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 mild language.


You can never un-think an idea.

It's true. Once you think of something huge, you can't just push it from your mind as though it didn't matter. Like a secret, maybe even if that secret wasn't yours to share. But you can't un-think it. You can't just snap your fingers and forget about it.

And that's what it was like for Tom. No matter how much he tried to push the memories away, Hermione kept propping up. In every single situation. He even tried to think of that freaking orphanage just to get her out of his mind. But she crept her way back in, and he was then watching a re-enactment of that night. Holding her in his arms, sighing his name–

"Tom!"

His head snapped up so quickly it hurt his neck.

"What?!" He snarled with a sneer to no one in particular. Until his eyes focused, and Ryker was stood in front of him, glaring at him with a disgusted expression.

"What the hell is wrong with you man?! Are you on crack or something? Get your arse down here so I can kick it for God's sake!"

Tom snorted from the back of his throat. "You won't catch me stepping a foot on that pitch even if you fell over and begged me."

Ryker was talking about Quidditch – Quidditch practice. It was the 6th year's free time, and Ryker and Jackson wanted to get in some early games before the big match in a few weeks time. As if Tom would care for that when he had much more important things to do and to think about.

Ryker snarled at him, much like an oversized animal. "Either you get down there now, Riddle, or I force you."

Tom raised one single slender eyebrow. "Feel free, Jock."

Ryker knit his eyebrows so hard the wrinkles on his nose fell beneath his eyes, and he opened his mouth wide to shout something in response, but Jackson glided to the ground in between them both on his broom, hovering inches from the ground.

"Come on, guys. Is this really how you want to start the day? Rye, you can't force him, man. And, Riddle," Tom looked away when Jackson glanced at him, "don't loiter the pitch if you're not gonna join us."

Tom growled between his teeth and turned without a second glance to either of them. As he stalked from the pitch, the last thing he heard was the sound of broomsticks taking off, and Ryker's booming cheer float in the air.

"Mione, where did you disappear to last night?" Eileen asked curiously, peering at Hermione from beneath her fringe.

Hermione could barely contain her smile. She shrugged it off and turned away so Eileen wouldn't see her flaming cheeks. "Nowhere in particular. I hung around at the Library to do a little extra studying. Why?"

Eileen made a strange little humming noise, and she sniffed and stuck her nose back into the book she was reading. Hermione sighed and lolled back against the armchair she was rested in. She closed her eyes and let the night before wash over her. The way Tom was so gentle with her, the way his chest vibrated through her body, the way his hands had been so soft against her skin...

...the way he'd said her name before they went to sleep.

She'd woken up that morning lying flat against his pillows, feeling more comfortable than she'd ever felt in her entire life. But there was an odd coldness on her left side, and when she turned over she realised why. Tom was already gone, and the sun was beaming in through the window. It must have been at least nine o' clock and everyone would have been wondering where she was. So she got up and quickly changed – embarrassingly unable to locate her underwear, so she went to her dorm to find some more. Thankfully, everyone had left for breakfast.

As if Eileen had read her thoughts, she asked, "And what about this morning?"

Hermione didn't even bother to open her eyes to answer her. "I woke up early. Another nightmare."

Now that was a total lie. Last night was probably the only night in about a year when her dreams had been totally nightmare free, and she slept in peace.

Eileen did not press on, just continued reading.

Hermione sighed again and relaxed a little more. Soon, she found herself nodding off, but was awoken with a start as someone entered the common room. She shot up straight in the armchair and turned to see who had disturbed her.

It was Tom.

He looked paler than ever, and was staring right at her with his cold grey eyes. But there was something more than arrogance in them now when he gazed at Hermione. It looked closer to fear than it did anything else.

Hermione slowly stood up, concerned, but smiled just the same. Tom did not return the friendly gesture, only flared his nostrils and opened his eyes wider.

"Hey, you..." Hermione breathed, hoping to break the ice. But Tom shook his head vigorously, narrowed his eyes at her and pursed his lips into a sharp thin line, before navigating past her and barging his way between Hermione and the chair.

Hermione turned to watch him walk out, but only hurt her heart even more.

He regretted it, of course he did. He'd let his guard down, and she knew it. So had she, to be honest. But at least she was being an adult about it. He was being childish and silly, and even she could push past that awkward phase.

What was wrong with a little intimacy? Is that what Voldemort had lacked in his past life? Love? Lust?

Hermione sniffed to stifle the tears, but it only made it worse. Eileen slowly closed her book, staring right at her. She'd witnessed the whole thing since Tom had came in, and Hermione had almost forgotten she was there. "Hermione?" She asked, carefully.

Hermione was still turned away from her, but she discretely wiped away the tears and put on a fake tone of enthusiasm. "I'm fine, Eileen, really." But when her nose began to tingle, she quickly added, backing away towards the dorms, "I'm just going to go powder my nose. I'll be right back."

And she dashed up those stairs faster than a race-horse on Prozac.

You want to know the most annoying thing in the world? That damn lemon. That stupid, sadistic, idiotic, silly freaking lemon scent! No seriously, what the hell was wrong with that thing?! It just swirled into Tom's nostrils and burnt his nose from the inside out.

He had to keep reminding himself who he was, that's how far gone he was. He was Tom Riddle. He couldn't just change his ways for the sake of Granger. She was just one pathetic little witch. A Mudblood witch not worthy of his time. Once he'd rein power, the women would bow down to him as though he was made of Love Potion itself.

That damn Love Potion. Hadn't they practiced it enough already?! Hermione had already mastered her back to front, inside out. Couldn't they move on now?

Maybe there was some kind of potion that acts like a bleach. Because that's all he could think of doing right now. Taking a tub of bleach and pouring it into his brain just to rid himself of those images of Hermione.

He did not regret that night one little bit. But what he did regret was keeping his eyes open. Damn it, why couldn't he have just closed them?! That's what eyelids are made for! To keep your eyes closed,God damit!

"Yo! Sleeping beauty! Wake up would ya, Riddle? I don't have time for this."

Tom rocked in his bed and he realised someone was shaking him awake. He sat up quickly. It was Jackson. What did he want?

He shook his head at Riddle and snickered. "Man, if you're gunna have dreams about your lady, could you put them on mute? That'd be really helpful."

All the other boys in the dormitory laughed. It was then when Tom remembered why he preferred to sleep in his own private Head Boy dorm than the public one. The privacy. But he'd take a little nosiness any day over the scent of Hermione still on his pillow. The last he needed was to straddle his bed cover because it smelt like her. Her and her damn lemon.

Tom shook his head. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

He heard Ryker yell from the other side of the room. "Having dirty fantasies about your girlfriend, Riddle? Too bad it's never gunna happen. According to Eileen you hurt her pretty bad yesterday. And all you did was look at her! Poor girl, she must have seen your face. Man, you look a mess."

Tom got angry then. He stood up from his bed and gathered his robes from the desk beside it. "Granger is not my girlfriend!" He growled through gritted teeth, inching towards the door. "She's a filthy, obsessed little Mudblood and she deserves to rot in hell!"

He slammed the door behind him to quickly it was inches away from his face. He immediately cursed himself to calling her names like that out loud. It was enough to hear them in his head, but to say them from his lips…

God. She really was going to be the death of him. Yes she was.

He'd planned to go to his private room. He'd intended to tough it out, be a man. But as soon as he touched the doorknob to turn it and walk in, his mind burned of images of that night. He turned mournfully to the sofa in the middle of the tiled floor. He remembered stepping up and taking her in his arms. Walking up those steps, ever so carefully. He remembered… He remembered turning the handle, and laying her to rest on his bed. His bed. The bed he slept in. Smelling like Granger. Giving him erotic dreams – almost nightmares – and photographic memory evidence that nothing of that night was a dream.

It was like the idea. And the lemon. Once you smell something you love, your nose is going to want to smell it all the time. Same with your brain. Those memories you love? The ones from your life at its best, or its worse?? Yeah. You can never forget them. And he could never forget her. She was a part of him, now. And not even he could change the past.

Wait…

He closed his eyes and remembered that night. Not the part that makes him want to reach into his chest and rip out his heart, just to mend it up with sticky tape, or pour bleach into his brain, but the part before that. The intimate discussion they'd had. The one they'd had before he ruined everything.

Hermione had a time-turner.

Oh, this was brilliant!

Hermione was sleeping when he got to their dorm.

He'd managed to sneak in without triggering anything. He'd stolen a first-year girl's scarf and rung it around his neck, and sprayed perfume onto himself. As weird as that sounds, it worked, so he didn't like to think of it.

It was around her neck when he'd gotten to her bed. It seemed as though she never taken it off since she'd gotten here. He had to carefully use Wingardium Leviosa, but it was worth it when he held it in his palm. It was a little hot when he touched it, but it was powerful. Very powerful, and it surged through his veins. He could barely contain himself.

He'd read about Time-Turners millions of times before, many times wished he owned one. So he had no problem activating it.

He spun the hourglass, once, twice, three, four times, and it spun lightening-fast in its frame.

It happened so fast he hadn't realised what was happening.

His feet landed so hard on the ground his ankles stung. He was in some sort of alley behind a dusty old abandoned shop. The street outside was dirty, old and unused. No one was there, and the oil-lamps on the sides of the streets were barely glowing. In the dim light, he felt engulfed in darkness. He pulled out his wand, and cast lumos, just to make himself feel better.

For a second, he thought he was back outside the orphanage, and began to get angry. But then he heard some shuffling about and hushed voices. They came closer, louder, and he hid himself further into the alley so he was not spotted. Quickly, the voices reached him, only metres away, and he saw the shadows of two people on the road. One female, one male. Definitely wizards, and very clever.

He listened excitedly as they rushed through their conversation.

"But we don't have any of our things!" The male hissed urgently.

"That's not a problem, I've got them all." The female answered, impatiently – her mind obviously occupied someplace else.

"Where? You have one bag and that could barely hold a wallet."

The female huffed irritably, and clearly rummaged around something, whispering some kind of casting spell. The male ahh-ed in an awed manner, and they continued walking towards Tom. He held his breath.

"So we're going to Godric's Hollow?" The male asked, clearly trying to find some sort of conversation.

"Yes," the female answered, "But first I want to make a little stop at Bathilda Bagshot's house."

"What?! I've told you before, that woman is crazy! You heard what Dumbledore said, Hermione! We're not to go there!"

Tom's heart jumped into his mouth. Did he just say Hermione?

Tom glanced back to the shadows, and he crept just a little more against the wall. He peered out, and saw the woman's shadow urgently stomping up the road. And, he was sorry to say, she had wild, frizzy hair.

"Harry, stop it! She's no more harmful than you or I!"

Yep. Definitely Granger.

Without thinking, without warning, without even stopping to tell himself how stupid he was, he stepped out from the alley and dead in front of them both.

Hermione was ahead, and therefore inches away from Tom. She stopped dead and stepped two paces back.

The male – Harry – caught her in her trip by her shoulders, and rubbed them assuringly as she backed up into him for comfort.

Red-hot jealousy bubbled in Tom's stomach.

To say Harry's expressed towards Tom was angry would have been a major understatement. He was livid, furious, almost as red fuming as Tom was himself. The steam was practically spilling from his ears. Then Tom remembered, and cursed his stupidity once more.

He was Voldemort. He was the one killing everyone…

And he'd just stepped out in front of his mortal enemy.

Hermione could sense Harry's anger before Tom had been able to put on a smug expression back, just to annoy him. She turned to him, and when he looked at her, his eyes softened up. It was clearly obvious there was some sort of forbidden love affair going on between them, and it sickened Tom to his stomach.

No wonder he killed this boy's freaking parents.

"Harry," Hermione said softly, and Tom recognised it as the tone she'd used on him that night in the common room. It was sure proof that there was something going on between them. Maybe even more than lovers. Perhaps actually in love. Love that had to be postponed, prohibited. A snarl threatened to rip from Tom's throat, but he kept it in control. "Harry, don't do anything you'll regret. This boy is clearly not Voldemort. I understand that you acted on a snap judgement–,"

"He just looks so much like him, Hermione." Harry told her painfully, never taking his eyes from Tom. His hands were shaking with fury on Hermione's upper arms, and Tom was frightened – for one split second – that Harry may hurt her. But she showed no signs of pain, and Tom was angry at her.

He hated himself. Why must he always know everything? What's wrong with a little mystery? He may have ruined everything this world has ever given him, because of curiosity and plain nosiness. He couldn't have it both ways.

"He looks so much like Tom Riddle. From the diary…" Harry sighed into himself and closed his eyes. Hermione pulled him closer and let his forehead rest on hers. "…I got so angry."

"I know, Harry. I know." Hermione glanced at Tom over the top of her brow, and her eyes lingered on his for more than a second.

She looked weaker. More worn out. Different. The bags beneath her eyes were darker than when she'd first came to the castle, and her cheekbones stuck out of her flesh like there was nothing there but bone. Her lips were thin, and cracked – bleeding. He had the strongest urge to rip Potter from her and take her in his own arms, to hold her tightly against his chest, to assure her that everything was fine, that he would take care of her, and that he cared for her.

He very nearly reached out for them, too, but Harry pulled away and they both took their original positions. Harry's expression was apologetic, and Hermione smiled warmly.

"I'm sorry for that misunderstanding. But, the war really is getting to us. Please, if it's not too much trouble, could you please not tell anyone you saw us? But if you're afraid you might, or the Death Eaters may torture you for the information, I could cast a memory charm on you, if you like? Don't worry, I'm a graduated straight-O student."

Tom smiled warmly back. Before he could stop himself, his mouth was moving…

"Do you not know me but at all, Granger?"

Hermione's brows furrowed and Harry's expression relaxed. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

Tom chuckled, and his brain screamed at him to shut up, but his heart kept his lips going…

"Personally? Not now, but you will. In time. I'm guessing maybe a year and a month away. Generally? I expect you know me and loath me more than anyone else."

Hermione shook her head in confusion. "Wait. I don't understand. Who are you?"

Tom smirked and removed the time-turner from his neck. He held it out towards her. "Here. I'm going to drop this to the floor as I leave. I want you to pick it up and never ever take it from your neck. The whole future of the wizarding world depends on it?"

Hermione was too baffled to answer, and Harry was about to demand an explanation, but Tom cut him short, staring meaningfully into Hermione's coffee eyes. "Hermione… Listen to me." His heart broke at the sound of her name coming from his lips, for only the second time in his lifetime. "I am Tom Marvolo Riddle. Within this year, you will be taken hostage. You and your friends." Tom shot a look at Harry, or threw a disgusted one back. "You will be captured by the Death Eaters. They will slowly and slowly torture you into madness, until you are near enough dead. But then they kill you. One by one. And you will be the last to go. You need this. I want you to have this. To make my life better, to stop me becoming the monster I become." They gazed at each other, searching for each other's souls. "Please." Tom's voice was quivering, and Hermione's eyes welled up. He wanted to leave before the tears came in his eyes, too, and he whispered so quietly it was barely audible, "I don't want to kill you, too, Hermione."

With that, and one last glance at her face, he turned the hour glass, and let it go. He didn't know if it fell or not, but he landed painfully on his back, back into the Common Room. He looked around hopefully. Everything looked exactly the same. He looked down at his palm. There was no time turner sitting there. He quickly dashed up the girl's dormitory's and over to Hermione's bed. He carefully checked around her neck.

He sighed in relief, and almost collapsed right there onto the floor.

N/A: OK, not such a great ending. :P Or chapter, to be honest, but I just recovered my computer from a virus that infected all my files, and I hope you will stick around for the next update, which is coming soon! :)

Any questions, please ask. I'm guessing there'll be loads. XD

Love you all! :D

Kelly xxx