A/N: How long has it been? Six years? I can't exactly explain the six years delay, but I was thinking about this recently and decided why not return to it. Part of this was written years ago, part of this was written now. I think I had struggled with how to close out this chapter, but now, well, you all have waited long enough, and I have always had too many ideas for the upcoming chapters.

Part 2-4

It was possibly one of the strangest assortments of individuals that Hermione had found herself involved in, and it had all been her idea. Seated next to her in the Hogs Head, a place that Hermione found to be nondescript and practical for her current situation, was Tom, his finger tracing circles on top of her thigh. To her left was Harry, hands gripped tightly together on the table while Ron gazed out the window to his left. Across from them were Luna and Theo, speaking lowly to one another with a copy of the Quibbler placed in front of them, upside down, Theo choosing not to comment on how Luna preferred to hold her magazine. Finally, squeezed against the window was Lee, squirming in his seat to lean away from the strange couple and unsure of who to talk to without Fred or George.

They had all walked there together, Theo and Luna trailing behind, Luna lost in rambles as Theo listened wondrously, holding back his usual bite. Harry and Ron veered close to Hermione and Tom, but none of them spoke. Ron merely kept tossing curious glances toward Tom that caused Tom's blunt nails to dig deeper into her hand, while Hermione flushed under his stare and his grip. Hermione had almost not asked Ron to come along with them, but Harry convinced her, reminding her that he just needed to get over it, and that this would help. Ron needed to matter.

The bar's patron, his beard tucked into his stained robes, brought over their butterbeers. He had been a bit perturbed at their sudden presence, unused to students coming to the bar, which was why Hermione had thought the Hogs Head was the perfect establishment. Ron was the first to take a sip of the slightly off-colored butterbeer after they all sniffed at it.

"Not too shabby," he commented and began to chug the drink, and the rest of them followed suit.

Then she strolled in, wearing a tight lime green suit, bejeweled spectacles, and a stiff smile. She crept towards them, red heels clacking against the dusty wood, and tapped her two-inch blue nails against the table.

"To what do I owe this pleasure," Rita Skeeter grated, eyes shifting towards each of them warily.

"Sit," Tom said and brandished his hand in front of him.

Rita grimaced as she took her spot next to Luna, eyes latched onto the girl's radish earrings.

"To begin, we know your secret as disclosed in the letter," Hermione began. "I saw your other form in the Hospital Wing last year. If I wasn't infirm, I would've locked you in a jar, but this suits quite nicely as well for our needs."

Harry and Ron's eyes buggered at Hermione's statement while Tom smirked, and his fingers traveled up her thigh causing her to squirm.

"And as the Wizarding World's best reporter, I know how to do my research," Rita's eyes scanned each one of them, and all except Harry and Tom wavered under her glare, until she locked eyes with Lee. "Lee Jordan."

"What about me?" he asked and sent Rita a wink.

Rita began her tirade. "Announcer for every single Hogwarts event, that no matter his comments against teams opposing Gryffindor or Cedric Diggory last year, somehow keeps his position."

Lee winked. "You know it."

"Luna Lovegood."

"Yes?" Luna chirped, face inching towards the lime reporter.

"Daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of The Quibbler, laying right in front of your eyes, a farcical publication."

"Says your ignorance," Luna countered, slouching back into her seat as Theo wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Rita's spectacles locked with Theo's eyes. "Theodore Nott, grandson of his namesake, Theodore Nott, infamously associated with Grindelwald, testified Imperius - a likely story."

Theo's eyes turned to daggers and was about to speak when Rita moved on to Ron who swallowed his breath. "One of the Weasley children, first name I don't care about, but whose family is simply known for being impoverished."

"Privileged arse," Ron snapped and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Harry Potter, son of Lily and James Potter, acclaimed Potioneer and successful Auror respectively, sadly nothing scandalous there, except for Lily's possible affair with Severus Snape."

Harry choked on his butterbeer and it dripped down his chin. "There's no fucking affair!"

"Of course your darling mother would say that, dear," Rita said and reached over to pat his arm.

Harry slapped her hand away. "Who the cares if they were friends as children! He's just a lowlife stalker now!"

Rita summoned her pad and quill, which began writing furiously above her head. "Now that I could actually write about. Right from the mouth of Harry Potter himself, has to be spruced up of course, can't have any typical teenage profanities."

"You're not publishing a thing about my mother." Harry warned.

Rita shook her head and the quill stopped writing. "And Miss Hermione Granger. Muggle-Born whore to prior Triwizard Champion, Viktor Krum and your soulmate right next to you, Tom Riddle, a plain and simple, nobody."

Hermione tensed at Rita's blatant prejudice. She recalled that short-bit article by Rita that had appeared in the Daily Prophet, Viktor Krum's Girlfriend, Hermione Granger, The One Thing He Would Miss The Most, Runs Into the Arms of Another Right After He Saves Her. At the time, she chose to push it to the back of her mind, even though she received a few bits of hate mail, one laced even with Bobotuber Puss. It hadn't mattered, even though it pained her, even though she had no choice as to what her name would be associated with for the rest of her life, as a cheater without any semblance of truth to the name. It simply hadn't mattered because lives were on the line due to the Chamber of Secrets. Her life. And now in November, there hadn't been a threat since.

Tom reacted to Rita's sentiment before anyone else had the chance. In a blur, his wand was pointed against the tip of her sharp chin.

"That is the last time you are going to be saying either of our names," Tom said as if he were answering a basic question in class. "Do you understand?"

Rita nodded, but the barkeep called out, "Wands away! Don't need no trouble here."

Tom pressed the tip of his wand further into Rita's chin, denting her pallid skin coated with an overabundance of make-up.

"I will not hesitate to hurt you," Tom sneered.

"Riddle," Harry warned, eyes darting towards the barkeep.

Hermione placed her hand gently on Tom's wand arm, and he was struck out of his stupor. He jerked his arm away but kept the tip of his wand pressed against the edge of the table. Rita swallowed her breath.

"We need your help," Hermione finally said, "And we all know you're going to give it. We know you're an unregistered Animagus, I consulted the library records myself. If that gets out, your career goes with it."

Rita was about to speak again, but Tom only had to slightly lift up his wand to get her to close her purple lips. Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out the photos she had Colin take of her, Harry, and Lee's hands with the scars burned onto them. She slid them towards Rita who cautiously grabbed them.

"Umbridge did this," Harry explained, and he and Hermione showed her their hands, matching the photographs. "This is her form of detention."

"I take it you all wish to be anonymous?" Rita asked, her long nails flicking through the photographs.

Tom leaned forward to give his answer, but Hermione stopped him by placing her hand on his arm. "What do you think would work best?"

"Your names out there. Not afraid to hide," Rita answered. "The public would regard you all as brave, naturally. You'd get some pity tears, worried mothers would threaten to pull their children out of school, Dumbledore gets angry, Fudge takes her away - you get it."

Hermione ignored Tom's warning grip on her thigh, his fingers clutching her, bruising her, and she felt herself pressing into his clutch.

"Then that's what we should do," Hermione declared, Tom's grip somehow tighter, and Harry nodded in agreement.

"Does Dumbledore know about this?" Rita asked, the quill primed to scribble.

Hermione and Harry exchanged looks, before Hermione spoke, "No, he doesn't, but we know he can't stop Umbridge, since this is in the Ministry's control."

"I see." Rita's eyes shifted towards the rest of the group. "What did the rest of you need?"

Luna was the first to respond. "You're going to be published in the Quibbler of course."

Rita laughed. "The Quibbler? You have to be joking."

Hermione sighed, and it was the first moment she understood Rita. "We're just concerned that the Daily Prophet will reject your publication since it's under the control of the Ministry."

"I see." Rita rolled her eyes. "But my name in the Quibbler? I'm not sure that's a risk my reputation can take."

"We don't need you willing," Tom said with a tilt of his head, and the whole table quieted.

Finally, Hermione saw Rita's fear. She snatched the photographs with her painted claws. "You'll get your article, and I'll expect no more blackmail."

"If you publish an article on my mum and Snape you should expect much worse," Harry warned, and Hermione tensed at his harshness, something she had never seen from him before.

Rita's mouth gaped for a moment, her quill willowing next to her in the air. "Then let's begin your interview."

xXx

It took Rita until December. During that time, even more students were sent to brace under her quill. Harry was sent three more times, the I must not tell lies growing more crimson on his pale hand. The murtlap essence no longer worked. Luna's father had written her when the article would be published, and that morning in mid-December, Hermione waited in the Great Hall for the owls to swoop down.

At that point, Ron had started talking to her again like normal, but he made sure that he was not around her whenever she was with Tom, not that it mattered. The time she spent with Tom was still mostly in the library or by the Forbidden Forest, researching and performing soulmate magic, the perfect method for distracting her away from her self-created madness.

She glanced at Umbridge who was holding herself with perfect posture at the faculty table. As she sipped her soup, her eyes roved over the entire student body, waiting for a soul to slip into imperfection. At the moment, Hermione contemplated if Umbridge a soulmate and what kind of monster they must be. What words they must share.

The owls swooped into the hall, and Hermione grabbed her copies of the Quibbler and the Daily Prophet. Looking around the hall, she saw Umbridge carefully opening her copy of the Daily Prophet and reading as she sipped, and she could only spy Luna with a copy of the Quibbler. It didn't surprise her that there was little fanfare. The article was out, and that was all that mattered to her.

"What now?" Ron asked through his mouthfuls of egg.

"We wait," Hermione said.

And she waited through her classes, waited to see when Umbridge's smile would fall, waited for Dumbledore to stride into the room with Aurors armed behind him, and see that pink simpleton arrested. Instead, there was nothing.

She found Tom waiting for her outside her last class of the day, leaning against the stone wall, holding his books at his side, looking as he always did – his eyes tearing through her.

"Absolutely nothing," she said to him when they were standing in front of each other. She ran her hand through her hair and wanted to pull.

"What did you expect?" Tom asked, pushing himself off of the wall and grabbing her hand as they strode through the hall. "It was the Quibbler."

"I expected- I don't know-something," Hermione said. "Anything. But you're right, Luna's probably the only one who read it."

"Very likely."

"It was the only way it would get published."

"Which is true, and that's not our problem right now."

"We have to do something."

Tom turned and pulled her around so that she saw his eyes bearing down into her own. "Then make something happen."

"I don't know."

"Use your brain."

For a moment, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut to think. "We need to get people to read it."

"And how do we do that?" He said, his eyes trying to give her the answer.

"I don't-."

"We make them," Tom answered for her and released her hand.

xXx

"I need a favor," Hermione said, catching up to Fred and George in the hallway on their way to Transfiguration, Angelina by George's side.

"What can we do, milady?" Fred asked as he and George slowed to Hermione's pace. Fred wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she found herself sidling into his arm, feeling its muscles against her face. For a moment, she drifted off in thought, when George snapped his fingers in her face.

Hermione blanched. "We need the school to pay attention to the article."

Both Fred and George grinned.

xXx

It began with a bang the week before Winter Break. Hermione waited with baited breath in the Great Hall just before dinner was about to begin – the time when most of the students would be wandering, where the professors would be making sure the first years would not be skiving away, and where each of the High Inquisitor's Rules were hung before masses.

Hermione did have to promise essentially immunity from prefect punishment for each Wildfire Whiz-Bang she equipped with copies of the Quibbler article. And just before food appeared along the tables, the first Wildfire Whiz-Bang exploded into a cacophony of color adorning the floating candles above them.

And another as the first years began to scream.

And another, as the articles shot into the air and gracefully fell to the table.

And another, as every professor, including Snape, stood in shock.

And another as Fred's face popped from behind the faculty table.

And another as Hermione caught Tom's eyes from across the hall, his face impassive.

And another as Professor Dumbledore stood, reaching his hand for one of the articles, hiding the glimmer of a smile on his face.

And another, when Hermione realized that Umbridge wasn't even in the room and her chest pulsed.

And a final one, as the room quieted, as Professor Dumbledore read what was before him.

The entire hall was watched as Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat. "It appears that we will have to be bringing in our dear minister, Cornelius Fudge expeditiously. Please, let us all eat our suppers."

At his last word, Fred slipped into the open seat beside her, wrapping his arm against her shoulder. "Effective enough for you, Granger?"

Hermione grinned. "More than effective."

When she went to look back toward Tom, to see some sort of reassurance – reassurance the cold glamor of his aristocratic features were unlikely to provide her in any form other than a slight nod of his face – he was gone. The unease of his disappearance could hardly begin to settle when the doors to the Great Hall swung open, revealing an Argus Filch, his face brimmed with horror. As he ran toward the faculty table, the panic radiating off his cloak, he tripped, his knees sliding against the smooth floor. His mouth gaped open, clearly trying to say words his voice could not form, and as it would turn out – could not fathom.

And it was Professor McGonagall who swept up next to Professor Dumbledore and said, "Argus? What's wrong?"

Mr. Filch practically sighed, his face pointed to the ground - a sight that no student sitting among the Great Hall could have predicted from the old man. "It's the High Inquisitor."

Professor McGonagall pressed her hand against her hip. "What about her?"

Mr. Filch looked up, a glisten of a tear under his eye.

"She's dead."

xXx

Hermione was one of the many students who tore through the school – just behind Harry. The professors were unable to control the chaos that had emerged from Mr. Filch's dreaded announcement, and the most information Professor Dumbledore was able to pry from him was that she was waiting on the second floor. But every student knew to let Professor Dumbledore go first, and Hermione had never seen the man move so quickly – with Professor McGonagall not far behind him. Professor Snape began ordering everyone to stay in the Great Hall. However, Harry, one to never listen to the man that plagued the lives of his parents, was the first among the students to leap from his seat, and Hermione and Ron tore off close behind him.

Hermione's heart pulsed in her chest as her brain roved through the possibilities, her brain sorting through the logical and illogical – a medical incident, she fell and hit her head, she drove her own wicked pen into her heart, Merlin forgive her.

The three of them were not far behind Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, when Professor Dumbledore spread his arms out, blocking them from getting any further, but too late to prevent them from getting closer, from seeing her, just as other students were gathering around them, and Tom appeared at her side, his side ghosting Hermione's skin. Hermione looked up towards her soulmate who stared ahead at the pink shrouded body slung up against the wall, her fat ankle levitating in the air, her pink skirt downturned, revealing the puckered skin beneath, and the fat of her face was giving into gravity, pointing toward the whites of her shocked eyes that had what had done this to her.

Next to her body floating in the air, were words written in familiar writing, in the familiar scent of chicken's blood that was dripping down onto the body below it.

No Student Will Be Harmed If She Leaves The School.

Professor Dumbledore approached the body frozen upended in the air. He knelt down, making himself level with the puckered face. He brought his long finger above the downturned puggish nose.

His twinkling eyes looked towards Professor McGonagall, every student waiting with bated breath for their headmaster's next words.

"She's only petrified, Minerva."

Professor McGonagall turned to the students behind her. "To your dormitories at once!"

Tom pulled Hermione against him and away from her friends as they all began to walk away at Professor McGonagall's command, just as Harry and Ron looked at her with pleading eyes, just as the meaning of what happened, of what was happening, of how to send a message was running in her head. It wasn't Whiz Bangs and articles someone would actually care to read. It was in power.

Tom pulled her away into a nearby corridor, ghosting his lips against her temple, his mouth whispering the faint word, "Mine."

"Tom."

His tall frame bent down to her neck, sucking at the fine skin. His other hand reaching up her skirt and gripping her hip, bruising the skin against her bone.

"Tom, please."

His mouth kissed up her neck as his other hand traveled to the ache below her skirt. He pressed his long hand against her panty, his pointer finger slipping inside to her folds, teasing the area, and Hermione had to hold herself back from buckling into his soft touch.

"Tell me it wasn't you."

Tom slipped the finger inside. "It wasn't me, Hermione."

She felt his heavy breath against her mouth, and as his thumb rubbed against her clit, she moaned.

"It's just a night terror."

His mouth covered hers, and his tongue entered, toying with her own. She gave in, as his fingers teased her area, almost forgetting what her logical side was forcing her connect, as long ordered forgotten memories began to surface. She braced her hands against his chest and pushed him and his hand away.

Tom backed against the wall beside him, almost smirking at the fact that she had just pushed him, almost admiring that spirit he had scarcely paid attention to. He took that hand and licked his pointer finger that had just been inside her.

"You're the Heir of Slytherin."

Tom did not react but leaned against the wall.

"You petrified all those students."

Tom reached into his pocket with that same hand.

"You hate muggle-borns."

"I don't hate you. You're mine." He said plaintively and pulled out the wand that laid inside, and Hermione almost felt the magic spitting from its tip.

"You killed that girl."

Tom's lip almost twitched. "That was an accident."

Which was practically a confession from her soulmate that he knew exactly what had happened to Myrtle, the other colors of his personality swimming to the surface of what she had been denying for almost a year of knowing him, of letting him become hers, of letting herself become his, trying to give into a fairytale of sorts that she had hoped their soulmarks would have promised them, denying that this was so painfully obvious from the beginning, she finally took off the blindfold she blinded herself with.

"Why did you let me find out?"

"That woman had to be removed before she took this school away from me." Tom sneered, his face twisting into an expression she had not seen upon his face before, that made her think of a heartbroken young boy in an orphanage, the heartbroken young boy that her soulmate had not let her see. "You figuring it out was a risk."

"The article was going to do it –," and Hermione reached for him.

Tom turned away. "The article wasn't enough."

"And this? This was enough?"

"Don't you see, I got you want you wanted, Hermione. That woman taking over our school will be gone, and you'll get your precious little gamekeeper back as he clearly could not have done this, and they'll never know who did. It will just come to an end as promised once she leaves."

"What if you're wrong?"

Tom's eyes almost turned red for a moment. "They will do their investigation and conclude that any danger has dissipated. They cannot afford to close this place."

"What about last year, Tom? Why did you do it?"

"It's all for the greater good."

"The greater good? What greater good?"

Tom stalked back toward her and pointed his wand at her. Tom didn't have to utter a word for her body to be forced back against the wall, his magic pinning her there, magic enhanced by her own, and she felt that power rushing through them both, his magic goading her inside.

Tom shook his head. "I don't want to alter your memory again, Hermione."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push his magic off of hers, wishing that her arms were not pressed against the wall, denying her their use, denying her the ability to just reach for her wand.

"Last year I found out that the Chamber was mine, and everything that happened was trying to find out the depths of the power it contained. The power that can change the greater good. The power that was meant for me, but that power went too far when they were going to close the school, so I stopped going to the Chamber which still has depths to explore and learn from. It all just came with Salazar Slytherin's price."

"Why did you release that power to begin with? Why would you go back?"

"That power is my fate Hermione. You can't believe in the power of soulmates when you ignore my destiny as Slytherin's heir in front of your face."

"But what about everyone you hurt?"

Tom came closer and wiped away the tear that she did not know was falling down her cheek, and he said softly. "They were cured, Hermione. They are fine."

"What about Myrtle?"

"That was the acromantula."

Her eyes shot up towards him in shock, trying to gaze into his dark eyes and discern whether he was telling the truth.

"I saw her die, Hermione. The acromantula attacked her. It was all an accident. The oaf let that beast loose."

Hermione shook her head.

"Think about it. She wasn't petrified like everyone else."

It almost made sense to her – how everyone else who had been in the path of what must have been the Basilisk had been petrified, while this girl had died, and no one at the school had ever seen her body, how her parents simply came one day and swept away her remains, and how no one in the school ever spoke of her again.

"Do you believe me, Hermione?"

She believed in the earnestness of his dark eyes. In the intensity of his touch bruising her arms. In the taste of his lips that reminded her of grains of salt. And she wanted to believe him. In the entwinement of their words. Of their magic.

"I-I don't know," she confessed, her breath heaving, wishing Harry or even Ron were next to her, there to make the decision. Or that she could wipe away any emotion. At least the emotions of her attachment to him. Of her devotion to him. And of her intrinsic belief that someone who is her soulmate could go against what is right.

"Believe me, Hermione."

His eyes were pleading to her to believe his words. It was all an accident. And maybe he was telling her this truth because she would have figured it out anyway. Because he belonged to her.

So, Hermione did. She chose to believe him as he bent down and softly kissed her lips, as his magic relaxed and released her from the wall, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders accepting the man that was her soulmate.

"Never again, Tom. I'm giving you this one chance." And it had to be never again, never another muggle-born. Never her. Her heart dared to trust him, dared to trust that as her soulmate he would never experiment with their lives again. Because she knew, and she knew that he knew, that she could never go against the entwinement of their souls. She had to believe him.

She pressed her hand against the back of his neck, pushing on her tip toes as she pressed his head down against her forehead.

"I swear if you open the Chamber again, I will deal with you myself." Their magic heated, radiating against each other as the implicit vow settled between them.

Tom smirked and lifted his forehead off hers to lean down and press a kiss against the top of her head. He slipped his wand back into his pocket and grabbed her tiny hand in his large one, as they walked away from the second floor, from the mess Professor Dumbledore was cleaning up.

Before she passed the Fat Lady that night, Tom kept her hand in his. "I promise you Hermione, I will show you more of myself, I can show you everything if you wish."

Hermione nodded, knowing in the depth of her heart that she was doomed by his side, and her mark burned at the idea of letting this man go.

"Make it a promise."

"It's a promise."

As Hermione climbed up the Gryffindor tower for bed, her heart pulsed at the memory of Harry's face as Tom tore her away, the face that showed he had pieced it together as well. In her earnestness to protect what was hers, what she believed would never do such a thing again, as inscribed as a promise in blood, and a promise in the magic that soared through both of their veins, she entered the fifth-year boys' dormitory.

She pointed her wand at her dear best friend engaged in a fidgeting, dreamless sleep as her soulmark hummed with the promise of what Hermione was giving it.

"Obliviate."

A/N: Like Tom and Hermione promised - I promise I will finish this fic :)