AN: SO, I saw in the reviews (which were all lovely; thanks everyone, y'all are the best) that we've got some hard feelings brewing for Hermione. There's nothing wrong with that and the point her character is at now, it's completely understandable. I'm mad at her too. Her balls have totally gone Disparatus! on us. Except not really.

Don't worry, everyone, the tough Hermione we know and love is still in there. There is a plan. There is a plot. There is vengeance and lemons.

At the moment, she's OOC. Factors contributing to that are, naturally, Tom Riddle, as well as the magical bond. She's being manipulated by an excellent manipulator. The wool has been pulled over her eyes, etc. I could go on forever. *cheesy grin* But there is a character in the story who is onto this ploy! I'm not going to give anything away, so I'll end that there. If any of you can't stick around for Hermione's loopy period, it's ok. I will miss you dearly.

But if you want to buckle your seatbelts and stay, here's the chapter. :)

The most revered of Slytherin girls were chatting in the common room when Fabia Lynch rushed in, packed trunks in hand and eyes wide with disbelief. "Girls, girls!" she cried. "You won't believe what I've just heard."

Elphy sighed. "I knew this was coming," she said, putting down a studded nail file. "Abraxas got some ditty Hufflepuff pregnant, didn't he?"

"What? No!" Fabia's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did he?"

"Fab, focus," Hermione interjected. "What did you have to tell us?"

"Oh right!" The Slytheriness, once again, lit up like a pixie on too much aerial dust. She perched on a leather couch and glanced around the bustling common room twice before speaking in a low, confidential whisper. "It has begun."

The girls exchanged looks. It seemed Fabia had finally gone off the deep end.

Delicately, Elphy said, "Sweetie, what are you going on about? Are you…ah…experimenting again?"

She looked indignant. "Of course not! I'm talking about marriage, you dolt."

"You're joking," Rosy said, hands flying up to clutch her chest. "This early?"

"Who?" asked Elphy.

"I don't get it." Hermione frowned. "What's this got to do with marriage?"

The girls stared at her in disbelief for a solid sixty seconds. Luckily, Elphy came to her rescue just as she was starting to feel uncomfortable.

"Hermione…at Hogwarts, in every class of seventh year girls there are the few who go on to get jobs and degrees – or something useless like that," she began, as if a professor lecturing her pupil on a very trying subject. Hermione raised a brow. "These girls are the ones whose hand has not been asked in marriage and must support themselves until they find husbands (quite sad, really). However, if you have a family who cares for you, a decent reputation, and play your cards right, then a marriage will be planned for you by your parents."

Hermione stared at Elphy, stunned. This…excitement…was over arranged marriage?

"We're excused from school to attend balls, parties, socials, and such functions where we meet potential suitors," Rosy added, a dreamy smile on her face. "It will be marvelous. I've been looking forward to this since first year."

"Usually, the first engagement of the school year means the rest are soon to follow," Elphy said matter-of-factly. "Without a doubt we'll all be receiving a multitude of invitations from our owls when we come back from vacation. If you're lucky, your fiancée allows you to finish the school year. There are the few girls who are pulled out however."

Pulled out of school? Hermione thought, horrified. For a husband? But what about N.E.W.T.s? And what of OWLS? Who the hell was running this senseless bedlam?

Fabia clapped her hands in delight. "And you'll never guess who the first engagement of the school year is between!"

"No, we won't," Elphy said, turning the full force of her bewitching – and sometimes arctic cold – gaze on the Slytheriness. Her smile was brittle. "So spill already."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Wictz." Fabia rolled her eyes and cast a Silencing Charm, the way Hermione had taught her, and leaned forward. In turn, the other Slytherins scooted to the edge of their seats. "The first engagement," she whispered dramatically, "is to Meredith Smith."

Elphy's jaw dropped.

"And who?"Rosy hissed. "Meredith and who?"

Fabia's smile was downright fiendish. "Herald Smith, her cousin."

"Second or third?"

"First."

Rosy screeched like a hyena, falling back on the sofa and clutching her stomach in mirth. "I can't believe this!" she screamed.

"I would've never guessed she'd be the first to go either," Fabia giggled, "but I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Smith were just desperate. Apparently, her grandmother Elmibah was furious she lost that locket and initially wanted to marry her off to some rich uncle just to make her suffer. But Mr. Smith wouldn't let her."

"I bet that locket didn't even belong to Slytherin. She probably got it from some local jeweler," jeered Rosy.

Hermione couldn't believe it. Meredith was engaged? Even worse, she was engaged to her cousin. Hermione knew, of course, that Purebloods were known for interbreeding, but this was just…horrifying.

And all of this was because of the locket. Because of her.

The guilt, bitterer than bile, was choking.

"Excuse me," she said, standing up. "I have to go get my trunk."

The girls waved her on and Hermione quickly went upstairs. Her trunk was already packed and filled with clothes, Christmas presents, and the beaded bag she always kept handy – just in case. Hermione walked to her bedside, which was made for once since they would be away for the week, and bent down to retrieve her trunk from underneath it. She paused, closing her eyes against the image of Meredith Smith in a bathroom stall crying over her own wedding invitation.

Meredith's head snapped up and her shocked, reddened eyes met Hermione's a split-second before she could duck.

Hermione had run away, just as Tom did the night he left Meredith bleeding to death in that classroom. Their intentions were different, but did it matter? Someone had been harmed. He hurt Meredith Smith physically; Hermione destroyed her emotionally – and even if she hadn't magicked her into a person who was never mean or disobedient, Meredith had been replaced in the house of snakes by the new girl with fancy tricks and a clever tongue.

Helena Ravenclaw was right. She had changed.

She had become someone terrible.

Hermione made to go, but doubled back when she found Meredith herself blocking the way. There were dark circles under the girl's eyes, hollow as Death's, and she had a queer smile on her face. The runes on Hermione's wrists prickled at the sight.

"Meredith," she said, surprised. "Um…did you need something?"

Meredith shook her head. Her long black hair, beautiful and lustrous a month prior, was now dull and frizzy. "Can't bother anyone with needs," she murmured. "Can't bother. Can't be cruel. Can't breathe. Can't feel. Ha ha."

Goosebumps broke over Hermione's arms as Meredith worked herself into a hysterical fit, bell-like laughter fragmented by loud snorts and cackles. "Meredith," she said, trying to bring the girl back, but she only laughed harder.

Hermione stepped forward, steeling herself. Make this right, she thought, taking the girl's hand gently, and Meredith stiffened all over. Recognizing the touch. Struggling to remember where from and why it made her feel so afraid, but only seeing a puddle of potions as the floor of the Muggle Studies classroom spun toward her. Blood, skull splitting open like a frothy-white egg-

A shudder wracked Meredith's body and she fell to her knees, yanking Hermione down with her. Emotions struggled to break past magic and Meredith's hold on her unconsciously tightened, nails digging harshly into the back of her hands. "I'm so sorry," Hermione said softly. "Please, I want to fix this. Listen to me-"

"You reek of saltwater," breathed Meredith, for she had caught a lock of Hermione's hair and given it a deep sniff. "And Dark magic."

Hermione blinked. "Saltwater?"

"You drowned me," Meredith recalled, words barely coherent through her stiff lips. "You…or the ocean…or the magic… Maybe all three." Her eyes rolled to the right side of her head, only the whites visible, and she trembled harder. "The punch smelled so good, like candy ribbons and Chanel perfume. …Elphy loves that scent. I get it for her every Christmas, even though it's Muggle… We were going to run away together after school, to Paris, but that was before you showed up… Then everything ch-changed…" A sob burst out of her.

"Meredith, I take back what I said before." Hermione grasped Meredith's hands desperately. She summoned her magic, which was not at its strongest because Tom was so far away but contended to answer her call. She stared into Meredith's foggy gaze forcefully. "I don't want you to change. Be bothersome or mean or whatever you feel like being. Forget what happened on the night at Sluggy's soiree. It-it's a memory best lost and forgotten."

She waited, watching Meredith hopefully. A minute went by and she faltered. Did it work?

A memory best lost and forgotten.

"Get off me, Granger."

Hermione started, surprised by the venom in the Slytheriness's words. "You're alright?" she asked.

"What? Of course I am." Meredith got to her feet, brushing off her robes and sneering down at her. "What are you smiling at, filth?"

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly, but couldn't take the grin off her face. Meredith's eyes slanted suspiciously.

"If this is about my engagement, I do not need your sympathies, Granger. I am perfectly content," she sniffed, pulling on a heavy wolf fur cloak and fastening the pearled clasp. "Stay away from me," she added menacingly.

She's definitely back to normal, Hermione thought, relieved and a little disappointed Meredith Smith hadn't come back nicer. Then again, maybe some things just never changed…

Maybe some things were even better left unchanged.

Far away from the castle, hundreds of students boarded the Hogwarts Express, a shiny beacon sputtering steam and gleaming bright crimson and black in the thick fog. Albus Dumbledore, the Transfigurations Professor, watched over the children as they boarded, not missing it when Head Boy Tom Riddle stepped onto the train. His heart weighed down his breast at the sight.

Hermione Granger had vouched for Tom's innocence, yes, but this made him all the more suspicious the two teenagers were hiding something. Hiding something dangerous and unpredictable he'd have to stop before anyone else could be hurt.

He had to get to Hermione before Tom did. Before it was too late.

Hermione struggled through the aisles of the train, dragging her heavy luggage after her. Her travelling cloak was stiff with frost and she'd already said goodbye to her friends, who failed to persuade her to sit with them.

Admittedly, she was excited for vacation. Months ago, the very notion of being alone with the young Dark Lord for so long would have instilled her with terror, but now she only looked forward to solving more of his mystery, to completing the task her way and without Dumbledore's biased opinions or misconceptions messing things up, to finding out where Tom was taking them. He hadn't given her so much as a grain of information and the suspense had been driving her utterly crazy with curiosity all week.

Huffing, Hermione squeezed past some burly Quidditch players and the trolley woman, who offered her some cranberry muffins she politely declined. She slammed the door of the compartment back, catching her breath - that trunk was ridiculously heavy – and the dark-haired wizard inside looked up at her entrance.

"Took you long enough," Tom said, smirking when she glared at him. He waved his wand at her trunk and the suitcase floated up to join his on the shelves lining the small chamber.

"What's that?" she asked, nodding at the paper in his hands. She pulled off her cloak, mitts, and robes, shaking snow out of her hair.

"A map," he said evasively and slid said map into his pocket. "Sit down."

She rolled her eyes at the command, but did so on the comfortable bench across from him, kicking off her soaked boots and casting a Heating Charm on her feet. Warmth immediately spread from her ankles to her toes in a pleasant balm. She sighed.

"What are you doing?" Tom said across from her, arching a brow.

She blinked. "Um…sitting?"

"I see that," he said in a show of exaggerated patience, as if he thought her slow, "but what are you sitting all the way over there for?" He patted his thigh, a smug smile surfacing when her eyes widened. "We're alone now," he said, velvety voice nearly a purr. "You don't have to stay so far away, darling."

"Oh. Right," she said and went up to him, biting her lip. "I…I forgot."

"It's alright," he murmured, "so long as you don't forget again." He took her hand lightly, unbuttoning the cuff at her wrist and pushing up the sleeve. The sound of students boarding the train was ongoing.

Hermione tensed, waiting for Tom to see the runes patterned on her skin and stop, but he only traced his long fingers over her veins, touch light and tickling – skirting the inky designs.

"You…you know?" she said, stunned.

"Of course." He glanced up at her, eyes dark like a crypt and tinged with amusement. "I've seen you naked more times than I can count, haven't I?"

She looked at him sourly. "Ditto."

He snickered and his lips followed the path his fingers had made, skimming over her skin like a breeze. He slipped his free hand around her waist, pulling her into his lap and dropping her arm. His mouth moved from there to her neck, tongue slipping out to lick a wet trail to the juncture of her jaw, where he sucked a swell of skin into his mouth. A throaty moan escaped Hermione and she pressed her thighs together as a burning heat flared up between them, making her wriggle.

He slowly unbuttoned her blouse, hands sweeping over her ribcage greedily once it hung open. "Lean back."

"Say please," she said breathlessly.

"Please." He was scowling as he said it, but she grinned and did, laying her head on his shoulder.

The train let out a piercing whistle as it started to move.

His hands cupped her breasts over her bra, pushing the mounds together and working them. Her eyes flickered shut and her teeth sank into her lip harder, hands clenching the fabric of his trousers as she struggled to keep quiet. His hips started to move against her bottom and she rocked back against him, breathing heavily.

"Make as much noise as you want, darling," he breathed, moving one hand down her stomach and underneath her skirt. "I cast Silencing Wards just so you could."

His finger slid over her sopping wet slit and a loud, guttural moan ripped out of Hermione. He laughed quietly, pinching her clit. "Do you like this?" he whispered. "Would you like me to finger fuck you on the Hogwarts Express?"

"Y-yes."

A finger slipped inside her and she cried out, arching in his lap.

"Yes what?" he sang.

Magic clogged her brain. "Yes, Tom," she gasped.

He smirked. "You catch on so fast." His lips slid over her throat, kissing softly. "Hold onto me," he commanded, then as an afterthought added "please" and Hermione reached her arms up behind her, wrapping them around his neck. His pitch-black eyes met lust-hazed ones.

Two more fingers plunged inside her, stretching her, and she bucked, chest thrown in the air, bottom slamming down against his member. His fingers pushed deeper inside her and Hermione grappled for something to hold onto, grabbing his hair and pulling it viciously as he moved his digits in and out of her at a cruel pace – just fast enough to make the sensations delicious, but dragging out the nerve-tingling approach to her release.

"Tom, please…"she moaned.

"You're dripping wet," he tutted, nearly pulling out his fingers completely before slamming all three back in. She gasped. "Naughty little witch," he laughed, enjoying her torment. "I can't take you anywhere, now can I?"

Hermione's breath hitched and she clenched around his digits, rotating around them. "P-Peeping Tom," she retorted between gasps.

"I think I'll take pity on you, because you're just so cute," he said, laying a wet kiss on her perspiring cheek. Relief burst through her at the notion of a break in this sexual madness. "However, you'll have to compensate me."

"Y-yes," she panted through wanton moans, forehead knotted in concentration. "Compensation – got it."

"But how?" he wondered, pausing, and even his fingers stopped their delicious ministrations while lodged so deep inside her, although she tried to move against them. Tom's arm pinned her in place. Frustrated, she groaned. "Tell me how you'll make this up to me, Hermione."

"Um…I'll…you know…"

"Actually, I don't know." He was laughing at her now. And he still wasn't moving. She was going to make him pay for this later. "Explain it to me."

She gritted her teeth. "I'll…I'll suck you off."

Bingo. "Hm, sounds tempting," he said, nuzzling her neck. There must have been a god, because his fingers started to pump in and out of her again. Hermione grinded into his hand shamelessly. "Give me details."

She swallowed. She tried to remember those late night eroticas Elphy and her other friends had made her listen to them read as a prank, barely recalling the naughtier passages through her orgasmic haze. "I'll…I'll take you in my hand and stroke you-"

"Stroke my cock," he corrected, voice a little rougher and fingers increasing in pace. "Use the correct terminology, darling."

"Ung. Right, I'll stroke your cock…" He closed his eyes. "…and then I'll lick the-" Gasp. "-th-the head and take your cock in my mouth…and suck you…" He added another finger, stretching her walls further, and she choked, crying out raggedly.

"And?" he prompted, licking her neck as a lazy cat laps up the last drop of cream.

"I'll swallow everything," she ground out, repeating his words from weeks ago, "and suck you hard."

"Fuck." His fingers abruptly shoved in as far as they could go, curling sharply, and Hermione climaxed, gasping silently and floating on cloud nine for a blissful moment. Tom extracted his fingers from her sex and grasped her by the hair, catching the last of her cry in a rough, hard kiss.

He pulled away too soon, putting her hand over the hardness showing through his trousers. "Now," he growled.

Hungry, lust-driven magic rattled the shelves as Hermione sank to her knees on the hardwood floor and unzipped his trousers. He gripped the bench, knuckles whitening when she pulled out his hard member. An oath flew from him when she took him in, the tip of his cock disappearing inside her mouth, quickly followed by more of him. He nearly went off the edge when she glanced up at him, brown eyes big and so sinless he wanted to devour, to fuck her right there.

"Faster."

She complied and he started thrusting into her mouth, her moans humming around his cock and bringing him closer to release. She stroked her hand up and down his shaft, the other massaging his balls. He grabbed her hair, closing his eyes, and then he was coming, Parseltongue unconsciously hissing out his lips.

She pulled back.

Tom dragged her up onto the bench beside him, laying back against the wall and lazily kissing her. "I can hardly wait to be inside you," he murmured, with a little smile. "You'll make a fine Christmas present, I think."

"I suppose this is your idea of being romantic?"

"Tomorrow, we'll make the last link in the magical bond," he said and paused to kiss her deeply, tongue sweeping back and forth across hers. She sighed. "It will make it permanent and irreversible. And then I'll give you your present."

As he bent down to flutter kisses down her cheek, Dumbledore's words suddenly resonated through Hermione's head unwelcome: 'An old friend of mine once tried to persuade me to bind our magic. This friend was…charming, to say the least, and very manipulative. This friend wanted me to bind our power, 'to make us stronger' so he put it – but he really only wanted all of it for himself.'

He was wrong though.

Wasn't he?

"Go to sleep," Tom said quietly, rubbing her back. "I don't want you to be tired when we get off the train."

"Where are we going?" she said, hoping he might tell her now that they were almost there.

"The train station," he replied, and she scowled. "Enough questions," he added authoritatively, "I want you to sleep now, Hermione."

"Sleep? I'm not that tired." She walked her fingers down his chest teasingly, toward the-Peen-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named zone. He caught her wrist.

"Hermione."

"Oh alright, I was just kidding." When he continued to stare at her expectantly she sighed, put her head down and closed her eyes.

Before she knew it she was dreaming.

Hermione found herself lying in an endless bed of flowers. Their petals were white as ocean foam, framing a deep yellow center that sprouted gold like a fountain; a champagne starburst that crumbled into dust when she picked it.

Suddenly, she was not sitting among the most delicate of flowers but staring into a crystal-blue river. She touched the pool and the turquoise water shimmered, an image bubbling to the surface under her fingertips. It was Tom Riddle, dark-haired and handsome with his aristocratic features that seemed to have been wrought from marble and carved by a diamond-edged knife.

"Tom?" she tried to say, but no sound came out of her mouth. "Tom?"

A hand rested on her shoulder and Hermione turned around, relief spreading through her fast at the sight of him standing before her. She took his extended hand and he pulled her to her feet, smiling at her. His gaze shone bright red, but she didn't care. Tom was here. He'd heard her call.

"Come into the water with me," he said. "It's warm."

"It's warm?"

He nodded and slipped his shirt off over his head, shucking it aside. Hermione blushed, unable to take her eyes off his lean chest. He winked at her and stepped into the river, which had seemed miles deep a moment ago but now ended at his waist, much shallower than she'd initially thought it.

"Hermione," he called. "Come now, darling."

"Now, darling," she agreed and waded in.

The water came to her neck but she swam toward him, and he snatched her up in his arms when she was close enough. His arms were constricting as a boa's chokehold, yet she still wanted to feel his lips on hers, feel him move and thrust inside her, filling her to the brim.

His eyes reminded her of blood.

The water turned crimson with it and Hermione gasped, grabbing onto him when the thick liquid started to suck them down. It stained her dress, the gossamer gown she hadn't remembered putting on, beautiful as heartbreak and the creamy white of those flowers.

What was happening?

The runes glowed bright on her wrists and a bone necklace floated by on the bank, catching her eye and frightening her. Her heart beat fast. They were sinking, they were going to drown and die.

A man, his hair long and thick with mud, hollered at them from the shore, and the pretty woman in braids and a chiffon gown Hermione thought she recognized from somewhere merrily kicked her feet in the bloody river. The mangy black cat, wax-green eyes hungry, posed to pounce.

"Now, darling," Tom whispered. "Shut your eyes."

But it was too late and overhead the moon burst like a grape as the murky red closed over, swallowing them up in a tidal wave of ugly…

Hermione's eyes flew wide open. A cheery compartment and the red leather benches of the Hogwarts Express greeted her, as well as Tom, who was retrieving their luggage from the shelves.

"Good, you're awake," he said, donning a winter cloak. "Get dressed quickly. The train will come into the station any minute now."

Hermione reached for her things, movements slow and groggy as what remained of her dream slithered away into the recesses of her conscience, lost to a bloody river. A shudder shivered through her.

"Cold?" Tom asked. He sat down and zipped her coat up the rest of the way. "I could cast a Heating Charm."

"No, I'm not cold." She yawned. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About two hours," he replied. "You were sleeping like the dead. Didn't even move when we hit a thunderstorm."

"Oh." The train squealed to a halt, the sound of wheels grinding gravel and digging up earth screeching around them for a few moments. She picked up her suitcase. "Are we going to a motel or something?" she said, as they maneuvered through the exciting bustle of students also pouring off the Hogwarts Express.

"No, we'll be staying at…finer quarters than some cheap room," he answered with more than a hint of smugness. She pursed her lips. Why wouldn't he just tell her where they were going, for Merlin's sake? All she had gathered from his little hints at their agenda was that they were going to some swanky place, not staying in a Muggle inn, and were to complete the final binding. She needed to find out more. She needed to figure out what he was doing.

She needed to get her hands on that map.

"You've Disapparated before, I assume?" he said when they at last arrived outside, dark eyes briefly glancing up at the slate-grey sky.

"Yes." She followed his gaze. Ominous clouds heavy with rain brewed powerfully above them. "Are we leaving by-?"

A hook pulled her backward by her navel, cutting off the rest of her words and yanking them through a tube two sizes too small. Hermione's ears popped unpleasantly before they were spat back out onto pavement not minutes later with a resounding CRACK! She groaned, stomach churning. Side-along Disapparation was horrendous.

"Ready to pillage the village?" Tom chuckled beside her.

Village? Hermione looked around and found they were indeed in a small, quaint town. They were also the only civilians in sight, standing on a narrow bend lit by streetlamps and covered in a rug of muddy slush. Their breaths fogged in the crisp air and Tom glanced both ways down the barren avenue before retaking her hand and going left. She stayed close when they passed an alleyway filled with flickering shadows, the scent of gin, and rusty laughter.

The few shops out here in no man's land had gone out of business, their windows blacked out and barred by wood planks to keep away thieves; that is, all except for one shifty pub, which stood – or kind of slanted, seeing as half the roof had caved in under the burden of a colossal fallen tree branch – lonely and fragile, as if it would buckle at the slightest shift of wind. They came to a halt outside it and Tom tapped the doorknob with his wand, unlocking it. She cautiously followed him inside.

The interior wasn't any better than the outside. The bar was dimly-lit, set with moth-eaten furniture, and, of course, plenty of beer which presently went around to raucous customers. No one looked up at their arrival and Hermione was glad. She didn't want to be on the other end of these men's wandering eyes and crude jokes. Their bulging biceps, yellowed teeth, and drawn, soot-smeared faces were enough of an imposing combination alone.

Tom didn't seem to pick up on this.

"Get a booth. I'll be back with drinks," he said, heading to the bar to order drinks. Hermione stared after him, a little miffed he didn't consider what could happen to an unescorted girl at a shady bar in 1943 England and still annoyed he wouldn't tell her anything. With a heavy sigh, she started to search for seats regardless. A table in the back with three chairs and no apparent leftover food or stale liquor soaking the surface caught her eye.

Good enough.

She walked back there quickly, ignoring it when a group of factory workers wolf whistled and made rude gestures at her. "'ey, love!" one shouted, leaning forward to catch her wrist. "Want te warm a real gent's bed tenight?"

"No thank you," Hermione said, snatching her hand back. The men sniggered.

"Gotcha self a feisty one there, eh, Leo…"

She sat down, avoiding eye contact with any other patrons, and impatiently waited for Tom to get back. She didn't take off her cloak either, although it was plenty warm in the pub. Hermione couldn't help but notice how out of place Tom looked here with his pressed robes and striking good looks. The customers eating in the din stared.

Suddenly, the chair across from her screeched over the wooden floor and Hermione looked up to find one of the men from before plop down in it. Calluses roughened the palms of his large hands and he smiled at her goofily, eyes cloudy with drink and mischief.

"Hello," she said warily.

"Name's Tony," he announced, thrusting forward a meaty hand. She didn't shake it. "Alright, alright, be ah-loof, it's fine." He adjusted his newsy boy cap. "I always like me a good chase."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Tony?"

"Well, it's not often we sees us a fine girl like yourself in here," he said, winking, "and I jus' wondered if I could get your name, pretty lady."

"I don't think so," she said curtly. "You see, I'm here with someone, so if you wouldn't mind leaving before he gets here-"

"What? Who?" He straightened, head snapping around alertly. His mates on the other side of the pub, watching, erupted into hearty laughter. "Got ye a boyfriend or somefin?"

"No, he's her brother," said a smooth voice from behind them. Hermione – and Tony – whipped around to see Tom take a seat, all grace and poise. Brother? Hermione thought, bewildered. What was Tom up to?

Her 'brother' put down three mugs of what smelled like alcohol but looked like brack water and extended a pale hand to Tony. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance…?"

"Tony Marshall." Tony shook the outstretched hand and eyed Tom and Hermione suspiciously. "You two don' look alike at all, ye know."

"We're half siblings," Tom supplied smoothly. "Would you like a drink?"

Immediately, any skepticism showing on Tony's blotchy red face vanished, and he swiped one of the beers off the tray without pause. "Say, what's your sister's name?" he asked, grinning at Hermione suggestively, who scowled and looked away.

"Angela," Tom said, smiling. "I'm Victor Livingston."

"So what are ye two doing round these parts? Look like city folks to me."

"Just visiting some old friends… and making a bit of money." Tom slid his cup toward Tony. "Another?"

"Sure, chap," Tony said, looking surprised by the offer but glad to down another. His gaze was foggier when he finished beer number two. Conspicuously, he stared at Hermione's chest and licked his chin, but missed the bead of brown liquid dribbling there. "Say, what are you up te tenight, angel? Need a place to go?"

Angrily, Hermione spat, "No actually, I'll be just fine alone, you-"

"Angela," Tom interrupted, laughing. "Be polite to our new friend."

She stared at him disbelievingly. "What?"

"Yeah, listen to ye brother and be nice to me, Angie!" Tony joined in, chortling. "Or else it'll be a looong night, won't it, Vic?"

"Indeed," Tom said solemnly. Hermione's eyes widened at this, sourness sinking through her stomach like curdled milk. What is he-? "How much have you got?"

"Bout fifteen shillings. How long will that get me?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes! What kinda wager is 'at?"

"She's upper class, remember?" Tom said, lifting Hermione's wrist and gently pulling his lips across the back. She knew better than to pull away, although all she wanted to do was give him a good punch in the nose. "Worth a hundred common whores."

She gasped. "How dare you-"

"Quiet," he snapped, glaring at her. A frigid smile slowly curved his mouth. "Your brother is doing business."

Tony watched them with heavy-lidded eyes. He picked his crooked front teeth with a toothpick, deliberating. "I gotta better idea," he finally said. "Why don't I pay to see ye two bang it up? Just to watch."

Hermione blinked, stunned, and a glint of surprise glanced through Tom's dark eyes too before the emotion gave way to blankness once more. He arched a brow. "Voyeurism?"

"Call it whatevah ye please," Tony said, shrugging. "Point is, I want my money's worth," he added stupidly, "and you want money."

"You'll have to pay more."

"Damn you! Bleeding uppity city ki-"

"I didn't finish," Tom cut in patiently. "You'll have to pay more… in answers. Answer a few questions and that, plus the shillings, will cover fifteen minutes of our time."

"What?" Hermione clambered to her feet, but Tom discreetly cast a Stinging Hex at her and she fell back down with a hiss of pain. Underneath the table, his hand fastened around her wrist painfully tight. Pained tears pooled in her eyes and she squirmed, glowering at him and sending a Stinging Hex right back. He flinched almost imperceptibly, but otherwise ignored her.

Tony glanced between them, debating. "Are these test questions? Cause I don't know squat about no math or reading or-"

"No, they're simple," Tom interrupted sharply. "So do we have a deal?"

"Sure." Hermione blanched and Tony rummaged through his pockets, producing a tattered pouch of money Tom had almost taken when the young man pulled it back suddenly, as if something had occurred to him. Tom's fingers closed around empty air and anger betrayed him for a second, running through his fine features like a bone knife. He forced a smile.

"Yes?" Tom said expectantly, a trickle of irritation underlying his melodious voice.

"I want to make sure ye two will really do this and won' skip out on me," Tony said, crossing muscly arms over a barrel chest to impress his great strength on them. He was brawny, Hermione thought, but couldn't be a day over twenty-one. "So give me a lil taste of what I be seein.'" He leered at her. "Go on Angie, give ye brother a good lipsmack."

Repulsed, Hermione said, "You can't make me do anything, slime ball."

He wheezed a snicker and Tom muttered something under his breath in exasperation. He grabbed her hair, yanking her toward him and tightening his grip painfully tight until she could hear strands of hair snapping off her scalp. She shrieked in outrage and Tony's booming laughter got louder as she wrestled him. Tom shook his head patronizingly. "I apologize," he said. "She's a bit of a hellcat."

"Oh no, Vic, that makes it all the better," Tony assured.

Tom lifted Hermione's head so she faced him. His smile was charming, but his eyes were the complete opposite: cold and threatening as she stared back at him. His magic, which had always been like an addictive drug to her and the most concentrated form of ecstasy – now acted punishingly, hashing through her body like a hard slap. She yelped.

"Don't hurt her too bad, Vic," Tony said good-naturedly. "Play nice."

"Of course," he agreed, but didn't take his chilling gaze off Hermione. "You heard the man, Angie. Give your brother a kiss."

At these words, something occured to Hermione. It suddenly occurred to her that…that of course Tony wasn't going to see any 'show' tonight. Tom had no intention to do so, and neither did she. They would lead him on - until Tom got whatever it was he wanted from the country goon – and then leave this oaf right here where they found him. She had, for a moment, simply forgotten what Tom Riddle was.

A liar.

"Yes, Victor," she said, her demeanor shifting from hateful to obliging in the blink of an eye. Tony shifted his trousers as Angie lightly grasped her brother Victor's shoulders.

Hermione didn't look away from Tom's dark gaze and kissed him, entangling their tongues and communicating with her eyes that she knew what he was up to - that he was in a world of trouble when they got out of there. His eyes laughed at her and – out of Tony's sight – his hand swept under her cloak, rubbing her leg. She slapped it off and he pulled away, biting back a smile.

Tony thrust the bag of money at them. "Deal!"

Tom looked pleased. "Very well." He counted out the coins inside before pocketing it. Across from them, Tony literally itched with anticipation. "Now for the questions."

"Yes, go ahead," the man pushed, glancing at Hermione quickly. "Let's get it over with fast, eh?"

"Of course." Tom steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "Angie, go get us a few shots of gin, won't you?" he said, flipping a few shillings at her.

She frowned, but stood. "Sure, Victor," she said, morosely. He wasn't going to even let her listen in on the conversation?

Hermione sat at the bar, not placing an order even when the barman asked. She drummed her nails against the pock-marked surface of the bar as she anxiously waited. Fifteen minutes later, Tom emerged from the shady recesses of the pub. Tony was not with him.

He nodded at her on his way to the door and she sprang up, going after him. The sky was blotchy with smog and starless as they walked down the street. "You couldn't have warned me beforehand?" she said, but there was hardly any bite left in her voice now. What she really wanted to know was what he was up to.

Tom laughed quietly. "It wouldn't have been authentic if I told you I was planning to sell you off," he said. "The men down here like a girl who…resists."

"That's sick. And what was with the sibling thing?" she fired off. "You could've just said we were friends or something, rather than get all disgusting."

"Ever heard of sexual preference? Tony's got a fetish for voyeurism. Maybe I liked the idea of role play and doing bad things with my smart-mouthed sister…"

"Don't say anymore," Hermione interrupted. "I think I'd rather not know."

He sniggered and slipped an arm around her waist, snatching her to his side. "I didn't mean to taint your innocent mind," he murmured into her ear. "You were quite a good accomplice in there, too, you know. Tony was dying to see Angela and her brother naked."

"Tony is a pervert," she corrected sharply. "What he needs is a good slap."

He brought them to a halt in the middle of the dusty road. So far, Hermione had not seen any road signs offering light on their mystery location. "Which I'm sure you would have been all too willing to give him," Tom said, amused. "Ready to go?"

"Where?"

He tsked. "No matter how many times you ask, I won't tell, silly witch." He pulled her into his side, sliding his fingers through hers. "You'll find out soon enough anyway."

The nausea that came hand-in-hand with Disapparation briefly overcame Hermione before both their feet hit the ground, not landing on beaten cement this time but sinking into wet snow. She blinked, trying to see through the darkness to find out where he'd taken them this time, but it was to no avail. Whether she was able to see or not there was nothing to see. They were in the middle of nowhere on a lone hill and ankle-deep in chilly white slush. She shivered, drawing her cloak tighter. "It's freezing!" she complained. "Why are we here?"

Tom's pale skin glowed in the night, almost as white as the flurries busily whizzing through the air all around them and the moonlight feebly glaring through the dark. His eyes were trained on something in the distance. "He said to take a left," he muttered. "It should be over there."

What should be over there? Hermione wanted to demand, but knew better than to continue battering him with questions he simply wouldn't answer. Wherever he intended to take them, it better be someplace warm, she thought.

"Come, please," he said sharply and proceeded to carve a walkway through the snow with their magic, lighting the way with a nonverbal Lumos. Hermione lit her wand too and trudged after him.

As the two descended down the wintry slope Hermione spotted what lay ahead. It was a small cottage – more of a hut, really – and so decrepit the very air seemed to be a terrible burden of weight on it, warping it so that it resembled a pathetic smile sliding into the earth. Vines of ivy roped over the caving wood paneling, the only things holding the thing together probably, and something thin and stringy was nailed to the door. She felt chilled just looking at it.

"Tom, what are we doing here?" she asked when they stopped before the hut.

"Why, we're paying my uncle a well overdue visit, darling," he replied, and as he answered he reached into his cloak, an ironic smile curving his mouth.

Hermione stiffened, now recognizing the house. And it hit her, that this was the House of Gaunt, belonging to Tom's dead grandfather and his still-living uncle Morfin, once to his mother Merope even. It was the place where he made his first Horcrux – and the Locket around her neck proved exactly what he intended to do tonight.

She tried to run, but Tom was quick as a cobra and caught her around the waist, yanking her back.

"Let me go!" she yelled and the glint of something reflective – glass? – sparkled in her peripherals right before the lip of a potion bottle was shoved into her mouth. She kicked out, trying to throw it up, but he held her convulsing body tighter until the last of oxygen squeezed out of her lungs and she was forced to inhale. Potion rushed down her throat.

"Sssh, darling, sssh," he said softly as she oh so slowly slumped in his arms. He caressed the tip of his yew wand over her neck, sweeping it back and forth. "Don't cry now, Hermione, it's nothing lethal. There's no reason to be afraid."

He carried her over to some hedges framing the house and laid her down, hiding her underneath the twigs and bramble, arranging them so that if someone passed by they would never see what was buried in the Gaunt's front yard. The blizzard whipped his black hair and he paused to stare down at her frozen body for a moment. "You should know better than to run though," he said, thinking aloud. "Even if you got away, I would've caught you eventually."

She glared back at him, unblinking.

He smiled. "But you know Little Hangleton men like it when a girl resists," he whispered.

And the brilliant violet light of his curse hit her dead-on.

AN: Plot twist! *cackles in slow-mo* So, please, please leave a review because I'd love to hear what you have to say; be it good or hurtful. ;) Also, go on Youtube and check out the Task first official trailer, made by Voldewhore! The link is posted on my profile and it's really bitchin'.

Toodaloo, my loves!