When Tom woke, Hermione was gone.

He cast a quick eye around the room. So this was the Gryffindor's girls dormitory. He found it a tad draughty for his taste. He had to admit that he'd perhaps even enjoyed last night's conversation. Though the girl was a little naive, she was curious about the world, which pleased him. Her thirst for knowledge could have made her a fierce rival had she lived in his time - no, they were too similar - a loyal follower, perhaps? It was a shame her heritage would probably alienate her from his cause. That said, she had been so… understanding. True, the conversation last night had not exactly focused on his more political plans, but he could tell that there was something in her that could sympathise with him. They had a common love of magic, of knowledge. How could she ever disagree with him? Surely she too would understand that the wizarding race, as the strongest, should rule over the weaker muggle race? How could she not? He smirked.

There was however, another pressing issue. Since Granger was a mudblood, attending Hogwarts, it clearly showed that his plans - as they now stood - had at least been through a twenty or so years setback. His current projects didn't allow for mudbloods to drift in major wizarding circles. He didn't expect her to recognise him as the fearsome public figure he must be in her time - he was sure that he would refashion his image at some point. Perhaps he could call on her help for that?

That said, the whole 'blood purity' issue was beginning to frustrate him a little. After having spoken extensively to his fellow 'purebred' Slytherins, he'd reached the conclusion that too much focus on blood purity - though perfectly acceptable back in Salazar Slytherin's time, could lead to a rather inbred mess. That, and squibs, it would seem. He frowned. Of course, that didn't mean that purebloods should suddenly start mixing with muggles - it would be folly, almost like breeding humans with monkeys. Quite distasteful. However, mudbloods did clearly have some wizarding blood within them - denying such a fact would be ludicrous. The occasional breeding of a gifted mudblood - or better still, half-blood - from a strong pure family could actually prove quite beneficial.

Hmm. Nonetheless, he needed funds for his cause. Suggesting such an outlandish idea to his fellow house members - who though inbred, had the money and the loyalty - would not do. No, no. Better to carry on with his plans as they stood, and maybe ten years into his… ah, political career, he might make a few allowances for gifted mudbloods. This would enable that girl to go to school, and the timeline would remain intact. He grinned. Perfect. Now, if only he could introduce the concept of-

"What in Merlin's name are you still doing here?!"

Tom's neck jerked up. "I've just woken up. You're not going to kick me out, are you?" he asked innocently.

Hermione sat next to him on the bed, glaring at him. "It's incredibly risky." she said. "I brought back some breakfast though." she added, breaking a piece of brioche in half. "We can share."

He grinned, picking up the larger half of the two. She raised an eyebrow. "It's my birthday!" he said defensively.

"Oh. I didn't know that. Happy Birthday!" she said, forcing a smile. The fact that she still didn't know how to control his comings and goings worried her.

"I'm only joking. My birthday's on New Years' Eve, I think." he grinned. "Three days away."

"What do you mean, 'you think'?" she snapped, visibly miffed by how small her breakfast now looked.

"Well, I can't exactly remember the event, now can I?" he shot back acidly. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, but surely you celebrate it."

"What's the point? There are probably only two birthdays worth celebrating." he said calmly, "My seventeenth - also known as legal freedom in the wizarding world. So no more trying to find ways to sneak around ministry wards to practice magic in.. odd places. And my twenty first - legal freedom in the muggle world."

"It's eighteen nowadays." she murmured.

"What is?"

"The legal muggle age of adulthood in Britain. Strange, I didn't think you'd care much what muggles thought, as a supremacist." she said absentmindedly, preoccupying herself with the coffee. A vague memory of Harry telling her that Voldemort had been raised in a muggle orphanage drifted into her mind.

"I was raised around muggles." he said simply. It was common knowledge, that poor, gifted, Tom Riddle, obviously of decent wizarding stock had been raised near muggles. A rags to riches story. Raised in an orphanage however… not that common knowledge. He toyed with the prospect of telling her. No. It was always good to have a sob story hidden up one's sleeve, he'd save that tale for later. "Besides, what makes you think I'm a supremacist?" he added, quickly changing the subject.

"Your general demeanour." she said, avoiding his gaze, "You clearly believe that wizards - pureblood in particular - are superior to muggles."

"Don't you? Surely you understand it's purely down to natural selection. Wizards are simply stronger than muggles. It's illogical for the latter to rule over us."

"Funny, you say 'us'." she muttered.

"Well, you're a witch, aren't you? I mean, I'm not going to say that your lack of blood purity isn't an issue - as it clearly is. You weren't raised in a wizarding environment, you don't have that heritage. But you've overcome your handicap rather well." he said, flashing her what he felt was an encouraging smile, trying to put her at ease.

"As have you, Tom." she said, returning the smile, and gritting her teeth. What an arse, she thought, and this is indeed how mass-murderers are created. He thinks far too highly of himself.

He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You were raised in a muggle environment. Do you have any wizarding heritage?" She inquired innocently, waiting for him to react. Surely he couldn't resist speaking of his blood heritage in front of her? After all, if releasing a giant snake in the castle wasn't attention seeking, she didn't know what was. Had he even done that yet? What year did Harry say Riddle had been in? Was it…

"I have reason to believe my mother was a daughter of the Gaunt family. In fact, I am rather certain of it. Unfortunately, that is all, nothing truly exciting." he said with a half-smile, his tone growing more and more acidic. Revealing his status as heir of Slytherin was reckless. If she was a smart girl, she'd work it out. That said, Granger's mind looked fiercely at work on something else entirely. "Indeed, I suppose I have overcome my… 'handicap'."

"How did you get here?" she asked, breaking away from the family subject. The curiosity was too much. "My book is coming to pieces, and I'm afraid to admit I don't know how you make it between our two different times."

Oh. What a simple question. "Picture the place you want to appear to, make an Odin symbol plus that of lighwatz on the floor in ash, make a half spin and off you trot. Go back to the exact place you landed in to do the second half spin to return. The time element seems to take care of itself. Odin's sign is the travel element, and lighwatz binds our timelines together. Now that we're linked," he added, gesturing to his wrist, "our timelines will definitely be consistent."

She scanned his face, trying to discern whether he'd just lied to her. He seemed to sense that.

"There's no point in lying to you. I need this partnership as much as you do. In fact probably more so," he added, "I've got some runes I need help translating anyway."

"What kind of runes?" she asked suspiciously.

"Low-Elf. They seem to have a slight Franco-Germanic twist to them too. I'm adding them to a Protean Charm, or trying to. I'm assuming you've heard of Protean Charms?" he asked.

"I can cast a Protean Charm." she said rather haughtily, remembering the previous year's DA galleons.

"As can I. This, however, is much more interesting," he said, his grey eyes glinting. "I'm thinking of binding the charm to a human body." He checked his watch. "Unfortunately I have to go. I've an appointment with the headmaster." he frowned. "Not sure why though. I'll drop off some books on the subject this evening."

A human body? What kind of sick- "I-I can't this evening. How about tomorrow? Same time as usual."

He nodded, and with a turn, he was gone.

The next day and a half was spent on her doing more research than she'd ever done before on Protean Charms. Fixing such a charm on the body would be incredibly difficult. There were several things to consider… the duration of the charm was always an issue - whilst fixing the charm on the galleons, whose state barely altered, had been difficult enough, fixing them on a growing, ageing human body seemed nigh impossible. Wouldn't it almost irrevocably damage the subject? What if the person on whom it was to be cast rejected it? And that was only if they were a muggle. Should the recipient of the charm be a witch or wizard, there was a high chance their magic might tamper with the charm. Then there was also the manifestation of the charm. What would it look like? Merlin, what was its purpose? Why does Tom Riddle of all people want to cast an altered protean charm on a human body? What does he want?

When he'd come that evening, she'd taken a quick glance at his runes, then decided that she needed more time to look through them properly.

Evening came. Though she'd finished deciphering the runes earlier that day, she was still no closer to understanding what it was that he wanted to do with the charm.

It was only at four am, on the morning of the third day that it hit her. She'd received a letter from Harry that day - no use expecting one from one, the boy was hopeless when it came to keeping up a proper correspondence - and a conversation they'd had regarding the DA resurfaced in her mind. Her idea for the changing galleons had come from the dark mark, hadn't it?

Grabbing some ash from the fire, she drew Odin's travel runes on her arm, turned on her heel, and landed with a terrific crash at the side of.. a bed?

Dishevelled, drunk of sleeplessness, she scrambled to her feet, only to then find herself pressed to a wall, the tip of a wand pressed to her neck.

"State your business, and do so quickly, lest you wish to find yourself in excruciating pain before I slit your throat." hissed a voice.

She gritted her teeth.

"I'm warning you." said the voice icily.

"Riddle?"

"'Mione?" The wand was drawn away. Lumos. There stood Tom, bags under his eyes, the shadow of a beard forming across his face, seeming quite shaken. He looked somewhat paler. He'd lost weight. He began to stammer - "But how? What on earth are you doing here? I thought we'd decided-" His eyes scanned her face. "Oh Sweet Salazar. You're not-"

Hermione looked around the room. It was smaller, poorer, shabbier than she'd thought, the room was barely big enough for the one bed that was in it. What- where was she?

"Tom? What's going on?" she asked tentatively. There was something off.

"What year is it?" he asked quickly. "When have you just come from? Give me the exact date and time."

"I.. I suppose - 5am, 30th- no wait, 31st of December 1996." she said in a hushed whisper. "Tom." He wouldn't look at her. She reached out a hand to turn his face to hers. "Tom, what's wrong?"

He breathed in slowly. "Nothing. You've landed a few years late - that's all." he smiled weakly. "You're looking for the 31st of December 1943. This is indeed the thirty-first of December, just not 1943." He went over to the tiny fireplace and pulled out some ash, which he sprinkled on the floor. "I'm guessing you didn't write lighwatz properly." He sighed. "For future reference, this is how it's done." he said, drawing a few symbols on the ground. "I don't often get to correct you, you know." he added with a wink. "I'm guessing you put a downwards flick on the balance symbol. It should always be an upwards one. I know most textbooks say it's interchangeable," he leant in, and whispered, "you can tell we've had this conversation already, can't you?" he grinned, before resuming his lecture, "but it most certainly is not interchangeable, and you must get it right."

"Oh." was all she could say. There was something unsettling about seeing him like this. That, and the added familiarity. Not a tentative friendly acquaintance's familiarity, but something older. There was something tragic in his voice, how it broke slightly at her name. "What's wrong?" she found herself asking again.

"Nothing, love." he murmured. "It's my birthday, by the way." He grinned, pulling her into a shaky hug. She felt herself tense up in his arm.

"What's wrong with you? Riddle, tell me what on earth is going on!"

He pushed her back, looking a bit sheepish. "Sorry. Couldn't help it." he rubbed the back of his neck. "Send my regards to the past, Hermione." He smiled.

And the world faded away.

This time her arrival was met with a similar threat, albeit a far more uncertain sounding one.

"State your business, and.. do so quickly lest-"

"- lest you slice my throat and put me through excruciating pain. Yes, yes, I know. Let go of me, Riddle."

"Hermione?" asked the voice.

"What's the protean charm for, Tom?" she asked acidly.

"Ah, Miss Granger." she heard him say cooly. "You've been acting… off with me these past few days - and now you turn up at five am to ask me what my protean charm is for?" he spat. "It's for human bodies! As I have said at least a dozen times. Why else would I be needing help with the runes?!"

She conjured a few candles. Definitely the Slytherin dormitory. Dark green silks hung from the ceiling, the windows seemed to lead on to the lake of all things. A crystal chandelier, adorned with various cobwebs, hung in the middle of the room. She could hear the gentle gurgle of the water lapping at the stone walls. She expected it to be a lot colder than it was, and she found that despite the intimidating decor, the dorm felt surprisingly homely.

"Hermione?" he repeated angrily. Ah, yes, grumpy Tom Riddle in his pyjamas. Slightly more pressing matter than the scenery.

"Are the bodies alive?" she asked hurriedly.

"Well yes, of course they're alive! I'm not going to monitor a corpse's actions, now am I?!" he replied indignantly. "What do you think I'm trying to do, keep tabs on an army of inferi? I'm not a bloody necromancer, now am I?" His eyebrows were arched, his sharp cheekbones catching the light - it gave him a rather disdainful expression.

"So 'monitoring' is what you're doing? I need to know the purpose of the charm. And what you think it'll look like. You're intent on casting it on the wearer? A mark of sorts? Can't you just settle for… I don't know, a bracelet?" she asked despairingly, growing all the more concerned. She seated herself down on the bed next to his.

"No. It'll have to be a mark." he said, shaking his head. "A tattoo, if you will. It needs to be…," he began pacing up and down the room, "Indelible. A symbol of unwavering loyalty."

"Loyalty? Whose loyalty? To whom is it directed?" she said, gathering her tangle of hair up in a knot.

"My… friends' loyalty. Their loyalty to me, of course." he smiled.

"Have you asked them whether they 'want' to be loyal?"

The girl was asking far too many questions. "That's a ludicrous question. I-You just don't understand." he sighed. "Listen, we've got a deal, haven't we?"

She gritted her teeth.

"Just see it as… purely academic if it helps you sleep at night." he said, rolling his eyes. At this moment it was growing quite hard to believe that Gryffindors were supposed to be the brave ones.

Purely academic. The notion alone wouldn't be enough to quieten Hermione's conscience. That said, she was learning so much about the Dark Arts and about Riddle. The way he thought was fascinating. She didn't doubt the fact that he'd find another way to create the dark mark without her help. She was perhaps speeding up the process by… a month at most? She needed to understand this character before her. For the greater good.

"We've helped each other, haven't we, Hermione?" he asked softly. He reached out to grab a book on the bookshelf next to his bed. "Have you read this?" he asked. Pictures from Italy, Charles Dickens.

She'd expected some book on dark magic. Not a book of travels by Dickens, again, a muggle author. She shook her head. She'd read Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, David Copperfield, most short stories - his most famous works - but not this one.

"I miss Dickens - or at least being able to openly admire his work." He thumbed the pages absentmindedly. "I always feel like I'm travelling through continental Europe when reading this. It may be a very muggle-centric Europe - but nonetheless… Have you been to Italy?"

"Once, yes." She didn't have anything to give him. "Wait a moment." she said, disappearing. She returned a few minutes later - this time, the spell had worked perfectly, she noted with relief - and handed him a book in return. Jane Eyre. He raised an eyebrow. "Brontë? Really, Granger?"

"It raises interesting moral questions, the nature of loyalty, forgiveness, you know, those things." she smiled weakly. "I'll need a few days to finish translating the runes," she sighed, "I take it you're already translating the second half of the material?"

He nodded, as if to say, two heads are better than one.

"Give me a few days to work on it," she said, "I'll be done in a week at the latest. By that time people will have started coming back from the holidays. We should meet some time after that."

"How does the seventh of January sit with you?" he asked, taking out his diary to find the date. Hermione's determination wavered a little at the sight of it and she thought of Ginny. Ginny who would weep to see her in such a position.

"The seventh is fine. We can't meet in my dorm anymore though," she said, "I would suggest the Room of Requirement, you might know it as the come and go room but it's a place I'm keen to avoid. Don't worry," she said, for he looked surprise at his knowledge of it, "I'm not really avoiding it for any sinister reason," she just wasn't terribly keen to return there after last year's events, "nor do many people know about it either." She paused, "There's a rather spacious, yet brilliantly concealed room behind a statue of Morgan LeFay in the restricted section of the library. Very few people know about it. In fact, I don't think anyone ever uses it in my time. You just tap the statue twice on the nose to get in. How does that sound?"

"I think I know the place. Same time?"

"Yes." She turned to disappear, but not before adding a small,

"Happy Birthday, Tom."

A/N - Hi! Thanks for reading, please do review :) any comments are greatly appreciated! (Thank you so so much to mama123, JuliSt and Beth for reviewing!) I think once Hermione begins to witness a more active conflict between her views about the Tom that she knows and what Harry is learning about in his Dumbledore lessons, things should be interesting.

Just to clarify a few things timeline wise - this is the year Riddle opens the Chamber of Secrets - his diary is as such intact, but still looks like the one that Hermione would have seen in her second year. Moreover, on Hermione's side, the trio don't know about Horcruxes yet (only the prophecy). Harry does get told by Dumbledore about Horcruxes at the start of the Spring term (so pretty much the week after these events above have occurred in Hermione's life). I do want to stay relatively canon compliant on that front (Rowling is Queen!). And of course, I make no claim to the various characters and universe this is set in - these all belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing them and playing around for a while. :)

Have a wonderful day!

Calliope