Work has been dreadful today, so I lost myself in my story and got this chapter ready to post. I have not had time to reply to any reviews, and for that I apologize. I will do my best to get back to some of you tonight. Do pardon me if you don't receive a PM this week, it really is just a question of limited time and energy. Please, enjoy, and thank you SO MUCH for your marvelous comments. It means the world to me.

Hermione struggled to focus on the proportions of calcite and vermiculite she was supposed to be mixing for repotting the fey lanterns. Everyone in class was quiet, as the plants didn't respond well to noise. Professor Beery had a deservedly fearsome reputation when it came to disrupting the greenhouse growing schedules, and no one in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw dared to risk destroying an entire crop.

Tom had restored her memory as obligated yesterday afternoon. Predictably, she had been less than pleased, resulting in an argument that saw her spend the night in her own bedroom after some clever manipulations of Olivia at dinner. Hermione had had to endure a "girl's night", but it had been worth it to irritate Tom Riddle. Now that the school week was resuming, he would have to settle for less than endless hours of her company, and he knew it.

Her hand shook slightly as she thought about the dispassionate manner in which he had tortured her then. That was not the worst part, however. She was now faced with the very large question of what the note he had sent actually said. His voice when she had pressed the subject had been memorably offhand.

"It is in the top drawer of my desk—help yourself if you're so keen to see it."

Of course she knew this meant disappointment, but the note had been written in a curious script that resembled Ogham but was not Ogham. He hadn't bothered telling her what it was, simply smirked and gone back to his composition of his Magical Theory essay on goblin made objects.

"This is Parseltongue," she had said, and he'd finally given her his attention.

"Of course it is," he said. "I'll even read it for you."

Bastard. She had the same thought, then and now.

"Of course…because he's just too damn clever for his good," Hermione whispered to herself, eliciting a "Shhhh!" and a frown from Phineas which called her back to the present. She halfheartedly resumed mixing the soilless mixture, turning over what she could do. If he was defeated by Harry in the future, then she would be free. If… She had been so certain that Harry would prevail, and Harry himself had seemed confident, even taunting Voldemort as they dueled. It was the only hope she had left. Tom would be able to find her if she ran away here. She sighed and stabbed her trowel a bit too vehemently, causing the bag of calcite to split and spill onto the gravel floor. She was cleaning it up when the door to the greenhouse opened, and she heard,

"Albus, good to have you home!"

Herbert Beery's face was pleased, but Professor Dumbledore had no time to pay it any particular attention.

"I wondered if I might steal Miss Girard for a short time, Herbert. Simply something that requires discussion—I imagine I shall return her to class in about twenty minutes?" he said quietly, noting that Hermione's head had bobbed up at his approach.

Hermione dusted the powdered calcite from her hands and removed her dragonhide apron quietly. The entire class was hushed, some Hufflepuffs even afraid to take notes for fear of scratching too hard with their quills.

"This way please, Hermione," Professor Dumbledore said, gesturing toward a disused greenhouse that was presently overrun with creeping kudzu. "Mind the gnomes."

"I'm very pleased that you are back, sir," Hermione said, but Professor Dumbledore was tired, and in no mood for pleasantries.

"Hermione, I believe I may have discovered the means of your arrival here. But before I tell you the particulars, I must ask you, are you aware of any magical objects that you have reason to believe may be associated with your arrival? Something that perhaps may have been removed from your person?"

Hermione's heart leapt. Was it possible that she could go home? A lump suddenly formed in her throat—there was so much that had changed for her. Professor Dumbledore must have seen the cascade of emotions on her face, because he frowned slightly, concerned.

"Is there an object that is in the possession of Tom Riddle, perhaps?" Albus asked, and Hermione suddenly found it impossible to speak. She didn't know if it was because she was overwhelmed by the possibility of returning, or because she was prevented from speaking by the bond with Tom. Whatever the cause, apparently Professor Dumbledore took the sudden filling of tears in her eyes as an affirmative reply.

"I'm going to take you back to class now, Hermione. I will go search his quarters myself. If such an object is there, I will find it. Come."

Hermione felt as though she had been shoved into a box of cotton wool. Professor Dumbledore guided her back to the greenhouse and spoke a few words to Professor Beery, then disappeared. The minutes ticked by, and Hermione's brain had seemingly slowed to an agonizing crawl. She could hear Phineas talking to her, as if she were underwater. The class ended and her classmates trickled out, but Professor Beery kept her back with a hand on her shoulder and a kind word.

"Professor Dumbledore asked you to stay, Hermione. He will be back shortly, I'm sure."

Inside the castle, Dumbledore paid a brief visit to his office. He wanted to be sure of those last few seconds before Hermione's arrival. If he remembered correctly, there had been a brief flash before she blacked out. He thought it was blue. When he viewed the memory in the pensieve, however, there was nothing but blackness. He pulled out of the memory and frowned. Drawing the Elder wand from his robes, he headed swiftly toward the Head Boy's chambers. Something was more amiss than he had expected, and he would get to the bottom of it today.

"I doubt that you would be able to stabilize a base such as that," Professor Slughorn said patiently. "The infusion of wormwood will react violently with the aubis of sulphitus, and if you even managed to get that far, the dragon's blood would nullify the effects of the ambergris, as well as dangerously amplify the tendency of boomslang skin to explode. No, I think this would be a poor choice for your final project, Tom."

Tom Riddle was patiently decanting the Impervio Polaris potion he had completed, the last of the NEWT level potions that could possibly appear on the exam. Slughorn checked the consistency of the potion and a look of respectful admiration crossed his face. "You are an extremely competent brewer, Tom. I do wish you would consider a Mastery in the subject—you would do exquisite work."

"Thank you, sir," Tom replied, "but I am leaning toward Magical Theory. I believe that not enough work has been done on the interplay between magical laws."

"Well, still time to change your mind, you know! Just under three months until graduation, and I'm sure—"

Tom set the potion flask down abruptly, a searing pain flashing into his consciousness. Hermione. He covered it quickly, picking up his wand from the table. "Excuse me, sir, but I see that it is nearly half past four, and Hermione was supposed to be here by now. She was working in the greenhouses, and I want to be sure she isn't hurt. Excuse me."

Slughorn looked startled, but he recovered quickly enough. "Oh, well, quite—let me come with you. I am sure that she is quite well…"

Tom was already exiting the classroom, his loping stride eating up the distance to the closest exit and most direct route to the greenhouses. Slughorn was hard pressed to keep up, but keep up he did. He had not forgotten what Albus had said.

"Thank you, Herbert," Dumbledore said as he returned to the greenhouse. In his pocket lay a dagger. He had been unpleasantly surprised by the level of the wards which Tom Riddle had employed, but being the Deputy Headmaster gave him the privileges of that rank, and no student's personal effects were safe from search if circumstances were deemed to require it. He wasted no time in broaching the subject with Miss Girard.

"I found this among Tom Riddle's personal effects, Hermione. Do you recognize it?"

Hermione's heart was beating a rapid tattoo, and she nodded. "Yes."

Professor Dumbledore's countenance was troubled, and he explained, "A dagger identical to this was found inside Nurmengard, and was reported to be used by Grindelwald in some of his more atrocious acts. Fortunately, such things are at an end now, but I'm afraid I must insist on another attempt at seeing who put that curse on you."

Hermione was extremely uneasy about this turn of events, and attempted to explain. "Professor, I don't know how an identical dagger came to be in Nurmengard, and I can't even tell you why it's familiar. However, I do not understand why you believe you will suddenly see more than was allowed the last time you tried to look in my mind."

"I also stopped by my office to refresh my memory about your arrival here. Instead of finding your memory, however, I found a substitute had been put in its place. Someone broke into my office during my absence and made that change. I am at a loss to understand who would do such a thing other than yourself, Hermione."

Hermione darted a glance at Professor Beery, who had a stoic expression on his face. No help there, not that she had expected any. "I did not break into your office while you were pursuing Grindelwald, Professor."

"The terrible thing is that I believe you, Hermione. However, you have gotten quite entangled with a boy who, if I am correct, has pulled you down into a dark morass of intrigue and has used you as the coverplate disguising a great deal of maneuvering. Now, you'll excuse me, but this is quite necessary. Legilimens!"

It was no longer the beech wand that he wielded. Although Hermione had fortified her mind, Professor Dumbledore's Legilimency with the Elder wand was quite a bit harsher than his previous attempt. Hermione could feel her Occlumency walls fraying, a slow burn that gave way suddenly to pain when he hit the first redirection. This time, however, it was far worse, as Professor Dumbledore was intent on making his way to the memory he sought—that of her arrival. The fact that she had it once again made her an accomplice at best, if not the perpetrator of the office break-in.

"Please, stop," Hermione said, but Professor Dumbledore was determined to ferret out what exactly Tom had done to her. The pain in her mind was relentless, either as a consequence of Tom's spell or the nature of the bond itself as it tried to protect its existence from discovery.

The door to the greenhouse burst open and Tom Riddle entered, wand in hand. He took in the scene in an instant, weighing whether he could possibly curse Dumbledore and get away with it. Hermione's face was a mask of pain. Before he could make the decision, Professor Beery drew his own wand with a lightening speed that few knew he possessed.

"Expelliarmus!" he said decisively, Tom's yew wand flying to his hand.

In the split second in which his wand left his hand, Tom spoke quickly. "Stop it! Can't you see you're hurting her—she's a natural Occlumens!"

Professor Dumbledore did cease, giving Hermione moments to recover while Tom stared angrily at Beery and Dumbledore. He had started to go to Hermione's side under the pretense of a concerned boyfriend, but was stopped by a cold stare from Dumbledore.

"Tom. I wonder what brings you here?" Professor Dumbledore began as Tom's eyes slid to the table, where the dagger lay exposed.

"Breaking into students' rooms now, Professor? Surely that is against school rules without a pressing reason," Tom said as Professor Slughorn arrived, panting. He took in the tense scene between the two students and professors, and wisely chose to remain silent, instead trying to catch his breath and surreptitiously make sure he had his wand in its usual spot.

"Horace, glad to have you as well. After all, this is concerning some malfeasance on the part of your student, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said, picking up the dagger. "Why did you have this item in your possession, Tom?"

"That is none of your business," Tom said. "Students are allowed to possess magical items, as long as they are not dangerous."

"But this is dangerous, Tom. This is a portkey, and one which works within the Hogwarts wards. One just like it was found in Grindelwald's fortress. But I suspect you already knew that, just as you knew that it was associated with Miss Girard's arrival. And you also knew that she could not return home without it."

Tom took on the practiced expression of innocence and ignorance. "I'm afraid I've not the pleasure of understanding you, Professor. That was given to me by a friend. If it has any special properties, I am unaware of them."

"So you would have no problem with Miss Girard returning home, then? Or has she outlived her usefulness to you? After all, her master is incarcerated, and will not leave his cell for the duration of his life."

"I have not the pleasure of understanding you," Tom said coldly. "Of course I don't want Hermione to go home. I believe she has begun to care for me."

Hermione's head was reeling from the experience of having Dumbledore as an unwelcome visitor inside her head, but she began laughing somewhat hysterically at that, her mind incapable of not finding the deep, deep irony of Tom's act wildly funny.

"Hermione—" Professor Beery began, but Albus Dumbledore had had enough.

"Herbert," he said, and several things happened at once. Professor Dumbledore picked up the dagger and in one swift move pressed the blade into Hermione's hand, causing a well of blood from the thin line cut by the sharp edge. Tom moved toward her, but was physically stopped by Professor Beery. Slughorn began to say, "Albus, let's not be too hasty—"

"Textor locus portus," Dumbledore thought, pointing the Elder wand at Hermione Girard and stepping away as the dagger glowed blue, and the girl was whisked away.

"No!"

The anguished cry from Tom Riddle's lips was the most honestly emotional response any of the three professors had ever heard from the boy. It was seconded only a moment later by the look of hatred on his face as he regarded Dumbledore, then summoned his wand and left the greenhouse.

Three months later, Albus Dumbledore stood on the Astronomy tower and watched the students leave after yet another year. His eyes followed one figure in particular, a tall boy who walked quickly toward the train, never to return.

"Do you think he will look for her?" The gruff voice interrupted his thoughts, and Albus turned to look at Herbert Beery.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

"Horace seemed to think that he was still upset about the whole thing," Herbert observed, putting his own hands on the railing, his hips canted back as he mused about the manner in which the situation had unfolded.

"Horace is still predisposed to the belief that Mr. Riddle is a young man in good regulation of himself."

"Perhaps he is," Herbert said, touching Albus' hand lightly, which caused Dumbledore to look at him. "I do not believe Tom Riddle lacks regulation. What he lacks is a moral focus, and that is perhaps what will lead him into trouble."

"It has already done so," Albus replied, but it was without heat. It was a familiar argument, but one that had lost its sting with the boy's graduation. He was no longer Albus' concern.

"So you claim, but you never did produce any evidence of his misdeeds. Even you must be charitable enough to admit that."

"Ask Hagrid about that," Dumbledore replied as he gazed down at the students again, then flicked his eyes back to Herbert. "But I do not wish to argue about this anymore. It is a futile argument, and I am too old for such folly."

Herbert's eyes warmed imperceptibly at that. "I am glad to hear it."

Albus exhaled loudly. "Thank you for supporting me this year. It has been difficult, and would have been more so without your counsel."

"I am happy to be of service in any way you require," Herbert said softly, his own gaze returning to the students. When Albus placed his hand over his on the rail, the small seed of hope he had nurtured burst into glorious leaf.

Tom Riddle was pleased. His last meeting with his Knights had gone exceptionally well, and he was now set to move forward with his plans to travel. Some of his Knights thought it was in pursuit of Hermione, while others were convinced he was pursuing magical artifacts that had been held by Grindelwald. He didn't care which version appealed more to each individual Knight, so long as they were content with the explanation. It gave him freedom of motion in a manner he very much required at present. Soon enough they would lose any illusions which some still clung to regarding his humanity.

He pulled the scrap of parchment from his pocket, sounding the words out in the quiet of the Head carriage.

"Protect her…claim her willingly…send your mate back". The syllables hissed and rolled in the still air, and he felt content. Another plan successfully executed.

May 1, 1998

Voldemort hissed with anger. How could they have gotten in, HERE of all places? The goblins were dancing around him, their words blurring into a jumble of noise. He heard one word—"Hermione". Of course. His wand flashed in fury at the goblins and wizards who had been jabbering at him, finally finding blissful silence in which to think through his rage.

He strode among the ruined dragon shackles and the dead goblins, his anger past its peak now. His feet were untouched by the gore around him. He found shoes to be too restrictive, his magic almost feral when he was angry. While he was mulling over the thorn in his side that was Harry Potter his yew wand vibrated in his pocket. He withdrew it carefully, placing the Elder wand within instead. The extremely familiar rush was so calming, reassuring. It was still vibrating, and he enjoyed the sensation in the palm of his hand. Oh yes, he knew what that little detection charm meant. Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed. He vanished effortlessly, reappearing at Malfoy Manor, summoning Nagini to him to explain to his serpent what was to come. Yes, this wasn't the end of it all. Far from it.

Hermione felt sick to her stomach, the whirl at her navel a thousand times worse than she remembered. She wanted to be sick, but the sounds raging around her told her exactly where she was. It was the battle at Hogwarts, the Death Eaters and the Order engaged in a vicious fight around the Great Hall and corridors, while Harry and Voldemort were dueling at the center of it all, their wands flashing with a liquidity born of sheer desire and need. Hermione felt disoriented, looking at it from the opposite side of the room from where she had been, not even aware that Death Eaters were avoiding her as her fingers reflexively dropped the dagger, her wounded palm stinging from the portkey. Suddenly there was a flash of silver, minute but there, flying across the room and right into its target.

Hermione suddenly caught the gaze of her own self, crippled and shocked across the room, clutching her stomach as myriad cuts opened all over her, bloody lines appearing through her shirt as her magic fought against the spell before she vanished in a flash of blue light. Hermione's mind was trying to seam together the missing pieces, to figure out what had happened while her eyes were glued to the duel between Harry and Voldemort. Harry taunted Voldemort, their wands flying as they dueled. She actually perceived the shift in magic as her other self winked out, the original event she remembered playing in her mind in time with what was happening before her eyes.

Before she had time to process it, their wands locked as both threw spells simultaneously. The two spells thrown by Harry and Voldemort were intermingling, fighting for dominance as Hermione fought to regain control of her stomach. Voldemort changed his spell mid-cast, the light of it shifting to yellow, causing a wall of magic to build in the center between himself and Harry as the Elder wand bent to his will, not yielding to Harry's. There was a fuzziness around Harry that grew, and suddenly she wasn't so sure it was Harry.

"That isn't possible," Hermione whispered to herself, but it was. He was doing it. The spells broke off, and all of a sudden, for a split second, Hermione felt all of the Dark Lord's attention fixed on her. His eyes locked with hers with clear intent, and she gasped and stumbled backward. Oh no. No, no, no.

Voldemort smiled.