AN: I'm so sorry for being away from this story for so long, guys. (Can I still call you my whores? I want to so badly). I had the wooorrrsssttt case of writer's block though. I just needed to take a little vacation time from this fic to recuperate and get my shiz together - but now that wittle vacation is over and we can get back to business. *yay!*

So read along, mes hos.

When Hermione came to, she saw white. White snow. White rage. White.

Blood that had retreated from her feet sloshed sluggishly throughout her unfeeling limbs, which nearly gave out when she dragged herself to her knees, then feet. Breathing didn't come easy either. She hurt all over.

What potion was that? She didn't recognize any of the properties or side effects, so it must have been of dark origins, but what really mattered was that it had finally wore off. What mattered was that Tom drugged her. What mattered was he betrayed her, dragged her down here for reasons unfathomable to her and ditched her in a dangerous blizzard. What mattered was the…

The Horcrux.

Hermione's hands flew to her neck, but the extra weight of a solid gold pendant was gone. Of course, it was gone. Of course, she'd let this mess happen. Of course, Voldemort had a private agenda, hidden from the public eye, hidden from her and covered up by the golden boy image she'd sworn never to fall privy to. But of course, she did fall for it. For just a moment, she even fell for him.

But there was a reason Voldemort was a Dark wizard, wasn't there? she bitterly thought.

She shoved back the fatigue the remnants of the potion still tried to force on her, stumbling up to the door of the Gaunt house. Her stomach rolled on finding the shabby door covered in a hundred shriveled-up snake husks - so that was what she hadn't quite been able to make out in the dark last night - but she pushed their little rattling bodies aside and grabbed the doorknob. Locked.

She reached for her wand, but that was gone too. Tom disarmed her? Anger burned like hot coals and Hermione let tears of frustration come to her eyes for a second, gnashing her teeth, before she forced herself to calm down. Raging wasn't going to get her anywhere. She had to think rationally.

Tom had made the Horcrux. Without a doubt, he had other plans to execute during their short break from Hogwarts as well, but these were just as unknown to her as the first had been. For some reason, he'd seen fit to bring her along for said plans. The implications of that fact rooted a fear deep inside her, a fear for herself. Was she here for the express purpose of completing the bond? And why did he want to complete the bond, truly? She couldn't let herself hope for a second that it was because he felt something for her, as she'd dared to think before - everything he said to her was probably a lie, she now realized. What he did to her hours ago - or was it less than hours that she'd been out? Had it been mere minutes? Or it could it have even been days? - proved his true nature. Tom Riddle was a manipulator. He saw only what he wanted and did not care who he hurt in his venture to get it.

Past all the rage, Hermione could feel her heart drowning with regret.

Taking a deep breath, she came back to the present and concentrated. Magic swelled within her like a rising typhoon wave, like a disastrous hurricane. It was foreign to her as an ancient language lost in time; the essences had changed it into something entirely new. Into something she struggled to control.

"Open," she gasped.

The front door of the hut blew off its hinges, slamming back into the house which by some miracle did not fall to the ground in a gust of bolts and splinters on impact. Hermione ran inside, searching for them. There was a filthy kitchen, a hallway to the left probably leading to some bedrooms, and on the right a living room with two – two? – bodies face down on the floor. At the sight of school robes and dark hair, all the air in her lungs rushed out in a cold whoosh.

That's not possible.

She entered slowly, cautiously. Her eyes took in a lifeless Morfin and a part of her distantly realized Harry's account of this day had been half-right; Voldemort's grandfather was nowhere to be seen. She forced her eyes to leave the body, to see Tom Riddle.

Fury hit her like a slap.

"Tom, you idiot!" she choked out, shaking him. "You better be alive, or I swear to Merlin, I'll bring you back just to kill you again..." And although the pale eyelids stayed closed, the strands of ebony hair falling across Tom's forehead fluttered upward with his – thank Godric, she seemed not to have destroyed the timeline completely – steady breaths.

Hermione smacked him full across the face and his body rolled with the slap, a hand loosening at his side. Something thudded to the ground with a tinkle.

She knew what it was before she even looked.

Carefully, Hermione lifted Slytherin's Locket and stilled when she felt a piece of Tom's soul thrumming inside it. Trapped and injured. Bleeding. Crying. Terrified that she could actually hear the thing, she dropped it on Tom's chest and moved a safe distance away. Her thoughts whirled. How could she sense what the Horcrux was feeling? Horcruxes didn't feel. They were mechanical copies of the soul they once were a part of, designed and corrupted by Dark magic to survive no matter what costs that survival took. They could even take on hosts, like parasites.

The last time she had seen one had been during the war when she, Harry and Ron had been hunting them. She remembered when she had seen this Horcrux last - not as a locket Meredith Smith flaunted about, but as a wicked, pulsing thing that leaked dark thoughts into your head even when you slept, able to drive you evil if you wore it long enough - or so she imagined. But that had been different. She'd only been aware of the Horcrux's seductive influence by touch then. Now she felt it, even lying uselessly across the room.

This had to be because of the essences, there was no question in her mind. The essences were derived from both necromancy and Horcrux texts, after all. Was this the other side of the coin? Would she be cursed to hear Tom's torn soul scream forever, to knowing she'd failed Dumbledore and everyone she once loved more than the world? Cursed for letting this happen because of a few kisses that meant nothing, and more?

A sob escaped her, followed by another and another. Damn it. She caught herself, stopping before there could be an escalation into hysterics. She would not allow tears. No, she was too angry to cry. Angry not only at Tom, but at herself.

She was so stupid for thinking she could change Lord Voldemort. He was a person, not a mathematical equation she could figure out by switching around the variables. And the past was not meant to be meddled with.

The reasonable thing to do would be to cut her losses and go back to Hogwarts at this instant, before Tom woke up and made her stay. She could go to Dumbledore. Under his protection, Tom would never make it within three feet of her again. He could continue about his plans without her interference and time would proceed as it had before she came here. Hermione was reasonable, but she also had a lot of pride. And that pride reared its ugly head at being so easily tricked by the wizard who blindsided her. That pride demanded revenge.

It seemed the task would require a serious revision.

Hermione looked up to find Tom, still as the grave except for his rising and falling chest. She brushed back his hair. She really looked at him, past the angelic face and smoldering dark eyes. Past the mental block that lust and chemistry blinded her with.

She didn't know what she saw there though. A monster? No, not yet. A boy? Not that either. Tom Riddle was a boy a long, long time ago. Voldemort? Maybe.

Whatever she saw, her heart kind of broke at the sight of it.

"Wake up." A bolt of magic, flooding out of Hermione's body and into his, finally roused Tom. He stirred and opened his eyes, blinking at the sight of her hovering over him.

"You really shouldn't have done that," Hermione said before he could speak. She gestured at Slytherin's Locket on his chest and he took it slowly, eying her as she sat back.

"I shouldn't have done what?" he asked.

"Broken it."

"I…" Tom stared at her, not sure what to say for a moment. Questions bombarded him. How did she get inside? Why didn't the potion last as long as it should have? Did she see Morfin? Did the Horcrux even work? "How did you find out?" he finally settled on asking, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Her glare was purer than concentrated poison. "Don't you dare try and ask me questions. How could you dothat, Tom?" she shouted. "Do you know the consequence of making a Horcrux?"

Tom didn't seem to have even heard her. A curious look entered his eyes, half-wondrous, half-disbelieving. "You're more intelligent than I thought."

"How kind of you to notice," she sneered.

"I'm glad you stayed."

She didn't answer, because those were the exact sort of things that had made her forget who Tom truly was in the first place, and he sat up. He felt a little dizzy – strange, definitely – but also...good. Empowered. That much farther from death. "It's for you," he said, extending the Horcrux to her with care. "A present… I thought you could guard it for me."

Hermione didn't move, so he leaned forward and clasped the Locket around her neck, pulling her hair forward over her shoulders so it framed the beautiful jewelry. At his touch, the soul's cries were forever silenced.

"Happy Christmas," he whispered.

On the other side of the hill, a giant 18th century manor towered over the ivory fields, at least five stories high and painted egg-shell white underneath the accumulated snow lounging between its dark blue shingles and wide mahogany porches. Hundreds of steps swept across the risen base of the manor, leading to a Corinthian-style colonnade supporting the triangular pediment. Underneath the peaked roof, a towering doorway was framed by two windows on each side. They were so enormous a troll could easily barge in through the glass.

Tom Riddle Senior's house, Hermione had realized without asking, as Tom led them away from the House of Gaunt and the mansion came into view. She'd longed to take off the Horcrux, but left it where it was. She didn't want to attract any more of Tom's suddenly terrifying attention than was absolutely necessary.

When Tom had taken them to the master bedroom and laid down in bed, he'd wrapped an arm around her waist and brought them so close she could feel his breaths stream against the back of her neck all night. Fear for what he had planned for her, hatred for what he was, heartbreak, confusion at his actions and an unstoppable warmth that burned at his touch kept her from sleep for hours. She stayed wide awake instead, plotting and carefully planning until exhaustion came for her.

For once, she would be the one a step ahead.

"What are we going to a voodoo shop for?" Hermione questioned. Nerves stirred to life when she looked up and down the dodgy square Tom had Disapparated them to, making her reluctant to go any farther. She had no idea where they were now, nor what they were doing there, but they most certainly weren't at Little Hangleton anymore. This place was far too crowded - and shifty.

"We're only making a visit," Tom answered. "The woman running the shop here may know a few things about your... special case."

At this, Hermione stiffened. Warning alarms went off in her head at Tom's justification and the new distrust she held for him instantly made her want to turn tail and run. But she couldn't go back now. Besides, this was an oppurtunity to see what he was up to. To see what he really wanted to do with her.

She had gathered that he definitely held an interest in the essences and what they'd done to her magic, but she was unsure of how far that interest went. Was it out of mere curiosity? Did he want to do something similar if he learned the results were desirable? Did he see her as a potential Death Eater, someone who could be used for their extra advantages to benefit himself?

It could easily be all three, she thought gravely.

Tom opened the door to the store they stood outside of, ushering her through it first. Wind chimes made of bones rattled above them at their entrance. Hermione involuntarily shivered, taking in their intimidating surroundings. This entire place reeked of Dark magic and something thicker, something much more ominous than Borgin & Burkes.

"Delia?" called Tom.

A whisper ran through the shop. The bone wind chimes rattled again, although no one had come in, and ruby-colored candles lining the shelves flickered. Merchandise ranged from long yellow teeth strung on string to jars of viper venom, pressed faery wings and thick tomes buckled shut that rattled inside their display cases like they wanted to escape. Diagrams of symbols Hermione recognized as invitations to spirits from Ancient Runes were drawn on the floor, the black ink sliver of one curving right under her foot. She jerked her shoe up, skittering out of the pentagram like it could set her to flame.

For all she knew, it just might.

A woman stepped out from a door near the back of the shop, turning a feather over in her hands. She didn't make a sound as she approached them - and not in the typical way that one does when they're trying to be quiet. No, she was utterly silent. Her footsteps did not make noise, nor did the bracelets looped from her ankles to her knees and wrists to the elbows even as they bumped against each other, and when she sighed, the exhale did not escape her mouth. Instead the shop echoed it in another one of its ghostly whispers.

Mocha-brown skin, corkscrew curly hair blonde and cut close, and eyes with two pupils in each instead of one made up the owner of the voodoo shop: Delia. A bone necklace circled her neck and all of her skin looked incredibly smooth - too smooth to be human. She was extremely thin, as well, and something about her was alarmingly familiar.

It suddenly hit Hermione why: The necklace. I saw it in my dream.

Wait, wait, that was ridiculous. Dreams didn't have any connection to the real world; they were just smatterings of random thought picked up through the day. The only way for Hermione to have dreamt of Delia's necklace was if she had met her before, in passing or something, and she was sure she'd never seen this woman's face in real life.

Impossible! the facts nagged. But now she wasn't so sure if it really was.

You know my name, wizard? Delia asked - or the shop did, each and every item inside it clanking and stirring to say the words.

"Yes," Tom replied in his quiet, appealing voice. "I came here for assistance in the art of necromancy." As much as Hermione absolutely didn't trust him, the general darkness hanging over the atmosphere drove her closer to his side on instinct, especially when a ghoulish smile lit Delia's face.

You wish to recall the nonliving to life? Delia's mouth moved in a silent chuckle and the shop laughed, merchandise hissing like snakes. Foolish boy.

Tom smiled politely. "Tom Riddle, actually. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Delia." He glided forward and took Delia's extended hand, bending over it and leaving a light kiss there. Smooth as ever. And infuriating, now that Hermione knew what game he was really up to.

Foolish and charming, the voodoo woman observed. Delia's strange eyes slid over Tom to Hermione. Is this your payment?

Hermione blinked, startled, and looked to Tom quickly. Was he going to sell her out? She hated that she didn't know, but he hadn't betrayed her last night when that scumbag Tony tried to buy her off so the chances weren't slim, were they...? Then again, hadn't he turned on her just moments later and created his first Horcrux?

She had no idea what he would do.

"No," said Tom, a pitch too sharp. The bare skin where Delia's eyebrows should have been arched - and Hermione was just as surprised by the vicious response. "We'll settle pricing later, but the girl is off-limits. Understood?"

Delia looked thoughtful. I don't understand the fixation, but I will abide by your wishes, she said at last. What do you require of me, Tom Riddle?

"Information," he said, "on what essences produced by necromancy might do."

The frightening smile resurfaced. Delia looked positively terrifying with it, like a grinning skull. So there is something about her, is there? We could sense it a street away, so strong a magic. It is not often heard of, but not alien to us either. She stinks of death.

Hermione bristled. "What do you mean I-?"

"Quiet," Tom hissed, squeezing her wrist sharply. She yelped and glared at him.

I can perform an exorcism on her, should you like to extract the essences for yourself, Delia offered, giving Hermione a calculating look. She shrank back. But I cannot promise she will survive the procedure. It is painful and very hard on such a fragile shell...

"No, that's not necessary." Tom sported a winning smile. "We only want to better understand it, so that we might be able to...better wield it."

Hermione stared at him, puzzled. She didn't understand. Tom didn't want the assets the essences had added to her magic, but he wanted her to exercise some sort of control over it? Maybe he only wanted to see the extent of her new abilities, so he could measure her worth or something pretentious like that. She tucked this information away, making a note to reevaluate it later.

Delia seemed displeased by his refusal. All I can offer you are my resources, if it is knowledge you want, she told him, gesturing at the books writhing like trapped souls on the shelves. Perhaps they really were trapped souls.

"Thank you." Tom's smile never faltered, but now regret joined the excellent genetics in his face. He sighed. "However, there is one more mystery to our unique situation. Hermione, if you would please, show her your...markings."

She started at that, and Delia looked intrigued. Markings?

Tom nodded. He turned to Hermione and a whisper of encouragement, of reassurance for her and smugness at Delia's new interest, flitted across their forming bond. Hermione would have taken immediate comfort from that had the circumstances been different, had she still believed in every word he said to her. But now she was hesitant.

She glanced at Delia quickly and leaned in toward Tom, lowering her voice. "No one beside you has seen them before. Are you sure? What if something bad happens?" And if something bad does happen, will you even care?

Tom's mouth curved into a very, very slight smirk. Hermione felt her heart quicken at the sight, although she tried with all her might not to be affected by him. He bent down even closer, to speak at her ear. "Leave the worrying to me,"he breathed and kissed her hair, before pulling back.

Show me, child, Delia commanded.

Now Hermione definitely didn't have a choice.

Reluctantly, she took off her outer robe and shrugged back the sleeves of the one underneath to her elbows. Delia instantly came forward, waving Tom away and peering intently at the runes embedded across her wrists. She tapped her mouth in thought - which Hermione realized possessed no teeth or tongue at this proximity - and behind her, Tom began to wander around the shop. Somehow, he wrangled out one of the texts on display without breaking a sweat. All Hermione could see of him was his robes and bent head as he read the book, all black hair and suave waves. Something hurt inside her at the sight. She looked away.

Delia's eyes were impossible to read, her expression empty of emotion. She paused for a moment, then reached toward the runes on Hermione's skin with purpose. Her strangely smooth fingers stopped a breath short though. Delia closed her eyes, a shudder rocking her delicate frame that made the floors jerk under their feet, and began to mutter a foreign tongue. Tom didn't look up from his reading, but Hermione was incredibly alarmed.

"Delia?" she ventured, cautiously. "What's happening? What's wrong?"

That snapped Delia out of it. Her mouth stopped moving and the shop ceased to tremble all at once. She blinked, released Hermione, and looked back at Tom. Tom, sensing someone watching him, raised his head with a fine-tuned smile. Delia inclined her head questioningly.

May I examine her?

Tom shrugged. "Hermione?" he said, turning his eyes on her. Delia's head whipped around to survey her reaction, although the rest of the woman's body did not move at all to compensate the movement. Delia did not seem to be made of bones, but something less restrictive. Something that let her turn her entire head around without a cinch. "Could Delia see you privately?" he inquired kindly, although deep inside Hermione knew there'd be hell to pay if she refused. "I'm sure she won't keep you for long."

Hermione nodded, although what she really wanted to do was march over and demand to know what the hell he was up to. But, she reminded herself, she had to be discreet. Tom trusted her, yes; Voldemort, on the other hand, would see right through her if she started to act differently. And he couldn't know of her plan.

Come with me, child, Delia bid, hurrying away to the door in the back, which she had first come out of. Hermione wanted to ask Tom to come with them at the last second, but they were already inside. Delia moved around to light more candles and she disappeared into a closet stacked with scrolls and elephant tusks. There was a table with straps beside Hermione. She got goosebumps just looking at it.

Delia suddenly returned, unraveling a scroll and telling her to sit down. She really didn't want to, but she did at the woman's - or whatever she was - persistence, perching on the edge and keeping a wary eye on the straps. At least Tom gave me my wand back, she thought, feeling the familiar stick in her pocket and trying to take confidence from that.

Let's see, let's see. The scrolls in the closet rustled Delia's words, as did the buckles and shackles laying around Hermione. Delia closed the door almost all the way, leaving only a crack open. Hermione kept a hand right over her wand pocket.

"What is that?" she asked, trying to distract herself from panic. Delia touched a wishbone on her necklace absently and passed the scroll to her. They both studied it, then looked at Hermione's runes.

It is similar, but not an exact replica. Delia's finger traced the shapes of the runes on paper, indeed very close to her own but differentiated by the thickness of the symbols. Delia soundlessly tutted and the gaping mouth of an alligator head mount clunked. I do wonder what the meaning is...

"But I know the meaning," she said, a second before realizing she probably shouldn't have let that piece of knowledge slip. The eyebrow-less skin on Delia's boiled egg smooth face hitched up.

How?

"I..." Before she could finish, Hermione was distracted by a moving tuft of black fur below the edge of the table, closely followed by two ears - one chipped, the other somewhat groomed - and two huge green eyes with slit pupils.

The cat - her apparent new feline companion, who seemed to enjoy coming and going as he pleased - hopped onto the table and trotted up beside her, circling in place two times before settling down. It... No, wait, she needed to stop thinking of the cat as 'it' if it was going to keep hanging around - he meowed, closed his eyes, and took a nap.

Your scent is stronger, said Delia in surprise, interrupting her observation of the cat. Why is that? Is there someone with us?

No, but there is something, Hermione thought with more than a little sarcasm. However, at the question, the cat's eyes popped open and he regarded Delia as suspiciously as a cat could. The response made Hermione pause before replying.

"Um, no. There's no one here." Technically, it was true.

Delia nodded. Tell me, child. What do the markings mean?

Again, the cat looked infinitely more suspicious. The fur on his back even began to rise, as he slowly arched his back threateningly, and the bottle-green eyes shrank into slits. Hermione would have petted him to calm him down, as she used to do with Crookshanks, if she hadn't lied to Delia about no one being there already.

"Well, translated they mean Release me. Rise from the ashes."

The Bible verse used to reawaken Jesus Christ from his tomb? Intriguing.

"What do you think it means?" said Hermione, not even noticing the cat's increasing hostility toward Delia. "Does it affect my magic somehow? Does it do anything?"

Delia shrugged her gaunt shoulders. Say the incantation in the natural tongue and see.

"So it is an incantation?" she pressed. Well, that made sense, she reasoned. After all, the night they had first appeared when she accepted the essences was the only time she ever used it - and somehow, it had...brought her back to life. She could feel in her bones that this was without a doubt a violation of nature, but the questions and fascinations surrounding the mystery made her want to figure it all out.

Yes, yes, Delia said, annoyed with her questions. The candles melted faster at her impatience. Just use the incantation.

The cat hissed at Delia, extending its claws and jumping onto Hermione's lap to get closer to the woman. "Ouch!" she cried out at the piercing sensation of claws digging into her skin, and Delia's eyes sharpened. Immediately, she swung down an arm across the air above Hermione's lap and flung aside the cat with astonishing strength. The cat disappeared mid-air, a second before it could smash into the wall.

Hermione sucked in a breath to shout and Delia growled You are a liar, Hermione Granger a second before the door was slammed open by Tom and the woman's hands fastened on her wrists. The shop began to roar and shake - no, Hermione looked down and realized she was the one shaking. Her flesh burned where Delia's touched it, the runes searing hotter than ever. She cried out.

Say the incantation, child, Delia and the shop snarled.

Behind them, Tom's face contorted with fury as he drew his wand, but for some unexplainable reason, he was moving in slow-motion. Hermione felt sweat drip off every inch of her body. She was going to throw up if Delia didn't let go soon.

"Delia." Tom's voice was cold and deadly. The yew wand focused on its target. "Release her at this instant, or I will make the severity of your punishment irreversible."

Arrogant wizard, Delia sniffed, unimpressed. Come one step closer and I will snap her neck like a twig. She smiled and tiny, jagged incisors slowly inched out of her gums, dripping toxic saliva. With my teeth.

Hermione stiffened when Delia's mouth gaped open over her neck, stomach rolling at the scent of decay on the woman-thing's breath. She would have cursed or Stunned her at least, but convulsions had come over her, and she could barely see past the ear-splitting pain.

Though I think I will kill her anyway. Delia came closer and Tom watched, eyes narrowed in concentration, jaw taut. Why wasn't he doing anything? Hermione panicked. It'd be such a waste to let this much power go running right out of my hands, and I know how to use it. If you won't take it for yourself, I shall, Tom Riddle...

"Power?" Tom repeated, arching a brow. Hermione couldn't believe he was asking questions when she was about to explode with pain, when someone was about to kill her. The fury she felt at him increased exponentially. "Explain, Delia."

But of course, she can recall the dead to life. Delia prepared to sink her teeth in. Hermione tensed, thinking fast. Tom's wand twitched at his side. The means to immortality courses through her very veins-

"Relinquo mihi," a voice intoned, and the voice was Hermione's. Delia reared back, taken off guard, and tried to pry her hands off of Hermione. Tom started forward. But they were already half a dimension away. "Ex cineribus resurgam!"

The candles went out with a soft whoosh.

When they came out on the other side, the cat was waiting for trotted up to Hermione, swishing his bottlebrush tail, and she knelt down to pet his head. "Are you alright?" she asked, remembering the way Delia had hurled him through the air. Speaking of...wherewas Delia?

Where was she?

She looked around and saw, to her astonishment, the twisted landscape her dreams had been taking her to lately. She saw a field of lush white flowers beside a bubbling brook - the water was turquoise, not red with blood - and the brook transformed into a vast river halfway down. Large pieces of bark floated along the rapids. She stepped up to the edge of the canal they stood on and her tongue went dry at what she found.

It was not bark tossing through the river, but bodies.

There were hundreds - no, thousands - of them and now that she saw one, she could stop seeing them all. Some were old and human, some were babies of species she both recognized and had never seen before. She saw one of the dead thrash and jerk under the pressure of waves, and a woman's head rose out of the water, her eyes wide with terror and soundless mouth gasping for air.

"Delia!" Hermione shouted. She was stunned. How did she get in there?

Delia met her eyes with pleading ones, reaching toward her, and she forgot completely that this woman had been ready to kill her in cold blood just moments before. She got out her wand and started toward the river, hanging her legs off the edge of the canal once she was close enough. Delia began to swim through the bodies. Hermione stretched out her arms to reach her. The other dead trudged on by.

Suddenly, the cat was there, bounding up to the precipice beside Hermione and hissing at Delia with glowing green eyes. "What are you doing?" Hermione said, surprised at his aggression.

In response, the cat swatted Hermione back with his head, urging her away. He kept his threatening gaze on Delia all the while. Delia continued to cry out for help with her frantically moving lips and eyes. Hermione couldn't take the sight of so much helplessness.

"No, we have to help her," she disagreed, pushing the cat aside and nearing the river. Delia was a mere three feet away. She extended a hand to help her, gripping the grassy edge with the other. She didn't want to fall in. "A little closer. Come on, Delia-"

The cat nailed his teeth into her arm just before Delia could grab hold of it and she reeled back, shrieking. "What is your problem? What did you do that for?" she said furiously, glaring at the cat and cradling her injured wrist. The cat didn't pay her any attention, however, slanted gaze focused on something behind her. Hermione turned around and her eyes widened.

Delia, snarling like a wild beast, was clawing at the earthen wall of the canal, snapping her jaws at Hermione and the cat like she meant to eat them whole. Hermione jumped back, startled. "That's not Delia anymore, is it?" she breathed.

The cat's narrowed eyes was all the answer she needed. With a sharp swish of his tail, he lunged at Delia's head, knocking the both of them back into the river with a splash of limp, wet bodies and water. Delia struggled for a second, but it was only that - the cat was faster.

Hermione scrambled up to see what was happening. She only got there in time to see the cat nimbly leap across the other bodies, matted fur around its jaws gleaming with red, and Delia's lifeless body leak crimson into the water. The river quickly turned red with blood.

"Where are they all going?" she said quietly, watching the dead continue their journey into the seemingly endless river. It went on and on, until her eyes could see no farther.

The cat, because he could not answer questions more complex than yes or no, only gazed at her, calmly licking his mouth. She averted her eyes. She couldn't look at him when he had blood on his face-

"Hermione!"

Hermione's eyes snapped open. For a wild, confusing moment, she didn't know who the young man with dark hair and handsome features was at all - or why he was so close to her face, for that matter - but then he spoke and it finally occurred to her who he was. Tom Riddle, memory said. It's Tom.

"Hermione, listen to me," Tom was saying, holding her head still in his cool hands, so close the rest of the room they were in was invisible to her. She nodded quickly. "I need to Disapparate us out of here, or we're going to have to run. Can you Disapparate?"

Disapparate? Of course she could. Why shouldn't she be able to?

"Wait," she said, before he could. His expression was impatient when he looked back at her. "What are we leaving for? What's wrong?"

Tom sighed. Calmly and without preamble, he explained, "I killed Delia, who is connected to the shop, so it is now collapsing around us as we speak. Thus, we need to make a speedy exit." He added, as an afterthought, "Luckily, I thought to steal some books that should prove useful while you two were back here."

"You killed Delia?" she exclaimed. So that explained why Delia had been in the river with the other dead bodies. Hermione was horrified and disgusted by the ease with which Tom could commit murder, but another, more foolish part of her was relieved she'd been wrong to think he wouldn't do anything when Delia almost killed her. Instead, he killed Delia himself.

Just why he did that was the question.

Hermione had to remind herself fiercely not to hope it was because he cared about her, because Tom did not. He was only using her. For what exactly, she didn't know.

"Yes, now let's get out of here," said Tom, reminding her of their near-death situation. She raised her head and surveyed the room they stood in, tremorring like an earthquake had hit them and falling to pieces quickly. She nodded and he pulled her off the table, blasting away one chunk of debris that shook off the ceiling and plummeted toward their heads with a flick of his wand and grabbing her close with his other hand. The shop audibly wailed its grief a brief second before they Disapparated, shooting through a black tunnel of speed and sound to be dumped just inside the Riddle manor again.

The Riddles were away vacationing somewhere in France, apparently.

"Come on, come on," Tom prompted, and either her ears deceived her or he actually sounded...excited. He carted her down one corridor, then around a corner, and they found themselves in a luxurious family room. He sat them down on a love seat, turning to face her. His face was rough with a raw eagerness, as a child's who was getting a present they'd been asking for all year would be. The look should have improved his naturally appealing features dramatically - but if anything, Tom just looked extremely hungry.

The expression scared her.

"What did you see?" he demanded.

Not are you alright? Not did she hurt you? Not even what happened?

The knife Tom didn't even know he'd stuck in Hermione's heart twisted.

"I saw a very strange place," she finally said. "There were flowers and a river filled with dead bodies. Delia was in it. She tried to get out, but... she couldn't." She was there because you killed her.

Tom's brow furrowed. "That is strange." He half-turned and reached into the bookbag she hadn't seen him with, pulling out about a dozen volumes. There must have been some sort of an Extension Charm on it, because Hermione could see from the size of the bag that there was no way it could hold so many books in its first form. And she didn't put it past Tom to steal as much from Delia as he pleased.

Flipping through one volume at top speed, his eyes flew over the pages and he muttered theories and rhetorical questions under his breath. A lock of slightly curled hair fell over his eye. Hermione almost reached out to push it back, and she barely caught herself. Don't fall for it. They're just looks. They mean nothing.

But it wasn't only Tom's looks that had made her feel so very much for him, and that was precisely why the betrayal stung so. Even the bond wanted her to close the distance between them. That was a trick too, though. It had to be. And she was certain Tom had done something to make the effects of the bond worse for her, so that her magic was rendered nearly useless without him around.

When they returned to Hogwarts, she would see about destroying it - even if the mere thought tore at her insides like a second heartbreak. She would do it. She would show Tom Riddle that she was no fool.

"It must have been the death realm," Tom said at last, snapping shut his volume. Its cactus-like, venomous spines bristled indignantly, and he threw it aside. The book landed with a growl. "Of course, the place is one of legend. Heaven, Hell, the River Styx in Hades, paradise... They're all the same. That must be where you went."

"It didn't seem like paradise, what with the numerous dead bodies and near death experience," she muttered.

Tom shrugged. She caught his eye and looked away hastily - what if he knew what she was up to at a single glance? What if he used the bond in his favor and made her want him until she couldn't think straight again? She wanted him enough without the extra prompts, and she hated that. He had used her. He still was using her. He should not be so attractive to her.

But when he reached out a hand and skimmed his thumb down her cheek, along the side of her neck and collarbone, she couldn't deny that her body had a reaction. Perhaps it was a good thing that it did. It would help convince him she was on his side, a devoted girlfriend so immersed in love she thought nothing of doing everything he wished. Because that way, he would never see the real intent coming.

It was the only way her plan would work.

"I know this is difficult for you," he said. The thumb just above her breast drew gentle circles that flustered her. "But it's necessary we do this and that we do it together. If you can control your new abilities better, the effects of our bond won't drain you as they do now." A lie. The essences and bond were in no way connected. "Once we complete the bond..." And his mouth was tucked against her neck, kissing softly. Making it near impossible to concentrate. "I promise it will be easier. We'll share our magic. We'll share everything."

Did he mean that? Hermione found herself searching Tom's eyes for the truth, but they were hidden, blocked from her view where his face was buried against her body. She felt his tongue stroke her pulse and an embarrassing heat lurched between her thighs. She knew he could feel her lust through the bond. She knew he meant to complete the bond tonight.

There was no way she could let that happen. Because Tom would not share. He would take all her magic for himself.

"Wait, I... I feel dizzy," Hermione pretended to gasp, pulling away with a weak shake of her head. Tom drew back, surprised, and she slumped against the couch with a pitiable-and-probably-over-the-top groan. "I think the incident at Delia's really exhausted me."

"Of course," Tom said, his face unreadable. He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes shortly to compose himself. An inquiring furrow tilted his brow when he looked back up and she almost felt bad for fibbing - almost. "Do you need to rest, darling?" he asked, touching her forehead to check for a temperature. Of course, he found none.

"Yes." She tried not to sound too relieved. "I think some sleep will really help," she added, more contritely.

He nodded, moving to his feet, and they walked upstairs to the master bedroom. Tom kept a slow pace so she could 'keep up' and Hermione adopted a shuffling, slightly clumsy walk that may have - again - been just a little over the top.

Outside of the bedroom door, Tom stopped her. "I'm going to do more researching on what happened tonight in the books, so I won't be back until later," he said slowly. "But I could bring them up here if... if you would like me to stay with you." His eyes were unusually curious as they gazed into hers.

Hermione forced a yawn, so she could have a reason to break their eye contact. Because it hammered into her like another knife and it hurt. She couldn't let herself feel this way.

She couldn't help feeling the way she did.

"It's alright, I don't want to be a distraction," she said. "And I'm only going to sleep anyway. I won't be very entertaining."

Tom nodded slightly. "Goodnight then."

She nodded back. "Goodnight." And so caught up was she in her new resolve to not be so easily seduced by him, to resist him, that she forgot the second part of the plan: to pretend that she still was completely just that.

Tom frowned. "Is something wrong?" There was suspicion in his voice, a conceited breed of worry edging those onyx eyes. Such a complex combination would have enamored any witty girl.

Hermione shook her head, eyes wide. "I'm only tired." She smiled a little and got on her toes, to give him what was meant to be a very brief kiss.

Tom seemed to have other ideas.

Their magic wrapped them in a swath of warmth the instant their lips met, and Hermione couldn't help the sigh that escaped her, couldn't help feeling right when the wizard who murdered and deceived and played her without a blink kissed her back. Tom pressed his mouth more firmly against hers, opening it and snaking his tongue inside, wrapping an arm around her back and backing her into the room. The inside of her knees hit the bed and he kept pushing, until he was on top and shrugging off his shirt, pressing against her again. He took her hands and put them on his chest, where she felt his heart flying away under her palm, and he kissed her gently. She'd never felt so confused, so afraid and wanting all at once.

Why was he being so sweet? Why did he have to lie so well? Why did his heart pound like this? He couldn't control his body that well, could he? To the extent that he could make his heart beat faster on command? Was it just first-time jitters? She remembered in the Room of Requirement, in their Book Room, when he told her he was a virgin. He'd been so mad she wasn't... It all seemed so far away and silly now.

Especially now that she knew he'd had darker intentions for her all along.

Immortality, the word nagged her, making her lips slow. Delia had said she somehow...possessed it? But she didn't say particularly that Hermione was immortal herself. So what did that mean? That she could give it away, like a gift? What did any of this mean? Why did Tom want to know even more badly than she did? He used the Horcruxes to obtain eternal life, not a seventeen-year old witch.

Things change, she thought suddenly. For all she knew, Tom could be altering his original plans because of her right now. Changing the timeline.

"You are tired, aren't you?" Tom murmured against her unresponsive lips, smirking. She blinked.

"Sorry," she said, and he pulled away to look down at her. She forced her hormones not to react at the sight of his lithe form leaning over her, all delicately formed muscle and Michelangelo mode looks. "I've got to get some sleep. I'm really...tired," she said lamely.

"I can see that." Tom smirked at her playful glare, bent down to kiss her once more, and rolled off the bed. She saw him pull his shirt back on out of the corner of her eye. "Sleep, Hermione..." he told her, then paused to give her an indecipherable look over his shoulder. She felt her face go hot under it. He smirked. "While you can."

And he sauntered out, whistling softly. Hermione pulled down the sheets and studied her still-sore runes with a deep apprehension. They'd sent her to a terrible, dark place - possibly to a death realm - and brought her back to life once. Tom was fascinated by what that could mean, by her.

It both scared and thrilled her not knowing at all what he would do next. What thrilled her more was the trick hidden up her sleeve... literally.

AN: Gee whiz, I hope the wait didn't put all of you off the story. Hopefully, this chapter was interesting enough to keep you for a while longer? There's still so much to pack into the Task before I can call it a wrap (although I do plan to somewhat soon), and I'll do my best to be on top of updates. So please don't ditch me! (I do own a cyber shotgun, ya know.) ;D

Yeah, the lemons weren't here like I promised some months ago, but like I said, writer's block, revisions... blah blah. Eventually, I'll make up for it. Probably.

Review?