Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me...unfortunately

I really shouldn't be writing - have a huge assignment due in on Monday but couldn't help myself. The next update shouldn't be coming until after Dec 21 (my last exam) so I hope you all enjoy this and thanks so much for all your enouragement and suggestions! Keeps me going...

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Chapter 2

Hermione followed the tall, imperious figure as it strode down the empty corridors. His strides were long and she had to hurry in order to keep up with him. The two travelled in silence for the entire journey, the thick atmosphere punctuated by the sharp sounds of their combined footsteps echoing through the musty air.

She glared at his back, currently absent of the requisite school robes. He was long-limbed and graceful, his movements exuding an air of confidence combined with an impenetrable aura of detachment. The candle-lit scones on the wall burnished the smooth waves of black hair with copper. He looked nothing like the nightmarish creature she had seen across the field. This Voldemort was startlingly attractive. Almost blatantly so.

Well, they always said that evil takes the form of beauty. I suppose that makes it easier to seduce dim-witted people into worshipping it.

"This is the entrance. The password is Sherbert Lemon."

Another one of Dumbledore's choices, no doubt. A snort of laughter escaped her before she could hold it back. The sound seemed to stop the boy, who had immediately turned to leave after his terse explanation. Sharp black eyes met hers briefly.

The effect was astounding. Hermione found herself staring back into inky pools frosted over with a veneer of ice. Suddenly, the description of 'hard eyes' took on an entirely new meaning for her. She felt like her head had been rammed into a wall and was being slowly crushed into pieces. It was almost as though her mind could not process the information to her lungs to get her to breathe. Her jaw clenched.

At the movement, his eyes narrowed imperceptibly and he walked away without another word.

Hermione stood there for a long moment after he had left, absently staring at the painting of a caged bird blocking the entrance to the Head dorms. The small golden bird chirped at her, fluttering futilely around in its small metal home. She had never liked keeping animals caged; that was why she had always insisted on letting Crookshanks wander about freely, despite Ron's incessant complaints. But now, looking at the little creature, she wondered if she had been wrong. True, the cage was a prison but if it kept things in, that also meant it kept things out. A tiny frown creased her brow. It was strange how something that appeared to constrain could also be a method of protection.

"Sherbert Lemon."

The painting swung open and Hermione stepped over the high threshold to enter a vast, dimly-lit common room. It was sumptuously decorated; the stone walls draped with swaths of gold and green velvet, the plush carpet and large, overstuffed sofas much the same. A crackling fire was dancing in the large fireplace between twin mahogany bookcases and she marveled at the wide central staircase that split to lead up to their separate bedchambers.

At that thought, a tiny frisson of fear crept into her mind. She would have to spend every night, most of her time really, sequestered in here with Voldemort. What was to stop him from Avada Kadavering her sorry ass whenever he felt like it? The rational part of her reminded her that it was highly unlikely for him to do that right under Dumbledore's nose but reality of the situation was finally sinking in and Hermione could not shake off the unfurling panic.

Her hurried footsteps were muffled as she ran up the stairs, pausing at the junction at the top before hazarding a turn to the left up towards a portrait of a young shepherd girl. Blinking uncertainly, she muttered her name and was relieved when the portrait opened to allow her to jump through. Sliding down the wall, she leaned her head against her knees, sucking in deep breaths while willing her body to calm down. Fortunately, there did not seem to be any food left in her system to heave up and it was merely a matter of time before Hermione was able to steady herself enough to take note of her surroundings.

Like the common room, her bed chamber was also lavishly upholstered in warm tones of crimson and muted gold. Gryffindor colours. The thought pleased her and she made her way over to the large, four-poster bed. Running her fingers over the heavy crimson cover, she noticed a neat bundle of clothes sitting on the wing chair next to the window. Several crisp pieces of parchment lay on top and Hermione read it curiously.

Dear Miss Granger

In light of your specific circumstances, I took the liberty of arranging to supply you with the uniform and stationary requirements. Please check off the subjects you wish to attend on the accompanying note and the necessary textbooks will be made available to you.

Dinner will be sent to your room shortly. Have a good night and welcome again to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1943.

Yours faithfully,

A. Dumbledore

Hermione chuckled at his teasing mention of the date and looked over the second sheet. It would probably be best if she spent as much time as possible with Voldemort. The idea unnerved her but that was her mission. Carefully picking the subjects she thought a Slytherin would most likely choose, she then gathered up the thoughtfully-provided set of pyjamas and wandered through a side-door in hopes of finding a bathroom.

The adrenaline that had been pulsing through her since the start of the battle was beginning to recede and her body ached from the various bruises and scrapes she had not managed to heal yet. Glancing briefly around the marble splendor that surpassed even the Prefect's washroom, Hermione turned on a number of different taps lining the edge of the clam-shaped bath and quickly stripped off her ragged robes. Lowering herself carefully into the steaming water, she sighed dreamily as the heady scent of roses filled the candle-lit room with smoky pink spirals.

Idly soaping off several days worth of grime, Hermione sifted through the images that had filled her head upon seeing Voldemort with a sense of trepidation. She had wanted to put it off for as long as possible - she really did not want to picture herself with Voldemort in any way, shape or form that did not include her standing over his dead body. Steeling herself, Hermione focused on the new memories.

A tall black-haired boy was smiling down at her. She could hear herself laughing and although the light curve of his lips did not stretch any wider, Hermione knew that he was laughing along with her.

"Come on, Tom! Hurry up!"

She was tugging at his hand when she suddenly found herself swept up in a pair of strong arms and whirled around in the air. Brushing the long curls away from her face, the boy cupped her cheek, his hand cool and gentle.

"Hermione, I..."

Blank.

Hermione blinked, startled. There did not seem to be anything more. Frowning, she searched deeper in her mind but the crowd of images seemed to be slipping away as rapidly as they had entered.

"No...what..."

Lifting herself out of the bath, she hastily wrapped a towel around her damp body and hurried back into her room. Hermione grabbed a quill and began scrawling down as many memories as she could. However, it soon became apparent that there was not much left to record. In fact, the only clear images she had were the brooch she had seen on Voldemort's cloak and the oddly evocative taste of cider in her mouth. Plopping into the chair, the girl scowled at nobody in particular. This was so frustrating! She needed those memories if she wanted to prepare herself for her time here!

Changing into her pyjamas, Hermione sat down on the cushioned ledge under the window, wondering at what had just happened. The promised dinner had arrived and she chewed pensively on a piece of chicken. It was possible that her return to the past had something to do it. Technically, time reversal was the same as rewinding what had happened so it made sense that old memories would be wiped clean in order to allow her to replace them with new ones.

Wait...does this mean I'm going to forget my family and Harry and them?

To her utmost relief however, all of those memories were intact. This revelation was intriguing; did it mean that there was no need for them to be replaced? That would indicate that her time in the past was limited.

Thank goodness for that. At least I won't be stuck here forever.

The night was clear and welcoming, a proud display of never-ending indigo dispersed with sparkling lights. The fanciful thought struck her that, fifty years later, she would be here once again, sharing the same sky with Harry and Ron; it was awe-inspiring yet gut-wrenchingly nostalgic at the same time. Those carefree days of naivety seemed like eons ago yet, according to the present, they had not even occurred. A small, self-deprecating smirk curved her lip; wandering down memory lane while cloaked in melancholy never did anyone any good. She had a mission. She needed to reconcile the current Tom Riddle with the Dark Lord of his future. She needed to get as much leverage on his personality and thoughts as possible.

"Well, I know you hate Harry. And Dumbledore. And the Ministry. Right, you pretty much hate everyone…well done."

Talking to herself was an old habit of hers, one that she had constantly been teased about by Ginny in particular. Hermione did not mind; it helped sort things out in her head.

"And you like…power. And torturing Muggles. Causing pain in general, I suppose."

She wondered why though. The Order had often discussed this topic, trying to discover some specific reason for Voldemort's actions that they might have been able to exploit. Unfortunately, the most they had been able to decisively figure out was that his hatred of Muggles was due to his father. Everything else had never amounted to more than speculation.

However, at least one little Voldemort fact was well-established: his ultimate goal was immortality. The crucial question was: why?

"I've waited so long…I searched for you! Everywhere!"

The hoarse cries he had thrown at her during the final battle, the situation that had started this whole ordeal, came rushing to the surface. He had loved her. So much so that when she had apparently 'left him,' he had cared enough to want her back.

The shaky bridge between these facts struck her like a wayward Bludger. He had wanted immortality…so he could continue his search for her indefinitely. She was the reason for his frantic delve into the Dark Arts. The reason for his undergoing such horrific, gruesome physical changes.

She was the reason he was willing to continue living a tormented half-existence.

Hermione shuddered involuntarily, tugging her robe around her more securely. The thought was disturbing, and in more ways than one. The mere suggestion that someone like Voldemort could ever love another living creature other than himself was shocking enough but the fact that it was her, plain old Hermione Granger who represented everything he was supposed to despise, was terrifying. What exactly had gone on between them? Had she encouraged him? And did this mean that everything that ever happened, that would ever happen, was her fault?

This was something she definitely needed to sleep on. Slipping off the ledge, she slowly trudged back to the beckoning comfort of the bed. Regardless, this little inner chat had just clarified her mission quite a bit. In fact, the whole thing was beginning to look frightfully simple. It all boiled down to one obvious conclusion.

She had to make him hate her.

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A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed that...I know there isn't much of Tom in it, but I want to build this up slowly and put everything into perspective with this chapter. BTW, if anyone here knows why and how to stop words from sticking together whenever I click on the 'save changes' button, please tell me - it's so annoying!

Also, all responses to reviews will be sent via that review response thing instead of on my profile page. That thing is awesome...