Tom woke up to the sight of Hermione draped across one of the chairs by the fireplace, her wand pointed at him. He reached for his only to narrow his eyes as she laughed and waved it from her other hand. "Week's up," she said.

He sighed and sat up, the blanket and sheet falling away to reveal the torso Hermione had not been ogling every night and at which she quite deliberately did not stare now. He had never touched her at night, despite sharing the bed. That she'd left a knife from the kitchens between them as a pointed and pointy reminder that she was not interested might have had something to do with that. Of course, he might have just been enjoying the way he left his invasions of her space for when she was awake.

"Do you really plan to try to hex me," he asked now. He sounded amused, as usual, and his voice was slightly husky. Hermione told herself that was because he had just woken up. The way he licked his lips as he smirked at her was because they were dry, the way the sheets fell and revealed his erection was just because it was morning.

"You killed people I cared about," she said. Her hand was shaking as she pointed the wand at him. "You destroyed lives. You - "

"Have done none of those things," he said.

"I obliviated my parents to protect them from you," she nearly hissed, fighting back tears. "They don't know they have a daughter. I turned myself into an orphan to save them."

Tom reached out his hand and summoned his wand. "Come back to bed," he said, his voice still rumbling with that hint of desire and also what sounded like what might even be a hint of concern. "I refuse to apologize for things I haven't done. You are helping me create a world where I won't have to."

"I - "

"am distraught," he said. "I can make you come back but I would prefer you set your wand down on your own and come here. We both know you aren't going to curse me and this drama could easily become tedious."

Hermione nearly snarled but she flung her wand down and glared at him, the tears welling over the edge of her eyes. "If you had killed me that first night," Tom murmured, reaching a hand out toward her, "You would have won. But you gave me a week, my love, and now you know that coaxing me into what you want is far better for the world than killing me outright. Without me someone else will just push himself into power. The Ministry is too flawed to stand. But me you have some control over."

Hermione took a step toward the bed and the outreached hand.

"I don't," she said.

"Have control over me?" Tom raised his brows. "You're alive. You've already shifted my plans. I'm not your puppet, Miss Granger, no, but I'm listening."

She took another step. "I hate you," she said.

"No," he said. "You don't. You might hate who I become but you don't hate me." He exhaled and eyed her. "You're intelligent enough to understand the difference."

"You're evil," she said but she was closer to the beckoning hand.

"There is no good or evil," he said. "There is only power and those too weak to take it." He brushed the tips of his fingers across hers. "There is, however, also staying sane and not being hunted down like a dog by obsessed fanatics."

"Don't turn into a rabid dog," Hermione said, setting one knee on the mattress, her eyes never wavering from his face.

"My love," he said but she shook her head. "Miss Granger," he said, then, "Hermione." His voice caressed her name and she shuddered but pulled herself onto the bed. "Shall I make a vow?" he asked. "I will do all that I can to not turn into a crazed monster?"

"Whose definition of monster," she asked as he wrapped his hand around her wrist.

"Mine," he said and yanked her forward so she fell against him. He pinned her to the mattress and laughed, a guttural sound, and lowered his face so his lips were at hers. "Tell me no," he mocked.

"I don't even like you," she said sounding lost. "I have a boyfriend."

"You had a boyfriend in a future that doesn't exist," Tom said. "In this reality you have, as far as the polite world is concerned, a fiancé. A very, very powerful fiancé." She shook her head but he took his hands and held her face steady. "Don't even pretend you don't like that. Don't even pretend you aren't as fascinated by what I can do as I am by what you know."

She took her freed hands and grabbed the back of his head and pulled his mouth to hers; his chuckle was dark and pleased and quickly swallowed by the demands of her searching kiss. His hands tightened on her cheeks and she protested a bit at the roughness of his grip but he merely bit down on her lip in response and she gasped and pushed herself even more violently against him. When he finally released her mouth it was to turn his attention to the line of her jaw, to her neck, to the curve of her ear. Every touch was fire, every lick searing, and she offered herself up to the devil with her hands in her hair and his erection prodding her as though she were one of the damned. She let her hands explore the lines and planes of the stomach and chest and hips she'd been so careful not to look at and he quivered and preened under each stroke and she nearly cooed at revelation she had this much power over this brilliant, dangerous man. This much power over Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle.

It was thinking his name that broke the spell. She was in bed salivating over Tom Malvolo Riddle. Lord Voldemort.

She froze.

He sighed and released her; he sat up and watched her as she fled into the bathroom and began to retch. When she looked up from where she knelt over the toilet he was standing in the doorway, staring down at her, a black robe hanging, unbelted, from his shoulders.

"I become that loathsome?" he asked her. He didn't sound despairing or regretful or horrified. He sounded merely curious.

"You create a future that vile," she choked out. "I was tortured because of you. Hunted because of you. Your little pet Dolohov cursed me because of you - "

"Which scar?" he asked.

"What?" Hermione demanded.

Tom Riddle handed her a glass of water and said, his voice uninflected, "He didn't do the word on your arm. Knowing Antonin, he would have spelt it wrong. Which scar is he responsible for? You have quite a few."

Hermione shrank down and leaned against the wall next to the toilet as she rinsed her mouth. "I'm sorry the body your foul war scarred doesn't meet with - "

"I adore your body and was having a very pleasant time become acquainted with it in more detail," Tom said. Hermione shivered; she almost expected the water in her glass to freeze as a physical response to how cold his voice was. "Now tell me which one Dolohov did."

She wordlessly lifted her hand to her shoulder. "He would have killed me," she said, "But I'd silenced him and he had to do it without speaking."

"He's never been good at that," Tom said. He squatted down and looked at her shoulder. After a moment he traced a thumb across the puckered flesh. "You are very beautiful," he said, almost as a side thought. "That is not your main attraction, of course, but I would be irritated to see you descend into the tiresome habit of claiming to be ugly just to have me praise your appearance."

Hermione closed her eyes. "You are a monster," she said.

"And you are a witch," he said, "and a powerful one." She opened her eyes as he said, "Don't point a wand at me again unless you want me to ravish you on the spot."

She said, rather shakily, "Is there something wrong with you?"

He straightened up and reached a hand down to help her. "Get dressed or you'll miss breakfast with your loving cousin. I told him to find some engagement ring for you, something pretty you'd like."

"You're having Abraxas choose my engagement ring?" Hermione realized she felt more outraged about that than was reasonable.

Tom leaned over to her and kissed her again, gently this time. "No," he said. "But I am pleased to see you so offended at the idea." He pulled a small box out of a pocket of his robe. "Here. This is for you."

"It is customary to ask," she muttered as she pried open the box.

Tom Riddle snorted. "I wasn't aware you had a choice. Leave my protection and you'll be lost in a world you don't know with no friends and no money."

Hermione looked at the simple sapphire and felt her throat tighten. She'd told Ron she didn't want a diamond and he'd told her not to be ridiculous, that diamonds were how it was done. She'd never even… "I like it," she whispered "Thank you."

"Blue is generally the symbol for intelligence," he said, amused again. "It suits you."

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione had barely sat down at the breakfast table, smiling a greeting at her 'cousin' Abraxas, when Tom pulled out his wand and pointed it at Antonin Dolohov. Abraxas looked at her, a clear question in his eyes, but all she could do was shake her head. She was as confused as he was.

"Get up," Tom said.

The man he was addressing stood, shaking, and said, "My Lord, what have I - "

"Go to the back veranda," Tom said. "I have too much respect for my host, my charming fianceé's loving, if recently acquired, cousin, to get blood on his carpets."

"I appreciate that," Abraxas said. He pushed his chair back and prepared to trail after the other two men.

Antonin began stumbling toward the door. "If you run it will irritate me," Tom said. "I can make things much worse when I'm irritated."

"My Lord," Antonin said again, desperately, "What have I done? I've served you faithfully, I've - "

"Become a bore," Tom said. He held his hand out to Hermione. "Come." She opened her mouth to refuse and then, looking at the man's expression, shut her lips with a snap. Tom Riddle didn't exactly snap his fingers at her but she rose and took his hand. "I have a present for you," he said, "something to celebrate our engagement." She shivered.

Antonin led the way to the veranda, his shoulders braced against the torture he expected. Tom followed, Hermione at his side. Abraxas came last. The rest of the Death Eaters turned to watch but made no move to join the group, probably afraid they'd attract the same sort of attention Antonin Dolohov had. Tom made a sudden sharp, slashing motion with his wand and a streak of purple flame cut across Dolohov's shoulder and the man collapsed. Tom looked down at him and smiled as the man gasped in pain and began to make gurgling noises as blood soaked his shirt.

"I never told you - " Hermione began, causing Abraxas to regard her with interest.

"I do recognize the scarring pattern," Tom said. "I like to be well informed about the spells I use and teach," he said. He turned to smile at her and her blood didn't run quite as cold as she felt it ought. "Research. Experimentation. You'll find I am very thorough in everything I do." He took his free hand and rubbed at a smudge on her chin. "Would you like to finish him off?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Love," Tom coaxed, "You've been taking your anger out on him for a week. If you kept going that way you probably would have killed him eventually."

"That's not - "

"The same?" Tom leaned over and kissed her on the nose. "It's exactly the same." He nudged the prone Dolohov with a foot. "This was what he wanted to do to you," he said. "Of course, he's never been good at wordless casting so he failed. Will fail. Quite reprehensible, really, and not something I tolerate." Tom pulled her wand out of her pocket and tucked it into her hand. "Do it, love. You tried to Avada me within moments of meeting me so I know you're not squeamish. End him."

Hermione's hand shook as she held her wand and looked at Abraxas as though he would help her. All the man said was, "The longer you refuse, the longer he suffers."

"Maybe that's what she wants," Tom said. He stepped away from Hermione and, summoning his prepared tea through the open door, took a sip. "I applaud that, my love. Quite in character and so alluring." Tom cast another quick spell and Dolohov twitched, one foot spasming. "I'll make sure he stays alive and conscious for you so you can drag this out as long as you like."

Hermione took a step backward away from the body on the stone floor.

"I can keep him alive like this a very long time," Tom said.

"You don't have to do this," she said, whirling and facing Tom. "I don't want you to do this!"

"You don't appreciate my present?" Tom asked. He sighed. "I am new to this doting partner thing. I suppose I'm sure to get it wrong sometimes. Still, he's there, quite hurt, and it's up to you to decide what to do." He examined his nails as though he might have gotten some of Dolohov's blood under them. "No hurry, Miss Granger. Shall we go in to breakfast before the eggs get cold?"

"You'll fix him?" she asked.

Tom pulled back as though startled by the very idea. "No, no," he said. "He'll be waiting for you after breakfast." He patted her on the shoulder as if in reassurance. "He's in terrible pain, of course, but it's really not much worse than many of the things you've been doing to him."

Hermione shuddered and, turning back to the body, leveled her wand and whispered, "Avada Kedavra."