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Right Place, Wrong Time?	By : Shan84 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 7811 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series nor any of the characters from the books/movies. I don't make money from writing this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Author Notes: Thanks for reading :)

Hermione quickly pulled herself out of Tom's grasp, causing her to stumble a few feet back from him. "Don't ever touch me again," she hissed, instinctively looking around the room and to find an escape route.

Tom's gaze immediately hardened at her words, though he didn't reply at first. He merely remained standing there, watching her. Finally, he said, "Surely you don't mean that, Hermione Granger?"

Hermione was pretty sure that the last time she had been this angry was when she was dealing with Voldemort-related issues during the war. Trying to control her anger, she squeezed her eyes shut for a second, took a deep breath, and then reopened them. Damn, he was still there. What in Merlin's name was she going to do? Her head was pounding from his attack, and he still had her wand.

At least she had managed to protect most of her thoughts and memories from him with a little trick she had learned as an Unspeakable. Still, why was he able to view the memory of the Veil, when Phineas couldn't? While Tom was good at Legilimency, she felt that Phineas was more experienced. It was understandable, Tom was still learning, while Phineas had mastered his magic long ago. Unfortunately, it meant that he now knew her surname, which, while it was the least of her problems, was certainly an issue on its own. Because who needs an alias when all they are supposed to be doing is an innocent project with Professor Dumbledore?

"So, shall we do this the easy or hard way?" Tom finally asked.

"I'm not telling you anything by choice," Hermione replied, crossing her arms defiantly. And she wouldn't. Hermione felt a strange sense of freedom with those words. He could try whatever he wanted; she made the decision then and there, that she would rather lose her mind than reveal key aspects of the future to Tom Riddle.

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Well, then, let's just start by what I know, shall we?" he asked in a sickly sweet voice.

Hermione took a deep, calming breath. Trying to calm herself, she imagined all the awful, sadistic things she would like to currently do to the man standing in front of her.

"I must admit that I just don't know where to start," he began in a mock-cheerful tone. "I mean, there's the interesting fact that your last name is Granger … Although, I can understand why you'd want to change your name. After all, it isn't every day that someone falls into the Veil and actually comes out to tell the tale … especially in what I believe to be is another decade."

Hermione didn't reply. Inside, she was fuming and she had to admit, still scared. She gave herself an emotional slap; her emotions were spinning out of control. This was obviously the worst possible outcome: Tom Riddle, of all people, knowing her secret.

"But which decade do you come from? I doubt you're from the past. I'm taking completely wild guesses here, but," he started with an amused smirk, "you're quite strange for a young woman; not at all like any other I've ever met, nor do you appear to be interested in the same things witches of this generation are. You speak in a way which doesn't make me think you're someone who sat around sipping tea in the Regency era, either," he said as he looked her up and down, causing Hermione to bristle.

"You're one to talk about being strange … 'Detective'Riddle," she mocked. Just who did he think he was?

Riddle merely gave her a smug grin. "I'm guessing the future. Plus there was the fact that you were with a Smith; one that I have never ever met. Quite a dunce, isn't he?"

Hermione's mouth snapped shut and pressed into a thin, angry line. She had to control herself to not reply. Every time she did, it just seemed to give him more ammunition and, not to mention, would confirm things for him no matter what she said.

"What? No witty retort?" Tom asked.

"I'm not dignifying any of that with a response."

"But I think I've already proven that you don't have to exactly say anything," he replied, the smug and amused expression looking as though it wasn't going to leave anytime soon.

"Not really, I managed to hold you off for the majority, and don't think I will change my mind—no matter what you do."

Tom's expression went from smug to completely blank within the space of a few seconds. "Make no mistake, Hermione, when I want something, I get it; no matter the cost."

Hermione lifted her chin defiantly and narrowed her eyes. "Likewise, Riddle," she responded coolly.

They both appraised one-another; Tom narrowing his eyes slightly at her response.

"It doesn't really matter. What you refuse to tell me can be answered through logic and common sense," he replied with an all-knowing look on his face.

Hermione held in her huff of anger. How dare he act as though he would win!

"Do you know why the woman sent you here, instead of back to your own time?" he finally asked.

Hermione remained stubbornly silent for a moment. Despite the fact that on the inside she was desperately curious to work out why he could see that memory, and despite her work at trying to block him out, it was as if magic were at play … as if it—whatever itwas—wanted him to see the memory. She recalled how the memory almost surged to the front of her mind, as if wanting to meet his attack.

"No," she finally muttered. She figured that telling him that meant that he wouldn't torture her unnecessarily if he thought she was hiding some kind of secret mission from him.

"So the boyfriend does exist, does he? Just in another time," Tom said.

Hermione's eyes widened and met his in surprise. Of all the things he could comment on or ask, he brought up Ron? A feeling of guilt twisted through her and her cheeks flushed. She had stupidly kissed Riddle, and it was obvious to Hermione that he had only kissed her as a means of distraction. She felt so ashamed and used. She had betrayed Ron, and he would never forgive her if he ever found out. What kind of muggleborn goes about kissing Lord Voldemort, anyway?!Hermione hastily pushed this thought aside, as it made her feel even more guilty and stupid.

Riddle seemed to be quietly observing her, and she knew that he was waiting for her to say something about Ron. But she didn't want to talk about him with Voldemort. After how she had betrayed him, it felt like she was disrespecting him even more by simply discussing it. And by thinking about it, made her think of other unwanted things … things which related directly to her feelings.

"Well, I must say, this project is far more interesting than the one you made up."

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she had to admit she was relieved by his quick change of topic.

"So, how's trying to get 'home' working for you? I'm assuming dismally."

Hermione's teeth ground together angrily. Squeezing her fists tightly, she finally let out the long, frustrated breath she had been holding in.

"No matter, perhaps I can help you," he finally said.

Hermione couldn't stop from snorting at that. He really wasn't serious, was he? Why would she want his help? Yes, he was the only other person who could see who exactly had sent her here—but the idea of him helping her was ridiculous! As if Voldemort would want to do such an altruistic thing. Meanwhile, she had to work out why he could see it. Perhaps Phineas might be able to help with that?

"Er, that's very … kind of you, but no thanks," Hermione replied.

"Hmm, you don't seem to want my help. Why, I'm almost offended," he said as his long fingers ran along his wand.

"I have enough help already," she replied coolly, trying to keep the snide tone from her voice.

"Who was that woman?"

"I-I don't know."

Tom was quiet for a moment, as though he was considering something. "Dumbledore is, no doubt, sitting back making nonsensical babble about your situation," he commented and his tone was unsurprisingly sharp.

Hermione scowled. "Don't say that about Professor Dumbledore!" Though she would never admit that the statement held some truth.

"How do you know you're not supposed to have my help?" Tom then asked.

"What do you mean?" Hermione frowned.

"I'm simply remembering a lot of things that have happened recently and I can't help but wonder if … everything happens for a reason."

Hermione crossed her arms and suddenly looked sceptical. "Even if that is the truth, what do you have to do with it?"

"Well, you have to admit that your situation is odd. And when the same woman appeared at Borgin and Burkes—"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione cut across him, not caring that she suddenly sounded 'too interested'.

"She appeared, and then disappeared, a day ago."

"Are you going to tell me what she said?" Hermione asked.

"Well she hinted at easier ways I could find out what I want," he replied, cryptically. "It was almost as if she wanted me to keep approaching you," he added, though it seemed more like he was thinking out loud, rather than actually talking to her.

Hermione glared as Tom went quiet, his eyes calculating. Finally, he smirked, and pointed his wand directly at her.

Okay, this is it, Hermione thought. He was going to torture her to reveal all of her secrets. Hermione was not going to budge on this, though. This was something she could at least control. She might not be able to beat Voldemort in a duel, but she wasn't afraid of dying, if it meant saving her memories and those that were important to her.

Standing straight and staring defiantly back at him; she got the surprise of her life when he said, "Accio Hermione's research."

Suddenly all of Hermione's research landed on the bed. And when she said allher research, she meant all of it. Including the chest she had kept hidden in the cavity of her ceiling. He noticed the shocked look on her face and actually had the audacity to let out an amused chuckle.

"Nice wards, by the way. If it makes you feel any better, it did take me quite a while to break through them."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You foul—"

"Careful, Hermione," he cut across her, his tone light but his eyes were anything but. "Wouldn't want to say anything you regret."

"Oh, I don't think I'd regret it," Hermione snapped back.

"Calm down, I'm only trying to help you."

"And I told you that I don't want your help!"

"Yes, but that was before we established that I am somehow linked in all of this," he replied, far too easily.

"Correction. Youestablished that."

"And deep down, you can't help but question the truth in it, Hermione."

"No, I don't." Hermione lied.

Tom smirked and tilted his head as he observed her. "You knew me in the future, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't," she immediately replied. And technically, that wasn't a lie. She didn't know actually know Voldemort.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Did you know ofme, though?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, her jaw clenching unconsciously. "No."

"Liar," he replied, before looking back down at her work. "Doesn't matter anyway, I'm sure I'll find out what I want soon enough."

What, that you became an old, bald man who obsessively chases a teenage boy around trying to kill him?Immediately, a smirk, which almost rivalled his, appeared on her face. "Right, well, like I said before, I'm not telling you anything more … unless I chose to."

He casually flipped through some of her files before looking back up at her. She was fairly sure that he would have read through a lot—if not all— of it by now anyway. She still wasn't sure how long she had been out, but if it was long enough to crack her wards she was guessing it must have been early morning already.

After a few long minutes, he finally looked up from her notes. "I can help you, Hermione," he said.

Hermione stayed silent at first, before swallowing heavily. "Why would you want to help me?" she asked.

He looked as though he wanted to scoff at her. "This is very interesting magic. Why wouldn't I want to help?"

"So altruistic ... I can barely stand it," Hermione replied flatly.

His eyebrows rose in amusement. "Tell me what you really think … Oh wait, perhaps I can just find out on my own." He twirled his wand around and smirked knowingly.

"That won't work," she almost sing-songed. "You could only see—"

"What I was obviously meant to see," he quickly cut over her and gave her a knowing look. "Look, it's obvious that I'm meant to help you. Why do you think she also appeared to me, too?"

Hermione sighed loudly and looked at him seriously. "I don't know," she finally responded dejectedly. She shook her head, too many thoughts were currently running through it. Yes, it was obvious there was some kind of weird link between the two … but why? How was she supposed to work with someone like Voldemort? But what if it was necessary? She really needed to speak to someone else … the fact that he was strutting around her apartment like he owned it was really beginning to piss her off. And the fact that it was himmeant that she couldn't think straight on the matter. She really needed another opinion.

Phineas would know what to do … and be a possible mediator if necessary. Yes, she needed Phineas and tell him that there was a link between her, Riddle, and the woman in the Veil.

"Let's just say, hypothetically, that I did actually want your help … what's really in it for you?" Hermione asked.

"I already told—"

"The truth," Hermione demanded over him and noted the angry look that flashed across Tom's face at her tone before it went deceptively blank.

"All right … Maybe I want to know why that woman appeared to me, too."

"A half-truth, but one that I will at least believe and accept," Hermione replied in that imperious tone she was so well-known for. "Considering I want to know the exact same thing." She was thoughtful for a moment. Hermione was painfully aware that with what he already knew, she was not going to get rid of him easily, so her best bet was to at least make a deal with him. He was an annoying and evil arsehole, but an intelligent one, nonetheless. If he was going to be hanging around, he could at least make himself useful. "Alright, I'll do a deal with you," she finally offered.

Tom's eyebrows rose. "Are you really one to make a deal? You aren't exactly in a position to make demands. You don't even have a wand."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Actually, I'm more than capable of making a deal with you, Riddle."

He merely arched an eyebrow and scoffed. "Right …"

"I may not have a wand, but I have other bargaining tools."

"Like what?"

"Firstly, I can last for a long time keeping my memories distorted from you, regardless of the one memory you were 'allowed' to see. Secondly, how do you know I'm not working with any other organisations in this time period, hm? And lastly, if you even touch a hair on my head, Dumbledore will know."

Riddle was up within the second, suddenly standing right in front of her, boxing her into the wall. Hermione swallowed, and lifted her chin, and met his hard gaze. She wasn't lying, Unspeakables were taught to hold off unauthorised Legilimency for a very, very long time. By the time he'd crack through her techniques, her mind would be so muddled that he wouldn't even be able to make sense of most of what he was seeing anyway. She knew it was a risk he wouldn't be willing to take with her at this very moment in time. To be frank, it wasn't a risk she wanted to take, either, but she would rather risk it than Riddle knowing everything she had been privy to in the wizarding world. She wasn't lying about the other organisations. Technically, that was Phineas. She was half bluffing about Dumbledore, of course. Although she knew that Dumbledore would be able to put two and two together if something did happen to her. But, again, as much as she hated to think about it in that way, it was not in Riddle's best interest to hurt her.

"Have you been telling Dumbledore all about our little interactions, then?" he muttered, and she noted the hint of bitterness in his voice. Though she was pretty sure the only reason she heard it was because she understood the shared history between the two of them.

"I didn't have to. He brought it up with me," she replied.

"Warn you off me, did he?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. He actually remarked about how clever you are," she replied truthfully.

Tom raised his eyebrows and was silent for a while, seemingly thoughtful. "So … what sort of deal would you like to make?"

Hermione was surprised at the way he easily changed topics. "Okay. How about, you can help me, and related to this 'project' of sorts, I won't hide anything from you. Therefore, you get to find out why that woman appeared to you, and it might also help me get home. So basically, anything outside of that memory is off limits. That's it."

Tom shook his head. "I don't think so. That's not enough. What if I want more?"

Hermione stood still and straightened her posture. "About the future, you mean? Well, sorry, but those are my terms, Riddle. Besides, what exactly do you want to know? If it's lottery numbers, I'm sorry, but I just can't share that information," she added sarcastically.

"Well, a time-traveller and a comedian. Your talents never cease, Hermione Granger," Riddle replied and rolled his eyes.

Hermione found herself bristling at his comment. Not to mention that his close proximity was making her uncomfortable in several different ways. "Accept it, or you can forget I even exist, Riddle. If I have to, I will find a way to disappear." Like I managed to once before, she wanted to add, but managed to hold her tongue. The situation wasn't exactly how she had planned. Scrap that, it wasn't at all how she planned, but she had to come to some sort of agreement with Voldemort.

"Or Icould make you disappear," he replied casually.

Hermione tried to hide her tremble at the threatening undertone of his words. "You could, but it certainly wouldn't help you now, would it?" she replied bravely.

Tom tilted his head thoughtfully before a smirk adorned his perfect lips. "Were you a Gryffindor, by any chance?"

Hermione huffed loudly. "Do we have a deal or not?"

Tom gave a small smile, as if she answered the question he asked, which only annoyed her further. "Fine, we have a deal."

Hermione tried to hide her shock. She wasn't exactly expecting him to agree with her that quickly. She was expecting at least another annoying five or ten minutes of trying to hash out some kind of deal.

"Just be careful what you ask for, Hermione," he added.

"Nothing outside of that memory," she replied in return. "We find out who the woman is, and why she sent me here, and what it's got to do with you … nothing more, nothing less."

He nodded, and she couldn't help but notice that he was still standing very close to her. An uncomfortable, prickling sensation travelled through her as she felt his body heat.

"Well, you can stand back now, since we've come to a … agreement," she finally muttered, somewhat awkwardly. She didn't want to also add that he didn't need to try and stand as if they were lovers when he had already got what he wanted. Heat became embarrassment, yet again, as she recalled their kiss and how she had stupidly allowed it.

She faced him and noted that he was studying her closely before his attention turned to the small bedroom window, not too far from them. Flicking his wand, she watched as the curtains sprang apart, revealing the beginnings of morning. Was it that time already?

"Well, I best go get ready for work," Tom announced, his expression carefully blank. "But thank you for hosting me tonight, Hermione," he said in a smug tone that caused Hermione to look away from him. "I'll come by tonight to go over those notes with you."

Great. Just great. When she got her hands on that Veil woman, well, there would be hell to pay! She wondered if she could she curse someone who might technically not be alive?

"Until then," he added and waved his wand over her. Hermione felt the tingle of magic and recognised the spell immediately.

"What did you just do to me?" she demanded, wanting him to admit it.

"Oh, nothing much, just don't leave Diagon Alley without me, would you?"

Hermione knew it, it was a tracking spell! And if it was the one she was thinking of, a counter spell hadn't been created until the mid-seventies. Voldemort obviously thought that he'd be able to track her... well, she'd show him.

"Why would I do that?" she replied. "We are 'working together'after all," she mocked.

"I don't know, why would you?" he replied, his eyebrows arching, his face looking perfectly angellic.

After she didn't respond, he stepped back from her and moved out of the room, beckoning her to follow. She proceeded to watch as he put his coat back and gloves back on.

"I guess I'll leave the way I came in, then?" he asked.

"I suppose," Hermione replied awkwardly.

"I'll see you tonight then, Hermione. It would probably be best if you got some sleep, you'll need it." He winked.

Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock at his words. How dare he be so suggestive?! How dare he make it sound as if they were doing something other than work?!

"Let's not pretend that kiss was anything more than what it was, Riddle," she replied, unable to control the anger in her tone. "I'll work with you, but that's all it will be, work. Nothing more, nothing less."

Riddle closed the gap between them immediately. "Is that so?" he whispered.

Hermione swallowed heavily. "That kiss meant nothing."

"Nothing," Riddle muttered quietly and looked away for a moment and Hermione was confused at the fact she thought she saw his jaw tighten and set.

"I know you merely used it to help get what you want. And it doesn't matter now, anyway." She hoped that he couldn't hear her heart thundering in her chest.

"Nothing, is it? My, you certainly have interesting perceptions about nothing," he said.

"I know exactly I'm talking about," she replied defensively.

Suddenly was he at eye level with her staring at her intensely. "You know nothing," he spat, causing Hermione's eyes to widen in surprise at his tone alone.

But he was out the door before she could even retort. Hermione huffed loudly, stomped her foot, then collapsed on the small couch near her. She grabbed a throw cushion and let out a muffled, exasperated scream into it, before throwing it across the room and running her hands over her face in frustration.

She quickly stood back up and went over to her desk. She had to write an urgent letter to Phineas. Just as she sat at her desk, she noted her wand, sitting right there. Riddle must have put it there before he left, or it had been there all along.

She felt nothing short of relief when it was in her hands again. Recalling the tracking spell he had cast, she considered breaking it then and there, but she knew he'd be alerted to it straight away. No, she'd wait until she really needed to do it, then he'd get a nice little surprise. At this point in time, it was important to her to have a couple of extra cards up her sleeve that he wouldn't expect. She had no need to leave Diagon Alley, or the shop, so she decided to hold off for now.

Getting a quill ready, she began her letter to Phineas. She only hoped he'd be able to respond sooner, rather than later.

XXX

Later that evening, Hermione watched as Phineas paced her 'quaint' living room—his words, not hers—as he took in everything she had just told him. Tom had not yet arrived and it was only a matter of time before he turned up.

"Unbelievable," he muttered. "That some … boy can see it, and I can't. Do you think he'd let me try and see his memories?"

Hermione almost choked on the tea she had been sipping on. "Hardly," she finally managed to say. "In fact I can guarantee you that will never happen."

He looked at her and merely nodded. "Though, I think you're right Hermione. If he can see it, he's involved in one way or another—whether he is responsible or not."

"Responsible?" Hermione queried.

"Yes …we can't rule anything out. Though I have another theory which I'll wait to discuss,"

While Hermione could understand that conclusion, she shook her head emphatically. "No, the first … that's impossible."

"Why?"

Hermione hesitated. She liked and respected Phineas, but how much could she tell him? It was no longer a matter of just trusting Phineas not to reveal anything … what if he wasn't given a choice?

"Hermione," Phineas said, with a twinge of annoyance in his voice. "Just tell me."

"I just know, okay?" Hermione replied quietly.

Phineas's eyebrows rose. "You knew him?"

"You could say he became rather well known," she replied carefully, not really able to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "I didn't know him personally, though."

"So what … an academic?"

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him, her lips thinning to an annoyed line. He was really a bit obvious in fishing for information, wasn't he? Just as she was about to voice that opinion, his lips curved up into what most women would consider a charming smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"So, what canyou tell me about this boy?"

Hermione let out a deep breath she didn't realise she was holding. "He's about my age, went to Hogwarts, works at Borgin and Burkes—"

"Him?"

"Yes, why?"

"I thought the name Tom Riddlehad sounded familiar," Phineas mused. "I've been in there a couple of times when he's been working."

"And?"

"Don't you find it strange that such a nice, polite, and articulateboy would work in such a place?" he said, the implication heavy in his tone.

Hermione looked at him for a moment, and knew, just by the expression on his face, that he understood. He may not know the exact things Tom Riddle had done so far, or would do, for that matter. Now the fact that Dumbledore had asked Phineas to help her meant even more to her than she could explain.

"Well, I wasn't going to say it myself," she jokingly replied, trying to hide the sudden swell of emotions she was feeling.

His lips quirked up, and he was going to reply but his face suddenly stilled. "Someone's coming up the stairs," he announced.

Hermione recalled the way Phineas had frantically waved his wand around to create the wards as she had described what Riddle had done, conveniently leaving out the kiss, of course. She had been impressed by the complexity of his spell work and thought she might ask, at a later and more convenient date, if he could teach her that.

Before she could reply, there was a sharp knock on the door. She gave Phineas one more look before she stood up and walked over to the door. Opening it, she looked up at Tom, dressed head to toe in black, and looking just as regal and haughty as Phineas. She stepped back from the door, and gestured for him to enter.

"Hermione," he greeted in a low voice, as he stepped through the door. He looked on the verge of saying something … the kind of thing that would infuriate or tease her. Hermione could just tell by his expression, but his eyes immediately fell on Phineas, and the smug smirk and act of familiarity disappeared.

"Tom Riddle, I presume?" Phineas asked, breaking the ice, and stepping forward.

Now that Hermione was faced with the two equally tall men in front of her, it felt and looked like there was no room left in her small flat. Hermione felt decidedly out of place as the two men regarded one-another. She wasn't used to this sort of … Slytherin-like posturing.

"My name is Phineas Black, and I've been working with Hermione on her project," he greeted, surprisingly cordially, while holding out his hand to shake.

"Of course, Mr Black, I remember you. You've come into Borgin and Burkes before," Tom replied and actually shook Phineas's hand. Hermione wasn't sure why she was surprised about that. What did she expect, for them to suddenly pull out their wands and duel to the death in her flat?

"Yes, that's correct. Although it was quite some time ago. You have quite the memory, Mr Riddle."

"I've been known for it."

"And you were the Head Boy, too, weren't you? I was pleased to hear that we had another Slytherin alum make Head. The Head Boy and Girl have been frightfully Gryffindor in the last decade," Phineas commented, causing Hermione to scowl at the slighting tone directed at her old House. She pretended to ignore the small look Tom sent her.

"That's correct. You were a Slytherin?"

"I'm a Black, aren't I? A Black who no longer associates himself with that charmingfamily of mine, but a Black nonetheless. Where else do we belong?"

Hermione had to bite her tongue about Sirius, she was too intrigued watching this exchange. It was anything but a friendly introduction if you skimmed the surface, but the underlying tension was undeniable.

"Of course," Tom replied, his tone even and giving nothing away.

"Well, I believe that's sufficient enough chit-chat, wouldn't you say?" Phineas asked Tom. "Now we can discuss why we're all really here," he added, sending a meaningful glance to Hermione.

Hermione took this as her moment and turned to Tom. "Phineas has been trying to help me. He has, I guess you could say, taken over from Professor Dumbledore. Unfortunately, he has been unable to see the memory you were able to. Which is why," Hermione swallowed deeply, the words tasting awful in her mouth, "we think that you are somehow linked in all of this."

Hermione looked at Tom and noticed that while his face remained impassive, his entire body looked taut with tension. He was obviously not happy with her discussing what had happened with Phineas. Well, too bloody bad! This was not his problem, technically. She didn't give a damn about him and his stupid power games right now. Arrogant control freak!

"Over the course of the Veil's existence, very few people have been recorded as falling through the Veil by the Ministry," Phineas began in a lecturing tone. "To this day, the Ministry, as well as other research organisation's still don't understand what is beyond the Veil once one 'crosses over', so to speak. Most believe that falling through the Veil creates instant death … however, Hermione is the exception to this rule, as well as her colleague who we now assume returned to the correct time period."

"Which is why we are trying to understand why I turned up here, instead of my own time."

"From what Hermione has told me, I believe the woman wanted Hermione to do something … or complete something. How that is linked to you, we cannot work out."

Tom remained silent the entire time, and Hermione couldn't decide if this was a relief or perhaps even more worrying.

"Hermione told me that this woman appeared to you recently … encouraging you to go and find out Hermione's secret."

At this, Tom's passive stare hardened and Hermione wondered if she was the only one who felt the room drop several degrees and become decidedly … chilly.

"Don't suddenly become annoyed at her for telling me everything. You knew she would have as soon as you stepped into the room and saw me," Phineas said, picking up on Tom's mood as well—not that it was too difficult. "Besides, I think I've worked out something which might help."

"What's that?" Tom and Hermione both said simultaneously, causing Hermione to flush a bit at the eagerness of her tone.

"In our world, what is one of the only methods that allows people to see things that others are often not entitled to? For example, enter property or touch family artefacts."

Hermione bit down on her bottom lip. "Well, several things, the owner has to give you explicit permission … but the main one is …." Realisation dawned and her eyes widened at the implications.

"Blood," Tom said, quietly, a thoughtful look on his face. "So you believe—"

"That whoever it was could be possibly related to you in some way," Phineas finished impatiently.

Tom scowled at being interrupted and Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock, unable to believe it. "B-but—"

"Think about it carefully, please. Many wizarding families are able to ensure the protection their possessions by placing the type of magic whereby only family members can touch, access, or see the items. Wizarding families take great pride in blood and family."

"It just seems like a rather random guess, or assumption," Hermione said.

"Not when you've been around for as long as I have, Hermione," Phineas answered with a faint smirk. "Tell me, why is it that you don't even know this young man, yet he can view this memory. Why isn't it that I, an accomplished Legilimens, cannot? Even though we spent hours going over it?"

"Maybe you're not as accomplished as you think," Tom mused quietly.

Hermione turned to him in surprise. "Tom!"

He turned away from Phineas, who was now sneering, and looked at her. She didn't fail to notice the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "What? I'm just … covering all bases."

Hermione rolled her eyes and purposely looked away from him, annoyed at his rude comment.

"I can assure you that I'm quite accomplished, Mr Riddle," Phineas said, his voice mocking when he said Tom's name. "Not that I really care what a boythinks."

Tom smirked. "Well, that is certainly a relief to hear, Mr Black. It's important that Hermione and I work with a highly skilled wizard."

Hermione's eyes widened. What exactly was Tom Riddle meaning with that statement? He made it sound like they were some kind of team. Hermione's lips thinned in annoyance, she wasn't in a team with him!

He, of course, looked far too pleased with himself which just managed to raise her hackles even more. Hermione chanced a glance at Phineas, who pulled off the haughty 'I'm pissed off' look quite handsomely.

"So … someone—a woman— of my blood, hm?" Tom mused contemplatively, as if he didn't just insult Phineas. "I will need to look through my family history to get a complete list of names."

"That's if it is that," Hermione said, still not sure about the whole thing. "What if it's not?"

"Then we start again. It has to be better than what you're currently doing." Phineas crossed his arms.

"Okay, say you're right, and he can view the memory because he's directly linked to the woman in some way … why did she send me here, and what will it mean?"

"Perhaps we'll see once I see which relative it is—that's if you are correct," Tom piped up.

Hermione's shoulders slumped. She still wasn't sure that this was the right way to go. But at the same time, she knew Phineas had seen enough in his career to come to the conclusions he did.

"I'm quietly confident," Phineas replied. "Besides, you've got all the time in the world, Hermione."

Hermione huffed. "Certainly seems like it, doesn't it?"

XXX

Tom left Hermione's flat early and quickly headed back to his own. He knew it had surprised Hermione that he had left so easily and didn't try to stay after Phineas Black, but that was part of the fun in dealing with her. He really enjoyed the look on her face when halfway through their discussion he calmly stood and explained that he needed an early night for work the next day. He didn't really; Tom had always been one of those people who could survive on very little sleep. He just knew that she was expecting a fight in getting him to leave, or that he would want to discuss things after Black left.

He could also admit to himself that after a few hours, he was sick of listening to Black, the biggest know-it-all on this side of Diagon Alley. Tom sneered, the man reminded him of a slightly darker Dumbledore, though he was without the sparkling eyes, ridiculous comments, and bad dress sense. Tom had a good idea who Black was, and if Black was part of the secret knowledge seeking group Tom thought he was, this would make things interesting.

He knew that Black could see straight through him as soon as he walked through Hermione's front door. Not that Tom really gave two shits … what was he going to do? Black was intelligent enough and a seeking answers just like Tom and Hermione, and knew that he now needed him to help Hermione with her far too fascinating predicament.

Her predicament was something that Tom hadn't been able to stop thinking about all day, along with the feelings of anticipation and excitement that came from knowing the secret behind Hermione Edwards—no, Granger. He had known all along that there was something not right about her. Not that that 'something not right' was a bad thing, in Tom's books. It was quite good actually. If only he could have broken through her Unspeakable tricks. Tom scowled when he thought about how difficult she had made that for him. And then how she had told him to do his worst, because she was going to tell him anything outside of their little project. She was ridiculously reckless. Honestly, acting like that was sure to get one killed if they weren't careful. Not that he wanted to kill Hermione Granger, but if she wasn't careful with that attitude of hers, someone else might try to.

Although her reluctance to share the rest of her memories wasn't the most annoying part of this. Tom was quietly confident that he could slowly pull certain things out of her. He had to admit that he didn't like the way Black was involved. He knew that Black was a very powerful Wizard, and knowledgeable, but Tom fancied himself to be powerful, too.

He knew that Black's little knowledge seeking group would be salivating for the story of Hermione … and Tom didn't want themto know. He knew that Black, while having some kind of disgusting altruistic side to actually help, would be slowly trying to convince Hermione to confide in him, and then he would be running back to his other minions and reporting to them.

Tom didn't like that. Hermione was not supposed to confide with Black. Tom was the one who saw the memory, Tom was the one who knew there was something different about Hermione, and Tom felt like he was the only one who saw her actual potential. How was it that such a clever witch was content with just working in the Ministry? Even if she was an Unspeakable, which was semi-respectable in Tom's opinion.

Besides, he was the only one who had been allowed to view the memory. If Black was meant to see the memory, he would have been allowed to. But it was blocked from him, and not Tom. Therefore, what right did Black have sitting around dithering about how smart he was and the answers to all of Hermione's problems?

Tom thought it was quite simple, the knowledge wasn't meant for Black, it was meant for Tom ... He was meant to solve the problem. It was almost as though she had been sent to him for some reason, but at the same time, he had a feeling it was much bigger than that …

Don't ever touch me again.

That kiss meant nothing.

… It doesn't matter now, anyway.

Tom scowled. After everythingthat had happened in the last twenty four hours, that sentence kept reappearing at the most inconvenient and unexpected times. The thing that bothered him the most about it was that she wasn't even taking responsibility for it. Instead, she was acting as if it had been part of his 'plan' all along. She acted as some innocent party who had nothing to do with it. He let out a small, annoyed noise at that. She was just as responsible as he was. If Tom wanted information, he could certainly get it without adding a kiss into the mix. He was getting tired of her excuses, tired of her diversions, and most of all Tom was getting tired of her denial.

XXX

She was sitting at a campsite, in the Forest of Dean, and it reminded her of when they were hunting for Horcruxes. She looked around before standing from the old tree she had found herself leaning against. She walked to the tent, so familiar, and stepped inside.

Harry, Ron, and … Tom? sat at the small camp table playing cards. They all looked up from their game when she entered the tent.

"What are you all doing?" Hermione asked.

"We're playing cards," Ron answered, as though it was was obvious.

"Hermione, come play, and remember it's my turn," Harry said.

"Turn for what?"

"Er, my turn to wear the locket," Harry replied, before handing Tom another card.

Hermione looked down, and realised that she was wearing Slytherin's locket, only it was about five times the size of what she remembered it to be. She panicked; Tom couldn't see that they had his Horcrux! She quickly grabbed it and tried stuffing it down the front of her shirt but it kept slipping from her fingers. Quickly, quickly, she chanted to herself. Tom was about to look again, she knew it. She looked up in horror as his head turned to face her, almost in slow motion. Finally, she was able to grasp the locket, and a feeling of triumph passed through her as she felt the locket slip down her shirt and lay in between her breasts.

"Why are you taking turns to wear a locket?" Tom asked, looking between the three of them.

"Because it's so fashionable," Ron replied, again, as if the question were obvious.

Hermione quickly went to sit down, and was dismayed to find that the only seat left was the one next to Tom. Still, she sat down anyway, looking at his cards. Even though she was looking straight at them, she couldn't see them.

"Stop looking at my cards."

Hermione looked up at Tom, to see him smirking at her. She then looked around to find herself in her apartment bedroom again.

"Where are Harry and Ron?" she asked in dismay.

"They had Potions," Tom answered.

"Oh," she replied. It did make perfect sense. They always had Potions on Mondays. She absentmindedly looked over to the hall which led out of her bedroom and realised it was now the seventh floor corridor at Hogwarts.

Suddenly she was flat on her back and Tom was hovering over her. He leaned down and kissed her and Hermione felt like she couldn't breathe at first. The Horcrux was digging into her chest as Tom pulled her tightly against him.

"Hang on a second," she muttered as he began kissing his way down her neck.

"What?" he asked, looking up from his ministrations, sounding frustrated.

She grabbed the locket and pulled it from between them before chucking it to the side. "There," she said, before pulling him down and kissing him again. She could kiss him in her dreams, and no one would know. Not even Tom. She could kiss him and there was no more guilt. Ron had left, so he would never know. Harry was with Ron, so he would never know. No one would ever know.

She ran her hands through his silky hair, and then down his back. The emotions she felt at the idea of being free to be with him was like a rush. She felt his hands begin to move down her body, over her breasts, her waist, and then gripping her hips. Hermione's hips moved against his, and she moaned. She could feel him; he was hard, and pushing against her. She rolled her hips and revelled in the low growl he released as he returned the favour.

His hands moved to the buttons of her muggle jeans, and Hermione felt frantic because she couldn't help but think they were running out of time. He unbuttoned her jeans and then pulled the zipper down. Cool fingers snuck underneath her knickers, and she gasped when he reached his destination. Moaning, she reached for him, wanting to return the favour, but then Tom pulled away from her. It caused her to cry out in frustration and need.

"We need to go somewhere," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because we need to," he said and then quickly pulled her up as he stood up.

She followed him down the seventh floor corridor before he suddenly pushed her into a random alcove.

"Quick, someone's coming," he said.

Oh no, they were out after hours! She heard the tell-tale sound of someone walking down the hall and Hermione shrunk back into the alcove as the footsteps became louder and louder. She swore they stopped right outside of their alcove. An icy feeling settled in her as she felt Tom push her further back into the alcove, and stand in front of her. Then, the footsteps started again, and Hermione felt a rush of relief as she heard the person disappear down the corridor.

Tom turned around to face her, and Hermione found herself smiling at him. "That was close, we were almost caught," she commented.

"That would never happen," he said imperiously.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she sucked in a harsh breath, her heart hammering in her chest as she gripped her bed sheets tightly. Her eyes quickly focused and she felt relieved to find she was still in her room.

What kind of dream was that?
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Right Place, Wrong Time?