Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Out with the Old	By : Shan84 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 13107 -:- 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
- 1-Out with the Old
- 1
Author Note: This was written for the wonderful Lady Miya at the first Tomione Convention Forum gift fic exchange. I was lucky to be given creative license to write what I wanted. So, when coming up with an idea, I’ve always been interested in there being two versions of Voldemort, and how that would actually work out. Anyway, put your imagination to play and I hope you enjoy XD

Thank you Nerys, for beta-ing :)

XXX

18 December, 1999

Hermione remembered it like yesterday; the day that he “joined” the Order. It was almost a year to the day when a teenage Tom Marvolo Riddle delivered fifteen captured Order members to their headquarters at Grimmauld Place, demanding that he was granted immediate asylum from his “completely mad and delusional” older self.

This Riddle was apparently the product of some weird dark magic “doubling” ritual—something that Harry couldn’t really digest because it sounded so disgusting, and which Hermione couldn’t even fathom being possible.

Demanding an audience with Harry Potter only, he made the offer of sharing Death Eater hideouts as well as their future strategies, while not too subtlety adding that he had worked out Severus Snape was a double agent … and wouldn’t it be a shame if he were sent back to “them” knowing that little titbit of information?

Therefore, after intensive questioning, with only Harry present (something that annoyed Hermione greatly), Tom Riddle was granted his precious asylum. Hermione and Ron were, of course, both furious and weren’t shy in telling Harry this. Harry, however, was quick to put a halt to their ranting and explained some of what went on between the two of them.

Harry had apparently made a deal with Riddle that after the “other” Voldemort were killed, the Ministry would take into account that this young “version” of Riddle had helped return the captured Order members and revealed numerous Death Eater secrets and strategies, which, even though Hermione detested who the informant was, actually turned out to be quite fruitful to the Order.

Unsurprisingly, to Hermione anyway, Riddle didn’t push for an Unbreakable Vow, as she knew it wasn’t in his interest to risk dying if he broke it. However, there was some kind of contract between Harry and Riddle, which Harry claimed would ensure their safety around the Slytherin Heir. Riddle was also required to hand over his wand and his magic was restricted to prevent any wandless or emotionally charged magic. Of course, Hermione took pride on the last detail ensuring his compliance. She was given the project—under the supervision of Lupin—of restricting his magic, and she found it utterly hilarious that a Muggle-born was responsible for the fact that he couldn’t even do a wandless Lumos. She loved reminding him of this fact whenever they fought. Which was all the time.

It was an overdone Order joke (in Hermione’s opinion anyway) that if you wanted to see the demise of the older Dark Lord, just put him in a room with Hermione Jean Granger and Tom Marvolo Riddle when they fought. The bushy-haired witch and Heir of Slytherin absolutely loathed one another. Initially, everyone thought that Ron would be the biggest problem, but his little rows with Riddle were nothing compared to the way Hermione blew up at Riddle and vice versa.

“Oh, it’s just the Mudblood,” said an all too familiar voice from the entrance to the sitting room where Hermione was currently sitting, enjoying a book.

Why do you mock me? Hermione sighed in irritation and glared at the ceiling (to whichever deity was currently laughing at her now). This was the first time since Riddle had arrived that Hermione had been left alone without Harry and Ron for longer than a day. Both boys had gone off on an Order-related mission and Hermione had remained behind, researching instead. Even though “Riddle sightings” had been scarce over the last couple of days, she had been nervous all the same. At least when they had got into their spats then, Harry and/or Ron had usually been there to help her out. Now she was alone, and he had finally made his dreaded appearance. Closing her book, Hermione glared at Riddle, who eyed her back in annoyance.

“Draco Malfoy owled; he’d like his insults back,” Hermione sneered, before standing to leave, determined to read in the privacy of her room instead.

Riddle laughed, “You’re comparing me to that spoiled, little sycophant—”

“Well, technically, you were the one who recruited the Malfoys,” she smirked as she walked by him. “Good job, by the way, I see that was a clever choice. You’re so far up your own arse that you would recruit such—EEAH! RIDDLE, UNHAND ME THIS INSTANT!” Hermione bellowed, as Riddle had pushed her painfully against the doorframe.

“Apologise to your superior, Mudblood!” he snarled, gripping her shoulders in such a way that Hermione knew there would be bruises.

Hermione grit her teeth and glared at him. “I would, if one was actually in the room!”

“You stupid bitch!” he spat, and Hermione winced in pain as he shook her and her head knocked painfully against the framework of the door. Quickly reaching for her wand, she pushed it into his stomach, reminding him of just who held the magic in this situation.

“You will let me go, Riddle, or so help me, I will hex you to Antarctica, where you can order around penguins!” Hermione hissed.

Riddle pushed Hermione again, and she noted that her wand dug farther into his stomach. She was surprised that he didn’t even wince. Surely that must hurt? He looked as though he was about to say something but the thundering of someone’s footsteps down the hall interrupted him. Both looked away from one another to see the disapproving face of Professor Remus Lupin.

“Just what is going on here? I am tired of breaking up your fights!”

Riddle quickly stepped back from Hermione who tried to look somewhat abashed as Lupin eyed her wand.

“Hermione, I know you need the Black library for Order-related business, but if this keeps up, I’m going to have to send you to another safe house; research be damned!”

Hermione looked down, her cheeks flushing. Stupid Riddle. The fact that he was a part of the package of Grimmauld Place was such a huge pain.

“Sorry, Professor,” Hermione muttered, feeling ashamed that someone she looked up to had to chastise her.

Professor Lupin nodded at her before turning to Riddle, “And Tom, unless you want to stay in the basement again, I suggest you end this behaviour right now. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Riddle replied, looking ashamed as well.

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes. What an act! As if he was ashamed! The nerve of that … that no good, slimey snake! Hermione scowled.

“Now, Tom, Moody has just arrived and he’s on a tight schedule. He needs to go over those maps with you again,” Remus explained, motioning for the young man to follow him.

Professor Lupin turned back down the hall, expecting Riddle to follow. Hermione pulled a face at Riddle as soon as the Professor’s back was turned. Riddle brushed up against her, knocking her back into the doorframe. Hermione scowled and Riddle smirked.

“Run along,” Hermione spat, and she made little shooing motions at him.

“This isn’t over, Granger,” he muttered.

“Whatever. Just remember who has the wand.”

XXX

12 February, 2000

True to Riddle’s words, it certainly wasn’t over. The war had only just begun, in Hermione’s opinion. Riddle repeatedly goaded her into arguments of any nature. From the state of her hair, to magical theory, and even the merits of milk in coffee (Hermione did like milk in her coffee, thank you very much!). He never missed a single thing and was always there when she least expected it, making some kind of sarcastic comment.

It drove Hermione up the wall. Most of the time, she was thankfully able to just ignore the Heir of Slytherin, but at other times, this was simply impossible. Hermione was normally the level-headed, responsible one, but Riddle brought something out in her that caused her do things that she would have scolded Harry and Ron for if the situation were reversed.

Eventually, what started as petty spats, developed into nasty pranks. In fact, the origins of the “war” were soon forgotten, as they both began a campaign of trying to one up the other. It soon became all about who could pull the cleverest trick on the other. Hermione had to admit that even though Riddle didn’t have magic, he still managed to keep up with her, though she would never admit it to his face. Part of her fun became was that she could use magic and he couldn’t.

Unfortunately, Hermione was still smarting over the fact that she now had large, uneven clumps of black hair thanks to Riddle lacing her shampoo and conditioner with permanent black ink, leaving her hair looking even worse than usual. She was also sorely deprived of clothing, because Riddle had somehow got into her room and hidden sardines in the secret compartments in her wardrobe (How did he even know the Black wardrobes had these compartments?). It took forever for Hermione to locate where the stench was hidden and even longer to get the smell out of her good dress robes.

That was not to say that Hermione wasn’t proud of her own tricks against the Heir of Slytherin.

While she had thrown many hexes and pulled many pranks, there were a couple that stood out in her mind. Most specifically, the time she had transfigured all his robes to resemble styles she had seen on Professor Dumbledore was a standout hit. Riddle was always seen in dramatic black robes and walked around Grimmauld Place taking himself far too seriously in Hermione’s opinion. He was even worse than Professor Snape.

Every time Hermione remembered her stroke of genius, a great big smile spread across her face, especially when she reminded herself of their conversation …

Hermione was sitting in the kitchen late one night enjoying a hot chocolate. Admittedly, she was waiting for Riddle. She knew he had to come out from his little hidey hole and eat sooner or later. He was avoiding all the current inhabitants because of his newly transfigured clothes. Hermione had to stop herself from snickering into her hot chocolate. Silence was the name of the game, and if Riddle heard her, there was no way she would get to enjoy seeing him in his purple, polka dot robes, or, her favourite: the royal-blue, star-spangled robes.

Hermione was just about to give up when she heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. She looked up just as Riddle arrived at the entrance of the kitchen and immediately burst into loud peals of laughter. Riddle scowled, pretending to ignore her, and went to the kitchen counter where he began preparing himself a cup of tea.

“I daresay, Riddle, the purple really contrasts handsomely with your complexion,” Hermione complemented in between her uncontrollable laughter.

Riddle turned around and leaned against the kitchen bench, waiting for his water to boil, and smirked at her. “Think I look handsome, Granger?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “In your dreams, Riddle—”

“More like nightmares,” he scoffed and picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his shoulder.

Hermione couldn’t help but scowl. He was so arrogant! “As if I would ever be interested in you, Riddle. And for something as superficial as your looks! Only an idiot would be so foolish as to not see straight through you,” she snapped and stood up.

“You are so sanctimonious for a Mudblood,” Riddle spat, looking down his nose at her. “One must wonder why. You are, after all, nothing spectacular.” He scrutinised her almost curiously, as though he really could not understand it at all.

Hermione quickly stood up—the bench she was sitting on harshly scraping against the floor—and walked to the entrance way. “Sod off, Riddle,” she snapped. “Good luck with the robes. Can’t wait to see the pink ones on you. The colour will look magnificent with your eyes,” she gloated before walking out.

XXX

1 March, 2000

Hermione rushed up the stairs, balancing a large piece of the chocolate cake that she had baked with Ginny for Ron’s birthday. It was sheer luck that Ron and Harry had coincidentally managed to be back at Grimmauld Place, and Hermione had spent the last few hours sipping too much elf wine from the Black cellars and joking around downstairs with Ron, Harry, Ginny, Lupin and Tonks.

She exhaled a sharp breath as she finally made it to her floor and quickly made her way down the hall, carefully balancing the cake. She looked up just and immediately noticed Riddle, who was exiting his own room.

They both looked at each other rather neutrally—for a change—and she watched as his attention subtly lingered on the large slice of chocolate cake before he began to walk towards her. Hermione looked at her cake and then rolled her eyes, wondering what on earth she was doing.

“Do you want some?” she finally asked.

Riddle stopped just short of her and simply raised an eyebrow as though he was asking her to go into more detail.

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. “The cake. Would you like a piece of cake?”

Riddle eyed the cake again and then looked back at Hermione. “Why would I want any of that?”

Hermione scoffed. “I just saw you eyeing it!”

“Yes, only because it looks rather dry,” he replied and crossed his arms.

“Oh, honestly, what do you know about chocolate cake? And it’s not dry!”

“Whatever,” he shrugged and went to walk off.

Hermione sat the cake down on one of the many side tables. “Well, if you want it, I’ll leave it here.” Then you can truly judge it, you rude git.

With that, she continued down the hall, only turning around and looking when she got to her bedroom door. She rolled her eyes when she realised that the chocolate cake was now gone, as was Riddle.

XXX

29 August, 2000

“No, Ron, hold the wand like this; it will put much more power behind it,” Hermione lectured as they stood in the sitting room.

Ron groaned. “Hermione, I’m tired and we’ve already gone over this a million times before. It works just fine for me. Stop nagging.”

“Ronald! I am not nagging! I only want the best for you. You’d be casting properly if you hadn’t lost your wand in that duel. That’s why we need to practice,” she lectured, ignoring the imploring look Ron sent to Harry who just sunk farther into his lounge chair, effectively hiding behind the Quidditch magazine in front of him.

“It was a bloody stroke of luck that Dolohov disarmed me, and you know it,” Ron replied sulkily.

Hermione huffed and rubbed her temple in exasperation. “Sometimes, it’s important to start with the basics … especially now that you’ve got this wand,” she gestured at the rather sad looking wand Ron now held. “Where on earth did you manage to pilfer that thing from anyway?”

“Snatchers,” Ron snickered, and Harry took the chance to look up from his magazine and laugh along with Ron.

“Urgh,” Hermione tutted. “No wonder it’s so disagreeable. Now,” she began in her best bossy tone, facing him with her wand out, “disarm me.”

“Hermione!” Ron whined. “You’re taking the fun out of everything! I’m tired and hungry.”

Hermione scowled, feeling offended, and was about to reply, but they were all interrupted by a recognisable drawl at the doorway.

“Merlin’s pants, Weasley, can’t you just do what Granger wants?” Tom Riddle asked as he leaned against the doorway, casually inspecting his nails. “The whole house can hear her nagging. I daresay she risks waking Walburga up, again, and I don’t think I can handle getting cornered talking to her again.”

“How long has that bloody git been standing there for?” Ron asked incredulously, looking at Hermione and Harry.

Harry merely shrugged and went back to reading his magazine, deciding that it was best to ignore Riddle. Hermione pursed her lips, still insulted by Ron’s whinging, and looked at Riddle.

“Honestly, Weasley, one would think that you’d listen to her. Despite ...” and he sneered at Hermione, “her heritage, she’s a damn sight better than you are.”

Weasley flushed in anger. “You bloody—”

“Ron!” Hermione interrupted. “Don’t listen to him. You know he’s only trying to wind you up,” she pleaded, looking between the two of them.

Ron looked between Hermione and Riddle, and Hermione gave him a look that he’d only become too accustomed to over the years. He turned and sneered at Riddle before looking back at Hermione.

“Alright, Hermione, where were we?” Ron smiled kindly at her, as though he was making an apology for getting her in another altercation with Riddle.

“You were trying to disarm me, Ron,” she replied, feeling much better now that he was cooperating with her.

“Right … Expelliarmus!” he cried, and for the first time, there was no awkwardness in his casting with the new wand.

Hermione watched as her wand flew across the room, and she gave Ron a grin as she righted her feet from the power of the charm. “That was great. Let’s just go a couple of more times and then we’ll stop,” she said as she went and picked up her wand.

Ron agreed, and as Hermione went back to her spot, she chanced a glance at the doorway and Riddle was still standing there, watching her intently. Hermione felt a slight flush creep into her cheeks at the scrutiny and quickly looked away. When she looked back, he was already gone.

XXX

9 September, 2000

Hermione sat dejectedly at the Grimmauld dining table. Harry and Ron had left again—for goodness knows how long—on special Order business. Harry had asked Hermione if she would stay and continue researching how to destroy the Horcruxes they had managed to collect so far. She tried not to feel left out, as she knew she was doing a job that was extremely important; it was just that it was lonely and boring without her two best friends.

She tried concentrating on the book she currently had in front of her, but it was rather futile and her mind kept wandering to what Harry and Ron could possibly be up to and whether they were safe. Letting out a rather frustrated sigh, she looked up as Riddle walked into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked as he poked around in the pantry.

“Nothing,” Hermione muttered.

“Lost without the dim-witted duo?”

Hermione choked on her tea. “Excuse me?” she spluttered.

Riddle couldn’t hide his smirk as he pulled out a box of plain crackers and then cheese from the Ice Box. “You heard.”

“You know, if you’re trying to start a fight, I’m really not in the mood,” she replied evenly.

Riddle cut a rather greedy amount of cheese, lumped it on a cracker and began chewing thoughtfully. “Well,” he began, between chews, “it’s true.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, deciding that silence was the best policy. After a couple of silent, surprisingly non-awkward, minutes, Riddle spoke up again.

“I saw those notes you had on creating healing spells in place of their respective potions,” he started.

Hermione looked up, feeling a jolt of worry knot somewhere in her stomach. “How did you get your hands on those?”

“You left them out in the sitting room,” he replied.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” Riddle replied, with a smug smirk. “Now, about creating a rune for the Strengthening Solution … quite ambitious, don’t you think?”

“I’m quietly confident,” she replied.

“Yes, and your idea of carving the rune you create into the wand is ludicrous.”

“What in Godric’s name are you talking about?”

“There has been research suggesting that carving runes into your wand may restrict the spells you cast from it,” he replied in that all-knowing, arrogant tone.

Hermione clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Bershawk stated, after his research conducted in the first wizarding war in the 1970’s,” she faltered at this, “that it only really restricts the Unforgivables.”

“You’re in a war, Hermione,” he replied in a patronising tone. “Unforgivables are used by your side, too—believe it or not.”

Whatever retort Hermione had died in her throat. He unfortunately had a point. “Well, it’s all preliminary anyway. I’m sure I can work out all the kinks with time.”

“Do you even have time? It would be much easier to just tattoo the rune on their skin,” he replied.

Hermione was thoughtful for a moment. “My formula would need some adjustments—”

“Not many. You’d just have to probably adjust the release of the potency. It’s a bit different if it’s permanently on the skin, isn’t it?”

“Of course. This is all hypothetical though,” Hermione replied thoughtfully, distracted now at the myriad of ideas that were running through her head.

“Of course,” Riddle smirked at her.

Two hours later, Hermione finally retired to her room after a rather long discussion with Riddle, which began with Runes and ended with the latest Arithmancy book. She suddenly realised she hadn’t fought with him once nor had she worried about Harry and Ron.

XXX

16 October, 2000

“I never knew you read Muggle books,” Hermione said as she walked into the sitting room early one Friday afternoon and saw Riddle with one of her Muggle fiction books.

Riddle looked up from the book and sighed. “It’s absolutely tedious. I’m not allowed to read any magical books; part of the agreement with Potter and Lupin.”

Hermione made a noise of surprise. She knew Riddle wasn’t allowed in the library—and she could understand that. But to ban magical books completely? Hermione was surprised that she felt a pang of sympathy for him. She supposed it was because he had a larger thirst for knowledge than even she did.

“Can I do something for you?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Hermione flushed, realising that she had been standing there staring at him the entire time she was thinking. She really didn’t want to question what exactly she was doing when she sat down on the couch across from him.

“I was read this fascinating article on Conjuration yesterday. They’re apparently getting close to being able to conjure food, permanently. Apparently, Astley Kershaw has been working on it at Oxford. There’s a rumour that if she’s successful, the Ministry will pass legislation—regulated to the hilt, of course,” she prattled off, watching as Riddle quickly set the book down and looked at her in a way she didn’t really understand.

Merlin, life was much simpler when she only felt sorry for house-elves.

XXX

25 December 2000

Hermione laughed as one of the twins turned Ron’s nose Rudolph red. It was Christmas day, and she had spent it eating and drinking more than what she thought was humanly possible.

“Change it back, you bloody gits!” Ron growled, and the rest of the dinner table erupted in laughter.

“Ah, ickle Ronniekins!” both Fred and George laughed but didn’t change it back.

The table continued ribbing Ron, who grew redder with irritation as the night wore on. Hermione decided she’d had enough of the festivities and got up and stretched. Several Weasleys protested at her calling it an early night, but Hermione ignored their pleas, gave everyone a hug and headed up the stairs, looking forward to collapsing in bed.

Just as she was walking past one of the old studies, she noted that the fire was going and all of the candles were lit. Out of curiosity she looked in to see Riddle stretched out over a chair, Muggle book in hand, looking completely bored. He immediately looked up as Hermione looked in, and she gave him an awkward grimace and took a tentative step inside the room.

“Can I help you, Granger?”

“Merry Christmas …” she began, feeling as though she was imposing, and desperately wished that she’d kept on walking. “There’s still a lot of food downstairs.”

“There are also a lot of people downstairs,” he replied easily.

“Who cares? I mean, it’s just, I haven’t seen you eat all day and—”

“Looking out for me now, Granger?”

Hermione scowled. Whenever she tried to be pleasant and neutral, he would always retort with some snarky remark, making her feel like she was being a child. She was only saying something because no one should spend Christmas alone—not even evil Heirs of Slytherin.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied and looked down awkwardly. “Enjoying the book?” she then asked, looking up to find a slightly amused expression.

“What do you think? It’s about as enjoyable as having to listen to a household full of Weasleys. But at least it’s something. Surely you understand that.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” she quickly replied in defence. “It’s been quite fun actually, not that you’d know what fun is, anyway.”

Riddle cocked an eyebrow, placing his book on the floor beside him. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m sure there are some things we’d both agree on that are very fun,” he replied, a secret, rare grin appearing.

“Books, of course,” she said matter-of-factly. “I suppose I can give you that, Riddle.”

“Yes … books. Of course,” he muttered, holding in a chuckle.

Hermione looked around the room, feeling even more awkward than before, but unsure why. She felt compelled to somehow improve his Christmas. She wasn’t sure why, and she didn’t want to care or question it for that matter, but she did. Suddenly, she thought of something, and it struck her so obviously that a large grin spread across her face.

“Oh, a Christmas present,” she said, a hint of excitement hitching her voice.

“Christmas present?”

“Yes, and it can be like a joint birthday present, too.”

“How do you—”

“Harry.”

Riddle scowled, “I really don’t appreciate my birthday, of all things, being broadcast to the Order.”

“Harry only told Ron and I.”

“And how does Potter know?”

“Dumbledore,” Hermione finally answered awkwardly.

“I can’t believe that meddling, old loon. I suppose we can thank Snape for something,” Riddle muttered.

“Oh, hush,” Hermione chastised, though she was now quite used to his derogatory remarks of her old Professor. “It’s of no consequence anyway. Do you want your present or not?”

Riddle shrugged, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

Hermione waved her wand, and without warning, a tall tower of magazines suddenly appeared in front of him. Not even Riddle could hide the curious look that appeared at the sight.

“These are—” he began, but Hermione quickly cut him off.

“Old copies of Arithmancy Monthly. Yes, I know. There’s at least two years there.”

Riddle looked up and nodded, silently acknowledging it. Hermione gave a tight smile in return. She had really only just thought of it, but she knew there was nothing wrong with it ... in her opinion. She recalled all the content of those journals and knew there was nothing harmful in them—not that he had access to magic anyway. In her mind, it just seemed a bit too over the top to even stop him reading harmless magic journals.

“Granger—” he began but was quickly interrupted.

“Look, just keep them in your room, alright? If you get caught, it’s not my problem. You should hurry up and move them back before Professor Lupin or Harry catch you.”

“Fine,” Riddle nodded, with that same secret grin returning to his face that she had seen just before.

“Anyway, good night and merry Christmas … again.” Hermione quickly walked out of the room, not even giving Riddle a second glance. She ignored the heavy beating of her heart and purposely avoided thinking of the look on his face when she was finally in her warm bed, trying to fall asleep.

XXX

31 December 2000/ 1 January 2001

It was New Year’s Eve, and Hermione was retiring for the night. It hadn’t been a huge celebration like Christmas had been. A lot of the Order members had vacated, and Hermione’s mood was sombre because she knew Harry and Ron would be leaving the next day, leaving her alone again.

Harry had asked Hermione if she wanted to come along, but she’d refused since she was making excellent progress on converting the Strengthening Solution potion into a tattoo (Yes, she had taken Riddle’s advice!) for Order members and wanting to work on that instead. Besides, Harry and Ron were only going on a mission with Kingsley to try and liaise with a couple of Giant clans up in Scotland. The Giants had contacted the Order, offering their assistance against Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Harry had joked that because Hermione was so good with Grawp, she might be an asset with talking to the other giants as well.

She found herself walking past the study that Riddle had occupied on Christmas and saw that he was in there again, though this time he had one of the magazines she had given him as well as a decanter of what appeared to be alcohol sitting beside him. Hermione could barely hide her disapproval and quickly walked in, causing Riddle to suddenly look up from what he was reading.

“Riddle,” Hermione started in her bossiest tone, “what did I tell you about those magazines? Nobody is allowed to see you reading them! And where did you get that alcohol, hmm?”

“Hello to you, too, Granger,” Riddle replied with an eyebrow raised at her. “New Year’s celebrations over so soon?”

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly. “Enjoying the journals? I thought you would have read them all by now.”

“Well, I have to ration them, you know. I mean, Christmas is another year away; I don’t want to be stuck with only Muggle shit again too soon.”

Hermione gave him a disapproving glare. “It’s not all bad, you know,” she huffed.

“Are you serious? The only Muggle literature I could find in here—”

“—was actually mine, that you stole,” Hermione cut in.

“Borrowed … Get it right, Granger. I would only ever steal something useful. Plus, it’s not stealing if you leave the books all over the house, for anyone to pick up.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” she replied. “Happy Birthday, by the way.”

“Wow, could that be said with any more excitement? The red-headed weasel and Potter at least got a cake each.”

“Ron and Harry are my friends. You are not.”

“Ouch.” Riddle looked anything but offended.

“I did get you those magazines,” Hermione replied, crossing her arms.

Riddle merely shrugged and then held up the decanter. “Drink?”

Hermione bit her lip in thought. She had already had a bit of wine downstairs, though she wasn’t drunk. She had never really drunk whiskey before and wasn’t sure how she’d react. Perhaps, if she only stuck to one drink, it would be fine.

“Come on, Granger, make my birthday dreams come true,” Riddle said sarcastically, gesturing for her to sit on the two-seated lounge across from him.

Hermione huffed and sat down across from him. “Alright, but just one...”

Two hours later, Hermione put down her fourth (or was it her fifth?) glass of whiskey and glanced thoughtfully at Riddle. They were currently playing a question-and-answer game about Hogwarts, and it was Hermione’s turn.

“Okay, how many times have you read Hogwarts: A History?” she asked.

Tom rubbed his jaw, thinking. Hermione’s eyes followed Riddle’s long fingers as they ran along his sharp jawline, and a pleasant shiver went through her. Her cheeks flushed as she realised—quite drunkenly—that she was admiring him. This thought disturbed her immensely, and she quickly looked down at her hands, suddenly finding them very interesting.

“About ten times,” Riddle finally answered.

Hermione’s head snapped up from the inspection of her hands at the sound of his smooth voice.

Wait, when did his voice become smooth?

“Ten?”

“Yes.”

Hermione inelegantly snorted into her glass. “Is that all?”

Tom turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “I assume this is where you tell me—in a gloating manner, of course—that you’ve read it sixty times?”

“For your information, I’ve read it …” Hermione pressed a finger to her lips and then laughed. “Actually, I can’t answer that. But it’s a lot; and does that include cover to cover, or only reading certain sections?”

“You want to categorise?”

Hermione shrugged, “Not really. I mean, I don’t know the exact number, do I?”

Tom eyed her and then let out a sudden laugh. “So that’s what you got up to on a Saturday night, hmm?”

Hermione glared at him.

“I mean, you don’t seem like the party type, Granger.”

“Says he who sits in this study sulking all the time.”

“I don’t sulk.”

“Yes, you do, actually,” she said in that matter-of-fact tone that she was so well-known for.

Tom merely rolled his eyes and took another sip of his drink. She wasn’t sure what number drink he was on. She lost track of monitoring him after she became most enamoured with her third glass of alcohol, which was probably not a good thing on her part, now that she considered it.

A loud burst of raucous laughter floated up the stairs, breaking up the rather calm reverie of the study, and she blearily noticed how Riddle’s fingers tightened around his glass. Looking up at his face, she was surprised to see his jaw clenching as the noise became more boisterous. It appeared that whoever was still left downstairs was having a good time.

“Not enjoying the party atmosphere?” Hermione smirked.

“I don’t know how you even put up with them,” Riddle commented.

“Worried about me, Riddle?” Hermione joked, though she couldn’t help the blush that appeared. Okay, after that ridiculous display, she was definitely not drinking anything else.

“Well, how do you put up with their idiocy? You’re far too intelligent, even though your heritage can’t be helped.”

Hermione immediately sobered at the comment and stood up. “What, you mean a Mudblood?” she snapped. “Well, for your information, I’m proud of being a Mudblood. I’m proud that I’m more intelligent than most of the pure-bloods I’ve ever met,” she sneered as she stood over him, “and I don’t really need nor do I care for your archaic opinions, Riddle!” she spat.

With that, Hermione went to storm off, but before she could get near the door, she felt Riddle wrap his hand around her wrist and sharply pull her backwards. She let out a yelp before finding herself against his chest. Her attempts to get her wand were proven fruitless when Riddle gripped both of her wrists in place.

“Let me go,” she demanded, trying to ignore the surprising warmth he emitted and the subtle, spicy cologne that she now realised was so him.

He loosened his grip on one of her hands, quickly reaching for the wand in her back pocket and throwing it across the room. Hermione grimaced as she heard and watched her wand clatter against one of the many shelves.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured; as he examined her, one of his hands came to rest on the back of her neck, lightly playing with her hair.

She knew that, logically, he wouldn’t hurt her. His magic was far too restricted and the house was full of Order members. Still, she realised her error in thinking that because he didn’t have a wand or access to magic, that he wouldn’t try to stop her from leaving.

She was annoyed that he was trying to bring something out in the open that should have remained where it belonged: in the deep recesses of Hermione’s mind and in the occasional undercurrent of conversation.

“You misunderstand, Hermione,” he whispered, his eyes darkening, and the hand that was previously on her neck moved to grip her chin.

The air seemed to still around them, the silence in the room forming a thick blanket which encased the both of them. Hermione felt her throat constrict and her heart speed up. The urge to be irresponsible crept up on her, and she knew where this was headed—where it had been heading for some time.

He leaned down and kissed her; it was nothing more than a light brush of their lips, before pulling away again. He then leaned in for a second time, and Hermione closed her eyes, as he pressed his lips much more firmly, and she let out a shuddering breath as his arms wound around her, pulling her tightly against him. The third time he kissed her, Hermione finally responded, and he let out what sounded like an approving sigh as she pulled her hands from his grip and cupped his face, moving her fingers to his hair, while his hands roamed up and down her back.

Hermione was never one for clichés, though she felt this kiss all the way to her toes and back again. An emotion that felt too much like relief coursed through her, causing her to quietly moan and move her hands down to his chest, where she gripped onto the jumper he was wearing. At this, Riddle pulled her even closer—if possible—and worked his hands into her hair, massaging her scalp gently.

When they finally ended the kiss, he didn’t loosen his grip, so Hermione found herself breathless, staring at his chest. Tom finally went to remove his hand from her hair, but it was so tangled that Hermione winced when he accidentally pulled too hard on it.

“Your hair won’t let go of me, Hermione,” he teased when he finally broke free.

Hermione glared up at him and took a step away from him. “Prat.”

Riddle merely smirked, pulled her back against him and kissed her again.

XXX

6 January 2001

“What do you think Riddle wants, Harry?” Ron asked.

Hermione felt herself stiffen—like she always did—whenever Riddle was brought up in conversations. One would probably call the reaction guilt. Guilt that she left the morning after their kiss without even talking to him and guilt that she had kissed him in the first place.

“I don’t know, Ron,” Harry replied, as both boys and Kingsley Shacklebolt settled around a small camp oven in the magic tent they were using on their journey to the Giant colonies.

“I bet he’s up to something,” Ron muttered. “Stupid, big git.”

“Trust me, when I say he’s isn’t … not with us anyway,” Harry replied matter-of-factly.

“But how do you know? What if he’s just tricked you?”

“He’s not, Ron. I can’t go into specifics, but he’s not.”

“Trust Harry on this, Ron,” Kingsley said, giving Harry a supportive nod.

“I do,” Ron replied. “But Riddle’s fooled so many people.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ron. Once this is all over, we won’t have to worry about him,” Harry replied.

“Off to Azkaban then?” Ron asked.

Hermione looked up from her the book she was only half paying attention to. “Harry, you said you would take his help into consideration,” she said, her tone full of disapproval.

“Who cares, Hermione?” Ron asked.

Hermione didn’t respond; she didn’t want to look like she was acting as if she cared. Because really, she didn’t.

XXX

12 March 2001

They had finally returned to Grimmauld Place after a successful meeting with the Giants and stop-overs at two of the other safe houses on the way back. She was sitting at the table with Lupin, Harry and Ron as they updated him with information when Riddle walked in. Taking in Riddle’s expression, Hermione was relieved that looks couldn’t kill.

Hermione had never felt more awkward in her life. She suddenly felt as though the whole room knew about what had happened between the two of them, even though, in reality, she knew that they probably only looked at one another for a couple of seconds. Still, she only needed a couple of seconds to take in his features, and while his face remained passive, his eyes told a completely different story. Hermione felt her cheeks heat up and looked down at her hands as she heard him move about the kitchen, making something to eat. Harry and Ron didn’t seem to take any notice of Riddle—or just didn’t care enough—to make a point of his presence.

Annoyed that he looked better than what she remembered, it was all Hermione could do to stop herself from looking at him. When he finally left the kitchen, she felt as though she could actually breathe again.

Why, oh why, did she have to come back to Grimmauld Place?

XXX

2 April 2001

She had managed to avoid him for a week, or he was avoiding her. Either way, Hermione was confused about how the whole thing turned out. There was no explosive confrontation or even a peep out of him. It was as though it had never happened. And this bothered her more than she cared to think.

She figured that he must have been avoiding her. It was the only way. Grimmauld Place was not that big and for that, she wasn’t sure if she was pleased or angry. On one hand, it was best that they never spoke about or re-enacted what had happened on his birthday. On the other hand, Hermione was slightly insulted that she didn’t seem to matter enough to him to cause an argument about her quick departure. They had always argued about things, yet this—“the kiss”—wasn’t good enough?

She stood at the kitchen counter, making a cup of hot chocolate, lost in her thoughts when she felt it; someone was standing behind her. She never realised until now that she would recognise him anywhere … Hermione stilled her actions and simply waited.

Tom Riddle stepped up behind her until he was almost flush against her back. Hermione shivered and placed both her hands on the counter for support.

“Did you think I had forgotten?” he murmured as his long fingers brushed aside her hair, leaving her neck bare.

Hermione swallowed thickly and bit down on her bottom lip. “No,” she replied.

She could almost feel him smirking behind her as he wrapped one of his arms around her waist, pulling her completely against him, while the other hand stroked her neck. Leaning down and pressing a kiss to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, he breathed in.

“Good,” he muttered.

XXX

30 April 2001

“Muffliato!” Harry waved his wand.

“You’ve already warded and silenced the room to the hilt. What’s going on Harry?” Hermione asked, slightly perplexed, as they sat across from one another in what used to be Sirius Black’s bedroom.

“It’s Riddle,” Harry began.

Hermione immediately sat up straighter, a small frisson of worry developing in the pit of her stomach. Did Harry know? She tried to keep her face passive as Harry continued.

“He was a Horcrux,” he said.

“But you said, about the doubling— And what do you mean ‘was’?” Hermione’s thoughts were all over the place.

“Yeah, well, he managed to separate himself—get rid of it, somehow… Don’t ask me how, I wouldn’t be able to tell you, anyway. Both Riddles know that we are aware of the Horcruxes. That’s why Voldemort went and moved them all; that’s why it’s taking so long for us to track them down.”

“So that means …”

“Riddle suggested that he knew his “other” self would lose, eventually. Due to some information he pieced together himself. Hence, he created, what is essentially his own insurance.”

“So he’s his own person then?”

“No, Hermione, he’s still Voldemort; don’t ever forget that. Even though their souls aren’t linked anymore, he is still an exact copy of Tom Riddle—same memories and everything. He just saw an opportunity and switched sides.”

Hermione stared at Harry. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I just … I didn’t really want to talk about it straight away. You know we’re getting close. I’m going to meet Voldemort soon … and if I don’t come out alive—”

“Don’t speak like that, Harry!”

“It’s a possibility! Anyway, someone else needs to know the whole backstory. Someone who will understand the gravity of the situation. I feel like people think of him in the way that he can develop his own personality. Do you know what I mean? He can’t. It is him. He just chose what he thinks will be the winning side.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “So, even if you defeat him, he’ll still be out there, won’t he?”

XXX

15 May 2001

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he stated when he caught her leaving her room late one evening.

Hermione silently cursed. She had been avoiding him ever since her conversation with Harry. Hermione had realised how stupid their situation was. No one would ever forgive her if she continued this … thing with Tom Riddle.

“No, I haven’t; I’ve just been working really hard,” she replied. “Anyway, we’ve had plenty of conversations,” she reasoned. Yes, there had been conversations … but none of the kissing.

Tom stared at her with an eyebrow raised. “We both know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Hermione didn’t reply at first. She felt a blush creeping up on her cheeks from his scrutiny. She just couldn’t reconcile who he was compared to the experiences she’d had with him. None of it made sense. The idea of them being anything was ridiculous.

“I don’t think this—whatever it is—is such a good idea,” she replied quietly.

“Is that so?”

Hermione felt a shiver at his tone. She had never heard him use that voice—around her, anyway.

“I—I think it would be for the best,” she replied, trying her best to sound resolute.

Before she could even react, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her into her room, slamming the door shut. Hermione pulled away quickly, drawing her wand at lightning speed. Riddle eyed her wand and sneered.

“Calm yourself, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, taking a step towards her.

“You sure have a funny way of showing it.”

Riddle rolled his eyes at her, which caused Hermione to bristle more.

“Get out of my room, Riddle, now.”

Riddle stood there and folded his arms across his chest, a defiant smirk on his face. “No.”

“I’ll curse you,” she replied.

He eyed her wand for a second, before looking at her again. “I just want to know why you’re trying to avoid me.”

“I’m not.”

Tom took another step towards her, and Hermione pressed her wand into his chest. Riddle looked down at the wand again and smirked.

“Go on, what exactly are you going to do?” he hissed.

She twisted the wand into his chest and noted how he didn’t wince at all. He was still smirking at her! He didn’t expect her to do anything at all. The thought caused irrational anger to swell in her, and the air seemed to still around them. Hermione could feel her magic buzzing around her, begging to be released. But she knew deep down that she didn’t want to curse him, not really. Not this time, anyway. She looked into his eyes, and something tugged on her stomach as she took in his expression. He brought one of his hands up to her wand and pushed it to the side.

Before she could say anything, he completely closed the gap between the two of them and smashed his lips to hers, winding his arms around her as Hermione moaned into his mouth. Weeks of sexual tension and avoidance were forgotten as they sucked, licked and pulled against one another. After several minutes, Hermione managed to end the kiss and stared up at Tom, breathing heavily, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

She felt him move his hands down until he was able to lift her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Kissing her as he moved, she squeaked as he suddenly pulled back and dropped her onto the bed, moving over her. He studied her intently. Hermione brought her hands up to his arms, before running them down his back, pulling him against her. She wasn’t even sure what this all meant, but she was tired of thinking. She spent all of her time thinking, whether it was for the Order, or for Harry, or herself and her feelings. All she knew was that she was incredibly confused at that very moment in time.

She relaxed and stared back up at him, running her fingers lightly across his lower back. Just the thought of what she really wanted made her feel light. She wasn’t sure if she dared though. As she warred with her internal battle, she felt Tom run his fingers down her cheek, and he bent down and began kissing her neck.

“I’m not sure if we should be doing this,” she said, trying to ignore how good he felt above her. “What do you really want?”

Tom pulled back and looked at her almost thoughtfully. “The question should be: What do you really want, Hermione?”

Hermione didn’t reply. Saying the words out loud was something she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for. Besides, wasn’t it obvious? For what seemed longer than what it probably was they both just lay there, Hermione remaining silent and Riddle staring at her as if he was trying to read her. If she hadn’t known that his magic was suppressed, she would’ve been worried that he was currently trying to perform some form of Legilimency on her. Suddenly, she realised he was moving off of her.

“Wait, what are you doing?” she asked.

Tom stood above her. “I just realised I have things to do.”

Hermione felt a wave of frustration build inside her. “What? What are you talking about? How can you, when we—”

Tom was in her face before she had a chance to finish. “I don’t do things by halves, Granger; therefore, I’m leaving.”

Unbelievable! How dare he do that to her?! All because she wouldn’t declare that she outright wanted him. Hermione huffed and looked away from him, crossing her arms.

“Fine. Leave then,” she muttered sulkily.

Before turning and leaving, Tom smirked at her, which she found absolutely infuriating. Hermione watched him walk out the door before throwing a pillow over her head to muffle her yell.

XXX

17 May 2001

“Avoiding me … again? My, my, Granger, you are becoming rather predictable.”

“I am not avoiding you. Unlike you, when I say I have ‘things to do’, I actually mean it. And wait just a minute; I thought you weren’t allowed in the library.”

“Well, I’m not. Technically not, unless you or the werewolf are here.”

“Why?”

“Apparently, I can’t be ‘trusted’ to access the library by myself. Either that, or Lupin just couldn’t be bothered sorting through the books he so obviously didn’t want me to access.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I already know all of this, Riddle. Why are you suddenly allowed in here now, with supervision, and why wasn’t I immediately informed?”

“Oh. Really, you should have just said so—”

“Riddle,” she growled in exasperation.

“Apparently, that Nymphadora Tonks has gone missing, and—”

“What?! Why didn’t you say something?!”

“I just did. Wait, where on earth are you off to? I just got access—”

But Hermione was already out the door, off to Remus, before he could finish the sentence. She never heard Riddle’s grumble as the wards immediately shifted and he was forcibly removed out of the library as soon as she left.

XXX

18 May 2001

Hermione was intently studying the Black’s property records—it was believed that Tonks and some other Order members were possibly being held somewhere inherited by Bellatrix or Narcissa—when she felt a hand starting to creep up her thigh. She quickly brushed it away, without even turning her attention away from the book. Not to be deterred, the hand soon returned its journey under her skirt and up her bare thigh.

“Stop it. Professor Lupin could be back at any moment,” she hissed, batting his hand away again.

“But you’re wearing a skirt for a change instead of those Muggle jeans.”

Hermione blushed. “Get back to reading about those wards. If anything goes wrong with rescuing Tonks and the others, you know what will happen,” she ordered bossily.

XXX

1 June 2001

“I can’t believe Professor Lupin allowed you to keep your library access.”

“Why not? I helped find his wife.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, but you still need one of us in here.”

“Yes.”

“Can you hurry up? I’m hungry.”

Tom looked up from the shelf he was browsing and raised an eyebrow. Hermione blushed at his

scrutiny. Riddle smirked and looked back at the shelf before his brow suddenly furrowed.

“What’s this?” he suddenly asked, looking extremely intrigued at whatever caught his eye on the bookshelf.

Hermione rubbed her stomach forlornly, though she walked over to stand beside him and inspected the shelf. “What?” she asked.

“This,” he murmured.

Before Hermione could think, she was twirled around and pushed up against the bookshelf.

“Yes, very interesting,” Riddle muttered as he looked down at her.

“You tricked me!” Hermione scowled, but she didn’t try to move away from him. Being in such close proximity again reignited the attraction she felt for him. The attraction she had been struggling with for the last few months.

“I’m a Slytherin,” he responded.

“You’re The Slytherin, you mean,” she said in an exasperated tone.

A small grin graced his lips, and he ran his fingers up and down her sides. “I see you’re wearing that skirt again …”

“What of it?” she asked.

“Well, it will certainly make things easier for me,” he smirked.

“That’s if I allow it.”

“Have you ever fantasised about fucking in a library, Hermione?”

Hermione’s breath hitched at his tone, immediate warmth spreading throughout her body at his words.

“Uhhh,” Hermione muttered as he pushed her more forcefully against the bookshelf, dropping kisses along her neck and shoulder.

“Because I’ve fantasised about fucking you in a library.”

Hermione sucked in a deep breath as she felt his hands move from her hips to cup and lightly squeeze her arse. So far, they actually hadn’t gone any further than kissing and touching in whatever it was they were involved in. She certainly wasn’t comfortable calling it a “relationship”.

“Really?” she finally asked.

Tom leaned back, facing her again. “Do you really expect an answer to that?”

“Well—”

Before she could finish, his lips crashed against hers; Hermione bit back a moan, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him in close.

“I think my intentions are quite clear,” he muttered in between kisses.

Hermione decided not to point out that the last time he had made his “intentions quite clear” he had left her frustrated and wanting on her bed. No, Riddle could become quite temperamental when she pointed out certain inaccuracies. So Hermione kissed him back, relishing the feel of his surprisingly firm body against hers, whilst his hands moved from her backside to under her skirt, lightly touching the back of her thighs before moving upwards.

“Anyone could walk in,” Hermione muttered.

Tom pulled back from her and gave her an incredulous look. “Are you a witch or not?”

Hermione huffed, pulling her wand from the waistband of her skirt and wordlessly shut and locked the door, adding a silencing spell in for good measure.

Tom briefly paused his ministrations, his eyes following the movements of her wand sharply.

When she finished, she looked down at her wand, wondering what she should do with it. She knew that Riddle couldn’t do anything with it, but it still didn’t stop the brief and small knot of worry forming at the idea of her wand not being on her person like it always was. Especially, considering what he obviously had on his mind.

However, she didn’t have to think about it for much longer. In a surprisingly gentle move, his hand gripped hers, gently pushing it aside so she could rest her wand on one of the many shelves behind her. She looked up to meet his gaze, and his eyes were trained on hers, causing her to flush under his scrutiny. When her wand reached the shelf, she gently placed it down and felt his fingers interlace with hers. He reached for her other hand and brought them both above her head. A quick glance upwards and a small smirk appeared on his face.

“Grip the shelf above you,” he directed as he removed his hands from hers.

At the look in his eyes, Hermione decided to comply. Gripping the shelf, her chest jutted out, causing him to break eye contact and slowly peruse her body, pausing when he reached her breasts again. He dragged both of his hands slowly up her body, pausing on the curve of her waist before moving up and lightly palming her breasts.

Hermione’s breath quickened as he leisurely massaged her breasts. She looked up from his roaming hands and shivered as she took in his expression. There was a hunger there that was darkness and lust rolled into one, and Hermione felt a sharp pull of excitement in her abdomen.

Suddenly, his hands moved back down, to the hem of her jumper, and he pulled it, along with the shirt she was wearing underneath, up and over her head and arms. With a soft thud, her clothes landed on the floor. A dark smirk appeared on his face at the sight of her in just a bra and skirt, hands gripping the shelf above her.

“I think I will allow you keep this delightful, little skirt on when I fuck you, Granger.”

“You certainly have quite a thing for my skirt, Riddle. Something you need to tell me?” Hermione replied breathily.

“Such insolence,” he replied in a mock-serious tone. “However should I punish you?”

“I’m sure you can think of something.”

With that, he swooped down and kissed her, his hands moving up her stomach to her bra, where he moved to unclasp it. Breaking their kiss and removing her bra, his eyes now roved across her bare breasts before leaning down to capture her in a kiss that left her breathless. Hermione couldn’t stop the moan escaping as he languidly explored her mouth, while his deft fingers travelled and explored her half-naked body. As his body pressed against hers, she realised—with great annoyance—that he was still fully clothed. Suddenly, her hands itched to move. She boldly brought her hands down, immediately feeling him stiffen at her movement.

As he pulled away from their kiss, Hermione almost cried out at the sudden loss of contact. She stopped herself at the last second though. Ignoring his almost incredulous look, she moved her hands down his neck, across his shoulders and down his arms before her hands moved to the hem of his jumper. She tugged on it, pulling it upwards. A small smirk quirked Riddle’s lips as he roughly pulled it over his head, taking his shirt with it.

Hermione felt a sharp tug at her chest. He was a devastating combination, with his broad and lean chest; and his ivory skin, so smooth and warm under her fingertips. No, he wasn’t built like a star Quidditch player, but in Hermione’s mind, he was perfectly proportioned. Before she could take another admiring glance, they were kissing again, and Hermione ran curious hands over his chest and shoulders.

“You are a very disobedient witch,” he muttered in between kisses.

Hermione gripped his shoulders, pulling them closer together and purposely pushing her breasts up against him, sighing with pleasure as she felt their bare skin touch. He exhaled a heavy breath and slipped a hand between them; she heard him unfasten his trousers and the light thudding noise they made as they hit the floor.

“Move your hands back up, Granger,” he ordered, his hands moving to her hips and gripping them tightly, as if to reaffirm.

Hermione did as she was told, her arousal reaching impossible heights as she was encased in the warmth of his body. His hands moved under her skirt and traced the line of her knickers. With both hands on her hips, his fingers tucked into the hem. She felt her knickers slide over her hips and fall to the floor. Riddle then grabbed her thighs and lifted her, forcing her legs to wrap around him.

The bookshelf supporting her dug into her back, and her hands felt the pressure of half-supporting her body. But that wasn’t what was distracting her most at the moment. The sublime feeling of Riddle’s hands gripping and supporting her against him surpassed any possible discomfort she might have been feeling at that moment.

He leaned into her and kissed her again. This time his kisses moved from her lips to her jaw and then down her neck, taking pause to tease and suck on a sensitive spot just below her ear lobe. Hermione gasped as one of his hands stopped gripping her to move in between them, stroke between her thighs and lightly graze over her, causing her breath to shudder suddenly as he pressed his thumb against her clit.

Her fingers slipped slightly, eventually falling down and wrapping tightly around his shoulders. She cried out as his grip became impossibly tight. She burrowed her head between the juncture at his neck and shoulder as she felt him move and dip one of his fingers into her. Hermione moaned as he thrust the finger in and out, before adding another, still using his thumb to move and press against her clit. His fingers curled inside her as he moved them in and out of her, preparing her. Hermione sighed as delightful shivers passed through her, and before she even knew what she was doing, she was rocking against him—meeting his thrusts. Moaning as his fingers continued to against her most receptive spot, she began to lose control of her movements, her body seeking release.

Just as she was on the edge of orgasm, he removed his fingers, causing her to cry out in frustration. She suddenly felt something else brush against her thigh and she moved her hips against him, seeking relief.

“What do you want, Hermione?”

Hermione swallowed thickly as desire course through her. “You,” she whispered in his ear, and he groaned. “I want you.”

Tom suddenly sought her lips. Before Hermione even knew what was happening, he was kissing her with a fierceness that made her breathless. Suddenly, without preamble, he thrust into her. Hermione let out a sharp cry as pleasure and pain mixed wonderfully together; her warmth encased him completely.

At that moment, it was as if they were two pieces of the same puzzle. She realised in her haze that she fit perfectly against him. Returning his kisses fiercely and strengthening her hold on his shoulders, Hermione rocked against him purposely; unconsciously vocal every time he hit that receptive spot inside her.

Both moving at a more fervent pace than they had control over, Hermione felt something that stirred inside of her and tingled all the way to the tips of her toes. Her concentration narrowed deliriously at that point; instinctively seeking one thing, she rocked and angled her hips just so. One of his hands moved in between them once again, rubbing against her clit, the evidence of her arousal easily allowing his fingers to glide against her. She broke their kiss and cried out, not caring that the back of her head hit the bookshelf she was currently supported against. He began placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder and collarbone before she felt his lips briefly caress her breasts.

Their fervent movements were overtaken by frantic desperation, and Hermione shuddered as she felt herself clench and pulse around him, causing her to still, as comforting warmth spread through her body. Riddle nuzzled her cheek, peppering kisses across her face before leaning against her. Their foreheads touching, he watched her intently as he sped up his movements, twisting his hips just so. His increased speed in movement prolonged Hermione’s orgasm, and she found herself watching him as if in a trance.

Riddle finally stilled, and with a muffled growl, he came undone inside her. Absentmindedly running her hands through his hair, she lazily breathed in his scent as he supported the both of them.

With neither seeming to be interested in relinquishing their grip on each other, Hermione slid down the bookcase as Riddle supported them both on their descent to the floor, surprising Hermione with the strength he still had.

Riddle pulled Hermione down, and among their forgotten clothes, she was overcome with a certain, lazy contentment she never expected. No, it wasn’t romantic; it was pure fucking. Hermione wasn’t going to try and pretend it was anything else. But she knew now that she was sure that this had been exactly the way she had always wanted it. There was only a small amount of guilt in the back of her mind as Riddle pulled her against him tightly, leaning down to kiss her, one of his hands already moving to touch her breasts again.

The guilt was even less when she realised that this was just the beginning of such activities.

XXX

31 October 2001

“You’re not leaving!”

“I am leaving and you can’t stop me! There’s a battle going on and Harry needs me!” Hermione yelled as she ripped her arm out of Riddle’s grasp.

The last thing Hermione saw before she Disapparated was Riddle’s furious face.

XXX

2 November 2001

“Riddle’s been taken in by the Ministry,” Harry explained to Hermione and Ron.

Hermione felt something in her chest twitch. “But I thought you said—”

“I’ve spoken to Kingsley about our agreement. But he says it’s for the Wizengamot to decide now.”

“What do you think will happen to him?” Ron asked curiously.

Harry shrugged. “He might get off on a technicality,” at that he gave Hermione a quick, significant look, “and they might take into account the information he gave up to help the Order … or he could end up in Azkaban.”

Hermione looked down at her hands.

XXX

17 November 2001

“He’s going to sit before the Wizengamot on the 22nd.”

Hermione looked up at Harry. “Of January?”

At Harry’s nod, she continued, “How did the Malfoys get seen before him?”

“They’d just use their money, wouldn’t they?” Ron piped up.

“They might set precedence for him,” Hermione muttered, “after what Mrs Malfoy did for you, Harry. Who’s his legal representation?”

“Not sure, but apparently, it’s being bankrolled by the Zabini family.”

“Are you serious? But the Zabinis fled back to Italy, didn’t they? So why …?”

Harry shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it’s a ruse for another family.”

“Malfoy? Nott? Could be any of ‘em, couldn’t it?” Ron commented.

Harry just nodded. Hermione sat farther back in her chair. She didn’t know if this train of thought excited or scared her.

XXX

2 January 2002

“You’ve been called as a witness, Hermione,” Harry announced as he sat down across from her at a café in Diagon Alley.

“What?”

“For Riddle,” he explained. “I have to as well, though I’m not surprised. I suppose they want to talk to you because you were in Grimmauld Place a lot.”

Hermione took a deep breath, “Harry, there’s something you need to know …”

XXX

22 January 2002

It was the first time she had seen him since she had left him to fight in the final battle. The room had gone silent as he entered, before breaking out into murmurs and whispering when he was finally seated.

“Quiet!” Kingsley Shacklebolt thundered across the room. Everyone immediately silenced, and the man sat up straighter and began reading out loud, “Disciplinary hearing of the twenty-second of January, 2002. Into alleged offences committed by,” and he looked directly at Riddle, “Tom Marvolo Riddle, resident of Azkaban prison. Submissions have been accepted from both the Defendant and the Ministry, by the Interrogators. Interrogators: Kingsley Malcolm Shacklebolt, Acting Minister for Magic; Gawain Neil Robards, Acting Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Percy Ignatius Weasley, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court scribe, Zacharias Huxley. Representative for the Defendant, Cassius Robert Warrington.”

Hermione observed Riddle as he whispered something into Warrington’s ear who simply nodded in return. Hermione remembered his defence representative vaguely as a Slytherin from Hogwarts, but she could not remember him ever showing up on any intelligence regarding the Death Eaters. Just what was Riddle playing at? First, there was the rumoured help from the Zabinis, and now, legal representation from someone who did not outright promote Death Eater ideals. Hermione was curious, to say the very least. She was distracted from her thoughts as Kingsley began speaking again.

“The charges against the defendant are as fol—”

“The defendant requests the Wizengamot to take into account the special circumstances,” Cassius Warrington smoothly interrupted Kingsley.

“Of course, Mr Warrington,” Robards replied. “But at the same time, one must acknowledge that this is Tom Marvolo Riddle, is it not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then sit down, Mr Warrington,” Robards snapped.

Hermione listened while Kingsley read out the charges: murder, assault (torture), theft, just to name a few. She realised that the Ministry wanted to try him as Lord Voldemort, which, technically, he was. Though at the same time, she knew that if his legal representation were any good, they could form doubt in the Wizengamot. All it would take was one vote. Hermione wasn’t sure what she thought of that. Again, what was Riddle’s plan?

XXX

“Can you please state your full name?”

“Harry James Potter.”

“Do you understand that you have been put under Veritaserum for the purpose of this particular hearing?”

“Yes.”

“Mr Potter, can you please state how you know Mr Riddle?”

There was a pause. “Er, are you serious?”

“Harry, just tell us how you came to deal with this, er, Mr Riddle,” Kingsley directed, a knowing look on his face.

“He came to the Order headquarters and sought protection from his, um, other self.”

Warrington suddenly stood. “Mr Potter, can you please go into more detail about these circumstances?”

“He came with fifteen Order members.”

“That he rescued?”

“… Yes.”

“And what was the agreement made between the two of you?”

“That he would share strategic intelligence regarding Death Eater locations and activities.”

“Does this sound like something that Lord Voldemort would do?”

“Er… no, I guess not.”

“Thank you, Mr Potter.”

The questioning continued, but Hermione’s mind was spinning. She suddenly knew that she had a good idea what Riddle was trying to do.

XXX

She stood out in the hall waiting to go back in. A break had been granted after Harry’s rather lengthy questioning from both the Wizengamot and Warrington. She knew that Riddle’s defence was trying to now play him off as a separate being from Lord Voldemort, and so far, Warrington was doing an excellent job of it. She looked up when Harry finally joined her in the hall.

“Are you okay, Harry?”

“I’m fine. Where’s Ron?”

“Do you really need to ask? He was hungry,” Hermione replied with a small grin.

Harry gave a sheepish grin in return before his expression became solemn. “Are you going to be okay? I mean, with the Veritaserum and all? I think we both know which direction Warrington is going to go with you.”

Hermione looked down and shrugged. “I don’t have a choice, do I? I hope the others don’t take it too terribly.”

“You let me handle Ron,” Harry replied knowingly. “You know that Ginny already knows anyway.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Harry.”

XXX

“Can you state your full name, please?”

“Hermione Jean Granger,” she answered, looking around the room.

“Do you understand that you have been put under Veritaserum for the purpose of this particular hearing?”

“Yes.” Hermione felt the push to tell the truth from the potion. It was odd, to say the least, especially because she had already reconciled to tell the truth, anyway.

Kingsley sat forward. “Miss Granger, can you please explain how you know Mr Riddle? In the same context as Harry, please.”

Hermione relaxed slightly at his familiar tone. She looked around the room until her eyes rested on Riddle who looked back at her with interest. It was the first time he had made eye contact with her since the trial started.

“He came to stay at Order Headquarters. I was there conducting research and working with Harry.”

“Did you have much contact with Mr Riddle?” Robards asked.

“Yes, I did. We were living in the same house after all.”

“Did you ever fight with Mr Riddle?”

“Yes.”

“What did you fight about?”

Hermione looked around. Everyone seemed to be staring intently at her. She looked to Riddle and his expression was blank. She noticed Warrington had a small smirk on his face.

“Many things. We didn’t really get along, at first.”

“Can you be more specific, Miss Granger?”

“Er … academic based things, I suppose. And because I am a Muggle-born …” she said, the last part coming out awkwardly and quiet.

“So you believe that Mr Riddle caused trouble with you because you are a Muggle-born?”

“Yes, in the beginning, that is.”

“In the beginning? What does that mean?”

“Well, after a while, if we had a disagreement, he didn’t bring up that I was a Muggle-born anymore.”

Kingsley nodded and seemed to be noting several things on his parchment. During this, Warrington stood and Hermione sucked in a deep breath. “May I?” he asked the Wizengamot, and they nodded in return.

“Miss Granger, did Mr Riddle always cooperate when the Order asked him to supply or assist with intelligence?”

“To the best of my knowledge, yes.”

“And were any Order members placed in, what could appear to be, unnecessary danger from his advice?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

“Miss Granger, can you describe your relationship with Mr Riddle?”

Hermione bit down on her bottom lip. They had never really discussed any of that, and Hermione hadn’t interacted with him for a couple of months now. How could she articulate this?

“We lived together in the same house. We spent a lot of time discussing and debating

academic based theories and topics. To be honest, it’s not something I’ve exactly thought to define.”

“You never thought to define your relationship with Mr Riddle?”

Uh oh. Why did she have a bad feeling he was going to twist this around? She hadn’t! She hadn’t sat down and thought about their relationship status because she knew he wasn’t that sort of person! Not to mention that they were in the middle of a war. She wasn’t going to sit around thinking about boyfriends and girlfriends and other stupid things.

“No, it didn’t cross my mind to do so.”

“Is it true though, that you became intimately involved with Mr Riddle?”

The entire room erupted in chaos. Hermione cringed as she was sure she heard Ron shout a jumble of obscenities at Warrington. Wizengamot members, and observers alike, spoke between themselves at what they believed was such an incredulous question.

“Silence!” Kingsley boomed, causing the noise to slowly die down. “Mr Warrington, I hope you have a direction to ask such a question.”

“I do. Miss Granger?”

Hermione took a deep breath and straightened her posture. If she were about to admit that she had been involved with Riddle, she wasn’t going to slouch about it. Squaring her shoulders, she looked directly at Riddle who stared back as though he was challenging her.

“Yes,” she finally replied, not breaking her gaze from Riddle’s.

“You admit you were romantically involved with Riddle?” This time it was Robards.

“If that’s what you want to call it, yes.”

This time the entire room really did erupt in chaos. All the shouts, questions and comments seemed to roll together until it was just a wall of noise to her. She sat completely still, letting it sink in. It was strange that one of the first things she felt was a wave of relief. People knew. Perhaps not in the best way, but it was like a giant bandage had been pulled off her at once. She looked at Riddle, the only still body amidst the chaos, and he met her gaze, giving her an almost imperceptible nod in return.

XXX

23 January 2002

Hermione decided not to attend the day of Riddle’s questioning. Well, actually, Kingsley said that after what happened yesterday she should probably stay at home and avoid the press. She knew what was going to happen anyway, and for once in her life, her curiosity was not spiked to watch a bomb explode.

She knew their relationship would be discussed again, as would his assistance to the Order and his “reasonable” behaviour. He might not fool them all, but he would fool enough people into believing—despite the evidence to the contrary—that Riddle was a separate entity to the Lord Voldemort Harry defeated at Hogwarts. Warrington really had earned his money and done an exemplary job ensuring that.

Hermione really preferred not to dwell too much on it. He was Lord Voldemort, and she was sure he had something planned even if it appeared he was trying to “reintegrate” himself into society.

She looked up as an owl pecked at her window. An afternoon edition of the Daily Prophet? Whatever had happened today was worthy for them to print another edition. She only hoped Rita Skeeter remembered that Hermione had still held onto her little secret. If that awful woman even hinted in a column at her relationship with Riddle, then she would rue the day she ever crossed Hermione Granger (again).

She gave the owl a treat and sent it on its way before she flopped down on the couch and opened the paper. The headline flashed at her, and Hermione was immediately lost in her thoughts as she considered it and what it could possibly mean. She put the paper down, stood up and reached for her wand. Resetting her wards, she looked around her room. She was sure things were about to change, no matter what happened.

XXX

24 January 2002

It wasn’t a loud noise, but it woke her anyway. She didn’t feel afraid though, she knew it would have happened sooner or later. She yawned and pulled on a dressing gown. Walking out into her lounge room, she waved her wand to turn on a couple of lights and couldn’t help the small stammer in her chest when she saw him standing before her fireplace, inspecting the books on her mantle.

“You set your wards to let me in?” he asked, finally turning around to look at her.

“I knew you’d get in either way.” Hermione shrugged and went to put the kettle on.

Riddle smirked and followed her to the kitchen. “So you’ve heard, then? I didn’t see you there yesterday.”

“I wasn’t really allowed. It was enough of a circus the other day,” she explained, and he nodded. “So, conditions? They didn’t really detail it in the Prophet.”

“What I expected: My wand will be closely monitored for fifteen years; travel restricted for two years; and I have to report to the Ministry once a week for two years.”

Hermione looked at him. “But you’re still out.” At Riddle’s triumphant nod, she raised her eyebrows, “So, I’m sure that puts a damper on your dreams of becoming a Dark Lord … again.” She rolled her eyes, while making the tea.

“Hermione, I’m surprised. I thought Warrington made it clear. I’m not that man—”

At his tone, Hermione’s loud snort interrupted him. “Right.”

Riddle smirked. “Besides, we all know that politics allow you to get away with plenty of illegal things and still gain power,” he teased.

“Oh, Merlin forbid,” Hermione muttered, handing him a mug of tea.

“Some of your Muggle politicians are the perfect case study.”

“My Muggle politicians? Don’t lump me in with them.”

“I don’t.”

He looked at her seriously, and she knew what he was inferring, but she wasn’t going to make a big deal about it.

“You owe me an apology, by the way,” she said and sipped on her tea.

“Apology? For what?” He sounded somewhat incredulous.

“For using me for your image,” she replied, and she couldn’t really hide the angry tone in her voice even though she had been trying her hardest to play it cool. “And don’t lie to me, Riddle. ‘Why would Mr Riddle be Lord Voldemort when he became romantically involved with the most famous Muggle-born in the wizarding world?’,” Hermione quoted part of Warrington’s speech verbatim. “Please, do not treat me like an idiot. I’m really not amused.”

Riddle’s eyebrows raised. “You think—”

“Don’t try to deny it. I said not to treat me like an idiot,” she snapped at him. “You know what? I think it would be best if you left. You’ve got your freedom, and it’s probably best if we don’t continue this charade.” She gestured between the two of them.

Before Hermione could blink, Riddle had pushed her against the counter, causing her cup of tea to slip from her grasp, crashing and smashing on the floor.

“Do you think that I would even bother to be here if that were the case?” he snapped. “I don’t do things by halves, Granger,” he repeated the sentence that he had said all those months ago to her.

They stood there for a while, staring at one another, until Hermione felt tea beginning to seep into her bed socks.

“I need to clean up,” she muttered, glancing down at her soaked socks.

She felt his finger under her chin, and he gently coaxed her to look up and face him. He bent down and kissed her, before pulling out his wand and wordlessly cleaning up the mess as well as drying her feet. The smirk on his face as he rolled his wand in his fingertips caused her to roll her eyes and shake her head.

“I’m going back to bed. Coming?”

“Why, I thought you’d never ask.”

Fin.

XXX

Author note: thank you for reading :) Please note I will reply to all AFF reviews at tomioneconvention(dot)forumnotion(dot)com
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