A/N: This is a preliminary TRIGGER WARNING for the themes and mild violence referenced in the beginning of this chapter.

It took Tom several beats too long to understand where he was. The dirty, off-white walls clued him in first. No amount of scrubbing ever restored life to the decades-old paint. Despite how frequently Mrs. Cole forced the naughty children to their knees, scrubbing away hours with sponges and heavy buckets of soapy water, the years of discoloration and stains remained. Some of the darker smudges were the faded remnants of dirty handprints, while the rest of the mosaic of scuff marks were the result of moved furniture, fights among the children, wayward shoes, and simple accidents.

The faded linoleum floors were no better; just as hopeless in their age-worn state.

His eyes scanned the hallway. His bedroom was down this hall, number twenty-seven. Why was he out of bed? The nearest toilet was past his bedroom in the other direction; so why was he coming from the main corridor?

"Tom?"

He spun around, shocked and horrified in equal measure as her voice registered. Hermione stood a few feet away. She seemed as confused as he felt, but she was also afraid, one hand clutching at the opposite arm, nails digging into her Gryffindor cardigan.

"Dove, what are you doing here?" he demanded as he moved towards her.

His blood ran cold once he was close enough to properly take her in. Her eyes were glassy with barely concealed tears, an angry purple bruise was half hidden by her collar, and her necklace—

Her necklace was gone.

"He took it," she whispered. "He made me take it off."

He grabbed her by the arm to pull her closer but she cried out, and in his surprise, he let her go.

"Dove?"

He reached out again, slowly this time, and tugged her sleeve up. Far too much of her skin seemed to be glaring painfully back at him. He tugged at the hem of her cardigan and t-shirt and there too, she was more bruised than not. His hands trembled as he righted her clothes.

"Dove, I need a name," he said. He felt hollow. Disconnected. "I need you to tell me who did this."

She didn't belong in this place. Yet somehow she was not only standing with him in the halls of his childhood hell, but she had already gotten hurt.

"Maxwell."

Tom stared at her. Her eyes, familiar whiskey brown, were emptier than he ever remembered them being, but still honest. Except she couldn't be telling the truth.

"Albert Maxwell has been dead since I was five," he told her, but as the words left his mouth, movement caught his attention over her shoulder.

A whistling, very much alive, Maxwell strode down the hall with one hand in the pocket of his dark brown trousers and the other spinning a familiar necklace around two fingers while he walked.

Somehow, despite being the same age as the older boy and rather tall himself, Maxwell still appeared impossibly tall to Tom. The allegedly deceased boy towered over them as Tom pulled Hermione behind him. Tom felt five years old again as he glared up at the other orphan.

"I was playing with that, Tommy," the boy sneered. "Give it back."

Tom's reply died on his tongue as he met the boy's gaze. Albert had unusually loud, easy-to-read thoughts, but the first time Tom accidentally performed legilimency on him, the images hadn't registered or made sense.

The night the older boy died, he cornered Tom at the opposite end of this same hallway, beat him bloody, and started to take a pocket knife to Tom's trousers. When he was five, he failed to understand the significance of the images flickering through the other boy's mind. Now he was old enough to understand the depravity lurking within Albert Maxwell. Now Hermione was Maxwells' target, her bruised, crying form replacing Tom's in the boy's thoughts.

Red bled into the edges of his vision at the same time as Albert's playful aloofness fell away, leaving a stony glare behind.

"Tommy…I said, give that back."

"No," Tom hissed. "I should kill you again for touching her in the first place."

The memory was hazy, but Tom was certain his magic had risen up to protect him the night Albert died. An invisible force threw the boy backward until he collided with a wall-unit heater at just the right angle to snap his neck; no more confusing images floated forth after that. A happy accident, for Tom at least, though he hadn't fully processed the weight of it at the time.

Now, he desperately wanted to wrap his fingers around Albert's throat and have the ability to watch the light leave his eyes. Slit his jugular and use his blood to fuel a healing spell for Dove.

Albert's smile made Tom's fingers itch. "You can have your turn after. I found her first."

Tom reached behind him to reaffirm that Hermione was still near enough to keep safe but his hand met empty air. He glanced back, finding only the now blank space where she should've been. Instead of his fist curling around the edge of her sweater, Tom felt the familiar weight of his wand in his hand. When he turned back around, Albert held her by the throat. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and slid the steel under the hem of her sweater.

Tom's grip on his wand tightened, but when he tried to raise it, he couldn't move. A cruel paralysis kept him frozen in inaction.

"If it's dead, it'll be quiet," Albert said, the words sounded like oil. Like an offer. A bargain. "If we're quick, it'll still be warm for your turn."

Tom couldn't move. Couldn't snarl, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but watch the tears in her eyes spill over as she trembled in her tormentor's hold.

"Red's a fine color, isn't it, Tommy?" Albert continued. He pulled the blade forward, slicing clean through the bottom few inches of Dove's uniform shirt and cardigan. "Suits the little thing, too."

No, it doesn't, Tom wanted to argue, but he still couldn't speak. She belongs in green.

The switchblade came to rest against the side of her neck, its edge pressing into her skin. Tiny beads of crimson started to form along the knife's edge.

"Tom, please," Hermione whimpered.

A thousand hexes burned bitter on the back of Tom's tongue, but he remained confined in stillness. Anger burned him inside and out—the temperature relentlessly rising until the heat became tangible.

Too hot.

Why was he so hot?

Why couldn't he move?!

Why—

"Once it's quiet, we can play," Albert droned on, but his voice sounded farther away now. Echoing like a stale memory.

Dove's voice remained clear as day. "Please," she whispered. "Tom, help— Please…"

I can't, he tried to say. I'm trying, Dove. I can't move.

Even silent, wandless casting of certain spells required some way to aim the spells trajectory. But unforgivables were too risky. He couldn't even consider a crucio or avada seriously with Dove trapped against Maxwell's front like a human shield.

"Tom," she whined again.

"Come on, Tommy, don't you want a turn?" Albert goaded.

His grip on the blade changing was all the warning Tom had before the steel disappeared into her skin and Hermione repeated his name again, though this time her voice was garbled—as wet as the sound of Maxwell pulling the blade out.

The inferno racing through Tom's blood spread to his lungs as he watched crimson spill down her neck, under her shirt. She tried to say his name again, but only blood escaped her mouth.

Yet he could still hear his name in the distance. Spoken by a voice he couldn't place.

"Come on, Tommy," Albert repeated. "Don't you want to play with the big boys?"

Tom?

"Tommy…"

Tom, wake up.

"Tommy."

Tom!

He sat up in a rushed scramble, kicking the restriction from his limbs as he desperately tried to pull air into his lungs. A burst of magic sent his sheets flying away from him as his head fell into his hands.

The image of Dove bruised and bleeding wouldn't dissipate despite his conscious scrubbing. It still stained the back of his eyelids when he blinked. If he kept his eyes open he could see enough of the world to know her bleeding form wasn't real. Not this time.

"Tom, are you alright?"

He wasn't ready to speak, breaths tearing in and out of his throat too quickly for words to follow the air out of his body.

"M'fine," he managed to gasp after a moment. A quick glance confirmed that both Abraxas and Flynn were by his bedside. Their concern made his skin crawl.

He summoned his diary and his wand. They landed in his lap, his hands shaking violently as he flipped to the back page of the diary. Two-fifteen in the morning for him, and nearly six for Dove. She should either still be asleep or just waking up.

He cast a locking charm on their dorm room door, then aimed vigilio servo at the wall. The silver magic lit up the outline of the spell's boundaries, but no image surfaced. They were met with the far too familiar sight of the wallpaper and sconce.

Tom stilled. "No."

Finite. Vigilio servo. Nothing.

He summoned a quill, flipping back to the front of the diary in a clumsy rush.

Dove? Are you awake?

The outline of vigilio was the only light in the room aside from the lamp on his nightstand that one of the gents must've flipped on.

"What's going on?" Flynn asked quietly. "You were having a bad dream."

"And now I can't see her," Tom ground out, his eyes kept shifting from the empty confines of vigilio to the pages of his diary. The ink of his first message faded as the diary's magic sent the words forward in time.

Impatience made it impossible to sit still. He'd been too still in the nightmare to be comfortable with immobility now. He clambered out of his bed, limbs barely following his orders as he began to pace the length of the room.

"Surely she's fine," Abraxas muttered to Flynn. "She can't have gotten into trouble again already, she just got back to the castle."

"I'd agree but that doesn't explain why vigilio isn't working," Flynn returned quietly. "Let him figure it out. He never gets like this."

Tom didn't even care that he could hear them. He barely cared that they were right. Something was under his skin, crawling and scratching and making him itch in a way he couldn't soothe. In a way he couldn't even name; for reasons he couldn't grasp well enough to articulate.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Quiet noise and the sudden shift in colors against the wall made Tom flinch mid-step, but his attention still snapped to the now-image-filled boundaries of his spell. Hermione was softly humming to herself, wet hair falling around her shoulders. A small towel was draped around her neck, presumably to keep the dripping curls from wetting her mostly-buttoned uniform shirt. She yawned as she leaned against her bedpost and slowly began to pull on her socks. The chain of her necklace glinted ever so slightly in the moonlight as she bent down.

Tom made his way to his trunk and sat down. His hands were still shaking as he summoned his diary again.

Dove?

She was halfway through pulling up her left sock when another violent yawn overtook her, making her eyes water. As she blinked and rubbed at her eyes with her forearm, her gaze strayed to her pillows in confusion.

She fixed her sock then crawled up her bed to slip a hand beneath her pillow where she apparently kept their diary when she wasn't using it.

"You're awake?" she muttered to the leather, flipping the bindings open with creased brows. She checked the very back of the diary, blinked in surprise at the time on his side, then flipped to the front again.

She read his missives quickly, summoning a quill with a whisper. I'm awake. Harry and I decided to get up early today to avoid Ron and get ahead on a few assignments. What are you doing up again? Or have you not slept yet?

Seeing her, seeing her words appear on the pages in his lap, somehow made breathing easier. I slept a little, Dove.

"She's still wearing it," he said, mostly for Brax and Flynn's benefit. "Go back to sleep."

"What about you?" Abraxas asked.

Tom shrugged, wincing when the action made him aware of the sore tension in his shoulders. "I'm…not sure yet."

Abraxas sighed as he returned to his bed. The blond's irritation was clear, though Tom could hardly fathom a reason. Flynn's expression tightened as well, though his tone bellied no animosity.

"She could help," Flynn said.

Tom stared at him. "This is beyond her, Flynn."

Abraxas's back was to Tom, but Tom still heard the barely-audible snort coming from his bed.

"I don't think you're giving Birdie nearly enough credit," Flynn continued cautiously, shooting a glare towards Abraxas. "I'm not suggesting she can alleviate whatever has you so bothered lately, but I've watched her with her friends. She's…"

"Supportive," drawled Abraxas. "You've seen her face when my grandson and Nott's brat mention the shite they're getting from their housemates. She's a problem solver. You have a problem. She's your greatest asset but you're not utilizing her fully."

A fresh wave of awful rose under Tom's skin. Maxwell's voice rang in his ears—the implication of Hermione being just another thing when she nearly matched Tom's own cleverness... "She's a knight, Malfoy, not just a bloody asset."

"She's beyond us knights, I think," Flynn said. Tom agreed, but he hadn't found a better title for her yet. "But…still. You can't sit your O.W.L.s like this, Tom. I understand why you want to keep this hidden from Sluggy—there's no way to approach that situation without him assuming the exams are getting to you."

Tom wasn't sure how either of them expected Dove to be able to do anything when he couldn't even pinpoint the true source of his discontent himself.

"Maybe she'll take her breakfast upstairs," Abraxas muttered.

"She's an excellent distraction, at any rate," Flynn added.

Tom flicked his gaze to the wall where Hermione was writing to him, her bottom lip pulled anxiously between her teeth.

Are you having trouble staying asleep or did you have a weird dream that woke you? I'd offer to keep you company in the Room but Harry and I are working on homework before class.

Tom glared at the words. Nightmare. Could always bring him, surely the Room is as much of an effective hiding place from Weasley as wherever you planned to go.

Hermione worried her lip as Flynn passed Abraxas's bed to flop back onto his own.

I'll see what Harry thinks, she wrote.

Tom ground his teeth. "Potter's the deciding factor for where she spends her morning, so let's find out if he's doomed to exist outside of my good graces."

"If you can swallow the sleep deprivation long enough to charm the boy, he'll want to follow her when she visits you," Abraxas sighed. "He seems even more emotionally driven than she is. You'll have to play your cards accordingly."

Tom's glare switched to the back of Abraxas's head. "I know, Malfoy."

"I'm sure if you convey to Birdie how much you'd appreciate her company as a distraction, she'll convince him to follow along for at least a little while," Flynn said, casting his own glare at Abraxas. "I'm tired too, Brax, but do yourself a favor and shut up before he actually gets mad."

Tom ignored them. Hermione ventured down into the nearly empty Gryffindor common room, where a yawning Harry was waiting for her. She whispered to him, and his expression soured, but he rolled his eyes and nodded his agreement to whatever she said.

"If you have a miserable time then I owe you one," she said as they passed through the portrait door.

We're getting breakfast then heading upstairs, she wrote as they walked. But be nice to Harry or I'll never be able to spend time with both of you again.

Tom rolled his eyes and moved towards his trunk. I'll be there soon.

"Thank you for waking me," he said stiffly. He pulled fresh pajamas and a towel from his trunk. So long as he kept vigilio active, he had time for a quick rinse to wash the anxiety and adrenaline from his skin. And he could always take a proper shower before breakfast if Dove didn't stay in the room with him long.

"You're welcome," Abraxas grumbled.

"Give her a chance, mate," Flynn said softly. "Worst case scenario, it's one less possible solution to consider, yeah?"

Tom chose not to respond. His mind was undecided on the subject. Although he did concur she could provide some degree of a distraction from his nightmare. Plus he could get a better read on her other orphan this way.

It was a win-win if Tom ignored his growing level of sleep deprivation.

They beat him upstairs by a few minutes, despite Tom's quickness. He wore his outer robe over his pajamas that way he would blend in later in the morning when making his way back to the dormitory.

Dove summoned their usual room, except the couch situation was different than he'd come to expect. Their usual two sofas, separated by a rectangular coffee table, were replaced by a singular U-shaped couch that faced the door with the coffee table in front of it. She'd already taken up residence in the middle of the new sofa, the Potter boy to the leftmost side. The right was left empty for Tom.

Tom almost snorted, despite his knee-jerk annoyance at the set up. She was always caught in the middle of things. She was the bridge between himself and his adult self in her time. For the next while, she'd be the bridge between two dark-haired orphans. She'd been caught between himself and Maxwell—

Tom flinched slightly, willing that train of thought to die as flickers of his nightmare came back to the surface. The river of blood that ran down her neck was still smudging the edges of his consciousness. Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, he focused his occlumency to wall off the unpleasant visions right before Dove finally glanced up to greet him.

Her features immediately twisted in concern, though she tried to hide it even as she quickly set her books aside and stopped sharing whatever thought she'd been in the middle of with Potter.

"Hello, Dove," he said gruffly. His voice was rough, bellying his lack of sleep, and it made the crease between her brows worsen as she rose from the sofa to greet him.

She didn't wait for him to reach for her this time, all but throwing her arms around his shoulders as she hugged him forcefully. He could feel the strain in her posture from standing on the very tips of her toes, a smirk tugging at his lips when he realized she still couldn't rest her chin on his shoulder even with the false addition to her nonexistent height.

"You don't look alright," she murmured.

He hummed noncommittally, letting his arms rest loose and heavy around her waist as he leaned his cheek into hers. "I'm fine."

"Are not," she grumbled.

Tom lacked the energy to roll his eyes. He closed them for a moment, appeasing the heaviness in his eyelids. "I will be," he managed. His lips didn't want to follow orders either now that he'd finally made it to the room.

"You said it's not O.W.L.s...if you'd tell me what's bothering you I could at least try to help."

"I don't know the source of it, Dove, just when it started," he said with a heavy sigh. "I'm fine."

She lowered herself, flat on her feet, forcing him to open his eyes and pull away with minor annoyance from the cozy resting place her shoulder had become. Her height deficiency reestablished, he found himself both amused and suffering from that unknown pressure in his chest that he associated with his mystery discontent.

"Did anything noteworthy happen the day it started?"

Tom shook his head. He couldn't exactly tell her that his sleeping inconsistencies began the day she half-lied to him in order to appease Potter. Not without revealing Vigilio. "Not particularly."

Her frown deepened. "Will you—I mean, only if you want to talk about it, of course— but…maybe if you told me what the nightmare was about I could help you piece things together?"

Tom snorted softly through his nose. "I'm not particularly keen to revisit the subject matter at the moment, Dove, but perhaps when it's… a less intense memory."

He had absolutely no desire to explain the scandals that had taken place within the walls of Wool's Orphanage. Scandals that, for better or worse, had been handled delicately enough to prevent the place from being shut down.

"Do either of you need help with whatever you're working on?" he asked. He loosened his hold on her waist, gently placing his knuckles against the small of her back to guide her towards the sofa.

Potter was glancing between them in blatant confusion, as if attempting to solve an N.E.W.T.s-level arithmancy equation. This time Tom actively resisted the urge to roll his eyes—as if anyone else could ever truly understand the uniqueness and power behind Tom's connection with her.

"Harry," Hermione began, "Tom the younger. Tom, Harry Potter."

"I think we'd gathered as much, Dove," Tom said dryly. "Hello, Harry Potter."

The boy gave him a quick nod, flashing a cheeky grin at Hermione. "Bit circular, isn't it?" he said. "Interacting with him on both sides of time?"

"You have no idea," she muttered as Tom sat beside her.

"Anything you need my help with?" Tom asked again. He reached into his bag for his Herbology textbook, a near useless distraction but needed nonetheless. If he couldn't sleep, he may as well chip away at O.W.L.s preparation.

"I don't think so," Hermione replied. "We're just trying to get a bit ahead where we can so Harry isn't rushing so much between quidditch practices and coursework."

Tom nodded and hid a yawn behind his hand. "No Divination to pull your hair out over today?"

She shot him a glare as Potter snorted.

"No," she said primly. "Flynn's instruction has been quite helpful in that regard, thank you."

Tom flipped his Herbology textbook open and made a soft, neutral sound in his throat. "You're welcome."

He tuned out the quiet scratching of their quills as he re-read his textbook. Reviewing this thoroughly was primarily for his own peace of mind, just in case his sleeping issue persisted through the exams. He hoped taking extra care with his revision plan over the next few weeks would negate any setbacks to his mental function, but only time would tell.

Tom lost track of time, noting only when Hermione moved or fidgeted at his side. She occasionally brushed a limb against his own as a result, hastily muttering an unnecessary apology in his direction when she did so. It wasn't until her lack of stillness became distracting that his brow creased and he started paying them proper attention again.

She'd angled herself more towards Harry, as they were discussing something to do with charms theory and the arguments they wanted to use in their essays. Her fidgeting was a result —or so he guessed— of Hermione trying not to turn her back to Tom while they did their coursework together.

Tom rolled his eyes. Her desire to include him in coursework two years below his focus was somewhat disarming. She knew, surely, that it was unnecessary for him to participate in their studies unless either of them wanted his help with the subject at hand, which neither had solicited. Few other options remained as sources of her motivation, though it seemed most likely that she was trying to prevent him from potentially feeling 'left out' in some way.

While he did consider Potter competition for her time, especially given the looming threat of Tom's own summer holiday only several weeks away, that didn't mean Tom considered the boy an actual threat. Not in a way that would give her reason to fear any animosity or jealousy on either side. They both valued Hermione's company, which was a commodity in limited supply, but that was all.

Was her motive of a more sentimental variety, perhaps? She was an emotion-driven thing, afterall. A trait he sometimes found to be almost akin to charming, circumstances depending. Unnecessary, without a doubt, but endearing all the same.

The next time she fidgeted, Tom snaked his arm around her waist with the arm that had previously been resting along the back of the couch and pulled her towards him. He managed to angle her —Merlin, she really was far too tiny for his liking— so that she was facing Potter with her back pressed against his side.

She squeaked at the sudden movement, panicked eyes meeting his own over her shoulder.

"Get comfortable and quit fretting, Dove," he said.

"I just…I don't want to ignore you," she said quietly.

Tom rolled his eyes and leaned his chin against her head. "Don't be dense, birdie."

She got settled, though the act involved a lot of huffing and loud shuffling of her parchments and books. Tom started to zone out again when she lightly pinched his arm, a tiny act of retaliation.

He smirked, yawned again, and dug his fingers into her waist for the briefest of moments. She still startled, yelped, and immediately turned to glare at him.

"Tickle me again and I swear I'll hex you so hard you won't dream for a week, Tom Riddle!"

"Don't pinch me and I won't have to," he said tiredly. He could feel another yawn coming, but tried to suppress it. "Turn around and write your essay, Fuzzy Headrest. I'm trying to read."

It was easier to leave his arm around her waist, even after he slightly loosened his hold. She muttered unkind sentiments under her breath as she resumed her charms theory discussion with Harry. Tom leaned his cheek against her hair. Her warmth and weight were unexpectedly comfortable, almost like hugging her often could be, and the yawn he'd been suppressing broke free.

He didn't notice when the words of his textbook started blurring together. In fact, he drifted off so gently that he didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep until she started pulling away from him. His grip tightened reflexively as he groaned and he tried to blink against the grittiness in his eyes.

"We have to go to class soon," she murmured, pulling his arm. "Let me up and go back to sleep."

He didn't release her immediately, pulling her back into his side instead. He pressed his face into her hair and sighed. "Write when you can," he muttered. His mouth was full of cotton. "If you get hurt again while you're gone, I'll be cross."

"The dementors are gone, remember? You had them removed from the grounds while I was still at the hospital."

He managed to make a low sound of indifference in his throat. "Trouble hunts you down, Dove."

She sighed, finally taking the hint and twisting to wrap her arms around his shoulders. "I promise I'll be careful. Can I go to class now, Sleepy?"

He sighed in muted frustration, shifting his weight so he was leaning into the couch instead of against her, and loosened his hold. The space beside him was uncomfortably cold when she stood.

"Write," he muttered again.

"I will."

Tom fell back asleep before he could hear the door click shut.

"Pretty cozy for not being friends," Harry said, his tone falsely casual as they walked away from the Room of Requirement.

Hermione's cheeks were still dark pink from embarrassment and Tom's odd behavior. "He's never like that," she said quietly. "Whatever's bothering him must be really bothering him. Tom doesn't cuddle."

As the words left her mouth she realized they weren't wholly true. There had been one night in the Room where he hugged her from behind the couch. He'd stayed leaning over her shoulder, making odd sarcastic comments in her ear, until she'd snapped at him. He was also adamant about their greeting and farewell hugs since that ritual began – and that was also one of his sudden and unexplained behavior changes.

She didn't know how long he'd been bothered by whatever had gotten under his skin, though, making it impossible to pinpoint which of his recent habit deviations may have been an early symptom of his discontent. She knew that he'd been having trouble sleeping recently and only because he told her so.

"I think he's worried about you," Harry said suddenly. "He can't really do anything from the past when bad stuff happens, can he? And he doesn't know what Lord Riddle will or won't be able to interfere with yet."

"Tom's a control freak but not much of a worrier," she said. "He does get annoyed if I'm in danger, but I assumed that's because he was bored before we met and he doesn't want to lose his connection to the future."

Harry understood where her opinions formed, especially given what she'd told him of Tom the Younger previously. He still thought she might be wrong for once and resolved to corner Draco at the nearest opportunity. If anyone possibly knew more about what was actually going on, it'd be Malfoy.

A/N: See? Not so terrible right? _

Anyway. Love love love you all, as always. You know where to find me on socials, etc.

Yell at me in a review about Tom's nightmare and subsequent behavior, yeah? I love your theories. They're such a joy to read ;)

xoxo