As Hermione stood at the end of dinner to make her way back into the sitting room, she felt herself wobble ever so slightly on her feet and came to the rather disturbing conclusion that she was possibly just the slightest bit drunk.

Hermione Granger was inebriated at a dinner party with Death Eaters. Well. Clearly her decision-making skills had not improved much since she agreed to bind her soul to Lord Voldemort's yesterday.

Tom's arm wrapped around her waist as he steered her towards the designated room and she focused on not hexing the man in a fit of pique. Dinner had been more of a battle than a meal and the combatants at the table were her new supposed colleagues in the great cause of world domination or something to that effect. All she really wanted at this point was to hit everyone in the room with a petty 'Slugulus Eructo' and flee back to the Leaky into a nice warm bath so she could forget this evening, this year, and that this whole harebrained plan of hers had ever happened.

Hermione settled herself on the loveseat next to the only other female in the room, Calliope Nott, and offered the woman a weak smile before drowning in her thoughts once more. She was in so terribly far over her head.

Dealing with Tom himself was exhausting, and she always walked away from their discussions feeling as if she had been confunded. How, exactly, did he get her so off-balance as to convince her to agree to things she quite frankly knew she shouldn't? Earlier today she had gone back over the terms of their upcoming contractually binding nuptials and she had been appalled by how very much of herself she seemed willing to give away.

Who was this girl who was so easily lured in by a pretty face and a husky voice? She was bloody Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age and all that rot! But get her around Tom Marvelo Riddle and she seemed to lose all her senses.

Except, that wasn't quite a fair assessment, was it? After all, she still demanded things and she wasn't a pushover or a puddle of hormones just because he smiled at her. Despite her absolute inexperience with men, she truly did not think her mind was being turned to mush simply because the man was pretty. But even though she pushed back, he somehow always ended up making his point so well that she could not help but be overwhelmed by the logic of what he was saying. If the pragmatic argument he put forth didn't do the job completely, the sheer force of his will and personality was there to finish the job. Then, upon later reviewing the conversation, she would wonder how on earth she had ever felt so assured in his statements.

After reviewing what she knew of Tom and going over their interactions whilst she ate breakfast this morning (NOT rice and beans praise the gods,) she had decided it had to be something about the psychological makeup of the man, just as she had posited before coming to this time, that was throwing her so off-balance. Psychopaths were known for their effective manipulations and ability to steer others, so unless she wanted to find herself the victim of an abusive spouse with no remorse for his actions, she needed to learn more about what made him tick. She had been prepared for cruelty and rage and narcissism, but she had been utterly unprepared for charm and charisma and possessiveness.

Hermione had assumed he'd strive to kill her, not keep her.

And while she still had not yet sorted out exactly what her strategy was going to be, because it had become abundantly clear that she could not trust herself to make any decisions what-so-ever until she was no longer sitting in front of him, she was now entrenched in discussions with not just Tom but a whole pit of writhing and sneaky snakes. In fact, she would not be surprised if some of these men were fantasizing right this second about the moment they would attempt to unhinge their jaws and devour her whole like a rather large boa constrictor.

'Thank you, Tom, for a lovely evening out,' she thought to herself bitterly.

Once everyone was settled in the sitting room, Hermione forced her mind back to her current predicament and attempted desperately to focus her slightly whiskey-soaked brain to the task of not being destroyed mentally by the Death Eaters around her. She could not afford to show them weakness or a lack of intelligence, that much was clear.

Tom was sitting in an armchair directly to her right while studying the room with a neutral expression, looking every bit like the King on the throne that he fancied himself to be. He smiled coldly towards the man who looked so incredibly much like Draco Malfoy that it made her teeth itch and nodded.

"Abraxas," Tom began. "How are things in the office of the Minister?"

Calliope casually adjusted herself on the seat, leaning inconspicuously forward and whispering so only Hermione could hear her.

"Malfoy is Junior Assistant to the Minister," she breathed into Hermione's ear.

Abraxas scratched along his jaw and bowed ever so slightly to Tom, even as he remained seated.

"Our dearest Minister Wilhelmina Tuft continues on with her noble work of being duller than rock, and twice as dense," he answered with a smirk. "Her son and I are working closely on laying the groundwork for her inevitable 'retirement.' When the time is right, he is prepared to take on the mantle of the office."

"And Ignatius remains loyal to our Lord and our aims?" Livius verified.

Abraxas addressed his answer to Tom. "He remains your ever-faithful servant, my Lord."

Tom rolled his eyes in response. "Gentleman, let's keep this gathering at dinner party etiquette. I have not called an official meeting specifically to help ease the nerves of my future bride."

He shifted her eyes to her and offered a smoldering smile that had Hermione's heart beating in trepidation even as her cheeks betrayed her by pinking.

Abraxas inclined his head slightly, though his expression cooled further. "My apologies, Tom," he murmured.

Tom said nothing but made a motion with his hand that indicated they should get on with it and Livius cleared his throat.

"Bastien, tell us about your efforts in the Auror's office," Livius said.

The man in question groaned and rubbed his hand across his face. "A lot of the up and comers are absolute idiots," he stated bluntly, "but they were also raised at their Papa's knee learning about the superiority of their blood, despite what they lack in intelligence. They are more than happy to follow anyone who tells them they're special."

Bastien paused to consider before continuing. "There is one, Jerrod Bulstrode, who has a sharp mind and a very quick wand. He's a pureblood, of course, and adheres to many of our ideals. He's quiet, but he has been coming to me more and more with concerns about how limiting the Auror's training curriculum is when it comes to what curses we are and aren't authorized to use."

Tom tilted his head and considered for a moment before shrugging. "Wring more information from him before making an attempt to cultivate him. Being forced to obliviate an Auror is a complication that would be unnecessary and unhelpful at this point."

"As you say, Lord Riddle," Bastien agreed with an incline of his head.

Hermione turned slightly towards Calliope as Livius was moving the meeting along to Orion Black. "Why did Abraxas call him 'Tom' but Bastien call him 'Lord Riddle'?" She whispered.

Calliope's mouth lifted in a half-smile before she spoke again directly into Hermione's ear. "Only the original group, the Knights of Walpurgis, are allowed to call him Tom," she explained quietly. "That's my Livius, Malfoy, Dolohov, and Lestrange. Avery, Rosier, and Mulciber went to school with them, but they weren't in the inner circle. They were more like... the muscle of the group."

Hermione shivered at the idea of Tom needing 'muscle' but turned her attention back to the meeting.

"-a number of uses for the 'Dagger of Repentance,' as well as studied some of the changed properties of the blood that is spilt by it," Orion was saying. "It should be ready for Corvus to add to his arsenal in the next few weeks."

At Hermione's brief look of confusion, Tom leaned forward towards her in a caricature of intimacy, though his voice stayed at such a level that everyone if the room could hear his words.

"Orion is our Dark Arts Archivist and Researcher," he explained. "I stumbled upon a lovely little trinket while I was doing my acquisitions work and Orion has been kind enough to study it for me."

He took her hand and indicated Corvus Avery, who shot her a wolfish grin, with his other. "Corvus is quite excited for him to finish his research. As our lead... interrogator, he is always most anxious to get his hands on exciting and fun little toys."

Hermione's eyes widened minutely at the implications and clutched Tom's hand tightly, digging her fingernails into his skin as she swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. Seeming to enjoy her discomfort, he turned back to Livius and nodded, indicating the man should continue the meeting. Hermione tried to pull away from him, but Tom tightened his grip on her hand painfully and she realized that she couldn't extract herself without making a scene.

"Does anyone else have any orders of business to discuss?" Livius inquired, looking around the room.

"My brother in law, Ignatius Prewitt, has been making noise about the restrictions on interactions with muggles that the Statute of Secrecy brings up," Orion stated with a furrowed brow. "He's been comparing it unfavorably to Rappaport's Law in the US and suggesting that we should have less limitations in the case that a Wizard wanted to mingle with and learn from the muggles."

Abraxas snorted disdainfully. "Learn what? How to breed like rabbits? As far as I've seen, overpopulating seems to be the only thing the muggles are superior at. Has your brother in law gone mad?"

"Doubt it," Orion replied with a cheeky smile. "I said he's a Prewitt, not a Black."

Tom waved the hand not currently holding Hermione's captive dismissively. "Put him on the list to be removed from the Wizengamot once we take over the Ministery," he said. "I'm confident that in a Sacred Twenty-Eight family we can find another Prewitt more sympathetic to our cause."

Radolphous brushed back a tendril of his auburn hair and sighed. "Speaking of the Wizengamot," he began, "the last few times we've gathered to discuss legislation, the Fawley family seems to be trying to make up for Hector Fawley's mistakes with Grindewald by championing any legislation that limits grey or dark magics. The Shacklebolts are backing them as well."

Antonin growled from the corner and Livius rolled his eyes. "Merlin, don't get him started on the Archie Shacklebolt."

"Bastard," Antonin breathed with faraway eyes and a murderous expression that forced Hermione to stay very carefully still lest she shrink away.

Tom must have sensed her discomfort, however, as he squeezed her hand in a much more comforting (if completely confusing) fashion than before and spoke over the men teasing Antonin.

"We have the Nott, Malfoy, Avery, Black, Lestrange, and Rosier seats to vote against them, not to mention the eight additional seats that have the same leanings," Tom stated coolly. "Work on securing the outliers who are not totally hopeless, like the Greengrasses and the Shafiqs, to our cause and I will eliminate the rest when the time comes."

Tom stood then, pulling Hermione up with him and tucking her into his side in such a natural movement that it was as if he'd been doing it for years. She really didn't like how easy it was being close to bloody Lord Voldemort.

"Meeting adjourned. Do your unbreakable vows before you leave," Tom ordered as he turned to lead her from the room.

He paused and glanced down at Hermione with a wicked smile. "I almost forgot, Little Gaza," he purred into her ear. Her knees suddenly felt in danger of buckling and she cursed herself because she knew it wasn't the whiskey that was the problem.

"Who have you chosen to honor with the pleasure of performing our bonding?" Tom murmured against the shell of her ear.

Hermione's eyes widened as she glanced around the room of enemies in front of her. She closed her eyes and tried very hard not to whimper. This felt like a test and for once in Hermione Granger's life, she had no idea how to pass it.

She stood in her shower later that night and let the hot water beat down on her body and, with any luck, wash her clean of this horrendous evening.

In the end, she had picked Livius Nott. She supposed she must have chosen well because Tom looked pleased with her, as if she was a puppy who had just correctly performed a marvelous trick. One had to wonder when her life had changed so drastically that pleasing the Dark Lord seemed like a victory and she groaned deep in her chest as she slumped against the shower wall.

What in the holy fuck was she doing here?

With a deep sigh, Hermione flipped the water off and stepped into the poorly lit bathroom as she dried herself off. When Tom had dropped her off at the pub, she had immediately beat a hasty retreat for fear he might kiss her again and cause the turmoil in her stomach to riot even further. A sober-up potion had forced her situation into even starker clarity and if anything, she was feeling bleaker.

For comfort, she had put up every single ward she and her boys had used that year they had been horcrux hunting before she allowed herself to strip off the beautiful yet uncomfortable robes she had donned for the evening and stepped into the water in the tiny little stall. Now she pulled on Ron's old Quidditch Jersey and a pair of ratty boxers that really could have belonged to either of them and she simply wept.

Honestly. She should be all cried out at this point in time but the dinner tonight had just thrown her current loneliness back in her face in such a painful way, that she could not help but lose her composure. Her only friends in the world had been lost to her for seven years now, but the pain remained as she thought of cuddling up to Harry for warmth in that shitty tent they had, or kissing Ron when they finally, finally destroyed Hufflepuff's cup.

THAT'S how things were supposed to be. Harry was supposed to be here, all messy hair and warm hugs, married to Ginny and having her and Ron over for Sunday Quidditch that she would despise. And Ron- RON was the one who she was supposed to be bonding with, Ron was supposed to be her happily ever after, and in his absence she CERTAINLY wasn't supposed to be marrying the man responsible for his death.

Hermione wiped her eyes and sniffled even as she sat up straighter and allowed steel to move back up her spine. 'Yes,' she allowed herself for a moment, 'that is what should have happened.'

But it wasn't what HAD happened. And now, in this world, Ron and Harry were not dead, not at all. They simply weren't here yet.

Ron Weasley and Harry Potter had died trying to save all of wizarding England but she would not, could not let their sacrifice be for nothing. In fact, in this world she was helping to create, they would not need to die at all.

Hermione took a deep, steadying breath and blew it out as she moved toward the bag where the agreement was. Ron, she knew, would never forgive her for binding herself to Tom Riddle. But Ron wasn't here, he wasn't, and he would never know this version of her. If she could just do this right, he wouldn't grow up in war. Harry would know and be loved by his parents, because she was going to make damn sure that prophecy never happened, even if she had to lock Professor Trelawney in a Yurt somewhere in Siberia so no one could hear her foretell anything.

And, she reminded herself as she settled at the wobbly table in the kitchenette with her notes, Tom hadn't done any of those things yet. THIS Tom Riddle, the one she was going to marry, would NOT do those things.

She looked once more over the agreement and bit her lip with a sigh. None of the things listed here were actually that bad. She didn't particularly mind helping him in a political coup (the state of the Ministry was pretty abysmal) and she couldn't bring herself to believe that encouraging him NOT to make more horcruxes was ever a bad thing. Telling him about Death Eater Betrayals was a bit tricky, but if he did not make any more horcruxes, then tattling on Regulus became a bit of a non-issue and based on her calculations, Hepzibah Smith wasn't going to come into play until December. It was a bit of tricky backdating to get herself here before Tom made two more horcruxes, but she had just managed it.

It wasn't the contract they were including in their binding that had her so incredibly nervous; it was the vows. Aeternum Adstringo had a rather interesting clause built into the ceremony, and it was here that Hermione assumed Tom intended to ensure her 'absolute honesty and devotion.' Each person was entitled to bring three entreaties to blend into the binding, secured through an herbal correspondence, that would ensure the bond worked to secure what had been requested.

For example, a person would say, "With Gardenia, I entreat your comfort," and the bond would work consistently to apply pressure to the entreated, as it were, to provide comfort for the partner who made the entreaty. This is also where she herself would be securing her protection clause. The question was, however, how to use her two additional entreaties to bring her the most benefit and what else Tom meant to secure from her.

There was also the matter of her engagement present, Hermione mused as she fingered the emerald. No matter what she said, Tom obviously saw it as an expression of ownership and that was blatantly unacceptable. In the moment, it had seemed wise to pick her battles with the mercurial man and allow him his own ideas, no matter how false, while she held fast to hers. Now, looking back, it seemed as if she had lost a major battle and it was becoming increasingly clear that unless she wanted to lose herself completely in the ocean of complexity that was Tom Riddle, she was going to have to get wiser when it came to handling him.

Hermione smoothed her hands over the parchment and closed her eyes. For one, she needed to learn to never forget what he was without allowing it to unnerve her. She had made the decision to play in the dirt with the evils of the world so that she could affect greater change overall. Every time she cringed away from the nastier things that he did, she gave away a piece of her power that she could not afford to hand him.

This, she realized in a flash of insight, could be achieved with her superior occluding. There were walls in her brain; they were simply inaccessible to Tom as he could not find them through the fog. Hermione, however, knew exactly where they all were. There was one that had been built without her consent that was creating a sort of cognitive dissonance from whom she knew Tom was in her original timeline and the man she had agreed to bind herself to in the here and now. That was why tonight she had been such an absolute wreck; the walls had cracked and some of the pain from the other timeline had leaked through to this one.

This was understandable, of course. It was basic psychology and witches, wizards, and muggles alike built walls in their minds without realizing it in order to protect them from realities that threatened their sanity and survival.

Hermione summoned a length of parchment and quill began detailing the walls she would need to knock down and the new ones she would need to create. The way her brain was currently preventing her from connecting the two figures in her head was helpful to an extent, in that it allowed her not to assign the crimes of a future that would never come to pass to the man she was currently dealing with, but she needed to be aware he was capable of those things. This was how he was constantly catching her off guard and unnerving her, and that needed to stop.

Hermione sighed and stepped away to make some coffee. It was going to a long night and she had no intention of stopping until she determined what, exactly, her entreaties were going to be and just how she was going to move things around in her head. Then, of course, there were the actual meditations necessary to fiddle with her occluding. Allowing her enough ready knowledge to keep her from being blindsided while not cutting off her ability to empathize with those who suffered while not punishing Tom Riddle for future crimes he would never commit while-

'Well, as I said,' she thought tiredly. 'It's going to be a long night.'