A/N: Sorry this took so long everyone. With holidays and Winter Quarter of college starting, it was hard to actually sit down and be able to write. So here's the thanks before we get into the chapter. Thanks to: Gueneviere, xflint, libaka, Silver Tears 11, KoolAidNightmare, SoMe wEirDo, nehimasgift, ellamalfoy8, marauder'sbabe, Lolaleddir, Chocolatecoveredespressobean, xXxTom4everxXx, LandUnderWave, The daughter of Slytherin, karine.snake, Charming-Lynn, and Vera-Sabe for all her help. Now onward to the chapter...

Chapter 31 – Confession Time

"Sit down," the King muttered, pointing to the chair that Hermione had previously occupied. She now stood by the nightstand instead with her arms folded over her chest, and her eyes looking anywhere in the room but on Tom and the King. "My daughter has just voiced her doubts on marriage. She says that she's not sure that she and you are ready for that level of relationship." An instant fire burst in Riddle that made his chest rip with pain. His forehead began to bead with sweat, and the collar of the uniform was beginning to feel entirely too tight. It was like his neck was swelling due to the newly formed dryness of his throat and mouth.

"Not ready for marriage?" the young, ebony haired man repeated. "Why would you say that?" he asked, turning in his seat to face her.

"Let's face it and not try to deny the fact that we really don't have a connection," she spoke up stiffly. "I've confessed to my father the worries of how we would be unfit to run the country together. We wouldn't do well because we'd constantly be trying to keep our marriage together and not be able to concentrate on what's best for the people."

"But who will you marry?" he quizzed, feeling the tearing, searing pain in his chest again. "Don't... don't you love me like you said?" He had let it slip. Not the words, but the sincerity of it. His tone had dripped with it almost; his voice sounding faltered even. Not to mention the fact that his face was uncontrollable at the moment. His expression was betraying him as well; he looked frantic and worried. "Why didn't you talk this over with me first to see if we could work it out?" he continued to plead as he rose from his seat with his hands held out before him as though he were holding an imaginary box.

"I thought we already had," she droned; her emotions were on lock down. It appeared that the two of them had traded places.

"But you can't just cancel this," Tom argued with wild concern. "What about all the plans that have been set to motion? The people who know and have wished us the best. What will they think of you as a princess if you change your mind?"

"When they find out that I'm doing it for the good of my country, they'll understand and think of me as the best princess turned queen to ever grace the throne."

"What about... what about my... my," he was having trouble saying it. She had him cornered feeling hopeless, helpless, trapped, and weak. He had never felt like this, and he wasn't sure when it had started either. Wasn't it he earlier that very same day that had had her feeling like the underling?

"What about your what?" she prompted, still as uncaring as ever.

"What about me and my feelings? Don't... don't I get a say in this as the guy who's to marry you?" he frowned deeply.

"What about your feelings? I never even knew you had any," Hermione spoke venomously, forgetting for a second that the King was there.

"Should the two of you go elsewhere and discuss this before a final decision is made on it?" his majesty interrupted.

"No," she replied quickly just as Tom spoke up the opposite.

"Yes, we should," he spoke over her. "You need some rest, and a moment to think this over by yourself before we talk about this."

"I've had both quite recently, and we did that earlier today in the library. Or do I need to remind you of that?" she grumbled vehemently.

For the third time that night, he felt it. The scraping, stabbing, and sweltering pain that exploded through his chest. What was this? And was the voice that kept taunting him earlier in Baltor's shop telling the truth? Did he really not know what love was? Could he not recognize it in himself or anyone else? No, the voice was wrong. He figured it out now. The pain was his heart breaking. It would seem to the shattered pump of life in his body that he had been deceived by her. Tricked into thinking that she loved him, and as she stood here before him now denying it all, he felt used, beaten, and hurt. 'No!' his mind screamed. 'She did love you once... it's still in her. That's why she's acting this way. Make her realize it again. Tell her that you love her!'

"I need to speak with you privately before you give your final say on this," Riddle begged.

"In private? Why in private? Are you afraid to say something in the presence of others?" she snapped. He looked to the King who looked as though he wanted to tell Hermione to be a bit nicer, but he remained unspoken as he coughed a bit.

"I just don't want to upset your father anymore than we already have with this useless nonsens-"

"Useless nonsense? Is that what this is?" she roared.

"Please stay calm and just work with me on this," he tried.

"Stay calm?" she snipped, his words only seeming to frustrate her more and more. "All right, I'll work with you, but I won't be calm. You have five minutes to change my mind and try to persuade me," she growled, stalking to the door once she was finished. He looked to the King who sighed, shaking his head in a grievous fashion before trying to clear his throat. Figuring it best he go after her, Tom turned and left the room. He looked up and down the hall, spotting her standing outside an empty room, awaiting him. Moving swiftly, he followed her into the space, shutting the door as she whipped around to face him, not looking pleased at all.

"What are you doing?" he demanded in a panicked tone.

"I should be the one asking you that!" she yelled. "You're the one who didn't want to marry me this morning. You made that very clear. Now you're in the room in front of the King trying to stop me from correcting my horrid mistake? You don't make sense, Tom Riddle! You're a typical boy, and I think that you're only trying to save face in front of that man, so give me one good reason to not put a stop to this madness!" His mouth hung open, unsure if he should say anything and what it should be. Thinking that actions would be stronger than words, he moved closer to her and tried to take her hands in his, but she jerked away. "No! Tell me what you're on about and don't lie to me."

"Hermione-"

"Don't you mean Granger?" she snarled, mocking his angered tone from their previous argument.

"No!" he breathed in tired frustration. "Will you just give me the chance to speak like you said?"

"I don't know why I should. You're just going to lie or not say what you truly mean. In fact, even if you didn't lie, and you spoke the truth, you couldn't change my mind anyways. We're just wasting both our times here," Hermione barked. "So why don't you just go away? I don't want to ever see you again anywa-" He moved forward, his movements too quick for her this time. He pressed one hand to the back of her neck and the other over her mouth to stop her from speaking. She shoved against his chest with all her might, but she was still too weak to push him off.

"Just listen to me!" he pleaded. "I need to tell you something important, so stop it." She slammed a fist against his chest, another against his shoulder, and then her hand pushed against his neck. His eyes began to water as she practically choked him. He moved his own hand from the back of her neck to her hand, pulling it away as he spoke up before she could back away from him. "I love you!" he spat.

"Don't you lie to me!" she bellowed. "It's bad enough that you got me stuck in this forsaken situation in the first place, but don't you lie to me about something like that. I'm not a toy and neither are my feelings and my heart!"

"I'm not toying with you. I'm not playing games. I realized it today when I was away from you. I tried to deny it, but when you did what you did back there with the King, I knew I couldn't deny it anymore because it's true. It's real, and it will eat me alive if you go through with what you're trying to do," he choked out, amazed at the fact that those words had come from his mouth. He didn't know he had something like that resting inside of him.

"You're a liar. I can't trust you," she cried, shaking her head and backing away from him, but she backed into a covered wardrobe.

"I'm not lying to you! Why won't you believe me?" he ranted in a frenzied, hurt way.

She looked into his eyes, prepared to give the answer, but lost all sense of what she had been about to say when she saw the intensity of his dark, powerful orbs. They currently shimmered with a mixture of worry, panic, truth, and love. She turned away, knowing that that look was for her and probably the first one of that kind that he had ever given in his life.

Not wanting to lose her now that he was sure he could win this, he stepped forward and tried to cup her face in his hands, but she tried to sidestep him. Mirroring her movement, he stopped her and managed to capture her face between his hands. Looking at her with more sincerity than he had given anything in his life, he tried to find the words to convey to her just what he was going through. He had told her that he loved her, so what else was there? That was the most powerful phrase anyone could utter. Once more, the notion that actions were stronger than words hit him.

As she gripped his wrists which were still holding her cheeks, he darted forward and pinned her lips against his in a kiss that was everything she needed in that moment. More than some fairytale cliché and more than some cheesy movie climax kiss, this was the kiss. The one that every girl dreams of and only few get to actually experience. A pure, sweet, passionate, and simple kiss with no lies, hidden meanings, or deceiving smirks to follow. This was strictly him showing her that he was being truthful and that he did love her. Merely him kissing her and meaning every heaven-like, fulfilling second of it.

She was so confused though. What was she supposed to do now? His lips were still hanging onto hers as though prising the life from them. Her brain was rendered unreliable because of this, and she could hardly think of how to handle the situation. So she did the only thing she felt she could do: She feverishly returned the kiss. But where would this lead? Could she trust him to not take advantage of her? Was he already doing so? The confusion that engulfed her grew deeper and deeper with each panting breath she gasped for.

Pushing him back, she turned her head away to make him realize they needed to stop. When his hold on her loosened, Hermione looked back to him. Tom saw fear in her eyes, but it wasn't the fear he was used to seeing. This wasn't fright for inevitable death. This was her being scared that he was untrustworthy, that he might hurt her in other ways. In all honesty, the look she gave pained him. How could she not have faith in him after he had just confessed his love for her? His hands slid further from around her waist. Backing up, she severed the touch that was fast dying between them. Neither were sure if clinging back onto the other would fix the distress they were now feeling, or if putting space between them might sort it out. So Hermione decided for them both. She walked slowly around him, and he instantly changed his mind when she disappeared from his sight.

Reaching out for her hand, he tried to keep her there, but she dodged him and ran from the room. Everything that happened was just too much to process. Feeling shaken and alone, Riddle could no longer stand the silence of the room. He, too, left for his own separate space. As he walked in a daze down the hall, he wondered if it was all in vain. Was it too late for him to have professed what he was feeling for her? Had her feelings like that for him – if she had ever had any – left her? Was there still a chance that they might be together now that he determined the right in it all?

Entering his bedroom, he closed the door and leaned against it. He hit his head on the wood, trying to rearrange the thoughts that swarmed and massed to create such a perplexing mental blockage. If only he knew that Hermione was across the castle doing something of the same. She, however, was staring out the window; her forehead was banging lightly on the crude, distorted pane of glass. Stopping, she turned and headed for the wardrobe to change. Crawling into bed after dressing, she rolled onto her side and huffed. She needed just a little bit of sleep. Yawning, she closed her eyes and willed her brain to stop the madness that was swirling inside her head. Back in Tom's room, he was doing the total opposite. He had given up on trying to clear his head. Instead, he was working over his feelings for her as he recalled with longing the kiss he had just bestowed upon her.

"Good day, Miss Granger," McGonagall spoke as she nodded and walked past Hermione in the corridor. "Don't forget about the prefect meeting tonight."

Hermione nodded and continued on her way down the hall. She entered the library, but walked no further than the inside of the doorway. Her eyes scanned the tables and stacks of books where students studied, but she couldn't find what she was looking for. Leaving, she headed for Gryffindor common room. She was almost to the portrait of the Fat Lady when Ron appeared before her. He smiled and reached out to caress her cheek.

"I've been looking for you, Hermione. I just wanted to tell you that I love you," he beamed. Her heart fluttered, her cheeks went pink, and her face grew warmer.

"I love you, too, Tom."

The look on Ron's face was confused. He looked from her to something behind her. She turned, following his gaze to someone who was standing with their back to them. Grabbing their arm and turning them to face her, she found that it was Harry. Shaking her head, she backed away from him as he tried to grab her hand. Spinning back around, she faced Ron again who looked crushed. She wanted to say sorry, but something in her kept her from doing that. Bowing her head, she turned from him. Looking back up, her eyes landed on the windows of the corridor where a bright, white light blocked the outside world from view. Before them was a tall, dark haired boy though. He was wearing a uniform, but not one from Hogwarts. The red, heavy, denim-like coat and white pants were familiar to her. She approached him slowly as he turned to face her. Her face lit up with a smile as Tom's dark, entrancing eyes stared down at her.

"Hermione," Ron spoke from behind her, his voice filled with an echoing quality. But she didn't care to turn and look at the red head as her arms draped around Tom's neck, a dreamy smirk on both their faces. Their lips drew closer, almost touching in a kiss as she shut her eyes.

Hermione's eyes opened. She was hugging her pillow, and Riddle wasn't in her arms. She sat up slowly, rubbing her face with her hands. She wasn't in a Hogwarts corridor, but instead, she was in her bed in the Duchess and Duke's castle. Getting off of the mattress and mounds of blankets and pillows, she encased herself in a robe-like dressing gown as she crossed the room to the window. The moon was high in the sky, bright and white. She looked back over her shoulder to the bed knowing she had not been asleep that long; probably no more than two or three hours at the most. She wouldn't go back to sleep either, at least not until she got to talk to Tom. Turning from the window, she approached the door and paused, thinking. She could wait until the morning. Staring at her hand on the handle, she felt confident that she shouldn't.

Leaving the room, she was overcome with anticipation and giddiness. Her heart raced as she let her feet carry her swiftly down the corridor. It would seem that what Riddle had confessed earlier that night had just now unfolded its meaning upon her. Coming to his door, she was going to knock, but paused with her knuckles merely inches from the wood. Deciding better of it, she twisted the handle soundlessly and peered into the room. All was dark except the wane light of a candle which was sputtering as it was about to die, and the pale silver light of the moon. She approached his bed, her bare feet making no noise on the floor. Wax spurted from the tray as the flame flickered. She blew out the light and sat down gently on the bed.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the natural light that was filtering into the window. When they did, however, she saw his sleeping figure cast in shadow and looking peaceful. She wanted to share in that relaxed peace. She removed her robe and crawled up next to him before laying down. Her head rested on his arm as his breath tickled her forehead. Unable to hold back the urge, she reached out and brushed back a lock of onyx hair from his brow. His eyes flicked back and forth below the lids, aware of her touch. His brow grew deep furrows as his hand reached up to his face, touching her soft, delicate fingers. Tom opened his eyes part way, looking confusedly at her hand which was lacing her fingers in his own. She smiled sweetly and brushed her lips across his knuckles, leaving the tingling sensation of her breath on his skin.

"What are you doing?" he murmured groggily.

"Picking up where we left off," she whispered, caressing his cheek with her lips. He tried to fight grinning, but only half succeed. The corner of his mouth curved upward, moving his cheek against her mouth. She pulled back and searched his face for any other sign of what he was thinking about. Hermione didn't need to search long though because he kissed her forehead and then spoke.

"Why did you tell the King that you wanted to call the wedding off?"

"I was afraid," she murmured. "I knew you were unhappy about it, and I figured that calling it off would be the best thing."

"But now he's going to think something is wrong between us," Riddle administered. "He might not want me around you anymore after this."

"Then what do we do?"

"Go up in the morning and tell him that we're going to stick with the plan; tell him that the wedding is still going to happen, and it was a mere doubt of the moment along with a small row that made us think it wasn't a good idea."

"But is it?"

"I don't know... I can't say for certain," he mumbled, his voice as truthful as hers was innocent.

"Do you want to though?" she quizzed. He paused for a moment, seemingly thinking things through. Leaning forward, he rested his chin against her jaw, his breath dancing across her ear and warming it. Closing her eyes, she waited to hear him say something.

"I wouldn't have insisted on it like I did if I didn't want to go through with this. Like I've already told you... I feel deeply for you," he informed, his voice a little more than a deep, lustful whisper. Something stirred in her. An odd feeling that she wasn't sure of. It started in her chest and traveled to her lower abdomen, warming her body. She shivered despite the heat, and he rubbed his hand up and down her arm. It had started out as an attempt to warm her, but diminished to him merely registering the feel of her silky, cream-colored skin beneath his almost rough fingertips. She buried her face in his neck and shoulder, drawing a guttural sort of grunt from him.

Tom wrapped his arms around her waist and rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. Maneuvering herself so that her weight was rested upon her knees and elbows, she looked down at him, her stomach barely touching his as they breathed. Looking up at her, he placed an arm around her neck and pulled her hair to one side. It hung down just long enough to tickle his cheek with the ends. He enfolded his fingers within the hair on the back of her head and pulled her towards him, his mouth reaching up to her own. She felt lost in the kiss, her hands running up his chest and gripping his shoulders. She might have been afraid of what was taking place during that time, but she wasn't; she knew she could trust him to not take it too far.

His eyes willed themselves to remain shut, his face scrunching as he closed them as tight as they would go, but it was no use; he was consciously awake now. Pulling the covers over his head, he tried to fool himself into thinking it was still night, but the pale light in the room still radiated through the blanket. Tom sighed and rolled over, his face coming extremely close to Hermione's. Their noses were centimeters from touching, and he could see the sleep in the corners of her eyes. He reached up and brushed the dust like stuff from her lashes, longing to kiss her as she lay there looking innocent and angelic. Deciding that he should let her sleep, he rose slowly from the bed, careful not to stir too much. After tucking the covers up around her, he began searching for a clean shirt.

Digging through his trunk, he pulled out a white, long-sleeved undershirt. He hoped it was one he hadn't already wore, but his sense of smell told him otherwise when he went to pull it over his head. Tossing that one aside, he rummaged to the bottom of the trunk and found one that was folded and surely clean. Putting it on, he grabbed his jacket and slid his arms into it, starting to do up the buttons. He was halfway through the row of round, gold toggles when he heard her moving. He stopped, watching her rouse around. She opened her eyes and ran her hand across the spot where he had been laying. Her face registered bewilderment as she stared for a moment before sitting up and looking around for him. When her eyes fell upon him, he chuckled and greeted her.

"Good morning," he said, looking from her to the window where things were cast in a misty, light bluish gray haze as the sky turned a pale, pinkish white from the rising sun.

"It's still early. Why are you up anyways? Come back to bed," she commanded groggily, but still in a sweet, wanting manner.

"It might be early, but I can't sleep any longer," he informed, coming over to sit on the bed. He continued to fasten his shirt, missing a button and causing the collar to go crooked. She laughed and crawled towards him, correcting his mistake.

"C'mon, then," she sighed, climbing over his lap to get out of bed. "Let's go talk to the King."

"Don't you think you should change first?" he pointed out, looking amused. "What would he think if we showed up, and you were still in your nightgown?"

"Very well," she shrugged, grabbing his hand as he grabbed his boots and socks.

They meandered through the corridor, hand-in-hand, both barefoot, and taking their time as they didn't expect the King to be awake yet. Riddle waited outside her room, putting on his socks and shoes as he waited on her to change. While he did so, he noticed Porthos coming down the corridor with a sinister little smirk on his face that screamed he felt superior to everyone. The blond cocked his brow and turned up his nose while passing Tom, who glared and felt the urge to curse the little pest, but he only got to stand up when the door to Hermione's room opened, and she emerged, dressed and ready.

"Let's... wait... what's he doing?" she asked as she spotted Porthos' retreating back going around the corner.

"Being a smug little git," Riddle growled as he continued to glower after the other male.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Hermione muttered as she looked down the opposite end of the corridor, which was the direction Porthos had come from. It also happened to be the direction they needed to go to get to the King's room. Hermione exchanged a worried look with Tom, and the two set off at a quick pace. Her dress billowed out behind her as they went, both nearly jogging. They entered the King's room to see him still resting. Sighing with relief, she crossed the room and bent forward while she spoke, trying to wake the older man.

"Father... Father, I've got something to tell you. Please wake up. Father?" She looked back at Riddle, who was still standing by the door. He stared at the King, unable to see his chest rising and falling in evidence that his majesty was breathing.

"Hermione," Tom rasped slowly, almost fearfully. "I think he's-"

"Don't say it!" she demanded in fright as she looked her pretend father over. That's when she noticed something. On the opposite side of the King's bed was a rather large, dark spot. She leaned across his legs and touched it, her fingers feeling a wetness. She looked up towards the top of the bed, and as her eyes traversed the covers, she saw a glass laying in the King's limp hand. He had obviously spilled water, but something still wasn't right.

Hermione took the cup from his hand and held it up to the light, examining the rim. There was a filmy, opaque sort of mark all the way around the small vessel's upper edge. She looked to the elderly gentleman and saw his lips had a flaky, white covering on them. Moving closer, she looked harder at his mouth. There most definitely was something there on his chapped, dry lips. Looking back to the glass, she saw a spot wiped clear from the diaphanous substance. The spot was in the shape of someone's bottom lip.

"He's been poisoned," Hermione gasped, dropping the cup from her hand. It shattered upon the floor as she frantically wiped her hands on her dress to remove whatever she was afraid was on them. Her eyes darted, wide and worried, to Tom who had crouched and picked up one of the broken pieces, examining the strange smudging.

"Then I was right? He's... dead?" Riddle questioned uncertainly and with some concern.