Notes: Thank you all. You're amazing. Please stay safe and well.

~*~ Eleven ~*~

The brand of Tom's elegant fingers against her skin was still fresh, still burning holes through every facet of her as Hermione collapsed against the wall beside the Slytherin portrait hole. They had never gone any further than hands skimming below clothing and tongues twining, but it felt as if he'd taken her, owned her body and soul in the most complete way possible. She didn't dare to imagine what it would feel like if they truly gave in to their basest desires. Would her mind still be hers by the time Tom Riddle had fully claimed her? Logically it was insane to think sex could change her like that, but the effect Tom had on her was like nothing she'd ever encountered.

Groaning, she ran a hand over her swollen lips and tried to think of something other than drowning in sapphire eyes. Whatever plan she'd had up on that tower was gone now. She knew she'd never be able to kill Tom. If she wasn't going to kill him, then she had to save him. It was the only way to prevent the hell that was her past and his future from playing out. But that was no simple task. Killing him was easy. One spell, one poison, one unlucky moment and the job was done. Turning him from his darker nature, whittling his ambition into something tenable, that was something else entirely. Hermione was no fool—despite her weakness for his dark seductions—she knew exactly how strong his yearning for power burned, how determined he was to become the master of the other boys, of even Dumbledore. Tom would not be satisfied with only Hermione as his prize; he would accept nothing short of the world. And so she would have to give it to him. Give it to him in a way that didn't send horrors ricocheting through time and space, that left the ground unbloodied and fertile not glut with bodies and sorrow.

But how? How could she save the world and Tom? Another groan escaped her lips. Her mind was spinning in circles, chaos threatening to drive away the last of her sanity.

A warm hand on her shoulder had her startling, a wave of nausea rolling through her as she looked up into stormy eyes. "We need to talk."

Hermione wanted to run. To turn away from Malfoy and keep moving until her legs gave out, until she was far away from this place, until she could rest. But instead she nodded and let him take her hand and lead her up the stairs and into their hidden sanctuary.

Malfoy's hand slipped from hers as he faced her in front of the grand fireplace the Room of Requirement had conjured for them. Fine midnight strands fell across the pale panes of his skin, the firelight making the angle of his cheekbones more severe, the pout of his lips more sensual. But it was his eyes she could not look away from. The emotion in their stormy depths was more than she could handle, enough to make her stomach roil and her throat parch.

Her breath was caught in her lungs, held captive by the accusation and betrayal pouring out of those broken eyes. He didn't move to speak, or even blink. The only motion was the tic of his jaw in rhythm with the flutter of her pulse.

Seconds dragged into minutes as he simply stared at her. The heat that Tom had evoked was vanquished by that stare, leaving only an empty chill running through her veins. Her teeth worried her bottom lip, her hands twisted, her knees knocked and yet still he stared. She couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the horrible truth behind his eyes, the bone-chilling knowledge that this was her fault.

After a log cracked in the fire for the hundredth time, she yielded, taking a tentative step into the space between them.

"I didn't mean to."

His eyes only became harder, his jaw tighter. "And what exactly did you mean to do, Hermione Granger?"

"I…" There was no defense for her choices. She'd been selfish and she still didn't regret it. Tom satisfied her, erased the aches of her fractured soul so completely she almost felt whole again.

Malfoy wasn't a friend; he shouldn't matter to her at all. She hadn't asked for him to come with her; he was nothing but a complication. Her chest tightened, her denials hollow. She didn't want him to matter, but if he didn't, shame wouldn't be creeping beneath her skin, burning like embers beneath his penetrating stare. Yet another truth she'd buried deep, lost in her escape from suffering.

She looked up at the man before her, truly looked for the first time since they'd tumbled into this precarious place. Beyond the disgust and accusation, the burning knowledge of her betrayal, he looked haggard, tired in a world-weary way that only infinite suffering could evoke. His skin was ashen, his mesmerizing eyes sunken and shadowed. He was healthier than when they'd arrived, his shoulders broader and his cheeks less sallow, but no less haunted.

The war had taken everyone and everything from her. Was it possible it had taken an equal share from him? She'd assumed his status as an elite Death Eater would have spared him certain scars, but now she wasn't sure. He'd been protecting his mind against Voldemort, so he'd had something to hide, something to lose.

Hermione swallowed, finally looking away. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry," he spit the word, venom coating his tongue. "You promised me."

"What does my promise matter to you?" The truth of her broken word was beside the point now.

He swallowed, smothering whatever retort was on the tip of his tongue. His stare raked over her, flaying her open with its frostbitten edges. "I suppose my word means little to you. So why should yours mean anything to me." She could see his jaw clench, the muscles spasming. "Fine, but you owed me the truth. You've been with him for weeks now and it takes me confronting you before you're willing to admit what you've done. The risk you've put both of us at. Did you even consider how this would affect me?"

It would have been better if he'd struck her, if he'd showed an inkling of the violence lurking beneath his skin. But he just kept looking at her, a cold and quiet anger behind hard eyes. She wished desperately she could be sorry, that she could regret Tom's lips upon her own. But she couldn't. No matter how well she understood the danger she'd placed Malfoy in—without his consent—she couldn't.

"Why should I care, Malfoy? Why am I even apologizing to you?" It was easier to cover the shame with anger than to admit just how callous her choices had become. "You and I aren't friends. You hate me. I understand I'm useful to you, but I know that a day will come when I'm not needed, when you'll turn against me. So what do I owe you? Nothing."

He turned pointedly away from her. She watched him carefully cross the room to settle onto the far side of the loveseat. He arranged his left leg out in front of him, bringing his foot to rest on an ottoman. Malfoy took a shuddering breath and when he turned to face her again, the brittle anger was gone, replaced by a weariness that tore into her.

"I don't have anything left, Granger. Even before we traveled back here. It's the reason I came along. There was nothing for me there, only torture and death. So I leapt, quite literally, at the chance for something else. I didn't care where you were going, only that it wouldn't be that anymore." His voice was even, but barely audible above the quiet crackle of the fire.

Her anger disintegrated, the shame rearing up, ripping her flustered excuses to shreds. She cautiously closed the distance between them, settling at the opposite end of the loveseat. "You didn't want to be a Death Eater."

"No, but I think you already knew that," he murmured, eyes locking with hers. Where there'd been accusation, only sorrow remained.

Her thoughts tangled, her memories of his atrocities during the war a stark contrast to the man sitting beside her. "But you killed."

"So did you."

He was right. It wasn't the killing that made him so feared, so high on the Order's kill-not-capture list. "You tortured people, Malfoy. You tortured them until they were so broken there was nothing left of their minds or their bodies. You broke them beyond the need for information. What you did… it's not human."

She hadn't thought about it. Had refused to let the memories of his victims cross her mind since he'd threatened her at the top of the tower. She'd put it all aside for the mission, for her sanity, but now the truth was filtering through like water through sand, impossible to ignore. How could he be angry with her, hurt by her, when he wasn't even remotely human? When there was no way he could possibly feel what his face showed.

"I did what I had to. To survive." His teeth ground audibly in the quiet room. "Do you think I wanted to do that? That it was my choice to destroy people from the inside out? Do you think I'm just another Bellatrix Lestrange?"

Three months ago she would have said yes. Now, now she wasn't sure. "I don't know…"

"You know me, Hermione." Her first name on his lips was a shock, but it sounded natural, like he'd always called her that.

She shook her head, focus swinging away from those eyes that said impossible things, that cracked her in ways she was utterly unprepared to mend. "I don't know you at all, Malfoy. All I know is that you haven't chosen to hurt me since we've arrived. You've kept my secret, but that's it. I don't know anything else."

"I would never hurt you," he insisted, voice a raspy plea.

"How in the world would I know that?" she cried, hands wringing. "Everything I've heard—"

"Is not the entire truth," Malfoy snapped, his leg falling from its perch as he lurched toward her.

His wince at the motion was barely visible as his face hovered mere centimeters from hers, but there was no hiding the flash of pain from her. Maybe she did know him better than she'd allowed herself to believe. She leaned away from his desperation. "There were witnesses, Malfoy. You destroyed people for sport."

"For sport!?" He scoffed, hot breath searing across her cheeks. "There are things you don't know, Granger. Things you will never understand. Things you should be bloody well grateful that you will never know."

Malfoy was too close now, assaulting her senses and twisting her heart into unfamiliar knots. She put up a hand to push him away, but instead it froze the moment it settled over his frantically beating heart, the warmth of his chest melting into her chilled skin.

"Then explain to me."

"I… I can't," he confessed, turning away from her in a sudden motion that left her feeling achingly bereft.

Hermione sighed, slumping back against the couch. She wasn't about to volunteer any information about her experiences to anyone either. Tom had never pried beyond the most tangential questions, had gone out of his way to allow her the space she needed, giving her the ability to avoid any true memories. She might have lived through the hell, but the memories weren't something she could face. They were a blur of things that had stolen every last piece of her and no matter what, she would not let them come into focus. It would be too much and there was still work to be done before she could shatter to pieces and finally be free.

But did she believe Malfoy? Was there more to his story than the list of atrocities she'd heard? Was he as damaged as Hermione, perhaps even more so? Her gaze dropped to his leg. He hid it well enough, but she knew he favored it, knew he couldn't stand for extended periods of time, knew that there was suffering behind those stormy eyes that even she could not understand. So was it any leap to believe that his cruelties were not as they seemed? Or was he simply a consummate actor?

She stared at his turned back, gaze roaming over his hunched shoulders and bowed head. They'd found a way to put the dye mixture in his shampoo, so his hair was midnight as ever, foreign and familiar now. Her hand hovered over his shoulder for a long moment before dropping to rest there. Malfoy stiffened immediately but didn't pull away from her touch.

"I truly didn't mean to endanger you. Tom just… happened."

"He's going to hurt you."

"I know."

"Then why?" His gaze swung over his shoulder, eyes dull.

There was nothing left but to be honest. "He makes me forget."

Malfoy held her gaze, his jaw working silently before he nodded. "I can understand the appeal of forgetting. But this isn't worth it, Granger. Riddle is dangerous. You came here to kill him for Merlin's sake."

"He hasn't tried to get in my head since we've been…" She couldn't call it dating and snogging seemed too simplistic. "Together."

"That you know of," Malfoy countered, shifting to fully face her. Her hand was still on his shoulder, but she couldn't bring herself to remove it. "Riddle is smarter than either of us, Granger. He's clever and he's willing to do whatever it takes to meet his ends. That includes using you."

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, stemming the urge to defend Tom. Malfoy was right. Tom might be giving her exactly what she needed, but it would be naïve to think he wasn't getting something out of it too. "I'm being careful."

"I sincerely hope you're talking about your mind and not…" he trailed off, color chasing across his wan features.

"Malfoy," she hissed, cheeks warm.

"I mean I hope you're being careful in that respect too," he admitted, searching her face.

"We haven't. But I know how to take care of myself."

"Oh." He licked his lips, focus suddenly everywhere but her face. "I just assumed because of your… relationship with Potter…"

"That I'm some kind of slag?" She didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed by his conjecture. It was rude of him to assume she'd slept with Tom, but Malfoy had been front and center in plenty of her more lurid memories. She settled for watching him squirm under her disapproving glare.

He startled her when he shook his head vehemently, midnight stands falling across his wide eyes. "Merlin, no. I would never think that. Finding sexual satisfaction with a consenting partner does not make you or anyone else a whore. Ever."

"Okay, then." She had no idea what to say in response to his passionate retort, especially considering the insults she distinctly remembered. The hand on his shoulder was suddenly too hot and she snatched it back, ignoring the hurt that flashed through wintery eyes. "I guess that's settled then."

"That is very far from settled, but there is likely nothing I can do to persuade you to alter course." He sighed, moving away from her. "I can only ask that you explain to me what our new plan will be. Lover or not, I no longer see you killing Riddle."

The room was suddenly frigid despite the fire mere meters away. "I don't know."

He put his leg back on the ottoman. "Yes, you do."

"I want to save him." It sounded ridiculous out loud. Far more absurd than it had in her head or even the first time she'd suggested it in this very room.

Malfoy just nodded, as if he'd been expecting the words. And perhaps he had. He seemed to understand her, not in every respect, but in more ways than she was comfortable admitting. "It won't work."

"He told me about killing Myrtle." Hermione wasn't sure what his confession actually meant, but it seemed important Malfoy understand how much Tom trusted her.

"A tragic accident, I'm sure." Bitter eyes rolled as he shook his head. "Don't fall for such flobber worm snot, Granger."

She thought about sharing that Tom knew about her blood status, but the words wouldn't quite form on her tongue. She might be willing to admit Malfoy wasn't the monster he seemed, but delving into blood status with him seemed a poor choice. Instead she replied, "He seemed sincere, Malfoy. He didn't have to share anything with me, but he chose to."

"All the better to lure you into trusting him," Malfoy countered, eyes narrowing. "If you're going to do this, Granger, and I really think you shouldn't, you're going to have to assume the worst of him. Both to protect yourself and to prevent any of his nefarious plans from coming to fruition."

"But—"

"No." He stared her down, suddenly all dangerous edges and flashing eyes. "This is still war, Hermione. Do not mistake it for anything else."

Her heart constricted as she finally nodded. "Fine."

They found no solution, no sure way to sway Tom into the light, but they kept trying, talking until the small window glowed and dawn was upon them. Only then did they cease, leaving separately, neither quite ready to face the day ahead.