"You're getting sloppy," Draco spat out, some blood coming out with his words. Although Tom hadn't necessarily intended for Draco to cough up blood, he had also never drained an entire human body's worth of blood in twelve short hours.

"And yet you're the one getting blood on the floor," Tom quipped, trying to hide his frustration with having to use healing spells on the man across from him. But it was no good to leave marks.

Draco glanced at his watch. "We've missed breakfast by now."

"Yes, the two of us and half the student body miss breakfast on the weekend. Do you have a point?"

Draco shot him a hateful look. "You're so confident. Dumbledore has a pensieve. I could just give him this memory."

"Yes. You won't, though."

Draco just looked down at the ground in response. Tom forcefully lifted his head, causing the other wizard to clench his jaw with the pain—his entire body was likely sore.

Once Draco was looking into his eyes, Tom spoke to test the veracity of his statements. "I know you are from the future. Hermione came with an extensive repertoire of incriminating information on me. I suspect you did as well, and yet you have not attempted to share it with anyone. And so, I do not expect you to give anyone information when it comes to me."

"Do you want to know why I think that is?"

"Not really," Draco responded quietly, resentfully.

"I think—although you and Hermione are together right now—you know that we are inevitable. And you care about her too much to hurt her by turning me in for anything."

Draco swallowed as his eyes flashed with myriad emotions. Tom knew without digging any further into his mind that he was right.

"Hermione loves me," Draco replied with empty conviction. Whether it was from emotion, lack of sleep, or both, the wizard kept talking despite spending most of the night trying to stay quiet. "My dead body was her boggart."

Tom laughed. "And you think that means you two are in love? It means that she had to worry about your death. You're pathetic. Hermione will never have to worry about my death."

"She used to worry about your death all the time; let me clarify—she stayed up at night worrying you wouldn't die, trying to think of ways to kill you."

"Crucio!"

Once Tom remembered himself—that he was trying to heal the brat—he let up.

The disturbing thing was he could tell Draco was telling the truth.

Draco looked him dead in the eye, likely knowing full well that Tom was using Legilimency. "She came here to kill you."

An unfamiliar feeling hit Tom—he felt his stomach drop as a bitter taste fill his mouth. Panic.

Draco was telling the truth.

But what about when he felt Hermione—when he looked into her eyes—but can I even read her any longer? Was I ever able to?

Tom abandoned any attempt at trying to keep Draco at arm's length or refrain from questioning him.

Acknowledging that he couldn't do the spell nonverbally, Tom picked up his wand and abandoned any pretense.

"LEGILIMENS!"

Tom immediately recognized the Potions classroom as Draco's memory fell into view. Remembering his struggles last time he had entered a memory, Tom tried to forget what was happening in the present and be as much of a passive observer as he could manage.

He immediately recognized a boy who he would have thought was Abraxas if he didn't know better, sitting with two larger boys.

Tom spotted Hermione quickly; her hair was even bushier, her face rounder, and much shorter. They were probably about twelve.

He was surprised to see her clad in a Gryffindor uniform. Could people change houses over time?

The professor—an unpleasant-looking man—complimented Draco's potion and deemed Hermione's adequate. Tom knew the potion in question and empathized with Hermione's clear frustration; hers was at least as good as Draco's, if not better.

Hermione left the classroom first, and Tom felt himself pulled toward Draco, following him out instead. Draco eventually caught up to the younger Hermione, though.

"It's too bad your mum and dad never taught you how to make a proper potion."

Hermione glanced up from her notebook and glared at Draco with hatred he had never seen from her.

A red-headed boy next to her started to defend her, but Draco kept talking. "That's right, I forgot, mublood, your parents probably couldn't tell a potion from the cauldron."

The scene faded and a new one started to form. The feeling was odd—a bit like Apparition.

This time, Tom spotted Hermione first, although he could only spot the back of her head. Her bushy hair was sticking up in odd places and her body wracked with sobs.

Draco was standing behind her, staring at her with indecision and badly-concealed affection.

"Granger, it's after hours."

"Fuck off, Malfoy." She didn't bother turning around.

The indecision was back on Draco's face as he sighed and approached the shaking witch. It was clear years had passed, although it was impossible to say how many. "Granger, what's wrong?" He sat next to her tentatively—Tom used "next to" generously as the boy kept a decent distance between the two of them.

"Did you not hear me the first time? I don't want to talk to you—ever, in fact. If you're going to take points, take points. Although I'll take them right back. You're not exactly in bed, either."

"I'm patrolling."

"Fine. Take points, then."

"I don't want to take points, Granger. I wanted to see if you were alright. I couldn't help but notice—"

"I want to be alone. That's why I'm not in the common room, obviously," she snapped.

"Fine. I'll leave you alone. But if it's about Weasley, he's not worth it."

"Because he's a blood traitor, right? Did you forget I'm muggle-born?"

"No, I remember."

They shared an odd look before Draco walked away.

As the next memory faded into view, it was clear less time had passed. Hermione and Draco were both standing in one of the hallways near the Gryffindor common room.

"I know you're not on the schedule tonight, Malfoy."

"So take points, Granger," Draco demanded with arms crossed. There was some humor in both their eyes that night, though.

"First tell me why you're out. Taunting more crying women? That desperate?"

Draco was openly smirking now. "I wouldn't exactly call you an easy target, Granger, even when you are a wreck."

"What did you mean about Ron?"

"Lavender Brown, compared to you?"

Tom could tell Hermione was trying to suppress what she was feeling. "I know; she's a pureblood."

"And painfully dull."

Hermione swallowed and Draco closed in. Tom had to actively force himself to stay in the memory, to focus on the memory.

"You, on the other hand…"

"Are a muggle-born?"

"Yes." Draco leaned on Hermione such that their noses were grazing. "And incredible."

Hermione bit her lip before Draco replaced her teeth with his mouth. Tom watched them kiss for what felt like an eternity before he felt the now familiar jerk of being jostled to another memory.

Hermione's hand was on Draco's cheek, and Draco looked more familiar now—he had the sickly pale expression Tom was used to seeing on him.

"You don't understand, Hermione," he was saying in a panicked half-whisper, "even if I don't alert them, they'll come. It's fixed. Not telling them means I'm dead. Telling them means they come a little sooner."

"Dumbledore won't let Voldemort hurt you." Tom tried not to feel glee when Draco winced at his name.

"Hermione, you don't know, you don't know him."

"Look at me, Draco. I know that Harry will defeat him."

Draco scoffed. "You put too much faith in Potter."

"Then put your faith in me," Hermione responded with conviction. "If Harry doesn't kill him, I will."

She meant it.

Tom struggled to hold onto the thread; the memory shook so forcefully Tom thought he might be sick, but he held on.

Tom had to keep struggling as a new memory came into view. He recognized the scene immediately; it was around the time he had walked in on them in the library.

Finally, they broke contact and Hermione spoke.

"Draco, really. We should talk."

"Or we could talk later."

"Now. We need to talk now."

Draco broke contact, looking up at her with a startled expression. "You've met someone."

"Yes."

"How did I not even…"

"Not even?"

Draco smiled thinly. "I didn't even think of it as a possibility, really. Does my being back change anything?"

"Well, we're not together, but…"

"So what's the problem?"

"I'm in love with him."

"Who?"

"Draco, you have to promise me that you won't get too upset."

"Hermione, are you in love with my grandfather?"

"Ew, no!"

Tom smiled in satisfaction.

"Godric, Draco, it's—it's—Tom Riddle."

Tom held back his anger as he saw Draco's hand dig into Hermione's side. "Say it again."

"Draco—"

"I need to know that I heard you correctly."

"Tom Riddle."

"You-Know-Who."

"Draco, he's not—"

"Say it. You're in love with the Dark Lord."

"I won't say it because he's not Voldemort. Not really."

"They are the same person, Hermione."

"They are not the same—"

"HERMIONE!" Tom begun shaking with rage at Draco's treatment of Hermione.

Hermione looked somewhat fearful. "Draco, I know it's a lot to take in, but I can't change how I feel. It's fifty-five years earlier. You're being overly judgmental."

"So, what, when you came back you thought, he's not You-Know-Who yet, I'll just go ahead and snog him?!"

"No, that's not what happened."

"Was this Dumbledore's plan? For you two to fall in love? Is that why he sent you back?"

"Why would Dumbledore want us to fall in love? Not knowing love was Tom's weakness; Dumbledore wouldn't want to make him stronger."

"I was just guessing. That prophecy was such a fucking jumble."

"Prophecy?"

"Why am I not surprised by your confusion? Something about you and Tom. I don't remember the wording. It doesn't matter, anyway," Draco added angrily.

"Yes, it does. Draco, tell me what you remember."

"You really think you can boss me around right now, Hermione?"

Tom felt himself fall out of the memory. His anger with the wizard across him was the result, he was sure. How dare he talk to Hermione that way.

Or at least that's what he thought was the cause until he took enough stock of his surroundings to realize that Draco was completely passed out.