Abraxas Malfoy grated on Hermione's nerves after about three minutes; he was too much like Draco. They could have passed for twins with their nearly white hair and their grey eyes but, worse, they had the same arrogant belief they were superior to everyone in the room. Abraxas fawned on her instead of insulting her but it was the flip side of the same, unpleasant coin and she fantasized about punching him the way she had - the way she would - his grandson. The rest of Tom Riddle's gang was worse and she found herself turning to the handsome man and mouthing 'Really?' after a particularly obsequious bit of idiocy.
He smiled at her. "Mulciber, you're boring my sweet love here," he said. "Stop."
The man threw an indecipherable look at Hermione but mumbled an apology.
"Where did you say you came from?" Thoros Nott asked her.
"London," Hermione said. "I woke up in Tom's bed. No idea how I got here."
"And already madly in love," Nott said.
"Tom exaggerates," Hermione replied and Nott snorted in evident agreement.
"You shouldn't doubt the depths of my interest in you, my love," Tom said.
"It's not your interest I doubt," Hermione snapped. "It's your love."
"Fair enough," Tom said. "But calling you 'my interest' makes you sound like a line on an account statement from Gringotts, so please forgive my use of the more conventional pet name. My love."
The last two words were emphasized and Hermione set her mouth in a line. "Do you have anything to drink?" she asked at last. "Something stronger than tea, maybe?" She looked around the room they'd gathered in for some kind of pre-dinner social hour. Wherever they were, whatever castle this was, it belonged to someone with money. The oriental carpets were thick, the fireplace large enough to roast a goat, and the walls were covered with built in bookcases made out of some beautiful, dark wood. Hermione's fingers itched to go pull volumes off the shelves and look at them. Tom Riddle followed her gaze and said, with perfect courtesy, "Abraxas, get the lady a glass of wine while I show her your collection."
"Is this Malfoy Manor?" she asked in sudden horror, her scar itching at the thought. Tom had called the place a castle so she'd assumed, foolishly, that he was being literal.
"Yes," Tom said. "Anything you'd like to tell me about it?"
"Shall I speak freely," she murmured, tracing her fingertips over the scar he'd glamoured away and controlling her reaction to the place.
"Maybe some things are better left for pillow talk," Tom said. "Let me show you the books."
He seemed fascinated by her sudden withdrawal and became every inch the solicitous lover, leading her to the bookcase, pulling volumes out one at a time, and discussing the contents. He asked her her specific magical interests and when she said, her eyes narrowed, "I did a bit of a practicum on horcrux destruction," he nearly licked his lips before selecting a text on basilisks.
"You might find this makes for interesting reading, then," he said.
"We kill that too," she said, her voice soft enough only he could hear her. "Slaughter it and use it for parts."
She closed her fingers around the book and he let his hand rest over hers. "If you continue to be quite so interesting yourself, Miss Granger," he said with his mouth at her ear, "I shall never let you go."
"Lucky me," she muttered and left his side to go back to the group of Death Eaters, all sporting the tell tale snake and skull Mark on their arms. Abraxas handed her a glass of red wine, praising a vintage she was sure she wouldn't have been able to appreciate at the best of times, much less while standing in Malfoy Manor surrounded by these disgusting men. She eyed his arm and said, "Is that a Muggle tattoo?" with the sweetest voice she could muster.
Thoros Nott looked aghast. "No," he said. "We are a group dedicated to… no. It's not a Muggle anything. It's a magical symbol of our beliefs."
"You believe in snakes?" Hermione asked, "or skulls?"
"Snakes are a traditional symbol of rebirth and immortality," Tom Riddle said. He'd come back to her side and hovered there with an attentiveness she could have done without. "The ouroboros, for example, is a well known symbol of the eternal cycle."
"Everything comes around again?" Hermione asked. Tom began to nod and when she added, "So nothing can really be changed. What is fated to be will be?" his mouth tightened.
"That would be one interpretation, yes," he said. "I prefer to think our lives are a bit more fluid. You notice, I am sure, that our snake is not biting its own tail but rather springing forth from death, unfettered."
"Such an interesting design," Hermione said. She set her hand on Riddle's arm. "Where's yours?"
"I don't have one," Tom said.
"You aren't in the club?" Hermione asked. "How sad to be so left out."
The Death Eaters all looked horrified at her insubordination.
"Lord… Tom Riddle is a great man," the one called Avery finally said. "He's going to bring us all to great things. He's a brilliant leader, the most powerful wizard the world has ever seen. You're - "
"Adorable," Tom said, cutting the man off. "So very cute." He tapped her on the nose. "But there are limits to my sense of humor, Hermione," he said. "Don't test them." He wrapped an arm around her waist. "Maybe you'd like a Mark of your own?" he suggested, "since you are so very interested in the design."
She felt all the blood drain from her face.
He smiled at that pallor. "No?" he asked. "But it's generally considered an honor."
"I don't really feel worthy," she said. "My love."
He laughed and kissed her temple and she stiffened in his arms. "You are worthy of anything I decide you are," he said. "But I think we can hold off on any kind of initiation for a bit. My love."
After dinner Tom escorted her back to his room with gracious courtesy. Once behind the door he leaned up against it and leveled his wand at her. "So," he said. "Tell me about Malfoy Manor and why you hate it so."
She walked away from him, turning her back on his pointed wand; let's find out, she thought, just how aggressive he was willing to be. "Do you think Abraxas was clever enough to get some kind of nightgown?" she said as she began rifling through the bags. When Tom didn't answer she sighed and dumped first one, then the other, bag onto the bed and began sorting through her new wardrobe.
"Hermione," Tom said in a warning voice.
She lifted up one dress. "Is this supposed to be sleepwear do you suppose?" she asked.
"No," he snapped. "You can sleep nude for all I care. Tell me about the Manor."
"Oh, this old place?" Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Tom Riddle. "One of your little Death Eaters tortured me here. A little Cruciatus, a little carving in my arm. You know. Ordinary things to you, I'm sure, but I find it puts me off the place."
"Interesting," he said slowly. "I don't frighten you at all, but a drawing room does. I find I am puzzled by that."
"Technically," she admitted, "you and I have never had much direct contact. Plus, in the future you look different so it can be a bit of a mental trick to remember that you are not just another man my own age."
"I look better?" he asked, a smug tone in his voice as if he knew the answer.
She snorted.
"Not better," he said, obviously a bit surprised by that. This was a man who expected to age well.
"I don't know," Hermione began to fold up the clothes. "How do you personally feel about being bald, a kind of blueish white, having red eyes and lacking a nose?"
Tom began to laugh and then, when she looked up and smiled at him he stopped. "You're being serious," he said.
"You're quite unattractive," she said. She looked him over. "Well, in the future."
He smirked at her. "And now?" he asked.
"I find that the evil sociopath thing trumps your pretty cheekbones," Hermione said. "Plus, you murdered my friends. This may be unusual in the company you keep, but I don't care for that."
"I haven't done it yet," Tom said. "Perhaps you can convince me not to." He walked toward her. "Tell me how to be better at what I want, Hermione," he whispered, his voice sending shivers down her spine. "Tell me how to reach my goals without failing and I can spare whomever you like."
"You could just Imperius me," she said. "Why be so civilized as to ask when you can just take?"
He sighed in feigned exhaustion at her ignorance. "It doesn't work quite like that," he said. "I could certainly order you to do things. I could order you to tell me everything you knew and you would, but without any kind of critical filter it becomes just noise. The imperiused mind doesn't think very well." He began to fold the clothes Abraxas had acquired. "And legilimancy is similarly problematic. There's just too much information. 'Where were you on Thursday for tea?' Yes, I can fish that out. 'How do you feel about me?' Easy. 'What steps should I take to ensure my rise to power goes smoothly?'" He shook his head. "Too complex and my assessment of what I would see in your head would be far too influenced by my own bias to be useful."
"So you have to be nice to me," she said, struck by that. "You have to convince me why it's in my own best interest to help you."
"I could torture you," he said softly.
She smiled. "It's been done before, as I believe I just mentioned," she said, her voice just as quiet. "Do you know what I did?"
"Broke?" he asked.
"Lied," she said. "I lied to a woman who called herself your most devoted servant, your most loyal. She had a knack for that curse, too. She'd tortured people into insanity with it before and I lied to her despite everything she threw at me." She smiled at him. "I lay on the floor and sobbed in more pain than I knew a person could experience and I lied. So go on, Tom Marvolo Riddle, torture me. You'll break me eventually, I'm sure, but you'll break me into madness, not truth."
He took a step away from her and regarded her, his lips pursed. He released the glamour on her arm with a word and studied it. "So very interesting," he said at last. He reached a finger out to draw it along each letter and Hermione froze under his touch but didn't move away as goose pimples rose along her flesh. "When I Marked Abraxas," he added conversationally, "he wept like a baby and then threw up on his pretty rugs. I think he would have promised me the moon and the stars to make it stop."
"Hurts, I take it?" she asked.
"Very much so," Tom said. His finger lingered on the final 'd' in her scar. "So I can't break you," he murmured. "Not in a way that would be useful to me. And I still have no idea how you got here, or why. Nor, I think, do you. Or is that something you're keeping from me?"
Hermione shook her head. "I… I went to sleep in my own bed and woke up here," she said. "If anyone had asked me to travel back into the past to kill you I would have refused." She shuddered. "It was over," she whispered. "You were dead, it was over. Why is this happening?"
Tom shrugged and pulled his hand away. "I have no idea," he said, "but I intend to find out. Are you a weapon? A present? A tool or a trap?" He frowned. "Will you give me your word not to attack me? I don't want you wandering around without your wand nor do I thrill the option of keeping you locked away in these rooms."
Hermione looked at him "The moment a wand is in my hand I will do my best to kill you," she said, the words as close to a vow as she could make them. "If a knife comes to hand, I'll use that."
"I am an adaptable man," Tom said as he rubbed his face. "I can adapt to you as long as you seem worth the effort, and you know I intend to try to coax you into helping me of your own volition, especially given it seems I have no other practical option. However, if you like making things difficult for yourself and prefer to live as a virtual prisoner with no magic I will not hinder you."
Hermione stood up. "Is there running water?" she asked. "I'd like to take a shower and remove the stench of even the thought of collaborating with you."
"Difficult it is, then," Tom said. He pointed to a door on the opposite side of the room. "I'll send Abraxas out for some kind of sleepwear."
"Thank you," Hermione said. "How very kind you are." The words were laced with as much sarcasm as she could muster.
"I'll tell him to make it sexy," Tom said. "I wouldn't want you to think me too nice."
"Little chance of that," she muttered before she disappeared into the bath.