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Chapter Eight

There are two instances of documented cases of House-elf child theft in the last two hundred years. House-elves are devilishly difficult to catch, especially when they have a vendetta against one family or another. In one instance, the elf had been mistreated and eventually was given clothes. He exacted elf justice by switching the heir out with a muggle child, leaving the magical child in the care of the muggle couple whose child had been stolen. In the other, it was the mother of a murdered elf who switched the children. This is why the Squib-born epidemic has mostly only touched the old families. Not many chances for a Mudblood to offend a rogue house elf. – Algernon Malfoy, The Short History of a Mudblood's Magic.

**HGHG**

Tom couldn't help but stare as Hermione chewed the tip of her quill, deep in thought about the text she had chosen to search through. Those sweet cherry lips closed around the feathery tip as she nibbled and sucked. It was damn distracting, and he found himself, more than once, caught up in a rather vivid daydream about her falling to her knees under the table, running her hands up his thighs. Nimble fingers that danced at his placket, freeing his eager manhood, enveloping the tip in her wet, sucking mouth.

She looked up at him and smiled as he was caught in the act of staring and wanting. He pretended to clear his throat, shifting into a more comfortable position, and focus back on the open book in front of him. Algernon was trying to explain the nuances of House-elf magic and what mistreating the beings would mean for whole generations of families. According to this account, that was why binding house elves were such an important part of the master bond and why treating them well was woven into the covenants. Tom nodded. He needed to write that down.

"I can't find anything for my side of the argument!" Hermione complained.

"Why don't you look in the book you were reading earlier… what was it?"

Hermione pursed her lips but ignored his teasing. They both knew what kind of views were in that book.

"I think I will need to reach out to some geneticists," Hermione muttered.

They fell back into silence and after a while, Tom began thinking of things instead of reading the text as he ought. He knew her future was in a war-torn world and he knew that she had, until recently, believed him to be the culprit. He also knew that no matter what he tried to find out from her, she would hold her occlumency shields firm.

Tom ran his index finger against the bottom of his lip as he studied her from under his dark lashes, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. What else was she keeping from him? Was she still so firmly set in Dumbledore's camp that she wouldn't let him in.

If he was her, he would hold all of his cards close to his chest too.

"Hermione?" Tom decided to do the one thing that would throw her off kilter. He was going to come right out and ask her. It was a risk, to be sure, but he was confident that she would give him something.

"Hm?" she asked distractedly, glancing up out of the latest offensive account she had found.

"What is stopping you from telling me about your future?"

"Well," Hermione began, brows furrowing deeply as she mentally compiled her reasons. "I was trying to control the timeline the best I could. I didn't want to preserve it, obviously. I would rather not lose my best friend to a Horcrux this time around. But my biggest reason is that I came back in time knowing how wonderful and charming you appear. I already know so much about you, but I am having a difficult time combining both the man I knew of in the future and you now. I want to believe that you have been set up by others. That you are innocent of the crimes I laid at your door. But I can't help feeling as if I were being duped, either by you or Dumbledore… I don't know,"

"What do you need from me to make you believe in me? I destroyed two Horcruxes for you."

"I am starting to believe in you, Tom. But… what if I am the reason you turn out like you were in my future. What if I am the catalyst?"

"And what if everything you knew and believed the war to be was a lie? What if trusting me changes everything? We could be so good together…" he paused watching as indecision warred on her face. "You know so much about who I was to you in the future, yeah? Tell me. Is there something about me that just doesn't add up to your expectations?"

"You are a very convincing man. They told me you would be. That I wouldn't be able to tell your truths from a lie,"

"Is there anyone living or dead that is so good at lying, that there is not one instance that doesn't make sense?"

Hermione closed her eyes and her face smoothed out into a calm mask. After a few deep breaths, she opened her eyes again, having made a decision. Tom just hoped it would be in his favor.

"You reportedly can't love anyone or anything,"

"Can't or don't? Because I will admit that until you strolled into my life, I didn't feel any meaningful connections with anyone."

"What about Abraxas?"

"What about him? He is just like all other Slytherins. I am only at the top because I clawed my way there. I am too powerful to ignore, too useful to be disregarded, too intelligent not to be cultivated, too handsome not to use. I am the perfect blend of blood for their purposes. On one side, I claim a powerful and ancient magical line on the other I claim a wealthy Muggle family as their sole heir." Even if the wills leaving him the Riddle fortune were outdated from the time when his mother was still married to his father, long before he was born. Killing them had been the one thing about his father that he didn't regret. "I wouldn't be pure enough to marry their daughters but if well placed in the Ministry, I would influence the right kind of legislature. The pureblooded agenda. I would be tolerated, no more."

"What do you feel for me then?" Hermione challenged.

"I've never met a woman like you. Powerful, brilliant, my equal in each of those things. I desire you. That is new to me. Girls typically irritate me, especially the ones who simper and play the damsel in distress. As if I would want to spend any more time explaining things to them. You understand magic the way I do. You burn to learn the way I do. You are quite possibly the only person that could ever sway me from doing something."

"You like me because I am an equal in your eyes?" Hermione asked, clarifying.

"There is nothing sexier than a strong, brilliant woman," Tom said simply, shrugging.

"You think I am sexy?"

"I quite like you and I feel as if it could and would grow into something much more substantial."

Hermione caught her breath, eyes wide as saucers.

"I think I might be falling in love with you," Tom whispered, half hoping she didn't hear his vulnerability. "That is proof that I am not who you think I am. Can you not put your faith in me? I will fight for you, with you, to change the outcome of the world you came from."

"I want to trust you,"

Tom reached over and pushed a curl back behind her ear and cupped her face. "You and I could create a better world. A world where blood doesn't matter, where family wealth and status doesn't affect important laws. A world free of corruption."

"What do you get out of this?"

"If I am not the monster from your future, who is? And if it is Grindelwald using my identity, what happened to me? You said if Grindelwald was Voldemort, then who was in Nurmengard… I'll bet that I am the unfortunate in that cell. How could I alone go against both Grindelwald and Dumbledore?"

"Either we have done you a great injustice or you are the most talented actor I've ever seen." Hermione murmured, her will cracking, softening, in the face of Tom Riddle's logic.

"I would like to believe I was framed and therefore misunderstood," he smirked, the humor not reaching his eyes. He desperately wanted Hermione to be on his side. There was no logical reason why he wanted it so badly, but his stomach churned with anxiety.

"I don't know what to do," she said.

"Trust me,"

"You make it sound so easy,"

"Do I? I understand the weight of your faith probably more than anyone else. Trust does not come easily to me. I know exactly what I am asking of you," He leaned forward earnestly, eyes focused on her tongue wetted lips. He wanted her trust as much as he wanted another taste of her. Experimental dark magic and the scent of flowers clinging to her skin excited him beyond reason and their stacks of journals about blood purity lay forgotten in neat piles on the table top.

Tom paused inches away, begging with his eyes. She drew in a deep breath and closed the gap between them, taking his top lip in between hers. Light exploded behind his eyes and his breath hitched, excitement pounding through his veins. She came to him!

His hand slid into her curls and he pulled her closer, deepening their lingering kiss. He nearly came undone when she moaned into his mouth. Blood rushed south, causing his cock to stiffen, pulsing in the confines of his trousers.

Hermione pulled back much too soon for his liking, but he let her go, matching her panting breaths.

"I don't want to fight you anymore," she whispered.

"Do you believe me?"

"Yes," she said slowly, "I think I do. There is no doubt in my mind that we destroyed two Horcruxes and your stability leads me to believe that they were not yours. Not once did Dumbledore ever insinuate that Grindelwald made Horcruxes, but it is obvious that he had. That first Horcrux was made even before I arrived. You are not what I was expecting to find. Although, the one thing I don't understand is why I was sent. Wouldn't Dumbledore realize that I would figure out that you were not the man at fault?"

"Unless it wasn't Dumbledore who sent you back,"

"It was Dumbledore,"

"How do you know?"

"He looked like him, he talked like him, he knew things about me, my life."

"Polyjuice and a devoted follower of mine could have done it,"

"Why bother?"

"If you didn't come back, how would I fall in love with you? I think I would do just about anything to ensure you come back to me."

Hermione blanched, eyes fluttered shut in realization, "Snape,"

"Excuse me?"

"The man you saw in my memory of Harry's horrible death. Dark hair, hooked nose, powerful, holding me… ring a bell?"

Oh, he remembered all right.

"He knew everything about me. He was also your follower, a double agent, and we were never sure which side he truly worked for."

"My loyal spy?" Tom smirked. "If he was my man, I would have had him send you to me."

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione murmured, letting her face fall into her cupped hands.

"Why don't you tell me what we are up against," he said running his fingers down her arm before pulling her hands from her face and threading his fingers with hers, bringing her hand to his face. He caressed the line of his jaw with her hand, waiting for her to start.

She swallowed hard. "My childhood was a happy one although strange. As you know I am Muggle-born, my parents had no idea why weird things happened around me. I was precocious, even then, and I struggled to control the powers I seemed to have. I felt like Matilda* except my parents embraced the strange and accepted me as I was.

Then a Hogwarts professor arrived weeks before my twelfth birthday with an invitation to attend a school for children who were just like me. I felt as if I found where I truly belonged, that I finally found where I was meant to be. I must admit, my parents took it all in stride, despite having reservations about me attending a boarding school. Magical or otherwise.

That first train ride, I met the two boys who would become my best friends, but it didn't start off so smooth. They constantly derided me for my know-it-all ways. Ron more than Harry.

That first year truly cemented us together and we had Voldemort to thank. The three of us protected a valuable magical artifact, stopping his second rise."

"Three firsties?" Tom asked incredulously. "Where were the professors?"

"Where indeed," Hermione murmured. "Their absence never changed, not really. Harry was the center of everything. Always. I was just trying to keep him alive while fighting for my right just to be included in the wizarding world. I deserved to be there just as much as everyone else…"

"Yes. You do. And I am trying to prove it to you. Your blood is as pure as any. There can only be magic where it already exists."

"Magic cannot always be explained," Hermione said and avoided Tom's raised brow. They both knew that she rarely took that stance. Everything was grounded in logic and reasoning.

"Anyway," Tom generously moved the topic back to her life in the future.

"Year after year we encountered more and more opposition. And in our fourth year, Voldemort was resurrected. Though not the first time Harry lived after going up against him, it was the first time since that fateful Halloween night where Voldemort killed his parents and left Harry with a scar and an accidental Horcrux. Voldemort was back with his full powers, but we knew something that he seemed not to. Harry had already destroyed one of his Horcruxes back in our second year when the Chamber of Secrets was reopened. You, as you are now Tom, stepped out of the diary, nearly sucking the life out of the unfortunate student who had been given your journal. The journal of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Then when I traveled here, you had that very journal and it was already a Horcrux. And you destroyed it to please me, to gain my trust. Already everything was different.

Anyway, Voldemort kept to the shadows, pulling strings like a master puppeteer, taking over the Ministry in a nearly silent coup. Until our fifth year, where Voldemort was forced to save his Death Eaters from our clutches. He was caught dueling Dumbledore who was protecting Harry from Voldemort.

Things got much darker after that. The next year Dumbledore took Harry under his wing, leading him down the path of every Horcrux Voldemort had created. Each artifact that held one of the soul pieces was linked back to you. To Tom Riddle. Everything we know about the Horcruxes, we learned from Dumbledore. There is one thing though that doesn't change no matter if you are Voldemort or not. These Horcruxes are definitely Voldemort's. Whoever that turns out to be.

In our sixth year, when Dumbledore retrieved Harry from his aunt's house, they went together to collect the next Horcrux. The ring.

They were unable to find the ring, it was so well protected. Three months later, Harry, Snape, and I went back to the Gaunt shack. Dumbledore had supposedly instructed Harry on how to find and destroy the Horcrux. Dumbledore neglected to inform him that there was a necrotic flesh-eating curse activated the moment it felt threatened. At the time, he claimed not to know of it. But now I have my suspicions. What I want to know, is why he spent years and years protecting Harry just to send him to die in that shack."

Tom shook his head, deep in thought. "I don't know,"

"He sent Snape and me with Harry. Why? Why Snape? Harry and Snape hated each other."

"Snape didn't hate you,"

"He was much kinder to me than I believed him capable. Probably sweeter than was appropriate."

"Probably," Tom muttered darkly, remembering those unfamiliar long fingers as they caressed Hermione's waist, pulling her closer into Snape's chest, tucking her snuggly against his body. Jealousy rose dark and terrible in Tom's chest, urging him to take her, make her his. Prove to other men that she was unavailable and so much more invaluable.

Choking down the oppressive feelings, Tom slowly regained his composure.

"It wasn't until much later when the Ministry fell, and Ron died too that Dumbledore came to me with a time turner claiming that only I could go back and save them. All I had to do was stop you from creating the Horcruxes and by extension, save Harry and Ron's life. How could I say no when all I wanted was my best friends back? The moment I was standing in front of Dumbledore of this time, I asked when he would be able to send me back once I completed my mission. He claims he can't. That I am stuck here." Hermione took another deep breath before continuing. "Now you know my story, well, the abridged version anyway."

"Thank you, Hermione, for putting your faith in me." Tom murmured leaning in, dropping sweet kisses over her cheeks, eyes, nose, and temple. Was it possible to die from wanting someone as bad as he wanted Hermione? Now that he had her confidence… his craving for her doubled, tripled, pulling him into obsessive territory. His heart ached. If only she would love him, he would finally be complete. But for now, he would yearn and continue to fall until she was right where he was. And he could hardly wait.

*Matilda by Roald Dahl