They were in the common room, as they often were, reading on one of the couches. Tom was sitting primly at the end with his book propped on the armrest, while she was nuzzled into his side, legs outstretched and cradling her tome. It was the picture of domesticity, and so very disconcerting to the students who milled in and out of the room.

Tom Riddle was not domestic, he was scary, but he softened around her. Their fellow Slytherins' knew better to consider it a weakness, though, to consider her a weakness.

Abraxas Malfoy had thought himself inspired when he devised a half-cocked plan to use Hermione against Tom. If the students thought that Tom was to be feared, they learned that night that Hermione Granger was too. She'd deposited a bloody and bruised Abraxas at the steps to the boys' dormitory.

"Tom," She called sweetly, nonplussed at the broken man at her feet, up the stairs.

Everyone in the room that night had stilled, breathe caught in their throats as they waited. Riddle's calm footsteps had descended the stone staircase slowly, as though her calls were a regular occurrence. He stopped before he stepped on the now whimpering Malfoy.

"What happened here, Darling?" His eyes were dark and hard, assessing both her and Malfoy

"Abraxas and I had a disagreement," She draped herself across the window seat overlooking the black lake as though she was preparing for a relaxing night in.

"About?" Tom stepped over his friend now, making his way towards her with measured steps.

"He thought that I was weak, that I needed you to defend me." She had a light giggle on her lips like she was talking about mindless school gossip, "I thought a demonstration was needed to prove him wrong, of course."

Tom stopped halfway to her, turning on his heel to return to Malfoy. His black patent leather shoe squished the pale skin of the broken boys' face, and Malfoy couldn't stop the groan he emitted.

"He'll need to go to the hospital wing," Tom mumbled as if it was an inconvenience, using his foot to shift Malfoy's face again as he inspected it.

"I can heal him," Hermione sounded annoyed now, sitting up rigid in her seat to look over at the boy she'd thrown on the floor.

"Will you?"

"If it's more convenient for us." She caught Tom's eyes now and gave him another sweet smile. The smile it brought to his lips was terrifying; equal parts enthralled and proud at her coldness.

After that, everyone stayed away from their strange transfer student. She was considered as dangerous as the man she was cuddled up against. Because of this, everyone steered clear of the common room when they took up residence, giving them a wide berth as if their mere presence could result in bloodshed.

"Darling," His voice was quiet now, just for her, and it brought a small smile to her face.

Despite their reputations, Hermione was still a girl. A dangerous girl, but a girl in love. She pushed her thoughts of Harry and that time out and just relished in the feel of the man pressed against her.

She didn't respond, but she closed her book and turned to look at him now. Her gaze was almost as intense as the one she'd been giving the book, almost like she was studying him.

"Marry me."

It wasn't a question, but not quite a demand.

Hermione smiled wider now, though she'd seen the question coming. Tom was someone who craved possession, and he thought of her as his favorite one. At first, it had disconcerted her, but she'd decided that it was how he was, and she couldn't change that. Hermione knew that when they graduated later in the year, they wouldn't part. They were so profoundly entangled now, she wasn't even sure they could try.

"When?"

Her simple response, her easy acquiescence, pleased him greatly though he tried not to let it show. She saw the pleasure in his eyes; she saw the quirk of a smile that was there one second and gone the next.

He didn't respond, just shut his book and shifted towards her. He looked at her like the world began and ended with her, and she cherished the gaze. She moved slightly, bringing her lips to his in a chaste kiss.

At that moment, it didn't matter to Hermione if she ever made it home; nothing mattered. As long as she had him, her beautifully broken man, then she would be okay. Because he understood her like no one else ever had, he accepted her fully. Not just her book smarts, or her bravery, but her viciousness too. He relished in the dark parts of her that made others flinch away, and he didn't begrudge her love of knowledge and books. He taught her things that no one else ever would've. He showed her that there is no light or dark magic; there's only magic and what you use it for.

He was hers, and she was his. And if time tried to interfere with that. They'd bend it to their will until they had what they wanted.