Hermione was frantically pensive as Tom looked on coldly and took a drink of his tea. She fought to keep her face closed off and not show how panicked her thoughts were as she considered all of the many facets and potential complications of acceding to Tom Riddle's demands.

He wanted to marry her. Of course, on the surface, that was a horrifying idea. After all, this was the future Lord Voldemort and she knew exactly what the Snake was capable of. Putting aside the façade of the charming and ridiculously handsome man in front of her, his soul was already mangled beyond repair, twice, and she was still the woman who had originally fought to turn him to ash on any occasion she could possibly manage it. Additionally, he HAD physically assaulted her a little bit each of the two times she had spoken with him and while this was certainly not unexpected, it did not lend towards the solid foundation a marriage should be built on either.

And yet... he made some very valid points.

The bond WOULD make him more malleable, although it was hard to imagine the cold and calm wizard in front of her as anything of the sort. She would have the sort of influence that she could only dream of as an advisor and merlin knew she was actually smart enough to use it effectively. And to sweeten the deal, she would be indispensable to him. The kind of binding vows they would have to make in order to allow him to achieve what he hoped from the agreement would provide her with more protection and security than she could attain in any other position with or without him. She knew exactly what she would be to him, he'd told her himself. "Gaza," he'd called her. His treasure.

In an unfortunate turn of events, it would also likely make her fond of him. Hermione did not have the same protections his psychological make-up would afford him, and she was an emotional soul. She was already charmed, in spite of herself, and she was self-aware enough to admit it. Even with his temper, it was hard to reconcile the monster she remembered with the raven-haired, painfully attractive 'gentleman' in front of her. To add insult to injury, he was intelligent and conscientious, even if the courtesy was just for show. It was almost guaranteed that given time and proximity, any protections she had against him would diminish and she would find herself well and truly loyal to the man, even if he was loathsome and cruel. She knew enough about Stockholm Syndrome, as well as the way the mind of wives in organized crime syndicates worked, to know that eventually if she wasn't careful she would most likely become numb to atrocities he committed so long as she did not have to look at them personally.

It was going to be a constant fight for Hermione not to drown in him, if she gave in to this demand, because as strong as her personality was, Tom's was stronger.

Truth be told, if she was going to sacrifice her life to change the world he would make, was it such a problem to risk her heart as well? She was just one person, one woman, but she was ruthlessly hard-nosed. Even if the bond forced her to care for him, as he so clearly intended to ensure it would, it would also force him to give her what she wanted from this agreement as well.

It was unfair, really. Tom was demanding her heart and soul on a platter and she was going to have to serve them up to him so she could help protect her world. In return, he'd give her the opportunity to temper him, but not the guarantee that she could.

Well, fuck that, she decided. She was Hermione-Bloody-Granger and she was strong enough to steer him.

However, if she was going to hand the Dark Lord her lifetime as Hermione Mortenson, there was one thing she needed to assure she would get out of it. And whether she could manage to secure it or not was going to depend on his answer to one question.

"Tell me, Tom," she asked with hard, guarded eyes. "How do you really feel about mudbloods?"

A single eyebrow raised on Tom's flawless forehead was the only indication he gave her of his surprise.

"Are you muggleborn, Ms. Mortenson?" He asked her. "The name 'Mortenson' is what? Danish, I believe. My guess was half-blood, although obviously Mortenson wouldn't be your real name, would it?"

Hermione could feel a droplet of perspiration run down the small of her back. She had truly intended to keep her blood status a secret. But if she was going give what he was asking, one could be assured she was not going to accept a 'chance' of improving things for muggleborns. It was going to be a certainty.

"My blood status is hardly relevant, Tom," Hermione reminded him. "You won't find another time traveler of any blood so what I am is what you have. And you didn't answer my question."

She caught the flash of rage in his eyes before they froze over again and she forced herself to breathe evenly. He was so potentially dangerous and she had a dreadful and unavoidable habit of challenging him without even considering her choices. If he actually convinced her to marry him, she was fairly sure she was going to drive him to distraction without ever meaning to.

"Again, your sharp tongue works more quickly than your sharp mind, Miss Mortenson," he replied evenly. "But no matter for the moment. As a subset of humanity, muggles are dangerous and unpredictable. Their lack of magic makes them inferior and deficient in the most obvious of ways. That being said, as for muggleborns, I am of the opinion that allowing them to grow up until the age of 11 in the muggle world is irresponsible and perilous. It threatens our exposure, for one. For another, we deny them the opportunity to learn and grow amongst their own. Magical blood is magical blood. The moment they manifest magic, they cease to be muggles and that is all that truly matters."

Tom narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully. "This is not the 'party line,' Gaza. The pureblood supporters despise 'mudbloods' and the potential disruption to power they represent. As far as I'm concerned, aside from the implicit exposure risk, muggleborns are too small a group to concern myself with. If my- what did you call them? Ah, if my 'lackeys' want to make a statement and subjugate them, I fail to see the harm in allowing them their little hobbies."

Hermione closed her eyes and grit her teeth. Practical she may be, but she could never stand aside and allow the oppression of a portion of the populace simply because they were a minority and it appeased a different, more powerful group of people. Tom was not like that. Any argument that appealed to his morality or humanity was going to fall flat. She had thought she might have an 'in' because she knew how he valued magical blood, but she hadn't considered that he simply decided to sacrifice some to secure funding and loyalty from more powerful players.

"This is my hard-line," Hermione stated as calmly as she could. "I'll leave the topic of muggles to a later time and accept that I may never sway you on those views, but you don't even believe the blood purity rhetoric and that's my price. I want you to get rid of that platform and I want muggleborns to have the same status as purebloods in this new world you're building."

Tom studied her blankly and she sat in silence, waiting for him to either acknowledge or deny her. The tension in the air seemed so thick to her and yet she got the distinct impression that Tom was completely at ease. She wondered if she would ever feel on equal footing with him. Sitting across from him, negotiating the entire course of her life, she felt distinctly like a little girl trying on an adult woman's shoes. It was if she was piling boxes to stand on in an attempt to reach the adult's table where he sat easily.

"Done," Tom said finally. Hermione let out a breath of relief, but he interrupted her. "With the following caveats: it can't be done overnight. It will have to be subtle. I won't risk losing the support of any of my major financial backers before they are even marked. And I can't guarantee that the Death Eaters will ever be publicly pro-muggleborn, only that we won't be outwardly aggressive and any policy I implement once I'm in power will reflect subtle equality."

He took a drink of his tea and shrugged. "I should also point out that as my bondmate, your opinion will likely hold sway over the masses and YOU can be as publicly pro-muggleborn as you like. So long as I pat you on the head like a little girl who has adorable, eccentric ideas and keep my opinions outwardly pro-magical bloodlines, non-specific of course, the pureblood supremacists in my inner circle will fail to acknowledge you as a threat while the populace at large still heeds your words."

Hermione glanced down at the parchment in front of her sullenly and made a few notes. It was likely the best offer she was going to get and she had, after all, been willing to travel back in time and die to change the future. She supposed she should be willing to live to change it as well.

"I accept your proposal," Hermione sighed in what felt suspiciously like defeat and victory wrapped together.

"Of course you do," Tom replied easily with an appealing upturn of his full lips. "Now, show me what we've cobbled together."

Hermione sighed again but pushed the parchment over to him for review.

Hermione Mortenson agrees the following:

To provide information regarding horcrux creation and destruction

To aide Tom in avoiding future mishaps, including but not limited to becoming incorporeal

To compile known particulars of Death Eaters, present and upcoming

To offer details of future political affairs

To aide in a political coup of Britain, Immortality, and elevating Tom's personal status

To marry Tom Riddle in a binding ceremony and to honor whatever vows are agreed upon in addition to those listed above

Tom Riddle agrees to the following:

To protect Hermione from all who would harm her to the best of his ability

To quietly do away with anti-muggleborn politics and move towards pro-magical blood rhetoric

To allow Hermione influence and ambitions of her own, within the confines of Tom's politics

To provide a place in the new world order as Tom's wife, second in importance and status only to Tom

To marry Hermione Mortenson in a binding ceremony and to honor whatever vows are agreed upon in addition to those listed above

Tom made a thoughtful noise and fixed her with stunning, dark brown eyes. "You conveniently forgot the bits about absolute honesty and devotion."

She offered him a wry, slightly pained grin. "Those parts will be guaranteed through the actual bonding ceremony, I'm sure."

He laughed, a full throaty sound that had her mouth dropping open at the rich, decadent deliciousness of it. "You're right, of course. I will be seeking that in my entreaties. I wonder what you will seek, Gaza."

"I suppose you'll find out soon enough," she murmured, chewing on her lower lip. "How soon, actually, will we be doing this binding? Now that I think of it, you haven't specified."

"We have a full moon in three days," Tom said with a shrug as he stood to put his teacup in the sink. "Lunar magics always indicate a bonding at the full or new moon to be the most powerful and I'd rather not wait."

"Three days," Hermione repeated in a resigned tone. So soon, but really, was there any point in waiting? "I'm afraid to ask what ceremony you have in mind. What about Aevitas Pignoro?"

He narrowed his eyes and smiled in a cruel fashion that had a shudder running along her spine as he leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. "No. Aeternum Adstringo."

Hermione could not help the groan that wrenched from her mouth. The man would give no concessions. The Aevitas Pignoro, or common name the Lifetime Pledge, was a light binding with plenty of breathing and wiggle room. The bind on her soul and her magic would be there, but it was like a flexible cord.

Conversely, Aeternum Adstringo was grey magic, but as restrictive as one could possibly go without becoming illegal. It did not have a common name as it was so rarely used by anyone since the 11th or 12th century but the Latin translation made the meaning clear enough. Aeternum: forever, always, perpetually. Adstringo: detain, constrict, enmesh. It would be as a chain around her magical core.

"You are aware that will bind you just as tightly as I?" She asked incredulously. "You will never be free of me, never be able to touch another woman. Just as surely as our bond will fetter me, it will fetter you."

In two strides Tom stood in front of her and wrenched her to her feet, pulling her harshly into his chest. She felt all the air rush out of her lungs as his arm wrapped around her waist while his other slid up her back with a hand nestled around the base of Hermione's neck, securing her in place. Not that it was needed, she was far too shocked to struggle at the moment.

"Why should I ever need to touch another woman, little Gaza?" He whispered into her ear, his soft lips caressing the shell so lightly she wasn't quite sure he was there at all. "You are brilliant, pretty, and most importantly, magically powerful. I can feel it crackle in the air around you, no matter how you try to hide it from me by not doing any real spell work. My WARDS can feel it. Sensible and intriguing, not to mention your stunning mind has so many little jewels to explore, so much information for me to mine."

His mouth dipped to her neck where he ran his teeth lightly along the curve of her shoulder and back up as Hermione felt her knees begin to buckle. Tom was darkly beautiful and she was painfully unfamiliar with the charms of men; it was blatantly unfair. He was describing her as someone would an acquisition, not a woman he wanted for his own, but his voice was hypnotic and his body was hot against hers. It was too easy to get lost in him and not even want to find one's way back.

"Sex magic, the power we release at the exact moment of orgasm; I have no doubt you know just how potent that is," Tom murmured against her skin. He pulled back and met her wide eyes with his hungry, dark ones. "Why would someone like me ever want anyone but the very best for that? I won't settle for anything less than someone who can match me, and you are the only woman who will ever come close. Believe me, I've had enough of them throw themselves at my feet."

He lowered his head until his lips were brushing hers as he spoke. "I know exactly what the Aeternum Adstringo will give me, Gaza. I do nothing without thought. Do you imagine the bond will be a problem?"

Hermione's back bowed into him as his lips pressed against hers in a chaste and yet mind-blowing kiss. Maybe it was his charisma, maybe it was his magic, or maybe it was just chemistry but that whisper of a kiss set every nerve she had on fire and destroyed any hope she still held on to that she would manage to hide away a piece of herself from him.

Tom Riddle was going to strip away every defense she had and there was not a damn thing she could do to stop it.

He pulled back ever so slightly and rest his head on her forehead. Both Hermione and Tom were breathing far heavier than such a small intimacy should ever be able to cause. He granted her a small, knee melting smile and she couldn't respond with anything resembling an expression. Instead, she just fought to regain her breath and some semblance of normalcy.

"You see," Tom told her, eyes lowering briefly to her lips once more before he gently settled her into her previously occupied seat and stepped back. "I don't have any concerns."

Hermione swallowed hard before she began to gather her papers back up with flushed cheeks. "I need to go for now," she managed to tell him as she pulled her bag onto her shoulder.

He nodded once before leading her to the door with a scorching hand on the small of her back.

"Tomorrow," Tom started when they reached the threshold. "We have a monthly dinner, my followers and I, after which there is a short meeting to discuss ongoing projects and new business. I'd like you to come and introduce you to everyone. You will be working closely with these men moving forward, after all, and we need to pick someone to perform the ceremony for us. As a gift, I thought to let you decide."

"How kind," Hermione remarked dryly at the thought of selecting a Death Eater to preside over her marriage to the Dark Lord.

"Where are you staying, so I can meet you to escort you there?" He asked as he opened the door and pulled back the wards.

"The Leaky," she answered, stepping outside.

"Be ready at Seven, semi-formal dress," Tom said with a slight smirk as he brushed his lips over her knuckles. "Until tomorrow, Gaza."

"Goodnight Tom," Hermione answered quietly as she headed towards Diagon Alley.

Her head was still fuzzy as she walked through the door to the Leaky Cauldron and ambled up the stairs to her room. It wasn't until a few hours later as she sank into a steaming hot bath that finally allowed herself to panic at her future dinner with Death Eaters, the upcoming marriage, and most of all, that barely-there kiss from Tom Riddle that threatened her very sanity.