A/N - Thanks for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting.

T/W - Race (?) Play.

X.

"Are you and Riddle actually, um," Harry frowned, "you know?"

Hermione felt Ron and Ginny's eyes on her as well, curious and accusing. She sighed tiredly, "I don't know."

"You don't know if you're actually sleeping together, or if you're dating?"

"I didn't know what you were asking, Harry. We are not sleeping together. And we are most definitely not dating. He's a self-righteous, self-involved, racist prick."

"Well," Ron started, "No one is arguing with you there, 'Mione. But, we all know what was said in Transfiguration last week. And you've been missing since then-"

"All term," Ginny injected.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her as Ron said, "You're next, Gin, so don't get too comfortable."

She huffed irritably. "If Hermione wants to fuck Riddle" –they all choked, eyes widening and skin flushing- "then she can! All that should matter to us is that she's, you know, being smart about it. Not getting into anything she shouldn't be. She's a smart girl."

"Thanks, Gin."

She smiled back at her until Ron asked, "Why did he come last night? He shouldn't have even known about the bonfire, and he showed up on your behalf."

Hermione frowned, having not known that he'd done. She's locked herself in her room and fallen asleep. "I wasn't feeling well. He went on and on about his being his duty as Head Boy, or something equally pompous, and I locked myself in my room. I didn't think he was going to go. Especially not without me."

"Well, he did," Ron told her. "And he brought Blaise Zabini with him."

"Do you want me to apologize?"

"We're just trying to figure you out, Hermione," Harry told her. "You've been distant."

"Like I said," Ginny injected, "if she's happy, who cares?"

"We aren't doing anything. We just work together. There is nothing to worry about it."

Neither Harry or Ron appeared to really believe her, but they dropped the subject. After, she leaned closer and asked, "But, really, Hermione, what are you thinking?"

"I," she glanced over at Harry and Ron to see that they'd started their own conversation. "It isn't what you think. We're...we were working on something together, and we're no longer in collaboration. There is nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure?"

Hermione sighed. Despite herself, she had still been spending time with him –albeit, they spent it in complete silence, and she used the majority of the time to stare angrily at him. So, perhaps there was something to worry about, because it shouldn't have been impossible to write Tom off, but it was proving to be.

It wasn't as though she had any real feelings for him. He just happened to be the exact opposite of what she'd expected, at least when they were alone; and it was so surprising and unexpected that, coupled with the effects of the stupid book and their godforsaken, self-imposed task, she couldn't help but soften toward him.

They're supposed to be incredible. Supreme wizards. Yet, they cannot best each other.

They weren't exactly staying out of each other's way, though, she reasoned with herself. Perhaps they just…couldn't accept the truth. She found it hard to acknowledge herself, even as it grasped more and more firmly at her conscious.

Her eyes met Ginny's. "He thinks I'm beautiful," Hermione murmured, confusing her friend, "and that I'm his equal. Is that…is that enough?"

She laughed shakily. "If only I knew, Hermione. I'd have solved my own problem ages ago."

"Hermione?"

She looked over her shoulder to see Genevieve Greengrass standing behind her. Resisting anything impulsive, she smiled and said, "Hey, Gigi. What's up?"

She offered her a sealed note, and Hermione recognized Tom handwriting almost instantly.

"I don't want that."

"The Head Boy asked me to give it to you," she told her, thrusting the envelope at her.

Hermione took it, "Fine. Tell him not to send you with anything anymore, okay? He can find me himself."

The Ravenclaw left quickly.

"I thought you were friends with her?"

"No. We just…happened to be doing the same thing at one time."

"Okay," Ginny said, looking between Hermione and Genevieve.

She opened the note to see Tom's small, clean hand writing in the very center of the parchment:

I need you.

"Hermione?" Ron questioned as she crumpled the note up.

I wonder if Dumbledore gets these from Grindelwald and drops fucking everything, she considered, reaching for her cup of tea and quickly finishing it. He goes missing often enough.

"It would be nice to have just a moment for myself," she huffed. "It's Head's business," she lied easily. She'd been doing it all term, after all. "In case either of us goes missing, the other is probably dead in our dorm."

Ginny caught her wrist before she left, their eyes meeting.

It meant more to her then she cared to admit, but Hermione would have been lying if she said she understood.

.

.

She met him in their common space, sitting down next to him on the couch. Her fingers seemed to twine through his on their own accord, and her mind quieted as he brought her knuckles to his lips. It was sick and disgusting and revealing in a way she didn't want to think about.

"Let's at least remain friends," he suggested, voice low and warm and wholly uncharacteristic.

She turned to look at him, his eyes meeting hers in a lazy, self-indulgent way that left her feeling self-conscious.

Quietly, she asked, "Were we ever friends?"

He chuckled, but the sound didn't reach his eyes. She wasn't sure why she'd noticed, but she knew there had been times –many, many times- that he had been genuine with his amusement around her, and it bothered her that this was not one of those moments. He stood up, pulling her with him and leading her to his room.

"We need to talk," he told her.

"Ok," she agreed.

But, when they got to his room, he lowered his mouth to hers in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss that left her dazed and confused and breathless when he finally pulled away from her, her face in his hands and a smile in his eyes. Instead of talking, they laid down, her back against his chest and his face pressed into her shoulder.

"You said you needed me," she murmured, hooking her fingers through his knuckles at her waist.

"I do," he sleepily replied.

"But the ritual is complete."

"Yeah," he said, and a moment later, she felt his relax further against her, his breath slow and even on her skin.

She hated herself for it, but she smiled until she fell asleep, too.

.

.

.

"How do you think of me?"

Tom looked up at Hermione and frowned, glancing to the front of the classroom before saying, "I don't."

She would have been offended by the careless way he'd said it if a smirk hadn't formed on his lips. He refocused on the potion he was stirring. "I don't think about ring or my journal or my heart, either."

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. Felt her legs threaten to give beneath her. She stopped crushing spider legs and turned to look at him, sitting on the edge of her stool. "Do you care about those things?"

He grinned at her this time, closing the few inches between them. She felt eyes on them, heavy and accusing and hateful and she didn't care. She just wanted him to kiss her. She prayed it even.

He didn't.

"You ended that part of our relationship, Hermione."

She stood back up as he returned to his pot. "What part though, Tom? Because we were never romantic. We still do everything that we did before."

"Not everything."

For a moment, she considered what could possibly be different. They still fucked. They still did their homework together. They still bounced weird, 'hypothetical' questions off of each other. They still woke one another up in the middle of the night to discuss different theories. She still woke up in his bed, completely clothed, wrapped around him as though he was a fucking life source.

He reached over and plucked three blades of Irish grass from her station.

As he dropped them into the potion, she realized that he hadn't touched her in ages. Not unnecessarily. Not unless she initiated it. He didn't share bits of his childhood with her or bring her unnecessary gifts anymore, either. He didn't dog-ear books and leave them for her to read. He didn't save weird snacks from Slytherin's table to share with her in the middle of the night or ask her how her friends doing anymore.

"For such an intelligent witch," he started lowly, "you're dense. And oblivious."

"I'm not accustomed to this," she admitted.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, until he finally said, "It's not that I care about those things. They are necessary. I deal with what that means."

"I see," she said, but she didn't really.

"Do you miss me?" He asked. The question was cold and hurtful. He might as well have told her he killed her cat.

She realized that she did.

"No."

She ignored the way he froze, for a fraction of a second, and went back to crushing spider legs.

.

.

.

"Tom," Hermione breathed, gasping when his fist tightened in her hair and he pulled her against him.

Her back arched, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. She lifted her hand behind her to touch his shoulder as he continued to pound into her, arm around her waist.

"Yes?" He asked, somewhere between a hiss and a growl.

She cried out, both spent and wanting more. "Please," she begged.

He chuckled, fingers loosening from their grip in her hair and wrapping around her throat. His jaw rested against the side of her head as he tightened his hold. "Merlin," he murmured. "Iungant nos. Benedic. Magicae nostra tuo utere (1)." She whimpered and he chuckled, his tongue sliding against her skin familiarly.

She arched further, her hips tilting deeper against him. He hissed, angling his thrusts more perfectly against her as he pressed his lips against her ear. "Fac nos dignos. Idem. Divinum (2)."

Hermione moaned, turning her head toward him. Their kiss was all teeth and tongue, the need to consume each other their driving force. His thrusts came harder, the hand at her throat sliding down her body and finding her clit. She jumped as his fingers ghosted over it, breathing into his mouth. He swallowed her need, fingers circling the small bundle of nerves agonizingly slowly.

"Do you like that?" He whispered, slowing his pace. "Do you like it when I touch you, when I fuck you, little Mudblood?"

She wanted to be angry with him, but her body betrayed her, quaking beneath him. She heard his smile as he said, "That's it, my love." His pace quickened, as she began to shake more pointedly against him.

"God," she breathed. "Tom," his name came out with a gasp, her body beginning to convulse. "I'm going to-"

He pulled out, his fingers abandoning her clit in favor of her mouth.

"Fuck," she sobbed around them. "Why-"

He pushed her down, pressing the side of her face and chest into his bed. His smile was cold, eyes blown wide and dark with lust as they watched each other. Her hips were still angled up against him, and he rubbed his cock against her slit just enough to keep her on edge.

"How do you feel, Hermione?"

"Like I want to kill you," she rasped.

He chuckled, tapping the head of his cock against her clit. She jumped, sobbing and pressing her hips into him.

"Please, Tom. Please. I just want to cum."

"Is that so, little Mudblood?"

"Stop calling me-"

He thrust back into her, his hands pressing into her back and forcing her against him. She cried out as he grunted, his thrusts hard and quick against her. "Do you not like it?"

"No," she breathed, gripping at the sheets.

"Is that so?" He asked quietly, his thrusts slowing.

"Please don't stop," she begged. "Please, I-"

He pulled out completely, slowly, pushing in at the same agonizing pace. "I think you like it. You know why?"

His arm circled her waist again, fingers isolating her swollen clit. She pressed her face into the pillow.

"Because despite that, I chose you. Despite that," he pressed the face of his ring to her clit and they both moaned, desperate and needy. "I'm sharing forever with you, little witch."

She continued to moan beneath him, his ring circling her clit, her hips wiggling against him, thighs quacking and body shaking and- "Tom, please," she begged, because it was easier than admitting her was right. "Please let me cum."

Hermione clenched her muscles around him and he grunted, thrusting painfully into her. She cried out just as he said, "Touch yourself," his pace picking up again.

He rubbed at her back, fingers digging into her skin as she moaned into the pillow, her fingers working tirelessly against herself.

"Admit it," Tom demanded.

She cursed. She was almost there she just-

"I love it."

He hummed appreciatively. "You love what? Why?"

"I love when you call me little Mudblood." Despite herself, she felt herself even closer now. He growled, fingers pressing deeper into her sides. "I don't know why."

"Because you're mine."

She came just before he did, crying out and gripping at his bed sheets. He laid down beside her, pulling her against him and pressing his lips to her shoulder. His hand slid over her hip and between her legs, his fingers continuing to draw out her orgasm. She twitched beneath him, body still shaking gently against him.

"My own little monster," he murmured, smiling against her shoulder. "Mine."

.

.

She laid awake for hours after he'd fallen asleep.

Mine, he'd said, and she'd liked it-

She closed her eyes. His.

With her mind clear, she realized they were both wrong.

She couldn't be that person.

In theory - (1) Unite us. Bless us. Use our magic as your own ; (2) Make us worthy. Equal. Divine.