Notes: Hey guys, once again, thanks so much for the interest! RelentlesslyRed, you will like one aspect of this chapter in particular. :D There is a fairly important plot event as well. And those of you who are eager for Tom to take revenge, just be patient. ;) He is fairly nice for the next couple of chapters, but that's because they are mostly Tom/Hermione interaction. Don't worry about that. She just needs to be involved with him before other things happen.

Chapter Twelve: Fidelius

Tom brought Hermione to the boys' dormitory afterward. She was feeling achy and tired from the muscle spasms of the Cruciatus Curse, and she needed to rest, however much her mind told her to investigate. She had to admit that she was also a little afraid to go back into her room. What if something else had been turned into a Portkey, or cursed? What if Pollux Black could somehow get into Hogwarts? Surely he wouldn't have the authority to create Portkeys into the school, but he was a Ministry Department Head.

Tom did not seem to want her to be in the room alone either. He pulled her onto his bed and let her curl against him to rest. It was pleasant to Hermione, a feeling of safety.

What does it say about me that proximity to—no, own the word, cuddling against Tom Riddle makes me feel safe? she wondered. Though again… what does it say about him that he would allow it? The fact was that it was virtually impossible now for her to regard this Tom as Voldemort. There were disturbing indicators of a significant inner darkness, such as his death threats against anyone who harmed her and his inclination to curse his schoolmates, but compared to the evil that Voldemort had committed, it didn't measure up. And doesn't everyone have darkness inside? she reasoned. She herself, after all, had resolved to kill if she had encountered anyone in her escape from Grimmauld Place, although it would not actually have been necessary to do more than stun.

As she rested against his side, he stared into space, his eyebrows creased. He was obviously thinking about what had happened and what should be done about it.

"Hermione," he said abruptly, "I don't mean to disturb you, but we need to think about several things."

She looked up at him. "Such as?"

"I've tried to focus," he explained. "There are a lot of aspects of this that will have to be addressed sometime, but for now I've had to consider which is the most important. Don't mistake me, Hermione—Black will pay for what he did, and anyone else who was in on it will too. I am going to get to the bottom of it… but I may not be able to do that until your roommates return. I will try to break through the asinine hex that prevents boys from going into the girls' dormitories, so I can investigate—but for now, I think justice has to rank lower on the list than something else."

Hermione had a feeling that when he said "justice," he meant "vengeance." For once, she found it difficult to care that much, as long as he kept it to the actual perpetrators and did not risk his own prospects. But the word brought another idea to her head.

"What about telling the Minister about it?" she suggested. "I have memories—"

"Hermione, that will go nowhere and will only hurt us. Arcturus Black is one of the most prominent pureblood patriarchs in the wizarding world. The Minister is in a position of requiring the united support of the blood purists and Muggle-lovers, and for the moment, he has it. He won't risk losing it. I don't trust him."

"Honestly, you don't trust anyone."

"I trust you."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but his expression was actually sincere, to her surprise.

"I'm a Slytherin, in more than one way," he continued. "I have no objection to the idea of political patronage and horse-trading, but only if one does not become weak and beholden. Strong politicians offer favors while maintaining clear authority, and Spencer-Moon only has that when it comes to the war. We don't, unfortunately, have the clout to fight Arcturus's influence—yet. It would make us look as if we were shoddily lying and scheming at best, possibly Confunded, or at worst, Black would counter with his accusation of espionage. And that would be a war matter. The Ministry is not gentle in its interrogation of suspected enemy combatants. That's a law Weasley has already pushed through."

This was bad. It reminded her of the escape of Sirius Black, engineered by Dumbledore because the Minister wouldn't believe her and Harry.

"What about telling Dumbledore, then?" she said. "He would believe me, and he has a lot of power."

Tom scoffed. "I don't want Dumbledore involved. I don't trust him either. I still think it's very likely he set you up to bait Grindelwald. I just haven't confirmed it. If that's true, it would definitely backfire on us to involve him or go to the Ministry."

Hermione ignored the comment about "confirming it." Tom was arrogant and thought he could do a lot of things, but doing Legilimency on Albus Dumbledore was not happening. Instead she replied, "Slughorn, then. We should tell someone."

"Slughorn means well, but he can't be trusted with information after he's liquored up, and you know it as well as I do. You really should consider Obliviating that man of your own true history, Hermione. I have deep misgivings about it."

Hermione was frustrated. "Tom, you're rejecting everything I suggest. It's not like you to say that there are no options available."

"There are no options available right now that involve pushing it on an authority figure," Tom replied.

"So what do you propose, then, killing Black yourself?" she asked sarcastically.

He chuckled darkly. "He deserves it, and I'd be doing the wizarding world a favor. But for the moment, Hermione, what matters the most is your personal safety. That's what I was trying to talk about before we got on this tangent."

She listened.

"You can't stay in that room," he said flatly.

She waited for him to say more, but he did not. Finally she responded. "I don't feel safe in there, certainly, but where do you suggest that I sleep?"

"The Room of Requirement."

"Oh," she said, understanding dawning. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "That's a great idea. But… people will wonder, won't they? And they'll try to find out—"

"I'm going to put some extra protection on it," he said. "I think the Fidelius Charm will do what I need."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You can use that on a room in the castle?"

He shrugged. "I don't see why not. People could still use the Room when you weren't in it, but the way the charm works, no one should even be able to think about what the Room would require to reveal you. It should be very safe. I think I'll need to make your roommates forget you're supposed to be with them, maybe a good Confundus or Imperius… and you'll need to spend a lot of time in the common room so people don't get too suspicious…."

Hermione winced as he spoke so matter-of-factly of using the Imperius Curse, but when the time came, she could talk him out of it. There were alternatives, after all.

"So you would be my Secret-Keeper," she mused.

The world had definitely turned on its head.

Later, Hermione went back to her dorm room and gingerly entered. There appeared to be no other items out of place. They would examine her possessions in the Room of Requirement to be sure.

She shrank her school trunk, then levitated it, her laundry, and the items on her desk, including the shelf full of Dark Arts books that had really started her association with Tom. Her possessions flew through the air and entered her beaded bag, vanishing into its undetectable depths.

She gave the room a parting glance. It was not like her bedroom at her parents' house in the 1990s, or even the girls' dormitory in Gryffindor that she had lived in for six years, but for a few months it had been a sort of home. Then she turned away and walked out.

Tom was waiting in the seventh-floor corridor. I need a safe, homelike place to stay, she muttered under her breath at first, so he could hear it. Two people asking would be more powerful than one. Hermione repeated the request until the door materialized. She opened it and gazed inside. Her jaw dropped.

The Room of Requirement was… perfect, really. Her bed was large, much larger than any she had ever slept in. It was sumptuous, with elegant carving and a small shelf for books built into the headboard. It was also—she noticed—draped in red, green, gold, and silver. She considered the significance of that before examining the rest of the room.

It was not overly large, because that would have been lonely and somewhat intimidating. The floor was covered in richly detailed carpets. A desk and a bookcase lined one wall. A small personal hearth crackled with fire along the opposite one. A coffee table and pair of squashy armchairs were shoved into a near corner. In a far corner stood an open door, indicating a clean bathroom within.

Hermione opened her beaded bag and sent objects out of it, levitating them into their appropriate places in this bedroom. The bookcase filled up quickly, and her school supplies covered the desk. There was no need to flaunt a collection of Dark books anymore, so she sent those into the same shelves as the rest of her books. Then she turned to Tom.

He was pleased. "Not bad at all," he remarked, heading to the bookcase to examine—really examine—what titles she owned.

I need no one else to be able to get in, Hermione thought. Nothing apparent happened, but she knew that the room would protect her location. Tom was going to make it foolproof.

He was smiling, and the smile had only a hint of his smirk in it. He drew out his wand.

"You're going to cast it right now?" she exclaimed.

"Why not? I know the theory perfectly."

"Of course you do," she muttered.

"So do you," he said. She did not deny it… and there was the smirk. "And if we didn't, I have no doubt that it is in one of those books."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but a smile was playing at the corners of her lips.

Somewhat later, they were seated in the soft armchairs that the Room had produced. The spellcasting had gone off flawlessly, and Tom now held in his mind the magically encoded Secret "Hermione Granger, also known as Hermione Green, resides in the Room of Requirement."

The Secret had to be absolutely true in every detail. They both knew that. The moment it became false, the charm would break. For that reason she had been insistent on using both her birth and her current surname, to be utterly sure. Tom had already heard her real name from her memories.

She reflected on the fact that he had taken charge of the matter and become her Secret-Keeper, rather than letting her be her own and share the Secret with him. It was a bit controlling, now that she thought about it, but this was his idea, so she supposed she shouldn't let it bother her too much. He was not going to do a Pettigrew. It was weird and inexplicable in a way, but she trusted him. She knew what he would do to anyone who harmed her. He definitely would not turn her over to any of those same people, especially since he had apparently resolved not to adopt their views to gain power. Grindelwald might have been a potential problem, but it seemed that she would be protected from any possible spies he might have as well.

That reminded her of something she had meant to do.

"Tom," she said abruptly, "I need to ask you something. You have said before that you think there might be a spy for Grindelwald in Hogwarts."

He suddenly became very alert. "Yes?"

"Why, and who do you think it might be?"

He gazed at her, an unreadable expression on his face. He almost seemed to be performing Legilimency on her, but if so, it was only to read the thoughts at the surface of her consciousness. She did not feel any mental invasion.

"I—have never been sure of it," he said haltingly. "The simplest explanation is that Grindelwald learned about the dates of Hogsmeade weekends as intelligence about when students might be vulnerable, and Dumbledore separated us that day to offer you as bait."

"So is there any specific reason you think that there might be another person?"

Tom seemed to be coming to a decision about something. "My correspondence," he said.

Hermione had not expected that. "Your private correspondence? With whom? And since when do you believe something on someone else's say-so?"

"It's not that simple," he said. "It's… a deduction. And as for who… you're not going to like this, but I've wondered for a while about Lucretia Black."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You're joking."

"I don't know," he continued, his voice stronger and more confident, strangely. "It's a bit odd how uninterested she is in her family's politics, how seemingly separate from the family in some ways. But again, I can't be sure. She may truly have no interest in it, wanting to mind her own business and stay out of it. I'd have to Legilimens her to find out for certain."

Hermione gaped at him. "I—can't believe that of her without actual evidence, not circumstantial."

"I am not even sure if there is another information leak," he repeated. "Dumbledore is the person to focus on."

Hermione was knocked off balance. Everything about this felt strange. She really had not had any indication from Lucretia that she had any interest in politics. Of course, that would be the best kind of spy… but there was something else. Tom was acting odd about this. He seemed reluctant to put out Lucretia's name as a possible spy. Why? He knew she wasn't friends with Hermione, not really, and he had never hesitated to cast doubt on people's motives before.

It was a puzzle, so Hermione focused on the known variable. "Tom, not long ago, Dumbledore took me aside and told me I might be a target. He said to ignore anything I might receive from Grindelwald's agents."

Tom scoffed. "So he called you to his office to lecture you about something you haven't done, trying to morally shame you and make you feel bad over a thing that hasn't even happened, but it's perfectly all right for him to bait his traps with students. That hypocrite."

"It wasn't exactly like that," she muttered under her breath.

"I know Dumbledore," he said with another scoff. "I know how he is. He won't take his bum over to Germany when political people ask him to, because that might mean that he's ambitious, and we can't have that. Oh no, he'll do it only to save one of his students as his duty as Deputy Headmaster, and Grindelwald just forced his hand. No selfish motives at all." Contempt was practically dripping from his words.

"Tom," Hermione said quietly, "in my timeline, Dumbledore defeats Grindelwald next June."

Tom looked horrified. His eyes widened, his mouth opened, and his face paled faintly.

"That's awful," he burst out. "That—that can't be allowed to happen, Hermione."

Hermione scowled at him. "You can't be suggesting that Grindelwald needs to win."

"I didn't say that," he said quickly. "He won't win anyway. He's losing as we speak. But it would be a disaster if Dumbledore defeated him. That's when he gains a lot of political power, isn't it? It can't happen."

Hermione sighed. She had all but come to that conclusion herself, but she did not know what the preferable alternative might be. She had not wanted to get involved in 1944's politics in the first place, but increasingly she was being drawn into the arena.

"Let's not talk about it anymore right now," Tom said. "We have the advantage over others. You know how history will play out if certain things happen. It's best to consider that and formulate a reasonable plan." He paused and gave her a sudden hungry look. "I have other things I'd prefer to… discuss. I've just put you under the Fidelius Charm. You have a room of your own. I think that should be… observed."

Hermione felt her pulse suddenly start to race. "Observed," she repeated. "As in—marked."

"Celebrated." He said it in a low growl, dark eyes boring into her.

Her mind was suddenly far away from politics.

Tom got up from his chair and walked behind hers. He put his hands on the back of the chair, millimeters away from her shoulders. She felt the temperature of the air change slightly when he was behind her, and she could almost feel how close his fingers were.

"You know what I'd like, Hermione?"

I think I do, she thought. Her heart was thumping at the dawning realization that this probably would not end the way the—incident—in his dorm room had.

He leaned over. "I want to know even more of your secrets," he hissed in her ear.

A jolt shot down her body. Shakily she stood up and turned around slowly to face him. His eyes were dark and dilated, and a smile spread across his face that was both desirous and almost predatory; yet the expression suited him. His school uniform was immaculate as usual, as was his hair. She wanted to change that.

He advanced on her and stood directly in front of her, looming, gazing down at her with a gleam in his dark eyes and that smirk on his face. Why had she never noticed how tall he was?

"What secrets would you care to know first?" she said.

"Let's see…." he trailed off deliberately, looking her over from head to toe. "First, I want to know what you're thinking right this moment."

Hermione bit her lower lip in embarrassment. Tom's smirk rose a bit higher at that. He lifted his right hand and slowly stroked her jawline with barely-there motion. "I can find out for myself, of course, if you prefer."

"I was thinking that I like your hair tousled," Hermione whispered, blushing.

"That's all?"

"And that you're very tall."

"And?"

"And that face you make around me—"

His hand held her face firmly as his fingers slowly, inexorably reached toward her hair. "This one?" he said, making it perfectly.

"That one. It's you. It's precisely you."

He uttered a low growl before violently grabbing her in his arms and lifting her up. She threw hers around his shoulders and threaded her fingers into his hair, instantly mussing it. His eyes gleamed in recognition, but only for a moment—their lips slammed together in an intense kiss, a fight for dominance. Previously he had taken quick control of affectionate moments, but this time was different. Teeth and tongues dueled. She stroked his scalp; he grabbed her hips. She tugged lightly on his hair; he slipped a hand under the waistbands of her skirt and knickers.

He was edging them closer to the luxurious bed, and she was fully aware of it. What am I doing? she thought at one point. Am I really going to give my first time to him of all people, in the wrong time, knowing who he—is? Was? Could become?

Yes, she answered herself. I'm going to. Because there was no "right" time anymore except the current one. Because the time she had come from had been little but loss, grief, and heartbreaking disappointment. Because the present time and the person before her offered, in a darker and more adult way, that beautiful, priceless thing she had felt at age eleven when she learned she was a witch: opportunity. Because this was Tom, just Tom, and ever since they had begun to speak civilly, he had only wanted to keep her safe from harm—and he had the skills and motivation to do it. Because he wanted all of her, and it was definitely an intense, possessive, and somewhat dark desire, but it was utterly sincere.

And because she wanted him too.

The backs of her legs brushed against her new bed. He continued to push her back, and she fell onto the mattress. The Room of Requirement really had delivered: This was soft, but not too soft. Perfect.

He was on the mattress in the next instant, collapsing on top of her and continuing with his affections as if there had been no interruption.

"I thought of another secret I want to know," he murmured against her ear. A hand brushed against her thigh, hiking up her skirt. "I want to know what you look like."

He did not wait for a reply. As soon as the words were leaving his mouth, he had a hand on the zipper of her skirt, pulling the zip down. He left the garment in place, though, and instead went to work on her blouse buttons and school tie. She raised a hand to assist, but he took her wrist and guided it away with a shake of his head and that smirk.

"It would probably be faster to do this with magic, but… I like this," he said, untying the knot and unthreading the tie.

Hermione looked wryly at him. "You couldn't use magic. These clothes are charmed against that. Every student here would prank someone that way otherwise."

He looked startled for a moment that she knew something he did not—or had forgot—but he instantly gave a dark laugh. "Well, it's a good thing in any case."

Her blouse was off. He lifted her off the mattress and unhooked her bra with a dexterity that surprised her.

"I thought you'd never done this before," she commented.

"That doesn't mean I'm a bumbling oaf who can't do anything with… precision," he said pointedly, the final word almost hissed. A thrill coursed over her body at the meaning—and at his gaze, which was somehow even hungrier than it had been before. With a sudden motion, he reached for her skirt. He slipped his fingers into the waistband of her knickers and yanked both garments off her, leaving her completely exposed.

"You know," he remarked suddenly, staring at her body, "I never understood what some of the boys were on about when they mentioned this. It always seemed… base… like a lack of self-respect or self-control. And for them I think it is… but we are different. We're special. You're special. You're gorgeous, Hermione, and you're mine and I am going to have you and—" He broke off, seemingly unable to finish, and gazed at her, eyes flitting over her.

Rationally, Hermione knew that this declaration should have been a mood-killer, but somehow it was not. The inauspicious beginning did not even register in her memories after the last unfinished, unspoken statement.

"I want to know a secret of yours too," she said suddenly, her voice surprisingly low and husky.

"Oh?" he murmured.

"Yes. I want to know the same one you just discovered." She reached for his tie, a smug look on her face to match his.

For a moment he looked taken aback at her daring, but his features settled into a look of pleasure and approval at once. She quickly removed the tie, vest, and shirt that he wore, exposing a nicely toned chest with a dusting of dark hair. Somehow she was not surprised by that.

When she reached for his belt, she did get a surprise. She had never felt an erection before. It was… unlike anything else. Warm, hard, at once desirable and intimidating. Her hands suddenly became fumbly. She felt her face flush as she struggled with his pants, very acutely aware that he was looking at her, arrogantly pleased with the effect this was having on her, but finally she got them open. As he had done, she slipped her thumbs into his underwear and removed everything at once.

How is that supposed to fit— Hermione could not even complete the thought. The intimidating aspect loomed large.

"I want to know another secret," he said. His voice was almost a whisper.

"What?" Hers was too.

"I want to know what you'll do when I—"

Hermione muffled a shriek as he descended upon her. His lips trailed a path down her neck, over her collarbone, and across each breast in turn. His left hand pinned her hip in place, and his right—

She thrashed with delight as he slipped one, two, then three fingers inside her. He spread them, stretching her, and slid them in and out slowly, making her moan and arch her back. He lifted his head up, met her eyes, and smirked insolently. "Hermione," he said, "as positively thrilling as it is to watch you and know that it's because of me, that no one has ever made you do this before… I can't wait much longer… so…" He planted a final kiss on her chest and withdrew his fingers, trailing them up her pelvis as he positioned himself.

It's going to hurt, she thought. There's no way around that. It's all right, though. It'll be all right.

She felt the tip of him at her core. Instinctively she brought a hand there to help guide him to her entrance. He moaned at the touch. "I've got to—God this is good, I have to—"

He pushed forward.

At first there was a surge of pain, a steady throb and a sense of being stretched to the utter limit. He started to move at once, but she grabbed his shoulders to hold him in place. "Stop it," she got out between clenched teeth. "Hurts."

He gave her a desperate look, which she had never before seen on his face. "I'm sorry, I can't—" He broke off. "Of course." He shifted without withdrawing, stretching her even more and making her almost shout from it, but he found his wand in his discarded clothes, which lay in a heap with hers on the enormous bed. He cast a nonverbal spell, and instantly, the pain vanished.

"Oh that's better," she said. It really was. Magic was brilliant. Involuntarily she spread her legs wider, allowing herself to take more of him in. He smirked and thrust forward immediately, completely filling her.

"Mine," he murmured as his entire length was inside her.

She shut her eyes in bliss at the word; it was so wonderful to be wanted like this so completely. She didn't want to give it up. She wanted, in this moment, to keep him, whatever might happen. "Mine," she replied in a lower voice.

His eyes widened and fixed upon her. She realized in an instant that this was probably the first time he had ever been wanted—claimed—by someone who genuinely cared about him.

As if in reaction, he began moving fast and jerkily, his face set in that desperate visage again. Very quickly the delicious mounting pressure inside her began to build, rapidly approaching a pinnacle. She could tell that this was going to conclude soon. He gripped her hips hard enough that it would probably leave a mark, but she felt no pain.

The pressure in her—and him too, from the desperation in his movements—was building to a crest. Then, abruptly, he pushed forward, and the wave broke and pleasure poured over her body, feeling somehow as if it touched every cell.

She grabbed at him uncontrollably, fingers clutching at his shoulder blades, his sides, edging toward his waist, to dissipate the release. He clenched his face, closing his eyes, and she felt him release in her.

"Mine," he repeated almost inaudibly. He collapsed bonelessly on top of her.

They breathed heavily, chests heaving in synchronization, for a while. He planted an idle kiss on her mouth, and her arms found their way around his back.

"So I had a thought," he finally said.

"Did you now."

"Yes. I see no reason to sleep in the boys' dormitory tonight, what with it being empty. I'm going to spend the night in here. And as many days during the holiday break as possible." It was not a request.

"You want to fall asleep and wake up with me?" she teased.

"Among other things. I think we should practice a lot, wouldn't you agree?"

She blushed again and looked away, but that was all the answer he required.