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Chapter 3

Tom escorted Hermione to their next class, Charms, and waved her in before him, stopping Rosier with a single gesture just outside the door. He watched as Hermione choose a seat and looked around at all the curious faces around her. She smiled weakly, obviously a bit out of her element and uncomfortable. Just the way he wanted her.

"What's up, Tom?" Rosier asked deferentially.

"Tell the Knights that our meetings are canceled until I say otherwise."

"Why?"

"Do you think that it is a coincidence that Dumbledore's niece shows up right before our weekly meeting?" he sneered at Rosier, wondering if he was always this stupid.

"You think Hermione has something to do with that?"

"Why else would she be here? If she had wanted to attend Hogwarts, she would have come at eleven."

Rosier nodded, deep in thought. "We'll keep an eye on her. I'll pass it along."

"No, I will keep an eye on her. You will pass my message on and do exactly as I say."

"Alright, Tom," Rosier said meekly and walked into the classroom, sitting in front of Hermione.

Tom followed more sedately, smirking as he noticed that his classmates had left the seat next to Hermione open for him. He slid into the seat and pulled out his books, looking up only when the professor began the lecture.

Over the course of the class, he kept glancing over at Hermione and was growing increasingly agitated. It seemed the more he ignored her, the happier and more relaxed she became. It irked him to no end that his plan was already backfiring.

The end of the lesson couldn't come soon enough.

There was nothing for it, he would have to abandon his plan. She was not like other girls, or so it seemed. Hermione wasn't a girl so easily manipulated by his attention.

Tom dropped his quill on the floor and reached for it, making sure to brush her thigh as he sat back up. He felt her go rigid and something fluttered in his chest. A mere touch had her full attention trained on him. He felt powerful having so much control over her reactions. It was addicting.

"Tom, can you demonstrate the proper technique?" Professor Hornby said as Tom sat fully in his seat.

He stood and adjusted his robes, slipping into the mind of the elder Charms professor to pluck out the exact assignment. The Bubble-head charm. Tom nearly rolled his eyes. He had far surpassed the level of these classes and had yet to be taken off guard by teacher or student since his second year.

With a flick of his wrist, his face was encased in a pliable bubble, something that would enable him to breathe in an environment where the air was inadequate.

Professor Hornby clapped his hands. "Perfectly cast. Keep in mind class, when casting this charm, the flick of the wrist is the most important aspect. The wrist can neither be too relaxed nor rigid. All it takes is a happy medium. I want three feet of parchment on the Bubble-head charm and what the three major mistakes and outcomes are. Due next Friday. You are all dismissed."

Tom canceled the charm, put away his books, and picked up his bag. Hermione was packing up slowly next to him with a barely suppressed grimace.

"Something the matter?" Tom leaned in and whispered into her ear.

She sharply shook her head and picked up her pace. "Next is lunch. I am confident that I can find the Great Hall. I would hate to take up all of your time."

"Nonsense. What kind of Head Boy would I be if I just abandoned you now?"

"The busy kind," she mumbled, and he smirked, ridiculously pleased that even she knew how much he was affecting her. Even if she was trying to deny it.

"Not too busy for you though," He reached around her, effectively caging her in against the desk. Her back pressed into his chest as he grabbed her bag from her hand. He paused for a moment as her scent hit him like a ton of bricks. She smelled sweet, like apple blossoms but with a tang of something darker, unidentifiable and yet, familiar. And it captivated him. It was alluring, and he was bewitched.

"Riddle?" Her disapproval dragged his dazed senses back to reality and he retreated a step before shouldering her bag. Rosier was just at the door with an unfathomable expression as he looked back at them. Tom scowled at him waiting for his knight to leave before turning back to Hermione.

"After you," he said quietly, disturbed far more than he would ever let on. It was Hermione that was supposed to fall all over herself to get his attention. It was Hermione that was supposed to be at his mercy, not the other way around.

He clenched his teeth and struggled to place the scent that mesmerized him. They walked to the Great Hall in silence, both walking tensely, both avoiding the other.

Hermione sat at the table and Tom dropped her bag next to her before rounding the table to sit on the opposite side. There was no reason to push the boundaries of what he was willing to endure. He knew that smell but from where…

The moment he sat, a beautiful snowy owl landed next to him and held out its leg and Tom quickly untied the missive from its leg. He handed the bird a small chunk of chicken and watched as the bird gulped it down, taking wing only when it was good and ready, an arrogant bird if he ever saw one.

Tom could feel Hermione's curiosity from across the table and looked up to meet her eyes. Immediately she looked away, her brows meeting in a troubled frown. Tom chuckled shakily, still disturbed that she had so successfully ensnared him with that dark sensuous aroma wafting from her skin.

He unrolled the parchment, caught the ring that slid into his palm, and read quickly, frowning.

My most useful spy and servant,

I have created another invaluable object. There is no better place to hide them than under the nose of one of the most powerful wizards of all time. Dumbledore would rather die than let the castle be taken. Hide them well, Tom Riddle, and I will reward you.

Master

Tom held the ring up to eye level and couldn't ignore the loud gasp that seemed to be forced out of Hermione. With her eyes glued to the ring, he was able to slide into her mind, gently, easily, as if she had no defenses at all.

Hermione cradled the ring that had a large crack that divided the stone nearly in two. Her eyes weren't on the ring but on a dark-haired boy no older than she was. A boy whose limbs were being quickly overtaken by the black taint of a dark curse. His screams filled the dilapidated cottage that they were standing in and he writhed in agony on the dirt floor.

"Harry," She choked. A long-fingered hand held her at the waist, pressing her back into the solid wall of a masculine body.

"Don't touch him. There is nothing you can do," A dark sensuous voice murmured into her ear.

"He will die!"

"Yes, and you can blame your loyalty to a deranged old man who sent children to destroy a Horcrux."

"Can't you heal him? You have so much experience, so much power."

"I cannot. Not even Tom Riddle could save him now."

"But you are Severus Snape! Do something!"

"There is nothing I can do,"

"Please," Hermione sobbed, and Snape turned her and drew her into his arms. He tucked her head under his chin as agony transformed his face while he stared down at the suffering boy.

Tom slid out of her mind, shocked at the emotional memory that the ring conjured. Not only did it solidify in his mind that Hermione Dumbledore was here for him, but it also told him that Hermione was a time traveler. A girl from the future. A girl in the arms of another man. A girl that he doubted was a relative of Dumbledore at all.

She became a thousand times more fascinating. And if some of the swirling anger in his gut was jealousy, he would never admit to it.

Abruptly she stood from the table and he could tell she was about to flee. He couldn't have that. He stood as well and grabbed his bag just as she abandoned hers and fled the Hall.

"Mulciber," he muttered, swinging his bag into his follower's gut, causing him to gasp. "Bring my bag and Hermione's to Slytherin Common after lunch."

"Of course, Tom," he muttered, lowering his eyes back to his plate deferentially. This affirmation was all he needed before he followed Hermione out of the Great Hall.

In her agitation, she had run up the enchanted stairs instead of heading toward her room and he followed her, tucking the ring and message deep inside an inner pocket. She quickly outpaced him, as the stairs changed just a moment too soon, cutting off him from following.

He searched the castle in every spot she could have possibly gone but came up empty-handed. It was completely by chance that he came across her, sobbing into her knees, back leaning against the Gryffindor common room passage.

She must have been a Gryffindor in her previous life.

Tom squatted in front of her and ran his fingers down her arms. It unsettled him that she was so completely out of control. It was a new experience for him, the uncomfortable feelings her distress caused him.

"Hermione?" he asked, but she wrenched her arms out of his grasp and covered her face.

"Leave me alone!"

"Is there a problem here, Tom?" The fat lady asked him, ready to run for the Headmaster at a moment's notice.

"I don't know yet," he murmured, trying to keep the façade of his pristine reputation in place in front of the castle's paintings. Paintings that he was sure reported to Dumbledore instead of Dippet. "I'll take care of her. Take her back to our common room." The painting went silent and he hoped she didn't run straight to Dumbledore. He needed a moment to figure out what he was going to do with her, what he wanted from her.

"Hermione, you can't stay here. You are scaring the little Gryffindor's." He gestured to the three first years at the end of the corridor that were milling around in confusion.

"It's all over," she balled. "I failed."

"Why is that?"

"You've already made them, your Horcruxes. Two of them and faster because I was here! Nothing matters anymore."

She knew his former plans, but she had it all wrong. These Horcruxes weren't his. Even if they were relics from his life.

"Why are you here, Hermione Dumbledore? Is that even your name?"

Hermione's eyes were dead, despair was drowning her from within. He could feel it like a punch to the gut. She was giving up and it had everything to do with the boy writing on the floor, dying in agony. He was sure of it.

Ignoring the growing spectators, Tom gathered her into his arms and pressed her to his chest. That dark enchanting smell smothered him, and he reveled in it with each step he took with her in his arms. His destination was close and private, only slowing his pace as he reached the painting of Barnabus the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet.

I need somewhere to talk in private. Tom thought as he paced three times in front of the painting, imagining the room where students of all throughout time hid their contraband. An unfamiliar door popped into being in front of him and he paused.

"The room becomes what you ask for it," Hermione mumbled from his shoulder. He nodded in acceptance, ridiculously pleased she opened up to him.

The room was Tom's idea of cozy, which in reality, wasn't cozy at all. Cathedral ceilings, eight-foot paintings, gold leaf, and curving French furniture transformed the space into something most likely found at Versailles. A pleased smile curved his lips and he sat on one of the couches, Hermione on his lap.

"It's not mine," He said, conversationally into her hair. He was coming to the realization that he wanted her. His little sojourn into her memories proved her to be infinitely intriguing. A Horcrux hunter from the future. Her profession alone captured the romanticism of power. Something that called to him, seduced him. That dark but familiar aroma that dazzled him so completely was something that he smelled once and only once. The day Grindelwald created his first Horcrux. The taint of it probably surrounded him too.

"What?" she murmured.

"The Horcrux. It's not mine."

"If it's not yours, then whose is it?" she said with a derisive twist of her lips.

"Grindelwald's."

"You are lying!"

He grabbed her hand with one of his and turned it over as he reached into his pocket with the other, drawing out the ring. He dropped it into her palm.

She held it up to her face and inspected it thoroughly before bringing her eyes back to his, accusation fairly dripping from the orbs.

"I know this is yours. It is the Gaunt family ring."

"Yes, it is from the Gaunt line, but I wasn't the idiot who transformed it into a Horcrux. I was there when he did it, made the first one. If he had any sense at all, he would have stopped there, but I have a feeling that once that line has been crossed, the maker can no longer see the damage done. Only a fucking idiot would make one after seeing it done. The damage is irreparable."

"Prove it," she breathed.

"Prove what?"

"Prove that it's not yours."

"How would you like me to do that?"

"Kill it,"

"Bloodthirsty little time traveler aren't you," he murmured with a smile as she became rigid in his lap.

"How?"

"You have no defenses in your mind when you are distraught."

"Harry," she murmured sadly, remembering the only memory that could have possibly given Riddle entrance.

"That was a brutal way to die," he said, still cradling her against his body.

"It was," she agreed.

"I think we should come to an agreement and seal it with a vow."

"What kind of agreement? What are your terms?"

"I will help you destroy all of the Horcruxes, promise never to make any of my own, help you take down Grindelwald, and help you prevent your friend's death in such a manner,"

"And what do you want in return?"

"Your loyalty, your fidelity, your knowledge. Everything."

"Fidelity?"

"I find you captivating and all I can think about when I look at you is if you taste as good as you smell."

"I don't trust you. In my time, you are the villain, the nightmare we were all trying to destroy."

"Then we are at an impasse. I won't give up so much of my plans without getting something of equal value." He pressed his lips against her temple, inhaling the provocative smell of her power. "When you are ready to capitulate to my terms, you know where to find me."

He stood and deposited her on the couch, walking away without looking back. There was so much at stake and he refused to give up everything that he wanted just to get a taste now.

It was curious though, that she thought those were his Horcruxes. Even if she came back to change things, to change him, he had made his choice against creating them before he even met her, before she even came back. It was curious because Dumbledore was the one who sent her back and Tom was the target. He became Dumbledore's scapegoat and he was going to find out why. Why was Dumbledore protecting Gellert Grindelwald, the most feared Dark wizard revolutionist ever seen? It was curious.