A/N: RachaelLA26 did some amazing beta work on this chapter, thank you to her! 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 7: Reality

September 2002

Hermione's Flat

Diagon Alley, London, England

Hermione trudged home after a brutal first day back to work after her long vacation. She wasn't looking forward to dealing with Tom either, but her boss had been an unmitigated terror all day long. Dealing with Tom wouldn't be nearly that bad. She could only hope, at least.

Entering her flat, she realized it was dark and quiet. Hermione furrowed her brow and flicked her wand to turn on the lights.

"Tom?"

No reply. Instantly, both panic and rage fill her. Panic because Tom isn't where he's supposed to be. Has something happened to him? What if he's hurt? And rage because she knows deep down that he hasn't followed her instructions. He's gone off to find some of his former Death Eater's, she's sure of it.

Fuck!

What should she do? Try to find him? Hermione felt frozen with indecision. She had no idea where Tom would go or who would accept him. He spoke of Abraxas Malfoy, so perhaps to Malfoy Manor but that was not a place that Hermione would be welcome at. And if Tom somehow managed to convince Lucius or Draco Malfoy into believing he was who he said he was… she didn't let that thought finish. She had to find him. But how?

Hermione ran through her flat, quickly determining that Tom was indeed gone. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

She did the only thing that she could think of doing; Floo-calling Harry and Ron, who still lived in Grimmauld Place despite the fact that Harry and Ginny were married. Hermione wasn't even sure she'd catch them, but the panic was rising fast and she felt like she had to do something. She had to act—now—before this got out of hand.

"Harry! Ron!" she knelt down at her fireplace, her head stuffed through the flames as she peered around the sitting room at Grimmauld Place, hoping one of them was nearby.

"Hermione? What's wrong?" Ginny's feet appeared and she kneeled so Hermione could see her face.

"Are Harry or Ron there, Gin? I've got an issue I'm hoping they can help with."

"Er, yes, hang on…" Ginny trailed off as she stood and walked out of the room.

Hermione tapped her fingers against her hearth as she waited for one of the boys to come through. They weren't really boys, not anymore, but she'd always think of them as her boys.

"Hermione?" Harry asked from the doorway. She could just see Ron standing behind him.

"Hey, Harry. Are you free for a moment? I was hoping you could come through."

"Yeah, sure. Didn't you just get home? What's wrong?" Harry's voice got louder as he moved closer to the fireplace.

"I'll tell you when you get here," Hermione said and moved out of her fireplace so Harry and Ron could Floo through.

A few moments and a cloud of soot later, Ron and Harry were in her flat. Hermione's panic decreased just a little. They would help her—they would have to help her.

"What's going on?" Ron asked. His voice was carefully flat and Hermione felt her heart lurch. She knew that Ron still held out hope for them, but it was never going to happen. She was determined of that if nothing else.

"I think I fucked up," Hermione stated plainly.

Harry and Ron both looked surprised at this statement. "Let's sit down," Harry suggested and they arranged themselves on the sofa and armchair in the sitting room. "Now, start from the beginning."

Hermione nodded but didn't say anything for a minute. How in the world would she begin this story? It was insane.

"Come on, 'Mione. I don't have all day," Ron finally snapped.

"Right, okay. Well, you know how I went on vacation? To Albania? I sort of met someone…" Ron grimaced.

"I don't need to hear about your vacation conquests, 'Mione!"

Hermione felt herself redden. Oh, Merlin, this was not going well.

"That's not what I meant!" Hermione protested. She left out the part that she was, in fact, sleeping with Tom. "I met someone because he happened to be staying in the same cabin."

"Same cabin? What? Were you sharing a cabin with a stranger?" Harry interrupted.

"No! It's hard to explain, but about a week into the vacation he showed up in my cabin. Thinking it was his cabin. With a Time-Turner in his hands."

"Who is he?" Ron asked.

"He's from the past. And was in Albania…" Hermione led. Hoping one of them, Harry at least would catch on to what she was saying.

They both stared at her blankly.

She groaned. "Somehow Tom Riddle of 1949 got ahold of a Time-Turner and used it to come forward in time."

"What? How would that even work?" Harry asked. "I still have all my memories, I killed him. Tom Riddle is dead."

"One of them is a copy," Hermione whispered. "Either the one left behind is a copy, destined to follow the same track to not disrupt the past. Or the one that came forward is a copy, free to do as he wills."

"Bullshit," Ron spat. "This is bullshit, Hermione. Someone is fucking with you, you know that? You're too gullible. Too fucking naive." He shook his head and Hermione felt her heart clench, even as anger flooded her veins.

"I'm not! I swear to you that this is the truth!" Hermione said. "Tom Riddle is back and he's here and the worst part is… I seem to have sort of lost him."

"Lost him!?" Harry fairly screamed. "Why didn't you fucking kill him? He's a murderer! Even in 1949, he'd already murdered people! Are his Horcruxes back too?"

"I-I don't know," Hermione said. She refused to cry, even as a lump formed in her throat and her eyes seemed to be extra wet. "I don't know why I didn't kill him. I was hungover and he was hungover and we jus—"

"Just what? Fucked?" Ron accused.

Hermione's face heated and she dropped her head into her hands.

"Oh, fuck! Oh, Merlin! You did! You fucked Tom Riddle! You fucking slag! Yo—"

"That's enough, Ron!" Harry snapped.

"I'm sorry!" Hermione said. "I don't know how it happened. I thought I could control him. That I could bring him back and control him. You know I never did end up killing anyone, even during the war. I thou—"

"Well, he's here now. We can kill him now," Harry said coldly. "We'll track him down and kill him again before the rest of the wizarding world gets word."

Hermione nodded but didn't say anything. She knew she wouldn't be able to kill Tom, but she was fucking terrified that he was currently loose in Britain.

Just then the fireplace went green and Tom Riddle stepped out of it. Followed closely by Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy.

All of the confusion and fear Hermione had been feeling seemed to disappear when she saw Tom's smug face. She shot to her feet and stuck her finger right into Tom's chest.

"Where the hell were you?" she growled. "I was worried sick! I told you not to leave!" Tom glared at her and gripped her wrist tightly.

"You don't own me, Hermione."

"No, but you agreed to my rules," she hissed at him. She yanked on her hand, but he held her tight, almost crushingly tight. He yanked on her hand, pulling her into his chest and snaked his other hand around her waist. She could feel his length pressed against her belly, hard and angry. Apparently, just how she liked him because a flare of arousal slid into her belly, igniting her core.

She should have been paying attention to what was going on around them. Her friends had leapt to their feet as she and Tom argued, pointing their wands at Tom, Nott, and Malfoy.

"I don't answer to you, Hermione," Tom said again, low and menacing. Hermione's heart rate picked up and she used her free hand to push at his chest.

"No, but you do owe me, Tom. You owe me and you know it. Best not forget that," she spat.

"Oh, I'll owe you alright," Tom growled and pushed her waist harder into him, pressing his hips against her. Showing her exactly what he planned to give her.

September 2002

Hermione's Flat

Diagon Alley, London, England

Tom had been angry his entire life. It was like he was born with that emotion as his zero. On any given day, Tom was angry. He was always angry. But the anger that coursed through him at that moment made his head reel. He wanted to murder her. He wanted to fuck her. Most of all, he wanted to own her. He was livid and planned to show her exactly what she could expect from deciding to defy him in front of his followers.

He had spent hours with Theo and Draco, learning everything he could about the last fifty-three years and then learning what the current political climate was. He had plans. Big plans. And he wasn't about to let the very sexy piece of arse poking him in the chest right now ruin them. He had an image to cultivate and protect. How would it look to his followers if he let himself get bossed around by a witch?

He snarled at her and pushed her back, drawing his wand at the same time. But she was quicker than he was or had expected something. The next thing he knew, his wand was flying through the air and sailing into Hermione's hand. He glared at her and balled his fists, making a single step toward her.

She shook her head and smirked at him.

The black haired man behind Hermione then laughed. "Still your weakness, eh, Tom?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Tom asked belligerently. He was beyond anger and reason now. Now he just wanted to fight. Or fuck. Or both.

"Oh, me?" the black haired man smirked at him. Tom decided he hated that smirk. "I'm your murderer. Killed you myself. What was it four years ago, Hermione? You are supposed to be dead." The look in those green eyes was as cold as Tom had ever seen.

It was his turn to smirk. "And yet, I'm not."

"Harry," Hermione hissed and the answer fell into place in Tom's head. This was the famed Harry Potter. He gave the man a once over and dismissed him. He was not going to be a threat to Tom. The ginger standing next to Harry just glared at them all, but especially at Draco.

"Leave," Tom said to Theo and Draco.

"Of course," Draco acquiesced. "Let us know if you need anything, my lord."

Tom's smirk widened into a grin when Ginger flinched at the honorific. Theo clapped Tom's shoulder and with a flash of green, both were gone, back through the Floo.

"You too," Tom directed to Potter and the ginger.

"We're not going anywhere," the ginger said, speaking up for the first time. "You may have seduced or brainwashed 'Mione, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have friends. Friends who will protect her from the likes of you!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and Tom's lips twitched. "I can handle myself, Ron."

Ah, so the ginger was Ron Weasley, the third part of the so-called 'Golden Trio.'

"Really?" Harry asked. "Can you handle him, too? Or is that the exact reason you invited Ron and me here? To handle him for you?"

"Harry," Hermione began, but he cut her off before she could say more.

"No, Hermione. You should have sent him back or killed him when you realized who he was! He's dangerous! And if you won't kill him, I will."

Tom snorted, "Unlikely. But you should leave… unless you want to watch as I fuck Hermione into the fucking wall."

Hermione gasped and her eyes widened and Tom knew that meant she was getting turned on. She always did like it when he talked dirty to her.

Ron, the ginger, turned almost puce at this pronouncement. "So you are fucking him!"

Hermione whirled around to her friend. "Ron, what I do is none of your business. You and Harry should both leave. I can handle him." She showed them both wands, still tucked firmly into her hand and Tom felt his blood boil. Not only had she embarrassed him in front of his new followers, but now she was gloating about it to her friends. Hermione would have to pay for this.

"Fine, we'll go," Potter conceded. "But this isn't finished, 'Mione."

"I know," Hermione nodded; moments later, Tom and she were alone.

Tom stalked toward her, backing her up into the wall opposite the fireplace. "You won't disobey me again. Nor dismiss me in front of my followers."

"Your followers, Tom? You sound like a fucking Dark Lord already! Besides," Hermione cocked her head to the side and smirked at him. "I still have your wand."

Tom glared at her. As angry as he was, his cock was throbbing in his trousers. He was almost desperate to be inside her. He lunged for his wand and she tossed them both over his shoulder, out of reach to them, then wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I thought you planned on fucking me?" she whispered into his ear.

"Not until you promise not to disrespect me like that again," Tom threatened.

"Disrespect you?" Hermione shouted, pushing away from him. But he'd backed her into the wall and there wasn't anyplace else she could go. Tom refused to step back from her. "I told you not to leave. And yet, you disobeyed me! And then I find you in the company of a couple of junior Death Eaters! People who hate me, Tom. People who would rather see me dead than alive."

She pulled up her sleeve, shoving her scar that read Mudblood into his face.

"This! I got this on the floor of Draco Malfoy's drawing room. While he looked on. Impassively. How do you think it made me feel to see him in my home! In my safe space! I'll fucking tell you, I feel violated. I feel like I brought someone into my life who doesn't care about me, doesn't respect me, and only cares about his own fucking power!" She was screaming by the end and Tom felt his heart stutter in his chest.

"You know what I am, Hermione," Tom reminded her softly. He ran a finger down her soft cheek as she breathed heavily, working to control her emotions.

"I do," she said. "I knew what you were, but I had hoped I could show you the foolishness of your previous ways. You are so bloody brilliant, Tom. You could be so much more than a despotic, megalomaniac Dark Lord. You could do so much…" she trailed off and looked up at him with her big brown eyes.

Tom had never had anyone believe in him the way she seemed to. He'd never been close enough to another person—emotionally—the way he seemed so drawn to her. He hated that she'd been tortured by one of his followers—hated seeing that word cut into her arm. A few weeks with her and his blood prejudices were out the window. She was everything.

He wanted to feel sick about cavorting with a Mudblood, but he couldn't. She was so powerful, so good, and so trusting that Tom found himself wanting to earn that trust. Wanting to be the only person she could or would turn to—wanting to be the only person for her.

He cupped her cheek and dipped his head, his lips just barely touching hers. "I don't care about your blood," he whispered. "I don't care that you're a Muggleborn. I only care that you are mine." And then he kissed her. He wanted to pour all of his thoughts and feelings into the kiss, make it as passionate as he could, but it soon turned heated.

In moments, she had her legs wrapped around his hips and he was pressing his entire body into hers. Her soft curves felt divine and he swiftly disrobed them. A little rearranging and suddenly he was sheathed inside her tight warmth.

"Fucking perfect," Tom mumbled against her skin as he kissed along her shoulder. Her cunt gripped him so beautifully. She had her head tossed back against the wall behind her and her fingernails were digging into the skin of his shoulders. He fucking loved it. Everything about her was flawless.

"Tom," she whined breathlessly, her heels digging into his arse as she pulled him closer to her body. "Please, Tom! Harder!"

Tom gasped and renewed his efforts, slamming into her until she fell off the cliff of her orgasm with a scream.

"Mine," Tom growled into her lips as he chased his climax. "Mine. Forever mine," he groaned into her as his balls tightened and he shot his load deep inside her.

He stood there for several long moments, catching his breath as Hermione clung to him. Her neck was buried into his shoulder, her breaths hot puffs along his skin, making him shiver.

"Yours," she whispered and Tom couldn't stop the smirk that took over his face.

"Mine," he agreed and tilted her head back, sealing the deal with a searing kiss. He loved that she stood up to him. He loved that she wasn't afraid of him. He loved seeing her in her wild abandonment and he loved that she gave herself fully to him. Tom was not someone who loved. He didn't love her. He just loved everything about her. She was his.