Hermione had various chains from little necklaces she'd collected over the years. Narcissa included nearly all her jewelry when she sent Hermione her trunk at the start of the year. She slipped the pendant off one dainty, golden chain, and slipped the ring over it to secure around her throat.
It was icy cold, but warmed fast where it hung against her chest. It felt friendly, almost, like she was welcoming someone she knew and liked.
True to her promise, she pulled her journal from its hiding place between her mattresses and opened it up.
I've been thinking, and while I want to be yours, long to be yours, I am afraid. I know you're a darker wizard than who I thought you were, but how dark are you, Tom? Are you a dark lord like Grindewald? He's the reason I am where I am, stuck as lesser in this world that favors the pure.
You are handsome and intelligent and charming, but those traits are as dangerous as they are desirable in the wrong person. I have trusted you since I was eleven years old and first showed up in your classroom. How could I not? You are a Hogwarts professor, and I am your student.
However, that was several years ago. I once trusted Master Lucius as well— she crossed out 'master' and added his last name— but he became a deranged monster by the end of my time with him.
Not that I think you are a monster; I could never. You've taught me how to defend myself against dark beasts and curses and more.
But the idea of using certain dark curses makes something in me recoil. Must I learn these things beyond the theoretical aspects? Why?
Will you expect me to cast them on others?
I worry. How many times have you used the Unforgivables? On second thought, I'd rather not know.
Help me understand, Tom.
Yours,
Hermione
She was his and she could not deny it, but she was herself and her own first. It was something she remembered vaguely from her own mother, who had been a staunch supporter of women's rights.
Helen had told her daughter to never allow a boy to make her feel less. Not at school, nor the playground, nor anywhere else. She was not less than anyone, nor would she ever belong to someone else regardless of whether she married.
Those ideas were at odds with the way Hermione had been forced to live her life and the ideals the Wizarding world had foisted upon her, but she still believed she wasn't, couldn't be less. One day, she would prove it to them all.
She sighed as she laid in bed with one hand curled around the heavy black stone ring and the other one her stomach. The burgundy canopy yawned back at her, black velvet shadows in the dim light of her bluebell firelight. She should extinguish it but didn't want to quite yet.
She never knew what it meant that her light was blue. The color of her wisp light was not indication of temperature, as it was more a faint coolness than true cold, and certainly nothing like blue fire the scientific way. The fire in the Slytherin common room was supposedly green, like the flash of fire when Floo Powder activated, but—
Wait. How did she know that?
She frowned and thought back to a dream she'd once had, one that had turned rather torrid. Hermione's cheeks flushed with the memory of it and the ring seemed to grow hot in her grasp.
How silly, getting embarrassed about a dream.
Only… it had felt so real.
She yawned back at the shadows of the room and snuggled into her covers. It was so cozy here in the tower despite winter's bite outside. The elves made sure students returned from classes to stoked fires and turned down covers.
It was all too easy to slip into dreams.
And into a warm pair of arms. "Don't pull away. You've only just come back," the deep, silken voice complained when she struggled to sit up.
Hermione stilled. She recognized that voice. She peered up the porcelain chest to find the boy gazing down at her with his strangely familiar, perfect features. "You. What are you—" A darted gaze told her she was back in his domain— "what am I doing here again?"
"You don't know?" His black brows rose in surprise. "And here I thought you'd come to finish what we started last time."
Hermione gasped and smacked his chest ineffectually; he laughed, a rather appealing sound. "I didn't even choose to dream this."
"So, I'm your dream man."
She rolled her eyes. "Are you always like this?"
His playful expression melted away until only his eyes twinkled in the dim green light. "No." His hand clasped her chin. "But you're special."
"You don't even know who I am."
The strange boy leaned down to press the barest kiss to her lips. "I know enough."
"Hermione."
"Hm?"
"That's my name," she said and smiled bashfully. "Hermione."
He stroked his fingers through her curls. "I'm Tom."
Her heart missed a beat. She swallowed. "Tom Riddle ?" she asked.
"Yes. Why?"
Hermione untangled herself from him, though his strong hands sought to bar her. "I need to go."
"Why? Hermione— Hermione, stop. Wait!"
He gripped the back of a bicep and she spun to face him. "What kind of magic is this, Tom?"
"What do you mean?" He frowned, those familiar midnight eyes worried as they gazed out from a face as youthful as her own. Though she knew now how misleading his youth could be.
Her hand touched the ring still at her throat. "This. It's what's causing this dream, isn't it? What, does it connect us so you can seduce me while I sleep?"
He scoffed. "What? No. Don't be ridiculous—"
"Ridiculous? I'm not the one who's seventy and looks to be all of—"
"I'm how old?" His surprise seemed genuine. "And how old do I look?"
She studied him as she responded. "You just turned seventy I believe. And you look like you might be in your thirties or forties. You didn't know?"
Young Tom smiled brightly, and she couldn't decide if it was more beautiful than it was when her Tom did. "No. Well, that must mean it's the 90s. What's it like? What am I doing now?"
"You're a Hogwarts Professor."
"A professor." Conflict warred on his features. "Of what?"
"Defense, wh—"
"I suppose it could be worse," he muttered. "And you're my student. But why would I give you my ring?"
She blushed, suddenly uncomfortable.
"I see." Tom moved in closer and stroked her cheek. He was hot, so much warmer than she remembered. "You're very special, aren't you, Hermione? My special, special girl."
She swallowed. "It's not like that," she muttered before she could help herself, then cringed.
"Oh? Then what is it like? Tell me why you blushed so prettily when I asked why I gave you a part of myself."
This was much more like the Tom she knew, albeit shorter and softer and warmer, and so much younger. He was nearly a shimmering energy in comparison to his older self.
What would it have been like, had they attended Hogwarts as peers?
"I— you're my favorite professor."
He chuckled, low and masculine. "Oh, Hermione, you are an abysmal liar." And then he forced her chin up and his mouth was on hers. It wasn't gentle at all. His tongue pushed inside as he pushed her against the stone wall. One leg was shoved up for him to gain access to her pale silk knickers, which were summarily dispensed with. "Wet for me already." He groaned and eased a finger inside to stretch her. "My sweet girl."
She knew she should push him back, but this was Tom, and one her age. He was too beautiful to be real, but here he was, in her dream. It didn't count, did it? Not in actuality. Except...
It took only a moment for him to decide she was prepared enough, then he was pushing into her, and she was arching against him, uncaring of the cold, scratching stone through her thin night dress.
The pleasure of their joining overwhelmed it all.
He hissed against her throat as he thrust and his fingers printed bruises on her thigh and her hip. He reached deep inside so she knew it should hurt, but the pain was part of the joy of it.
The words he said were all hushed and whispered and she couldn't make sense of them, but they titillated her nonetheless. They vibrated across her flesh like magic until she thought they might spark flames.
"Tom," she whimpered, clutching at his shoulders.
He quickened his pace. "Beg for it."
"Please, Tom." She remembered how he'd made her beg last time and this time her pride was much more willing to bow to his whim. "Please make me come, Tom."
"Good girl." He crooned the two words that made her walls tighten around him, then leaned into her and guided her leg to rest on his shoulder. His long, clever fingers went to her apex and stroked her clit until she started shaking from the stimulation, and she tossed her head. Her curls were sweaty, damp, sticking to her forehead as she writhed. "Come for me, my Hermione."
"Oh, gods," and she did. She quaked as her stretched body tried to curl around him. Her walls fluttered and her nails raked down his chest and across his side, and it was that which made him hiss again and spend himself inside her. The final, harsh thrusts drew out her orgasm to tortuous lengths.
They panted against one another for a moment and then Tom backed away. He slipped out and tucked himself away, then assisted her to the couch like a gentleman, like what they'd done wasn't something decidedly ungenteel. "You are addictive. No wonder I like you."
"You and I have never—" at the quirk of his brow, she blushed and glanced askance. "Not for real, anyway."
"I see. What a pity. That older me is missing out on a pleasurable experience." He stroked her burning cheek and turned her back to face him. "Hermione, would you keep coming back here? I rather like your company."
She frowned. "How exactly does all this work, anyway? You're a memory fragment, but you seem so cognizant. You remember the last visit, and you seem able to reason outside your original experience."
"It's a neat piece of magic, but complex. The creation makes my memory of it a little fuzzy, as that's how I formed. Considering how precious my other self must find you, I'm sure he will share the process in time. You said you're considered the top of your class?"
"Well, yes." She shrugged uncomfortably. "It's not that difficult; even most of the Ravenclaws aren't willing to study as many subjects. It's a shame. I think most of them worry about their grades dropping."
His eyes sparkled with mirth. "How many are you taking?"
"Nine."
"Nine?" Tom huffed incredulously. "Nine NEWTs. A right little bookworm. I like you even more now. In my day, I was the only one willing to take more than eight. Of course, I took—"
"Ten," she said with him, and smirked. "You told me. We don't have alchemy, nor muggle studies."
"Oh? Why not?"
She clicked her tongue. "Professor Dumbledore, the only one who would teach it, says there aren't enough students. Alchemy, that is. And we are no longer allowed to take classes about muggles. Not since Grindewald." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she stared down at her lap.
"What happened?"
It would have happened after this memory's time, she supposed. "The war dragged on for so long, and the risk of muggles finding out about magic… well, Wizarding Britain decided it was best to take muggleborn children away from muggle parents at their first accidental magic."
"Hermione."
She rolled her lip through her teeth until she could taste the iron of her blood.
"Hermione," he said again and tucked a forefinger beneath her downturned chin. "Are you muggleborn?"
She nodded, still refusing to look at him.
"Curiouser and curiouser." That quote, she recognized. It finally made her meet his gaze again. Those night skies were flat and bored into her with dark interest. "You are quite the little puzzle. I gather, then, you were taken from your parents. How old were you?"
"Four," she murmured.
"So young to be taken from those you love. And they did love you, didn't they?" She nodded. "And you loved them." Another tight nod. "Oh, you poor girl. I'm so sorry."
Maybe it was the rawness of their intimacy, but she burst into tears. Tom wrapped her in his warm embrace, and she didn't see his eyes glimmer with avarice.
Notes:
I'm trying to remember to update every month. I have about 80 chapters written and need to finish; I think it'll be about 100-120 chapters total, unless I get caught up and add another 40k words I didn't mean to include.
I've finally started writing again, wound up writing more than 20k in April when all was said and done. Just finished a 10k commission that will now be monthly- a new HP AU in a darker world (this one set where Voldemort wasn't destroyed by a rebounded killing curse).
I'm also writing a new Tomione, but not sharing many details about that. Except that it will be much more Hermione-centric than even this one.
My three survivors got fixed! I'm so proud of them. I have a "feral" mama and her two daughters now- all three calicos. One baby is a dilute and the other has heterochromia. I adore them.
I'm saving up for a pool heater so I can do my hydrotherapy. It's still not warm enough to swim without a pool heater.
That's all my news for now, so TTFN.