented, further startling her, and pocketed the yew wand he'd been drumming against his thigh. "I almost didn't wake you up. It was quite entertaining to watch you sleep talk."

"I don't sleep talk!" Hermione protested, but faltered as his words sank in. She lowered her wand. "You were watching me?"

"If I said yes?"

Hermione was about to say something snarky in return, but the comeback died on her lips when memories of the last time she'd seen him rushed into her head unwelcome. His smirk widened. "What?"

"Er, nothing," she said hastily, clearing her throat. He sat back. "How did you know I was here?"

"Your friends said you'd gone to the Great Hall to get supper, but considering you hardly show up for meals in the first place I figured you were lying," Riddle said. "I was right."

"Congratulations," Hermione grumbled.

His eyes, guarded by long straight lashes and obsidian secrets, hardened. He cocked his head. "Aren't we snippy this evening?" he said softly. "Perhaps that has to do with your mysterious whereabouts today?"

What? Boggled, she stared at him. He couldn't know she'd left. How did he…? "You mean Hogsmeade?" Hermione replied cautiously.

Riddle tsked. "Don't lie to me, darling, you'll suffer dearly for it," he said, looking genuinely humored by her blatant fib. "Dolohov did see you go into the Hog's Head though, so there's some truth in that. However…he didn't see you come out."

"Dolohov?" Hermione repeated. A second later disbelief, closely followed by anger, coursed through her. "Oh my- did you actually have people stalking me?"

"Stalking is a strong word."

Hermione buried her face in her hands. He really was insane. "Why?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were safe," he said, so earnestly she could have believed him had she not known the horrible things he'd done and what an excellent liar he was. He'd manipulated Meredith into trusting him and look how well that turned out…even if it was an accident. "I keep tabs on those I care about."

Her head whipped up at this. Glaring at him, she scoffed, "You don't care about anyone, Riddle, least of all me."

His jaw clenched. Why was she being so difficult? What did emotions like caring matter for? Couldn't she just answer his questions and shut up about the rest?

"Maybe no one is good enough to be cared for," he replied curtly, trying to control his temper.

"Then why did you have people follow me?" she challenged.

Riddle eyed her, probably contemplating whether to lie or curse her, and surprised Hermione by looking away. He looked frustrated. "You could be good enough," he said, so quietly she hardly heard him at all. His words were like shadows, lost in darkness, only visible in the glare of light. He secretly craved that light.

He wanted to consume all of hers.

"I could…care."

Hermione stayed silent. What was he saying? Was this another ploy, a trick? It could easily have been one, but then he sounded so…truthful. Is he?

"Is that what you want?" he said, looking up at her. "Someone who cares?"

Hermione stared back at him, wide-eyed. "I…I don't know." At her inadequate reply, his brows creased, making his handsomeness increased tenfold. She averted her eyes, huffing. "I mean no, that's not what I want." Not from him. Of course not. Riddle caring for her – that was something a silly schoolgirl would fantasize about and she by no means wanted his cruel affections. He wasn't capable of caring.

How ridiculous.

Despite these thoughts, Hermione watched him curiously and suddenly realized that past his mysterious dark eyes and wry smile Riddle looked exhausted. Without thinking, she said, "Are you tired?"

"No." Hermione rolled her eyes. Of course he would deny it. "I have been looking for you all day though, so if I look it I'm holding you accountable," he added.

"If you're really so curious," she said carefully, "I left Hogsmeade and came back here. I wasn't in the mood to hang out with anyone."

His brows lifted in surprise. "So you were hiding in this hole in the wall the entire day?"

She nodded. "I wanted to be alone." At least that part was true. She still wasn't entirely sure how she felt about murdering someone, no matter how despicable or evil they might be. Murder – andthat's exactly what she did. There was no sugarcoating it.

She was a murderer, just like Riddle. She could no longer say she was any better than him. They had both killed a person for selfish reasons.

"You're a shitty liar," Riddle said abruptly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She looked up at him in shock. "How could you be here all day when you were just in the Slytherin common room with Elphaba Wictz and your other friends? When it isn't possible to Disapparate into Hogwarts? I saw you disappear without a trace from the Hog's Head using an invisibility cloak, Hermione, so you can forget trying to deceive me."

His face was a breath away. "Tell the truth," he hissed.

She kissed him.

Hermione wasn't sure why she did it, except to get him to stop questioning her, from learning the truth, to feel the lips she hadn't been able to stop thinking about since yesterday, to distract him. She cupped his face lightly and he blinked in surprise, but his dark eyes slowly shut after a moment. Riddle pulled her the rest of the way out of the chair, arms fastening around her waist when she landed in his lap and painfully tight.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, magic springing free like a lion from its cage, slamming into his and creating a wild whirlwind of electricity that screamed through the air with his. Suddenly, Hermione felt the inexplicable desire to run her hands through that feather-soft black hair and feel Riddle's skin without the obstacle of robes. Their magic twirled and twisted, making the wanton ache below her belly all the more intense, and she shoved away all thoughts of Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Harry Potter, and responsibilities out of her head as she pressed herself harder against his body. That strange, ravenous hunger brewing behind closed doors inside her roared when he bit her lips demandingly, parting them.

His tongue plunged in, licking over every inch, taking over. His hips roughly shoved into hers and at her gasp he grabbed her head, invading her mouth with more bruising force. Pulling back only so she could yank off his robes. Closing in before she could come back to her senses.

Hermione ran her hands down his back as he kissed her, able to feel every contour and flex of bone much better now, and pulled him tighter against her. She couldn't get enough of him. She wanted to mold their bodies together, she wanted this glorious high of magic to last as long as possible. It was too much, yet she felt like it would never be enough. His magic raced through her veins and over her skin in fiery bursts, visible only to them, and every time he touched her she felt like he was striking a match on her flesh, starting fires all over her body with every kiss and probe of fingers.

Buried under all the lust a part of Hermione screamed what's happening? but right now she was past listening to it. Past caring.

She reached between them, trying to get to his shirt so she could feel more skin, but he pulled back, snaking one long finger down her blouse and popping each button until it hung open. She bit her lip, feeling both nervous and excited as his sharp eyes raked over her, taking in every curve and ridge. "Lay down," he ordered.

Strangely, Hermione didn't mind his bossy tone and did.

He leaned back down to kiss her, tongue following suit, and she successfully undid his shirt this time, tracing his lean chest and abdomen. His eyes hooded as he watched and she skimmed her mouth down the graceful arch of his neck, moaning when his fingers dug into her hips painfully. Suddenly, Riddle swiftly grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. His eyes raked over her greedily and she blushed, straining to cover herself. In response his grip tightened.

"You are a sneaky witch, aren't you?" he said softly. "Trying to distract me with a few kisses." Hermione swallowed and his free hand trailed up her stomach, drawing tingly circles. "You should know you'll have to work much harder to get away with this, darling. I don't forgive easily."

Hermione stared at him uncomprehendingly. "I…I don't know what you-"

"Hush, darling. Don't worry." He smiled, but it was not a normal smile. It was edged with a scary hunger that made fear and anticipation sing through her veins in the sweetest crescendo. "We'll start with a few questions and you'll tell me everything I want to know. Then we'll…play."

"Play?"

"Tsk, tsk, you're already breaking the rules and you'll have to pay for it later," he tutted. However, Riddle seemed delighted by this very slip. "I ask the questions, remember?"

Hermione slowly nodded, although she now wondered what the hell she'd gotten herself into - not that she particularly wanted to get out of it.

"Meredith Smith woke up about an hour ago," Riddle began, "Dippet questioned her and she told him she'd drunk too much and got lost, slipping on some potions in a classroom. You did that, didn't you?"

Hermione faltered, hardly even noticing the fingers clasped so fiercely around her wrists had begun to rub circles into them – persuading her to tell him everything. It worked, for even the magic thrumming in the air wanted her to spill her darkest secrets. "I may have tampered with her memory a little…" she said warily.

"Why?"

"I told you I wouldn't tell anyone-"

"But this was before that," he interrupted impatiently. "Before you ever came to the Head's common room."

Hermione flushed, wanting to look away, to hide the feelings she tried so hard to suppress, but Riddle didn't let her. His magic would come down on her like a steel cage if she tried. "I couldn't let you get caught," she threw out quickly. "I didn't want anyone to catch you."

"And you know it was no accident what happened to Meredith, don't you?"

Hermione trembled. "Yes."

She supposed she'd always known it was too good to be true for Riddle to regret, to lament almost killing a girl who had been in his way. She just wanted a reason to be able to kiss him without feeling so bad about it. It was selfish of her, but she couldn't help it, and now that they were practically on the same level, why bother trying to find something that wasn't there? Why not give into desire for a little while? These were thoughts her magic egged on, for it liked very much to feel the power constantly radiating from Riddle, like heat coming off the blazing sun. It wanted to break Dumbledore's rules, to accomplish the task in a different way. She could do it.

Could she?

Triumph glowed in that perfect smile, immaculate and dangerous as the rest of his illusion. "I knew it. You don't care about Meredith at all. You just didn't want me to get in trouble-"

"I didn't want you to murder a person," Hermione said harshly.

Riddle stared at her silently, making her think of a beautiful picture with razor-sharp edges, of thorny roses that at a touch pricked you sharp. She bit her lip. "And now," he said quietly, curving his hand around her neck so gently he might have been embracing a lover instead of making a chokehold, "Are you afraid I'll kill you?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered.

He grinned wolfishly. "Aren't you smart?" Riddle cooed. "I'd be afraid too, if I were you." He let her go and Hermione would have kneaded her sore throat, but her hands were pinned above her head.

"One more question," he said and a thrill of exhilaration raced through him when Hermione squirmed, looking at him nervously. "Are you a virgin?"

"What?"

"I think you heard me the first time."

"Y-you can't just ask me that!" Hermione stammered, flustered.

"Of course I can," he said, "I can ask any question I want and you'll answer it, Hermione – because I say so."

"No."

His eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"That's the answer!" Hermione said, glaring at him. "No, I'm not a virgin."

At this, a strange look passed over Riddle's face and he cocked his head, staring down at her for a long time before speaking again. All he said, however, was "Really?"

She fidgeted. "Well…yes."

Of all things, he looked displeased and glanced away from her, frowning. It'd be too invasive to ask to whom she'd given her virginity to and Tom would then be inclined to track said person down and murder them in a very inhumane manner, so instead of asking, he said, "How was it?"

"I…how was what?"

Riddle smirked. "The sex?" he drawled.

"Uh…"

He cocked a brow at her inadequate response. "I take it the experience was unremarkable?"

"Well, er." Hermione flushed, clearing her throat, and Tom noted with pleasure that the pink stain on her cheeks ended halfway down her chest. "I don't really have anything to compare to… er…" At his increasing amusement, her anger sparked and she retorted hotly, "Well, how was it for you, hm?"

He shrugged. "I'll tell you when I find out."

Hermione stared at him, stunned. Tom Riddle was a…virgin?

Catching her look, the corner of his lips curved and he kissed her lingeringly. "I do intend to find out, for your information," he said, pulling away and making her stomach flip. "Which reminds me…you still haven't made up for your behavior from earlier, have you?"

Her eyes widened. "I don't-"

"It's simple. You'll do exactly as I say and won't ask any questions," Riddle said, sitting back and finally releasing her. She rubbed the purpling marks on her wrists. "Do you understand?"

Hermione's eyes warred between him and the door out of the Room of Requirement. As if he knew exactly what she was thinking, he snatched up her chin and forced her to look him dead on. "You don't want to leave, trust me," he said softly, "and if you try to run you're going to be hurt very badly."

She stiffened and his hands coursed down her sides like running water, melting a little more of her rationality with each passing second. Her eyelids fluttered. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

Transfixed as Eve is by the serpent, Hermione shook her head.

"And you'll listen to me."

"Yes," she said, shivering as his lips ran down her neck.

"Good girl," he breathed. "Now kiss me."

Gently, she put her lips on his and gave him a sweet brush, licking her mouth as she pulled away. It was easier than she thought it would be to do as Riddle said and the approval in his gaze gave her a rush of satisfaction, too. She didn't feel nearly as bad about any of this as she should have…

"Again," he commanded. "Longer."

When Hermione kissed him this time his hands came up to hold her head firmly in place and he parted her mouth with his, staring directly into her eyes as he blew a stream of his magic down her windpipe. Her eyes rolled back as it swept through her like a sugar rush, making the world spin for a wild, frightening minute that seemed to last forever.

It was euphoric.

"More," she gasped, lips colder and tingling from numbness when he stopped. Her body felt heavier without Riddle's magic filling it. "More, please."

He traced the crescents under her eyes, delighted by the raw hunger he saw in Hermione's expression. It would only be a little while longer until she was his completely. "You can have more," he murmured, "but you'll have to give me some too."

She blinked. "You mean, give you my…magic?"

"Just a little," he said, trailing his fingers down her arm. She was shocked to find even his touch felt more electrifying than usual. "Or a lot, it's your choice."

"Will it hurt?" she said cautiously and Riddle laughed, the foreign sound rolling off his lips like a haunting overture.

"Not at all. It will feel good, in fact. The more you give me the more...poignant the sensations."

"How do I do it?" Hermione asked curiously.

"I'll show you." He inched closer and she copied his movements, until their lips were flushed together. This kiss felt more intimate than any other. "I'll open my mouth," he told her, "and you'll concentrate on gathering your magic until you can literally taste it buzzing on your tongue, then you simply…let it out."

"Okay," Hermione whispered, although she wasn't sure she could do it on the first try. What if she messed up?

Riddle parted his lips. She squeezed her eyes shut and called on the energy racing through her like an athlete training for the marathon, forcing it to calm and gather. It was similar to summoning the Founder's Magic, except easier because it came from within herself and not the school grounds. She focused on that throbbing power and just like Riddle said, she tasted it. It tasted of cedar and smoke, blood and sunshine, fire and ice, the spring tide and moonlight – ultimately, it was almost as delicious as Riddle's magic.

Softly, she blew.

At the first lick of her magic, Riddle readily sealed their lips until she thought he might never pull away, eating her magic up and letting it whisper through his senses, strengthening him. It ended too soon and roughly, he said, "More?"

"More," Hermione agreed.

A gust of his magic plowed through her in the next second, consuming, and the room seemed to turn inside out around them. She did not have to struggle to hold all of that thrumming power in, for it seeped into her very chemistry, all too eager to be inside her. Fingers shaking, she clawed Riddle closer, needing more, somehow even hungrier than before.

"Don't be greedy, darling," he scolded, but there was a smile in his voice. "Only a little more or else one of us will lose consciousness."

She moaned, sending another ripple of magic his way, and it zapped through him like a bolt of lightning. They both went rigid and time slowed down, the ceiling lights flickering in time with their suddenly sluggish heartbeats, breaths loud in the deafening silence, eyes glazed and hooded. Hermione's head fell back and his eyes latched onto her hair; he could see every single strand of it tangling, bouncing, shadows subtly shifting with the light and swinging behind her shoulders…

Then time caught up with them.

Hermione didn't move – she didn't really think she could, her entire body felt like it had been shot with a triple dose of Novocain – and beside her Riddle was bathing in the aftereffects. Lazily, he laid back and folded his arms behind his head. He looked like sin in sex form.

"What the hell was that?" Hermione mumbled.

"Better than your first time."

She would've slapped him if she could lift her arms.

He glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall and sighed, rubbing his forehead. "It's past curfew," Riddle muttered. "We have to leave."

"Leave? I can hardly move," Hermione said disbelievingly.

"Then I'll drag you back to your dormitory," he quipped and leaned down, swiping up his shirt. A broad expanse of fair skin and taut shoulder blades disappeared underneath it.

"Did we just get magically high?" Hermione wondered aloud, sitting up.

He scoffed. "Addicts wish they could get that kind of rush off wiz crack." And what they'd done was much more than a druggie's trip to cloud nine.

"Well then, what was it?" she demanded.

"I think it has slipped your little mind that you don't get to ask questions, so I'm not inclined to answer you," Riddle said, turning to her with her shirt in his hands. He held it as she slid her arms into the sleeves. "However, I can tell you it won't fry any of your brain cells."

He swiftly buttoned her shirt as she contemplated this, smoothing out the creases and folds in a very OCD fashion. Hermione bit her lip. Hesitantly, she said, "Can we, um, do it again?"

He quirked a brow.

"You know," she hedged, embarrassed, "share."

"That's what you call it? Sharing?" he said, an indiscernible smile on his lips.

"Well, you won't tell me what it really is so-"

"The answer is yes," he interrupted. "We'll…share."

Hermione nodded and flicked the golden Head Boy badge on his robes, avoiding his eyes. In turn he played with her hair. The contact strangely…calmed her.

"I've figured out what you want," he said suddenly.

"Oh really?" she teased. "And what is that?"

He smirked. "Me."

Hermione had been preparing to immediately disagree, but his answer made her freeze. She, want Tom Riddle? That was… preposterous, wrong! her brain automatically supplied, but no, this was a lie – and Hermione really wasn't a very good liar.

He was right. No, more than right, for she liked him very much and had started desiring him long before tonight, before he even kissed her. Was it because of his corruption? His mental instability? Or was it just his physical allure? Maybe it was all three, or perhaps there was more to Tom Riddle than she gave him credit for and it was this that called to the very chemistry of her being, drawing her to him like a moth to a flame.

Or maybe it was that darkness in his eyes.

But what of the task? Then again...maybe Dumbledore had been wrong and Tom Riddle wasn't meaningless evil. Maybe she could do more than prevent his immortality. What if she could bring out that unseen side of Riddle he kept so viciously guarded? What if there was another way to save the Wizarding World, a different task?

What would Dumbledore do?

Was Dumbledore's opinion even the right one anymore?

She needed to think.

They stepped out of the Room of Requirement and into the dim corridor, which was dead silent except for the distant sound of patrolling Prefects' footsteps and snoring portraits. "Try not to get caught sneaking through the halls, will you?" Riddle said.

"Oh please, I've never been caught before," Hermione sniffed.

He chuckled. "Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

She eyed him thoughtfully, her mind a millions miles away from Gregovitch and possible detention. A first time for everything? How fitting.

"Yes," she finally said. "I suppose there is."

On Sunday morning Hermione skipped breakfast. She had heard exactly what the Daily Prophet – and every other source of journalism on the planet – was headlining: Dumbledore defeats Grindelwald! and on page two, paragraph three: Mysterious Cloaked Figure ends notorious mass murderer, Gellert Grindelwald, for good.

Hermione couldn't face a hall of students buzzing over the news that would go down in history, not when Meredith was still in the infirmary, not when she was the Mysterious Cloaked Figure who murdered a person and snogged Tom Riddle hours later. Grindelwald had been an evil person, but a person nonetheless – and she was a killer. Ever since she'd come to the past the task had been in shambles, but what if all of that was for a reason? What if it needed to be reevaluated, reconsidered? What if Dumbledore didn't know it all?

She ascended the steep, spiraling staircase and reached the top of the Astronomy Tower out of breath, although the freshness in the air soon appeased her. Staring up past the round underside of the roofing spire into the sky, a spinning kaleidoscope of sunlight and white flurries, she was reminded of the inside of a cotton candy machine. But what did a pretty blizzard matter when the future was so bleak, so grey?

"When I dream, I dream of your lips.
When I dream, I dream of your kiss…"

Placebo was one of her favorite Muggle bands and Hermione's family had loved to hear her sing for them on holidays and at little gatherings. They'd even gone so far as to get her into singing lessons, although those had diminished at the end of her sixth year when she and Ron determined to leave with Harry to help him find Voldemort's Horcruxes. When Hermione Obliviated her family of her existence she'd had no reason to sing, not anymore… not until now.

Hermione's words turned into silence. Her heart felt heavy. She used to picture Ron's face when she sang those lyrics – at least before that awful Gryffindor house party – but now she envisioned someone very different. He had wavy hair and eyes black as onyx, a soul even darker, a yawning pit where his heart should have been. Then again, there were many things she didn't know about Riddle. She'd always assumed the worst of the young Dark Lord, but what if everything wasn't what it seemed? What if she didn't know anything at all? What if Dumbledore was wrong? That changed everything.

It occurred to Hermione that it was possible to recover all the magical objects of death, destroy them, and divert Tom Riddle from the destruction of his soul without following the rules. It would even be easier to do it if she were close to him, if she could keep an eye on him without anyone becoming suspicious, the least of all Voldemort himself.

Maybe it was time she found out who Tom Riddle really was.

A black cat flitted over the white fields hundreds of feet below and Hermione started, straining to see it streak through the snow shower. Her thoughts raced. Was it a death omen? An Animagus? Or just a mangy black cat? More importantly, where was it going?

But within seconds the cat had vanished into the blizzard in a flurry of knotted fur and Hermione was left alone in the cold, wondering if it had ever been there at all.

AN: Wooooo. *fans self* Things got a little racy there, huh? Of course, this is a M-rated fic, and I don't know about you, but Tom Riddle can trap me in the Room of Requirement anytime... death threats or not.

Well, moving on, please review and share your thoughts!