AN: I know I have made you all wait almost a month for this update and I can't possibly apologize enough for that. I am one of the lucky rare cases of people who developed chronic mono and my worst symptom with it is the fatigue. Writing ALWAYS makes me sleepy, so you can imagine how writing with mono was almost an impossibility. I'm feeling a little better, so I thought I'd get a chapter out while I can. Hopefully, this is the upward swing and not simply an interlude, but I appreciate your patience and your continued interest. You guys are the very best of readers!

Hermione sat on her new four-poster bed, wrapped loosely with a black satin sheet pulled up over her chest as she ran her fingers absentmindedly through Tom's hair. The other half of the sheet she was using was draped almost artistically along the very bottom of his hips and if she did not know better, she would swear the unconscious man had preemptively somehow charmed it to lay against him enticingly even in slumber.

After the bedpost struck Tom, it had taken a great deal of concentration to magically lift both him and the large wooden post from her person enough for her to slip out, because there was no way she was going to manage it manually. A frantic series of diagnostic spells had assured her that while he was solidly unconscious, the Dark Lord was otherwise unharmed and Hermione had heaved a sigh of relief that she was choosing not to examine too closely at his safety.

She had levitated the broken bedpost off to the side of the bed and climbed back across the sheets, fully intending to awaken her new husband, but something had made her hesitate. Now she sat with his head nestled in her lap while she studied his features in his repose.

He was beautiful, of that there was no doubt, but of course, even in her time there never had been any. While the sallow-skinned, red-eyed creature she was personally familiar with was not someone any person would ever accuse of being attractive, everyone who knew him before that ill-advised transformation had been very clear that Tom Riddle was handsome and charming. Looking at him now, Hermione could not help but think they had undersold him.

She ran a finger over the strong curve of one full eyebrow, down the elegant line of his nose, and finally caressed the bow of his mouth. Everything about him was masculine perfection and even in his unconscious state, he still looked dangerously serious.

Invulnerable. Even at his most defenseless, lying here in the cradle of her lap with no way to defend himself from harm, Tom Riddle appeared invulnerable.

Hermione's eyes closed on a sigh as she tried to figure out the absolute mess of emotions roiling in her gut. She had known that Tom was going to eviscerate her with his entreaties and she had tried very hard to mentally arrange herself for anything he could throw at her, and yet, she felt woefully unprepared for the full impact of the ways he had chosen to tether her.

Truth was a fairly easy one, all things considered. Hermione was a shite liar regardless if she was being honest with herself, and she hated being deceitful. To her, it was not too much of a problem to have the option of being dishonest removed from her repertoire. It was not as if she could not simply choose to keep silent.

Devotion was much trickier, though. Suddenly, Tom's needs seemed so incredibly paramount. She had not liked it one bit when he had been upset following the ceremony and she simply could not imagine doing anything that would cause him harm. His order that she not speak to anyone about his horcruxes had been laughable, frankly. It was not even that she could not do anything that could potentially lead harm to come to him; the entreaty removed completely her will to do so. She wanted good things for Tom now, only good things.

It was like loving someone, only without the actual love. It was painfully clever of him, really. Devotion covered a number of other things all at once. Now she wanted to protect him, wanted to see him happy, wanted to help him reach his goals.

He had made himself fiercely important to her. It was enormously disconcerting.

Finally, there was the last and the absolute worst entreaty. It was proof, as far as she was concerned, that Tom really was evil. Of course, that was a laughable thought; he was already evil, what with the mass killings and the torture and the hunting of infants and what not. But this was an evil that hit her on a more personal level than any of the other atrocities he had ever committed, and that was certainly saying something since she had been hunted by a regime composed of his lackeys in a past life.

Now, Hermione needed him. There were so many ways that entreaty could have manifested but based on how she could not seem to stop petting the Dark Lord and how quickly he had gotten into her knickers, she was betting on it being based in touch. Of course, the bit about the sex being mixed up with the entreaty could just be wishful thinking of her part. It would be so much easier to swallow if the reason she fell into bed with him so readily was because of the entreaty and not because she was fiercely attracted to him; not because she was strangely and disturbingly fond of him.

Hermione bit her lip as her fingers reached down to run through the hair that lightly coated Tom's chest. It was not as if she hadn't had sex before. She had lost her virginity to sweet, kind Viktor Krum the summer of fourth year and there had been two additional trysts with muggle boys before the war. Her and Ron had never gotten to that point, never gotten past one kiss really, but she had experienced some things before last night.

Everything was different with Tom though. The more time she spent in 1955, the more she was coming to realize she was not the girl who would have become Ms. Hermione Weasley-Granger. Tom was changing her. Merlin, she was fairly confident she was changing him too. The very Fates were exceedingly livid with them both because they were changing so much.

Nothing was happening to plan, she realized. Hermione had never been one to lie to herself and she did not intend to start now. She still had her end goals and they hadn't changed but everything else-

Everything was fluid at this point. Her life was in flux and so much was dependent on how exactly this bonding affected both herself and the up-and-coming Lord Voldemort.

She wondered if he would live to regret insisting on Aeternum Adstringo; she wanted to hope that he would. The part of her made new by the bond wouldn't let her.

With a sigh, Hermione ran her hands one more time through Tom's hair before placing her index and middle finger against his temple.

"Rennervate," she whispered.

Tom's lashes fluttered and his eyes opened, clearing almost immediately before fixing her with a look that seemed to pull her bodily into the depthless pools of his deep, brown eyes. Hermione paused in an attempt to order her mind before she cleared her throat.

"Gaza," he greeted her, making no attempt to sit up or remove his head from her lap.

"Tom," she replied evenly.

He blinked, lifting up slightly to glance at the broken bedpost before dropping his head back down and looking at her once more. "I see that in our ardor, we appear to have broken the bed."

She felt her lips twitch up slightly in a grin. "Yes."

He blinked again before coiling upwards, pulling himself to a seated position. He turned back to her, his eyes immediately dropping to her chest. In a flash, Hermione realized that his movement had pulled the sheet from around her, exposing her breasts to him, and she let out a squeak and began to disentangle her legs from the sheets frantically before she realized how pointless it was. He had already seen everything, after all. Based on the way his eyes had darkened dramatically in the last few seconds, he had every intention of seeing it all again.

'And Merlin help me,' she thought, swallowing heavily as she watched him shift sinuously on the bed and begin to crawl towards her, 'I might just let him.'

Before she had decided whether she should go ahead and scramble for a robe or a towel or just something to cover her regardless (because really, she should not be giving in this easily to some marriage-binding-manufactured yearning and that had to be all this was,) Tom was upon her. His hand caught her at the throat and pushed her to the bed, not squeezing her airway but simply holding her down beneath him.

She opened her mouth to protest because she should not like that, the dominance and the strength of that gesture, but all that came out was a whimper as he sucked her left nipple between his lips without preamble. Hermione squirmed beneath him as he stroked her with his tongue, a small moan of pleasure escaping her lips when he hummed into her skin. He released her breast with a pop and lifted his hand from her throat, slithering up her body to press his lips to hers. The stubble along his chin rubbed against the sensitive skin of her jawline as he licked into her mouth where her traitorous lips had parted seemingly without her permission.

Tom leaned back after a moment with the distinct look of a cat in a sunspot. "I would love to continue this, Little Gaza," he murmured, voice filled with gravely velvet and promises she could not even begin to consider.

"You have AMAZING breasts and I find myself very enthused to become thoroughly familiar with them," he continued, tweaking her nipples roughly and causing her to sputter in outrage as the haziness cleared in the face of his objectification. All sensualness from the moment before was swiftly dispelling in the face of his presumption. He stood quickly and crossed to the closet, ignoring her completely as he disappeared into its depths.

"However, Livius will be here late tomorrow afternoon and I have quite a few things to organize before I meet with my second."

Tom emerged from the closet, buttoning his crisp white oxford as Hermione stood, ignoring her nudity in her fervor to address what had just happened.

Yes, she had consented to sex last night. Yes, she had not told him to stop when he-

Well, when he-

When he... suckled on her this morning. But that did not mean that he could just touch her whenever he wanted now; not if he was going to talk about her body with such familiarity and treat her like a toy he would just wind up and get back to whenever he pleased.

"Just a minute, Tom," she began, planting her arms on her bare hips as he walked towards the dresser for his suspenders. "We need to discuss boundaries and what happened last night, because just because w-"

"Apologies, Deliciae," he threw over his shoulder as he strolled from the room and down the hall towards his study. "I simply haven't the time at the moment. Perhaps I will have time for your talk of 'boundaries' after dinner tomorrow. Get some rest, explore the house-"

Hermione was stalled in the doorway, shocked by the emergence of a new endearment, when Tom paused just before his study, turning to shoot her a cold look of warning.

"Do not disturb me," he ordered calmly before turning and disappearing beyond the door.

The sound of the door closing with finality brought her back to reality and she shrieked, rage at his casual dismissal made all the more potent by her embarrassment at how easily she became wanton and pliable for him. With that in mind, she stomped after him, not pausing to knock before barging through the door-

Only to be stopped by wards that absolutely and unequivocally barred entry. Hermione buried her hands in her hair and slammed her foot down, growling as she flicked her wrist, forcing the warding to be revealed to her.

She could, potentially, dismantle it but the process would take her hours and she found at least one or two wards she did not recognize. The work could be all for not. She was further frustrated to see the soundproofing that meant all her screeching and yelling would not be heard by the infuriating man on the other side.

Well, she thought with a huff even as her cheeks flushed. That was probably for the best. She had let her temper get the better of her but she would likely be embarrassed by chasing after him to yell at him while nude later.

Glancing down at her still naked body, Hermione groaned before moving back to the master bedroom. She went to the closet, thinking to borrow one of Tom's shirts until her clothes could be recovered tomorrow, when she saw that one side of the entirely massive walk-in already contained all her belongings, including her shoes, undergarments, and her book on hair charms.

Hermione closed her eyes and let out a long, aggrieved sigh. He was so very presumptuous. In fact, he had gone so far as to ADD clothing to her wardrobe and while it matched the style of everything he had seen her wear, she was still aggravated that he thought he had some sort of right to dress her. It was as if now that they were married, he thought her completely his and he was taking far too many liberties with her person.

Of course, she reminded herself with a wry grin even as she slipped into a silk dressing gown for the evening, that's exactly what he thought. He'd made that painfully clear on multiple occasions.

Entreaties or not, however, she was not giving in without a fight. NO ONE owned her. No one. And she intended to make that perfectly clear to him; evidently, tomorrow after dinner.

Hermione moved back into the bedchamber, settling herself at the vanity table there and magically removing the many pins from her hair. With a yawn, because she really was very tired, she decided to take Tom's advice and get some sleep. She settled herself on the large bed and pulled the previously abandoned comforter up around her, burrowing into the covering until she was thoroughly cocooned. She drifted off almost immediately.

Hermione awoke the following morning with an itch under her skin. A quickly cast 'dies' told her the time was half-past ten and as her stomach rumbled, she pulled herself from the bed and made her way to the kitchen.

She shrieked when she came around the corner to see a small, approximately three-foot tall creature standing in front of the old-fashioned stove, stirring a pot that she vaguely registered smelled like porridge. The figure also yelped in surprise, sending a glob of the breakfast food into the air that landed squarely on the creature's bald head.

Hermione's eyes widened before she closed them and let her breath out through her teeth in rage and hopelessness. Bloody hell, a house elf?! Really?

"Begging your pardons, Mistress," the house elf squeaked from across the room, forcing Hermione's eyes to open and focus on the gray skinned, blue eyed elf in front of her. "Gilmy is making the breakfasts, you see, since you being awake, and thought you be waiting in the bedroom."

Sucking in a quick breath, Hermione kneeled and indicated for the elf (Gilmy, she had said her name was) to come towards her. In her many studies, she had learned quite a bit about house elf enslavement and while she still found the practice abhorrent, she understood better how their magic and bindings worked. Simply freeing an elf was cruel, and there were a number of factors to consider when determining how to appropriately handle such a circumstance. She intended to decide how she would be addressing this situation before Tom could appear and get a say in the matter.

"Gilmy, I have a few questions I need you to answer, if that's alright," she told her. Gilmy nodded, wringing her hands slightly in her clean, light pink pillowcase.

"Does Tom know you're here?" She asked, wanting to determine that fact right away.

"Yes, Mistress," Gilmy answered, nodding her head so fast her ears bounced. "I was to be seeing the Master first thing when I got here on this morning, so I be finding him in the study. He telling Gilmy not to go in there agains and to see to the Mistress today."

Hermione's eyes widened and she looked over Gilmy for any signs that Tom had hurt her. He had been VERY clear that no one was to enter, but elf magic simply was not subject to warding. "Did he harm you in any way?" she asked.

Gilmy shook her head fervently. "No Mistress! Master just be sayin' not to be going in theres and then he sending me aways."

She let out a sigh of relief. Cruelty to house elves was not something she could ever abide.

"So," Hermione continued, "if Tom did not bring you here, how did you come to be here?"

The elf smiled. "Gilmy is a gift from Master Bast and Mistress Jocey," she said.

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion before she remembered which Death Eater family had those names. "The Rosiers?" she asked.

Gilmy nodded.

"Okay, Gilmy. Are you a gift to the Riddle Family, the homestead, to Tom, or to myself?"

With the way that house elf bindings worked, it was important to understand what the house elf had bound his or herself to. When a house elf was born, they were typically bound to the family home so that their allegiances could be moved. A house elf bound to a property itself was afforded the protections of the family or organization but was able to be removed and rebound elsewhere. An elf bound to a person was bound until that person's death, when their allegiance would again be able to be shifted. But a house elf bound to a family was entrenched thoroughly in that family's magic and would be bound to that family until that elf's death. Breaking a bonding with a family or an individual was extremely painful and sometimes fatal for the house elf, depending on how well the elf had been treated. Elf abuse could severely weaken the bond and make it easier to break, but the concept of 'free elves' that Hermione had once championed was a myth. Elves needed to be bound to something, or their magic became wildly unstable and would, eventually, kill them or drive them into madness. She wasn't entirely sure what happened with Dobby, but she suspected that he spontaneously bonded with Harry or Dumbledore and simply chose not to say.

"Gilmy is being a gift for the Riddle Family, Mistress," the little elf assured her.

Hermione sighed and bit her lip. Of course, it couldn't be the simple matter of the elf binding to 'Nidum Serpentis'; it had to be to the family. Her family now, she supposed.

"Alright, Gilmy," Hermione told her with a blatant air of defeat. "A few rules then."

Gilmy's eyes widened and she looked distinctly nervous, but she nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

Hermione grimaced. "That's first. None of this 'Mistress' business," she said firmly. "You can ask Tom what he wishes to be called, but I would prefer if you simply called me 'Hermione,' or 'Mione' if that's easier to say."

"Oh, Gilmy could not be doing that..." Gilmy said nervously, taking a step back from Hermione. She smiled grimly, not overly surprised but disappointed. Well, she had to try at least.

"How about 'Ms. Mione'? Would that be acceptable to you?" She asked.

Gilmy seemed to consider for a moment before slowly nodding. "Yes, Missy Mione. Gilmy can be calling you that."

"Good," Hermione told her with a bland smile. "We can discuss most everything else later, but this is the most important rule and I want you to follow it without fail. You must try very hard not to punish yourself. I know sometimes you cannot help it, but if you feel you must, you are REQUIRED to come to me to assign your punishment. I will decide it."

Hermione knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that, sadly, the urge to punish themselves when they felt they had displeased their masters was bred into the little elves. There was no possible way that Gilmy would escape the urge entirely. Hermione only hoped she would be able to direct Gilmy to something not destructive disguised as a punishment in such an event.

Gilmy nodded and with a curtsy, she moved back to finish making the porridge while Hermione settled herself as the table. She flicked her wand, sending the kettle on to boil as she watched the elf cook and serve breakfast. She did not want a house elf, it was true, but she would not cause the poor creature discomfort by telling her that.

After breakfast, Hermione found herself feeling even worse than before she ate and decided she must be restless. She wandered the house, learning the layout and where everything was located.

On the first floor, in addition to the kitchen and the parlor she had already seen, there was a formal dining room and a sunroom that connected to the patio off the side of the home. The second floor housed the master bedroom, which had an en suite, along with two additional bedrooms, Tom's private study, and a library. The third floor consisted of a potions lab, a storage space, and a large room that curiously had her name spelled onto the door.

Wandering in, Hermione smiled to find that she, too, would be afforded a private study. Tom (at least, she assumed it was Tom) had placed a large drawing desk in the room which faced a huge bay window where the sun would stream in all morning and into the early afternoon. A bookshelf beside the desk was filled with runic dictionaries and ancient texts on their magical applications, while the rest of the walls were similarly covered in unfilled bookshelves. There was a chaise lounge set up in a corner of the room along with an end table and reading light. The color scheme in this room stood in direct contrast to the rest of the house, with the wood stained a light honey color and the walls painted a sunny yellow. The floor under the drawing desk was a creamy and plush shag carpet, the kind one could dig one's toes into.

Hermione bit back a very girlish squeal at the sight of the room before her face fell into consternation. She absolutely loved this room, and it had clearly been redecorated with her thoughts and preferences entirely in mind. Why would Tom even bother with such a thing?

All morning Hermione's head had been increasingly pounding and thoughts of trying to sort out Tom's strange behavior were not helping at all. The pounding peaked slightly and a sudden wave of nausea had her crossing to the sky-blue chaise and lying down. She felt slightly better as she reclined so with the thought to get a little reading done, Hermione summoned a book at random from the shelf and settled into the comfortable cushioning around her.

She studied the title, "Pecti-Wita Runes vs. The Pictish Alphabet: An in Depth Analysis on the Applications of both on Spellcraft," by Yuri Blishen. Intrigued despite the way the words swam in front of her ever so slightly, Hermione opened the book to the title page and noted that the tome was a first edition.

'Of course it is,' she thought with a small shake of her head that only made her dizzier. Only the best for Tom Riddle, and by proxy, Hermione Riddle as well. She gave a wry smile and began to read.

Deliciae - Delight, Pleasure