The light came in a haze. Hermione's eyes burned. She was tied, she guessed magically, to the bedpost of her four-poster bed. It hurt to look, but she could feel the crimson crepe-de-chine scraping against the back of her calves and elbows. Her head felt full of thick fog. It coated her tongue and left her vision swimming. A dark figure split and multiplied across her field of vision.

"Hush. You're just coming to." The voice sounded velvety and vaguely familiar. What had happened? Why was she tied up? She struggled against the bindings, feeling her wrists strain painfully against the invisible ropes. Magical bindings. She couldn't feel the soft weight of the little golden Time Turner at her ribs. She wanted to panic, but couldn't summon the energy.

The voice made little soothing noises. She felt the bed dip beside her and struggled to open her eyes. She felt leaden and sleepy. Something was wrong, very wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on it, couldn't bring herself to care. The stranger was stroking her hair now, pulling careful fingers through her wild curls. She made a little noise in the back of her throat from satisfaction. She was so tired. Her bones felt heavy and liquid in her compliance.

She was warm, so warm. The man's touch felt like sunbursts on her skin. She wanted to stay here, in his warmth.

Her head was resting on the man's shoulders - she was certain it was a man now. His shoulders were broad and his voice husky. Her head dipped, the muscles in her neck useless and her nose collided with his soft jumper. She caught the scent of something she never thought she'd smell again. Lemon leaves, mint, and death in her nostrils. Tom Riddle.

She did her best to start in horror but her head felt like it was full of treacle, so she was sure it was more of a slow, lazy jerk of her body. She felt Tom's amused breath on her cheek as he exhaled. He was so close. His hand was still tangled in her hair. "That's right, little bird. It's me."

Little bird. The nickname lingered in her mouth nastily. He had given it to her so long ago. The day they'd first met. Hermione fought to open her eyes. Tom appeared in waves, swirling and swirling.

What's happening to me? She wanted to say, but it came out more like "whuzhaggeningdome." Her tongue had turned garbled and thick in her mouth.

Tom lifted up her chin with a pinching finger and thumb. His dark hair and terrible, pale eyes blurred in her vision. "It's just a side effect of the spell I cursed you with. It will wear off in a few minutes." His tone was charming, meant to influence her to calm down. She whined, fighting against her restraints. It wasn't right, wasn't fair. She couldn't tell what was real and what Tom had put in her brain. Something trickled into her brain, like hot honey. She stilled. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

No. She thought determinedly. Tom is dangerous. Tom is dangerous. Tom Riddle is an evil man. She repeated it over and over in her mind like a mantra. Tom Riddle is an evil man.

Over a few minutes the fog in her brain cleared and so did the warm, viscous feeling in her lower belly. Her head pounded, but she was clear-minded. She sat up.

"Still up to your same tricks. Trying to Imperius me won't work, Tom. It didn't work before and it won't work now." Hermione said faintly. He'd tried to curse her to do it, to knock her off her guard and make it easier to infiltrate her mind.

"Perhaps." He said in a cold voice. "Your Occlumency has improved since the last time I saw you."

"Perhaps." She echoed.

"You're still vulnerable to it, to me." He shifted to face her and and Hermione tilted her chin to glare up at him. Soft rosebud lips curled into a smirk. "You always will be."

She spat at him, a stringy goblet of spit landing on his porcelain cheek. His smirk turned catlike, pleased.

"My, my." Fingers tightened painfully around her thigh. "What a savage little lion you have turned out to be."

"It's nothing that you didn't teach me first." Hermione hissed.

He tutted. "Dear Hermione, I wouldn't have taught you to be so disrespectful." He tightened his grip on her thigh - it was sure to bruise. She fought the urge to cry out. Tom fixed his gaze on her face, rapt in the absorption of her every pained expression. She couldn't look away. He was beautiful and terrible - twisted.

She struggled against her bonds once more, fruitlessly. "Get off me. Stop touching me. Let me go!" She said finally, finding her voice trembling. She was beginning to feel the cold ice of terror creep through her veins. It appeared Tom hadn't come for a cup of tea and a catch-up.

"Really? I seem to remember you enjoying this very much." He was a predator, closing in on his prey. "I seem to remember you begging me not to stop." Hermione closed her eyes in nausea. His voice turned high and clear. "Oh, Tom. Please don't stop. Tom, right there. Oh Tom." He mocked.

Hermione felt the sting of humiliation burn at her eyelids. "Screw you." She said quietly. He released her thigh, replacing it with gentle touch. His hand soothed over the painful bruise. Hermione reddened.

"My apologies, I didn't quite hear you. What did you say darling?"

Hermione opened her eyes. White, hot anger boiled in the pit of her belly.

"I said, fuck you." He was so close to her, practically millimetres away from her face. He looked so calm, so resolute in his position over her. Hermione wanted to skin him.

"Oh but darling," Tom paused, smile stretching from ear to ear. "You already did."

"I will never touch you again." She spat, barely getting the words out. "I was a little fool."

"Yes, you were." Tom got off the bed abruptly. She could only catch glimpses of him outside her field of vision He looked oddly at home in her grand little bedroom, with its burgundy carpets and Baroque, gilded walls. Gryffindor colours. He was poise and pure passion, a knife's edge from madness.

"You will beg to have me again, Hermione Granger." He said in a low, dangerous tone. "There is a fracture in you that only I can see. We are the same, you and I. It will grow and grow until you despair of it. There will be nothing you can do, except come to me. You will long for it, for me. I will have you on your knees, begging."

He paused. He was behind her now, she was sure of it. She could feel his warmth behind her. She could scarcely breathe, whether from terror or something unspeakable, growing in the pit of her belly. His lips brushed the sensitive hollow of her neck and she let out a gasp.

"and I will say no." He whispered gently. It sounded like a threat.

"I'm tired of this game Tom. I'm tired of you." She said shakily. "I won't stop running. You'll never find me again. Even if you take my Time Turner. I'll find another."

Hermione could practically hear his smirk. "Perhaps."