When a mild stinging hex caught him off guard, Tom's reflexes were instant and almost faster than his good sense.

Hermione blinked at him in shock for the second it took him to lower his wand again, then her features crumpled into something he didn't recognize when he exhaled the knee-jerk panic and anger.

"That was unwise," he told her, trying to keep his voice even. He wasn't mad at her, but his recent realization that it would only take one violent slip up to lose her loyalty certainly wasn't sitting well in his mind at the moment.

She was lucky his brain was faster than his body. If he hadn't subconsciously known that she was the only person who would attack him without intent to kill, she would've just learned why his crucios made such effective behavior control for his Knights.

"Were you about to hurt me?" she asked, her voice small.

"If you'd been anyone else, yes," he answered honestly. "I realized it was you before I finished drawing my wand, but reflexes are reflexes, Dove."

"It was just a stinging hex…" she said. "And a light one, I didn't want to hurt you. But I got down here and I could hear you laughing at me from the bottom of that stupid pipe-slide."

His lips twitched back into a smirk briefly, but didn't stay. "There is something uniquely amusing about a tiny, missorted third year threatening to murder a fifth year prefect on school property," he said. "There is also something uniquely amusing about you being fearsome in any capacity."

Her glare was weak and dampened by her still-raised hackles.

He sighed. "You do realize that the boys would've been crucioed for having the audacity to hex me in the first place, don't you? If I wanted to hurt you, I would have."

Hermione blinked her too-bright, owlish eyes at him, and swallowed before speaking up again. "Why do you want to hurt them but not me?"

Tom stared at her. "It's not a matter of want," he said. "Keeping them in line doesn't bother me. But the methods the Knights require, especially the lower ranks? Compared to when conflict arises with you?" He shrugged. "You're like me, Dove. They aren't."

"Tom," she said slowly, as if he was the one struggling to understand a simple concept and not her. "We're all just people. They're no different than we are. I'm not better than them just because you and I have similar motivations in life or get along better."

Tom stared at her for several moments, befuddled. "You're better than them because you're better than them," he said simply. "Is your Gryffindor nobility that deeply rooted? Even at the orphanage there's a bloody hierarchy, Dove. Step on or be stepped on. Sink or swim."

The look she gave him was full of an emotion he didn't recognize, but that instinctively made him uncomfortable. "How long did it take you to learn how to swim?" she asked.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. "You know I learn everything fast."

"I also know bullies have been bullied," she said. "I don't understand making exceptions though."

Tom rolled his eyes. "I'm not a bully, Dove. I'm a leader."

"Is it because I'm a girl?" she asked suddenly.

Tom almost couldn't remember how to speak. "Why the hell would that matter? You're the only girl I intentionally socialize with about subjects that matter, yes. But no, Dove, your sex is irrelevant. If you were just another useful simpleton, you'd get treated the same as the other useful simpletons."

Hermione frowned, her calculating gaze eerily similar to the look on her face when she attempted to make sense of her Divination assignments. "What makes me different then? What makes me more than purely useful?"

Tom wasn't sure why his heart was pounding, but he had the sinking suspicion that this strange conversation in the lower bowels of the castle held more weight than he cared for it to have. She'd gently dismantled his confidence in his own ability to answer such simple, if not confusing, questions. And somehow, he knew that if he answered this one wrong, he wouldn't know how to undo whatever consequences arose as a result.

"You're just different, Dove," he said hesitantly. It felt like he was trying to tread on some of the rat bones around them without breaking them. "I can't remember consistently enjoying someone else's company without wanting to hex them until you came along. You're intelligent enough to keep up with me, despite being two years behind me… The other Knights are mostly associates of mine. We play nice in public, in private they know who's boss and what the goals of the group are — success and power when we graduate. Abraxas and Flynn are also exceptions to a degree, because they're more capable than the rest, and I'm giving them more chances to prove themselves since I met you because I know they're still loyal and useful in the future."

"But they aren't exempt from torture," she said. "Abraxas and someone else hit a nerve over some blood purity thing not too long ago, you told me about it. And you implied your usual methods of dealing with people who upset you."

Tom's expression darkened. "It's one thing to listen to a bunch of half-wit Purebloods rant about half-bloods when they've all readily forgotten you are one," he said darkly. "It's another thing entirely to listen to them argue whether muggleborns should be rounded up and culled from wizarding society or forced into sex slavery when you're teaching one with more magic in her little finger than all of the bleeding blood supremacists combined."

"Wait...wait," she said. "You tortured them because they insulted me when they've never even met me? Do they even know about me?"

"Abraxas and Flynn only know what I currently trust them to keep secret. Otherwise, no one knows. Dumbledore is a nosey old bat and I refuse to let him find out about you until I can keep him from destroying our future," Tom said. "I tortured them because they had the audacity to consider you beneath their respect. Period. Meeting you is irrelevant. I've warned them about blood purity multiple times since you and I met. Those warnings went unheeded that day. Consequences were dealt."

She stared at him in silence again for several beats, causing him to grow impatient.

"Are we going to stand here and talk about nothing in this damp old pipe all night?" he asked.

Hermione only shrugged, but didn't move any closer or attempt to pass him to go deeper into the cavern. "I don't torture people who make me angry because it's wrong. But I will go out of my way to protect and prevent harm to the people I consider my friends," she said softly. "Like you."

His pulse was making his ears ring. "Friends is an awfully trite way to describe whatever this master-apprentice situation we've fallen into is."

"You don't like words with sentimental connotations," Hermione said. "Have you noticed that?"

Hairs all over his body stood on end. "Does that matter for some reason I'm unaware of?"

Her expression, and her energy, plummeted again. "Yeah," she answered. "But don't worry about it. I'll think of a different word."

Tom had rarely been so confused in his life. "A different word? Is that what you're upset about now?"

She shook her head. "It's nothing, Tom. I'm just being silly I think."

A tickle ran across the back of his neck and he squinted. Those words sounded rehearsed. "You're just being silly? In a dark corridor dozens, if not hundreds, of feet below the school and that's what you chalk this whole conversation up to? You being silly? Something is bothering you. Last time you got like this, you were hiding your birthday."

She winced at the reminder. "I know. But really, this time, it's okay. I think I need to talk to older you about it, but I don't know when I'll see him again."

It was Tom's turn to frown. "Remind me of the date for you when we get to the main chamber, before I summon Cherie. I'll make a note of it."

Her smile was weak. "Thanks."

"Of course, Dove," he said, offering her his hand. "Now, can we move along? Or perhaps you'd like to sneak up on the prefect who's been teaching you advanced magic and tempt fate again?"

"That sounds unwise," she said dryly, but she slipped one of her small hands into his.

Tom smirked, earning an eye roll from the little witch, and shoved down the discomfort she'd sown as he led her along the corridor. He kept a firm grip on her hand long after the tunnel leveled out, just in case. There were still plenty of other things to slip or trip on. The last thing they needed was her hurt somewhere almost impossible to get in and out of alone under duress.

Cherie was all but gloating after Tom sent Hermione off to bed with instructions for how to meet the basilisk in her own time.

She's a lovely thing, the basilisk told him. Had your branch of the bloodline remained strong, you would've been encouraged to maintain this alliance, if not outright ordered to win her hand.

"You're very invested in human romanticisms for a serpent," Tom told her dryly. "Are you bored down here?"

Cheek, she said, her tone amused. She's the sort of witch you bring into a family to invigorate a bloodline, you must at least be able to acknowledge that fact.

Tom made a face. "I do, it's just not something I care to think about. She's only a third year. Surely I can wait some time yet before trying to figure out the most advantageous marriage for her to eventually have."

Cherie tilted her head at him as she absently scented the air. To yourself, surely. She's already shown a unique compatibility with the family magic by learning parselmagic so quickly. Why not marry her yourself in the future?

"Even if I manage to secure immortality before I'm thirty, I'm still fifty years older than she is," he said. "I imagine that will be just as odd in the future as it sometimes is now."

Witches of her caliber are often too ahead of their peers to find happiness among them, Cherie said. Similar differences in age are not uncommon along your family tree. And successful immortality would nullify the age factor so long as you could extend it to her when she's ready.

"She's a bit too romantically-inclined for that," he said. "Bit of a soft heart, at times. She'll want to marry for love, like her muggle parents did."

What is love if not protecting those who we value above all others? Cherie asked. Magic has already told you she's meant to be part of the family and you've taken some degree of a shine to her. But if you're still so opposed to the traditional approach of securing a witch's loyalty, then at least bring her into the family by other means.

Tom closed the books he'd been spell hunting in, leaned back in the chair his ancestors had spent countless hours in before him, and regarded the ancient snake. Cherie enjoyed advising the many generations that served as the legacy of her first master, though she told him more than once that they were all often excessively stubborn in their youth. More than one ancestor had ignored the value in the snake's wisdom until it was too late to take back choices she'd advised against.

Now, despite his firm aversion to something as ridiculously sentimental as marriage, he would at least consider whatever sage advice Cherie felt compelled to share.

"How else could I bind her to me, or the family line?" he asked. "I thought that's what the ritual to give her parselmagic was supposed to do."

The parselmagic ritual copies some of your magical signature and combines it with hers, just on a very small scale. Enough to give her a trait her magic lacked. By bringing her into the family, you will be telling your familial magic that her magical signature is a variation of the family magic. This happens automatically when children are born to families, magic aligns their signature to the core family magic on its own. But when children are adopted or marriages take place, there is another way to reinforce the outsider as a part of the family.

"I see," Tom said. "In that case, she would gain the ability to use old family magicks?"

Of course. She'd magically become your only other living family. If you ward a cabinet with the family wards, she could open it. If you add your magical signature or imbue the family runes into common spells, like concealment charms, she'll be able to see that they're there or see through the charms entirely.

"It would solidify her as my best and brightest," he said. "The only Dame among my Knights."

Precisely, Cherie said happily. These are the same ancient rites I suspect you will be offered if the Malfoys and Averys take a shine to you this summer. The old families tend to jump at the chance of aligning powerful young men to the family, especially orphans and half-bloods. The effects of which would trickle down to her if they bind you to their families. And, if you're offered these rites, society would cease to consider you a half-blood. You would never be Tom Riddle the orphan again. You'd be Tom Riddle, honorary second son of the Malfoy and Avery families.

"I suppose I need to make an exceptionally good impression on the Malfoys this summer then. I'm unsure if we'll spend any time with Flynn's family," Tom mused. "The Knights already forget I'm a half-blood, but public erasure of those origins can only be beneficial for the future… How do I perform these rites with Hermione?"

You'll want to make a list, she told him. The rites are best performed on a new moon, but if you can't meet with her face to face on the castle grounds, the Room of Requirement may be able to build you a temporary glass ceiling for access to the sky.

Tom reached for one of his journals, flipped to a back page, and wrote Familial Magic Bonding Rites at the top.

"I'm ready," he told her.

Tom would have to remember the benefits of finding philosophical compromises with her more often. Cherie has been so delighted by his interest that she even helped him find a journal of Salazar's where he detailed how he constructed many of the wards and protective spells he crafted specifically for his family's use.

"I could imbue some of these into the necklace we found," he told her. "Abraxas is figuring out how much magic we can safely weave into the thing, to keep her safe while I'm away."

And she can always hide here if she's threatened. Cherie said. I'm sure I'll be delighted to meet her again when she visits me in her own time.

Tom frowned at the letter on his desk and twirled his quill between his fingers. He'd been so busy that he hadn't written Hermione a reply yet, but he knew he needed to soon. He decided a long time ago to never lie to her and he extended that philosophy to answering whatever questions she asked him that he could answer without destroying time.

Dear Tom,

Thank you for your gifts, even if you're a cheeky prat for the charm. And the books, as well, were very clever. I haven't read the parselmagic one yet, but I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when I went digging around in my trunk a few days later and realized all those markings suddenly made sense!

I did manage to read the other one, though…

I'm not sure where to start. I have a thousand questions and you can't answer most of them, I'd wager. But I suppose we'll have to try anyway.

You wrote that it would be a lost cause for me to fret over why you wrote in the blue journal instead of writing me in your diary. And you said something about how the diary wouldn't always be a reliable way to communicate. I doubt you'll tell me why, so instead I'll ask this: If you kept the diary until present day, then gave it to me, how does it let me communicate with you in the past? What controls that connection?

You wrote that other journal before I was born. How far before? What year was it? How old were you? How old was I the last time you talked to me through the diary before you wrote that journal?

Will the diary always work? Will I talk to two of you forever? When will it stop, if not?

How long do you have to maintain the timeline by yourself? Will I ever be able to help?

Did you actually hide my charm bracelet from yourself? How often do you have to force things to happen the way you remember them like that? Is it difficult to remember?

Were you as miserable as you sounded the entire time or was that just an unusually bad day? You don't really get upset. Angry yes. Distraught, no. Or do you, eventually?

Would you have cared if I told you about my birthday sooner? I know you were cross I didn't tell you, but I can't figure out if you're just offended that you were out of the know or if you did really want to know…

You wrote that I wasn't younger you's friend and that I was yours, but…how accurate is that? Does younger you really not see me as a friend, even a little bit? Or…does he just not really know what friendship looks and feels like?

You're chummy with Abraxas and Flynn. I'd say, in present day, they're your friends by now, even if you didn't consider them friends in school. You claimed I'm your friend…am I still your friend?

And, if you remember what I asked you outside the chamber: How long did it take you to learn how to swim? Younger you brushed off the question.

Is there anything else I need to know, do you think? Or that might help me help you retroactively?

Yours,

Hermione

Tom shook his head. She'd written the letter quickly, he remembered that much from using the surveillance spell with the boys. But her anxiety and haste was also visible in her penmanship - still neat and legible, but narrower.

It was a testament to his past that he could still read her mood from her handwriting alone.

His wand sat atop the desk, ready to vanish another failed attempt at starting the letter he'd been trying to write for days. Presently, his attempt had lasted over an hour.

With a sigh of resignation, Tom sent a patronus to Flynn and Abraxas. If nothing else, they'd be able to help him keep some of the important details straight…

A/N: Happy Holidays! I'm having a pretty sub par December but I figured I'd update and subsequently hang out with you guys by proxy :) Don't forget I'm on Tumblr under the same psued and Twitter under MulattoKitten. I'm working on figuring out a way to do some kind of just chatting stream on Twitch or via Discord that doesn't spoil whatever I'm working on, but would let you guys hang out while I'm working on fics or doodling? If you're interested in that sort of thing, definitely go follow my Twitter, since that's where my (very chill and empty) Discord link is. It's also where my shitposting humor flourishes immensely (when work isn't absurd) and the best place for vague and out of context spoilers.