The Greatest Victory

by MindifISlytherIn07

*WARNING FOR DARK TOPICS* Hermione finds herself over 60 years into the past, with a riddle to solve and a Riddle to handle. "1931… I'm in 1931… 1931." She kept repeating the date as if expecting it to suddenly make sense, as she walked down the corridors and towards the closest exit that came to mind, the One-Eyed Witch Passage leading to Honeydukes.

2. Chapter 2 - Trust

Warnings for crude themes, child abuse and bullying.

Chapter 2: Trust

Ron and Harry were glaring at her and muttering something under their breath. Hermione felt the tears sting behind her eyelids but refused to let them fall.

Okay for Ron, he was the moodiest brat she had ever met, but why wasn't Harry talking to her? Why were they sitting so far away? She looked around for a clue. Oh yeah.

Ron's stupid rat was apparently more important than their friendship. Hermione wanted to throw up in anger but knew it would do no good.

As her mom always said, boys will be boys. The problem was that those two, boys or not, were her only friends and seeing them ganged up against her was like going back to freshman year all over again. Hermione ignored their harsh looks and hid behind a facade of indifference, a technique she had decided to copy from Malfoy, which said it all. Secretly, she hid her crossed fingers under the tablecloth, hoping for a second mountain troll.

Ron rolled his eyes, Harry diverted his, frowning at his plate.

The scene changed and Hermione was coming out of a classroom, she was holding her books tightly in her arms and was trying desperately to avoid falling victim to a group of Slytherins lurking in the hallway.

"I still can't believe it, Hermione, of all people!" Harry's voice felt like a blade slipping between her ribs.

"It's just as if she doesn't want us to be friends again!" Ron asserted in a sour, petulant tone.

"You two are too strict, she did it with good intentions." Scoffed Ginny.

"It's a Firebolt, Gin, a FIREBOLT!"

"Exactly, Ron, it's a broom."

"Enough, Hermione can't be trusted and that's it."

"Snitch." Said Ron as the trio passed her without giving her a second glance.

She couldn't be trusted, could she? But they could trust a mysterious stranger giving hundred-galleons brooms around without leaving a note... "This is getting ridiculous." Hermione muttered.

"Look, the Mudblood has started talking to herself! Are you finally losing your mind, Mudblood?!"

Darn it.

Draco Malfoy was grinning, him and stupid handsome face. Why would someone so cruel and stupid be so handsome too?

Hermione wished she could just punch him straight in his pretty face, too bad he wasn't alone. The Slytherins were laughing, grinning and getting closer.

"Sod off!" Hermione yelled, trying to walk away, but her feet were like glued to the ground underneath them.

"They are right, why should they trust you? Snitch ..."

"This… this is none of your business, Malfoy!" No this wasn't how the story went. Hermione was quite sure this had never happened.

"How did you get them to trust you again?" Malfoy was getting closer and closer.

"What do you want from me?!"

"Do you think someone like me could ever trust you?" Draco laughed looking around with smug, collecting consents from his friends.

"Someone… like you?" Hermione stammered frowning in confusion. Draco's laughter became unnaturally high-pitched and his hair tinged black. He shrunk under Hermione horrified stare, his platinum blond hair turned dark, dark and wavy and he kept getting closer. His steely gray eyes tinged with blue speckles and freckles slowly spotted his nose.

His beautiful and hateful features slowly morphed and by the time he was standing before Hermione, he was the most beautiful of children. Big blue eyes stared up at Hermione's face from under a set of long dark lashes.

Tom Riddle smiled at her, then, slowly, he lifted a hand and started choking himself, gurgling and rasping until his eyes got watery.

"Stop!" Hermione wanted to scream, she tried to move but she couldn't.

Her hands were glued to the books in her arms and she couldn't drop them, "Please, please stop! I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!" her voice got lower and lower with every word until hers was just a mute mouthing.

All the while, Tom Riddle was getting paler and paler, but just when she thought he was about to die, a wicked grin spread on his face and his hands dropped to his sides, fading into dark smoke.

All of a sudden Hermione was staring at a full grown Voldemort.

"This backfired spectacularly!" his voice echoed in her head, just like during the Battle of Hogwarts, "What are you doing here, Golden Girl?" he hissed.

"I don't know… I… I…"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"I'm… going to kill you." She whispered, but Voldemort shook his head no.

"No… you are not. I trust you won't." His face got closer to hers, Hermione could almost smell his foul breath, his ruby red eyes bore into hers, piercing through her soul, "But why do I?" He whispered against her lobe, leaving a trail of goosebumps on her neck.

"Leave me… leggo… this isn't… it can't be. You're dead." Hermione tried to pull back but found it impossible, her whole body was spasming in fear and disgust but she couldn't escape. Voldemort leaned back just slightly, his reptilian face relaxed in a neutral expression.

"But the greatest victory will be life." He shrugged, "Can I leave, now, miss?" he asked, his voice glitching with young Tom's. Hermione was taken aback and she simply stared at him until she noticed his neck was badly bruised and immediately guilt took the place of her paralyzing fear.

"I don't understand… the greatest victory?" she muttered with a frown, Voldemort took a whole step back and smiled nodding, his teeth were sharp and yellowed, Hermione wondered if his tongue would be split too, just like that of a snake.

He winked at her.

Hermione woke up with a start. She had a throbbing headache and felt like she had barely slept seconds.

Her wand was squeezed painfully against her ribs and her neck and shoulders were screaming in pain on the hard floor. Her hair and clothes were soiled with vomit and her mouth felt dry as parchment.

She groaned when she finally managed to pry her eyes open and look at the bare room that surrounded her. She wasn't at school, Harry and Ron weren't there. Neither was Voldemort, and that served to calm her racing heart.

Hermione sat back up in a creak of bones and held her temples with both hands blinking fiercely in the daylight. What time was it? Where was this place?

"Bloody hell…" Hermione sighed as the memories started flashing before her eyes. She was in 1931, Voldemort was Tom Riddle, and she was a caretaker in an orphanage… reality hit her like a slap in the face and Hermione scrambled to her feet, cussing under her breath at the pain in her head.

"Tempus" she murmured wielding her wand, it was barely past six, after throwing a couple of, sadly unhelpful, Scourgify to her hair, Hermione crawled out of the room and down to the bathroom.

She locked herself in, cleaned up and then filled the tub with a couple of touches of her wand, limiting the effort and the noises as much as possible.

The orphanage was still wrapped in total silence, and Hermione was in no hurry to wake the children up now that Martha was gone... surely she was in no hurry to see Tom again. She could definitely benefit from some time alone, she decided.

Hermione stripped off her dirty clothes and soaked them in one of the wooden basins, adding a series of small charms that she had seen Molly use during her visits at The Burrow, including a deodorant spell Molly used on particularly stinky quidditch uniforms, that her shirt could definitely benefit from.

Hermione then immersed herself in the tub up to her chin, humming in delight at the feeling of the warm water on her tense muscles.

After a few seconds of true relaxation, her thoughts wandered towards the odd dream she had had that night. She hadn't thought of her fight with Harry and Ron in such a long time. Why was it coming back now?

And what were they doing now? Was the future happening parallel to the past she was living in now? Or was this the only reality now? When the thoughts became too twisted and difficult for her exhausted brain to follow and, when she refused to think about the second part of her dream, Hermione ran her fingers along the Time-Turner chain until she found the small pendant.

The writing appeared diligently when she touched the smooth gold.

L.M.

Who the heck was L. M.?

The greatest victory over death will be life...

Hermione wondered if the words might have to do with the fact that she hadn't been able to kill Tom but then dismissed the idea as stupid soon enough. It didn't make any sense.

She dropped the pendant letting it fall back on her chest.

Much like the horcrux, the cold metal was heavy around her neck despite the lightness of the material itself. Hermione promised herself she'd never wear a necklace again in the her life as soon as all of this would be over. Over. Could it ever be over? Could she work her way back home?

Her mind drifted to Tom and a tight knot squeezed her throat. What to do about him? She reasoned.

Tom hadn't had a normal reaction to last night's attack from start to finish. The more Hermione thought about it the more she noticed the details that didn't fit.

Tom had immediately stopped upon seeing her come out of the room, he had carefully avoided turning his back and held her gaze despite being terrified, trying to appear calm and in control.

Any child caught in the dark by something unknown would have tried to run to a safe place, in his case, the children's room. Not Tom.

That child must have been abused before, that was the obvious explanation. He must have learned from experience, Hermione shuddered at the memory of how he hadn't fought her onslaught, that reacting was useless, that the best way out was to go along with the aggression, to wait for the predator to lose interest in the prey.

"Can I leave, now, madam?" That was all he had said.

Hermione gathered her arms around her knees, resting her chin on them and frowning.

Suddenly Amy's and Martha's words from the day before began to buzz in her mind.

"Mr. Wool took Tom earlier today."

"Yer don't ask questions to or about Guvnor Wool, right, Hermione! And Tom usually deserves wot 'e gets, right, believe me."

"Just do not stand in 'is way, right, wotever 'e might do ter discipline the children"

But what exactly did Mr. Wool do to discipline children? Why had Martha been so concise about it? Don't contradict Mr. Wool, don't stand in his way, don't ask questions. Hermione's stomach churned violently.

If Mr. Wool was so terrifying that simply saying his name, could help her handle the children in any situation, at least according to Martha, why had anyone let the man spend a whole day alone with Tom?

"What do you know about me?" Hermione sprung out of the tub with her heart racing painfully as Voldemort's voice, not Tom Riddle's, boomed in her head.

What did she know about Voldemort in fact? Virtually nothing.

Hermione knew that Voldemort had been conceived thanks to a love potion, that his mother had given birth to him in the orphanage and that she had died in the process. Hermione only knew what Dumbledore had shown Harry.

She knew Tom Riddle as a brilliant and cunning student, a charming character who had learned to manipulate people to his liking. She knew him as an unscrupulous monster whose only interests were to rise above the masses and escape death at any cost.

A monster who did not hesitate to try and kill a child just because, according to a prophecy, said child could cause his demise.

On the other hand, what did Dumbledore know about what Tom had experienced in his orphanage years? What did he know about Voldemort's childhood? He didn't know how it had felt living at the mercy of an alcoholic matron, a helper who visibly favored other children to him and Mr. Wool.

Just like he had conveniently ignored how abusive Harry's family had been… now that Hermione thought about it, she could see some sort of pattern there… voluntary or not, that she didn't know.

Tom, however, had been raised in an infamous neighborhood, working and begging for money at such a young age, with prostitutes working the streets right outside the orphanage gates.

Sure Tom Riddle was born from a love potion, which might have been a determining factor in his inability to understand sincere affection, but Hermione was beginning to think that there was more behind Tom emotional deficit.

The abuse, for example, physical and/or psychological, could not have helped. Add child labor to the list.

Hermione grabbed a towel from the rack and began to quickly wipe herself dry, still frowning and muttering to herself, while guilt burned her guts.

If Tom had really spent all day with his abuser yesterday, she felt twice as hideous for assaulting him for crimes he had not yet committed, adding herself to the list of reasons Tom could have become the twisted individual of her future. Sure she had obliviated but still…

"Great, L.M., whoever you are, I truly hope you hadn't set your hope on me killing the boy, because I can barely stomach the idea of someone else hurting him…" she sighed tying the towel around her wet hair.

And then it hit her.

Hermione froze.

Rookwood himself had taunted her for using stunners and minor hexes during the battle of Hogwarts… if L.M. had put him in charge of sending her back in time, there was a good chance this person knew that Hermione was no cold blooded killer.

Was it possible she had been sent back for a whole different reason than the one she had initially assumed?

Anyone who had ever glimpsed at Hermione would know that she was a sucker for lost causes and abused creatures of any kind. If her involvement in Harry's circumstances wasn't proof enough, one could think of how she had founded her SPEW organization, how she had always fought for Neville, for Buckbeak, Crookshank, Sirius…

Was it too farfetched to think that maybe, she hadn't been sent back to kill Riddle, but to save him?

When Hermione emerged from the bathroom, her hair was clean and forced into a soft bun, her clothes were pristine and nicely scented, and she had transfigured them in a light canvas dress with a floral collar and puffed sleeves; she wore a pair of two-tone Mary Janes, similar to those she had seen on Martha the day before and she had a new determination painted on her face and different goals on her to dos list.

If she could not eliminate the source of all evils in a literal sense, she would have tried to eliminate it in a figurative sense. She would save Tom Riddle from Voldemort if it was the last thing she did and if she had to walk all over Mr. Wool in order to do so, there was no way in hell she wouldn't do just that.

"Do not stand in his way my arse." Hermione muttered making her way into the dining room, "I'll figure out what that old dirtbag is up to."

With the determination that characterized her, Hermione set the table for everyone with a few movements of the wand; the children had shown her that they were capable of doing almost everything on their own, but Hermione told herself that, for once, she could spoil them a little.

Considering that they had just lost Martha, a little pampering wouldn't have hurt.

She had just put away her wand when the cook arrived dragging his feet from the entrance to the kitchen.

The cook was a huge man, almost 7'' tall, and was one of Mr. Wool's grandchildren. He worked in his father's blacksmith shop but rounded the salary by cooking for the children at the orphanage.

Frank, as the cook's name was, was also a man of very few words; he expressed himself mostly in grunts and, when the case required it, growls and rants. Knowing that, Hermione was not surprised when the man replied to her 'Good morning' with a non-committal grunt that was cut in half by the kitchen door closing behind him.

With a shrug, Hermione interpreted the arrival of the cook as the right time to wake the children, so she quickly climbed up the stairs and headed for the girls' room first.

Sure, now that she had her new goals set, Hermione would have much preferred to get to work and focus on Tom, learn more about him, investigate on his problems with Mr. Wool, and learn how to win him over as soon as possible. However, given her circumstances, Hermione couldn't blow her cover.

The orphanage would have been a handful but it gave her the perfect position to influence Tom, and if she could also save some of the other children in the process, all the better.

Hermione had seen their eyes and was fairly certain that, if not as badly, they all shared some of Tom's pain.

She flattened invisible creases on her skirt, cleared her voice, and rapped on the girls door.

The door opened almost immediately revealing that both Amy and Olivia were already awake and that Eric had already been dropped into their room, which meant the boys were probably getting ready too.

The girls beds had already been made and, when Hermione walked in, they were brushing their hair while Eric played with a ribbon, chuckling happily in a corner.

Hermione ignored the malice with which Amy held out her comb asking if perhaps Hermione needed to borrow it, and she focused on Olivia instead, who seemed to be having some troubles detangling her own comb from her curly hair and was cussing like a Scottish sailor.

"Here let me," said Hermione pushing her little hands out of the way and assessing the damage before trying to detangle the item from the mane that was trying to swallow it whole.

"She has to do it on her own, Mrs. Hermione." Snarled Amy crossing her arms on her chest with a smug face.

Hermione took a deep breath, summoning the same inner peace she used to pray for when dealing with Draco Malfoy. That's who Amy reminded her of? Hermione snorted to herself.

"It's fine, I'll help her this once and tomorrow we can find a new way to comb this mess… God knows if anyone gets your struggle, Olivia, that is me." Olivia smiled faintly, then grimaced and called down a couple of saints from the calendar when Hermione pulled a strand of hair free from the comb.

"She will never learn if you do it for her." Insisted Amy.

"There's no harm in helping each other, Amy." Hermione said breathing out and pulling at the comb a bit too enthusiastically, "Sorry, Sorry! Let me see… stay still…" she added patting Olivia's shoulder when the girl moaned in pain.

Eric giggled finding the whole scene very funny.

"Mrs. Cole says we need to learn to do things ourselves… otherwise…"

"Shut yer pus, Ame" spat Olivia then, and Hermione struggled not to burst into laughter. Olivia was the oddest child she had ever seen. She reminded her of a wilder Luna Lovegood at times, and her Scottish accent was just the cherry on top, "Thes bludy comb will graw auld wi' me withit Mrs. Hermiaine's help, yoo're just sour coz Mrs. Martha left.".

"Shut your trap, Ollie."

"Ye cried soo much lest nicht a'am surprised ye still have eyes, ye wuss!"

"I didn't!" Yelled Amy, she blushed a Weasley shade of red and launched at the smaller girl, who, far from go and cower behind Hermione, jumped at the tall slim figure of Amy completely unbothered by their obvious physical difference.

"Girls!" Hermione yelled, now trying to keep Amy's nails away from Olivia's face, and Olivia's much more threatening fists away from Amy's.

"She did! She cried!" Yelled Olivia grabbing a fistful of Amy's hair and pulling mercilessly.

"Shut up!" Amy screamed digging her nails in the girl's arm.

Eric in the background stared astonished with his bottom lip trembling dangerously.

"ENOUGH!" Roared Hermione and silence finally descended upon them.

Off to a good start, thought Hermione.

Amy pulled back violently and went to stand under the door again, snorting and muttering threats under her breath. Oliva simply glared at the other girl.

"Kiss and make up?" said Eric looking from one girl to the next with a trembling voice and eyes veiled with fat tears.

Hermione smiled at him.

"Yes Eric, they will kiss and make up," she stopped to throw an ominous glare at the girls when they both made it to say something about it, "Otherwise, there will be consequences." Hermione finished and both girls sealed their lips simultaneously, "Don't be sad, Eric, you're a good boy, aren't you?"

"Eric is good!" He confirmed pointing at his chest and nodding enthusiastically.

"Are you two done?" Hermione asked returning to scowl at the girls. They both ignored her and turned their faces in opposite directions. Hermione snorted and went back to the comb, now stuck seemingly permanently, in the depths of Olivia's curls.

Hermione glimpsed at Amy, who was now openly brooding near the door, visibly upset and possibly looking for the next topic for her nagging.

"I bet everyone will miss Mrs. Martha a great deal," Offered Hermione making sure not to cross Amy's gaze and stabbing Olivia with a glare when she made it to interrupt her, the little girl pressed her lips together then smiled knowingly at Hermione, "I will surely miss her, and I barely even knew her! But we should do our best to keep this place up and running, us girls should team up, help each other… it's just the three of us and all of those boys…"

Hermione threw a quick glance at Amy and smirked when she noticed the girl was blinking rapidly and staring at her feet biting her lower lip.

"Who knows, maybe we will convince Mrs. Cole to let us visit Martha every now and then, what do you think, Ollie?"

"As lang as ye gie thes feckin' comb out 'f me hair..."

"Hey, language." Hermione scowled, "And stay still, will you?" Olivia growled and held herself still holding tight onto Hermione's dress and pressing her face under her breast.

Amy was still well determined not to give in to Hermione, so when she finally turned to meet her gaze, the girl simply shrugged and left the room muttering something about the boys being late.

Amy wasn't going to be easy to charm but it wasn't an impossible feat either.

What Hermione had interpreted as something evil behind the girl's cold gaze the day before, she could now see as hurt and pain. Which was probably what reminded her of Draco Malfoy so much. Amy had the same hard shell as the blonde Slytherin captain form Hermione's time, but, just like him, Amy also had a soft heart and had probably suffered a lot during her childhood, for completely different reasons than Malfoy's, of course.

These children had gone through so much she didn't know, and Hermione couldn't possibly hope to change their life in a day. But she could surely try something.

When Hermione, Eric and a comb-free and braid-haired Olivia made their entrance into the dining room, the others were already sitting and staring at the soup in their plates.

Hermione helped Olivia on the particularly tall stool the girl had chosen, and then placed Eric in his high chair right next to her own. She looked around and raised a questioning brow at the children, all staring back at her in silence.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hermione" they said in an uncoordinated chorus, and then they kept staring.

"You have tae say grace, Mrs. Hermiain." Laughed Olivia when Hermione turned around to see if perhaps there was something interesting behind her.

"Oh." Hermione looked around the table once more and tilted her head, "Aren't we missing someone?"

"I told yer she 'ad a thing for Riddle." Said Dennis in a loud whisper to Billy, who giggled.

"So where is he?" Hermione asked, this time looking at the older boys, Donald and Richard, who were exchanging glances.

"Well, sometimes, when th' governur draps him in late at nicht... ouch, ye son of a wh..." Olivia's attempt at spilling the tea ended up in a loud thud when someone, probably Dennis, kicked her shin under the table.

"Shuddup, you bint." Hissed Billy glancing worriedly at Hermione.

"Sodd off, ye!" snarled Olivia.

"Stop it, both of you!" murmured Amy, pulling Olivia back on her stool and glaring at Billy and Charles, who were both trying to hit Olivia under the table again. Hermione thanked her with a smile and the girl rolled her eyes to the ceiling, but still blushed a little.

"He will not eat with us." Intervened Richard.

All of the children turned to him and quiet spread around the table.

Hermione held Richard serious gaze, pressing her lips in a hard line.

"Is he hurt?" asked Hermione, and despite still looking at Richard, she didn't miss the mischievous grin appearing on Dennis little evil face.

"Nothing that will last long enough if you ask me." Was Richard reply, to which Hermione's stomach churned with apprehension. Of course Tom was hurt, she had half strangled him to death and Merlin only knew what had Mr. Wool done to him earlier. And just how awful was Tom if most of the other children would simply leave him to his faith without worrying about him? What had he ever done to them? Couldn't they feel for the poor little thing?

Hermione had seen people die at his hands and still she felt horrible for him… what was his relationship with the other children?

The air had grown tense around the table and Hermione figured that if she ever hoped to spend some time alone with Tom and learn about him, she had to get rid of the other children.

With that in mind, she simply nodded at Richard's words, refraining from snapping at him for not checking on the younger child. She told herself that Richard was just another orphan and that there was no way he would know that all of the hurt Tom was experiencing would have far more permanent damages than he could ever imagine.

Hermione took Eric's hands between hers and recited prayer while the children exchanged odd glances.

The children ate their food discussing the plans for the day. Apparently Donald and Richard would work in the fish market, as every Tuesday. Billy and Dennis would tag along, hoping to find some older fishermen in need of some extra help.

To his displeasure, Charles would spend his Tuesday on Baker Street with the younger children and the girls, begging for money and keeping out of Mrs. Cole's way.

Sometimes, passersby would hire the girls for a few hours, mostly to help with household chores or grocery shopping, in exchange for a few pence or a piece of bread. If so, it would be Charles responsibility, an 8-year responsibility Hermione thought with despair as she was given the information, to go with the girls and make sure they weren't harassed or worse.

Hermione didn't like the idea that the children would spend all day at the mercy of the city, working or begging. She would have preferred to have them stay in the orphanage, maybe spend their mornings studying and playing, but she knew she couldn't change the way things were, at least not right away.

Plus she was itching to flee upstairs and check on Tom.

When the time came, Hermione made a disconsolate sound as Amy took a sleepy Eric from her, but she said nothing as the children greeted her one by one and left.

Olivia kissed Hermione on the cheek, making Amy's eyes roll so hard that they almost made a sound of their own.

With that the little procession disappeared beyond the iron gate and off into the alley.

"Finally ... those little voices were digging a hole in my brain." Mrs. Cole was massaging the bridge of her nose with shaky fingers, "Ah my migraine is killing me today ..." the woman added.

Hermione refrained from saying that Mrs. Cole's 'migraine' would have been easily avoidable had the woman stopped drinking, instead she offered Mrs. Cole a look she hoped would pass as compassionate.

"I'm very sorry Mrs. Cole, can I do something for you? Would you like some tea? There is still some soup in the kitchen, the cook is already gone but I can heat it myself." But Mrs. Cole waved a hand dismissing each of her offerings and sitting down at the dining table with her head in her hands.

Hermione shrugged and started to head upstairs, but before she could take more than two steps, Mrs. Cole's voice called her back.

"Mrs. Hermione, where are you going?"

"…Making the boys' beds?"

"Martha isn't here today and someone has to go to the market. Mr. Wool has dinner with us on Tuesdays, you have to go buy some cream cheese at the shop, some butter and fresh bread too."

Mr. Wool… finally, Hermione would have met with the mysterious man.

"Of course," She said, "Although, I'm not sure I know where the shops are, Mrs. Cole."

"Take one of the girls with you, Amy knows where to go. Here is £ 0.25, that should be enough for the essentials." Hermione accepted a small bag of clinking coins.

"And here, there's £ 1 for you, for the down payment we talked about."

Hermione took a second smaller pouch and murmured thank you. She then lingered on the spot, fidgeting with the little cord that was keeping the pouch sealed.

"For the love of God, Mrs. Hermione, what is it? I couldn't possibly ask for more, it took me hours to talk Mr. Wool into that amount already!" Snapped Mrs. Cole exhaling and massaging her temples with more emphasis.

Hermione made a couple of attempts before actually managing to find her words.

"It's not about the money! No… I was just wondering… What about Tom?" she asked.

Mrs. Cole lifted her eyes from the wooden table and quirked a puzzled brow at her "What about that little pest? Has he done something? I swear to God, that child…" Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and spoke again before Mrs. Cole could start rumbling about how horrible Tom was.

"Does he know where the shops are?" Mrs. Cole's lips sealed immediately and the woman stared at the girl standing before her with a mixture of worry and disbelief.

Hermione wondered if perhaps Mrs. Cole had damaged her brain with all the drinking but right when she was about to repeat her question, Mrs. Cole spoke again.

"Why would you want to take Tom? He'll probably trick you in buying the wrong stuff and there would be no one else to blame but you after that."

"Well," said Hermione tentatively, "I happen to have some money of my own in that case. I'm sure it would be enough to fix such a mistake." She let the small pouch with her 1£ swing between herself and Mrs. Cole, but the older woman looked only more confused.

She held Hermione's determined stare for a while more, then she simply shrugged and snorted out loud, bringing her head between her hands once more, rubbing it vigorously at the temples.

"Mrs. Hermione, are you asking me if you can take Tom with you, or are you telling me that you will?"

"I guess, I'm telling you." Hermione blushed slightly.

"Fine, good luck with that and If you even manage to, don't come crying to me later. Now go, my head is about to burst open..."

Hermione bolted out of the room before the woman could change her mind. She was up the stairs and standing in front of the door leading to the boys room in a matter of seconds.

Images of the previous night danced before her eyes and she stopped, hesitating in front of the door.

She could still see him… a tiny Tom Riddle, lying on the floor of her room, panting and trembling, frightened, but angry enough to get a fever.

He doesn't remember it. She repeated to herself over and over again, wishing someone could obliviate the feeling of her hands wrapped around the child throat from her mind too.

When her breathing normalized, Hermione finally placed her hand on the doorknob and took another deep breath before pushing it down.

Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle. Not Voldemort. Not a monster. Just a five-year-old who had been abused in various ways and extents for years.

A boy, just a boy.

Hermione walked into the room. She had to blink a couple of times as her sight adjusted to the light filtering from the wide window.

There were six unmade beds lined against the wall, the seventh, the one closer to the window, had the sheets pulled up all the way and underneath them there was a small lump.

When Hermione closed the door behind her, the lump began to tremble slightly, breaking Hermione's heart to pieces. Did Tom think it was Mr. Wool again? What was that man doing to that child?

Hermione cleared her throat to make her identity known, immediately the lump under the covers stopped shaking and froze.

"Tom?" she asked in a low, calm voice, "Tom, it's Mrs. Hermione, the new helper, are you awake, Tom?"

The voice from under the covers was low and muffled by the layers of sheets.

"Go away..." Hermione felt both like crying, smiling and running away.

Dealing with Tom Riddle felt overwhelming. Even now, when he was hidden under the sheets, Hermione couldn't bring her heart to stop thumping in her chest.

On the one hand she was horrified by who that child would become, horrified by herself, acting all kind and sweet with Voldemort, THE Voldemort who had killed Harry's parents... On the other hand, Hermione just couldn't stand the thought of an abused little child, mistreated by everyone and always yelled at.

"Tom the others are gone, it's just the two of us. Would you like to come out of those blankets and shake my hand?" She asked, moving slightly closer to the bed under the window, but not too close, for both his and her own comfort.

"No." Fair enough. Hermione sighed. Wrong approach.

"Well, we can skip the handshake if you like, but I need you to get out of bed, Tom. We have to clean you up, get you something to eat and go to the market." Hermione opted for a firmer tone and it seemed to work.

At those words the sheets jerked forward and revealed the pale skinned boy Hermione had seen the previous night. He was sitting in bed with disheveled hair and a marvelous little pout on his face.

The most beautiful child Hermione had ever seen, no doubt about it. The sunlight confirmed what the previous night's thought had been. Hermione had almost hoped that with the light, she would be able to unravel at least a couple of flaws in that perfect porcelain mask. She'd thought she'd be able to peek at Voldemort's ashen face between the cracks, but nothing. Tom Riddle was the most beautiful child in history, perhaps so perfect that it was a little scary, but she was certainly not objective in thinking that.

He was wearing a yellowed and slightly too large shirt and kept staring at her in silence with red-rimmed blue eyes. Had he cried? Hermione's eyes roamed instinctively to his small and slender neck, looking for the traces of their first disastrous encounter. She almost sighed in relief when she found that the spell from the previous night, as rudimental as it was, had done its job of healing the bruises she had inflicted.

In the seemingly endless seconds that Tom stared at her in silence, Hermione noted the presence of healing bruises and small scars scattered here and there in the portions of bare skin on the boy's neck and arms.

Before she could formulate a way to inquire about those injuries on his body, Tom broke the silence that he himself had created.

"I'd rather stay here, Mrs. Hermione." Back to politeness, was he? Cunning little boy. They were both testing each other's boundaries.

Hermione smiled, but then firmly shook her head no.

"I'd rather you come with me, Tom, and hurry up too, it's quite late already." Tom's gaze became even more intense.

He didn't trust her.

Of course.

How could he have trusted a complete stranger, enough to want to spend time alone together? He hadn't been too lucky with the adults he had met, Hermione couldn't exactly blame him for trying to find a way out of her plans for the day.

Tom was probably wondering how to catalog this new adult specimen. How long could she press his luck? Would she be angry? Would she ignore him? Would she hit him? Or was she perhaps, an easily manipulated person, that he could wrap around his fingers with those magnificent blue eyes of his?

Hermione, for her part, was pretty convinced that if she wasn't careful enough, she would belong to the latter category. Obviously, Tom didn't have to know that. So she told herself that for now, she would keep a sweet but strict attitude, hoping to create a new healthier category in his list.

Meanwhile, for some reason, that night's dream chose that moment to come back to her and hunt the back of her mind. The faces of Ron, Harry and Draco Malfoy buzzed in her brain, as she held Tom's glare.

"Mrs. Hermione, I truly rather not."

"Well, tough luck, Tom, we're too busy today to hang around moping." She said lightly, Tom's eyes widened slightly but he didn't say anything, and kept staring while Hermione leaned closer and opened the window, before quickly moving away and busy herself into making the other children's bed.

"Martha takes the girls to the market." He informed her then, losing some of his cool and edging the tantrum zone. Hermione ignored him.

"How come I didn't see you at breakfast?"

"I do not feel well." He blurted out and Hermione ventured a glance over her shoulder. His brain was working fast on excuses, she smiled to herself.

"Mh ... what's wrong exactly? Do you have a fever?" Hermione asked as she slid a pillow into its pillowcase and pounded it vigorously. Tom hesitated, and she had to refrain from grinning as Tom sought the most convenient malaise for his situation.

"My tummy hurts." Ah, great choice, stomach ache was certainly not something Hermione could measure. She mentally congratulated him.

"If it's so bad that you don't want to get up, maybe we should inform Mrs. Cole and ask her to call a doctor. What do you say?" Hermione suggested with a nonchalant tone, attacking the next bed.

"Martha doesn't call the doctor for a tummy ache." He moped.

"Well, I'm Mrs. Hermione, you see? And I take every illness very seriously!" Hermione said without sparing him a second glance.

There was a long moment of silence in which Hermione wondered if perhaps using threats with such a small and traumatized child was a little excessive, but then to her relief, Tom's bed springs creaked and the sound was followed by that of bare feet on the floor.

When Hermione turned to look at him, Tom was awkwardly pulling on the shirt that she saw children wearing under the overalls.

"Ah, are you feeling a little better already?" she asked with a knowing smile, Tom gave her a dirty look while he slipped on the overall, putting those skinny legs of his in the pants one at a time with annoyed gestures.

The physical size of the child baffled Hermione. Tom was very small, smaller, and surely shorter, than a 5 year old would be.

Voldemort, the Voldemort Hermione had seen a few days earlier, was a tall 'man' with broad shoulders and an imposing frame.

If Hermione didn't want to take into account the adult version of Riddle, also according to Harry, the Tom Riddle of Hogwarts, was a handsome boy, elegant and about as tall as Ron. Ron was tall… almost a whole head taller than Harry himself.

The handsomeness, Hermione could easily see that, anyone would have! Tom, especially compared to the other children in the orphanage, looked like a finely hand-crafted doll. But Hermione just couldn't see how those angular, thin legs were going to evolve into the tall character she had heard about and met.

"What do you want me to do?" Hermione looked down at him as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a resentful look.

"We're going out, you should wear your shoes." She said pointing at his feet. He blinked rapidly and looked away, "Were are your shoes, Tom?" Tom did not answer but he glimpsed at the other children's bed and Hermione figured someone else must have taken them.

Fine, she'd think about the shoes later.

"You know what? Just wear a pair of socks and go wait for me downstairs. There's some leftover soup in the kitchen if you're hungry, I'll be right there."

Tom held her stare but didn't move.

"Mrs. Cole said she has a headache, she is probably already back in her room…" she informed him, his shoulders relaxed slightly and he looked at the door nervously. Her heart squeezed slightly, "The other children are gone too… and I haven't yet had the pleasure to meet Mr. Wool." The last bit came out in a lower trembling tone, despite her best effort to sound natural.

Hermione glimpsed back at the small boy. For a moment there, he looked surprised, his lips parted but no sound came, then he simply nodded and headed outside.

Mr. Wool… I'm going to tear you to pieces. Hermione thought angrily pulling out the wand from her sleeve as soon as Tom had disappeared behind the door.

It took her seconds to finish her housekeeping with magic but apparently it had taken even less for Tom to screw her over. Hermione had been distracted by his disconsolate appearance, by his big blue eyes, and like a fool she had created the perfect opportunity for him to escape. When she got downstairs moments later, in fact, there was no sign of Tom anywhere.

"Nice move, Hermione ..." she scolded herself, "Tom one, Hermione zero, I guess ..." Well at least Mrs. Cole wasn't around to laugh at her, she told herself.

Dragging her feet, Hermione picked up the cloth shopping bags from the pantry and walked disconsolately to Baker's corner where Charles, Eric and the girls sat in the sun. She took Amy and Eric with her to the market that day but her mind kept drifting to the odd dream and to Malfoy's words.

"Do you think someone like me could ever trust you?" Someone like him.

Hermione had dreamed of the fight with Harry and Ron in third year, it had been the only time she had lost the trust of her friends, but regaining it had not been that hard. Earning Malfoy's trust ... that would have been a completely different feat.

She knew how to deal with Ron and Harry, because they were like her, they thought like her. How to gain the trust of someone who thinks completely differently? The thought pestered Hermione all day, and all day she wondered where Tom was.

The child seemed to have vanished into thin air and the day went by relatively calmly. Hermione even found some spare time to stare at the pendant around her neck.

It was only at bath time that the wheels of fate were set in motion.

Father Jones finally took his pestilent breath out of the orphanage shortly after seven.

Hermione, amid the laughter of the children, went to great lengths to open all the windows in the dining room as soon as the priest was gone, explaining that it would take hours to remove the stench from the room.

Even Billie and Dennis found the scene amusing and Hermione laughed at the boys imitation of Father Jones, at least until a glare from Mrs. Cole (suddenly emerged from her den) reminded Hermione that she shouldn't have allowed such insolence.

Mrs. Cole's appearance signaled that it was time to announce bath time, and Hermione did just so, as she had seen Martha do the night before.

The children started running up and down the stairs, grabbing their pajamas and leaving a trail of dirty clothes in the corridor, while Hermione filled the large bathtub and three wooden basins.

She tucked Eric into the smaller tub at her feet, Billie, Charles and Olivia in two medium-sized ones. Dennis and Amy quickly entered the largest tub and Hermione found it curious that no one seemed ashamed of their nakedness, before reasoning that they were probably all used to the routine, except her.

Hermione blushed violently when Richard and Donald also quietly took off their clothes and jumped into the large tub with the smaller children. With the other children she had no particular problems, but Richard and Donald were about 2 years younger than her, if not less, and Hermione had hardly ever seen Harry and Ron shirtless, two completely naked guys were a long way from her comfort zone, however innocent the interaction was.

Fortunately, no one seemed to notice her embarrassment and Hermione focused all of her attention on Eric, who occasionally tried to escape from his basin, spilling water on the floor in large waves, and the younger boys in the basins.

They had just started relaxing when Mrs. Cole's howling broke the happy chuckles in the bathroom at once.

"I said ... INSIDE!" the woman yelled from the corridor.

Hermione, dropped the bar of soap she was using on Billie's back, Eric's smile turned immediately upside down. Olivia and Amy exchanged a knowing glance.

"I do not want to!" a loud clap made Hermione gasp.

Tom.

Hermione's stomach tightened in a vise and she nearly slipped face down on the run to the bathroom door. The other children had fallen silent behind her, and were listening to what was going on.

"Inside! Now! Damn little demon!" When Hermione made it out of the steamy bathroom, the scene before her eyes was one of chaos.

Tom was dangling with one arm in Mrs. Cole's grip and was trying, and failing, to use his weight to stop the Governess from dragging him to the bathroom. He was filthy. Covered in what looked like soot from head to toe. Still, under all that dirt, Tom's face sported a glowing red cheek, where Mrs. Cole had hit him.

"God only knows where you've been! You smell like the devil! Get in with the others!"

"No!" Tom wriggled like an eel in Mrs. Cole's deadly grip.

The woman seemed possessed, she shook the child and struggled along the corridor, hitting him loudly when he kicked and bit everything he could reach in an attempt to escape.

"What is happening?!" Hermione asked in alarm, shaking out of her amazement and rushing towards the two. Tom's eyes stopped in hers, full of resentment and unshed tears.

"This devil, this monster! He smells like a sewer! God knows he's been up all day!" Mrs. Cole shook Tom again, and he hung dead weight to the floor causing her to stagger backwards and cuss, "I can't stand you anymore!" the woman growled.

Hermione ignored her blind anger at the woman's words, and reached out to Tom instead.

"Tom, come on, enough of the tantrums." she said but the boy stabbed her with his eyes and did not move.

"Ah, kindness is wasted with this one!" Mrs. Cole exploded, "But now that Mr. Wool comes ... now that he comes, you will see!" A flash of panic crossed Tom's gaze at the name of Mr. Wool and Mrs. Cole seemed to notice and particularly enjoy it.

"Oh, nonsense." Hermione blurted out, "Tom's just a little tired, isn't he? And he had a tummy ache in the morning. Now he's coming to take a bath with us and then we'll all eat together. Right Tom? Will you stop being a bad boy and come with me?"

Tom was at a crossroads, and he seemed to be aware of it. Mrs. Cole looked at him as if daring him to take Hermione's hand, and Hermione was afraid for a moment, that out of pride, Tom would choose to be tortured by Mr. Wool rather, but apparently, the idea was not too tempting.

As if by magic, Tom's entire posture changed and a moment later he was taking Hermione's hand, under the astonished gaze of Mrs. Cole.

Heart beating in her throat, Hermione shrugged nervously at the woman and then walked with Tom to the bathroom, holding his hand tighter than necessary out of sheer panic. It was small and warm and loose in her grip, but it was there. A little step in the right direction.

"Well, what do you know…" she heard Mrs. Cole say in the background, "She might tame the beast."

When the bathroom door finally closed behind their back, Hermione found herself before the next challenge when 8 pair of eyes landed on Tom, now stiffly standing beside her.

"Always the attention seeker, Tom." Richard grinned, "What is it? Do you have a crush on Mrs. Hermione?" Tom's hand immediately withdrew from Hermione's and his posture changed once again to a defensive one.

"Shut up, Richard." he muttered as he pressed himself against the door.

"Come on, Tom, take off your clothes, I'll fill a basin for you." Hermione said trying to break the stiff atmosphere that was created in the bathroom.

"I won't take a bath with them."

"Oh, I'm Tom, I'm too special to be with others!" teased Dennis.

"Yes, I'm so special that nobody can stand me ..." Billie grinned.

"Sod off!" snapped Tom.

"Enough." Hermione said hissing, "I want absolute silence or else. Tom, undress."

"No." his little body pressed impossibly tight against the door as he tried to put more distance between himself and Hermione.

"Tom, please." Tom's eyes were filled with hatred at the moment and Hermione couldn't understand what had caused the sudden change. He had taken her hand a little while ago, didn't he trust her yet?

"I'll show you how this is dealt with here, Mrs. Hermione." Hermione didn't even have time to react. Donald had practically materialized beside her out of nowhere, and, still naked, he proceeded to ungracefully grab Tom by the arm, and pull him to himself to then tear his clothes off as Tom wriggled like a snake.

"No! No, Donald! Let him go!" Hermione was horrified. Tom was howling in despair trying to keep his shirt on, but Donald, incited by the other children, had no mercy. Laughing, Donald stripped Tom completely, leaving him standing naked and angry in front of everyone.

"Here he is." the boy said going back to the tub amid general laughter.

Hermione's eyes widened, she took a sharp breath and pressed her hands to her lips. Tom looked at her resentfully, seething, covering himself as best he could with his hands.

Traitor, it was written in capital letters in those eyes.

"Who ... who did this to you?" Hermione asked, with a tight lump in her throat. Tom looked away and ignored the question but Dennis seemed to have been waiting for nothing but to get involved and, with a huge grin on that evil face of his, broke the silence.

" Wich one, right, Mrs. Hermione, luv? Some 'ave interestin' stories, don't they, Tom?"

"Shut up." Tom muttered, but no one was listening to him at the moment. Hermione was too busy staring at the scars on the child's body in a state of shock.

"This one!" said Billie, who had come out of his basin and was now standing between Hermione and Tom, dripping water onto the floor, "This long one," he said pointing to a long scar running from Tom's collarbone to his shoulder and back, "This one was by the butcher himself ! Almost cut his head off!"

"He did what?" Hermione's voice came out choked, "The butcher? What?"

" Oh it whistle and flutes 'im right! Blimey!" Dennis intervened from behind, " He learned not ter nick from the counter, right, didn't 'e?"

"SHUT UP!" Tom screamed but the children were laughing and they were all coming out of the water and grabbing towels to get closer.

"What about that one?" Amy yelled, pointing to a short but particularly thick scar under Tom's chest, amidst what looked like cigarette burns, "Mr. Wool gave that to you, right?" the little girl smiled wickedly, "And you also learned not to enter the girls room... he learns so fast, our Tom!"

"Stop it." Hermione's voice came out so faint that the children didn't even hear her. Hermione was feeling light-headed, her stomach was spinning wildly threatening to empty its meager contents on the bathroom floor, she couldn't take her eyes off Tom's scarred body.

He didn't look at her, he was silent, pressed against the door and steaming with rage.

"What do you know about me?" Voldemort's voice rang in her head along with Eric's shrill cry, as he demanded to also be pulled out of his basin.

"Stop." Hermione repeated but her voice didn't surpass the chatter of the children.

"The one on the back, Tom! Show us Dennis's artwork!" Donald laughed at one point, leaning over Hermione the boy took Tom's arm to force him to turn around and that's when Hermione finally snapped.

"ENOUGH." Silence fell immediately.

Hermione found herself standing in the center of the small group, between Tom and the other children, "Dry off and get out. Everyone." her tone must have been imbued with enough fury that even Dennis followed Hermione's order.

One by one the children walked out of the bathroom scowling and pouting, until only Hermione, a weeping Eric and Tom were left.

"Tom?"

He looked at her but dared not speak, he measured Hermione's every move with his huge eyes.

"Tom, get in the bathtub." slowly, Tom complied and never giving his back to Hermione he passed her and scrambled into the big tub in silence.

"Eric wants out!" Eric shouted, waking Hermione from her slumber.

"Sure, honey. Come here, here you go."

Hermione was too angry to speak and Tom probably sensed it or was just as angry, because he didn't say anything the whole time Hermione wiped Eric dry and tucked him in his pajama.

Once finished with Eric, Hermione walked over to the tub and sat on the edge. It took her a few more moments to regain her ability to speak.

"Tom, I'm sorry I didn't react sooner, I was caught off guard. Can you forgive me?"

The look he gave her reminded her of the one from the night before, when she had strangled him and then asked if he was okay. Hermione felt like dying inside, she had to find a way to break that vicious circle, but first of all, she had to get rid of the anger that was blinding her right now.

"Tom," she continued without waiting for an answer and looking away from Tom to look at Eric, who was playing with a towel sitting near the door, "The things the other kids said ... are they true?"

"Yes." his voice was low, strangled by a knot of fury in his throat. This child was only 5 years old.

"That ... scar on your chest ... was it Mr. Wool?"

"What if? What are YOU going to do about it?" Hermione's eyes plunged into the stormy ocean in his. This was the proof he was asking of her, this was the price of his trust, Hermione thought.

Luckily for her, she was itchy to pay it right now.

"Very well." was all Hermione said. She took a large dry towel off the closest shelf and opened it inviting Tom out of the tub. With an expression halfway between curious and doubtful, he came out and let himself be wrapped in the towel. Unlike Eric, Tom did not give up completely, he remained stiff, alert, unable to enjoy the after-bath cuddles. Anger stirred even more savagely within Hermione. This had to end and had to end today.

Immediately.

"Do you guys know what a 'leap of faith' is?" Asked Hermione, handing Tom the bottom of his pajama. Tom shook his head no as he started getting dressed. Eric simply stared ad Hermione. Hermione handed Tom his shirt and started emptying the basins into the larger tub.

"It means you believe something, or attempt something, whose existence or outcome cannot be proved or known." Hermione pulled the tub chain letting the water run down the drain, when she turned to look for the children's eyes, Tom's was extremely focused, he was hanging on to her words now, Eric was a little less interested in Hermione and more in a spider that was running vertically swinging under the sink.

"It's a bit like religion, Tom, like believing in God even if there is no physical proof of his existence. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hermione." Hermione smiled.

"Now, Tom," Hermione said, reaching down to pick Eric off the floor, and then extending an open hand to Tom for him to take, "You don't know me well Tom, but I need you to take a little leap of faith for me. I promise you it will be worth it. Can you do it? "

Tom's eyes danced from Hermione's hand to Eric, who lay quietly on her chest sucking his thumb with his free hand in her curls.

Something in what he saw in the girl standing before him with her hand outstretched and the savage look of a warrior ready to serve divine justice, pleased him, and, after a moment's hesitation, Tom Riddle nodded.

"Well," Hermione said as he reached out and took her hand, "Tom, I swear to you that if you do exactly what I tell you without asking why, Mr. Wool will never touch you again, no one ever will, not under my watch. But from tonight, Tom , there will be no more room for tantrums, promise me? "

"I promise."

"No tantrums," Eric chirped, pulling his thumb out of his mouth with a little 'pop'.

"Here we go."

Hermione opened the door and headed for the dining room, where, considering the religious silence that had enveloped the house, she imagined everyone else was already waiting for supper, infamous Mr. Wool included.

Tom's hand in hers, was now holding her tight and Hermione could feel Tom's magic seeping through his skin onto hers. She wondered if he could feel it too.

It was overwhelming, impressive and empowering. Tom Riddle was trusting her with his life within one day since their meeting. Hermione could take down the whole house with the raging emotions running through her system right now, but she managed to keep calm somehow.

When she stepped into the dining room the whole room turned in their direction.

The children were sitting stiffly at the table, Mrs. Cole was visibly fighting her hungover and her face was green with nausea. The cook was sitting at the table too, but Hermione's eyes were all for the man sitting next to him.

Mr. Wool. She decided, as his small watery eyes travelled from her legs up to her chest. Hermione's hand tightened around Tom's.

"So… this must be the beast tamer…" thin chapped lips curled around the words, revealing crooked yellow teeth. The man's face was a web of wrinkles, his skin was as dry as leather, and his hair was long and matted with some greasy substance. It was the ugliest thing Hermione had seen since Voldemort ... maybe even Filch was a handsome man by comparison.

Anger took the shape of bile in Hermione's stomach. This insignificant being, this nothingness was the monster who had collaborated in the creation of an even worse monster? He radiated evil alright, but nothing Hermione couldn't handle. The scars on Tom's chest and back were hunting her every logical thought and she could now feel her own magic humming in her ears like a war drum.

"My name is Hermione Granger." Hermione spat stiffly through clenched teeth, she could feel Tom's eyes burning a hole in her face, "You must be Mr. Wool?" The man smiled in confirmation. Hermione took a deep breath through her nose. Calm down. Breathe.

"Would you believe it, Frank? This little bird forced my hand to get some money up front ... women sure are getting bold, these days, uh? Lucky for her, this one is a feast for the eyes ..." Mr. Wool took his time leering at Hermione with his swine-like eyes while Frank cackled at his uncle's assertion.

Mr. Wool smiled, pleased with both his nephew's reaction and Hermione's obvious outrage. The disgusted look on Olivia's face perfectly mirrored the one on Hermione's, and despite the size of it, it felt good to have an ally in the little girl.

"Are you going to sit down, little bird? We've waited long enough for you and that little savage." Said Mr. Wool jutting his chin in Tom's direction.

Tom made it to walk over to the table but Hermione pulled him back.

"I need to talk to you, Mr. Wool." Hermione finally said, ignoring Mrs. Cole's murderous gaze, and the shock on the faces of the children, who were now nudging each other, excited by the unfolding situation, "In private." Hermione added when the man only moved a questioning eyebrow.

"Oh I see." said Mr. Wool, as a sinister smile spread across his evil face, "This little hen is so cheeky. Is there something else you need... up front?" Mr. Wool cackled and rose from his seat. He then pointed theatrically to the kitchen door whit his hand. Hermione's eyes lingered on the man's black-edged and way too long nails, but she didn't miss the moment when Mr. Wool winked at Frank.

Hermione grimaced in disgust, she held her head high and her shoulders straight, trying to convey that there was nothing sexual in her request.

Mrs. Cole and the children were all pale and paralyzed in their seats, all except for Dennis who seemed quite amused instead.

"It's good to exercise before meals, Uncle." said Frank, rudely raising and lowering his eyebrows and formulating the first complete sentence in days. Hermione told herself she much preferred him when he expressed himself in grunts and moans.

She felt her fury pour into her cheeks like fiery lava, but she pursed her lips and motioned for Mrs. Cole to take Eric from her arms.

"You're playing with fire, little girl. You better remember where you belong before HE reminds you." Mrs. Cole whispered to her, deliberately taking too long to retrieve the baby.

"I know what I'm doing." Hermione answered then turned to the dark-haired boy, who still held her hand and looked at her with wide blue eyes, completely enraptured and at the same time hopelessly frightened, "You're coming with me, Tom, yes? It's our leap of faith, yes?"

Tom said nothing but followed Hermione through the kitchen door.

Mr. Wool came in behind them and the next room fell dead silence when the door slammed shut behind his back.

"Not that I care, but does the demon really have to watch? You're a stinking little one, let me tell you ..." Mr. Wool grinned as he leaned against the door and tucked both of his thumbs under his belt in a cocky pose. Hermione ignored him completely, rather she turned away, released Tom's hand and knelt beside him. He trembled. Tom Riddle was shaking violently.

The hand, which until now had been free, was clenched in such a tight fist that he had pierced the skin of his palm drawing blood.

Slowly Hermione put her hands on his shoulders and finally his eyes focused on her, escaping the panic he had fallen into.

"Tom, my darling, I need you to do exactly as I tell you." The child nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Do you want him to join? Ohoh, even better. Just so you know, he doesn't need too many instructions either… isn't it, Tommy?" Mr. Wool licked his bottom lip feverishly, Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine. If until then she had had doubts, they had all just evaporated.

This thing was about to go down.

"Tom, plug your ears with your little hands and hum until I tell you to stop." Tom slowly obeyed. Hermione gave him an encouraging smile then rose from her position to face Mr. Wool.

The man opened his mouth to say something, his small wet eyes filled with an excitement that disgusted Hermione to no end. Before he could say a single word, it was Hermione who spoke.

"Imperio." The man's eyes immediately became blank and distant, his posture lost all its smugness.

It was easy. It was that easy.

Hermione would have guessed it would take more energy to perform such a curse, but her anger was such that she barely had to point the wand, which she kept hidden in her sleeve and out of sight, except for the tip.

Hermione glanced quickly at Tom, who seemed interested in the scene but missed the reality of what was happening, then she walked over to Mr. Wool until she could smell the scent of his cheap hair product mixed with his sweat. Even lowering her wand, she could feel the connection with the man's mind.

"Mr. Wool, I want you to nod now." she whispered, to test the curse. Mr. Wool immediately carried out the order, nodding vigorously. Hermione felt a wicked satisfaction at the sight of that slimy man, now completely bent to her will.

Tom was still humming in the background. Such a good boy.

"Mr. Wool, I will tell Tom to take his hands off his ears, when I do, you will apologize to me for your behavior, you will swear never to touch any of the children again. From today Mr. Wool, you will lead a simple and honest life and you will mostly be confined to your room when your presence is not required. You will let me run the orphanage as I please and you will never, ever touch any of the children again. " The man continued to look at her with a distant stare but Hermione could feel her order take hold of his mind. It was a strange feeling, unpleasant, but necessary, she told herself.

Hermione then retraced her steps and knelt beside Tom again. She took one last look at Mr. Wool, then took Tom's little hands and pushed them out of his ears.

"Tom, you remember your part of the deal, right?"

"No tantrums." he said in a small voice, and then ventured a suspicious glance in the direction of the silent governor. Hermione nodded.

"Very well." she turned to Mr. Wool, "Do you have something to tell us, Mr. Wool?"

"I am sorry if I have offended you, Mrs. Hermione," the man recited mechanically, "My behavior was reprehensible. I will never disrespect you again." Tom's jaw dropped and his eyes became huge. Hermione couldn't hold back a victorious grin.

"Do you have something to say to Tom?"

"Tom, forgive me if you ever can. I swear I'll never dare hurt you again." With those words Mr. Wool dropped his head forward in an awkward bow, more like a puppet than a human being. Tom turned to Hermione, his jaw still wide open, too overwhelmed to say anything.

"How ... I ... what?"

"Tom, shut your mouth or flies will get in." Hermione said pushing his chin up with her finger. Tom looked at her as one would look at a deity, their eyes sank into each other's, and there was a moment when Hermione saw hope at the bottom of the black ink wells that were Tom Riddle's pupils. Perhaps this was really the path that L.M. wanted Hermione to take.

"Mr. Wool, why don't you lead us back to the dining room, we're done here." Hermione suggested, breaking through the dense silence of the kitchen, "You can eat in your room," she then added with a smirk at the perennial dismay on Tom's face, "I don't think Tom and I are in the mood to tolerate your presence. . "

"Sure Madam."

"How did you do that?" Tom asked in a whisper as they made their way back into the dining room.

Hermione grinned at him holding her hand out for him to take, "You can try and figure it out tomorrow, when we'll go and deal with the butcher." At that, Tom Riddle, smiled.

It wasn't the brightest smile Hermione had ever seen, it wasn't even close to one of Harry's dashing smiles, nor Ron's quirky and cute ones, damn it wasn't even smug and annoyingly cute as one of Malfoy's smirk, but it filled Hermione's heart with something warm and soothing.

Dinner that evening was particularly quiet.

Nobody ever knew what had prompted Mr. Wool to retire to his rooms, nobody dared asking why Tom Riddle held Hermione's hand all through dinner. The only one to even attempt a question was Richard, who asked if Mr. Wool may have eaten something bad.

"He didn't say" was Hermione's clipped reply, "He did say he wanted Tom's shoes, though, polished and lined next to his bed, or else… something like that." She added with a glance in the direction of Charles, Dennis and Billie.

Tom smiled for the rest of the dinner, heedless of the glare he received from the other children. When Hermione went to tuck the little ones in, Tom's shoes were beside his bed, and he was already asleep, with the corners of his lips curled up. Hermione had surely made some small progress that night… if you could call it that… however dark thoughts filled her mind as she closed her door behind her and was alone again.

She had fought a whole war, she had seen her friends die and be tortured, she had suffered from hunger, thirst, fatigue, she had been tortured psychologically and physically, but despite everything, she had never even considering the use of an Unforgivable in the past. And now? Hermione had been next to Tom Riddle for less than 48 hours and she hadn't even flinched before taking complete control over another human being.

What had happened to her? Was that the answer? To gain the trust of someone completely different from herself, did she have to become a little more like that someone?

Only much later would Hermione realize the mistake she had made that night in teaching Tom Riddle the pleasure of solving problems with dark magic, and only much later would she wonder if there was perhaps yet another way she should have dealt with that particular situation.

Let me know what you think!

:)