A/N: Much thanks to the talented RachaelLA26 for her beta work. 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.

Chapter 6: Beginning

August 2002

Valbona Valley National Park, Albania

Hermione groaned as she rolled out of bed. Tom wasn't there again. She could never understand how he woke earlier than her each day, despite spending as much time as he did giving her incredible orgasm after incredible orgasm. She was exhausted and sore. They'd had sex in every position she knew of and a few she didn't for the last week. The only time they spoke was in regards to sex or food. It had been a fabulous fucking week. They had only left the cabin in order to fuck on the porch. Tom had even suggested going out in the forest somewhere, but Hermione had nixed that idea. She didn't like nature enough to want to fuck out in it.

She was still in some disbelief that she had agreed to allow Tom to return to London with her. It was an insane proposition, but since she hadn't had any other ideas on what to do with him, she was stuck with it. You could kill him, flitted through her mind again. Hermione shook her head. She wasn't a murderer. And so far, Tom hadn't done anything to warrant killing him. And you like fucking him, she thought.

She stretched her arms overhead, trying to work out as many kinks as she could. She was sore and stretched and very well used. She might have to start working out if they continued on this way in London. They hadn't discussed it, but Hermione had just assumed Tom would be living with her. He didn't have an identity in either the Muggle world or the wizarding one. The Muggle one they could probably forge, but they'd have to figure out what to do in the wizarding world. It's not like he could show up as Tom Riddle.

Although, since he hadn't shaved in the last week, the amount of scruff disguised his face rather well. She really didn't want him to wear a glamor. Not only would it obscure his beautiful features—she could finally admit to herself that she found him attractive—but she also worried she wouldn't be able to read him as well. She wasn't great at reading him now, but she was getting better every day.

Hermione slipped into the tiny bathroom and turned on the shower. She reeked of sex and needed to feel clean before they could take her portkey back. It was going to be interesting when she arrived in the Ministry. Generally, portkey travel was well regulated, but taking Tom with her was a risk. They'd just have to deal with it when it happened. Hermione assumed it would be a little extra paperwork and perhaps a fine. Nothing she couldn't handle.

As she ran conditioner through her hair, Hermione tried to think of all the things that could go wrong once they got back to London. She was worried that she wasn't going to be able to control him. He seemed happy enough this last week, and Hermione continued to hope that sex would be part of their relationship, but she wasn't an idiot. Tom was a classic psychopath. Her breath caught at that thought. If Tom was truly a psychopath there was no way she could control him because he wouldn't be able to form a bond with her. That was what she'd been hoping, after all, was that he would form a bond with her and through that bond, she could control his behavior? Perhaps he was a sociopath instead? But he seemed too in control, too manipulative to be a sociopath. Could someone be both a sociopath and a psychopath? Hermione didn't know enough about psychology to know the answer to that question. Despite the hot water pouring down her back, she shivered. Tom was incredibly dangerous and she was going to have to be very careful when they arrived back in London later that day.

She exited the shower and dressed quickly before she began packing all of her things. She still had the beaded bag from the war, although it was quite battered now and had clearly seen better days. She could have made another one, but she had a fondness toward it, despite the fact that it still had a small blood stain on it from when Ron was splinched after they had infiltrated the Ministry. It reminded her that war was hard and it was her duty to help her society move past it. Not that her current job was much of a help with anything except getting her boss more tea. She sighed. She needed to figure out something about her career or surely she would die an early death.

"When does the portkey leave?" Tom asked. He had walked up behind her and placed his hands on her hips. Hermione took that as a good sign. As long as he was a sociopath with organized tendencies and not a psychopath, she thought she might have a slim possibility of controlling him.

"At two," Hermione said. "We should be landing in London then at one."

Tom glanced at the watch Hermione wore on her wrist, it was quarter til two. "Not enough time for a romp then." He sounded almost sad about it and the relief that washed over Hermione was palpable.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait until we get to my flat," she said, as airily as possible. Tom kissed the side of her neck and Hermione found herself tilting her head to give him more access.

"I'm going to be fined," Hermione said. "You need a new name."

"And a glamor," Tom murmured reminding her.

"I think the beard is enough," she said as he licked his way from her shoulder to her ear. She moaned in response, already feeling heat pool in her abdomen. Merlin, she hoped he was a sociopath. Just a very organized and controlled one.

"I like Tom," Tom replied.

"No you don't, you hate it," Hermione said. "It reminds you of your Muggle father. It's been written about enough times."

Tom's hands tightened on her waist and Hermione thought for a moment he was going to be angry with her.

"I love it when it's you screaming it," Tom said. "How about Evans for the last name?"

Hermione shivered. Evans was a perfectly ordinary British name. It was also Harry's mother's maiden name. Should she say something to Tom? Surely, he couldn't know that, could he?

"That's fine," Hermione gasped as one of Tom's hands wandered from her waist to her breast and began rolling her nipple through her shirt and bra.

"Good," Tom growled into her ear. "It's time to leave." He stepped away from her and Hermione felt the loss of his touch keenly. She closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself. She was about to assume responsibility for Tom Riddle and it scared her. It terrified her really, she just hoped she had enough control. That he was a sociopath and not a psychopath. That sex would be enough to bond him to her. That he would listen to her. She had a feeling that none of that was going to happen.

August 2002

Ministry of Magic

London, England

"Welcome back Miss Granger… and guest. There will be a small fine for the double use of the portkey as you only paid for one," a bland Ministry official stated. "Please go to clerk two and fill out the appropriate forms. Welcome to London."

Hermione led him away from arrivals to a long counter of clerks, the queued in the one with the script two over it and Hermione bounced from foot to foot. Tom could feel the agitation and worry pour off her. He slipped an arm around her waist. "It's going to be fine," he murmured in her ear. He very carefully kept the smirk off his face when she shivered at his words.

"It better be," she hissed. "I'm not going to Azkaban for your sorry arse."

"Don't worry so much," Tom replied. If the Ministry was anything like it was in his days—completely incompetent—they'd be out of there in a flash.

The queue wasn't long, but the grey-haired witch before them struck up a personal conversation with the clerk. Tom sighed his annoyance while Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. It was fun to see her acting impatient with someone other than him. Having been trapped in a cabin with her for a week, he was itching to begin recruiting, but she looked so frazzled that he really just wanted to get her back to her flat so he could have her again. He'd never had as much sex as he had in the last week and it was quickly becoming addictive.

Finally, it was their turn and the clerk, a bored-looking man in his forties asked for their paperwork. Hermione handed it over and the man looked Tom up and down. Tom lifted his eyebrow at the other man, completely unintimidated.

"Name?"

"Tom Evans," Tom replied smoothly.

The man wrote it down in his register. "That'll be forty galleons."

"Merlin, forty?" Hermione asked aghast. "The original portkey had only been twenty!"

Tom's lips tightened, that did seem like a rather high fine. He looked at Hermione, suddenly worried she wouldn't be able to pay it.

"Shouldn't have brought home a boyfriend then, should you have?" the clerk said nastily. Tom narrowed his eyes at the man.

"Alright, alright," Hermione grumped and dug through her handbag for the required galleons.

"What's your name?" Tom asked and the man flipped his nameplate around so Tom could read it. Gordon Rocksalter. Tom had a good memory, he would definitely remember this insult.

Hermione handed over the galleons and the man made a show of counting them. Then he stamped their papers and allowed them to leave.

"Godric, it's fucking robbery," Hermione muttered under her breath as they walked toward the lifts.

Tom nodded but didn't say anything. He was taking in everything he could see. The dress was slightly different, more so for witches than wizards, Tom was glad to see. People bustled around importantly and a few even waved at Hermione. She offered a wave but didn't speak to anyone.

"How many people do you know?" Tom asked after the fifth person waved at her.

Hermione laughed, "I'm a bit of a celebrity. Most of those people I don't know."

Tom considered her for a moment as they waited on a lift to arrive. He should have paid closer attention to that book about Harry Potter, perhaps he would be able to read it again. Although, he was sure as soon as he got to Abraxas Malfoy's home he would be updated quickly on everything that had happened in the last fifty-three years.

September 2002

Malfoy Manor

Wiltshire, England

They arrived back in London on a Sunday and Hermione had to return to work at the Ministry the following day. She'd written out a list of twenty-five rules for Tom to follow. He had laughed himself silly when she handed them to him. She'd gone red in the face and had begun shouting until Tom undressed her slowly and slipped his hand between her legs. It had quieted her quickly enough. Rather it had quieted her in all the ways that mattered. It didn't take long before she was coming on his hand and shouting his name for an entirely different reason. She'd been late to work, but Tom just smiled at her. He had a busy day ahead of himself.

The moment Hermione had left her flat, he too left and Apparated to Malfoy Manor. He'd only been a handful of times, but the Manor had always impressed him. It was a large Elizabethan style building and Tom had always secretly longed to live somewhere as impressive. A touch of his wand to the gates and they opened silently. It seemed that Abraxas had kept him in the wards. Tom couldn't wait to see his old friend again, even if he would be an old man by now.

When he reached the manor, the house-elf who answered the door didn't recognize him. Not surprising, fifty-three years was a long time, even in the wizarding world.

"I'm here to see your master," Tom said stiffly.

The house-elf bowed and beckoned Tom to follow him. Tom did so, admiring that the Manor hadn't changed much since the last time he'd been there. When the house-elf led Tom to Abraxas' father's study, he furrowed his brow and realized that Abraxas' father was surely dead by now. Which meant Abraxas had full command of the Malfoy fortune. Tom's grin turned sly upon that realization.

The house-elf opened the door and led Tom inside.

"Who's this then?" the man with long silvery-blond hair demanded. Tom was shocked it wasn't Abraxas. He was much too young to be Abraxas. Perhaps his son?

"Tom Evans," Tom said silkily. "Although, perhaps you know me by a different name. Tom Riddle. Or Lord Voldemort."

"The Dark Lord is dead," the blond man said flatly. "I watched his body fall to the ground with a thump myself. He's been dead for over four years. And you are not him. Get out of my house."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "And who might you be? Where's Abraxas? He'll know me."

"Abraxas is my father and he's dead too. He's been dead for ten years. And good riddance," the man hissed.

"Where's his portrait," Tom demanded. He was quickly losing his temper and without access to the Malfoy funds, his plans would be for naught.

"I burned it," Blondie replied.

Tom gasped. A pureblood burning his father's portrait? It was almost unheard of and Tom couldn't quite believe it. What had Abraxas done to make his son hate him so?

"If you really are Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort," the blond man spat. "Then do me and everyone else in the world a favor and go Avada yourself."

Tom pulled his wand on the blond man, leveling it at his chest. He wasn't going to put up with such abuse.

"This is my fucking house," the blond man said. "You can't harm me in my own fucking house. I've had enough with Dark Lord's. Get. Out."

A wave of rage and embarrassment came over Tom. He gripped his wand tighter but lowered it finally. He was not going to allow this man to stop his plans. There were other wealthy purebloods from his time. They couldn't all be dead.

"You will regret this, Malfoy," Tom said as levelly as he could. He hoped his voice wasn't trembling with the anger he felt. "You will regret this most heartily. I promise you that."

Tom turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

"Not as much as I regret everything else," the man whispered from behind him. Tom ignored him and left the Manor, flinging the front door shut with a bang. The moment he was able he Apparated away to Nott Park.

September 2002

Nott Park

Bedfordshire, England

As light and airy as Malfoy Manor was, Nott Park was the exact opposite. It was dark gothic architecture and where Malfoy Manor was brilliantly restored, Nott Park looked to be falling apart. Thoros Nott had been almost as close of a friend as Abraxas Malfoy, although their personalities had been markedly different. Thoros had been hard and cold where Abraxas had loved a good joke. Thoros was a serious student and had been almost as brilliant as Tom when it came to their studies. He hoped that Thoros was still alive. He needed some good news today.

There wasn't a house-elf who answered Tom's knock on the front door of the dilapidated manor house. Tom frowned; perhaps Thoros wasn't home? He knocked again, louder and heard someone shout from inside. The shout was too muffled to make out any words. So Tom waited.

A few moments later a weedy-looking, tall young man wrenched the door open and stared at him. He had Thoros' dark brooding eyes, but none of his stout, stocky posture. The man was taller than Tom.

"Can I help you?" he said after a moment. Tom decided on a different approach here. This was obviously Thoros' grandson.

"I'm looking for Thoros Nott," Tom said politely. "Is he in?"

The weedy-looking boy laughed darkly. "He won't ever be in again."

Tom's vexation rose, another of his friends, dead? What had happened in the last fifty-three years?

"Oh, when did he pass?" Tom inquired.

"He's not dead," the man said scathingly. "Got a life sentence in Azkaban. Don't you read the papers? Why are you looking for him, anyway?"

Tom sucked in a breath, Azkaban was horrific. "What did he do?"

"Do? Are you serious? He was a bloody Death Eater. That's what he did. Got caught red-handed at that stunt Harry Potter and his friends pulled at the Ministry back in fifth year. Then was seen fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts for the wrong side." The man spoke scathingly of Thoros and Tom felt sad for his friend. That was two of his friends whose descendants seemed to hate them. An inkling began to form in his head, but he shoved it down, there was no use worrying over the past.

The man stepped back and invited Tom into the house. "Who are you again?"

"Tom Evans," Tom said evenly. "Although perhaps you know me by one of my other names. Tom Riddle or Lord Voldemort."

The man stopped and looked closely at Tom. "You do look a bit like him. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Tom grinned, "How are you related to Thoros?"

"He's my father."

That was better than Thoros being the man's grandfather. "And your name is?"

"Theo Nott," the man said and stuck out his hand for Tom to shake. Tom grasped it feeling hope blossom in his chest. Theo hadn't thrown him out, perhaps he'd be open to listening to his ideas.

"Come on back to the study," Theo said, turning from Tom and leading him deeper into the house. "I have some of my father's old school things."

Tom followed Theo through the rundown house. The portraits on the walls were all silent and half of the wallpaper was hanging off the walls.

"Were there war reparations?" Tom asked Theo as he stepped around a hole in the wooden floor.

Theo nodded, "Lots of them. Although since I was never charged as a Death Eater, we didn't have as many to pay as the Malfoy's did."

Tom wondered what had happened to all of the Nott's money then? Clearly, something for the house to be in as bad of shape as it was. He decided not to ask. Not yet anyway.

The study looked better than the hallways and Theo poured them both something to drink. They settled on a couple of armchairs before the empty fireplace when Theo rolled up the sleeve of his left arm.

"I wasn't caught as a Death Eater, but it doesn't mean I wasn't one," he grinned showing Tom the symbol blackened into his arm. It was a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. It was Tom's own symbol, the one he'd designed for his Knights. The Death Eaters must be an offshoot of the Knights of Walpurgis.

"Tell me everything," Tom demanded.

"First, let's see if you really are Tom Riddle. And I want to know how you're here looking my age," Theo replied.

Theo picked up an old leather journal that Tom remembered from his school years. It wasn't the journal, but Tom had kept meticulous records of his experiments and had many such journals. He'd given some to Thoros while he went to Albania to look for the diadem.

"What journal number is that?" Tom asked.

"Twenty-three."

"Ah, then that one will be full of notes for two potions. One which I believe I have tentatively named the Potion of Despair and the other that would bring a person back alive once they created a Horcrux."

Theo grinned, "Very good. You are either an excellent impersonator or you truly are Tom Riddle."

"Oh, I'm Tom Riddle," Tom replied easily. "I happened to find a Time-Turner while in Albania a week ago. It brought me into the future and—"

"Left a copy of you in the past," Theo finished. "It's not a widely known phenomenon, traveling to the future, but it's been theorized that if anyone did, it would certainly leave a copy of them in the past in order to not disrupt the timeline."

"Exactly," Tom smiled. Theo seemed to be as bright as Thoros was. This visit was going so much better than the one with Malfoy had.

"So, when are we getting the Death Eaters back together?" Theo asked.

Before Tom could answer, someone slammed through the front door of the house. "Theo!"

Theo rolled his eyes, "This is another Death Eater from my generation. He'll find us soon enough. He's a bit dramatic."

"Theo! Where are you?" the voice shouted, coming closer to the study.

The door of the study banged open as loudly as the front door of the Manor had.

"There you are. My father's in a rotten fucking mood," a blond-haired man, who looked almost exactly like the Malfoy that Tom had just left, grumbled as he slipped into a chair beside Theo. "Who's this then?"

Theo smirked, "Draco Malfoy, meet Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort. My lord, Draco Malfoy."

Draco raised an eyebrow, "Is this a joke, Theo? The Dark Lord is dead. Has been for over four years."

Tom smirked, Draco sounded remarkably like his father. "I assure you, Draco. I am Tom Riddle. I seem to have had a bit of a time travel incident. In that, I came forward to the future."

"Oh," Draco looked dumbfounded.

Tom turned back to Theo, "I believe you were going to tell me everything?"

Theo grinned and nodded. He began speaking about all that had taken place in the last fifty-three years.