AN: This has been beta'd by Aerlinniel and Grammarly. The image made by QuinTalon.

This for the #LoveFest2020 run by FAIREST OF THE RARE on Facebook.

This will contain possessive Tom, Own Characters, and a mucking about of Canon.

Frailty, Thy Name Is…

His, Only His!

VALENTINE'S DAY – 1997

Everyone was buzzing with excitement. Parliaments of owls fluttered through holding various packages, bunches of flowers, boxes of chocolates and other valentine's day paraphernalia that Hermione knew nothing was for her.

So she thought, Hermione was the most surprised of everyone when she received a bouquet of deep dark red roses, with gypsophilas and arum lilies. Inside was a card: There is more to come!

Sure enough, Hermione looked up and another owl swooped down with a box that was wrapped professionally in green and silver – Slytherin? She had a Slytherin secret admirer? Attached to the box was another note: Wear this and think of me.

Quickly, Hermione untied the ribbon and unstuck the spellotape. She gasped as she was presented with a bottle of perfume. Another box dropped in her lap this time there was a parchment – a letter, and another gift tag: Open the letter and find out who I am…

Cautiously, Hermione peeled the letter off the wrapped up box. Her hands trembling she opened the envelope. It was clear her secret admirer was a Slytherin and rich. For a moment she entertained the thought that it could be Draco, but he was not looking at the table. If it was him he'd surely be interested in her reaction at least. Silently she read unaware that everyone surrounding her was watching her intently.

Lavender looked particularly livid that her boyfriend's friend had better gifts than she got, others looked completely jealous but Ginny – who was sitting next to her leaned over and whispered, "I knew you're cool enough to have a secret admirer," Hermione turned to her and smiled weakly.

"This could be dangerous," she hissed back. "I am reserving judgement until I have read this letter."

Ginny sighed, "trust you to take the romanticism out of it," the redhead then smiled again, "I got this…" it was a box of cake shaped like snitches.

Subtlety was not Harry's strong point, Hermione thought, but they did look scrumptious. After a few more inconsequential minutes of chat, Hermione turned to the Letter and started reading, her heart pumped loudly in her chest as she continued to peruse the contents. Even then she did not know who it was, confused she started reading again.

" Dearest Hermione ," it began – a little too informal for her liking. There was someone out there who knew her name and she did not know his. What if this was like the Diary?

" I am overstepping the mark in writing this letter and sending you the gifts without a name, this is so that you cannot return to sender. No owl will offer to do so, these gifts and note of my admiration are yours, to do with as you will.

I want first to applaud your thirst for knowledge, I am told that you soak up words like a sponge and can recall them with clarity. An admirable trait indeed. I also know you are likely head girl material. I once held a position of authority and trust. You're one lucky girl to be in such esteemed company. I suppose I should say woman or witch?

I am also pleased that you have dropped Divination and Muggle Studies, an awful waste of time in my day. I am also told you love Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. You would do well with logical talents such as that. It is a shame you could not be a Slytherin.

Please do well to think of this as a Valentine's, for I think highly of potentially powerful witches. I can be unfamiliar with you if you prefer but I can please you in ways no one else can. I can help your mind expand. I can help you be the powerful witch I think you to be.

Understand that I am not the most affectionate of wizards, I do offer praise when it's due, and you have done so many things for what you believe to be the right side. Let me interest you enough. I am told you lack out of the box thinking – which is typically Gryffindorian of you I must admit, your one lacking quality but that can be sorted with training.

I have been conflicted over my decision but suffice it to say – it has already happened for me – and it is yet to happen to you – therefore I must have already shown my hand and dealt with the consequences. I have not taken this decision lightly and in no way do I wish to harm you, but – you see – the more I look at your picture, the more convinced I am that this is right.

Now to find out who I am you must open the last box and examine its content – I guarantee this is the final clue.

Regards your secret admirer. "

"I don't know," Ginny sighed, "that looks awfully dangerous to me. There is something familiar with the handwriting," she screwed up her eyes and peered closely at the missive. "Too familiar."

Whilst Ginny was preoccupied with working out who the gift-giver and epistle-writer were and where the familiarity came from, Hermione was carefully opening the final box. Laying inside it, snug amongst green velvet cushion, was a time-turner. Curiosity, they say, killed the cat. Could it be true now? Then, realisation dawned on Ginny the moment Hermione's fingertips were hovering over the last of its kind.

"Hermione Don't!" Ginny warned.

Too late, the moment Hermione's fingertips pressed delicately on the object, and she was gone.

At the staff table, Severus Snape felt his arm burn and he collapsed on the floor writhing in agony. Minerva sprung to action and rushed to his side, whilst Dumbledore raised a goblet of pumpkin juice to his lips and sighed: "So it begins…"

II

Where was she? She looked around and suddenly found herself in a room full of Death Eaters, none of them glared at her with spite or hatred – in fact,! she saw a strange look of reverence. How could she inspire such looks when she was nothing but a mudblood to them? The crowd parted like the red sea. There, sitting on the throne, Hermione gasped at the sight of Lord Voldemort a picture of elegant indolence and a smile on his creepily handsome face.

"Welcome home," he said, his arms spread wide. "Wife."

"W-wife?" she stuttered.

"You will be, it has not happened to you, but it has for me."

Hermione coughed and spluttered, "You must be mistaken," she said drawing herself to her full height, squaring her shoulders and jutting out her chin in defiant behaviour. "I would never marry you."

"Oh we do," he said, he clicked his fingers and Lucius stepped forward holding a rolled up piece of parchment, "Here it is, my Lord," he bowed, then he turned to Hermione, "my Lady."

Lady? They truly believed she was his…wife? How could that be at all possible? Then Lucius offered her the scroll with a deep bow. Hands trembling she reached out and took it, scepticism written on her face as she carefully peeled away the wax stamp and unrolled the parchment.

This is the Marriage Scroll,

I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, do hereby consent to Maria Hermione Katsaros, as my Lawfully Wedded wife.

I, Maria Hermione Katsarosdo hereby consent to Tom Marvolo Riddleas my Lawfully Wedded husband.

We promise to honour and obey and to love each other. We hereby do declare that there would be fruitage from this union.

We continually accept each other and rightfully love one another. No spells, charms or potions were used to entice either of us to this state.

Signed

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

MARIA HERMIONE RIDDLE. "

"I did thorough research into your family line, Maria ," he sneered, "Katsaros was your grandmother's maiden name," Hermione gulped, "Maria was your other grandmother's name."

Dread pooled in the pit of her stomach, she wanted so much to believe this was a hoax. She glanced at the only semi-friendly face in the room. Narcissa at least looked at her with a sympathetic gleam in her eyes. She felt bile rise in her throat, but nothing to expel. She wished for the first time, that she was a swooning sort, but she did not faint. Had never fainted

Hermione glanced up with fear in her eyes as they landed on her 'husband,' she groaned at his appreciative glance down her body, "Don't worry," he sighed, "perhaps you can change events, but I rather doubt it."

How had he glided so silently to stand beside her, "This is not me," she said horrified that the Dark Lord believed them to be a team? "This can't be me."

The Dark Lord rolled his eyes and sighed, with a snap of his fingers, Bellatrix was by his side with an envelope – it seemed incongruent for a witch of her station and rank to be holding something so every day and mundane. "Here you go, my Lady," she giggled and curtsied.

"Photos of you and I," he said, "the reason I believe you to be my long lost wife."

Without hesitation, Hermione ripped the envelope open and pulled out the contents, on the top of the stack was a photograph of Hermione holding a baby and shushing her to sleep. The baby seemed quite content in her arms. She wondered if this was her own, but she flipped it back and there was neat writing: My bundle of beautiful tricks, you shall soon grow into a powerful witch – Maria – 1950… Beautiful tricks… Bellatrix?

"A clever lie, the camera lies."

"Does it," Voldemort hummed in her ear, "look through them all. I cannot even manipulate emotions – or events – except maybe this one but what is that phrase Dumbledore uses…Ah yes," his reptilian grin made her want to vomit, "The Greater Good, you see, last time you allowed Dumbledore to send you forward in time because you seemed to trust him. This time," he leaned in closer, the tip of his tongue caressed the side of her neck. "I won't allow it – when you're gone I am going to make sure lots of things change. I will put this world in chaos – you're my wife," his whisper was menacingly low, "you are going to stay by my side and hold onto my progeny."

"Your progeny?"

Bellatrix offered her an awful grin: "Hello, mummy!"

What? No! She cannot be… "B-but you're the daughter of Cygnus Black and…"

" Adopted daughter," Voldemort purred. "You abandoned your daughter, Albus tricked you into leaving behind your child. This time," he smiled, "I intend to keep you but first you must gain my trust. So," he took the time-turner out of her hand and was fiddling with it, "you must go back in time to when I was a student, last year should do it."

He opened her palm and smirked as he put the time turner in her hand, "What are you…" and she disappeared in front of their eyes.

"I adore chaos," he turned, and a witch stepped out from the shadows. Dark in every aspect. She was wearing a green jewel corset, floral green silk mermaid skirt, and her nails were perfect. There was not a hint of grey in her hair. Garnet lips smirked and eyes gleamed mischievously, her dimples highlighting her sweetly dangerous nature, "Don't you think so my dear," he finished as he grabbed her delicate hand.

"Oh yes, my love," she purred, "I utterly adore chaos."

III

Tom Riddle was sitting underneath a great tree, the green canopy above him shaded him from the sun. It's not that he did not like the sun, but all the other idiots were out to play! It was a strange occurrence for the first Saturday of the term. Normally the leaves would start to slowly turn. He was extremely sensitive to the changing of the seasons. Inherent magic from the old days. He stretched out his legs, used his arm as a pillow and lazily read a book hovering just inches above his lap. Casually, he used the tip of his wand to turn the pages and read in silence. Enjoying the peace and quiet.

Suddenly he heard the sounds of screams, normally a sound to soothe his heart but it was coming from above. It was going to be someone else's problem, not his. He adored the prestige that came with being Head Boy, and the girls, of course, that part he loved . He'd already strung along Euphemia, the foolish Gryffindor thought they were going to marry at some point. Not for him, angels had to fall from the skies and into his lap before they married him.

The scream was edging closer, then he heard an ouch as they had landed in the tree. He heard a girl expel some unladylike words from above him and the moment he glanced up he could see up someone's skirts.

"Sir," she said her disrespectful tone added to his reason why he hated humanity so much, "may I say that instead of looking up my skirts – try something useful like helping me to get down."

Tom laughed. Clearly she had no idea to whom she was talking, "What if I happen to enjoy what I am seeing and have no motivation to rescue you."

"Bloody Slytherins!" she muttered as she tried to hoist herself up onto a branch. She might be able to clamber down if she was careful. She hissed out more swear words as she was twisting and turning between the branches. "Fine," she said haughtily, "I'll do it myself."

"Aw, why would you spoil the best view Hogwarts has had to offer for a long time."

"Because I am a human," she said as she hoisted herself properly on the branch, she crawled down the limb and was relieved when she hit the trunk. Cautiously, she stepped around the trunk and winced when some of the wood caught in her skin. "Not a monkey."

To his immense surprise, the girl had managed to clamber down the tree, scuffing her clothes and dirtying her face and hands at the same time. Panting as she climbed down, using the branches as steps, the girl was a surprise he must admit. Not an ordinary girl, there would be no witch of his acquaintance that would allow themselves to get into such a mess. When she managed to hop on dry land the relief was clearly written all over her face. She saw how she looked and shrugged her shoulders. It did not matter.

"Ahem," the boy coughed, "now my little Dryad – what landed you into my tree in the first place."

"Nothing of importance," she sighed, "the next time I meet that scumbag I'll give him a piece of my mind," she patted away the worst of the dust and indeed winced when she felt something inside her skin. She looked at her finger and there, in the middle, lay the biggest splinter she'd ever had, and she had a few. She tried to squeeze it out by herself, but it would not budge, and it was hurting more by the second.

He rolled his eyes, "Come here, let me help," he was a whizz at this. Now he was practically an adult he was expected to look after the younger ones at the Orphanage and they often got splinters from the old broom handles they used to sweep the floors, "Don't be stubborn," he said softly, "I know what I am doing, trust me, yes?"

That caused her to raise her eyes properly and stared at the handsome man before her, "Um," she felt herself go warm, "sure," she said. "What are you…" he took her hand.

Gently he caressed her hand, his own hands were warm and dry, he took out his wand and transfigured a leaf into a needle, "This may hurt a bit," he grinned.

"You don't have to enjoy this so much."

Oh he did, and he was. A damsel in distress was when his perfect seductive self would show up. He calmly laid her hand in his and stroked from wrist to fingertip, a delicious shudder rippled down her spine as his dark eyes concentrated on where the splinter lay embedded into her skin. Hermione's throat had gone dry as he worked the needle underneath the splinter – pinching with his fingertips as he did so, she winced as the pin-prick of the needle pierced her flesh. Carefully he dug the needle, wriggling it underneath, the splinter had eventually loosened. Then he peeled it out of her flesh.

"There, my," he gasped as he held it to the light, "that was quite big, wasn't it?"

"I never had one as big as that inside me."

"I bet you say that to all the boys," he perused her up and down, she was a Prefect – and she was a Gryffindor.

Underneath that wild birds nest of hair – (something he actually enjoyed was tugging at, and playing with, long frizzy hair), was a passable face, her eyes were her best feature. It was gorgeously tempting to wrap the wild tendrils around his wrist and pull on them. He wondered what would happen to her hair after sex? From then on he took the rest of her in and realised she was more than passable in looks – delicate freckles dotted her nose and cheeks; he peered into her eyes and noticed a kaleidoscope of browns and greens.

It looked like she was a Gryffindor but that did not bother him for the time being. She'd have to be re-sorted! So he'd wait to see if she'd be sorted into Gryffindor, (good girls – good for a couple of months,) Hufflepuffs – fluffy bunnies of witches who believed food and plants were more important to care for, (good for a one night stand), and Ravenclaws. Stuck up bitches who have the Look-Don't-Touch aura down to fine art, (keep if you managed to catch one!) Of course, if she was in Slytherin there would be no problem.

Hermione smiled shyly and began twirling her finger in her hair, "Um, I assume I am at Hogwarts, but when?"

"When?" he goggled. Hufflepuff most likely if she did not know the year unless the fall did something to her brain, "It is September 2nd 1944," he tilted his head and gazed at her carefully. "Come with me," he said taking her hand, "I will take you to Armando Dippet. What's your name, by the way?"

She remembered what it said on the Marriage contract, "Maria," she answered confidently, "Maria Hermione Katsaros."

"Muggleborn, fascinating," he tilted his head and tutted. "You showing up in a school uniform won't do… here," he transfigured her robes into a ragged old brown dress to make her appear as a figure of sympathy to any who saw her. "That's better," he nodded. An extra critical eye wandered over her. "Yes, you look like someone who had come here by accident."

Before she had time to gather herself together, Hermione's hand was grabbed by her companion and they were running across the grounds. Rushing past people always made Hermione revert back to a six-year-old when her teacher yanked her down to the Headmistress office to explain how she had, yet again, managed to blow the board up – or stick another child to their chair – and that one time she'd accidentally turned her desk into a kitten because she wanted one so badly. No one believed her when she said it was not her fault her wishes came true. Her parents had to eventually hire someone to teach her at home before she hurt someone. Then, like now, she could always feel everybody ogling her. In this case, though, it was because she was a new girl in a tattered brown dress being escorted by the handsome Head Boy.

They went through the grounds at lightning speed. His long strides were causing her pain in her lower leg and stitches in her sides. She felt up where the ugly scar bisected her body. By the time they had run up the third floor she was puffing, panting and wincing. She wanted to beg him to slow down, that there was not a hurry, but she was too winded to say anything. Finally, they reached the Gargoyle that led to the steps to the Headmaster's office: "Be that as it may," he said, the Gargoyle sprang to life and once again she was hauled up with little choice in the manner in which she did so.

He knocked on the door. "Come in, dear boy," he said.

There, in the drably decorated office, was Professor's Dumbledore, Slughorn, and one she did not recognise but the teacher's face lit up at the sight of Tom holding a girl's hand: "Tom, what a nice surprise."

"It seems, Professor Falstaff," he said, "angels do fall from the skies."

"Who is this young woman?" Armando asked, pointing at Hermione.

"Maria Katsaros, sir," she managed to wince out her introduction. "Sir. could I possibly have some water?"

Dumbledore was quick with his wand, "Aguamenti," he said calmly and offered it to her. She gulped it down quite noisily and gasped in inspiration. "What can we do for you, child?"

Tom stood there, allowing the 'adults' to take over. It was obvious what should be done, she should be in Slytherin where he can keep an eye on her. Already in his mind's eye she was his and only his. Therefore he should have a say, he cleared his throat and put on his mask of compassion: "Professors," he said with a respectful bow, "I wonder," he pretended to falter, "is it possible that she can be in Slytherin? I can look out for her then."

"She must go through the sorting if she is staying here."

Suddenly, Hermione fell to her knees and put on the sobbing act she did in front of Umbridge. Professor Falstaff went down on her knees with her and tried to offer comfort, "P-please let me stay," she stuttered. "I-I-I want to stay here, I have nothing, no-one and nowhere else to go except to War-Torn London."

"There, there – child," the teacher said, "you clearly are a witch to even be here at all," she whipped out a handkerchief and Hermione made a show of blowing her nose.

"What happens to me now?" she asked timidly.

"We sort you, child," Armando Dippet offered her a warm sympathetic gaze, Slughorn was calculating her worth and Dumbledore tilted his head to the side, scrutinising her much the same way Tom had done earlier. It made her shudder and she turned her eyes away from the Professor. The comforting teacher stood up, her back rigid, and she walked over to the shelf and picked up the hat. For some reason it was rather resilient to the Accio charm, so it had to be handled manually. Hermione gulped – if anything could rat her out it would surely be the all-singing Sorting Hat. Listening hard she swore she could hear it mumble rhyming words – Harry was right – it did spend a whole year thinking of the different songs.

"Nothing to worry about dear," the Professor said, "we just have to pop it on your head, and it will tell you where you will live for the rest of the year."

"Surely this is not needed, I can see she's Slytherin material," Tom said suddenly wanting to take her away from the office and into his Head Dorm with him where she clearly belonged. "This is not necessary."

"Nonsense, Mr Riddle," the Professor snapped, "we must preserve tradition. She is a new student," she turned and squeezed Hermione's arm, "don't worry dear, it will'nae hurt ye."

Silently she nodded and the hat was then lowered on her head: "Interesting mind, from the future," it mused, "I see a lot of pain in your future. People dying who ought to be learning or teaching. I sorted you in amongst the Lions pride last time did I not. Oh, time is all over the place for me. Who says it is a straight line? I daresay there is a Hogwarts who has never seen evil," she frowned – that sounded like something Luna would say, "oh you are going to have to think clearly. Without the prejudice and yet accessible – red and gold suited you then but…" everyone, including Tom, was waiting with bated breath. "Yes, oh definitely."

"What?" she whispered.

"Such symmetry to it as well," he seemed to be listening intently to her thoughts, "definitely. Blue and bronze would suit you far better for this task, so you had better be RAVENCLAW!"

Ravenclaw? No, she was a Gryffindor. She understood Gryffindor, she stared around the room and noticed everyone, except Tom, seemed relieved. "Capital," Slughorn beamed. "Another for the Eagles nest."

"I will call Professor Egbert Knowles," Dumbledore offered.

Tom was livid, she was supposed to be a Slytherin. He did not give a care for her status – she came to him first, therefore she was his. There were dangers in Ravenclaw! If any of those bluestockings got hold of her he would not get close. He had to be constantly charming lest she accidentally walked in on a scene of him behaving too close to his true self. How he despised his insecurities! He could not wait to be more than human, to wipe away these mental impurities – Maria, he glanced at the young Witch, was his.

Unaware of the drama unfolding around him, Armando sat back in his chair. "Professor Knowles," he explained, "is your Head of House. You are to go to him for any problems you may have in settling in."

She was still rather shy and did not respond straight away, when she caught Dippets serious looking eyes she nodded, "I understand, sir."

She had to act like she had never seen Hogwarts before and rely on other people. Any interaction now could spoil things further down the line. Just as she was about to talk more a handsome dark-haired, blue-eyed wizard walked elegantly through the flames: "Professor Egbert," he said bowing.

Tom ground his teeth to stop himself. If he declared her as his that would call for far too many questions and denials on her side. Jaw tightened as he witnessed Maria's pleasantly shocked expression, she obviously had not been expecting a stunningly handsome man. If there was anyone who could be a threat to his plans, Professor Egbert was it.

"Charms Professor," he said, "I have not had the honour of your name yet."

"Maria," she giggled and pushed her hair behind her ear. High cheekbones and wide blue-green eyes, a generous mouth and well-built, Hermione was drooling. Tom had forgotten the most dangerous foe of all, another handsome man! "Katsaros." Her voice had softened an octave. "My name's Maria Katsaros," she said softly.

"Come with me, and I will show you Ravenclaw."

Tom sniffed and felt most put out, she was his discovery. He was Head Boy. It was his duty to show the new girl around, not Knowles! "Sir, I can show her around the school, it truly is not any trouble."

"Nonsense," Slughorn stepped between them, "I need you, my boy. Come on," Tom groaned inwardly, what other outrageous idea did the gregarious Slughorn want to digest to him. His get-togethers were infamously boring. "Already smitten?" Slughorn tilted his head and smirked. "Young 'un's eh, Dumbledore… in love every five minutes!"

I'm not in love , he worked his jaw, gritting his teeth. I just feel the need to be with what is mine. I cannot understand why Knowles had to meet her anyway.

Wistfully Tom watched her as she walked through the fireplace probably to Knowle's office. He wondered how long it would take before she was a notch. "Has this happened before, sir?" he asked keeping his tone on the right side of respect. Abraxas always failed to not sound anything other than a condescending git.

Slughorn blinked, "Girls appearing in thin air? Not to my knowledge. Grindelwald must have attacked her family," he said squeezing the boy's arm far too tightly for Tom's comfort. "Poor little mite. You helping the lonely again Tom?"

"She came to me for help," he said quietly, "what was I supposed to do?"

They were turning a corridor. So Knowles had not taken Hermione to his office but somewhere that required them to walk. As they passed they heard a snatch of conversation, "I am required to take you shopping," he said, "for materials and I need to see how powerful you are, so later there will be a few practical and theoretical tests. Do you have a wand?"

"No sir," she said.

That was what he should be doing, Tom growled. They turned to where the stairs led downwards and Knowles was still talking to Hermione, the hand on the small of her back – it would only take a nudge to turn that into a cuddle. It didn't seem that she minded, to Tom's dismay she looked enthralled as every girl did when meeting bloody Professor Egbert Knowles. If it was possible, Tom hated him more than Dumbledore. Maria was utterly spellbound.

Oblivious to the scene playing before him Slughorn steered Tom further down another hallway. The wondrous thing with a sentient school is that it can open entranceways to where there was none. It turns out Slughorn wanted a shortcut as he was extremely unfit to take the stairs.

"I've heard rumours of Professor Knowles, sir," Tom said, "I believe it is for the good of the school that..."

Instead of being shocked, Slughorn laughed, "He is a teacher of Hogwarts," Horace said, "he is exceptionally good in his field and the rumours are just that… rumours. Young Miss Katsaros is safe in his hands and he deserves your respect."

"But he…"

"No more on the subject of Egbert, Tom," Horace said sternly. "Trust me," he squeezed Tom's shoulder entreating the boy to drop the subject, "now help me with one of my soirées the Halloween one needs a lively theme, oh and you are likely to need a date for that one too. I have someone special for you to meet…" on and on Slughorn prattled about his precious club.

Although he listened politely inside he was seething. The only good thing to come from all of this was that at least she was sorted in Ravenclaw. If she was with those buffoons in Gryffindor she'd be much harder to reach.

IV

Hermione flopped into bed straight away. She was too exhausted to introduce herself to people. That can wait for tomorrow. One thing she did manage to take was a glorious fantasy between her and Professor Knowles. Of course, she knew who the Head Boy was.

No matter how good looking he was, she was not going to get together with him. How could she with someone who was going to wind up looking like a humanoid snake? She would go to Dumbledore and ask him to send her back.

Little did she know that the future as she knew it changed beyond recognition.