Disclaimer: All rights and characters belong to JK Rowling and Warner Bros™. Nothing is mine but the creativity and storyline.

WARNING: Illegal drug preferences and a mature physical scene.


Tom sighed into the eerie silence of the deserted common room. The only sound apart from Tom's shallow breathing was the crackling of the green flames in the fire, and against the stillness of everything else, they bounced off the walls and echoed in his ears as though someone was screaming into them.

He appreciated them to some extent. They interrupted his thoughts.

What the hell was he thinking? This was Granger! The very girl up until today he'd been insanely jealous of. The very girl he'd tried to kill. Twice. And now he found that he was beginning to get a crush on her!

Not cool.

It's not like he hadn't thought of her that way before, though. Of course he had. Any heterosexual man would have by now. She was gorgeous. That was easy to see. The beauty radiated off her from miles away, screaming to be noticed. Forming a glowing halo around her body, which was just every bit as stunning as her face. Her long legs, her slim waist, her curvy hips–

Oh, dear, God!

Damn rancid thoughts GET OUT OF THERE!!!

He closed his eyes in exasperation and let the cool heat from the fire exude with his skin. Hermione wouldn't seem to leave him be, and he groaned in defeat and he collapsed backwards and fell onto the leather sofa, his hands over his face.

Though he didn't have much time to wallow, or let the face of the beautiful woman he was falling for enclose his mind, because an oh-too familiar voice came quietly from behind him.

"Tom?" It whispered. No, not whispered. Sang. It sang to him like a sweet symphony. It was amazing.

And so wrong.

He did not answer, only froze – still as a statue. Maybe if she thought he'd fell asleep she'd leave him be. It seemed like an irritating lifetime before Hermione spoke again.

"Tom." She said again; louder, firmer. He heard her soft footsteps on the tiled floor growing closer, closer. His eyebrows knit in frustration and his nose wrinkled against his clammy fingers. She was finally next to him now, and he felt the sofa sink slightly as she rested on it beside him.

He screamed inside his head. He yelled heavenwards, the crease between his eyes beginning to get painful. He shouted – and begged – to God (if there was one; but at this moment, he highly doubted it was God looking over him now – more like the devil) that she would not touch him. Not even shuffle her position on the sofa. Because he knew the slightest interaction would push him under. Even if she as much so grazed his arm with the tips of his fingers, he would fall. Fall head over heels.

And Tom Riddle did not fall for women.

Especially not know-it-all, irritating, gorgeous, amazing girls like Granger.

Oh, Tom, please. Not now!

She sighed, and the sound was like a million magic wind-chimes blowing in the breeze. He wished for the enchanting sound to utter again, but nothing came but a whisper so low it was barely audible.

"Tom, I know about the Chamber."

She'd said it quickly. As though she'd regret it if she gave up, but also that she'd needed to say it, like it was really very important.

It took him a few moments to process the exact words she'd whispered. He pieced them together – letter by letter, syllable by syllable, word by word until they formed a sentence.

If she hadn't been regretting it then, she would now.

Tom flew up from the sofa, jostling it so hard Hermione had to grip one of the arms so she did not wobble from it. He was strong for someone so skinny.

He turned away from her, looking down into the green flames of the fire, tugging angrily at the soft curls on his head.

Was there anything that girl didn't know?! Did she have some sort of a death wish?? Did she want Tom to murder her?! Out of pure jealousy and anger! Because she was really pushing him, seriously close to the edge! One more nudge and he would fall, dragging her with him – even if it meant by the end of a knife.

Tom pictured it again. The erotic image that filled his best of dreams, the moment he held her limp, pale, lifeless body in his arms. Finally silent. Finally still. Finally his.

He shook it away. He didn't need that right now.

What did he love more? The beautiful woman sat inches behind him, nervously adorable, clever and full of life – wild hair and all. Or the just as gorgeous, snow-white corpse he pictured every night – even fantasized about kissing away the drops of blood falling from her parted lips. He had to come to a choice. And whichever it would not be good for him. Is that what she was? The unhealthy drug he needed his fix of? Was she his heroin? Or his cocaine?

Whichever – or whatever – she was to him; he needed her quick, fast. And he needed her now.

Right now. Right here. In this common room. Cold and silent, deserted. To hold her in his arms, have her sigh his name as her last words, before he took her gently and ran the dagger across her throat.

His fix. His satisfaction. Her last day.

This was it.

He took a few deep breathes before he slowly turned to face her, his face composed. She looked so small beneath him, almost curled up into herself on the sofa, a wary – slightly confused; maybe even frightened – expression smearing her face.

Tom chose his words carefully. "And what Chamber would that be?"

She answered without hesitation, without doubt. "Salazar Slytherin's. The Chamber of Secret's located in the girl's bathroom. You're his air, and you've come to finish what he could not. To wipe out all the Muggle-borns in this school."

Tom sucked in his breath and poked at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. She was intriguing, he'd give her that. Such knowledge should not be known by an annoying girl like her, but he couldn't help but wonder why.

The words left his mouth before his brain could process them. "How do you know?"

He was actually surprised at how calm she was answering, and so was she, to be honest. "I am from the future, Tom. Fifty five years ago to be exact. I used to be a student at Hogwarts School. Well, I suppose I still am. But I mean back then, before it got destroyed."

Tom swallowed.

"Before everyone in it perished."

Tom couldn't imagine Hogwarts ruined to the ground. Hogwarts was his home, more so than that scruff of an orphanage he was forced to remain in. He was suddenly very aware of his heart, and he was sure it was in his throat.

"I was being held captive at a secret base for these people... these... attackers," She eyed Tom sceptically, "who called themselves the Death Eaters."

Tom stiffened. Once or twice he'd thought of that name. He thought it might make a good name for a band, or some sort of gang – a cult. But with the tremor of fear that shook Hermione's voice when she'd said it, he wasn't so sure.

"Along with my two best friends. They tortured us every day, for more information. See, we were included in an army to fight against these Death Eaters, called The Order of The Phoenix. And they wanted all the information they could get about it. But soon there was nothing left to tell them, and they continued to torture us for their own satisfaction, to watch us slowly – painfully – die."

Tom swallowed again, at a lost cause. He could relate to these people. These Death Eaters. If he was in their situation, someone's life in his hands, he probably wouldn't be able to stop.

"After a while, we heard them talking, celebrating, you could say. Apparently everyone in the Order had died, and everyone who had ever attended Hogwarts had been either murdered or captured. Teachers, children, parents, everyone. Everyone was dead. In the space of eleven months."

Tom needed to focus his breathing. In and out, in and out. If she noticed the way his ribcage was rapidly pulsing, she would have thought his heart was bursting from his chest.

Because he could see it. He could see everything. Clear and defined, as though he was watching a replay of an old memory. He could see everyone dying, screaming, running terrified on the streets. He could see dead bodies and corpses along the floor, making running people trip – easier prey.

"Of course, you'd seen them kill my friends. Inside my mind."

Tom's focus switched back to her, and he saw that she was looking directly at him, cringing. Almost as though it pained her to do so. There were tears springing lightly in her eyes, but her determination to not let him see her cry was obvious; radiating from her almost as much as her beauty.

"I'm sorry about that." Tom heard a stranger with his exact voice say. "I didn't know what I was thinking. It was utterly inexcusable, and I hope you can forgive me."

It had taken them both aback, this stranger. Apologising?

Hermione merely nodded, and continued with her story. "They killed them both. One room away from me. They'd left me for last, allowing me to hear them both die. Harry and Ron, my best friends."

Tom wasn't sure whether she was talking to him or more to herself, now.

"Until a Death Eater – an old Professor that used to work at the school – came to me. He was supposed to take me to them, but he wavered and quickly gave me this."

She reached into her pyjama top and pulled out a long, bronze chain that slinked around her neck like a thin serpent. On the end of it hung an hourglass, tiny and sealed inside a ring. It seemed insignificant to him, and to think that it saved her life and brought her here – brought her to him – was fascinating.

"I used it to go back in time and I came here. Just one day before I met you, Tom." She said, and then she neatly, almost businesslike, tucked the necklace back into her shirt. "Do you know what it is?"

That question he could answer with minimal difficulty. "It's a Time Turner."

Hermione nodded once and crossed her legs on the sofa. "Do you want to know who the man was that was in charge of all this? Who gave the Death Eaters orders and slaughtered millions?"

Tom hesitated. Did he want to know? Why did she think it was important to tell him? Did he know this man? Would he in his future?

Without waiting for an answer, Hermione pressed on, quickly, quietly, painfully. "His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Of all the things to think of, of all the things to say, Tom's shocked mouth opened and said, "Was?"

Hermione sighed. "Well... He never really stopped being Tom Riddle. But he changed his name."

"Because he didn't want to keep his Muggle father's name." Tom had spoken this last at the same moment as Hermione, hers more informative, his more amazed.

This man was him. The man that had killed everyone Hermione had ever known. Killed her best friends, tortured them day in day out. He had stood there, with them, in her memory. Just a room away from his future self, inflicting pain on them for pleasure.

Is that what he became? Powerful enough to bring down even Hogwarts itself?

Electricity pulsed through his veins and into his heart.

"He changed his name to something else. Something much darker. Something his original name formed an anagram of."

Tom's mind clicked back to that first potions lesson, when she'd first mentioned an anagram. He hadn't had a clue what she was talking about at the time, but things were finally beginning to make more sense to him now.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Hermione whispered into dead air, obviously a million miles away, "I am Lord Voldemort."

Hmm... Voldemort. Lord. It seemed so... commanding. As though it demanded authority.

That was so him.

Tom blinked down at her now, a million and one questions flicking to and from his mind.

"But..." He choked out, after Hermione's chocolate eyes had locked onto his grey, "...why?"

Hermione's composure faltered just a little bit. "Why what?"

"Why did I turn out like that?"

Hermione didn't answer, only shook her head. She honestly did not know the answer, and she knew in the core of her existence that she had partly come to the past to figure that out for herself.

Tom sighed, and slowly slinked onto the sofa beside her, stiff and uncertain, staring mindlessly back into the fire. His mind ticked over like a too-tightly-wound clock. Tick tocking too fast, its arms spinning around its face unnaturally fast. It suddenly makes you wonder if time was like that, how short it would really be.

Then his brain snapped suddenly back to perspective.

Hermione's life would be cut short tonight. Too short. Only sixteen years of life. It was almost pitiful.

As though the clock had shifted into place in Hermione's mind, too, she stood up in front of him, her arms folded and her face straight. "You want to kill me." She'd said it as more if a state of fact than a question.

Tom stood up too and answered coolly, looking her straight in the eyes. "Yes."

She drew out a long sigh of breath that she didn't know she was holding.

"I knew it was obvious. Seeing as you'd attempted to before. But I saw you this morning, attempting to do it again." She paused, and took a deep inhale through her nose, "Because I am a Muggle-born."

The words washed over him too late. This infuriated him more than it shocked him. "You're... You're a Mudblood." He said coldly, as though a correction, although his head was screaming it as a question.

"Yes." Hermione agreed, timidly nodding, as the determination rose to her throat. "But you won't."

"Won't what?" He asked impatiently, composing himself again.

"Kill me. You won't do it, will you?"

He continued to give Hermione his cold eyed stare, with his face expressionless and his hands in his pockets. He scanned her face with anticipation. He could tell she was filled with anxiety. Her chest was rising and falling in uneven amounts, her cheeks were flushed and her mouth was open slightly to form a small 'o'. Her huge chocolate eyes were shining with the tears she never shed, and her hair seemed fluffier than ever, after resting her head on the armchair she had been sat in. It formed a brown halo around her perfect face. She really was beautiful.

It seemed like a lifetime before Tom spoke again.

"...No."

Hermione sighed again, and folded her arms. Her voice came out a little shakier than normal, "Why?"

Tom would have loved to have answer. He seriously would have loved to. But he couldn't. He didn't know why. That's what he has been trying to figure out. And, seeing her like this, panting and gorgeous in her pyjamas, he didn't want to know why. He wanted to take her, hold her, kiss her, feel her... love her like another man would.

But, along with this desire to love her, came the desire to see her dead.

And he had an idea.

He smirked at her, and slowly took a step forward, and another, and another. Unhurriedly closing the space between them, and Hermione seemed rooted to the spot.

When Tom got up close to her, he towered over her, and she had to crane back her neck to look up at him. They were inches away now, and their chests were almost touching. Hermione's rapid breathing sped up, and Tom's careful, deep breaths, were out of sync with hers. It was terribly erotic.

He liked this closeness. He liked how she reacted at the seductive smile tugging on his lips. He liked the way her panting breath brushed his neck and a little of his exposed collar.

"I don't know why," He whispered, looking her meaningfully in the eyes and taking his hands from his pockets, to take her forearms in his hands.

Hermione tensed, and Tom smiled again. A genuine, sexy smile.

He slowly leant down, and as his lips brushed hers, her eyes fluttered shut, and she kissed him back ever so slightly.

Teasing. That's what it was. On both cases.

As Tom began to deepen the kiss, Hermione unfolded her arms and kissed him back passionately. Tom's hands slid up her arms and to her neck, and he opened his mouth just a little more as he kissed her.

He was just below her chin, and was about to grasp her neck and squeeze the air from her lungs, but Hermione's gentle touch stopped him.

She put her hands on his chest so carefully; it was as though he was made of china. Never before had he been touched so softly, so tenderly it was like he might break. It sent shivers down his spine, and before he knew what was happening, the kiss deepened itself, the tongues came out and danced, and his fingers buried themselves deep into her hair.

His hands were lost between the thick, toffee tendrils curling around his fingers, and her hands slid up his chest, up to his face and around his neck. She pulled him closer, so their chests were touching.

Tom could feel Hermione's heart beating against his own. It was fast and excited, and it sent a vibration of some sort through his body, that he felt the need to have her closer – closer.

Hermione felt Tom's fingers around the back of her head, gently urging her mouth to come deeper into his, and she ran her fingers through his gorgeous dark hair.

Tom's body felt the electricity Hermione felt, and suddenly, it was like they were one. All thoughts of killing her were gone, and he just wanted to love her. Love her like there was no tomorrow. Love her so much that she would forget her own name by morning. And Tom did not doubt that possibility.

Tom forgot about her hair and dropped his hands to her waist, where he grasped her and held her to him as close as she would go. But it wasn't close enough.

He knew it was wrong of him to do this. There were several possibilities, regrets and/or consequences coming from this situation. One; he was using her. That's basically what it was. He did not love her – he merely let his impulse guide him. He was stringing her along, and he knew it. But he couldn't seem to stop himself. As everyone knew, he was quite the gentleman (bloodlust aside), and he would not just use a girl for his own satisfaction. But the more he tried to pull his lips from hers, the more he'd yearn for it, and his grip would tighten. The knot in his stomach would tug and he would obey, more than happily. It was almost as though some kind of invisible force was pulling them together...

Even Hermione knew that this was wrong, on so many levels. There she was, wrapping her arms around the future Voldemort and kissing him with much might her life may depend on it. Her lips seemed to go on their own, with their own will and motor. She could not stop herself. Every time she placed her hands on his chest to push him away, they would venture back round his waist or around his neck. She wanted to stop. She needed to stop. But... Her body wouldn't let her.

After a while, both their breathing patterns merged to pants, and they were both breathless from the kissing. Hermione surfaced for air, but Tom wanted more.

Without her lips, he exchanged for her neck. He placed small, tender, little kisses from her jaw down her neck to her collarbone, and along her shoulder down just to the hollow of her breasts. He kissed his way just to the side of her neck and began to nibble.

Hermione let out an involuntary moan, and Tom's insides screamed for her, now.

His right hand slid down from her waist to her hips, down her thigh until he was at her knee, and he pulled it up, and bent it round his hip until their pelvis' ground together.

Hermione arched her back ever so slightly just to get him closer, and her arms began to explore his chest again.

He thrust against her once, twice, three times.

Tom couldn't stand it anymore, and planted one last kiss on her lips, before taking both his hands and lifting her against him until her legs where wrapped around his waist. He planted loving kisses all over her face while he took her over to the sofa. First on her forehead, then the bridge of her nose, then both her eyelids, then on both her cheeks, then her chin, and then going onto her jaw line and momentarily down her neck until he came back up to plant one on her lips. When he kissed her lips she kissed him back with such a force Tom almost choked. It took his passion for her a second to resurface and when it did it was as though the whole of time and space stopped just for them.

"Tom!"

It seemed all blurry, and showered in kisses. Hands went all over and the cold leather of the sofa reacted pleasantly against their hot skin.

"Granger..."

Hermione was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Tom!!"

Once they finally came together, nothing in the world could have persuaded him to stop.

"Granger!"

It was like his second haven, and he forgot everything.

"Oh, Tom..."

Everything about the Chamber, everything about living for always. Everything about potions and damn Arthimancy, and everything about wanting this girl's lifeless body held in his arms.

"...Granger."

Because right now her body most alive was phenomenal.

Just at the point where they were both finding their breathing begin to hurt, Tom slowed down a little, and became a little more tender.

He lay against her, smoothing down her arms and thighs, gently caressing her face and cradling her head as he kissed her. Soft and patient, and she still needed to come up for air.

Her hands were in his soft, thick hair, and he realised kissing might be too much for her.

So he went back to her neck, and when she tilted her jaw up for him to gain better access, her back arched, too, and her bare chest pressed onto his.

Moans escaped lips and groans shook souls, and the tear drops sparkled on Hermione's cheeks like crystals in the daylight, and he knew that was enough for her.

He stopped, and gently stood up, careful not to jolt her, and picked her up again so she was pressed up against him. She recognised what he was trying to do, and held him tightly with her arms and legs.

"No, Tom," She begged, so breathless it was a whisper.

Tom knew what she was asking him for, but couldn't seem to bring himself to do it. As much as he wanted it, the bubbling rage began to boil inside the pit of his stomach, and he knew it would be a risk for them both if he was with her again.

"Hermione," He whispered back, kissing her temple and resting his chin on her forehead as he took her up the stairs to his room in the Head Boy's wing just outside the Common Room.

Hermione said no more, and sighed in content as she closed her eyes and let her head flop on Tom's shoulder. She didn't want to ruin this moment.

For it was the first time he'd ever called her 'Hermione'.

N/A: Hey, guys, so what you think? :) This long chapter is to make up for all the short ones I've put up.

I realize it was way to early for them to excel to that extent of a "relationship" but I needed to show some passion, merged with a sickening need for death and their love for each other coming down and crushing them. And, plus, this really adds to the storyline. ;)

I've recently had a review that really hurt my feelings. Really, I appreciate you giving me constructive critisism, but if you don't have anything nice to say about my story, then don't say anything at all. I work really hard on these, and if some people can't understand that then just don't continue reading. I will not change everything just for one person. There are lots of people who like this story despite my mistakes (which I said there would be lots of at the beginning, and I'm working on it) and I love each and every one of you. For the people who think Hermione would be 'traumatised' after being tortured etc. then yes, she is, and I'm sorry for that spoiler. Why do you think she had those nightmares and stuff? So please don't come down so hard on me. If you just keep reading, you will understand everything comes together.

Yes, Tom is half-blood, NOT a Muggleborn. But in Tom's eyes, he sees himself as "filthy" because of his father. And, he IS head boy in this story. So thankyou for pointing that out, 'MISSA'.

Hate to name and shame but I had no choice, seeing as it won't let you reply to reviews unless the person has a fanfiction account. :(

Kelly xxx