THIRTY-ONE

Sunday, 12 October 1944

The rest of Saturday, Hermione felt Malfoy and Riddle's constant gaze on her. Riddle's looks were more reproachful, like he was lost amongst thoughts of self-deprecation and he wasn't sure what to do about it. Malfoy, on the other hand, kept looking at her as if she was more of a stranger than ever before and potentially made of glass. She had hoped to spend the night in the Room of Requirement, but after dinner, she decided she'd had enough of both of them and retreated to her room.

And because she had gone to bed early, she was up early too. Quietly, she threw on the clothes she had been wearing upon their arrival and used her wand to find the time. She balked when she discovered just how early it truly was. With no desire to use the book again after the last time, she dared to scribble a note, transfigure it into a cat, and send it towards Malfoy's room when she reached the common room. As it ran off, she turned and made way for the library, her pass for the Restricted Section in her back pocket. He would find her there later when he woke.

The sun was only just beginning to rise, leaving the hallways still dimly lit from the faint glow of the enchanted sconces. It was strange to be walking through the castle at this hour. Sure, she had wandered these halls in secret since she'd begun attending the school, but there was always a hint of life around. Now, in the wee hours of the morning, she could hear the wind as it drafted through the cracks and the sound of her steps were almost too loud.

The library was equally as eerie and felt larger than usual. To anyone else, it might have been frightening, but Hermione was giddy at the idea of having the room all to herself. She practically skipped her way to the Restricted Section, feeling the most like herself than she'd experienced in awhile.

For the first time since her first visit to this library, she hadn't come here with anything specific in mind to read. No topic, no author; not even so much as a genre. She just wanted to browse and see what ancient tomes were lying around for anyone to peruse at their leisure. So she took her time in the Restricted Section, going up and down the rows. Sometimes she had lean in and blow a thick layer of dust from the spine to even read the title. Others were so grimy she had to use her wand, only to discover it was written in another language.

Even as light began to trickle in from the windows as the sun rose, bathing everything in the palest sheen of gold, Hermione still hadn't finished browsing. It wasn't until she came across a little shelf tucked into the recesses of the furthest corner that she found something worth spending some time on. Her fingers grazed over tomes that looked like they were older than the castle until she found a small silvery one with no title.

She jumped as someone pressed themselves against her back, their right arm joining hers to stroke the spine of the same book. For a moment, she smiled and leaned back into them, thinking it was Malfoy, but realized very quickly that the skin on the arm wasn't pale enough and the scent that permeated her nostrils didn't belong to him either.

It belonged to Riddle.

She went rigid, but she knew better than to try and get away from him. She could feel his breath on her skin as his head rested near hers. She heard a sharp intake of breath as he turned slightly to bury his nose in her hair. She began to tremble slightly as he hummed in approval, the action sending vibrations down her back. Slowly, she removed her fingers from the spine of the book, letting her arm fall back to her side, watching as he followed suit.

"That note wasn't meant for you."

"Are you sure?"

She hesitated to answer and he harrumphed in her silence.

"You could have easily placed enchantments on the note to prevent anyone but Draco from reading the contents. Why, Miss Granger, if I did not know any better, I would think you wanted me to know where you were going this morning," he taunted. "And that you would be alone."

She stiffened, not sure what to think. Had she meant for him to find her? Hadn't she known that he might have intercepted the note and taken the opportunity to get her alone like this? Did he leave the note for Draco to see when he woke or had he destroyed it so there would be no interruptions?

Her mind was racing so hard and fast that she hadn't even noticed his mind slipping into hers. It wasn't until he spoke, answering her unspoken questions that she realized he was there.

"Draco will get the note, but he is quite enjoying the dream I left him with. He will not be coming to find you anytime soon."

Hermione frowned at the idea of Riddle messing with Malfoy's mind. "I thought you said you leave him alone as long as I told you what you wanted to know?" she questioned, desperate to turn around face him, but finding herself frozen in place.

She jumped slightly as she felt his right hand raise, his fingers ghosting along waist, flicking at the hem of her shirt. "I have not gone back on my word, Hermione. The dream was already his own; a repeat performance of your encounter at the Quidditch pitch. I just added some embellishments and pushed him deeper into his slumber."

"I don't care if it was pleasant," she stated, her voice light. "Leaving him alone means exactly that. Good or bad; don't do anything to him."

His fingers dipped beneath the hem of her shirt, his warmth pressing against her skin as his hand rested on her waist. She drew in a shaky breath and shivered from head-to-toe as his words tickled her skin. "It was not my intention to displease you. I apologize."

Hearing that come from Riddle's mouth allowed whatever it was freezing her in place to melt. She whirled around in the tight space between him and the bookcase. She hadn't even thought he knew what an apology was, let alone able to say the words.

"I am not a monster," he stated, a frown on his face as he held her gaze, his presence still in her mind like a faint glow around the edges.

"Where I come from, you are."

His eyes darkened in the low light of the room and he tipped his head down ever so slightly. "Show me."

Hermione leaned back against the shelf, grateful for any amount of distance that she could put between them. It was unnerving how he could evoke a combination of emotions within her, including fear, desire, and anxiety. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. She thought of the last time she had seen Voldemort's face. It was in the Prophet. She conjured the cover story and brought it forth.

She could feel him in her mind, his presence moving towards the image. While he studied his future self, Hermione thought back to everything she knew of Legilimency. From all accounts that she knew when Voldemort used it, it was an unpleasant experience; that he would tear into one's mind, willing or not. If the victim wasn't well versed in Occlumency, it would often result in extreme pain and sometimes addled the mind beyond recognition. She thought over every time he had slipped into her mind and couldn't recall a single time it had been agonizing. He had always been gentle with her.

Why?

He retreated from her mind and she sighed heavily, the absence leaving her a little lightheaded. When she blinked her eyes open, he was staring at her with a frown. "That's the price of splitting your soul so often," she said softly. "To become a monster, you have to look the part."

"How many times have I split my soul?" he asked, his voice strained behind the calm façade.

"Five," she replied. "That I know of anyway. There could be more." She paused and canted her head to the side. "There's probably more."

"Mmm." He reached up, his index finger landing on her shoulder and slowly dragged down her arm as he asked, "Would you still consider me a monster then if I looked as I do now?"

She swallowed, her throat tight. "It's not your looks that make you a monster, Riddle, it's everything else."

"Draco was one of my followers and the two of you were not friends in the slightest. Do you not consider him a monster?"

"No," she replied immediately, surprising herself with the amount of conviction in her voice. "A prat, yes, but never a monster. He was just a boy." She paused and blinked at the tears that clouded her vision. "A boy that had no choice."

Saying that out loud brought back a rush of fear as she realized who was in front of her. That not once since his arrival had he been anywhere but in her personal space. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as she recalled the way his fingers had pressed against her stomach beneath her shirt. It wasn't his touch that made her want to spew sick all over the floor; it was her reaction to it.

The only thing keeping her on the verge of a panic attack and not launching into one was knowing that he couldn't hurt her. That thought alone allowed her to get control of her breathing again.

"Are you jealous of Draco?" she asked, his words finally sinking in.

His jaw clenched and his gaze hardened, but he refused to look away.

"Careful, Riddle," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "That's a human emotion."

Had she not been so close to him, she would have missed the way the corners of his lips turned up. He took a half step back and Hermione nearly gasped at the way her body shuddered from the loss of his presence so close to her. "I believe I have gathered enough information from you today, Hermione." He inclined his head, studied her for another moment, and then turned away.

When she was alone, her mind raced and her body began to tremble as she realized she had been flirting with him. That he had been seductive to her and she not only responded, but hoped for more. She swallowed hard, trying to keep back the bile that was turning acrid at the back of her throat.

What if she was wrong? What if the Single Continuum theory was just that; a theory? What if her telling Riddle these things changed everything and affected the future her and Malfoy hoped to go back to? What if there no rhyme or reason for the door to appear; and that it just did? Like a portkey, maybe the door just had a certain time it worked opposed to all the other times. If that was the case, there was potential to change the future.

Harry had said Voldemort was incapable of love.

What if he wasn't? What if he fell in love with her and when she couldn't- wouldn't love him back, it destroyed him? It would explain the hatred Malfoy described when Voldemort spoke of her in the future. Maybe Voldemort's hatred of her had nothing to do with her being Muggleborn. She leaned her head back against the books and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She wasn't sure if she could do this. It was hard enough to admit her feelings for Malfoy, but to desire Voldemort too?

She shook the thoughts away and turned to grab the book she had been about to read when Riddle showed up. Before her mind could even entertain the idea of going down that road, she curled up in a corner beneath the window and cracked open the book.

But even as her mind devoured the words before her, she couldn't help but wonder how many lives she would be able to save if she could prevent Tom Riddle from becoming the Dark Lord she had come to know in her time.