All the Wrong Choices

by QueenOfTheDreamers87

Hermione is kidnapped by Severus Snape and taken to Lord Voldemort, who behaves in a bizarrely familiar manner with Hermione. When she's rocketed back in time by Voldemort, she realises just why he knew her so well in the 1990s - it was because he'd known her very well indeed, as Tom Riddle, in an entirely different time. She had to go back because she'd been there. Re-upload.

8. Chapter 8

January 1945

Hermione chewed delicately upon a roasted potato, half-listening to Avery and Nott discuss the merits of their favourite Quidditch squads.

"I remember when the Arrows defeated the Vratsa Vultures," Nott was saying, looking imperiously down at Avery. "It was 1932, and I was five years old. My father took me to the match and we stayed for nearly two solid days, but there was no sign it would end. We went home and came back two weeks later - they were still playing! The Arrows won, of course."

Avery shook his head vehemently and swigged pumpkin juice before asserting, "But of course there's nothing like attending a home match for the Wimbourne Wasps. We fans of their call ourselves 'Stingers' for a reason. We've got the greatest record of distracting opposing Chasers whilst taking their penalties."

"Perhaps if your team weren't creating so many penalty situations, the fans wouldn't need to buzz so very much." Nott playfully punched at Avery's shoulder, and the two boys laughed heartily. Hermione rolled her eyes and swallowed her potato, flicking her eyes to Tom as Avery asked carefully,

"My Lord? Who do you prefer?"

"Hmm?" Tom looked up from his copy of the Daily Prophet, his eyes appearing quite bored as it became evident he hadn't been listening to Avery and Nott's conversation. Avery swallowed heavily as he met Tom's eyes, and he stammered,

"I - I just wondered, My Lord, whether you preferred a specific Quidditch team."

Tom smirked and lowered his eyes back to his newspaper as he sighed, "I'm in particular favour of whichever team wins the match, Avery."

Avery and Nott laughed again then, quite nervously and too loudly. Hermione sighed quietly to herself, thinking of how everyone had treated Tom with a mixture of fear, reverence, and flat-out brown nosing since the resumption of term. They were utterly surrounded by sycophants, though of course Tom appeared to have no problem whatever with that.

"Read this, will you?" Tom pushed his newspaper into Hermione's lap and muttered his request before stabbing his fork into his eggs and chewing quietly. Hermione had taken of late to sitting with the Slytherins at meals. But she was still living in the Head Girl's dormitory next-door to Tom - at least, she was ostensibly doing so. They'd agreed to tread carefully with image. Presenting a united front was crucial, but openly antagonising Dumbledore and the conventions of Hogwarts was dangerous to the cause. They flouted rules which seemed counterproductive, and they adhered to the regulations it seemed prudent to follow. Hermione had faced little resistance from staff after moving to the Slytherin table at meals. The Slytherin Head-of-House, Slughorn, appeared to have no issue with it. Only Dumbledore scowled at them from the Head Table every breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Hermione took the newspaper from Tom and began to read the front page. There had been several articles in the past week on the matter of Tom and on Grindelwald's death. Every day, it seemed, there was a new headline about what had happened at Nurmengard. After her first botched story, it appeared that journalist Arden Colporter had fallen neatly into line. Her subsequent writings were respectful, even edging on the boundaries of 'gushing,' when it came to Tom and what he'd done.

'MINISTRY TO GRANT AWARD FOR DEATH OF GRINDELWALD.'

Hermione sniffed lightly as she took in the headline and the moving picture below. It had been taken the day before she and Tom had left Malfoy Manor. In the photograph, Tom beamed haughtily as he shook the hand of Minister Spencer-Moon, whilst Hermione stood proudly beside him. She noticed that she looked awfully smug in the photograph. Hermione frowned and read the article below.

'For the past several weeks , wizarding Britain has anxiously awaited word from Minister for Magic Leonard Spencer-Moon. Speculation has been rife on how the Ministry would handle the killing of Gellert Grindelwald. Predictions ranged from a life sentence in Azkaban to utter silence from the top. The Minister's announcement, then, shall came as rather a shock to a great many. I sat down with him yesterday to discuss the issue at hand.

DAILY PROPHET: Minister, was there ever a point where serious consideration was given to pressing charges for Grindelwald's death?

MR SPENCER-MOON: Put simply, no. There are several reasons for this. First, there is the fact that Grindelwald died outside of the Ministry's jurisdiction. Then there is the fact that Mr Riddle, by killing Gellert Grindelwald, eliminated the single greatest existing threat to harmony in the wizarding world. There are quite a few, myself included, who are immensely grateful to Mr Riddle for eradicating the threat of Grindelwald. That's why I'm pleased to make today's announcement on behalf of myself and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.

DAILY PROPHET: Can you please tell us more about the award that has been conferred upon Mr Riddle?

MR SPENCER-MOON: There are actually two awards being given to Mr Riddle. First is the Order of Merlin, First Class. As we all know, this award is granted to a witch or wizard who carries out an act of great bravery or significance. Naturally, the elimination of Grindelwald meets this qualification. I shall be honoured to confer this award to Mr Riddle. His wife, Madam Hermione Villeneuve, is to be granted the Order of Merlin, Second Class, for her own heroic deeds at Nurmengard.

DAILY PROPHET: You speak of two separate awards for Mr Riddle. What is the other?

MR SPENCER-MOON: The receipt of the title of Grand Sorcerer is a rare enough honour. But I shall be particularly pleased to make Tom Marvolo Riddle the youngest Grand Sorcerer in British history.

DAILY PROPHET: When can eager wizards and witches expect news that the awards have been officially conferred?

MR SPENCER-MOON: I myself intend to visit Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where Mr Riddle has made the wise decision to complete his studies. I shall be traveling there this evening - no doubt the Daily Prophet will be filled with photographs and stories on the morrow.

Hermione folded the newspaper carefully and set it down upon the table. She felt rather stricken with nerves as she realised the Minister would be arriving at Hogwarts in a manner of hours. She and Tom had been made aware of the Minister's visit ten days previously, when Tom had received an owl with private correspondence from the Minister himself. Tom had written back to accept the awards, and he'd notified Headmaster Dippet that the Minister would be coming.

Hermione could still feel the terrible tension in the Headmaster's office when she'd met with Tom, Dippet, and Dumbledore to discuss the Minister's visit. Dumbledore had vehemently asserted that such a procedure would be highly irregular at Hogwarts, whilst Tom had glared and insisted that if Minister Spencer-Moon wished to come, he ought to be made welcome.

"What time are we meant to arrive, then?" Hermione asked Tom as she set down the Daily Prophet. She sipped upon her tea and heard Tom mutter,

"You and I are to be here at seven; students are welcome in at seven-thirty. You have your new dress for the occasion?"

"I do." Hermione had ordered a rush delivery from a custom clothier in wizarding Paris. In light of the effect Grindelwald had had on the war-stricken Continent, the Parisian robe-maker had sent a rather telling note with the new dress.

SVP, Acceptez cette robe gratuitement, et exprimez notre gratitude au Seigneur des Ténèbres.

'Please, accept this gown free of charge, and extend our gratitude to the Dark Lord.'

"My Lord, is there anything you might need for this evening?" Hermione heard Mulciber ask. The other boy sat across the table and down a bit, and he, too, held a copy of the Daily Prophet.

Tom flicked a weary-looking smile at Mulciber and shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, Mulciber, but I believe all is in order. Shall I see you here for the ceremony?"

Hermione suppressed a low chuckle at the way Tom expertly feigned interest in Mulciber's presence. She knew full well that Tom wouldn't care a lick whether or not Mulciber were there to watch him receive his awards. Then again, perhaps Tom did care. The recognition and admiration of those around him was critical to his ascent, she knew.

"Of course!" Mulciber was exclaiming. "We shall all be there!"

The other boys nodded emphatically. Just then, a scrawny second-year Slytherin boy appeared across from Hermione and Tom. He stood just higher than the head of Abraxas Malfoy… who was sitting down.

"Ex-excuse me, Sir." The small boy appeared terror-stricken as he trembled behind Abraxas. Hermione watched Tom turn an artificially warm smile to the boy, who continued, "My name is Jericho Burke, Sir. My grandfather is -"

"Caractacus Burke, founder and proprietor of Borgin and Burke's," Tom nodded. The small boy nodded so frantically that his mousy-brown hair shook into his eyes. He shoved it aside and said,

"That's right, Sir. In any case, I have been asked by my father and grandfather to give you a gift… to congratulate you for the awards from the Ministry."

He held out a small black velvet box to Tom, who took it very cautiously. Hermione wondered whether the box was cursed, thinking that this sort of thing would be an easy way to try to kill Tom. She silently pointed her wand at the box as Tom flicked his eyes to her. They were clearly thinking the same thing. Keeping her wand concealed beneath the table, Hermione cast a few nonverbal spells that would reveal a curse upon the jewelry box. When she was greeted with silent stillness, she nodded almost imperceptibly to Tom.

He opened the box, revealing a pair of glittering earrings. Hermione knew that Borgin and Burke's was a store which dealt not only in Dark objects, but also in ancient artefacts and old family heirlooms. She wondered with a pang of doubt where the earrings had come from. But she couldn't help finding them terribly beautiful.

Each earring had a substantial round emerald at the top, surrounded by a ring of tiny diamonds. Below, each earring boasted a large, teardrop-shaped pearl that shimmered against the velvet. Hermione raised her eyebrows at the box, knowing that the earrings possessed enormous value. Tom snapped the box shut and said smugly to Jericho Burke, "Thank you very much indeed."

Little Jericho Burke nodded again and looked a bit queasy as he appeared to struggle with a memory. "I was also meant to tell you… erm… I can't remember just what. I've a letter from my grandfather somewhere..." The small boy rifled frantically through his robes as a few of the older Slytherins sniggered quietly. Tom shot them all withering looks and they fell silent at once. Finally, Jericho Burke extracted a little scrap of parchment and read from it verbatim.

"If the Dark Lord ever has need of rare or valuable objects from Borgin and Burke's, he is welcome to borrow any, indefinitely, free of charge. The earrings are a congratulatory gift. They are known to be from the early 19th century and once belonged to the wife of Corvinus Gaunt. I believe they are now in the correct hands."

Tom's smirk broadened, and he took a sip of pumpkin juice before saying smoothly, "Please tell your father and grandfather that I am immensely grateful for their generosity. Their kindness - and yours - shall not be quickly forgotten."

He tucked the little box into his own school robes and nodded firmly, indicating to Jericho Burke that he was free to go. The boy gave a terribly awkward bow and scurried off, sending Avery and Nott into a flurry of chortles.

"Little git looks as though he needs to triple in size or so if he's to be of any use," Avery sneered, and once more Tom narrowed his eyes down the table.

"If brute force or size were the determiner of usefulness, Avery, then all of my friends would be trolls. Sometimes I wonder whether that is indeed the case."

Avery frowned, looking abashed. He and Nott mumbled apologies as Tom put his rucksack together. Hermione did the same, slipping her hand into Tom's as they rose from the table to go to lessons. The Slytherins all rose, as well, staying respectfully standing until Tom and Hermione were nearly out of the Great Hall. Hermione could practically feel their admiring, awe-filled gazes upon her back and Tom's.

She could also feel the glare of Albus Dumbledore, searing into her being like Fiendfyre.

---

January 1955

Lord Voldemort swirled his elf-made wine in his glass and took a deep sigh. He Vanished the glass, deciding he was not in the mood for wine just now. He and Hermione had spent a good amount of time earlier in the day bickering. She was firmly of the opinion that Voldemort needed to take stronger action regarding the Aurors who had tried to kill him.

"Maggie Prewett is not the only Auror who hates you, Tom," Hermione had hissed at him just minutes previously. There are great many of them who are alarmingly skilled with tracking and concealment. And Maggie Prewett is known to be frighteningly effective with poisons."

"She is hardly here to slip anything to me," Voldemort had said coolly, pouring himself a glass of wine as if to cement his point. Hermione's lips had hardened into a line then, and she'd seethed,

"You yourself have many spies at the Ministry. Why, then, is it unreasonable to think they might have spies here? Minister Tuft supports you as openly as she dares, but so long as the Aurors are permitted to -"

"I believe it would be patently unwise to slaughter members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Voldemort had interrupted, watching Hermione's cheeks colour with anger. He'd sipped his wine and continued, "It would reflect rather poorly upon me, don't you agree? I shall take care of Maggie Prewett, and the rest of them, when I can do so without creating a backlash."

He'd known he was being prudent, that he was acting in the interests of his cause - of himself and of his followers. But he'd been rather unsurprised to see Hermione clench her fists at her sides and to hear her whisper,

"I do not trust Maggie Prewett. I spoke with her myself when she was here last. Down in the dungeons. She told me, under Veritaserum, that Albus Dumbledore suggested she kidnap Georgiana. That Georgie be used to force you to back down."

Lord Voldemort had known all of that, of course. He'd known that there was a plot to destroy him using his family as bait. He'd known that Dumbledore had suggested it, too. The old fool was so hellbent on avenging Grindelwald (who'd known the two had been so close?) that he had threatened Georgiana. Voldemort had known all of that, but seeing Hermione shake with fear and anger about it was still unpleasant.

He'd sipped his wine again and had said calmly, "Nothing is going to happen to Georgie. Nor to you. You told me yourself, Hermione, that the Prophecy was not an inevitability."

"I told you that choices could be made to keep the Prophecy from coming to pass," Hermione corrected him. She'd stormed toward the door then and had put her hand upon the knob before turning round and glaring at Voldemort. "Make the right choices, Tom."

Then she'd stormed from his office, leaving Voldemort with his half-empty glass of wine and a mostly burned-out fire in the hearth. Now Voldemort flicked his wand to build the fire back up, drumming his fingertips upon the arms of his chair. Then there was a timid knock upon his door, and Voldemort waited a moment until he was certain it wasn't Hermione. If it had been, she'd have simply barged into the office after knocking. After a silent moment, Voldemort said dully,

"Enter."

The door creaked open and Voldemort rose from his armchair, turning to see Pollux Black. A member of the distinguished House of Black, Pollux was the father of Walburga and Cygnus, two of Voldemort's most loyal adherents. There was also Alphard, a younger son who had trekked off to Australia to work on a Muggle cattle ranch the previous year. Alphard had not been openly discussed since then. As for Pollux himself, the wizard was a bulky middle-aged specimen, balding and plump with a constant look of suspicion upon his brow. He was planted in the Ministry on Voldemort's behalf, serving as Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.

"Good evening, Pollux," Voldemort sighed, moving to sit behind his desk and gesturing to the chair opposite him. Pollux Black gave a grateful incline of his head and sank into the chair, setting a thick envelope upon the desk before Voldemort.

"What's this?" Voldemort asked, and Pollux replied,

"It is a gift from the Minister of Magic in France… To commemorate the tenth anniversary of your being made Grand Sorcerer, My Lord." Pollux opened the envelope and pulled out a small dark blue ribbon from which a brass token dangled. He slid it across the desk to Voldemort, who picked it up as Pollux read from a letter. "With sincere gratitude for liberating France from the clutches of Gellert Grindelwald's campaign of terror. The Dark Lord is welcome in France whenever he deigns to visit our land. Signed in wholehearted friendship by Minister Isidore de Lioncourt."

Voldemort fingered the brass token and the ribbon and nodded. "So France draws near us, then," he noted, and Pollux nodded firmly.

"It would appear so, My Lord."

Voldemort opened the top right drawer of his desk and tucked the French ribbon safely inside. "I shall send the Lady to thank the French minister in person for his friendship."

"Very good, Sir." Pollux Black began to rise from his chair, but Voldemort said in a sharp clip,

"I've another matter to discuss with you."

Pollux looked uneasy as he sank slowly back down into his chair, nodding expectantly. Voldemort tapped his fingers upon his desk and sighed deeply before he asked,

"Who have we got at the Ministry with access to the Aurors?"

Pollux gulped visibly. He stammered as he flicked his eyes downward and said, "My son Cygnus is still in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, My Lord. He would, likely, be the one with closest access to an Auror. But, alas, he is currently on leave since Druella has recently birthed her third child."

"Ah, yes. I'd forgotten she was expecting. Normally my wife keeps me well-apprised of such matters." Voldemort half-smiled across the desk at Pollux, who smiled self-consciously and said,

"The little girl was born just last week, My Lord. Narcissa, they've called her."

"Lovely name," Voldemort said in a bored voice, "Though of course I'd thought all members of the Black family were named after stars."

"They've named her after the daffodil, My Lord," Pollux nodded. He shifted in his chair and said uneasily, "The Dark Lady herself suggested the name when she visited Druella and saw the child's fair hair."

Thinking of women and children reminded Voldemort why it was he'd asked about Aurors in the first place, and he gently steered the conversation back to his own ends as he said to Pollux,

"Send Cygnus to me at his earliest convenience, will you? I should like to congratulate him on the birth of his daughter… and to give him some instructions for when he returns to work."

"Of course, My Lord." Pollux Black rose from the chair and bowed. Voldemort nodded curtly, watching the other man stride from the office as he contemplated what exactly he intended to have happen to the Aurors.

Albus Dumbledore had been a fool to threaten Georgiana, Voldemort told himself. After all, Dumbledore had been the one to whom Cassandra Vablatsky had delivered the Prophecy; did the old fool not realise that by taking Georgie he would only feed Voldemort's fire? No matter, Voldemort spat silently. He did not need the Prophecy to show Dumbledore what he was capable of doing. He would protect his family and his ambition, taking out every threat he faced... starting with Maggie Prewett.

---

January 1945

"Oh, Hermione! You look like a dream!" Betty Cattermole was bouncing upon her feet as she helped Hermione with the silver clasps at her shoulders. Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror and thought that her gown was positively regal. It was crafted of dark green taffeta, and magnificent swirls of silver and gold thread were embroidered around the neckline and down the fitted torso. The gown fell in an elegant shape to Hermione's feet. The floor-length cape was made of the same material as the gown, and it, too, had been embroidered with metallic thread and seed pearls. Hermione grunted a bit as the weight of the gown's cape settled, and she complained,

"This dress is too heavy!"

"No! No, it's lovely," Betty insisted. "You won't notice the weight once the ceremony begins. You'll see." She walked round Hermione in a little circle, and Hermione shifted self-consciously upon her feet. She'd brought Betty to her room to help her get ready for the Minister's visit.

The two witches had fussed with Hermione's hair and makeup for nearly an hour before Hermione finally decided that she was half-pleased with her appearance. She'd finally realised that she was agonising over the shape of her curls simply because she was nervous. So she'd shut her eyes and let Betty finish her hairstyle and carefully apply a mixture of Muggle and magical makeup.

"What sort of perfume would you like?" Betty had asked, delving her hand into her cosmetics case and pulling out a few small potions vials. "I've got rose, or jasmine, or -"

"No perfume. Thank you." Hermione had shaken her head and stared at herself in her vanity mirror. Seeing Betty furrow her brows, she clarified, "Tom prefers when… when it's just me."

"Oh." Betty had nodded, and though she'd looked rather confused, she'd said, "How terribly romantic!"

Betty straightened Hermione's cape, she sighed wistfully,

"Perhaps someday I shall have a love story like yours."

"I expect you shall, Betty." Hermione said in a kind voice. Betty would be attending the ceremony alongside Abraxas Malfoy. It pleased Hermione to see Betty falling for Abraxas; the poor girl had been wild about boys as long as Hermione had known her, but had seemed to have bad luck in love.

Hermione picked up the earrings that Jericho Burke had gifted to Tom earlier in the day, feeling grateful that they matched her gown so well. She pushed them through her ears and swallowed the lump in her throat as she looked at her reflection again. Betty appeared in the mirror beside her, her own burgundy silk dress looking terribly simple compared to Hermione's attire. But Betty showed no signs of jealousy or bitterness. She clapped her hands and squealed,

"You look like a queen!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and grinned. "Queen Hermione of Hogwarts," she drawled jokingly. But Betty's face fell serious in the mirror as she reminded Hermione,

"You're receiving the Order of Merlin tonight… and so is your husband. The Dark Lord. I think perhaps you are something of a queen, Hermione. Don't you?"

Hermione didn't answer as she turned away from the mirror and took a small, shaking breath. Mercifully, the conversation was interrupted by a soft rapping upon Hermione's bedroom door. Tom did not wait to enter, pushing the door open and stepping inside briskly. He paused, squaring his jaw and shutting the door behind him as Hermione met his eyes. They stared at one another for so long that Betty cleared her throat rather awkwardly from beside Hermione. Finally, Tom straightened his tuxedo jacket and his white bow tie and muttered,

"Miss Cattermole, would you kindly excuse us?"

"Of course, My Lord." Betty grinned like a fool and giggled quietly, bowing her head to Tom as she passed him on her way to the door. She opened the door and turned round, winking at Hermione as she stage-whispered, "Do try not to be late to your own award ceremony!"

Hermione laughed quietly as the door shut behind Betty. She turned her eyes to Tom again, noting with a twinge of amusement that his dark eyes were wide as he took her in. She watched his left hand ball into a fist at his side and release, and he licked his bottom lip before he murmured,

"The things I intend to do to you later tonight are rather unspeakable, My Lady."

"Then do not speak of them," Hermione said in a cracked whisper, as a shock of desire for him shot down her spine. She felt her cape drag a bit on the ground behind her as she walked to him. His wild eyes trailed up and down her form, absorbing the elegance of her gown, the way her hair had been carefully styled, the earrings she wore. Hermione gave him a self-conscious smile and gestured at herself, asking gently, "Will this do?"

Tom's throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he nodded silently down at Hermione. She could positively feel the want radiating from him. She shut her eyes and breathed him in, relishing the aroma of cinnamon and iron and soap and rosewood. When she opened her eyes, she felt a throbbing ache for him pulse through her veins, and she shivered when he reached to cup her face in his hands. He leaned down and kissed her lips carefully so as not to mess her lipstick. Then he whispered in a trembling voice,

"How is it that you are more beautiful each and every time I lay eyes upon you?"

Hermione felt her knees go weak then, felt dizzy with love for him, and she had to reach out to plant her hands upon Tom's chest to keep herself from swaying. Her elbow-length black satin gloves slid over his white dress shirt as she managed to whimper,

"We need to go."

"Yes." Tom nodded in agreement, but he did not move from where he stood. Hermione felt a terribly insistent throb between her thighs, and she huffed softly,

"Take me, Tom. Quickly. Right now."

"Yes," Tom said again, and he crushed Hermione's mouth in a vicious kiss with no care for her lipstick. She squealed a bit as she felt him guide her roughly toward the wall. She stumbled backward, clutching his jacket, and she let out a little oof! when her back hit the wall.

Tom's kiss was mint and honey, caramel and cinnamon, and Hermione moaned against his mouth at the taste of him. He never broke away as he reached into his jacket and pulled out his wand, fumbling until the tip jabbed Hermione's abdomen through her dress. After a moment, she felt the warm vibration of his protective spell and felt impressed that he'd been able to cast it effectively whilst kissing her. He tucked his wand away and threaded his hands up behind her ears, his fingers nesting in her hair as he drove his erection against her.

"Please hurry, Tom," Hermione begged, knowing that it would make them both look foolish if they were late to the Great Hall. She glanced at the clock above her mantle and saw that they had only ten minutes until they were expected for the ceremony. She whimpered in frustration and shook her head, insisting, "We don't have time. We'll be -"

Tom silenced her with another kiss as his fingers flew to unbutton his trousers. He pulled away from her and began hiking up her heavy gown as he growled, "If you think I'm going to stop now, you are completely mad."

"But, Tom, it's ten to seven, and we -"

"Believe me," Tom said firmly, his dark eyes glittering at her, "This will not take long."

Hermione gasped then as he wrapped his arms beneath her bum, gripped her thighs, and hoisted her up against the wall. He yanked aside the crotch of her knickers and glanced down to guide himself into her. Then suddenly she felt the invasion of his manhood, felt him hold her fast as he thrashed her hard against the wall over and over.

She moaned, ignoring the mild pain she felt as she was pummeled against the stone wall. She held onto Tom's shoulders and moved to kiss him once more. As he thrust madly into her, he groaned against her mouth. His breath came hard and fast through his nostrils, and then suddenly he tore his mouth away and pressed his forehead to hers. He stared up at her, his dark eyes glazing over as his mouth dropped open and he whispered,

"Nothing in the world feels as good as this, you know." He jerked his hips a few times and she knew he had found her release inside of her. She tumbled off her own cliff soon after, triggered by the sound of his ragged breath and the feel of his cock twitching inside of her. As she came back to Earth from her high, Hermione was gently set down upon the ground.

Her hand shook terribly as she used her wand to cleanse her body, fix her rumpled hair and her smeared makeup, and smooth the wrinkles Tom had made in her gown. Finally, she turned round to see that he'd put himself to rights, as well. His face appeared abruptly impassive and emotionless, and Hermione knew he'd switched mental gears.

As she held his arm on the way to the Great Hall, she flicked her eyes up to him and smirked. He was two men at once, she thought. He was her husband, the boy who gave her flowers and told her he loved her. He was Tom Riddle - to her, he always would be. But as they swept imperiously into the Great Hall, she knew he was also the Dark Lord.

---

January 1945

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, the whole of wizarding Britain has spent years living in fear of Gellert Grindelwald. Through a singular act of bravery, you have eliminated the threat that once instilled terror in the hearts of wizardkind. For conquering Gellert Grindelwald, the Ministry of Magic owes you a debt of gratitude. Therefore, it is my deepest honour to confer upon you the title of Grand Sorcerer, which is yours in perpetuity. I am also pleased to bestow upon you the Order of Merlin, First Class."

Tom pushed his shoulders back and nodded gracefully as the students and staff applauded in response to Minister Spencer-Moon's words. Then he moved to stand back a bit after the Minister pinned his award to his jacket. He flicked his eyes down at the emerald ribbon and silver medallion, and he held his hand up to silence the Hall.

"Minister Spencer-Moon," he said smoothly, plastering a charming smile upon his face, ""I thank you most sincerely, Minister, for the gifts bestowed upon me tonight. I vow to serve the Ministry of Magic in every capacity I can. I shall represent the Order of Merlin with discretion and honour."

He paused for a moment then and made himself look thoughtful. "My wife and I struck out against Gellert Grindelwald because we believed him to be single greatest threat to the security of the wizarding world. We had hoped, of course, that established wizards many years our senior might act swiftly and decisively against Grindelwald. We waited for news that he had been vanquished, but such news never came. The news we received was of a misguided but growing movement on the Continent, of slaughtered families and a prison full of innocents."

Tom watched the eyes of the assembled crowd grow wide as he spoke. Druella Rosier clutched madly to Cygnus Black, leaning forward as she hung onto Tom's every word. Even the Ravenclaws watched with rapt attention, their awestruck faces trained squarely upon Tom. He felt a swell of confidence then, realising that he had them - every last one in the room - except for Dumbledore. He glanced quickly to the Transfiguration professor at the Head Table, who was staring at Tom with a maddening lack of emotion. Tom felt his smug grin widen a bit, and he looked back to the crowd as he continued,

"My wife bravely offered to accompany me to Nurmengard. She insisted that I not take my friends, with whom I had already arranged to go. 'Spare them,' she begged me. 'We musn't waste lives in this endeavour.'" Tom reached then to clutch Hermione's hand in his, and he exchanged a little kiss with her as he said firmly, "She was instrumental in my success. She destroyed Grindelwald's Inferi; she opened the cells of Nurmengard and freed Grindelwald's prisoners."

There was another round of applause then, and Tom watched Hermione's cheeks colour scarlet as she struggled to look calm. He released her hand and began pacing a bit before the crowd, noticing that even Minister Spencer-Moon was marveling at him. Tom knew himself to be charismatic; he knew that his face and his voice and the words he chose were effective at helping him get what he wanted. But even he was pleasantly surprised by the way every eye in the Great Hall had trained upon him, gawking and marveling as he spoke.

"I did not relish taking Grindelwald's life," Tom lied, shaking his head firmly as he looked out upon the people before him. "I had hoped to simply subdue Grindelwald, to bring him to justice in a court of law." Tom lowered his voice to little more than a whisper and watched as everyone leaned in, straining to hear and seeming to hold their breath in anticipation. Tom sighed and murmured, "But once it was just the two of us - Grindelwald and myself - I quickly realised that only one spell would bring an end to Grindelwald's madness. If I close my eyes, I can still see the vivid flash of green light that burst forth from my wand."

He actually shut his eyes then, as if to illustrate his point. He breathed in deeply and opened his eyes, continuing, "And then it was over. Grindelwald's era came to a close in that dank stone room. I took his wand and it immediately responded to me, as if to crown me the one Dark Lord."

Druella Rosier looked as though she were seconds away from an orgasm. Betty Cattermole swayed where she stood, and Abraxas Malfoy clutched her shoulders firmly. A small cluster of young Hufflepuff boys looked so overwhelmed that Tom could see one of them crying. He stifled a self-satisfied laugh at the sight, managing to keep his face steely as he said,

"Grindelwald tried to use Dark magic to cloak the world in eternal night, in an endless storm of bloodlust and greed, of insanity unchecked. And, for years, the wizarding world let him do it. I refused to do so. I refused to see the world mired in the chaos Grindelwald wrought. I long, instead, for a new morning. For a vibrant sunrise of prosperity, unity, and peace."

Tom waited as more applause ripped through the Great Hall, thundering off the walls and ceilings as those assembled were whipped into a bit of a frenzy. He flicked his eyes to Hermione, saw the way she was staring at him as though he had suddenly turned bubblegum pink. Then he looked to Dumbledore and saw unmitigated fear and loathing in the old fool's pale eyes. Fed by the reactions around him, Tom turned to Hermione once more and planted a chaste kiss upon her forehead.

Hours later he lay beside her in bed, naked and exhausted after making love to her three times in a row. He'd been intensely aroused by what had happened in the Great Hall, and upon returning to his room he'd plundered Hermione until she finally cried out for mercy.

Now they lay curled up in his bed, and Tom felt his heart thudding inside his chest. He was drunk off of the admiration he'd been shown, off of the power that had surged through him. Hermione sighed and whispered,

"They adored you."

"Of course they did," Tom replied. Though he had been serious, he felt Hermione giggle against his chest. Tom scowled down at her and demanded, "What's so funny?"

Her warm brown eyes crinkled with a smile as she looked at him. "You don't have to win me over," she reminded him. "You can relax now."

"I ploughed you into the mattress until we both nearly fainted, and I am anything but relaxed," Tom informed her, his voice a tight clip. She laughed again and urged him to lie flat upon his back. Then she curled her fingers against his jaw and planted a soft kiss upon his lips, sending a shiver down Tom's arms.

"There are many ways to relax," she informed him. "Here. Lie upon your stomach."

She pulled gently on his shoulder so that he would roll over. Tom felt a bit confused as he put his forearms beneath his face and sighed against the mattress.

"My heart is still racing," he said crossly, but then he felt a gentle pressure on the mattress as Hermione moved to straddle his rear. He was about to ask her what the blazes she was doing, but then he felt the tip of her wand gliding over the expanse of his back. There was a pleasant sensation, warm and slick, as if she'd cast an invisible coating of oil onto him. Then her hands were upon him, massaging his shoulder blades and neck and all down his spine. Tom moaned softly and felt his face relax into the mattress.

She touched him for a great long while, until Tom felt himself drifting in and out of sleep. Finally, he felt her crawl off of him, and he was jolted back to reality.

"Better?" Hermione asked as he arranged himself on his side to face her again. He nodded gratefully, reaching out to brush a wild lock of hair from her face. She smiled gently and whispered, "Even I was almost afraid of you."

"I don't ever want you to be afraid of me," Tom said truthfully. He kissed her for a while, gently and slowly, savouring the sweet taste of her. "The rest of them can cower in fear; they can prostrate themselves. They will feel what I want them to feel. But you…" He brushed his lips against her cheekbone, just under her eye, and heard her whimper softly. "You mustn't fear me. I love you too much for that."

He lay upon his back then and felt Hermione curl up onto him once more. His heart had steadied in his chest and his breath was no longer rickety with arousal. He shut his eyes and was about to descend into a deep sleep when he murmured,

"Hermione?"

"Hmph?" She sounded as though she, too, were moments from sleep. Tom petted her hair and said, "No matter what I accomplish for the rest of my life, Hermione, marrying you will always be my greatest triumph."

---

January 1945

Hermione's eyes flickered open as she stared at the moonlight wall beside her, listening to the frustrated huffs that had woken her. She was so weary after the long night of award-receiving and socialising that she considered simply falling back to sleep, but then she heard Tom swear under his breath.

"What's wrong?" she asked in a groggy, cracked whisper. There was a moment of stillness, awkward and heavy, and then she heard Tom mutter,

"I find myself rather unable to sleep. Bit worked up. I'm sorry I woke you."

Hermione furrowed her brows, now quite curious. She spun slowly beneath the blankets until she was facing him, and she asked,

"What do you mean, 'worked up?'"

But before Tom could answer her, her eyes trained to the obvious tenting in the blanket at his hips. He was visibly aroused there, and as she flicked her gaze up to his face, she could see that his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Hermione sat up a bit, leaning upon her left elbow as she reached to drag her fingertips around Tom's bare chest. He shivered and twitched beneath her touch, wrenching his eyes shut. He growled at her,

"That is not helping the situation."

Hermione laughed a bit then. She pressed her palm to his heart and shut her eyes, feeling the steady, rapid thumping there. "You've been thinking about earlier tonight," she guessed, opening her eyes again to look at him. "You've been thinking about the way they all stared at you, wide-eyed with amazement and admiration. And you liked it, didn't you? You like the way they stared all at you. Listened to you. Went weak for you."

Tom gritted his teeth and squared his jaw. "I was merely thinking of the three times earlier tonight that I plundered your body," he insisted. "And I woke from something of an… erotic… dream, if I'm honest."

Hermione licked her lips and nodded. "But why did you take me earlier?" she asked in a sly voice. When Tom didn't answer, she said, "You were 'worked up' then, too, Tom. By the power you'd felt flow through you in the Great Hall. It can be addictive, can't it? Arousing. To be loved like that."

Tom opened his eyes, shifting his hips uncomfortably upon the mattress. His erection caused the blanket to fall back a bit, baring the lines and angles of his pelvis. Hermione suppressed her own arousal long enough to focus on teasing Tom. It would be fun, she thought suddenly, to drive him mad with want. Earlier that night, they'd made love for over an hour, but each time had felt mechanical as Tom thrust the tension out of his body. This time, Hermione thought, she would show him that she could be powerful, too.

She sat up and faced him, drawing her hands up his ribcage and sending another fierce shiver through him. Then she reached for her wand from the bedside table and cast a protective spell upon herself. Tom grunted a bit as he realised she meant to satisfy him, and Hermione tried not to laugh aloud. He had no idea what she meant to do to him.

She pulled his hands up above his head, encouraging him to keep his wrists together, and she bent to kiss his neck. As she did, he writhed a bit upon the sheets and groaned quietly. Hermione pushed his wrists back against the headboard with one hand, surreptitiously aiming her wand with the other.

Incarcerous, she thought, and suddenly Tom's hands were bound to the bed by Conjured cords. He gasped angrily as Hermione sat up, scowling at her cheeky grin as he huffed,

"I did not ask you to tie me up. Take off the cords."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him and set her wand back upon the bedside table. "You are certainly powerful enough to release them yourself. I've seen you do wandless magic a dozen times over. If you want to break the binds, by all means, do so."

She ran her hands over his bare torso lightly, as if to illustrate that he ought to prefer leaving the cords around his wrists. Sure enough, Tom swallowed and looked angry, but did nothing to release his hands. Hermione kept her eyes trained on his as she dragged back the blankets atop him. She licked her lips and wrapped one hand around his cock. It jumped at her touch, sending a shockwave of desire through her.

"So hard for me," Hermione mused in a delicate whisper. She moved her hand up and drew her thumb around the tip as she stared intensely at Tom. His dark eyes had glazed over a bit and his jaw had gone slack. Hermione moved her hand on him at a leisurely pace, and she murmured comfortingly, "Don't worry. I'll make it feel so good that you beg me for more."

"A Dark Lord does not beg," Tom sneered then, though he wrenched his eyes shut and his breath quickened.

"No? Let's find out whether or not that's true." Hermione grinned crookedly down at Tom and kept touching him. She knew she was on a knife's edge. Tom was volatile, to say the least, even with her. He might go from playful to enraged at a moment's notice, and Hermione was pushing him. Deliberately.

While he still had his eyes shut, Hermione moved to straddle his thighs. She settled lightly upon him with his manhood nestled in front of her. She ground herself against him, moaning softly at the way his shaft rubbed the outside of her womanhood. She fondled the tip again, and Tom bucked his hips upward.

"I could sit here all night, just like this," Hermione teased, stilling her hands on him and pushing his shaft against her form. Tom's eyes flew open and shone with anger as he snarled,

"You won't, though. You're going to climb onto it and ride it until you're buckled over with pleasure."

Hermione grinned. "Is that so?" she asked. "That's quite a roundabout way of begging, Mr Riddle."

"I am not begging," Tom seethed. "I am informing you as to what's going to happen. You are going to ride me until we both finish, and then we shall both go back to bed."

"Only one of us is tied up just now," Hermione reminded him. Then, with a light sigh, she moved to crawl off of him and said, "You know, now that you mention it, sleep does sound awfully good. I think I shall sleep!"

She arranged herself on her side, cuddling into her pillow, and said smoothy, "Goodnight, Tom."

He grunted and pulled at the ropes she'd Conjured. Hermione shut her eyes and tried not to giggle, knowing that Tom was far too distracted by his arousal to perform wandless magic. He was stuck tied to the bed.

"Get rid of the ropes, Hermione," he said firmly, and Hermione faked a yawn and said,

"You're powerful enough to do it yourself."

There was a brief silence before Tom's voice said softly, "Hermione, please remove the cords from my wrists so that I may lie beside you and gently make love to you until we both dissolve into post-coital puddles of satisfaction."

Hermione laughed then, at his manipulative words. She grabbed her wand, rolled over, and sighed. "Very well. Relashio."

The cords round Tom's wrists broke and fell away, and he immediately pulled his hands down and rubbed at his skin. He glared at Hermione and said in a dangerous voice,

"I'm not a man to be teased, Hermione. Not even by you."

Her smile vanished then, and she swallowed heavily. She honestly had no idea whether or not Tom was being serious. It didn't matter; it was terribly erotic either way. His voice was a low purr and his gaze sliced like a dagger as he moved to push Hermione onto her back and hovered atop her.

"You may be a very powerful witch," he admitted, "and you may be my wife, but that does not mean I wish to be made to play the fool by you."

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, feeling a crater of dread open inside her. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat, uncertain whether to be aroused by or frightened of Tom. She realised she was both; he was terribly beautiful in his anger, but, she knew, also terribly dangerous.

Then Tom was urging her knees apart and pushing himself into her body, and Hermione absently wished she'd simply ridden him to an orgasm like he'd demanded. Now she lay beneath his rigid form as he pumped steadily into her. His dark eyes glared down at her, inches away as he lowered himself onto his elbows atop her. She felt his chest press against hers, felt his pelvis grinding her sensitive nub, and her eyes fluttered shut helplessly. Hermione grasped at the sheets and moaned, unable to look at his devastatingly handsome face as he thrust steadily into her.

She realised then that she was just as turned on by his dominant nature as he was. It had seemed fun, of course, to tie him up and tell him he would beg her for release. But it was all wrong; Tom Riddle did not beg for anything. He simply took what he wanted. And, as ashamed as it made her, Hermione found that degree of confidence to be utterly erotic.

"Take me, Tom," she heard herself whisper, feeling her breasts sway up and down as Tom drilled steadily against her. He ground his hips harder and grunted, and Hermione knew that he liked it when she spoke to him that way. Her cheeks flushed, both from pleasure and humiliation, as she loathed and worshipped the power dynamic between them.

"Pretty little thing," Tom was panting, and Hermione opened her eyes as he squeezed roughly at her breast. His eyes glittered down at her, predatory and piercing, and he snarled, "So pretty, and so willing, and you're all mine, aren't you?"

"Yes." Hermione despised herself for the way she grew more wet from Tom's talking. Her head nodded quite of its own accord, and she whispered desperately, "Yes. I'm yours. Please, Tom… Please!"

She had no idea what she was begging him for then, but she kept saying it over and over. Please, Tom. Please. Her eyes clamped shut and she felt a warm flush sweep over her. Her ears began to ring and suddenly the room felt tiny and overheated. Between her thighs, the steady pistoning of Tom's cock felt like delicious torture, pushing her ever nearer the edge of the cliff.

"I want you to watch me while I fill you," she heard Tom command her, and she forced her eyes open and reached to clutch at his shoulders. Suddenly Tom's thrusts became faster, deeper, with more force behind them. Hermione moaned continuously, feeling intensely stimulated by the way he ground himself against her nub.

"Please, Tom!" she whispered again, still not certain what she wanted. Then she tumbled into her climax, rather unexpectedly. She cried out and arched her back, pressing her breasts to Tom's chest as her womanhood clamped rhythmically around him. He bucked his hips a few times in response and let out a feral growl.

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" he exclaimed, shoving himself hard against her as his warm seed pumped into her. Hermione felt his cock twitch and pulse within her, and she let her hands trail around to clutch at Tom's back. Finally, he pulled his softening member from her and there was an obscene leaking sensation as his seed trickled out of her.

"I think…" Hermione panted a few moments later, yawning as she struggled to stay awake, "I think I should like a bath."

She made to rise from the bed, but Tom yanked her firmly back and urged her to curl up atop him. "It's two-thirty in the morning," he informed her matter-of-factly. "You may bathe before breakfast. I wish to fall asleep with you beside me."

Hermione resisted the urge to give him a sarcastic glare and tell him she could bathe whenever she damned well pleased. But she knew he was basking in an entire night of dominance - not just over her, but over everyone in the Great Hall, too. And she knew it would be unwise on so many levels to emasculate him now. She shoved aside her fierce internal resistance to submission and rested her head on his chest. She felt his fingers drift over her hair as they both fell asleep. At some point, his hand stilled as he nodded off. Hermione did not move from him. He was right. She could wash herself of their sex in a few hours.

---

February 1945

For as long as he could remember, Tom Riddle had loathed Valentine's Day. It had always seemed to him to be a day of eyeroll-inducing, nauseating displays of sentimentality. Girls cried if they received chocolates. They cried if they received nothing. All day long on Valentine's Day, all Tom could see were dozens of nervous boys and hyper-emotional females. It was sickening.

But this year he realised that he would be something of an idiot not to observe the day, at least to some degree. Privately, he reassured himself. He would give Hermione a token of his affection privately, as befit his station as Dark Lord.

When Tom arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast, he noticed two things at once. First, that the Hall was nearly empty owing to how early he'd risen that morning. Second, that the enchanted ceiling was raining little pink-and-red hearts, which dissolved before they hit the tables, whilst obnoxious banners and streamers were thrown about the rafters. Tom wrinkled his nose as he sat down at the Slytherin table, disgusted with the lurid display of 'romance.'

He had far more important things with which to concern himself than arrow-shooting cherubim or lace-bedecked greeting cards. If he needed to be charming, to be romantic, Tom Riddle did not require such props.

He grimaced as his breakfast appeared at the table. The scones had been dyed pink by the House-Elves, he saw, and the fried eggs had been shaped into hearts. Rolling his dark eyes and scoffing, Tom stabbed a fork into a sausage and chewed crossly. He watched as students began to slowly filter into the Great Hall; Abraxas Malfoy, Avery, and Nott were the first three to arrive at the Slytherin table.

"Morning," Tom greeted in a bored voice. The other three mumbled greetings and nodded respectfully, only sitting down when Tom gestured to the bench opposite him. Avery and Nott, as per usual, were animatedly arguing about some trifling matter. Tom ignored them and focused instead on how jittery Abraxas Malfoy seemed. The blond-haired, hulking boy spilled pumpkin juice as he tried to pour himself a glass; his hand was shaking so fiercely that the pitcher slipped and hit the table. Avery and Nott leapt up and started swearing loudly, swiping napkins across their juice-splattered robes and scowling at Abraxas. Tom wordlessly flicked his wand a few times and erased the mess from the table. Once again he marveled for a moment at how easily and completely Grindelwald's wand reacted to his magic. Then, as the other boys gratefully settled back into their seats, Tom flicked an eye up at Abraxas and asked nonchalantly,

"Is there some reason you are so nervous this morning, Malfoy? Anything I ought to know about?"

He tried to sound non -confrontational, but it was easy to feel paranoid these days. In the wake of his acceptance speech the night of the Minister's visit, Tom had gained more followers than ever and felt a bit like a deity walking the corridors of Hogwarts. But he was not fool enough to assume universal acclaim, and he carefully monitored the behaviours and words of those around him. To see Abraxas Malfoy acting so fidgety was a bit unnerving. But Malfoy gulped heavily and lowered his eyes to the table.

"I apologise, My Lord," he began quietly. "I admit I feel a bit skittish this morning. I intend on telling Betty today that I'm in love with her."

There was a tiny silence, and then Avery and Nott erupted into uproarious laughter. Abraxas Malfoy's cheeks reddened and he hissed,

"There is nothing funny about it! She'll be terribly cross if I don't make today special, you know."

"Ha!" Avery slapped his knee. "She'll be 'terribly cross,' will she? And why, exactly, are you so wound up about a girl's emotions, Malfoy? Going soft, are we?"

Malfoy's frown deepened as he gnawed upon a lurid pink scone, and he muttered firmly, "You'd care how a girl felt, too, Avery, if you were so close to getting in her knickers."

Tom rolled his eyes again and sighed loudly, causing the three boys opposite him to look at him in surprise. Tom crossed his arms over his chest and complained, "So is this my fate for today, then? I'm to be subjected to the constant hand-wringing and whining of lovestruck children?"

"You've already got a wife," Abraxas said rather snidely. Tom raised his eyebrows at the insubordinate tone, but Malfoy was still staring at his plate as he continued with a pout, "Didn't seem as though you had to try too terribly hard to get her, either. I seem to recall the rest of us betting on who could get Hermione's knickers off first, and you being rather upset about that. Suppose now I know that you'd already claimed her."

Tom flew to his feet before he knew what was happening. He jabbed his wand into the air before him and pointed it straight at Abraxas Malfoy's wide eyes as he seethed, "Fall upon your knees, Malfoy, and start apologising."

Malfoy trembled in terror and pressed his palms to the table frantically. He rose on shaking legs and begged, "Forgive me, My Lord. I forgot myself…"

"Yes, you did. Now, I told you to kneel. Cadet flexis!" A little purple light flew from the tip of Tom's wand and hit Malfoy's knees. Abraxas collapsed so quickly that there was a sickening crack as his knees hit the stone floor. Tom briskly swept around the Slytherin table, ignoring the way that Avery and Nott were staring in horror at the scene. His wand - Grindelwald's wand - shook a bit as he struggled to control his face and words. He glared down to where Abraxas Malfoy knelt, and he said through clenched teeth, "How dare you speak to me in such a fashion? How dare you speak of my wife that way? Just who, exactly, do you suppose you are?"

"I might ask the same of you, Mr Riddle."

Tom looked up at the sound of Dumbledore's ever-calm murmur. He lowered his wand and gave a dark laugh as he sighed, "You know who I am, sir. I was just making Mr Malfoy here aware of it, too."

"I do know who you are," Dumbledore agreed, tipping his head a bit and flicking his eyes from Abraxas to Tom. "You are the Head Boy of this school, are you not? And, at this moment, you are setting rather a poor example with behaviour."

Dumbledore gave Tom a meaningful look over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, sending a shiver of rage through Tom's veins. Tom gave Dumbledore a sarcastic nod and turned once more to Abraxas Malfoy.

"Mr Malfoy," he said tightly, "I do apologise for my momentary loss of self-control. I only wish you had not spoken so explicitly about my wife's knickers, so that I would not have felt so very compelled to defend her honour. Please do take your seat."

Malfoy nodded, a flash of terrified shame crossing his face. He rose slowly from his knees and slid back onto the Slytherin bench.

"Ah, yes. Honour," Dumbledore said knowingly. He clasped his hands in front of his abdomen and said thoughtfully, "I have seen many men do admirable things in the name of honour. Of course, men do foolish things in the name of honour, as well. It isn't just you, my boy."

Dumbledore gave Tom a rather sickly smile as he patted Tom's shoulder and started to walk away. Tom flinched at Dumbledore's touch and recoiled, watching the old fool retreat back to the Head Table as he shook with anger. He looked then from Malfoy to Avery to Nott, seeing the way each of them regarded him with intense fear. He tucked his wand into his robes and huffed,

"Malfoy, tell Professor Sycorax that I'm a bit unwell today, will you?" he requested. "I don't suppose I feel much like going to Charms."

"Of course, My Lord." Malfoy nodded and lowered his eyes to the table. He and the other two boys rose and waited in reverent silence as Tom stormed from the Great Hall, his school robes flapping behind him like the wings of a bat.

---

February 1977

"You both did a fine job holding yourselves together during the ceremony." Hermione smiled and raised her wine glass to Betty Malfoy and Druella Black. She sighed and looked out upon the dance floor, taking a deep draught of wine before saying, "It can't be easy to watch your child pledge themselves to somebody else."

"It is difficult," Druella admitted. Then she laced her arm through Betty's and grinned as she continued, "But the 'loss' of a daughter is entirely ameliorated by the addition of a son. I am confident that Lucius will be a fine match for Narcissa."

The three women watched the couples swaying and twirling on the dance floor for a long moment. Hermione was just old enough that her bones had begun creaking, but not so old that she did not long to dance. She wondered absently whether or not Tom would take her out on the floor tonight.

"Perhaps, My Lady, you shall soon enough be in our shoes," Druella said then. She raised her wine glass and nodded her head toward one particular couple. "The Lady Georgiana seems most enthralled with Bilius Weasley."

Hermione laughed then, watching her daughter twirl and giggle in the arms of the lighthearted Bilius. "They're only friends," Hermione said wistfully. "I think they'd make a fine couple, but Georgie continues to insist it's only friendship."

"Ah, well…" Betty Malfoy said lightly, "Probably for the best. Bilius Weasley seems a bit wild at heart."

"He is. That's why he'd be perfect for Georgie." Hermione laughed again as she watched Georgiana toss her head back and laugh merrily. Bilius Weasley was staring at her with undisguised attraction, and Hermione could not erase the grin that settled upon her countenance at the sight.

"Good evening, My Lord," Druella said suddenly, and Hermione was jolted from her reverie by the sight of Tom striding over to the group. Even at fifty years of age, Tom looked awfully good in formalwear, Hermione thought. Perhaps especially at fifty. He'd only managed to grow more handsome with time. Hermione cleared her throat a bit as Betty and Druella curtsied to Tom. He bowed his head and said in a charming voice,

"Madam Black. Madam Malfoy. Allow me to extend my most sincere congratulations. Your children, I am certain, will live long and prosperous lives together."

"Thank you, My Lord," murmured Druella, lowering her eyes into her glass of wine. Tom turned his eyes to Hermione then, holding out his hand and asking,

"My dearest Lady, would you be so good as to grant me a dance?"

Hermione handed her wine to Betty, who took it eagerly. Hermione muttered some thanks to Betty as she took Tom's hand and let him lead her away. Once they had settled into a smooth waltz, she saw Tom flick his eyes to where Georgiana was laughing with Bilius Weasley.

"I seem to recall telling you I loved you for the first time while we danced," Tom said in a low, thoughtful voice. Hermione quirked up a little smile as she glanced over to Georgie, and she corrected him,

"We stopped dancing for a moment, as I recall. Just long enough for you to declare your love and then kiss me ferociously."

"Hm. Well, I hope that doesn't happen tonight," Tom admitted. "I've no interest in watching young Mr Weasley assault my daughter in such a way."

"Assault? Is that what it was?" Hermione joked. She let Tom turn them a bit as they danced, and she raised an eyebrow up at him. "I had rather thought it was a beautiful instant between two young souls very much in love."

"I did love you. Very much." Tom nodded down at Hermione, his dark eyes glittering a bit. "I loved you beyond anything I had imagined possible."

"And now?" Hermione asked rather breathlessly, her eyes widening a bit.

"And now I love you so fiercely that it hurts," Tom said smoothly. "I love you far more now than I did then. And I shall love you more tomorrow."

---

February 1945

Toward the end of February, the seventh-year students began murmuring among one another about their plans after Hogwarts. Even in 'her' time, Hermione had to admit that she had never given much thought to life after school. The thought of a 'nine-to-five' job had seemed so very tragically mundane compared to constant study. She had always thought, rather impractically, that her life would consist of endless reading and writing and examinations. Perhaps, Hermione had sometimes considered, she would go on to advanced coursework to prepare for life as a teacher or professor.

But, no, she thought. She might become frustrated as an ordinary teacher - frustrated by a typical student's inability to comprehend even the most simple task or concept. She did become frustrated by that, even as a student. How was she meant to be patient as a teacher?

Perhaps she would be a librarian, free to read books all day. But, no. Librarians' days were spent shelving books and scolding the denizens of the libraries, not reading. Perhaps she would work for the Ministry, then, Hermione thought. Perhaps she would work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as an Auror.

That thought made Hermione laugh aloud. She'd used Dark magic when she'd been complicit in the death of Gellert Grindelwald. She was both ally and wife to Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort. And, if she was honest with herself, there was a growing Darkness in her own soul that would make a life in Magical Law Enforcement downright laughable as a career path.

One day toward the end of March, Hermione strode into the Potions classroom arm-in-arm with Betty Cattermole, listening to the blond-haired girl chatter away about how she wanted to work for Witch Weekly. That, Hermione reckoned, was one career path she certainly didn't want. But she nodded absently as Betty blathered away, giving an occasional sound of assent.

"I think I could be an advice columnist, or… or perhaps I could write on the latest fashions in robes and cosmetics spells," Betty was droning. Hermione nodded. Betty gasped and sent Hermione jumping, and Betty said excitedly, "Or! Or I might be able to be a correspondent for the latest and greatest in the magical music scene! I might be able to meet Orsino And The Bears in person!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and scoffed lightheartedly at Betty's girlish excitement. "Oh, yes. I think Abraxas would just love that," she said, and Betty giggled.

"Well, I've applied to the magazine just in case," she told Hermione as the girls settled into a desk. Hermione had taken to working with Betty sometimes in Potions, to allow Tom to mingle with his followers sufficiently. Besides, she needed friends besides her husband. She spread out her Potions supplies and turned to Betty with a warm smile.

"I hope you get the position, Betty."

"I suppose you won't be applying for anything after Hogwarts," Betty said very softly, her expression going serious all of a sudden. Hermione frowned. She hadn't been very certain about life after Hogwarts in the 1990s, but now she had positively no idea of what to do. She'd discussed it with Tom, once or twice. He'd been firm in telling her that, as his Dark Lady, she had no need of employment. She'd accused him of misogyny, of wanting her 'barefoot in the kitchen,' but he'd cocked an eyebrow at her and informed her that she was going to be too busy helping him rule over the wizarding world to work in Diagon Alley.

But Tom wasn't ruling the wizarding world yet. As far as Hermione knew, he'd secured some funding commitments from dedicated wealthy families, and the Malfoys had promised to let him and Hermione lodge in Malfoy Manor after graduation while building support for Tom's cause. But Hermione was still rather confused as to just what that cause was. Did Tom still want to eradicate Muggle-borns, as he'd wanted to do in the time Hermione had left? She didn't think so, but his aims seemed more nebulous now. It seemed he just wanted power, that he just wanted to unite the wizarding world under the banner of his charisma, under the 'cause' of unity and 'harmony,' whatever that meant. Hermione was so uncertain of what she was helping Tom achieve that it often put a pit in her stomach.

She gulped and shoved aside her nausea as she said quietly to Betty, "After we leave Hogwarts, I intend on helping Tom, of course."

"Yes, of course." Betty nodded. "That's Abraxas' plan, too, you know. He's going to be right by the Dark Lord's side, however he's needed."

It was still rather odd to hear Betty refer to Tom that way, at least in the incarnation with which Hermione had fallen in love. She sighed and nodded, flashing Betty a grateful smile.

"You and Abraxas are loyal friends. Believe me, it's noticed."

"By a great many people," came a tight voice from behind them. Hermione and Betty whirled round to see Maggie Prewett scowling as she laid out her own Potions supplies. She tossed her red waves over her shoulder and glared up at Hermione, who narrowed her eyes and said,

"I don't believe we were speaking to you, Maggie."

"You weren't," Maggie shrugged. "But it's common knowledge that Abraxas Malfoy and Betty Cattermole prostrate themselves at the feet of the boy who calls himself 'Lord Voldemort.'"

She said the name as if it were a joke, putting her hands up and waving them about as she rolled her eyes. Betty slammed down her stirring stick on the desk and seethed as she said to Maggie,

"Don't you dare speak that name."

"What name?" Maggie challenged, raising one red eyebrow and crossing her arms. "Lord Voldemort?" She looked from Betty to Hermione and snorted derisively. "Tom Riddle is nothing but a little boy with a rather sad complex, Hermione. Unfortunately, he's already committed murder with that complex. I'd advise the both of you to run while you still can."

Hermione felt her heart thumping in her chest. There was a lot to process just now. First of all, she hadn't been entirely aware that Tom's followers had already become intimidated by speaking the name 'Voldemort.' That revelation in itself sent her pulse flying. Then there was the reinforcement of just how much Maggie Prewett hated Tom - and, by extension, Hermione herself.

"We were only discussing Betty's aspirations to work for Witch Weekly, Maggie," Hermione said calmly, trying to diffuse a situation that felt like it was too-quickly turning dangerous. She turned round and said, "No need to escalate an innocent conversation about life after Hogwarts."

She began setting up her scales, but froze as Maggie said from behind her, "Yes. I'm sure all our lives will be perfectly innocent after Hogwarts. You'll be the wife of a murderous manic, Betty will give advice on makeup, and as for me? I've been preliminarily accepted into the Auror training programme, so make of that what you will."

She sniffed lightly and started humming a strange tune. Hermione pinched her lips and glanced over to Betty, shaking her head and staying silent for the rest of the lesson.

---

March 1945

The cold rain which had been falling all day had taken its toll on Hermione. By the time she slipped into the shower in Tom's room, she relished the warm water more than she could say. She turned the porcelain handles and the water slowly juttered out of the faucet. Hermione was beginning to forget what technology - Muggle and wizarding alike - had been like during 'her' time. This was her time now, she realised. The wizarding world hadn't changed much except for fashion, but things like Muggle televisions seemed like a bizarre dream now.

Hermione stripped off her robes and banished them to the bedroom outside, climbing into the shower and starting to hum. Tom was off meeting with his Slytherin cronies, she knew. In particular, he was using the school-aged boys to manipulate fathers and uncles into providing shelter, funds, and followers for once Tom graduated school. Hermione had found that it was sometimes best to stay out of those meetings, when she perceived that the testosterone levels in the room would fail to benefit from her presence. Other times, she thought her voice of reason was welcome and necessary.

Tonight, she just wanted a warm shower to wash away the chilly day. So she shampooed her hair and luxuriated in the hot stream of water for quite some time, humming away merrily. Then, before she had any idea what was happening, there was a sharp pain on the back of her leg as if she had been shot by a gun.

Hermione shrieked and jumped and nearly slipped. She whirled round and screamed harder when she saw that there was a snake, dark grey and shockingly long, winding its way along the tile floor of the shower. It lunged forward and lashed at Hermione's leg again, its teeth sinking painfully into her flesh once more. Hermione leapt from the shower without turning it off, scrambling for her wand on the vanity. She slipped and fell on the bathroom floor, crying out as the snake followed her and bit once again. She finally managed to reach up for her wand from the vanity and pointed it at the snake.

"STUPEFY!" she screamed. It was hardly the most appropriate spell, and there were better ways to get rid of snakes, but Hermione thought it would be best to Stun the thing and see whether Tom could use Parseltongue to figure out what it was... and why it had attacked Hermione in her bathroom. She scrambled to her feet, staring back in horror at the unconscious snake, and she slammed the bathroom door shut as she made her way naked into Tom's bedroom.

Then, suddenly, the pain in her legs started searing like fire, and Hermione howled in agony. She fell to her knees and held her wand up with a shaking hand.

"Ac-Accio Anti-Venom!" she cried desperately, but she felt herself starting to lose consciousness before anything arrived in the Head Boy's room. The room was spinning; her ears were hot and she felt horribly nauseated. She vomited on the floor next to her and was terrified to see a creeping web of black emanating from each snake bite wound.

"Oh, Tom," she whispered, "please come back."

Then the room went dark and silent, and the last thing Hermione felt was her wand clattering from her hand.

---

March 1945

Tom smirked as he strode confidently down the Armoury Corridor. He gently shook the satchel in his left hand, relishing its weight. He figured the bag contained about fifty Galleons, and he was very much looking forward to adding the money to the fortune he'd begun amassing. This particular money had been given to him by Mulciber; it had been sent by his father after the younger Mulciber had sent letters convincing elder family members of Tom's worth.

"Tell them that I mean to bring all wizards together under the common goal of strength and unity against Muggle oppression," Tom had told Mulciber one day, and the boy had scribbled out a note. Tom had paced behind Mulciber's desk and continued, "Tell them I mean to create a singular system wherein all of wizardkind functions in unity, harmony, and efficiency."

Mulciber had paused, frowned, and looked up from his letter. "And how is that different from what Grindelwald wanted?" he'd asked in confusion.

"It's different," Tom had snarled, "because Grindelwald had no idea how to properly implement such goals. Grindelwald was a soft-minded fool. I am no fool. Tell them that."

A few days later, fifty or so Galleons had arrived, along with pledges of loyalty for Tom's cause. Now Tom strode down the Armoury Corridor with something of a bounce in his step, happy to inform Hermione that he had great confidence in their life after Hogwarts.

But as he neared his bedroom, a terrible sinking feeling started to come over him. Something was wrong, he realised. He had no idea what was wrong, but something drove him to sprint the final ten steps to the room. He raised his wand with five steps remaining and unwarded the door, sending it flinging open. He dashed inside and hurled himself to his knees when he saw Hermione lying crumpled and naked in the middle of the floor.

"No. No, no, no," he whispered, roughly pulling her into his lap and hastily checking for a pulse. Her heart was beating, though weakly. She was breathing - barely. Tom glanced over her naked form and quickly realised there were bites upon her legs. Snake bites. Then he flicked his eyes up to the closed bathroom door and saw the shadow, moving slowly back and forth in the light beneath the doorway.

There was no time for that now, Tom thought. He would have to confront the snake later. Now, right now, Hermione needed Anti-Venom, and he had none. He felt sick to his stomach as he yanked off his outer school robe and wrapped it sloppily around Hermione's bare body. He could have levitated her with his wand, he supposed, but for whatever reason he felt compelled to carry her. She felt as though she weighed nothing at all in his arms as he cradled her, rising to his feet and dashing from the room.

He ran, glancing down at her frighteningly pale face from time to time as he ascended staircases and careened through corridors. Some part of his brain heard portraits whispering frantically as he passed them, and a little bit of him was grateful it was the middle of the night and that the corridors were empty.

At some point he reached the Hospital Wing and handed Hermione over to a very perplexed-looking Medi-Witch, mumbling something about snake bites and Anti-Venom. Then he ran back to the Head Boy's room and flung open the door to his bathroom, trying desperately to catch his breath as he pointed his wand at the black snake in the middle of the floor.

"Simi hi baenais?" Tom hissed, narrowing his eyes at the snake. His question might have been innocent enough in English, for all it meant was, 'Who sent you?'The serpent's bobbing motion slowed at once, and it rose up in a docile fashion. Then a familiar sound - Parseltongue - emerged from the snake.

"De kabanais dasin... sssaifa! De sporre korenais basi dasin... ssssaifa!"

Tom shook his head in frustration. The snake had just told him that it had been put in the room by 'some fool' who had hoped the snake would kill the room's inhabitant. So someone had been trying to kill him, then. It had to have been an assassination attempt on Tom's life, seeing as it was his room and now Hermione's. Besides, Tom was the one publicly declaring himself to be a Dark Lord.

"Hi kabanais dasin Dumbledore?" Tom asked quickly, positing whether or not it had been Albus Dumbledore to put the snake in his room. After all, Dumbledore would have had access to the Head Boy's room where a student would not. But the snake did not answer for a long moment. Tom asked again, more aggressively, "Hi kabanaisss dasssin Albusss Dumbledore?"

"Na orilae... ba kadas saifa."

Tom frowned. 'Now that I think on it,' The snake had just said in Parseltongue, 'The fool who put me here was a female human.'

The fact that the snake was being so evasive about names meant that it did not know any names. Of course it didn't. It was a snake. Probably it had been taken from a zoo or a jungle and planted here because it was venomous. Someone had hoped that the snake would kill Tom in his sleep. That person hadn't counted on it biting Hermione, on Tom finding her before she died. On Tom being a Parselmouth.

That person had been rather sloppy, all things considered. Tom sniffed lightly and sighed, pointing his wand at the snake and drawling,

"Vipera Evanesca."

The snake dissolved quickly into thin air, Vanishing into nonbeing and leaving no trace of its existence. The only sign that anything had happened in the bathroom was that the shower was still running (Tom quickly turned it off). There was also a puddle of water on the floor where Hermione had stumbled naked after being bitted, and Tom cleaned that up, as well. He sighed shakily and made his way back up to the Hospital Wing, pushing open the doors to the Infirmary without knocking. He was trembling fiercely by the time he arrived, and the shaking did not improve when he saw Hermione lying unconscious in a bed.

"Is she all right?" he called to the cluster of Medi-Witches and Healers around the bed. Dippet was there, too, speaking in a low voice to the Healer. As Tom approached, a wizard in dark blue robes turned round, sighing and reaching out a hand.

"You must be Mr Riddle," the Healer said. Tom stopped and peered round the Healer, seeing that Hermione was sheathed in a plain white nightgown. She was tucked peacefully into the bed and looked to be sleeping, but a pit in Tom's stomach prompted him to ask again, in a tight voice,

"Is she all right?"

The Healer lowered his hand and cleared his throat. "My name is Healer Percival. I've been brought from St Mungo's. We are going to transfer Miss Villeneuve to hospital at once. If you hadn't brought her immediately, I'm afraid we would have lost her. As it is, Mr Riddle, we can only hope that the damage is completely reversed. She's been dosed with Dreamless Sleep to help stave off convulsions as the Anti-Venom works through her... she will need several weeks in hospital at minimum."

"I shall come with her," Tom said firmly.

"I think it best that -" The Healer began, but Tom gave him a withering scowl and snarled,

"I am her husband. Perhaps you did not know."

The Healer nodded nervously and swallowed heavily. "Of course, My Lord," he said finally, sending a strange shock down Tom's spine. The Medi-Witches behind Tom seemed busy at preparing Hermione for transport; they were wrapping her in blankets and putting a woolen hat upon her head.

"Why can you not treat her here?" Tom demanded. "It seems dangerous to move her."

"The best medicines and Healers are at St Mungos, Mr Riddle," Headmaster Dippet began, but Tom interrupted firmly,

"Then bring them here."

He looked from Dippet to the Healer and back again, glaring at the men with an expression that left no room for debate. Armando Dippet sighed heavily and said,

"Healer Percival, might you be able to remain here for a while with a few Medi-Witches? Hogwarts will gladly house you so that you may properly treat Madam Villeneuve..."

"Of course," Healer Percival said quickly. "That could be arranged."

"Good," Tom said, nodding.

"I shall write to the Ministry at once, requesting investigators," Dippet said. "We must find out how it is that a deadly snake found its way into the Head Boy's room -"

"No need, Headmaster." Tom shook his head insistently. Dippet opened his mouth to protest, but Tom said through clenched teeth, "If I can eliminate the risk of Gellert Grindelwald, surely I can find out who was fool enough to plant a snake in my bathroom... and make certain it never happens again."

Dippet shifted on his feet, looking rather uneasy as he cleared his throat. "Do be careful, Mr Riddle," he said. "There are rules, you know... procedures, for this sort of thing."

"Naturally, sir." Tom nodded absently. "I shall handle it all with an abundance of caution and justice. You have my word. Now. If you don't mind, I should like to go and hold my wife's hand for a while. I think it might soothe everyone's nerves."

"Of course." Dippet nodded and stepped aside. Tom brushed between him and the bewildered-looked Healer, his heart thrumming with rage as he walked up to the hospital bed. He pulled up a chair beside Hermione and sat down, taking her hand in his and looking at her peaceful face. He sighed and pinched his lips, knowing that he could not confirm his suspicions about who had planted the snake.

He could, of course. Technically. He could kidnap Maggie Prewett and interrogate her with Legilimency. But to do so would be foolish; it would make him seem downright psychotic, even if it turned out that she had indeed tried to kill him. He would be better off biding his time. He would get his vengeance on the red-haired idiot one day. And when he did, he'd make it very obvious that he knew what she'd done.

---

March 1955

"She is here, My Lord. In the sitting-room."

Lord Voldemort signed his name with a flourish to the document he'd been reading and nodded to Abraxas Malfoy in the threshold. He set down his quill and picked up the Elder Wand, rising from his desk and striding quickly from his office. He breezed past Abraxas and headed down the dark corridor toward the sitting-room, outside which he saw Hermione leaning against the wall. She looked rather distraught, and he pulled up in front of her and put his hand upon her cheek.

Her eyes were rimmed red as though she'd been crying, and her hair was rather disheveled around her thin face. She stared at Voldemort for a long moment, and then she leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn't the sort of kiss he was accustomed to receiving from her. It was fierce, almost violent. It nearly hurt, the way she bit at his lip and gripped his hair. Voldemort grunted into Hermione's mouth and pulled away, furrowing his eyebrows at her.

"Are you alright?" he whispered gently, though of course he knew she was not.

"She wanted to take Georgie from you," Hermione said firmly.

"I know." Voldemort nodded. "And she nearly did take you from me. Believe me, Hermione. I have no reason to be merciful."

A tear wormed its way from one of Hermione's shining chestnut eyes, and she moved to swipe it away angrily. Voldemort caught her wrist and twisted it carefully, kissing the inside of her arm so she shivered. He used his thumb to brush away her tear, and he pulled her wrist back down to her side. Hermione gulped and shook her head.

"I am not a hateful creature," she insisted, "but I want her dead. It is the only way I know my child will be safe. I do not trust her. I want her dead. Please, Tom…"

"Wait out here," Tom said quietly, leaning forward and gently pushing Hermione against the wall. He ghosted a kiss against her lips and whispered, "I won't be long, darling."

Then he pushed the door to the sitting-room open and moved gracefully inside, shutting the door behind him. The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock on the mantle and the soft crackling of the fire in the fireplace. The space was still and empty, and no one was in the room except for Voldemort and one other person - Maggie Prewett, who lay in the middle of the ground, bound by magical ropes.

"Hello, Miss Prewett," Voldemort said smoothly, moving to hover above her. Maggie squirmed and squealed, her speaking constrained by a spell. Voldemort sniffed and paced around her, and he said smoothly, "I wonder if you might tell me what it is you had planned for my daughter Georgiana. Legilimens."

Her mind cracked open far more easily than Voldemort would have thought likely, given that the girl was a skilled Auror. He'd have thought her capable of at least rudimentary Occlumency, but her thoughts caved to him at once. He could see Maggie meeting with Albus Dumbledore, discussing Voldemort and Hermione and Georgiana.

'I find that he is particularly devoid of human emotion,' Dumbledore was saying, 'except when it comes to his wife, and particularly to his daughter. If we wish to halt his ascent, I believe it might be prudent to exploit that emotional tie. It seems cruel, but it may be the only way...'

Another memory flashed by, a meeting between Maggie and Dumbledore in the Hog's Head Inn in Hogsmeade.

'If we get Georgiana in Azkaban,' Maggie said to Dumbledore, 'They'll give us anything we want. Voldemort would put himself in a cell to free her. You'll see.'

Voldemort pulled out of Maggie Prewett's mind and flashed a crooked grin down at her. Maggie's green eyes went wide and she shook her head, moaning miserably.

"Ah. So the Dark Lady was right, then. She often is." Voldemort pointed his wand at Maggie and said in a lazy voice, "She's felt an enormous lack of trust toward you for a great many years, you know. Ever since you tried to kill me with that snake at Hogwarts. That was rather foolish of you, I'm afraid. Rather obvious. But, then, you hadn't been trained as an Auror yet. You can scarcely be blamed for such sloppy and elementary tactics. And how were you to know that the snake would attack Hermione instead of me? Or that I would be able to communicate with it using Parseltongue?"

Maggie's eyes went wider than ever then, and Voldemort chuckled under his breath. He jabbed his wand at the space beside Maggie and said calmly,

"Serpensortia."

The Elder Wand backfired a bit from the force of the spell as a large black-and-brown viper burst into the air. It landed with a small thump upon the ground and began hissing at once, slithering along the ground and triggering a happy little smile upon Voldemort's face.

"Ssa naeslisss… sporre naeslis."

The snake struck at once, biting Maggie's cheek. Then it bit her shoulder, and her abdomen, and her hip. She screamed as loudly as she could without being able to open her mouth, and she wiggled until the venom began to sink into her veins. Knowing that the viper's bite would immobilise her and take over her nervous system in just moments, Voldemort said quickly to Maggie Prewett,

"There are consequences for the choices we make, Miss Prewett. You and Dumbledore were very right to think that I am… shall we say, rather attached to my wife and daughter. You were both very right to think that I would do anything, give anything, in their names. That includes killing. And so, in your foolhardy attempts to foil me, you and Dumbledore will learn just how attached the great Lord Voldemort can be. It is you, Maggie Prewett, and not Georgiana, who will suffer the consequences of my ascent. You and Albus Dumbledore will pay with your lives. Go now to whatever hell it is that receives your kind."

Maggie Prewett stopped squirming then, and her wide eyes glazed over and stared blankly at the ceiling. Her muffled squeals went silent. The snake that Voldemort had Summoned slithered back toward him. He petted its head and smirked down at it, thinking he might like to keep it. He spared one last glance to Maggie Prewett's body and to the snake and sighed, turning and briskly walking out of the sitting-room.

He opened the closed the door quickly, finding that Hermione had been pacing in the corridor the entire time he'd been inside.

"Well?" she asked tightly. He just nodded once, curtly. Hermione's face darkened and her lips flattened into a determined line. She reached for Voldemort's hand and swallowed heavily as she said,

"Thank you, Tom."

---

May 1945

Hermione was floating on a giant white daisy, high above a churning blue ocean. She was unafraid of the height, knowing that if she fell she would fall slowly and land almost weightlessly. She giggled madly as she clung to an enormous daisy petal and gazed down at the water, letting the wind whip her hair about her chapped cheeks.

Then, very abruptly, she was in the ocean itself, breathing the water as if she were a fish. She was holding fast to a bit of seaweed and was watching a school of brightly-coloured creatures swim by. She greeted them, laughing at the bubbles that came from between her lips.

Then she was breathing air, gasping for life, and she wasn't laughing anymore. There was a bright light, painfully bright, unpleasant and burning and insistent.

Wake up, Hermione, the light screamed at her. Open your eyes and come back to the world.

NO! her mind replied. I want my Daisy! I want to see the fish again!

But the light was very persistent, and Hermione's eyelids thrummed painfully as they forced their way open. They fluttered and she moaned in agony.

"Quickly, quickly!" she heard a woman's voice saying. "Go fetch Healer Percival and Mr Riddle at once! She's waking up!"

No, I'm not! Hermione wanted to shout, though her lips were sealed shut and the only sound she made was a rather pitiful groan. Her eyes continued a slow movement toward opening, and the light kept worming its way in. The burn got worse, and there were tears then.

The ceiling was very, very blurry. Hermione did not recall that the ceiling of any room had ever been so very blurry in all her life. She felt her body moving, though she was not moving it. Someone else was moving it for her, which seemed odd as she had no particular urge to go anywhere.

"That's it… open your eyes," a woman's voice said gently. Hermione felt herself bending at the waist, quite painfully, and she huffed in protest. The woman cooed, "I'm going to sit you up, love. Keep opening your eyes, now. We're going to bring your husband in to see you. That's it… good girl. Open your eyes…"

Then Hermione was blinking. Open, shut. Open, shut. Open, shut. One purposeful movement after another, until her eyes were able to flutter on their own and the blurriness got a bit better. She took in the space around her and realised it was the Hogwarts hospital wing.

Why am I here? Hermione wondered, and not atop my Daisy over the ocean?

Someone new came into Hermione's field of vision - a middle-aged man in vibrant blue robes. He stroked at his greying beard and asked firmly, "Do you know your name?"

Hermione thought that was a rather ridiculous question. But then she realised she would have a great deal of difficulty articulating her name. She decided to try, and she cleared her throat carefully. "Her-Hermione," she said, furrowing her brows when she heard the awful squeaking that came from her mouth. She tried again, but her voice was still quite squeaky. "My name is Hermione."

"Very good," the man in the blue robes said, as if the atrocious childishness of her voice were of no concern. He turned to the woman beside her, who looked like a Medi-Witch of some kind, and he said, "Bring Miss Villeneuve a Freshening Potion and perform some cleansing spells so that she's put to rights before we begin our exams, please."

Hermione frowned, feeling rather offended. But then she wondered how long she'd been sleeping, and she thought she must be rather rank and dirty. She opened her lips gratefully when the Medi-Witch came back and poured a minty solution into her mouth, and she felt much better after the potion took effect. Her teeth felt slick and clean in her freshened mouth, though her tongue was still awkward and heavy from disuse. The Medi-Witch cast cleansing spells upon Hermione's hair and body while she sat perfectly still upon the bed, and then the Healer came back and started asking more questions. Hermione felt a sinking feeling when confusion began setting in.

"What is your date of birth?" the Healer asked matter-of-factly, and Hermione hesitated. She was about to say, '19 September, 1979,' but then she realised quickly that she would seem insane to say such a thing. She tried to remember the date she'd given when she'd come back in time. Just remembering that she had come back in time took a long moment of clearing mental fog. At long last, Hermione decided to omit the year altogether and whispered,

"I was born on the nineteenth of September."

"Very good," the Healer said, and Hermione felt a measure of relief. But then the Healer asked,

"Do you know how it is you came to be in the hospital wing, Madam Villeneuve?"

Hermione thought hard, but eventually she shook her head, sending a wave of pain down her neck and spine. She winced and hissed, and the Healer said,

"Try not to move too much, please. You are here, Madam, because you were attacked by a venomous snake in your husband's dormitory bathroom. Do you recall that?"

Hermione shut her eyes and tried to think. A snake? A venomous snake? That sounded bizarre. Then there was a word that seemed even more strange.

Husband?

Hermione felt a crash of nausea come over her as she tried to make sense of everything. Finally, one by one, memories starting racking up atop one another like a deck of cards. She could see Tom's face then; she could hear his voice telling her he loved her. All the memories of him came crashing back like a wave, and Hermione felt like crying. She could vaguely recall being bitten over and over by a snake in his shower, and then she did cry a bit.

"Where is he?" she asked suddenly, still hating the high pitch of her voice. "Where is Tom?"

"We've sent for him," said the Healer carefully. "He's been here every single day for over two months, Madam Villeneuve, it's -"

"Hermione!"

She could hear his voice shouting from outside the hospital wing, and Hermione unsuccessfully tried to sit forward to see around the curtain framing her bed. She winced again and sat back, watching the Healer rise and smile knowingly as Tom yelled again,

"Hermione!"

His sprinting footsteps grew closer and closer, and then suddenly the curtain was thrown back and he was standing there, beside her, panting and red-cheeked as though he'd just run a marathon. He flicked his eyes from the Healer to the Medi-Witch and said briskly,

"If you're finished with your exam for now, Healer Percival, I'd like a minute."

"Of course, My Lord," the Healer murmured, backing out of the space and beckoning the Medi-Witch to come with him. "Please let me know if I'm needed; I shall need to check her again within the hour."

Tom nodded dismissively, turning his eyes back to Hermione. She smiled weakly at him once the Healer was gone and squeaked, "This is the second time in my life that I've spent a very long time hospitalised because of a snake. The first time was because of your bloody basilisk, you know."

"What?" Tom narrowed his eyes and shook his head. Hermione gave a derisive snort and shrugged.

"It doesn't matter now. It isn't going to happen again, I'm sure."

"What are you talking about?" Tom sank into the chair beside Hermione's bed and took her hand. He was still catching his breath, and he pushed his hair out of his eyes. Hermione thought he looked a bit thin, as though he had lost some weight while she'd been in hospital. She tried to touch his face and managed, with some difficulty, to cup his jaw with her shaking hand. He put his hand over hers on his face and shut his eyes, swallowing heavily.

"Have you been eating while I've been asleep?" she asked him pointedly. Tom did not answer. Hermione flattened her lips and cleared her throat, saying a bit more insistently, "You look very thin, Tom. They tell me you've been here every day. Have you been taking care of yourself?"

He opened his eyes and dragged the inside of her wrist to his mouth, kissing it lightly and sending a shiver down Hermione's spine. "I spent many of my mealtimes here," he admitted. "I confess I have not had much appetite for food when I have known you to be alone in a hospital bed. I went to lessons and I carried out some important business. Aside from that, I've been here for over two months. I happened to be in Potions when you woke up, but…" He shook his head and flicked his eyes to the little table beside Hermione's bed. She followed his eyes there and saw a small jar with a bundle of very new-looking lilacs. Tom sighed and swallowed heavily, licking his lips as he whispered,

"I replaced them every day. I wanted them to be fresh when you woke up."

Hermione's eyes burned then. She squeezed Tom's hand and tried to thank him, but the lump in her throat kept her from speaking. Tom kissed the inside of her wrist again and said gently,

"The snake that nearly killed you… it was meant for me. People will always hate me, Hermione. They will try to kill me, and I know that. I don't mind that. But I've been thinking on it, and I've realised that someone might deliberately try to kill you, to hurt me. To manipulate me, to get me to give in. And I do mind that, very much indeed."

He put Hermione's wrist down then, laying it upon the bed. He stared at her hand for a long moment, and Hermione felt a terrible pit in her stomach. "You just have to be stronger than them, Tom," she insisted, but Tom shook his head.

"If you are near me, they will take you. They will kill you to wound me, and it will work. It will destroy me, from the inside out. I can not lose you, Hermione."

"You won't, Tom," Hermione said forcefully, though of course she knew it was an impossible thing to promise. Tom raised his dark eyes to her and sighed pointedly, shaking his head.

"I very nearly did lose you," he reminded her. "I did not eat. I did not sleep. I sat in this chair and I loathed myself for landing you in this bed. I love you so completely that that your fate is tied to mine, you understand?"

"You are my husband, Tom," Hermione said, feeling a rush of terror come over her as she realised he meant to end their marriage. She felt tears trickling down her cheeks as her voice crackled, "You bound yourself to me forever, and I to you."

"Silly girl," Tom hissed, taking her face in his hands firmly. He brushed her tears away with his thumbs and shook his head. He leaned in to kiss Hermione's lips and she was suddenly grateful for the Freshening Potion. Tom whispered against her mouth, "Do you think I mean to leave you?"

"Yes," Hermione answered, her voice trembling with confusion. Tom laughed, low in his throat, and kissed her again. Hermione frowned, feeling more confused than ever. If he didn't mean to leave her, then what did he mean?

"I will destroy every last of them," Tom informed her, his fingers moving to arrange her messy hair. His dark eyes glanced lovingly around her face and settled on her own gaze, and the corner of his mouth curled up dangerously. He licked his bottom lip, sending a shiver down Hermione's spine, and he whispered, "I will eliminate every enemy until you are safe, until I can sleep beside you every night until the end of time, knowing that no danger at all befalls you. Because, Hermione, I have many ambitions in this world… but none is more important than spending my life beside you. Promise me you will grow old with me."

"Tom, I -" Hermione wanted to tell him that she had no idea what the future would hold, that time was the most confusing concept she'd ever encountered. But he put both his hands upon her cheeks and stared deeply into her eyes, his gaze glittering like black diamonds. She melted then, at the sight of his passion for her, and she felt faint when he said forcefully,

"Promise me that I will be an old man, and you will be an old woman, and that you will still love me. No matter what happens."

It was a ridiculous promise to make, and there were so many things that could go wrong between now and then. It was, frankly, an impossible thing to try to ensure. But Hermione put her hands over Tom's on her cheeks and nodded firmly.

"I promise," she whispered, and she sighed as he kissed her.

---

May 1945

The Muggle conflict in Europe ended in early May, and with that news came a great deal of relief among the student body of Hogwarts. Many had family on the Continent, whilst others had simply felt uneasy about so much violence going on, fearing their wizarding families might get caught in the crossfire.

For several weeks in May, there was a relative calm and happiness at the school. Grindelwald was gone, the weather was fine, the Muggle war was over. Then, toward the end of the month, students became grumpy again as it became time to frantically revise for final exams. For the elder students, sitting O.W.L.s. and N.E.W.T.s became the primary priority.

Tom felt no real urgency in sitting his N.E.W.T.s. He knew he would pass all the exams he attempted, and he felt no obligation to revise for them. But he spent many nights in May revising with Hermione, for she had missed many weeks of lessons while in hospital, and she was terrified. She had no reason to be nervous, of course. She was brilliant and could pass her exams in her sleep. Nonetheless, Tom practised spells with her and quizzed her on facts and even let her turn him into a water goblet (in his bedroom, at midnight).

Tom hadn't realised how lonely he'd been without Hermione until he had her back. His 'friends' only cared what he said because he was charismatic. They were sycophants, every last one of them. They never questioned him, never challenged him to a debate. They laughed too enthusiastically at his sarcasm and they followed him around like puppy dogs. They adored him, but only because they wanted to be with him once he was powerful. They wanted positions in his New World. They thought they were his friends, his allies, his lieutenants. But to Tom, they were obnoxious sheep bleating as they followed him relentlessly. Of course, he couldn't turn them away. He did need the sycophants if he wanted to ascend to power. That did not mean he liked them.

And it certainly did not mean he preferred them to Hermione. While she healed, he dreamed of her, of the way she smiled at him and the way she hummed in the shower. He thought of her during lessons, of touching her and laughing with her. He thought of how she'd stood beside him that night in the Great Hall when they'd received the Order of Merlin, looking resplendent in a regal emerald gown. He remembered their private wedding and the night he'd told her he loved her.

Every damned day, all the while, he'd had to see Maggie Prewett's stupid ginger face, looking smug and self-satisfied in lessons and in corridors. He'd thought about killing her, more than once. He'd nearly done it one time, when Maggie had been leaving the library and Tom had been patrolling alone. But he knew it would have been stupid, that it would have ruined everything.

He'd killed Ladon Scamander for far less, of course. He'd killed a lot of people for a lot less. But things were different now. If he were discovered killing a pureblood witch for a hunch, things could come tumbling down awfully quickly. So Tom watched Maggie Prewett with hatred in his cold eyes, hoping that someday he could watch the life leave hers.

One morning at the end of May, Tom was cleaning his teeth in his bathroom when he heard Hermione say from out in the bedroom,

"I am going to scream from panic. I swear it."

He rolled his eyes and spit out his toothpaste, rinsing his mouth patiently before calling to her, "You know full well that Albus Dumbledore can not present a challenge too great for you. You will do just fine."

She didn't answer, and Tom glanced curiously out to see that she was frantically turning books into birds.

"Avis ad piscis!" she cried then, and one of the bird-books turned quickly into a fish, which flopped helplessly on the floor. Quickly realising her rather cruel mistake, Hermione gasped and rushed to Conjure a fishbowl. "Aguamenti!" she cried, filling the bowl. Then she levitated the gasping goldfish into the bowl and placed it on the little table beside the armchair. She stared at the fish and touched the bowl gently, cooing apologetically, "I'm so sorry, little fish!"

"Can you stop practising now?" Tom drawled, drying his hair with a towel and smearing shaving lotion onto his face. Hermione looked up and swallowed heavily as Tom began running his razor over his cheek. He could shave with magic, of course, but he found it rather relaxing to make it part of his morning routine to do it by hand. Hermione seemed to like watching him do it, too, for some reason. She set her wand down and stalked toward him, still looking quite nervous. She leaned upon the bathroom doorjamb, still clad in her silk pyjamas.

"I'd much rather stay here and make love to you all day than go and take a Transfiguration exam," she admitted, and Tom smirked as he turned to the mirror and dragged the razor over his skin a few times.

"That sounds nice," he nodded. "Let's do that."

Hermione snorted and stood up straight from the doorjamb. She grinned and shook her head. "Right. No one would wonder where the married seventh-years were."

Tom shrugged. "Let them wonder," he said simply, rinsing his razor in the basin and finishing off the last bit of shaving cream. He patted his face with a hot wash cloth and smiled crookedly at Hermione. "Let them be jealous of me."

She scoffed and turned over her shoulder, laughing as she began to walk away from the doorjamb. "We've got to hurry and get dressed," she said. "We're going to be late for breakfast."

Tom reached for her wrist, pulling her back and crushing her mouth with a kiss. She tasted like toothpaste, like vanilla and caramel, and he instantly felt himself going hard as he laced his fingers with hers. She huffed in weak protest against his mouth, and she pulled away to say something, but Tom quickly whispered,

"I don't want breakfast. I'm not hungry. I want you instead."

"Tom…" Hermione shook her head and sighed. "I need to read up on human feature Transfiguration; I'm certain I'll be tested on it…"

"You," Tom began, pushing Hermione gently toward the bed, "are perfectly skilled in human feature Transfiguration. You need to relax, or you won't do very well. Don't you know that magic functions best when the practitioner is relaxed?"

It was a lie; he was making that up entirely and she knew it. She giggled as he urged her onto her back on the bed, and he felt a genuinely happy expression wash over him as he pulled the thin straps of her mint-green silk camisole down. He bared her torso and felt another swell of desire beneath the towel round his waist. One of his hands reached instinctively to cup a small breast and he moaned quietly, his eyes wrenching shut as he realised just how thoroughly he was attracted to her.

She wasn't perfect, but, then, neither was he. She had frizzy hair and a small chest and a gangly form and lots of freckles. Perhaps other people might have thought those to be flaws. Tom didn't. He thought every inch of Hermione was perfect and beautiful and very desirable, and he grew harder with every second that he touched her.

He yanked down her pyjama shorts and tossed his towel aside and pulled her to the edge of the bed, massaging her chest and her clit for a long while as he stared at her eyes.

"I love you," she whispered finally, and Tom flinched to hear her say it. He nodded, panting with want. He didn't have a free hand to attend to his throbbing manhood, but Hermione reached up to stroke him and he jerked forward into her hand. He nodded again, gratefully, and said in a strained voice,

"I almost lost you."

"You didn't, though," she said reassuringly, driving her head back against the mattress.

"I got lucky," Tom muttered, feeling himself grow in her hand. It felt too good, the way her fingers coursed over his tip and fluttered down his length. He needed to be inside of her - now. He impulsively used his knee to part her thighs and pushed himself into her sopping wet entrance, pumping steadily as he huffed, "You can't leave me. I will not - I can't make it without you."

"Don't be a fool," Hermione laughed, and Tom flushed with embarrassment and paused his thrusting. She reached up to touch his face and clarified, "You can make it all on your own. I've seen it happen."

"No, you didn't," Tom asserted tightly. "You saw me as a grey-faced, red-eyed shadow. I failed. Something had happened. I'd lost you. I told you so, didn't I? In that timeline, I'd lost you, somehow, and look what happened. I need you. You can not… please."

He had no idea what he was saying, why he sounded like an emotional mess even to his own ears. But Tom cycled his hips into Hermione and leaned his cheek against her hand. He shut his eyes and felt her hand reach for her wand, knowing she meant to cast a contraceptive spell. He clutched at her wrist and shook his head firmly, eyes still shut.

"Don't do that," he whispered. "You're my wife."

"Tom, look at me," Hermione said quickly, and he did, opening his eyes just a crack. He felt Hermione's hands go to his hips and slow them, and he saw the concerned look in her eyes. "You've years to go before you ought to worry about being a father," she informed him, "and I'm more concerned about my Transfiguration N.E.W.T. than I am about being a mother. Hand me my wand, will you?"

Tom knew she was right, much as it struck at his core to admit it. He reached for his own wand and murmured a few protective spells before moving his hips again. He lowered himself to his elbows and started kissing Hermione's neck, so deeply that he knew there would be marks.

Good, he thought. Let them see that you're mine.

He felt her womanhood clench slowly and steadily around him after a time, heard her quietly moan his name once or twice. His own climax was easy, too, and after a while he lay beside her with his leg strewn over her softly panting form. Finally, he heard her whisper,

"We've missed breakfast."

"I don't care," Tom muttered truthfully.

"We'll be late for lessons," she pointed out, and Tom repeated,

"I don't care."

It was ten minutes before either of them could be bothered to dress for the day.

---

June 1945

Hermione stared over her shoulder at the glittering windows of Hogwarts Castle, wondering whether she would ever see them again.

"It's sad in a way, isn't it?" Betty Cattermole asked. Hermione flashed Betty a sad smile and squeezed her friend's hand. The two girls were sharing a boat with Abraxas Malfoy and Tom. As part of the seventh-year graduation ceremony, they were taking a boat across the Black Lake to Hogsmeade Station. It was a nostalgic hearkening to the way they'd first arrived at Hogwarts as first-years. For Hermione, it was particularly touching (and odd) since her first crossing in a Hogwarts boat wouldn't happen until 1991.

"I don't suppose it does much good to dwell on the past, Miss Cattermole," Tom said lightly from across the boat, and Betty's face fell as she nodded obediently.

"No, My Lord," she said. "I suppose not."

Hermione licked her lips and tried to infuse a bit of diplomacy. Sometimes it seemed to her that Tom forgot that part of ingratiating himself to his followers was being likable. She squeezed Betty's hand again and said to Tom,

"I think what Betty meant was that Hogwarts is a place where many of us forged incredible relationships of all kinds. Our miraculous futures would not be so illuminated without the experiences we had at Hogwarts, eh?"

Betty grinned and nodded then, and Tom smirked gratefully at Hermione. "Indeed," he agreed.

"My Lord, I received an owl just this morning from my uncle Neptunus," said Abraxas Malfoy as the little boat neared the far shore of the Black Lake. Hermione could just make out in the dim lantern light the way Tom quirked up his eyebrows.

"Oh?"

"He writes to inform you that at this point all the former adherents to Grindelwald - in Britain, anyway - have expressed interest in a meeting."

Tom looked pleased. He flicked his eyes to Hermione and curled up half his mouth, sniffing lightly as he said to Abraxas, "I would like a full list of their names. Where they live, who their friends are. Why it is they were associated with Grindelwald in the first place. I shall sort through them and send a guest list to your uncle Neptunus, and we shall host a little soiree in a few weeks at Malfoy Manor."

"Wonderful, My Lord," Abraxas nodded.

Hermione felt a nervous flutter in her stomach as she looked over her shoulder once more at Hogwarts. She'd passed all her N.E.W.T.s with flying colours; she'd been granted a total of seven, all Outstandings. Even so, she felt a great deal of unease about the future. Tom seemed quite happy to leave school, to move on to the 'real world.' But Hermione had no idea what the 'real world' was. She had never lived in the 1940s at all outside of Hogwarts, much less in a world where she was the wife of a young man aspiring to rule wizarding Britain with Dark magic.

Hogwarts had always been a safe haven for Hermione. It had always meant reading and studying, writing essays and learning new spells. It had always meant friendship and adventure, breaking rules and scolding people about them. Put simply, Hogwarts had been the essence of Hermione's existence for the past seven years; everywhere and everything else had been purely auxiliary. Even after moving through time, the one constant for Hermione had been school.

Now she wouldn't even have that. The only predictable thing she would have was Tom. In order to rely on him as a 'predictable' thing, she would have to throw out all notions she held of him from her previous life. She would have to keep moving forward in the life they were building together.

There was no Ron Weasley, no Harry Potter, no Mum or Dad or television. Albus Dumbledore was an enemy, apparently. Lord Voldemort was her husband, and she was madly in love with him. A great many things that Hermione knew to have happened had not yet come to pass, and probably never would. A great many people she had known had not yet been born, and probably never would exist.

As the boat landed at the Hogsmeade docks, Hermione took Tom's hand and looked up into his dark, glittering eyes. Distantly, Hermione heard Betty Cattermole speaking excitedly with Abraxas about going to the beaches in Bournemouth together. Tom flashed Hermione his trademark crooked smile as he helped her from the boat, rolling his eyes toward Betty and Abraxas as they made their way down the dock.

"He's in for it with her," Tom joked. "She won't shut up for the next fifty years, I should think. But he's fond of her, so."

His smile widened a bit, but then disappeared when he saw that Hermione wasn't smiling back. She frowned and apologised, "I'm sorry, Tom. It's just… leaving school. It makes me think about… time. My time."

Tom stopped in his tracks and squeezed Hermione's hand almost painfully. He glanced about the dock, waiting for a cluster of students to pass. Then he put his hands upon Hermione's shoulders and gave her a very deliberate look.

"This is your time," he insisted. Hermione sighed and shut her eyes.

"It is," she agreed, "and it isn't. I was born thirty-four years from now -"

"That doesn't matter," Tom said flatly. Hermione felt queasy as she shook her head, eyes still shut.

"I miss my mother," she whispered. "I miss my best friends. They won't ever exist, probably. I've erased them from being. I'm a terrible person. I should never have come here."

She gasped in shock then, for Tom grabbed her jaw roughly. Her eyes flew open as he growled,

"Don't ever say that again!"

"You're hurting me!" Hermione whimpered through clenched teeth, pulling her face away from him and ripping at his wrist. Tom let go at once, staggering backward and staring at his hand as if frightened of it. He glanced up at her, a look of shame on his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head.

Hermione panted softly as she stroked her sore jaw and thought she'd probably have a bruise there. She furrowed her brow, surprised at how roughly Tom had grabbed her when she impulsively said she should never have come back in time. He hadn't meant to hurt her, she knew, and indeed he'd seemed terribly ashamed to have done so. But she still didn't want to touch him just now. She looked around the dock and realised she and Tom were alone.

"You go on ahead to the train," she said quietly, rubbing her jaw. Tom shifted on his feet and hesitated, pursing his lips.

"I'm not about to leave you here in dark by yourself," he stated firmly.

Hermione held up her wand and gave him a sarcastic smile. "I've just received seven Outstanding N.E.W.T.s," she reminded him. "I reckon I can handle anything that comes out of the darkness. You go on. I'll be there in just a moment."

"Very well." Tom nodded slowly and turned to go, sticking his hands into his pockets. As he walked slowly away, Hermione heard the first whistle of the Hogwarts Express. She knew she couldn't dawdle long behind Tom, and she contemplated just going with him. Suddenly, he turned around, a few metres away from her. He was still walking backward slowly, hands stuffed into his pockets. He looked thoughtful as he dragged his tongue over his bottom lip. His face was shadowed by the lanterns alongside the walkway, but Hermione could see the seriousness in the sharp lines of his face as he said,

"You know, Hermione… I don't much care what year you were born. And I care even less who gets 'erased' by you coming to be with me. Call me selfish. I don't care about that, either. I'm in love with you. That's all matters to me. There is no 'your' time or 'my' time. There is only our time. I confess I do not care to think on the logic of it all - it seems terribly complicated and I fear I may somehow erase you if I overthink it. All that matters me, Hermione, is that one day you appeared, smelling of spring rain and lilacs, and then time began."

He stopped walking backward then and stood still for a moment. His face was mostly shrouded in shadow as he lowered his voice so that Hermione could barely hear him.

"I am going to be the greatest wizard who ever lived," Tom declared confidently, his voice a smooth hiss. "I am going to be powerful, and no one will be safe from me, except for you. Everyone will answer to me, except for you. Everyone will call me 'Lord,' except for you. You,

Hermione… I married you for a reason. I marked you as my equal because I want you - need you - beside me. Until my last breath, you understand? So there is no 'your' time. No 'my' time. There is only 'our' time. Our era starts here, today. This moment, on this dock. The reign of the Dark Lord begins this very night. And you are my Lady."

Tom strode quickly toward Hermione and brushed his fingers against her jaw as if to apologise for being too rough with her earlier. Hermione felt her heart thumping in her chest with unsolicited excitement, felt her pulse flushing rapidly through her veins and her ears ringing loudly. She stared wide-eyed up at Tom and felt herself nod against her will. Tom smirked down at her and brushed his lips against hers.

"Please don't ever say again that you should not have come to me," he whispered, lowering his hand and lacing his fingers through hers, "for I should be utterly lost without you. Now… come with me to the train, will you? We've much to discuss on the way to London."