A/N: Okay, sorry about the delay. I had wanted to have this done on Christmas Eve and ended up not beind able to. I thought then that I would have it done for Christmas, but got caught up with family, so I didn't get to get to the computer. The day after Christmas, I was still with family before I cleaned up the house, so again, I didn't get to the computer. I just now finished the chapter, and it's a little longer than usual. I hope everyone had (or is having) a great holiday and that they got (or will get) everything that they wanted. Now on to the thank you's.

Thanks to: the. dead. addict., xflint, Skavnema, Charming-Lynn, LandUnderWave, Gueneviere (I might have asked you this before, I can't remember, but do you have an account on Lusoris?), Autumn's-Smile, KoolAidNightmare, The daughter of Slytherin, o0Dreamer0o, Silver Tears 11, ellamalfoy8, Lolaleddir, .o0Aurelie0o., marauder'sbabe, fizznsoot, SoMe wEirDo, libaka, and Vera Sabe (you save me from writer's block and big fan fiction mistakes, lol).

Now on with the show...

Chapter 30 – Realization of the Worst Kind

With his hands in his hair, Tom stood in the corridor, ready to yank on the black locks he was gripping. His frustration was incomparable to anything he had felt before, and things weren't looking good for Hermione, who he currently could not find. Letting out a grunt of irritation, he stamped his foot and set off towards the library. On the way there, he passed the Duchess's room and was quite happy that he did; from inside came the voices of Hermione and their host.

"I think you've made a fine choice, darling," Rodmilla soothed.

Tom peeked in through the crack in the door to see the two women sitting at a vanity while Hermione looked somewhat worse for the wear. Her hair seemed to have a mind of its own at the moment, sticking up here and there in a haphazard way. Her face was pale and, from what he could see, there were the faintest hint of rings around her eyes, but he didn't care. He hoped that she was losing sleep over this; she had just made things a whole lot harder on them.

"I just don't know now if what I did was right," Hermione mumbled, her voice sounding broken.

"You'll be fine, Ana," the older woman cooed. "Why, when my cousin Marianna found out that she had to marry, she was sure it would take her forever to find someone. Well, her father, after three months of waiting, told her either she picked someone by the next week, or he was putting her in an arranged marriage with a Spanish lord. Afraid of a wrecked life if that was to happen, Marianna announced that she and her best friend, Leonardo, were to marry... My, my, she thought she made a worse decision after two weeks into the marriage, but a year later, she had twin daughters and said it was the best choice of her life."

"And you think I'll turn out like that?" Hermione questioned incredulously. "You don't know Aramis like I do. I bet he's furious right now... if he's already found out."

'Damn right I'm furious.' He leaned closer, listening more intently.

"Oh, nonsense. What respectable, right-minded man would be angry with you for saying that you chose them for marriage?" the Duchess pointed out. "I'm sure he's happy. Maybe a little surprised, but happy. Remember what I once said to you? I see the love between the two of you, and it's a strong one, so you did right in picking him; hold onto him. I say, it's better than that other young lad... Protha... whatever his name is. He's too arrogant and bossy; too irresponsible and unfit for the throne. Aramis will make a great king to rule beside you."

'Oh, if you only knew what he's really like!' Hermione thought to herself. 'Why, if you could see what he turns into in 1997, you would drop off that chair dead... Wait! What am I saying?' she suddenly wondered. 'I'm the one who picked him! I know what he could be like running a country... what was I thinking? What's wrong with me?'

"I think I need some time alone to think to myself," the younger woman sighed, feeling a bit sick as she analyzed what she had gotten herself into.

"Very well, dear. You should get some rest, too; you look awfully worn down, and that's not good for you. You must be rested and feeling energetic for your wedding, and the plans for it as well." The more youthful of the two nodded while removing herself from the room. As she started to walk down the corridor, she raised her eyes from her feet and was startled by the sight of Tom, who was leaning against a sculpture looking rather displeased.

"Now I know you're probably irate, but let me expla-"

"Irate?" he repeated with a strange, almost scary grin crossing his features as his eyes lit up with a maniacal glint. "Irate doesn't even begin to cover it," he continued, starting toward her.

"I said just let me explain," Hermione blurted frantically, backing away from him. "Tom, stop. Stop. Tom. Stop!" He wouldn't listen though; he kept advancing. Hermione almost tripped on her own feet as she turned tail and ran. She skirted into the nearest room she could get to which happened to be the library. Running for the back shelves, she tried to hide herself, but the sound of her heavy breathing and manic heartbeat would surely give her away.

"Where are you?" Riddle demanded, storming into the library and looking high and low as he went up and down the rows. She made to leave the room, but knocked a book from a stack on a table and caught his attention. He came around the shelf, the same malice glowing in his eyes. "What were you thinking?" he asked. His tone seemed weird, almost frighteningly amazed. Had he cracked?

"I had to pick someone in case the King didn't make it," she muttered.

"Why so soon?"

"You've seen the man; he's not getting any better," she blundered, backing herself further into the corner until her back touched the spines of the books behind her.

"He would have gotten better if you just would have given it time," he argued in a low, but deep voice. He was like a crazed killer stalking his victim. She let out a small whimper when he put his hands on either side of her, trapping her in the corner for sure.

"Just let me explain!" she panicked.

"Go ahead," he growled. "And this had better be good."

"Our plan was potentially problematic," she began, shrinking slightly. "We still need at least a week, and I don't think he'll last that long, so I needed to pick someone before Mardon and Porthos tried to do me in next. I mean, at least with people constantly around us as the new king and queen, we'd be under a safe watch, and I figured that if we ascend the thrown, we can get rid of the two trouble makers so that we can get back to work on our plans of returning to the future."

"Did it ever occur to you, Granger, that those people who are there to protect us from those two buffoons are also going to prevent us from working on those plans?" he grumbled evilly. "Even if we did get rid of those prats, we'd be stuck running a country, unable to work on getting back."

"Yes, but I'm sure we could order them away every now and then, right?" she interjected hopefully.

"I wouldn't know, I've never ruled a country before," he snapped through gritted teeth. The look on her face was part terror, part guilt as he went on. "Did you even really think about this before you went babbling to that imbecile in the bed?"

"I just... I didn't... I thought-"

"That's right, you just... didn't...think," he hissed, his jaw still clenched.

"I'll tell the King that I've changed my mind," Hermione spoke fervently. "I'll tell him that I'm not ready for this, and that we should just postponed the idea of me getting married until he's absolutely sure he's not going to make it."

"He might be an idiot Muggle, but he's not going to fall for that," Tom snarled. "He's got his heart set on seeing you married before he croaks. Not to mention the fact that those annoying maids know so the news has probably spread all over the town with the way they jabber on." Hermione didn't know what to say now. She shifted, trying to show him that she was uncomfortable, but he seemed to not care. He stood glaring down at her, unsure of just what he wanted to do next. Feeling his point of her ignorance proven, he stepped back, but still loomed over her in a dangerous, almost threatening way.

"There's still the chance that even if we get married that he'll live anyways," Hermione uttered. "I mean, look at it this way, what if - once he's healthy again - we went off on a honeymoon and ran away. Then we could be free of them and have all the time and peace we needed to figure out our dilemma." He just stared at her, looking as though he were mulling the idea over in his mind. His eyes narrowed, and she thought it wise to continue explaining this. "It's a terrific plan, now that I think about i-"

"A terrific plan?" Riddle spat. "How is the two of us getting married a terrific plan? You don't know what will happen afterward. If there will even be a honeymoon... you don't know any of that!" Suddenly, someone came around the shelves. They looked in alarm at the figure, seeing that it was only Johnalin.

"Some people like to read and study in peace, you know," he remarked snidely. "How about taking your little lover's quarrel elsewhere."

"And how about you mind your own business, you overblown windbag," Tom retaliated.

"I would watch your tongue," Johnalin snapped. "You might be soon to marry the Princess, but I still rank above you at the moment."

"When I become king you won't," Riddle reminded evilly.

"If you keep an attitude like that, you'll make one sorry excuse for a king."

"Take that back," Hermione interrupted. "You will not speak to my future husband that way."

"You, you silly girl, haven't the faintest idea of how to run a country. Our people can only pray that your father gets better," the tutor sniffed, rounding on her. "You've no idea what you're getting into."

"And you won't have a job if you continue to speak to me in that manner," she warned in perilous fashion with a disgusted look to match.

"You can do nothing; the only one with the power to remove me from my position is the King, and he won't do that just because you fancy the idea of it."

"But I will be king soon, and I will get rid of you," Tom threatened.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, boy, but you aren't king yet, and even if you do become so, you can't remove me. The current king has ordered that I stay on for five years after his daughter takes the throne to help advise her."

"I said nothing about removing you from your so-called rank," Riddle stated in a low, menacing tone. "I said I would get rid of you... so tell me, who's to take your place in the event of your death?" He stared at Johnalin for a moment as the older man stood frozen to the spot with his eyes registering shock. Stepping back, he looked to Hermione, who had an uncaring expression on, although if anyone had gotten close enough, they would have seen worry deep in her eyes. She watched her soon-to-be husband leave while her teacher stood rooted to the spot as she left as well.

Riddle stood in the back of Baltor's shop, sorting potion ingredients and brooding over the day's events. He was still slightly angry with Hermione, though the point she had proven before Johnalin had interrupted calmed him slightly. He climbed a small step ladder, looking on the topmost shelf of Baltor's storage cabinet while he assured himself he was still furious over the fact that she would do such a thing as engage him to her behind his back without so much as a hint she was doing it. Reaching into the back of the cupboard, Tom thought he had all the small jars, bottles, and vials, but his fingers touched the dusty glass of one he missed. Pulling it out, he felt his irritation from earlier happenings ebb away. In his hand was an ingredient that he and Hermione had needed to wait to get from the apothecary in Bluffshire. Uncorking the dark green bottle, he looked inside and frowned. There wasn't enough to make a full recipe of the Invigoration Draught.

Sighing, Tom set it aside with the ingredients for that potion; even if he couldn't make a full one, he could at least make half. As he used his wand to ignite the fire on the burner below the cauldron, his thoughts floated to the King. Would he make it? Had Hermione really been so insightful to see that the man would die while they tried to get his remedies? 'No. She's wrong. Wrong to put me in a marriage that she assumes I'm all right with. Whatever gave her that notion anyways?'

Beginning to chop up ingredients, he mulled over the idea of how Hermione could even think for one second that he would want to marry her. 'You have been slightly intimate with her, you know,' a voice spoke to him in the back of his mind. As if on cue, memories of waking up next to her came to him. The kisses that he had shared with her came rolling back like a film wheel being projected onto a screen. His body heated and something stirred in his chest as he tried to push away those unwanted scenes. Figuring that he should focus on his work, Riddle tried to concentrate on making precise cuts and make all the pieces the same tiny, cubic size, but it was as if his brain was working against him when the annoying tone from moments ago spoke up again. 'You lead her on... it's your fault things are like they are right now. You shouldn't toy with her heart. You know nothing about love, and you wouldn't recognize it in anyone or yourself even if it punched you square in the jaw.'

"I know what love is," Tom growled, dumping the newly chopped component of the potion into the cauldron with a little more force than needed, which almost sent the cutting board in with it. "She might think she's in love with me, but I don't love her. I know it... I just know. I'm wise enough to see things like that."

'Admit it, then. Admit that if she loves you, you'd except it!' the voice taunted, baiting him into saying something he knew was foolish because he thought it untrue.

"I will not say I love her, too, if that's what you want," Riddle humphed, grabbing a bottle of liquid and pouring it viciously into the steaming cauldron, making it splash up the curved sides of the black pot.

"No, that's not what I want," Baltor spoke up from the doorway to the front of the shop. Tom whipped around to face him, looking shocked if anything and almost dropping the bottle in his hand.

"How long have you been there?" the younger of the two demanded, slamming the large vial down and nearly breaking it again.

"Only long enough to hear you denying that you love that young girl who's always with you," the shop keeper replied.

"I don't love her."

"I never said you did or didn't," Baltor pointed out as he leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You said I was 'denying' and when someone says denying, it usually implies that they're refusing to accept a truth, and it's not true that I love her," Tom retaliated.

"Isn't it?"

"Of course it is," Riddle blurted. "Not," he added quickly, realizing what he had said. "It is not." Baltor said nothing after that, only shook his head as he left the doorway with a knowing expression on his face and looking as though he thought Tom arrogant and obliviously stubborn. "I don't," Riddle huffed through gritted teeth to the moving curtain, which the shopkeeper had just disappeared behind. Even though he had seemingly proved his point, Tom could still hear the voice in his head calling to him. 'Yes, you do!'

Hermione pushed open one of the heavy front doors of the castle. She descended the few stairs there were to the the gravel driveway, moving as though she were a swan on water. Her movements were fluid and graceful from her feet to her shoulders. She would have looked quite regal if it weren't for her tired eyes, beaten expression, frazzle hair, and defeated bow of her head.

Heading for the back of the castle, Hermione saw a group of three men crouched on the ground. One was wearing old riding gloves and picking up something diminutive, a look of utter disgusted sadness on his face. Another was holding a tan, burlap sack in his similarly gloved hands as the first threw whatever he was removing from the ground into the bag. The last was using a crude wooden dust pan and worn, frayed hand broom to try and sweep up smaller debris from the gravel walkway. As Hermione got closer, she saw that the first man was picking up sparrows and other species of birds. All were dead and rigid as they lay beside half eaten bread heels and piece of vegetables from a soup mixture. She turned her head, looking away and feeling slightly sickened by the sight. She wished now that she had disposed of the food in another manner rather than throwing it out the window, but at least it confirmed the belief she had that Porthos was out to poison the King.

Coming to the stretch of garden that was behind the castle, Hermione breathed deep and inhaled the refreshing smell of blossoms and crisp air. She wandered down the pathway into the center of the garden where a wishing well sat framed by four benches. Taking a seat on one, she folded her hands in her lap and watched two bees buzz from one flower to the next. She was like a soulless zombie. Her breathing was soft, almost nonexistent, and her eyes were sparkling but blank and lifeless. Her face held a solemn expression, but it was hard to read whether it was a reserved and sincere gesture or one of gravity. She was staring at the ground, unaware of things around her as she contemplated her actions as of late. 'I never should have been so naïve. How could I have thought that that was a good idea?' she chastised herself.

She had determined the dire consequences of her decision after leaving the library earlier. It had hit her once Tom so pointedly showed her the errors in her ways. Not only was she putting more stress into the situation by bringing them into the limelight for their upcoming marriage, but she also didn't realize that having him as a king might be dangerous. He hated Muggles and surely he would destroy the very kingdom they were to inherit in hopes of gaining an advantage for his later dark plans. How could she have lost sight of something so important? How could she have put the future wizarding Dark Lord in the line of succession for ruling on a throne? Groaning, Hermione tried to push the thoughts from her mind. She was trying to convince herself that he had changed and that he wouldn't revert back to his evil ways. Hadn't she done something to make him different? The truth was that she couldn't be entirely sure. There were, of course, the facts that when she had met him, he was nothing more than a ruthless, cold-blooded, murdering madman, but he seemed somewhat diverse now. Right?

'Yes... yes, he is.' She fought herself; optimistic against pessimistic. Surely she had changed him; even if only a little for the better. Hermione had taken that heartless young man and showed him kindness, friendship, and even the tiniest bit of love. It was in all those moments that she had slept beside him, kissed him, and even cared for his well-being. She was positive now that she had made a change, but the question now was: Would he remain an altered man if and when they got back to their rightful times?

Biting the inside of her lip, she pondered the idea of letting him return to their times. She couldn't very well leave him here; the results would be positively disastrous. But if he went back to his own time, the 1940's, he would surely still become the Dark Lord without her there to monitor him. Yet if he went back to 1997 with her, could she trust him not to turn on her and cause damage like the kind that was originally intended by himself and Voldemort? All the questions were giving her a headache. They seemed to be infinite, and no matter what she decided or chose, another question or doubt popped up in her plan. However, one that she still hadn't answered properly was the question as to why she had chose to tell the King she would marry Tom in the first place.

Hermione had argued and debated with herself since announcing her choice that it had been for the simple fact she needed to pick someone before the wounded and sickly elder died, or else there would be trouble. Then she had tested the notion that it was because she had gotten scared and went on impulse, but she knew she was only lying to herself. She never went with impulses when she was alone and able to talk it over with herself, so there was only one explanation left.

"Let's not get carried away, Hermione," she told herself in a firm tone. "That's not why you picked him. It was definitely the first idea I came up with; I needed to pick someone before the King passed." But her self-assurance was useless, especially when she couldn't stop thinking about him. She just needed to face it; there were facts of the situation all around her. For one, the way she now depended on him as a support for when she needed to cry, be held, or just needed friendly encouragement that things would be okay. Another concrete reality was that it drove her absolutely crazy to not know where he was, how he was, and what he was up to. As it stood at that moment, her walk to the garden had started not because she needed to think about all the questions that kept nagging her, but because she needed the fresh air to relax her in his absence.

'It's useless denying. You know it is.'

"Yes, I know," she sighed to herself. "But the trouble is knowing whether or not he feels the same about me." A frown creased her face, and Hermione suddenly felt very weary. Rising from the bench, she headed back into the castle and straight to her room, where she would hopefully get some rest.

When Tom returned to the castle, it was late, but he had three of the four potions he needed to administer to the King; albeit one was only half full in its minuscule bottle. Sighing as he pushed open one of the front doors, he entered feeling worn out, but he continued towards the steps by forcing himself to drag his feet across the floor. His legs felt as though they were made of concrete when it came time to climb the stairs. Standing in the back of Baltor's shop for six hours straight while he brewed potions was no treat; that was for sure. Inwardly overjoyed to have finally made it to the top of the obstacle that was the staircase, he pondered if the King could wait until he had some sleep before Tom gave him his remedies. Considering the condition of the older man from earlier that day, Riddle sighed heavily and continued on his way to deliver the cures.

Knocking gently on the door, he was about to grab the handle and enter when it began to twist; the reflection of the lights on the gold handle staying stationary as the knob itself spun to the left. He looked up and was greeted by the sight of Hermione who narrowed her eyes on him before looking over her shoulder at the King. She bowed her head and stepped outside the door, pulling it part way shut behind herself.

"What are you doing here?" she interrogated, looking up at him with a serious, but drawn visage.

"I've got something for the King," Tom stated simply as he held up a dark brown leather sack whose contents clinked together giving a telltale sign of what it held, or what Hermione thought it should hold. She pulled the door shut even more, just barely leaving a crack as the wood of the door touched the door frame itself.

"What potions have you got and how are we to give it to him?"

"Just never you mind. Leave it to me," he said cockily as he leaned forward, pushing the door open behind her. His face was a mere inch from hers as he looked at her with a confident and assertive expression. It, however, didn't seem to phase her as she stepped aside and let him in. He walked past and into the room, pulling a teardrop-shaped bottle from the leather bag. Its liquid contents were a dark, blood red, though it was much thinner than blood; almost watery. Hermione narrowed her eyes once again and watched Riddle grab a glass from the nightstand as he spoke to the King.

"How are you this evening, your majesty?"

"Just fine, m'boy," the King replied, not sounding at all truthful as he wheezed and struggled against a cough while watching the young man before him pour out some of the red liquid.

"Here you are," he said, handing the newly filled glass over.

"Aramis," Hermione spoke up, crossing the room. "What is that?"

"Wine," he shrugged, pulling two more glasses from the leather pack and pouring some more of the liquid into one.

"Are you off your bloody rocker?" she exclaimed; her face contorted into outraged disbelief.

"No, I-"

"Wine, you say?" the King spoke up. "What's the occasion?"

"Why, our engagement, of course!" Tom answered enthusiastically while grabbing Hermione's hand and placing the glass into it as he put on a sickening smile that he meant to be charming.

Hermione's face, on the other hand, stiffened to an emotionless, unreadable shell. Her eyes were dull, void of their usual luster, and her mouth was thin; not frowning and not smiling. By the way her jaw was set though, it was easy to see she had her teeth clenched like she was biting back a comment. She felt her heart breaking, feeling as though she were being mocked in the cruelest way. She could do nothing but stare at him while the glass in her hand was ready to fall to the floor and shatter if Tom ever removed his own hand from hers. Looking from the speechless King to Hermione, he gave her a slightly bug-eyed look to cue her into playing along. She only looked away as the King sat his glass upon the nightstand and sighed. His breathing still labored and there was a grave look replacing the bewilderment that was once on his face.

"I'm afraid, son, that we need to talk about this," he informed solemnly as he looked up to Hermione who had pulled away from Tom and was sitting her own glass upon the stand.

"What's the matter?" Riddle inquired, his eyes darting suspiciously from Hermione to the King. Suddenly, he realized what was probably about to happen.