Notes: I have found the vast range of responses to this story both humbling and fascinating. Each of you bring so much to the table. Thank you for taking the time to share your opinion; it makes this experience substantially more interesting and rewarding. This chapter has a bit of everything in it. The M rating is earned for the first time, so if that's not your cup of tea please feel free to skim over that section. I would not recommend skipping the chapter in its entirety as a lot more happens than the sexual content. I hope you are all staying safe.

~*~ Twelve ~*~

Hermione concentrated on the steps of the waltz, the enchanted snowflakes shimmering in the air as Malfoy twirled her around the Great Hall, transformed from dining room to Winter Ballroom. Her palm was sticky against his, his arm burning a hole through the thin fabric of her ruby gown on her lower back, but Hermione pushed the ghosts of butterflies back into oblivion. One two three, one two three. Just the movement of their feet, not the way the crystalline flakes settled enchantingly in his dark locks or kissed his lashes. She might be on speaking terms with him again, but such reactions had no place in the chaos of her brain.

He leveled a sour expression at her as they rounded the dance floor. "Remind me again why I'm your date to this. Riddle is staring at me like he'll be putting me under the Cruciatus in seconds."

"This was his idea. He's not going to torture you for doing what he wanted."

"You'd be surprised," Malfoy bit back, glancing warily over her shoulder.

Hermione sighed, adjusting her grip on his shoulder, the muscle taut beneath her slim fingers. "Relax. Tom simply wants to avoid unwanted attention from the members of his… group. Having a girlfriend doesn't fit into his plans for school domination yet, so you get the pleasure of being my date in public."

"And he trusts me with this information why? He isn't the least bit worried I'll steal his girlfriend?" His tone was utterly neutral as he spoke, but his focus skittered away from her face, suddenly fascinated by the snow falling above them.

She let out a snort that was entirely unladylike, but impossible to contain. "I was under the impression you'd rather be burned at the stake multiple times than do something so vile as kiss me. Regardless, Tom doesn't seem think you're a threat to him, in this regard anyway."

Tempestuous eyes snapped to hers. "Rather be burned at the stake? Really?"

"From the time we were children, you've made it perfectly clear you are not interested in me that way. Ever. I doubt anything has changed."

His mouth pursed, full lips turning down. Hermione looked away before he caught her staring and locked gazes with Aurelia Greengrass, who was watching them from an alcove. It took all of Hermione's self-control not to flinch. She hadn't had a proper conversation with Aurelia since the night Hermione had insisted Malfoy couldn't possibly care about her. They'd spoken plenty—the necessity of being both housemates and roommates—but of nothing of substance. Aurelia's glare spoke volumes now as her eyes flicked to Malfoy and then back to Hermione.

For reasons that Hermione couldn't entirely fathom, Tom had insisted on keeping their relationship clandestine despite Malfoy knowing. He'd said something about his followers not being ready for a woman to supplant them and that Hermione was simply too intimidating at present. She didn't believe a word of it, but the added benefit of hiding the relationship from Dumbledore had her following Tom's lead despite the dirty looks from both Aurelia and Malfoy when they thought she wasn't looking.

Malfoy still thought she was one lip lock away from signing their death warrant and Aurelia, well, Aurelia was angry and Hermione hadn't figured out how to apologize without explaining truths best left unshared. It was one thing to imply things about the war, another thing entirely to explain just how much pain existed between her and Malfoy. They might be civil now, perhaps almost friends, but nothing could take away his cruelty, the way he'd made her feel like she didn't belong in this world.

And the war years. How could she ever tell Aurelia what it felt like to take a life, how it split you and how those fissures just kept fracturing until you were more ruined than whole? How could she tell her that Hermione lost time more days than not, the abyss that was her mind rebelling at the shadows that coalesced just beyond her control, the memories she could not recall, but could feel deep in her bones? How could she tell her that only physical pleasure made the ache of darkness fade, driving her to pursue the feel of flesh against hers beyond reason? How could she tell her the boy with the midnight hair and stormy eyes, the boy she was so sure cared for Hermione, was a monster, capable of the foulest magics, ruthless in the pursuit of pain?

And then there was Tom. The boy Aurelia knew was trouble. And yet she didn't know the half of it and Hermione knew better than share the truth of his destiny. That, at least, was not written in the stars. Her past, and Malfoy's, might be history, its imprint impossible to erase, but Tom's horrors had yet to come. She had thrown out all other options the minute their lips met and now there was nothing left to do but save the boy who gave her the release her troubled soul craved.

"Hermione?"

Malfoy sounded concerned and Hermione realized she'd been absently staring into space and had missed whatever he'd just said. She shook her head, elaborate coiffure swaying gently at the movement. "Sorry, what?"

His teeth worried his bottom lip, a look in his stormy eyes she couldn't quite identify. "I don't find you repulsive."

She missed a step, stumbling into him. His chest was hot against her palms, his fingers burning trails of fire down her arms as he righted her. "But…"

"I said a lot of idiotic things when I was a child. I'd thank you to forget them as best you can." They were back in a proper waltz hold, but Hermione's breath was still caught somewhere in her chest, trapped by the rapid tattoo of her heart. Malfoy didn't seem to notice as he continued, "I think you know me well enough by now to know that I'm not that ignorant schoolboy anymore."

No, he was so much worse than that boy. That boy had been pathetic and hurtful, but insubstantial. The man before her was a war criminal. She caught a glimpse of Tom's heated stare over Malfoy shoulder, the smirk on his lips nearly enough to make her stumble again. The irony was not lost on her that in this reality, Malfoy was the more heinous of the two. Tom had accidently murdered Myrtle, but that was it. What he could be was nothing but a possibility.

Hermione sighed, focusing back on those solemn eyes drowning in a desperate emotion she couldn't fully grasp. "I know that. I just thought you'd be even more averse to me than ever. Especially after all the things you… did."

He growled, low and dangerous. "I told you what you've heard isn't the entire truth."

"And you've refused to set the record straight, Malfoy," she hissed, risking the use of his proper name.

The pain splayed across his features was impossible to miss, different from the usual grimace his leg evoked. It was gone an instant later, his expression glacially calm. "There are some things best left undisturbed, Granger."

"Then you can hardly fault me for reaching erroneous conclusions if you won't provide the necessary information."

"Fine."

He didn't say another word and Hermione wasn't inclined to speak either. They were spared the painful silence mere minutes later when Dumbledore tapped gently on Malfoy's shoulder.

"Might you share a dance with an old man, Ms. Gable?" The professor's usually twinkling eyes were sharper, cutting in a way that made Hermione's blood chill.

Malfoy's eyes were narrowed, fleeting unease contorting his angular features before he reined in the reaction. By the time Dumbledore's discerning gaze turned to him, he was the picture of composure, bland smile and vacant stare in place. He nodded at the older man, but didn't speak. It took Hermione a moment to realize he was deferring to her.

Dumbledore stared down at her expectantly and it became clear she had only one true option, especially with Malfoy bowing out of the exchange. "Of course, Professor."

Malfoy melted into the crowd as Dumbledore shifted to take his place. The professor was shorter and slighter, but his grip was firm as he began to lead her through a foxtrot. Hermione kept her gaze firmly rooted on his right ear, noting the awed stares of the other students as they cut through the throng of dancers.

"I imagine it's rather uncommon to find you on the dance floor, Professor," she commented.

A wistful smile gripped his thin lips for a moment. "These days, certainly, but as a younger man, I had quite the passion for the ballroom. My sister… was fond of dancing and I was fond of her."

A lump threatened to lodge in her throat. Ariana. Dumbledore was talking about Ariana. She knew the barest bones of the story, only what Harry had deemed necessary to share. The Dumbledore of her time would certainly never have mentioned his deceased sister. But this version was softer, less jaded, easier to mislead, more prone to sentiment. Hermione's stomach churned at the thought, the reality of her deception hitting like a reducto to the gut.

"But enough about me," Dumbledore continued, eyes narrowing beneath half-moon spectacles. "How are you? I have noticed a great deal of… interaction between you and the young Mr. Riddle."

"Oh?" Hermione couldn't be sure what exactly he knew and she wasn't about to admit one scrap of information more than she needed to.

He stared silently at her for a long moment. "Are you safe, Hermione? You would tell me if you were in trouble with Mr. Riddle wouldn't you?"

Hermione masked the breath of relief that rushed into her lungs as best she could. If he was concerned for her safety, then he clearly did not know the full extent of her relationship with Tom. "We've been paired on several assignments and have worked well together. That does not mean the plan has been altered."

What a lie that was. She kept her focus beyond the professor's face, beyond the deception. And good she did, for a moment later the telltale sign of a headache pounded at her temples. She wasn't sure whether to be concerned or not by the attempted invasion of her thoughts. She'd left her mind an open book for Dumbledore upon arrival, but that didn't mean she'd intended to give him an all access pass to her head. Once again, she was thankful for the Occlumency training Malfoy had forced on her. Dumbledore might have cracked the door, but all he could access were the memories of her time with Tom in classes, none of which included any hint of the depths of their entanglement.

"If you're sure you are safe." He frowned down at her, spectacles shifting on his nose.

"I am." She said the words slowly, casually, a hint of a smile at her lips. "I promise I'll let you know the second I'm not."

"Be careful, Ms. Gable," Dumbledore replied before guiding them to the edge of the dance floor and letting her hand fall from his.

Hermione watched him go, waiting until he was obscured by the dancing masses to turn away, chest suddenly heavy. She'd barely taken a steadying breath when familiar fingers laced through hers and a deep baritone murmured against her ear.

"I think we've put in enough time to keep up appearances, don't you think, precious?" She could hear the dark amusement in Tom's sensual murmur.

His lips ghosted across the skin at the nape of her neck and it was all she could do not to wantonly moan in public. Her voice was a husky rasp when she finally had the control to reply, "Yes, definitely."

She was done trying to understand Malfoy's mercurial moods and hiding from Dumbledore's keen stare. The oblivion that Tom's lips would bring was exactly what she craved.

Tom's smirk was wicked in all the right ways as he pulled her away from the masses and into the chill of the dungeons. They didn't make it to the portrait hole before his hands were in her hair, ruining the elaborate chignon in mere seconds. His lips were everywhere, burning across her skin, inciting her breathing to a fever pitch. When he finally captured her mouth with his, she was putty in his hands, her body chasing every sensation he evoked with wanton abandon. They stumbled through the portrait hole, one of them managing a breathy whisper of the password. The stays on her dress were half undone, his fingers deft and full of promise against the flushed skin of her back.

The moment they were in Tom's room his dress robes were on the ground, Hermione's fingers tugging frantically at the buttons of his white dress shirt as he tore the emerald tie from around his neck. Their rapid pants filled the still air as his fingers continued their work on her dress. She undid his last infuriating button the same moment her dress cascaded to the floor. His hands were on her hips before she could even register the smooth expanse of his exposed skin, the hard lines of muscles shifting as he gripped her tightly. Hermione vaguely noted that he was stronger than she'd imagined, chiseled in ways only men who truly used their bodies could be.

She didn't have time to dwell on Tom's physique as his hands slipped from her hips to her thighs. She gasped as he easily lifted her, her throbbing core colliding with the press of his desire as she wrapped her legs about his lithe waist. He groaned, head falling forward to rest on her shoulder, tousled black waves teasing her sensitive skin. His tongue was hot against her neck a moment later as her back connected with the door, driving them closer together.

This time it was Hermione moaning, pleading for more in those desperate gasps. She could feel Tom smile against her neck, feel the not so subtle thrust of his pelvis against hers. "Tell me what you want, precious."

A younger Hermione would have stumbled over the words, perhaps even blushed. But she was no longer a child and sex was not as precious as it had once been. "Fuck me, Tom."

If he was surprised by her crude language or the sudden escalation of physicality between them, he didn't let it show. Instead those dark eyes transformed to liquid sapphire as he stared down at her, the door still pressed against her back. He kept her balanced between him and the solid wood as one hand made quick work of his belt and remaining clothing. He didn't bother to step out of the trousers that pooled at his ankles. With an iniquitous grin Tom tore her knickers away and Hermione trembled, a wave of unadulterated need coursing through every facet of her. Another moan tumbled from her lips and he chuckled, the vibrations of it resonating through her, building her craving to unprecedented levels. Whatever she might have experienced before was a pale specter to what was thrumming through her now. She could focus on nothing else but the hunger, the ravenous call of his flesh against hers.

One second he was tasting her lips again, devouring her breathy moans and the next he was staring into her eyes, buried to the hilt within her, her walls clenching around him. There was a moment of discomfort and then there was only liquid pleasure as he moved. He shifted his grasp on her, slowly changing angles until she cried out in an abrupt burst of pleasure. His sapphire eyes melted into her as his full lips twitched in satisfaction. Hermione's nails dug into his shoulders, clawing in undiluted ecstasy as he proceeded to hit the mark again and again.

She was screaming in earnest now, unable to keep the response to his forceful ministrations muted. She was screaming and she didn't care one bit who heard them. She was lost, pleasure a sinful oblivion to which she'd willingly surrendered. Tom's lips were back on hers, perhaps to swallow her unfettered cries, but she hardly felt them compared to the hot fire building where he drove into her, relentless and fulfilling. When she shattered, muscles desperately gripping him, nails drawing blood and throat hoarse with a silent scream, he caught her, held her until the trembling abated. Then he did it again, only allowing himself to follow when she was spent, limp in his arms atop the bed they'd collapsed upon when their positions against the door and atop the desk had required too much strength to maintain.

Hermione could feel the pound of his heart against her cheek as she lay sprawled across Tom, their legs tangled together. It didn't seem real. How could someone like Tom Riddle have given her the best sexual experience of her life? Whatever she'd done before, it had been a fraction of this, a pale imitation of the pleasure he'd unleashed within her. He had taken her beyond oblivion and into something headier and darker, something she would forever crave.

She drew an idle finger across his pale skin, tracing the contour of his pectorals. "Why didn't we do this sooner?"

The deep chuckle had heat pooling between her legs all over again. "Because I was under the impression you didn't want to. You always stopped me before our clothes started to come off. I thought perhaps you were a prude, waiting until after marriage. Clearly, I was mistaken."

Hermione swallowed. She had stopped him, but because of who he was and what this union represented. If there'd been no going back after she'd kissed him, there was definitely no going back now that she knew how sinfully good he felt inside her. No, Hermione would not be harming this boy, this almost man, that lounged beside her.

She shifted, noticing the wetness caking her thighs and sighed. She could simply evanesco the evidence away, but she needed to use the loo anyway. She dropped a sloppy kiss upon Tom's still swollen lips and shifted away. "I need to run to the toilet. I'll be back?"

He stared up a her through hooded eyes, dark lashes a striking contrast to luminous sapphire. He ran his tongue slowly and deliberately across his bruised bottom lip. "Yes, please."

Hermione shuddered, caught in the promise of those words and the heat of his stare. Deliberately looking away, she pulled on his discarded shirt, not bothering with any other garments. The dance was likely still underway; they'd left within the first hour, and right now she honestly didn't care if all of Slytherin knew she was shagging their king. Clearly neither did Tom since he did nothing but stare hungrily after her from the bed as she slipped from the room.

The nearest bath was the prefects', but Hermione knew the password thanks to both Aurelia and Tom. She didn't meet another soul on her way and it was deserted when she entered. Sighing in relief—she might not have cared who found out, but it was simpler if no one did—Hermione moved to unbutton the few she'd bothered to fasten on the way out of Tom's room.

"So, you truly are fucking him."

Her hand froze on the button, ice crawling through her veins. "What the bloody hell are you doing in here, Malfoy?"

He moved into her line of sight, lips pressed together in a hard line. "I followed you."

"From Tom's room?"

"From the dance."

Her cheeks went hot at the implication. They hadn't used any silencing spells and she hadn't been the least bit quiet about expressing her pleasure. Biting her cheek, she ignored the sudden shame blossoming in her gut. "Why in Merlin's name couldn't I see you in the hallway or in here? I was about to…"

He rolled his eyes, the severe set of his jaw slackening for a second. "Why do you think I said something? I wasn't going to let you… strip without knowing I was here. I'm not a pervert."

"No. You just listen to Tom and I having sex," she hissed, feeling suddenly naked in a way Tom's shirt did nothing to fix.

Malfoy sighed, slender fingers gripping his temples for a long moment before he spoke. "Look, it was never my intention to intrude. I just wanted to make sure you made it back safely after Dumbledore accosted you. My room is in this hall too, so when I saw both of you in the hall, I ducked out. It's hardly my fault you both chose to make more noise than a bloody battle. Once the… din… ceased, I knew it was safe to try and check in with you again, so I followed when you came here."

"And why couldn't I see you?" She didn't have the energy to be angry with him for the stalkerish behavior. Malfoy had already confused her enough for one evening.

"A little trick I perfected during the war," he admitted. "I can show you sometime when you're wearing more clothes and my presence isn't horribly inappropriate."

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. "At least you're aware of that. I'm fine, Malfoy. Okay?"

Stormy eyes traced every contour of her before he nodded. "Okay."

"Good night, Malfoy."

He backed toward the door, something akin to hurt cracking his façade for a long moment. Then he was shaking his head, a bittersweet smile that twisted her heartstrings gracing his lips. "Good night, Hermione."

She barely felt the heat of the water as she rinsed the sweat and pleasure from her body. She barely even noticed the way her skin tingled as she slipped back into bed with Tom, his sculpted arms caging her against him. No, all she could seem to remember was that smile, so sad it made her heart ache. She drifted off to the steady rhythm of Tom's heartbeat against her ear and Malfoy's expression emblazoned on her eyelids.