AN: Hello Readers! Thank you for your many reviews and all of your feedback, I can't tell you how much it means to me. I wanted to take a minute to address a few private messages I have gotten with this story and remind everyone of the warning at the very beginning, before even the prologue.

This is a story of broken people. Hermione is strong, she's SO strong, but she is also inherently destroyed by her experiences. Seriously, remember that she has been hunted, tortured, survived a war, suffered severe isolation from all other human beings and to top it off, has little to no romantic experience at all. And we are pitting her with/against a charming, cruel, and cold man with Antisocial Personality Disorder. To say she is weak when she falls victim to some of his tactics is failing to really think through the psychological aspects of what is happening in the story and does not acknowledge her inexperience.

Just something to remember as we consider how our little Gryffindor falls prey to some of Tom's exceptional manipulation skills. :)

Reluctantly, Tom released the hold he had on Hermione's wrist and brought his cup to his lips, giving the impression he was mulling over her offer. And he was, certainly, but it was more that he wondered just how far he could push her. A large part of him was curious to determine how important this morality the girl clung to really was to the totality of her person.

Her pragmaticism was evident in her plans and her strategies and yet, she was undeniably hindered by some obscure view of ethics. It was frankly painful to watch her attempt to reconcile the two. Just how much would his crown jewel give PERSONALLY to help a woman she was barely acquainted with simply because it was 'right?'

"I think an additional two entreaties for me only added to our bonding ceremony would suffice," Tom offered smoothly as he sat back in his chair and waited for the inevitable blow-up.

He expected her to rage at him, to cite 'fairness', so he was unprepared for the way her eyes glittered as she leaned forward in her chair in mimicry of his demeanor moments earlier as she echoed his simple answer.

"No."

Tom kept his jaw carefully tightened to conceal the wave of fury that ripped through him at her denial. People simply did not tell the Dark Lord 'no.' They equivocated, they begged, they offered alternatives; they DID NOT blatantly rebuff him.

"Perhaps Epona will need to die after all," he commented impassively.

Hermione picked up her own tea and took a drink. "I think not, Tom," she said calmly. "I think that if you will not afford me a gift out of the kindness of your cold, dark heart, I have something else to offer you that you will find difficult to resist."

Tom tilted his head and studied her with anger darkened eyes. "I find myself disinclined to bargain at the moment, Ms. Mortenson," he informed her coldly. "While your lack of proper respect and understanding of decorum has remained largely evident from the start, I find my feelings of amusement at your many little rebellions at a low."

He leaned forward in his seat, pinning her with his glare like a butterfly with a straight pin. "In fact, I suggest you depart for the time being, before I do something that would cast a cloud on our mutually beneficial binding ceremony that takes place so very soon."

Hermione's lips twitched upwards into a small smile, almost as if the smug chit thought she could see right through him as she took another sip of her tea and tapped a single, considering finger to her chin.

"No."

Tom's temper broke with a roar of blood in his ears and the shattering of the teacup in her hand as his magic flowed violently outward.

Before he had fully formed a thought, he had his future bond mate across the room and pressed against a wall, similar to the first time they had ever spoken exempting that this time his hand was around her delicate throat. He wasn't impeding her airflow, no, but her arms were once again secured above her head with a sticking charm he did not remember uttering and he was dominating her body, holding her where he wanted her as he breathed heavily with his chin pressed to his chest and fought for control of the rage.

He couldn't kill her. He could not kill her. She was too valuable, too clever, too much of many things and no matter how the idea appealed at the moment, he could not tighten his fingers until she gasped and turned blue and her eyes pled for mercy he would not show her.

Tom brought his bowed head up to meet her eyes and felt his own narrow when he saw her gazing at him not with the frightened expression he expected, but rather with an amused countenance that had his fingers flexing around the slim column beneath his palm.

"You really need to work on that anger problem, Tom," Hermione whispered hoarsely and he released her immediately because he knew if he did not, he truly would choke the life out of her.

Tom said nothing but closed his eyes tightly, breathing deeply through his nose until he felt the seething urge to destroy all the little pieces that made up this woman subside ever so slightly.

"Apologies, Gaza," he responded with calmness he did not feel. "It seems I have been lax in your education on how these little chats of ours are set to go. Allow me to enlighten you."

He walked towards her and braced his hands on either side of her head as he brought his face close to hers and spoke very softly in the same tone that made his hardened group of cold-blooded killers shiver.

"We speak to one another about whatever subject currently needs exploring," he told her with deceiving gentleness, "and I listen to your concerns and your requests as you express them with respect. It is understood that you will be given more leniency than all others but while I may allow you to exist close to me, as almost my equal, you are not my equal."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but Tom stopped her by whispering a quick 'Silencio' before he continued, ignoring the way her eyes darkened even further and her magic sparked around him.

"Mocking my earlier decision to decline your request does not endear you to me nor does it fall under the heading of respectful discourse," Tom said, taking a step back and moving across the kitchen towards his sitting room. He reached into a cabinet and pulled out two items as his eyes glinted menacingly at the silently seething girl secured to his wall where he could just see her around the corner.

"Crucios may be useless on you," he acceded with a smug grin as his hand caressed the black boxes that held his prizes. "But as I told you before, there is more than one way to torture a person and pain is only a very small avenue to explore."

With a sigh of contentment as the playing board leveled back in his favor, Tom set the two objects on the kitchen table and flipped open the lid of the first, running his fingers centimeters from the small figure contained within. It was a raven, approximately the size of his palm and practically pulsing with sinister magic.

"This is the 'Golodaniye'," Tom said fondly, levitating it until it was inches from her face so that his Gaza could see the piercing claws and the knife sharp beak. "It's a modified Russian cursed object, courtesy of Antonin. When a person touches the figure, the raven claws its way up onto one's shoulder and embeds its talons in the skin. Its name, in case you are not familiar with the language, translates to 'Hunger.' It's very similar to a dementor, only it feeds on pain and sadness by pulling all of your fears and traumas to the front of your consciousness and consuming the associated feelings with relish. Instead of eating your happiness, it eats your anguish."

He brought the raven back towards him and settled it into the velvet-lined box once more, snapping the container that held his first item closed as he moved to the next.

"This one," Tom continued lightly as he removed the silver chain with a small vial hanging at the end, "induces the panic of an acute stress response. While that may sound relatively benign, remember that medically speaking hyperarousal caused by a perceived threat or attack can only last approximately ten minutes. That means naturally occurring panic attacks have a definite end. This lovely amulet, however, allows the wearer the unbearable gift of endless hours of the feeling. While a muggle's body would eventually give out under the stress, a witch or wizard's magical core allows him or her to absorb the adrenalin and continue feeling the effects for an indeterminate amount of agonizing time."

He set the amulet down on the little table in his breakfast nook before he brought his eyes back to Hermione and smiled coldly. "So, Little Gaza," he asked. "Which punishment do you feel will help you learn to respect your future husband?"

He knew she couldn't answer, not with the Silencio in place, so he was surprised into a moment's hesitation when Hermione raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to speak.

"I don't know, Tom," she answered as she brought her arms down to her sides and took a step forward, piercing him with a stare that would have had a lesser wizard shaking at the implications. "Which might you need to understand that I am not yours to punish?"

Tom's brain quickly fired as he raised a silent, wandless 'Protego' half a second before her equally silent, wandless curse slammed into his shield. He swallowed heavily, momentary wrath at her escape completely overshadowed by the sheer lust and possessiveness rushing through his veins in equal measure. The ability to remove a wizard's curse on one's own person increased in difficulty based on the skill of the wizard, and Tom was incredibly skilled. For Hermione to have wandlessly and wordlessly removed all her confinements, even considering how her abilities had been heightened with rage, she herself had to be at least close to his match.

He had known she was powerful, but he was suddenly in a moment of unfortunate understanding coming to the conclusion that he had underestimated her. She was not his equal, she truly wasn't. But if she would let go of her notions of right and wrong, if she could rise above such plebian concerns as empathy and justice, if she would listen to his instructions and learn and grow; with the amount of raw power she possessed, she could be.

For now, though, he had a spitting angry witch in his kitchen to contend with.

"Ah, but Hermione," he stated calmly, watching the way her little fists clenched and unclenched as she planted her feet and breathed erratically. "You know you are mine."

A 'Confrigo' layered between two 'Expulsos' shattered his shield but her quickly fired cutting hex met his already re-done shielding and she let out a shriek of indignation.

"I belong to no one!" She yelled and he watched her carefully, noting her shift in demeanor.

He did not respond as minutes passed. The composure and taunting that she had replied to his original dismissal with had vanished and its place was a woman crazed and cruel, almost like a wild animal as she sent curse after curse against his easily renewed shield. Part of him noted that he should curse her back, that this kind of behavior could not be seen to be tolerated, but he was also aware that she did not appear to be responding logically at the moment and times of emotional upheaval were not times to cement any lessons aside from teaching fear.

His earlier attempts to teach her fear were what got Tom into this situation in the first place so without his fury to cloud his judgment, he allowed himself pause to determine what this was and who this wounded creature was in front of him.

It took her an hour to wear herself out and in a strange moment of indulgence, Tom let her have the time. If anyone, ANYONE aside from her had attempted to curse him, they would not survive the experience, nor would they die painlessly. Despite her usefulness, he wasn't entirely sure why she was different but the fact that she was different was a rather uncomfortable reality that he was not interested in exploring too deeply.

Hermione settled herself at his table panting, eyes finally back to calmness as she vanished the tea from Tom's cup, summoned another from the cabinet and poured them both fresh drinks. The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement at the complete change in her emotional state but he said nothing, thanking her instead and settling himself across from her as if the last hour and a half of threats and violence from both sides had not happened.

They sat in silence as they drank before Hermione set her tea on the table and looked at Tom once more.

"In exchange for Epona's safety, I am willing to provide you with the location of Salazar Slytherin's Locket and Helga Hufflepuff's cup."

In a most un-lordly moment, Tom almost dropped his tea.

"You know where these heirlooms are?" He breathed as he set his cup on the table, clenching his hands into fists in his lap to hide the overwhelming excitement he felt at the prospect of securing two founder's artifacts for his collection.

While he had searched, Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem still eluded him somewhere in the wilds of Albania. He was going to continue his search eventually, but in the meantime, securing two additional founder's objects would be quite the boon.

"I do," Hermione said with a tired smile that somehow managed to tell him he was not fooling her with his attempts at a steely façade. "And I will tell you where they are. If you keep Epona safe from Corvus Avery."

Tom considered her offer with barely leashed hunger, forcing his brain to strategize even as eagerness threatened to overwhelm him. "I could just wait until we are married," he pointed out with forced calm. "You will be compelled to be honest with me then."

"True," Hermione conceded with a small grimace at that looming reality. "However, you are well aware that the entreaty will only be able to force me to speak truthfully, not to compel me to speak. I can choose to remain silent."

Tom nodded, slightly disappointed but not at all surprised that she picked on that nuance.

"I agree to your terms," Tom said easily, watching as Hermione gave him a small smile before conjuring a scrap of parchment and a quill. She wrote something on the paper and then folded it, murmuring an incantation he did not catch before she handed it to him.

The writing was blurry and unreadable and he met her eyes with an amused expression as she took another sip of her tea. "It'll clear up just as soon as you fulfill your half of the bargain," Hermione stated with a challenging raise of her eyebrow.

He snorted a laugh before he could stop himself and raised his wand.

"Morsmordre ad Regem," he intoned with a casual flick, watching as a small, personal dark mark appeared smokily in the air in front of him. He pressed the tip of his wand to it. "Voco Corvus Avery."

The dark mark twisted in on itself and disappeared in a puff of smoke. Hermione looked distinctly ill at the display but before she could say anything, Tom felt the telltale feel of Corvus outside his wards. He lifted them enough for the man to pass through and enter his sitting room and as he passed into the kitchen, he spared a glance for Hermione before standing before Tom and waiting.

Summonings were always a bit harrowing for his followers, he knew, because it was not established beforehand what level of formality was required. They had to wait and take their cues from him. Since Tom was depriving a valued member of his inner circle of something, he decided to allow the formalities to pass and indicated for Corvus to be seated.

Hermione said nothing and, he noted, did not offer the man a cup, causing Tom to bite back a smile.

"Lord Riddle," Corvus said, interrupting his musings, "how can I serve you?"

Tom sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes to meet Hermione's guarded but challenging ones and he bit back a second, louder sigh before turning to his follower.

"Corvus," Tom stated coldly. "It is my desire that Epona no longer be utilized as a tool to vent your displeasure or boredom. As your wife, she will retain her standing and a place in your home, but you are to treat her as you do when there are other outlets in your dungeons at all times, even when there are not."

Corvus's eyes narrowed in anger and his nostrils flared, but he inclined his head slightly in acceptance.

He paused for a moment. "Is this a punishment for something I have done to displease you, my Lord?" he asked quietly.

"No," Tom answered shortly, effectively ending the question portion of the conversation. Corvus' eyes flickered to Hermione in understanding but though his jaw tightened, he did not comment on any possible involvement she might have.

Tom knew Corvus was not going to be fond of this edict. In fact, any limitations on personal freedoms for the members of his Inner Circle were to be avoided at all costs; personal pursuits and respect for them, no matter how depraved, were part of the benefit of being Inner Circle and it secured their loyalty. But this was too important and no matter how valuable Corvus was, Hermione and her information were more so. Corvus may hate these limitations but he would swallow them. He, after all, had very few other options and none of those were palatable.

"I understand, my Lord," Corvus finally said blandly as he stood and waited to be dismissed. When Tom waved his hand flippantly, the other man quickly left the room and the flat entirely.

Tom glanced down at the parchment still in his hand and smiled as a name swam into view.

Hepzibah Smith.

His Gaza stood from the table and swiftly moved around to stand between his spread knees. Her eyes flashed with emotions he could not name as she leaned down slightly and rested her hand on his cheek.

"Thank you, Tom," Hermione said, running her thumb along his cheekbone. He allowed the touch, curious as to her intentions and unwilling to admit that he thoroughly enjoyed the feel of her hands on his skin.

"A few items to address," she continued with a small smile lighting up her tired features. "First, I appreciate your help with Epona. I am very... satisfied with the bargain we struck."

"Second, Hepzibah Smith is a character that you would have met in December regardless. Try to remember that next time you attempt to secure more from me than I willingly offered. If you had given me what I requested freely, perhaps I would have provided you with something freely as well."

Tom's eyes closed as he realized he'd been thwarted, again, by the little witch currently stroking his face ever so softly, the magic at her fingertips caressing him in ways that made his own magical core tingle. He was not sure if he was proud of her deception or infuriated by it.

"Lastly," Hermione whispered softly against the sensitive skin of his ear, silky lips almost kissing the lobe as she spoke, "I could have gone back further in time and murdered you in your crib in that orphanage, Tom. I decided against it but remember that I could have. While I appreciate you reminding me exactly who I am and what I'm capable of today, you may regret doing so. Threaten me, even idly, with torture again and I just may reconsider the decision to come back to 1955 and find the will to go back much earlier instead."

His Gaza pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and slipped past him, out the still open wards and into the evening.

No one threatened Tom Riddle. No one.

Tom swallowed heavily as he ran a hand up and down his face and tried to will the inflamed feelings of need from his body.

No one threatened Tom Riddle but Hermione Mortenson just did and fuck, but he liked it.