Notes: Thanks guys! Things are going to happen really soon, and all sorts of people are Up to Something.

I need to respond specifically to commenter tneha. "Too good" is inherently subjective, of course, so I can't know what that level would be for anyone individually. I will say this much: Although the next couple of chapters have a slight "darkness hiatus" for Tom (because I need their relationship to develop), don't worry. He is going to do some very dubious things later, both magical and political. I think he could support reformist ideas and be completely ruthless/amoral in how he obtains power and puts them into action. I also think that this iteration of him could assert insincere support for certain views (particularly the free speech one) because he didn't really feel that strongly about the issue and decided it wasn't worth it to irritate Hermione.

Another thing to keep in mind, while we're still in this "nice Tom" hiatus, is that most of the story is third-person limited from Hermione's POV. In these sections, anything about Tom is filtered through her mind.

Chapter Ten: Loyalty

Hermione thought about that kiss for hours. Part of her screamed that it was not real, that Tom was just manipulating her, and that she should not allow it to happen again. The greater part of her reassured her that it was real, that he was truly impressed with her in the Slug Club meeting, and that there had been an undercurrent of repressed desire beneath the surface between them for weeks—no, at this point, months.

He finally expressed his desire because of my performance in a political debate. The idea amused Hermione, but it seemed to be true. That in itself was promising, considering what she hoped to foster in him for the sake of the future.

Was it for the sake of the future anymore, though? Hermione wondered about that. If she succeeded at changing the future so Voldemort did not exist, then it would profoundly change the experiences of everyone in the wizarding world that she had known. It would be a good future, but she would be alone in remembering what it had once been.

She would, she realized, never go home again if that happened. Not even if she found a way to travel into the future from this time. It wouldn't be the same. In many ways, it would not even be similar.

Maybe she was trying to save him personally. His reaction to being told what he would otherwise become was somewhat troubling; he had focused more on his own personal failures than anything else, but… at least he had not been pleased with it. At least he had wanted to do some things differently. He was a self-centered person; she knew that. She supposed it was probably too much to ask of him to immediately change the way he made decisions. At least this way she could convince him—had convinced him, it would seem—that it was profoundly against his self-interest to follow that path.

However, she could not forget the thought she had after they had kissed, that she was all right "belonging" to him because there was no one else. Was that a good enough reason to become invested in someone? Hermione was not sure.

He isn't just anyone, though, she thought. Even when they were pretending to be a couple, they had had a decent "professional" relationship revolving around academics and magical theory. She had never had that with anyone else. And Tom was interested in the politics of the wizarding world, which was also a passion Hermione had never shared with anyone. Certainly not Ron, and not even Harry, at least not to the same extent. Not with Viktor. No, there was a rational basis for being interested in Tom's personal outcome. There was a reason he had gravitated to—no, she corrected herself with the thought half-formed, the initial reason had been that she was a curiosity and a mystery to him, but he had stayed interested because they did have these things in common.

The next morning, Hermione met him in the common room, trying to suppress the smile on her face. It would not do to immediately start simpering around him when he was present.

He raised an eyebrow knowingly at her and took her arm. She returned the sideways grin and walked with him out of the common room.

The second they were in the hallway, he whirled her into a door frame for one of the empty rooms and took her in his arms. Hermione gasped; his embrace was very firm, the sort that he did not mean her to escape until he was ready to let her go.

"I don't think we have to pretend anymore," he murmured as he planted a kiss on her mouth.

One of the first things Hermione had done when she began this school year was to take out a subscription to the newspaper. She had no correspondents even in her own time, so she did not specifically miss that aspect of owl post. The familiarity was comforting, and she figured she needed to know what was going on with the war against Grindelwald just as she had needed to know what the Prophet was saying about Harry or what attacks the Death Eaters had made in the past week.

The war, it appeared, was not going well for Grindelwald anymore. Hermione had to admit to a degree of skepticism about anything that newspaper might say, but unless it was fabricating details or omitting other details, it seemed that the allied Ministries were finally having some successes against his army. By next summer, his movement should be in tatters, and he himself would issue an ultimatum that he would never come quietly unless Albus Dumbledore finally dueled him.

For some reason, the prospect was unsettling to Hermione. Perhaps it was because she no longer trusted Dumbledore to push for good policy over the next decades. At the moment he was considered an extremely powerful wizard, a brilliant academic, and the premier magical mind of Britain. He had some political influence, but apparently the defeat of Grindelwald would accelerate his career as a political power-broker. That would be the event that would propel him to the seat of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.

Tom interrupted her musings by sitting down next to her. "Hogsmeade?" he asked.

She nodded, finishing her juice.

Tom was not the sort of person who would take a date to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, which was fine with Hermione. She didn't like the place either. It was also somehow beneath them, intellectually advanced and worldly wise as they were. They walked into the Three Broomsticks and, by unspoken mutual agreement, headed to the small table in the dimmest, most remote corner of the tavern.

He was surprised when she wanted a firewhisky, visibly raising his eyebrows. The corners of his mouth curled upward in a smirk, but he bustled off to the bar to order the drinks.

No sooner had he returned and set the smoking glasses down on the table than a rap on a back window sounded. Tom smacked the side of his head. "Damn," he swore. "I forgot. I'll be back in a minute, Hermione." Leaving the glass of Ogden's on the table, he grabbed his cloak and departed out the back door.

Hermione was curious. She cast an anti-spilling charm on the glasses and picked them up, carrying them toward the back. Tom was waiting outside the back entrance of the pub and releasing an owl from a piece of mail. The bird hovered nearby, waiting for a reply. Hermione opened the window a tiny crack, just enough to hear him if he said anything.

He scowled as he read over the letter, then removed his wand and set it on fire. The ash scattered among the snow-topped leaves. Then he removed a piece of his own parchment and began to compose a response. "The fool," he muttered.

Hermione tried to lean forward enough to catch what he was writing without being noticed. It was difficult. She squinted and thought she might have caught the word "Lestrange."

That was peculiar. Was it seventh year Lestrange at Hogwarts? Why would Tom be writing anyone about his… whatever they were? Pack, she supposed. Unless it means another Lestrange, she thought. The family was prominent. It could be someone else.

Tom rolled up the parchment, cast a spell on it, and attached it to the bird's leg. Hermione scurried back to the table and lifted the charm from the glasses as he entered the tavern again. He smiled as he saw her and went back to the table.

She was bursting with curiosity, but she did not want to reveal that she had eavesdropped. "What was that about?" she asked, sipping her firewhisky.

He hesitated for a moment. "A correspondent."

"A correspondent whose owls don't deliver the mail in the Great Hall, evidently. You said you forgot, so you must have expected it."

Tom nodded, looking into his glass as he sipped. "I have a number of correspondents. Some of them prefer that sort of privacy."

Hermione felt discomfited. When she and her friends had private correspondence, it was with Sirius Black, who was an Azkaban escapee. Wrongly imprisoned, yes, but nonetheless…. Surely Tom was not already making dodgy connections in Central and Eastern Europe. Surely that came after he left Borgin and Burkes in the old timeline. "What sorts of correspondents?" she asked.

He drank a large sip of whiskey and swallowed hard. "Ministry people, people Slughorn has recommended me to, that sort of thing."

Well, that would certainly explain calling the person a fool, whoever it is, Hermione thought wryly. It also could explain the reference to a Lestrange and the expectation of privacy. She decided not to worry about it.

Professor Slughorn was hosting a holiday party. Most of the upper-level Slytherin students, and several of the upper-level students in the other houses, talked incessantly about the news as soon as he announced it. The ones who had invitations—or dates with someone who had an invitation—were gleeful; the ones who were too young to be invited were envious in a hopeful way; the ones who were old enough but not part of the Slug Club were bitterly envious.

Hermione was, of course, going as Tom's date and as an invitee. She intended to dazzle in black and winter white; Tom was going to go in a set of dress robes in black, dark grey, and green.

Lucretia Black was also attending the party, although she was not in the Slug Club itself. Just as in her own time, Slughorn had invited several "distinguished" guests, including the DMLE Head, Pollux Black, who had been at a Slug Club dinner before. There was even a rumor passed excitedly around the school that the Minister for Magic himself would try to make a brief appearance. But most pertinently to Lucretia was the fact that her fiancé, Ignatius Prewett, an up-and-coming Curse-Breaker at Gringotts, would be attending. She would be his date.

Of Hermione's roommates, Lucretia had been by far the least offensive. She had never made catty remarks, like Druella Rosier, or alternated between shifty silence and banshee-like screechy complaints, like Walburga Black. She had simply been chilly and businesslike. Early in the term, Hermione had hoped that Lucretia might warm up to her, but it had never happened. She had not given much thought to her afterward, because Lucretia did not cause problems or anxiety for her, unlike virtually everyone else in Slytherin House, including, yes, Tom. But as the two girls prepared for the party, it occurred to Hermione that she might have missed a chance.

"What is he like?" she asked quietly, referring to Prewett. The name sounded somehow familiar to her.

Lucretia rubbed Sleekeazy into her hair and began to charm it. "He's fun," she said. "He was a Gryffindor. Two years older than I am. Adventurous. Very talented at Defense." She paused. "We have always been friends."

"Well, that's good," Hermione said. Reading between the lines, she could figure out that this was also a set-up match, so at least there was a friendship. "I… suppose it must be hard to be in that situation and watch people flirt and date in Hogwarts."

Lucretia smiled and raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "I think you are under a misapprehension about something. It isn't like Druella and Walburga's situations, where both sets of parents set it up. He was fourteen and I was twelve, and we decided to tell our parents ourselves that we wanted it—before I was betrothed to anyone else. We both knew that would happen to me otherwise and so we took the initiative. My father had no objection, since he is a pureblood from an old family. It's fine, Hermione, really. I'm sure that Dumbledore doesn't do things this way, but I'm fine. I'm glad that you've attracted Riddle's attention. You should hold on to him. He will go far."

Hermione hardly knew what to say, but somehow it did not surprise her that Lucretia had been made a prefect—a leader—nor that she had been placed in Slytherin. That sort of calculation was a perfect fit. It was clearly not simply a case of self-sorting from family pressure, where she all but told the Sorting Hat where to put her.

She suddenly realized that she thought she knew who Ignatius Prewett was. Ron had mentioned having a rich uncle. Mrs. Weasley's maiden name had been Prewett. It was distinctly possible that this was the uncle, or more probably great-uncle. If he worked at Gringotts, it was definitely plausible.

Feeling better, Hermione took the Sleekeazy to her own hair, taming it into an attractive forties style. She smiled at herself in the mirror before heading into the common room to meet Tom.

He looked confident, superior, and yet also pleased to see her—and impressed with her appearance. The dark colors of his dress robes suited him. He took her hand and brought it to his lips chivalrously before giving her an intense, dark, hungry gaze that sent thrills down her body.

That's enough of that, she scolded herself in thought. You are going to a party to hobnob with Ministry figures. But it was hard to completely banish the thoughts.

The upperclassmen who were going to the party left the common room in pairs or small groups. Tom said nothing until they reached the room. Then he took her aside and leaned over next to her ear.

"Mix if you must, but don't be alone with Rosier, Lestrange, Avery, or for that matter, Pollux Black," he whispered.

The good feeling vanished, replaced by a cold chill. "I have no desire to, but do you really think they would try anything at a party? Especially a Ministry official?" she asked.

"They don't like you, so I don't know what they might do. Just avoid them."

Hermione did not have time to ask why he thought that Black disliked her, because he opened the door to the party room and strode in with her, a confident smile pasted on his face. Slughorn instantly identified his favorite couple and bustled over to greet them.

"Tom, m'boy, wonderful to see you! And Miss Green! Fantastic. Perhaps I should give Albus a heads-up to expect a query from you soon, eh, Tom?" he finished with an emphatic wink.

Hermione blushed at the implication, then wondered if Slughorn even remembered that she was not actually related to Dumbledore. He was certainly more natural rattling off the reference to their "relationship" than he had been earlier in the year, and she knew from… former history… that he could easily convince himself of falsehoods.

Tom merely smiled benignly. "Miss Green and I have not discussed any such thing, Professor. We still have our NEWTs, after all."

"Oh of course, so studious and responsible, both of you. Well, whenever the time is right, I look forward to hearing it. Welcome to you both, by the way. Alphard over there has the champagne. Do take a glass. It's an excellent one…."

He sounds as if he's already had too much champagne, Hermione thought as she and Tom headed to where a tall, muscular boy held a tray. She recognized this as Alphard Black, a fifth year and a Chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team.

And as the uncle of Sirius Black who had given him gold when he ran away and got himself blasted off the family tapestry for it.

"Riddle," Alphard said as the Head Boy came up. "Good to see you. I'm avoiding my father."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "He's here already?"

Alphard nodded dolefully. "It's all right, though, because I think he is avoiding me too."

There seemed to be a subtext, or history, that Hermione did not understand. "You and your father don't get on?" she said.

"I want to play professional Quidditch, and he doesn't think it's dignified enough," Alphard muttered. "What I think is that he doesn't want me to make my own fortune."

Probably not, Hermione thought, thinking of the future.

"Oh damn it, there he is," Alphard said with a groan. "Sluggy is leading him over here. Look, take your champagne and get away. He wants him to see you." He shoved glasses at Tom and Hermione.

With a disdainful shake of his head that Alphard did not notice, Tom picked up his glass and escorted Hermione away from the boy. Sure enough, Slughorn was gesturing happily, with Pollux Black standing beside him with a sour look on his goateed face. Tom's eyes widened with surprise at the third man in the small group.

"That's the Minister!" he hissed at Hermione. "Come on, we actually should meet him."

Hermione's heart started to pound as she headed over. The Minister, Leonard Spencer-Moon, was in middle age and resembled Cornelius Fudge physically, except that he was not so portly. She recalled reading that this Minister was thought by historians to be very effective in the war against Grindelwald and had been highly popular. Hermione remembered that he had apparently acquired the support of Arcturus Black, even going so far as to give Arcturus's cousin a Department Head position. Yet from everything she knew about the time—everything that she could still believe, at least—the Minister also had Dumbledore's support.

That was probably why he was considered popular and effective, she realized.

"Tom!" Slughorn barked as they joined the cluster of people. "Delightful. This is Minister Spencer-Moon, and Pollux Black, as you know. Gentlemen, a pair of my best students—the best, if you ask me," he added in an undertone with a wink, "the Head Boy, Tom Riddle, and Hermione Green, a cousin of Dumbledore's."

The Minister extended his hand politely to Hermione and Tom. "Pleasure," he said.

"Mr. Riddle and Miss Green are very interested in Ministry policy," Slughorn said. "They both are seeking careers there."

The Minister nodded. "It's always a fine thing to see bright young wizards—and witches—taking an interest in the matters of their world."

"Yes, many young people have ideas," Black said. "Of course, as soon as they enter the Ministry, they realize that they cannot always put them into action."

The Minister frowned at Black. "I'm sure that intelligent people such as these students are well aware of how things work in politics. They are in your House, are they not, Horace?"

Slughorn nodded.

"Well, there you have it. If any House could teach them about politics, it is that one. Don't mind him," Spencer-Moon said conspiratorially to Tom and Hermione. "He's like this, just between us."

Tom smiled insincerely, as the statement was very blatantly not just between them, but said for Black and Slughorn to hear.

Hermione was embarrassed. She did not dislike the Minister, per se, and she could tell that he was charismatic and probably deserved the praise he would receive from historians, but she was not sure she would trust him as an official. He struck her as the type of person who tried to please everyone—and was that rarity who somehow succeeded. It was unnerving. The other person she knew who could do that, she realized, was her date.

"I read in the Prophet that the war is going well," Hermione said, to change the subject to something that would not humiliate or anger Pollux Black to his face.

The Minister nodded proudly. "Yes, I think we have turned the corner. Of course, they could be crushed if they were—decapitated, if you will. If Grindelwald himself were removed."

Hermione recognized this as a hint to tell her supposed cousin, Dumbledore, to duel Grindelwald. She smiled blandly. "No doubt, but I have complete faith in the Ministry's ability to defeat Grindelwald. Our strength is not just in one person, after all."

Tom turned away with a muffled cough. Hermione was strangely pleased that she had made him laugh with her political simpering.

"Well spoken," the Minister agreed. He smiled and glanced from Tom to Hermione and back to Tom. "So, you are interested in the Ministry. What department, specifically?"

Hermione noticed that the question seemed to be directed more at Tom. That was vaguely off-putting, but she decided not to let it bother her. "I've thought about Magical Law Enforcement, myself," she said.

"Your division, Pollux!"

Pollux Black looked impassively at her, saying nothing.

"For my part, I've considered that and International Magical Cooperation," said Tom.

The Minister beamed. "Ah, a diplomat, are you? That makes sense, given what your teachers have said of you. Speaking of that…." He gave Slughorn an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid I cannot linger."

Slughorn looked unhappy but resigned. "Of course, Minister, I understand. It was wonderful that you could make it at all."

Spencer-Moon turned back to Tom and Hermione. "It was a pleasure to meet the both of you. I hope to hear of you joining the Ministry in the next year." He gave a lopsided smile and a wink as Slughorn began to lead him away.

Tom and Hermione were left with Pollux Black, who glared at them both. Tom edged closer to Hermione involuntarily. She felt his hand touch her waist in a protective, possessive gesture. His politely interested face that he had put on for the Minister shut down at once.

"I heard that the two of you challenged Weasley at your club," Black said abruptly.

Hermione's eyebrows rose. Tom's narrowed. "So we did," he said coolly. "It's not illegal—yet—to express an opinion. What of it? You don't like Weasley anyway."

Hermione gasped, astonished that he would talk this way to a top Ministry official. He wanted to join the Ministry, did he not? Potentially in Black's own department, at that! Even if he didn't trust Black, he could fake politeness and interest for anyone. He was choosing not to. What on earth had provoked this?

Black took a swig of his drink, which Hermione noticed did not appear to be champagne. "I don't like Weasley," he admitted, "but if you—or especially your girlfriend here—want any chance of working at the Ministry, you would do well to stop looking so…."

"So….?"

"Disloyal," Black hissed.

Hermione's eyebrows remained up. Was Black talking about what it sounded like he was talking about? Had that asinine rumor that she was Grindelwald's spy reached his ears?

It probably had, she realized. Enough Slytherins seemed to believe it. That was probably what Tom was talking about when he had warned her.

"I assure you, Mr. Black, she is utterly loyal," Tom said in a low snarl.

"I hope so," Black said. He sipped his drink again. "It's… something that occurs to one, you know. What with Dumbledore's past."

"Professor Dumbledore's past has nothing to do with me," Hermione said.

Black took a final swig, draining the glass. He hiccuped. "Let's hope for both your sakes that that's true."

"Mr. Black, are you threatening us?" Tom asked in a low, dangerous tone.

Hermione gave him an uneasy look. "Tom, I think we should move on."

Black set his glass down hard on the nearest serving tray. He was obviously tipsy, and Hermione really did not want to remain in this situation any longer. Tom seemed to realize at the same time that Black had had too much to drink. With a disdainful look, he took Hermione's arm and steered her away.

There were several other guests at the party, though none as high-ranking as Black or Spencer-Moon. Tom did not gravitate to any of them specifically, but instead passed from person to person with that interested, pleasant smile pasted on his face—the one Hermione now knew to be false.

Well, he wants to be in politics. It's all right to feign interest. It's what's done.

Nothing else untoward happened at the party, though Pollux Black eventually found a cluster of some of Tom's pack—Lestrange, Rosier, and Avery, Hermione noticed—and talked with them. When Tom saw this, his eyebrows narrowed. He reached briefly for his wand before deciding against it.

"You see them," he murmured in her ear. "That's why I said to avoid them. I have… serious questions about their loyalty."

There it was again, that word. "Their loyalty to—you? Or—"

"To me, yes. Black has a problem with you, and if they are with him, that means they are against me."

"I… see." Hermione was rather offended, but she hoped he did not see it. He was implying that she was literally a possession, and that she herself had no stake in the matter.

Tom gave her a penetrating glance. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. "Hermione, you should realize that I am different from these buffoons. I do not open myself up easily. In fact, I never have before. If I give you that degree of confidence, it means something. You may call yourself my 'girlfriend,' because that is the word that these people understand best, but you had better realize that the usual Hogwarts connotations of it do not suffice. Not even close."

She stared at him. "But Tom, I'm not your property."

He looked disappointed. "I hope you understand soon, then, that that's not what I mean either."

"Tom—"

He held up a hand. "I'll explain later."

After the party, they headed into the hallway with the other stragglers. Slughorn was extremely tipsy, which did not surprise Hermione in the least—and from the look on his face, it did not surprise Tom either. Pollux Black had disappeared at some point.

They walked back to the common room without saying a word. Tom seemed to be brooding, though over what, Hermione could not say. It might be the scheming that he was sure was afoot among Black and some of his pack, or it might even be their exchange about the nature of their relationship.

He did not seem inclined to kiss her in the hallway. She was not sure what she thought about that. Had she somehow offended him?

She did not have much time to think about it, because suddenly, they approached a group of people who were talking in low voices. Tom grabbed Hermione around the waist and pulled her away. With a flick of his wand, he cast a Disillusionment Charm over both of them.

"Tom, isn't that a bit excessive—" she began to say in a whisper, but quickly stopped talking.

Pollux Black turned a corner and began walking straight at them. He looked smug, his teeth even yellower than usual in the dim light of the dungeons. Tom pulled Hermione against the wall and backed against it as flatly as he could. Black passed by them without noticing. The charm was cast perfectly, it would seem.

Of course it is, Hermione thought.

They stayed there until they could no longer hear his footsteps. Finally Tom turned to her, lifted the charms on both of them, and gazed at her with a grim expression.

"Well. I'm sure he was up to no good. I don't suppose I need to remind you—"

"Stay away from them," Hermione recited. "And I've told you before, I don't even want to be around them. I don't like them. The problem is that they sometimes hunt me down."

Tom clenched his wand. "I will make inquiries of them. This is unacceptable. I don't care who he is. I won't stand for it."

Inquiries. Somehow Hermione had a feeling that his inquiries would be conducted with harsh Legilimency and the Cruciatus Curse. She shuddered and glanced away. Black did seem to have it out for her, and if Tom could find out what he was planning, she preferred not to think too hard about how he did it.