A/N: So many thanks to my alpha brownlark42 and my beta RachaelLA26 for their time on this story!

If you liked this (or hated it) please let me know about it in a review! I make a new mood board for each chapter of this story, find them on my Tumblr crochetawayhpff, my facebook Shan Crochetaway, or on the AO3 or Wattpad versions!

And the response to just the first chapter has been amazing! So thank you, lovely readers!

Chapter 2: Time

August 2002

Valbona Valley National Park, Albania

Hermione woke up lying on the same sofa she'd fallen asleep on. It was getting warm and sticky in the cabin as the sun began to rise. Hermione licked her lips, her mouth was dry and she felt parched. She hated the way her mouth tasted after a night of drinking herself into oblivion. She considered summoning a glass of water but decided against it when she realized that her wand wasn't in her hand or on the small coffee table in front of her.

She sighed, another long day of Albanian summer to get through. Perhaps she'd sleep a while longer. It was her vacation after all. Hermione drifted lazily in and out of sleep as she watched the patterns the sun made on the worn wooden floors of the cabin. The flimsy, lace curtains covering the windows were probably white at one point but had turned a dull sort of yellow-brown with age. Hermione had considered taking them off entirely, but the sun made interesting patterns as it shone through the lace and was glad she'd kept them.

The glare of the sun was suddenly in her eyes and Hermione groaned and rolled over to face the back of the sofa. Perhaps a bit more sleep was called for.

THUMP.

Hermione snorted awake with a start. What was that? She turned over slowly and blearily opened her eyes. Then promptly screamed.

"Holy fuck, shut up," a man's deep voice complained and Hermione's scream cut off. Her head was aching even worse now and her throat hurt from the effort.

The man was on his arse on the floor, his hands propped up behind him and he looked as bad as Hermione felt. He was clutching something in one hand and looked as if he'd slept in his clothes. She studied him for a moment, there was something about him that looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. He had dark wavy hair that was disheveled and his eyes were currently shut, so she couldn't see what color they were. His skin, though, was pale; flawless as if he'd never spent any time in the sun. And he'd had a British accent when he'd spoken. It was half of what scared her. Who was he? Had he tracked her here? She worried suddenly about where her wand was. She thought that maybe it was in her jeans?

She shook her head and looked at her arm where she usually wore her wand holster. It was bare. She must have taken the wand holster off at some point last night. But when? And where would she have put it?

"Who the fuck are you?" a cultured, smooth British voice asked her, interrupting her thoughts. She focused back on the man who had appeared in her cabin.

"I could ask you the same thing," Hermione replied hoarsely. She coughed, trying to clear her throat. Merlin, she needed a hangover potion.

"Why are you in my cabin? How did you get in here?" he asked. He was still sprawled on the floor and had opened his eyes to slits. Hermione still couldn't quite make out their color. He lifted on hand above his head to shield his eyes from the sun that was streaming in from the window.

"Yeah," Hermione nodded. "Same to you buddy." She sat up slowly, trying to think about how he could have gotten here. That's when she realized that what he was clutching in his hand wasn't an ordinary necklace as she had thought. The sun had glinted off the glass of the hourglass, catching Hermione's eye.

"Where did you get that?" she asked as casually as she could, pointing at what was clearly a Time-Turner.

The man pulled his arm in, shifting himself so he was fully sitting and clutched at the Time-Turner.

"It's mine," he said jealousy, holding the Time-Turner tightly, unwilling to let her see it.

That at least cleared up how he'd gotten through her wards and into her cabin. She cast her gaze over his clothes, trying to determine what year he was from, but he wore a pretty standard set of trousers and a white button up shirt that had been unbuttoned at the collar and the sleeves. The sleeves had been pushed up, showing his lithe forearms. Hermione shook her head. She knew she was undersexed, but it was ridiculous to begin noticing such things on the stranger who had traveled in time. And judging by the way he hoarded the Time-Turner, he wasn't going to be giving her much information it seemed.

She cocked her head as she studied him. He didn't seem to realize that he had traveled in time. Especially with the sorts of questions he was asking.

"What?" the man finally asked. Clearly fed up with the way Hermione was staring at him. She narrowed her eyes, he looked hungover. She could assume he was a wizard, as she didn't think the Time-Turner would work for a Muggle. Or at least, she didn't think it would work for only a Muggle. Perhaps if a wizard was controlling the Time-Turner, then a Muggle could also travel with one. Kind of like how she and Harry had used the same Time-Turner back in their third year.

"What year is it?" Hermione finally asked him. That would at least establish how far back he had come. Perhaps it was only a year or two. Although, it still didn't explain why he had a Time-Turner. She had been told they had all been destroyed during her fifth year in the Department of Mysteries debacle. Was someone, even now, working on recreating Time-Turners?

"1949," the man answered suspiciously.

Hermione gaped at him for a moment before she threw her head back and began to laugh. Laughing hurt the pounding in her head and didn't feel much better on her throat, but it was the only reaction she felt she could have.

She knew exactly who sat on the dingy floor of her cabin in the Albanian mountains. And she wondered what it meant that he'd found the Time-Turner. Had he now cast them onto a different timeline? Or had this always happened?

She shook her head, it couldn't always have happened unless she immediately sent him back. And if she did, wouldn't he have recognized her when he became Voldemort? Time travel was very confusing because she didn't know the answer to any of those questions.

But one question was answered, in 1949 all of the Time-Turners hadn't been destroyed. She just lamented the fact that she was going to have to convince Voldemort to return to his own time.

August 2002

Valbona Valley National Park, Albania

Tom stared suspiciously at the woman in front of him who was still laughing. She'd laughed so hard that tears had rolled down her cheeks and she'd begun coughing. She wasn't very pretty, rather plain in fact, although her hair was interesting in the way it stuck out everywhere. More intriguing though was the fact that she was only wearing a t-shirt and knickers. The sun streamed in the room from behind her, outlining her figure beneath the overly large t-shirt. Try as he might, Tom still felt himself reacting.

Her whisky-colored eyes opened once more as she finally got her breath back. He waited, assuming she was going to explain why she was laughing. Or maybe how she got into his cabin to begin with. He looked down at the golden necklace in his hands. Perhaps this had something to do with it. The woman at least seemed to recognize what it was.

"Salazar's Rod," Tom complained when she broke off into another peal of laughter. "My fucking head hurts, witch. Do cease your donkey braying."

Unfortunately, that only made her laugh harder and Tom hung his head in his hands. Shifting so that his back was pressed against the wall for support. He rubbed his gritty eyes and wished that he hadn't drank as much as he did. Perhaps this was all just a hallucination from too much Firewhisky.

"Sorry," the woman finally seemed to be able to control her laughter.

Tom looked up when he heard a whoosh and found a Potions bottle settling on the floor next to him. A glance at the woman showed she had one just like it and she downed it quickly, seeming to relax as whatever the Potion was, took effect. Tom returned his gaze to the bottle.

"It's Hangover Relief," the woman said. "I know they don't have it in 1949, but they do now. Drink it. You'll feel better."

Tom was skeptical, but the pounding in his head had become a dull roar. He'd do almost anything for relief and decided that if this was just a hallucination then drinking the potion at least wouldn't kill him.

He grabbed the bottle and inspected the light blue potion. It looked harmless enough and so he uncapped it and took a sniff. It smelled of peppermint and vervain. He gulped it down and was shocked at the relief that soon flooded his body. His head no longer ached and his stomach settled. He swallowed and licked his lips, even his breath felt fresher.

"I modified the original to add in the breath freshening aspect," the woman commented.

"Who are you?" Tom asked. It was obvious she was a witch and apparently one skilled in potions, judging by the way he felt now.

The witch shifted uncomfortably on the sofa and Tom caught a vision of the outline of her breast before she settled and the shirt obscured everything once more. He struggled to control himself, it had been a while since he'd indulged. Being stuck in a remote cabin for a month didn't much lead itself to sexual fantasies.

"Why don't you tell me your name first?" the witch suggested, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tom frowned and narrowed his eyes at her. What did she know? She seemed to be hiding something, so he lied, "Abraxas Malfoy."

The witch smirked and let out a low chuckle. "No, you're not. But I do know who you are," she confirmed.

Glaring Tom stood from his spot on the floor, perhaps he could intimidate his way into her telling him what he needed to know. "And how do you know that I'm not Abraxas Malfoy?"

"Well the Malfoys are blond," she pointed out. "Also, you don't carry yourself like a Malfoy. Nor did Abraxas Malfoy travel to Albania in 1949."

Suddenly, Tom realized that he must not be in 1949 anymore. He studied the necklace in his hand once more and then looked up at the witch who was still smirking at him.

"What year is it?" Tom asked, stepping closer to her and the couch. He studied the couch, it looked like it was the same one he'd passed out on the night before. Only, it was much, much older. More worn. Dirtier. How far had he come?

"2002," the witch said softly.

Tom sat hard on the couch as he did the math. Fifty-three years into the future he'd traveled. "What is this?" he asked, holding up the necklace.

"A Time-Turner. But they haven't been used to send people to the future before. I—" she cut herself off with a shake of her head.

"You have to go back, Tom," the witch said. Tom nodded, but then whipped his head to look at her, sitting beside him on the couch.

"How the fuck do you know my name?" Tom asked suspiciously. She knew he wasn't Abraxas, but how did she know that he was Tom?

She raised her eyebrow at him, "This is the future."

August 2002

Valbona Valley National Park, Albania

Hermione was doing her best to stay calm as Tom Riddle stiffened beside her on the sofa. She had spent so much time and energy killing the would-be monster beside her that she felt rather betrayed that he'd shown up in her life again. Even worse was the way her body had reacted to the nearness of his own. She suddenly realized she was still only in her knickers and a t-shirt. She'd even removed her bra from the night before.

Maybe he'd let her fuck him before she sent him back to the past? All that raw energy he had probably made him good in bed, right? And the way he was looking at her now, as his eyes roved over her face gave her some hope that maybe she'd at least get laid out of this disaster of a vacation.

And it was a disaster. How much worse could a vacation get than to have Tom fucking Riddle show up unexpectedly? If she hadn't laughed about it, surely she would have cried about it.

She shook her head, was she really thinking about trying to bed Tom Riddle? The monster who had made her and her friends lives miserable for years? He'd taken so much from Hermione's friends and the greater wizarding world at large. How could she possibly be thinking this? She must be sick.

Her emotions were warring with her because, while her body had decided that he would fit perfectly between her legs, her brain was busy trying to think of a way to send him back in time. He couldn't stay here. It was ridiculous to even think it. He would just fuck up the future as badly as he'd fucked up the past and Hermione was under no illusion that she could control him.

"How do you know who I am?" Tom asked quietly from beside her, interrupting her reverie.

"It's the future," Hermione said tiredly. "Fifty-three years is a very long time, Tom."

"Does that mean I'm famous? If you know who I am? Am I Minister for Magic? Or Chief Warlock?" Tom asked, hope sparking in his deep blue eyes. Now that he'd come closer, Hermione could finally see. His eyes were so dark and deep blue that they appeared black unless you really looked for them.

Hermione sighed, "It means you're dead."

"I'm dead? But I'd only be seventy-six!"

"Still, you're dead. I'm very sure of that," Hermione said. And good thing she was so sure too. She didn't want to imagine what it would be like if Voldemort and Tom Riddle were in the same world. She shuddered.

"Motherfucker," Tom muttered, startling Hermione into a laugh.

Hermione settled back onto the couch behind her, stretching her neck as Tom studied the Time-Turner in his hands. She'd been successful in withholding her name. Hopefully, she can keep that up until she could figure out a way to send him back. Maybe she could steal the Time-Turner from him and send him back on her own. She suddenly had a feeling that he wouldn't want to go back. Especially now that she'd let it slip that he was dead.

She wasn't entirely surprised when he pulled his wand and pointed it in her face. It's what she would have done after all.

"You have to go back," Hermione said, ignoring the wand. "You'll fuck up the timeline, the universe even. Maybe bring about the end of the world. There's no way you can stay here."

She was shocked when Tom laughed. He didn't lower his wand though. "I'm not stupid. Maybe all that would be true if I traveled back through time, but I didn't, did I? I came forward in time. Do you think a copy of me stayed behind? Doing all the things I would have done? That's what I think. That's why you know who I am and why your memories are still intact. I am not going back."

Hermione stiffened. She knew that this was Tom Riddle aka Voldemort. She knew it and she had still underestimated him. She hadn't truly thought through her plan to make him go back. Beyond insisting on it. Now, she was going to have to figure something else out.

His eyes slipped from hers to her chest and Hermione knew what her new plan was going to be. It was laughable how all men were the same.

Pushing his wand to the side, Hermione leaned closer to him. "But before you go, perhaps…" she trailed off and let her eyes wander down from his towards his lips, allowing her gaze to linger there, whilst she sent her own tongue out to lick her bottom lip and then bite on it gently. Tom's eyes followed her movements and Hermione thought she was winning him over.

Sleeping with Tom Riddle was a stupid thing to do, logically, Hermione knew that. But she also knew she needed to get that Time-Turner away from him, so she could send him back. Besides, sleeping with him would kill two birds with one stone. She'd be able to scratch that itch—it had been far too long—and she'd be able to steal the Time-Turner from him when his mind was focussed on another task. It was stupid but really the perfect plan, she assured herself.