Tom rolled his neck around, feeling the muscles straining slightly as they stretched. He sat at his small breakfast nook, studying the notes in front of him and sipping at a black coffee. With a swipe of his quill, Tom nodded to himself and sat back in his chair, satisfied with the demands he had spent most of the night and all of the morning fine-tuning. It was a question of efficiency: what were the things he really, truly wanted from this girl and how much else could he manage to get at the same time?
Hermione Mortenson was just the sort of tool he knew was without a doubt necessary to make his own. She had given him enough of a taste of what she had to offer for him to know she would be the crown jewel amongst his collection of assets. The girl was brilliant, had made herself indispensable by having ownership of knowledge no one else could boast, and she was ambitious enough to break down the laws of time to bring all this information to lay at his feet.
The problem lay in extracting information from the chit, and this is where he found himself infuriatingly and intriguingly stymied. A rather large part of him seriously wanted to destroy her simply for the fact that she had thwarted him. It was an interesting sensation, to have the thing that you despised about a person and the thing that you genuinely liked about them be the same. Not that he had a lot of experience with that. He rarely liked much of anything about anyone.
Still, he mused as he took another long sip from his mug, there was potential.
Noting the time at 1:15 pm, Tom stood from his seat and dumped the remainder of his coffee in the sink. He stripped off his clothes as he entered his bedchamber, undoing his button-down with a silent, wandless charm and divesting himself of his trousers before slipping into a steaming shower.
As he washed his hair, he found himself smiling as he wondered if she had anticipated what he would demand of her as a way to assure her devotion in light of her decimation of his usual tactics. She had eliminated physical torture as a way to break her spirit and helpfully pointed out how mental torture would likely backfire on him spectacularly. That fucking fog made it impossible to rip her mind open and pull out all the relevant bits. She had even removed blackmail of loved ones, as she had none in this time period. He had considered threatening the ancestors of those she would come to care for, but he would have needed to figure out who that would be first and that would be a ridiculous amount of subterfuge for uncertain payoff. The girl was nothing if not pragmatic. It was possible she would let people die to accomplish her goals.
Tom stepped out of the shower and dried his body before pulling on a crisp, oxford button-down and a black pair of slacks. He placed a pair of suspenders over his shoulders and topped it off with a simple set of black wizarding robes before he headed towards the door of his flat. He felt his wards smooth over his skin like a caress, the rather nasty dark magic built into them at once soothing and arousing. Though he was 10 minutes early, he found Hermione already in the store, bent over the counter as she argued with Borgin about the instability of dark curse magic on pewter based jewelry.
He paused at the door to eye the lithe, stocking-clad legs of the witch in question with interest. She really was a pretty little thing, which would make what he needed to secure from her infinitely more pleasant. Her chestnut curls were down in ringlets today, the tips of her hair just tickling down to the top of a rather pert arse and Tom allowed himself a moment to imagine exactly what all that silky hair would feel like clenched in his fist.
He may have intended to become a god, but even Zeus was known for fucking as many innocent little maidens as he could convince to have him. Tom wasn't quite that obsessed with sex, but it was certainly an enjoyable past time and the little witch in front of him was more than enough to spark more than a few wizard's fantasies. Although, it was questionable whether HIS attraction was more to her physical attributes or the way she had ruthlessly arranged circumstances to be favorable to her through brilliant and cutting means.
Tom cleared his throat, watching as she turned to him with an apprehensive smile. He granted her a small but charming grin in return, the sort that was known to make easily manipulated witches flush and fan themselves, but she simply raised an eyebrow at him as her smile widened slightly.
"Mr. Riddle," she greeted him with a flirt at a curtsy before picking up her bag off the counter and walking towards him.
Bringing her knuckles to his lips as soon as she reached him, he answered smoothly. "Ms. Mortenson. Won't you follow me for our appointment?"
"Of course," she murmured, allowing him to lead her by the hand outside and back up to his flat.
This time when Tom opened the wards to Hermione, he allowed them to simply drape over her skin and he delighted in her shudder as the dark magic brushed against her.
She turned to him once she was inside and swallowed heavily. "Was that really necessary?"
"Oh Miss Mortenson, I do believe you should accustom yourself to the touch of dark magic," he replied evenly, motioning for her to precede him into the kitchen. Her eyes narrowed in confusion, but she walked in anyway and at his indication, settled herself at the same breakfast nook where he had spent the night plotting.
She eyed the parchment in front of her, but Tom simply collected it and set it aside. He had already enchanted it so that none but he could read it, so the only thing she saw were invoices for orders from Borgin and Burkes.
"Tea?" Tom offered, positioning the kettle as he took down two teacups and placed them on the table.
Hermione blinked at him and then let out a little laugh. "We're actually having tea? I suppose I thought... well, never mind what I thought. Tea would be lovely."
Tom smiled charmingly at her as he poured her cup. "I find that a little courtesy at the beginning of a meeting can go quite a long way towards both parties leaving satisfied. Of course, if you'd prefer, we can dispense with the pleasantries and begin talking about all of the many ways you can be of use to me. Milk or sugar?"
Hermione grinned a little and picked up her cup. "No, thank you. I suppose manners are important, even to the future Dark Lord."
"Future Dark Lord?" Tom replied, biting back his irritation at her insinuation. "I assure you, I am very much here in the present."
The girl had the nerve to roll her eyes at him and he found himself regretting, once again, that she was immune to Crucios. It had taken her less than ten minutes to make him wish to put her solidly in her place. Of course, there were other ways to put a person in their place. He intended to use this meeting to exploit them.
Hermione pulled her own notes out of her bag, setting them around her on the counter, and Tom noted that they were NOT charmed so that only she could see them. The girl was far too trusting, that much was painfully obvious. Her short-term tactics left much to be desired, an inadequacy he would have to address in due time.
"Shall we get right down to it, then?" She inquired, looking up at him expectantly.
Tom took a sip of his tea. "Please. Ladies first."
Hermione flashed him a smile and brushed a stray curl from her face. "Thank you. Well, as we've discussed, I think the best idea for us moving forward is some sort of business arrangement. I had originally not thought much past passing on viable information, but now that I'm here, I find myself rather inclined to stay alive, much to my surprise, and-"
Tom interrupted her with an amused sort of tone. "Wait a moment. Did you assume I'd kill you?"
She looked at him with surprise. "Of course. You're Lord Voldemort. I assume you plan to murder me as soon as you wrangle all pertinent information from me. I've decided I'm going to avoid that."
He chuckled. "So you intended to come back in time, convince me to listen to what you wanted me to know, and then die? Awfully morbid of you."
Hermione shrugged. "There were certain things I needed to change about the future and you are known to be murderous. It seems like the logical conclusion unless I actively try to prevent it."
"How painfully Gryffindor of you; so brave. Never mind, please continue."
She frowned at him but resumed speaking. "So assuming I'd like to stay alive, which I would, I'm going to need some assurances from you regarding my safety."
"Let's start with what it is you're asking for," Tom told her. "In detail."
"Right," she agreed with a nod. "In exchange for information, I want your assurances of some sort of security. It pains me to admit this, things are not quite so backwards in my time, but being a single witch with no family has put me in a terrible position in this time period."
Tom nodded. "No family means no money, no references. You won't be able to secure employment or buy land or anything to make a life for yourself."
Hermione's eyes flashed with fury and Tom bit back a smirk. "Yes, I know. Which is why I find myself in the rather appalling position of needing aide with that. I never planned to build a life here and now I find myself quite... adrift."
"Go on," Tom urged her, maintaining a placid expression. Within, however, victory swelled. She was practically making his points for him.
"That being said, I want a position. If I'm going to be here helping you, I might as well make it worth my time. I want to stay on as an advisor of sorts, to help influence the way you shape this world to your whims without worrying my role will become obsolete. If you can let your little death eater cronies have influence in the new world order, I want some too."
She glanced down at her notes and continued. "I bring more to the table than most of your... colleagues, and I want to ensure that you listen to me. I know that ultimately you are going to make your own choices but I want your assurance that if I ask, you will listen to my counsel BEFORE you make major decisions. It is quite likely I will have something pertinent to offer. I have studied wizarding culture and history thoroughly enough to know quite a bit about the political climate in the next few decades."
"Finally," Hermione continued, fixing him with a firm look, "I want protection. I'm not stupid, Tom. I know exactly who you are and what you are capable of, and I am painfully familiar with what your lackeys are capable of as well. I will not put my blood, sweat, and tears into your plans just to be consistently screwed with by people far less capable in aiding you."
Briefly, Tom wondered how she found herself familiar with his 'lackeys,' but he'd find out soon enough.
"Is that all?" He asked coldly.
Hermione cleared her throat as her cheeks pinked slightly. "Yes."
"And for all that I would get unrestricted access to your mind?"
"No!" Hermione nearly squeaked. "Absolutely not! I would tell you everything I know about your Horcruxes (and why your plan is deeply flawed, by the way,) ways to dodge becoming an incorporeal spirit for 10 years-"
"What?!" Tom sputtered around his tea.
"-information on all current and future death eaters, including betrayals, and how to avoid becoming completely and utterly mad because, Tom, in the future, you are absolutely insane."
He sat there, seething with fury and staring at her person before he ground his teeth together and lunged across the table. Tom hauled her up by her robes and glared at her pretty face, snarling in outrage.
"Show me. Show me this future you so casually reference; show me now."
He dove into her mind, watching the fog swirling around, and just as he was considering that she may deny him, the fog cleared and he found himself in the remnants of a war zone.
Everything was distorted and fuzzy, as memories colored by adrenaline often were, but a figure walked between two clearly opposing groups in the Hogwarts courtyard. In the group closest to the figure, Tom could see the masks and marks associated with his Death Eaters. He glanced back at the man in front of them with mounting dread.
"That's Lord Voldemort," came a small voice from his elbow. He recognized it as Hermione's, but Tom was too horrifically enthralled by the scene before him to respond as the figure began to speak.
"Stupid girl! Harry Potter is dead. From this day forth, you put your faith... in me."
The figure (Tom himself, though that was still bitingly difficult to believe) turned back to his followers with a manic glee in his eyes. "Harry Potter is dead!"
His followers laughed aloud and he joined them with a crazed laugh of his own.
"And now is the time to declare yourself," he continued, turning back to the other side of the courtyard.
The memory faded and Tom wrenched himself from her head, sitting down heavily in the chair. To be fair, that man had looked more than a few knuts short of a galleon. Hermione eyed him warily before she settled herself back down as well and took a drink of her tea.
"That's me?" Tom verified blankly.
"That's you," she told him with a small nod.
"So I win," he started carefully.
"Oh yes," she agreed. "You win."
"Why do I look like that?" He asked her.
"You are defeated and you die," Hermione paused and scrunched her nose up, "or you should have, I suppose. But you don't actually die, because of your Horcruxes."
"You said the Horcruxes were a shitty idea," Tom reminded her.
"I did say that. I meant the seven you end up having. It's hard to track, I'm not sure if the madness started during the Horcrux making or when you died."
"I did not die!" He snarled, twitching at the thought.
"Not exactly," she admitted. "That's where the years as an incorporeal spirit comes in. It's my understanding you primarily possessed snakes."
"Snakes," he echoed, trying to wrap his mind around this information.
"Yes, snakes," Hermione confirmed. "But eventually one of your followers does some sort of ritual in a graveyard with a cauldron and you get a body back and it... well, you saw it. There are some deficiencies."
"No nose," Tom commented absently.
"Among other things."
"And I was insane?"
"When I left the future," she told him, "The world was burned to dust. Your Death Eaters were running on a very long leash, and I'm sure you know how stable some of them are. Last I heard, you were hiding out in squalor, terrified someone was going to kill you and your pet snake."
Tom ran a hand through his wavy hair and swallowed heavily. "Well, fuck," he murmured before he could stop himself.
They drank their tea in silence for a few minutes as Tom wrapped his mind around the information she thrust at him. He processed what she had told him and finally found a thought that he wrapped around himself like a warm cloak. None of that was going to happen anymore. He looked across the table at his little prize and took a deep, cleansing breath. All of that would be prevented completely because he had a time traveler in his pocket. Crown Jewel, indeed. Now to acquire her.
"Counteroffer," Tom said smoothly, breaking the silence and causing Hermione to jump. All signs of upset were gone from his face as he eyed her pleasantly.
Hermione swallowed heavily but nodded anyway. "Right, yes. Let's hear it."
"I want all information on the future laid out for me to peruse whenever I see fit; complete access to your mind at any time I decide I need it. I want utter honesty, compelled by the strength of an oath, your utter devotion, and your complete loyalty. And, Gaza," he smirked, leaning across the table towards her, "I want it guaranteed. Magically."
"Are you insane?!" Hermione hissed at him.
"Not yet," he answered smoothly, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his tea. 'Not ever,' he corrected in his head with a grimace. "And watch how you speak to me. There are unpleasant side effects to hexes that need not be pain, you know."
"I came here to negotiate in good faith-"
"So negotiate," Tom interrupted.
"Fine. What, pray tell, will you give me in return for all of that?" She demanded incredulously.
"I will offer you my unwavering protection, to the best of my ability, and please keep in mind that my ability far surpasses any other wizard who might make a similar offer. I'll agree to not dismiss you out of hand when you offer advice but I'll not commit to always hearing you prattle."
She snorted out a rude sound and Tom raised his eyebrow, but otherwise ignored her.
"I plan to offer you the very best position to influence the new world order, Ms. Mortenson; higher than the very highest of my inner circle. I want your unbreakable allegiance and you have taken all my usual tools to ensure it. I can't break your will, I can't threaten you in any meaningful way, and so you must see what you've left me. You want to change the world I'm making, Ms. Mortenson. What are you willing to give for that privilege? That's the real question."
Tom took another sip of his tea as he watched her mind work furiously across the table from him. Her eyebrows knit in confusion, then rose up her forehead as her face paled. He smiled before he could stop himself. There it is.
"You want me to be your wife," Hermione whispered as if by saying it quietly she could soften the blow to her psyche.
He frowned. "I find the word wife somewhat distasteful, but for all intents and purposes, yes. I'm more looking for a bondmate, or specifically, the bond that only comes with a marriage."
"I... you can't be serious."
"You know," Tom pointed out. "There are any number of pureblood witches I could floo right now who would absolutely salivate at this offer."
Hermione looked at him, dazed. "I... I'm sorry, Tom. I just really do not understand."
He looked at her blankly. "I sincerely hope it is the shock that is making you this slow, Miss Mortenson. Allow me to enlighten you."
Tom leaned forward and she met his eyes, her own running quickly though emotions as he explained. "I am unwilling to take an unbreakable vow because I do not wish for anyone other than you and I to be aware of your status as a time traveler and we would need a bonder. Obliviating your bonder after an unbreakable vow, as you know, can have serious consequences up to and including all parties involved losing their magic. Quite frankly, nothing would force me to risk my magic. The same is true with a magically binding contract. That leaves bonds, and of the two available, a blood bonding is even more invasive than a marriage bond."
He bit back a smirk as he watched her slump slightly in her chair, the fight draining out of her as he won her over with much-beloved logic. "You want protection and security in the wizarding world in 1955, with no family to speak of? Like it or not, that requires a husband. But that is only the beginning because I know your ambitions range much higher than that. An advisor would be easy to dismiss. But the bond will work as bonds always have since time itself began, making me more approachable to you than any other. Let go of some romanticized notion of marriage for a moment, Miss Mortenson, and truly consider it. This can't be underestimated and this is my real concession. Over time, you will be able to use our connection to shape my views. It will not make me love you, but you know it will make me more conciliatory and invested in your contentment."
"The reverse will be true as well," Hermione responded pointedly, conjuring a quill and a fresh sheet of parchment.
Tom watched her with amusement as she began scribbling out a revised negotiation. "True, but that's the nature of the beast. I get your utter loyalty, you get your influence. We all win."
She worked in silence for a time as Tom freshened his tea and waited for the inevitable relenting. His argument was sound. He had known the girl such a short time, and yet already the ways in which she could be manipulated were revealed to him. Logic and knowledge were what made her blood flow and would be the best way to steer her.
He allowed himself a small grin. Submission was always so delicious.
Finally, Hermione set down her quill and looked at him. Tom tilted his head in invitation and waited.
"Tell me, Tom," she asked with hard, guarded eyes. "How do you really feel about mudbloods?"
Gaza – Latin for Treasure