Intro

The wind howled, and the rain hammered down against the tall glass windows of the Hospital Wing. It was dark. Shining brightly above was the moon, silvery tendrils that reached through the window falling softly on Hermione's sleeping form. Not a single sound could be heard throughout the room. Yet Hermione was restless even in her dreams, and I knew the reason. I was here. By the Dark Magic I had utilised, she wasn't even permitted to sleep without my permission. Not that she was yet aware of that, and I knew better than to reveal unnecessary information at the wrong time.

"Tom." She said. I came to the understanding that she was talking in her sleep. I inclined my head, paying closer attention so that I may hear her over the storm.

"...Someone... help me."

No one is going to save you. I thought. I've made sure of it.

Over the past three nights I had been slipping away from my Slytherin duties to stand sentinel in the shadows, keeping guard. I would wait and watch her for hours on end. She only had to be barely alive to break herself down. I was acting as her handler, guiding and managing the situation only enabling her to do what would be in my favour. Yet even this provoked a familar, disquieting feeling. An elusive and uncomfortable sensation began to emerge as I stared at her restless form. I couldn't quite register exactly how I felt. Beneath the weak moonlight streaming down through the window behind her she looked pale and small. Frightened. Even in sleep. Helpless.

How did I feel? Did I want to protect her? From herself?

Yes.

From me?

Should I need to?

I felt an instinctive urge to... erase her memory. I needed her compliant, and even with a broken mind she was just as determined as ever before to oppose me. The networking that this odd thought was branching into vanished however as she suddenly woke, crying alone in the darkness. The faded light of the moon was momentarily subdued by a cloud yet I could clearly see the shadow of her small hand wiping tears from her eyes. I didn't think much of it, it was all dramatics. She was the one who was still choosing to fight me, after all. Within her will was the key to end it. My job was to show her exactly where it was.

As if sensing danger, she stared fearfully into the shadows as if to decipher me from the dark. I smiled in response. She was miles behind me. I knew damn well that all of my hard work had paid off. She was mine. And she had now understood it, and it scared her enough to now want to destroy herself.

For too long she remained willfully binded in her own ignorance, denying my power and her rightful place beside me. She had resisted me for so long that my dark ritualistic act had been turned into psychological overkill. She was the one begging me to bleed her dry. She didn't need to be making it this hard. From within me I could sense that the Dark Magic I had commanded over her was overpowering her mind with a more dominant thought, the shadow of a memory in the form of someone tall and fathomless.

I woke suddenly, torn from my nightmare by the ferocity of the storm outside. The howling winds shook the windows, rain hammering down loudly against the School grounds.

Beside me someone had conjured a fire and a candle flickered disconcertedly beside me. Looking around, there was no one else in the Hospital Wing. It was the School holidays still, and no one wanted to remain behind while Tom exercised the full extent of his dominance. I stared into the flame, the dim light provided warmth and a brief moment of comfort. I was afraid. Where was Tom? As I scanned my surroundings, I froze. Was that a pair of dark eyes shining in the shadows over by the wall directly opposite me?

The darkness was impenetrable. Suffocating. Fear had me in a vice for months and its hold was steadily choking me to death.

I could feel something heavy weighted down against my chest. Something was around my neck. I reached up to wipe the excess tears from my right eye, and with my left touched the Time Turner.

I frowned. Beneath my Hospital gown, the gold glinted beneath the light of the moon, and I felt a sinking feeling. Tom himself would've placed it around my neck. Did he curse it? Was that possible?

Why didn't he take it? Had he nullified the power of it again?

I was too exhausted to find out.

I lifted the white linen bedsheets from my body, and placed my bare feet gingerly on the stone floor. Rain was now hammering down against the windows, the wind howling eerily in the distance. I walked carefully down the Hospital Wing, very much aware of the fact I was the only patient there.

Where was Tom? Where was Madam Pomfrey?

I continued walking on tender feet down to the great Hospital Wing doors. Pulling them open as quietly as I could manage, I slipped out into the dark hall.

Silence.

I stood frozen for a couple of seconds. The School was so empty, you could hear a pin drop. I stood there, listening intently. I didn't know what I was expecting. As I stood there, not knowing what I was even doing, I found myself beginning to walk down the halls, almost as if I was being pulled by an invisible line. I kept walking, feeling more tranquil as time progressed, without a care in the world. As I ventured deeper down into the School, I had a sudden thought spring to mind. Was I awake? Was I dreaming?

I didn't know.

I couldn't think about fear. I wouldn't allow myself to. I wandered down the School halls until I came across the Slytherin Common Room up ahead. I felt like a magnet binded by physics and being drawn toward an unknown situation.

"You actually came." Tom Riddle emerged, the dark eyes locking onto mine and swallowing me whole.

From the darkness he stepped toward me, taking hold of my wrist. He had been waiting for me. A set up.

"I don't know what to say." I said. And I wasn't lying, either.

"Of course you don't." Tom said lightly. "You're not controlling yourself right now. Come in. You must be cold. Sit next to the fire." He released me, stepping back to allow me entrance. I walked inside, aware of Tom following close behind me. I sat down beside the only roaring fire in the room. The stone was cold beneath my bare legs, yet the sensation was barely noticeable. The dull green glow in the Slytherin common room was just as faded as I felt. The heat of the fire warmed my icy skin, and I shivered.

"Do you feel sick?" Tom asked.

His eyes found mine again, and I couldn't tear myself away. He waited for a moment, sitting sentinel on a low sofa near me, and when I remained silent he continued to speak.

"How do you feel?" He pressed. His features were sharp, analytical. He had asked me a question, and I was obliged to answer.

"It's like.... being in a fever dream." I said to him quietly. I could feel the intensity of his eyes on my own. "Reality is... distorted."

"I know." Tom said with understanding. "It's a branch of rare Dark Magic that I'm using. Even I don't know how you feel right now, and I'm the one handling your life."

I'm the one handling your life.

I stared back into the flames flickering in the grate. If I touched them, would I still burn?

"Am I still like you?" I asked suddenly. The question suddenly came to the surface of my mind. I was surprised, and Tom's expression indicated similar.

"Are you still like me?" He repeated blankly. I watched his expression become closed off, guarded. "Elaborate" He said sharply. "In what way do you mean?"

"I can't gauge now how different I am to everyone else." I paused. I couldn't comprehend the emotion I was feeling, and as I turned to look at Tom he smiled down at me as if he understood.

"I love you just the way you are." He told me. It wasn't a clear answer, and yet his his tone sounded very sincere. "You don't need to concern yourself with the opinions of others. Your primary focus should always be me. After all, I'm the one who is keeping you alive." The look in his eyes was cold. "Now, go clean up. It's nearly time for breakfast."

Sure enough, it was almost 7:00am. Breakfast was in the Great Hall in half an hour.

"One more thing." I looked over to the low, dark green sofa to find Tom Riddle was staring at me. "You'll find clothes for yourself on my bed. Use the Prefects bathrooms on the fifth floor. Don't worry about the password for now. If you're any longer than ten minutes," He said in a low voice, "I'll come in and drag you out myself."

My mouth opened slightly in shock, but Tom raised his eyebrows. "Go. Now."

I hurried up the staircase without a backward glance. I could feel Tom's eyes on the back on my head, and as I walked quickly down the hall to his room I could almost hear his voice.

Don't be long. I'm waiting.

A faded rose coloured dress I'd never seen before and what looked like one of his own light grey cardigans had been displayed. I felt a flicker of something deep stirring within me and realised the dress was probably some sort of trophy from a different female victim. I held it up. It wasn't Muggle clothing, yet like most Wizarding clothing it almost could pass as such. Oh well. It would have to do. I didn't know where my beaded bag was. Thankfully a concealment charm was already in place hiding its contents, I didn't have to worry about that at least. I took both items with me walking quickly back down the hall and into the common room - only to find Tom had disappeared.

I didn't have time to go looking for him. I found the Prefects bathrooms with ease. For some reason, I was admitted through the door without needing to say a password.

That's not normal. What on Earth had Tom done?

I entered silently. Placing my clothes down on a bench, I peeled off the filmsy hospital gown, opting for a shower over a bath. I turned the faucet and hot water blasted out. Quickly yet throughly I began to clean every inch of myself, scrubbing away using a flannel and scented soap. I even had time to wash and condition my hair. I closed my eyes, releasing a breath I didn't even know I was holding. The water was comforting. It wasn't that I could really feel the same heightened levels of panic I normally did, but I felt more mechanical than before. I was operating like a machine. I turned, taking two timid steps out of the shower and looked up to find Tom Riddle standing there, eyes darkening a shade as they raked down my naked body.

"I haven't ran out of time yet." I frowned, devoid of a normal reaction. "I still have five minutes."

"You have." Tom answered, handing me a fresh towel. "Did I vow that I wouldn't come in before then?"

"Well, no. But... "

I reached out to grab the towel but to my surprise he stepped back, withholding it from me.

"I knew there would be something... " He said to himself, dark eyes widening as they stared at me. "You've got bleeding through your left arm."

I blinked. I honestly didn't think Tom was looking at my arm at a time like this. "Bleeding?" I repeated stupidly. There was no sign of blood anywhere. "Unless you can see something I can't?" I stood there, confused and dripping water. I felt a flare of fear uncoil inside me at just how ready I was to think that Tom's reality was more dependable than my own.

"Sometimes when potent Dark Magic is used, it can leave traces." He explained. His fingers reached out to touch my upper arm lightly and the disproportioned sensation I'd been feeling lately soared to dizzying heights. "...risidual effects which on occassion can bleed under your skin, causing what looks like bruising. Like this." Tom directed my attention to a stark colouration, an odd assortment of purple, yellow and black blooming beneath the crook of my arm.

"Oh." I couldn't find the words to express the sheer horror of seeing what looked like a large, mutating hematoma.

"I didn't even notice it." I touched it lightly and felt a sudden wave of nausea.

"Don't do that." Tom said sharply. "You wouldn't want the infection to worsen."

He tone was conversational and open but his eyes scanned the rest of my body with all the surgical grace of a doctor about to waltz into theatre. He handed me the towel. "Get dressed, and meet me in the Great Hall." He said. "Oh, and before I forget. Xavier retrieved your bag from the Forbidden Forest." He held out my beaded bag, which I gratefully accepted. I looked back at him, and he was still staring at me like he'd never seen a woman in real life before.

"You're not going to dress me too?" I snapped.

Tom paused, taking a few moments to realise I was still able to joke. "This isn't good, Hermione." He said seriously. "Your health is steadily declining. You could die."

And on that note, he walked out of the room briskly me standing there all alone.

Was he manipulating me again or was that the bitter truth?

I quickly dried myself off, and pulled my clothes on. The pale pink dress was comfortable. It fit perfectly, but it gave me the exposed feeling of being in a tiny nightgown, it was much too short. It disgusted me that Tom probably already knew that, but wouldn't have minded. I pulled the light grey cardigan over my head. It smelt like Tom, fragrant yet hinting at parchment and ink, from many nights poring over all forms of the Dark Arts. I quickly opened my beaded bag, plunging a hand into its depths. It didn't feel like anything had been moved, which was odd considering Tom was the last person in possession of it.

Tom doesn't consider me a threat at all anymore. I realised with a thrill of anxiety. He's broken me in.

I pulled on my favourite wooly Jack Russell terrier socks Mrs Weasley had knitted for me the Christmas Ron and I had gotten together. Something small that was a private comfort. Thankfully they were mostly hidden beneath my boots, I could only imagine how Tom would react if he saw them.

But what could I tell him? My memories assaulted me of their own accord, I couldn't recall anything if I focused on it specifically. Sometimes there was too much detail, othertimes there was near to nothing, like a reel played too quickly to understand. I left the room briskly, as if trying to escape the disquieting realisation of dereality.

As I walked through the School Halls, some of the Portraits made rude comments about what I was wearing. I didn't have the energy to respond. The only reason I knew I must've looked pitiful was when Peeves dove down to torment me and left quickly as if slandering me would affect his conscience.

That's a new low for me, I guess.

I entered the Great Hall, not seeing anyone at first. Above my head, thousands of candles were suspended. It wasn't night, yet the skies outside the tall windows were almost pitch black. The weather, like me, had taken a turn for the worst.

Tom was waiting at the head of the Staff table, as if sitting there was nothing out of the usual for a Slytherin Prefect. Food was already displayed in neat order. Pumpkin Juice, toast, jam and marmalade, pancakes, porridge, waffles, bacon, eggs and sausages. It was like breakfast at the Weasley home. It was hard to believe he actually consented to this much food.

Tom's eyes narrowed pointedly as I drew closer, no doubt judging how I looked. I took a seat directly opposite him, feeling even more discombobulated here at the Staff table than I would have been surrounded by the entirety of Slytherin House.

"Madam Pomfrey has suggested I compel you to eat something. However I'm hoping the use of force will not be necessary. Pick something. Anything." Tom said, as if conducting a science experiment.

Just by the way he said it, I didn't think Madam Pomfrey had used those words at all. I stared at Tom's plate, which had a balanced portion of everything, and was completely untouched. I made sure to be good and obedient and ended up selecting exactly what Tom had chosen, which is what I felt I should do.

"Good."

He approved. His dark eyes glittered beneath the glow of the candlelight above us.

"Aren't you going to eat something?" I asked.

Tom looked me directly in the eye. "No. You're my concern right now." I slowly began to eat, becoming faster as I realised how hungry I truly was. When I was finished eating and drinking, he stood. His plate was still empty, but now on the table was a flask embellished with the initials T.M.R. on the bottom left corner. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"Take this with you today." He slid it across to me, and to my surprise it was slightly hot.

"What is it?" I frowned. Holding it up to better see it, I opened the stopper and was horrified to see the liquid within was black.

"I'm still full from breakfast." I said quickly.

"It isn't a meal supplement." Tom snapped. "It's a restorative potion I created myself. Whenever you feel tired, I want you to drink it. Put it in your bag."

I stared at him, very much unable to speak.

"Let no one know what's inside it." He continued in a harsh tone. "If anyone asks, it's homemade Pumpkin Juice."

With that, he stood up proceeding to leave. "Let's go to the library. We've got a full day ahead of us, let's not waste it." He shot me a dirty look as if it was somehow my fault that his day could be inconvienced.

I followed obediently as he walked quickly through the stone halls of the School, staring back at him with wide, fearful eyes everytime he looked back to check on me. He was doing it often. I was first through the doorway of the library, Tom's hand fell on my waist. "Ladies first." His cold voice said in my ear and a shiver trickled down my back.

"What book are you looking for?" My voice was dry, worn out. There was no Librarian present, and as if relishing this fact Tom approached the Restricted Section. "If its anywhere," He said quietly to himself, "It would be here."

"You're not allowed in there." I said automatically. "You would be denied entry without written approval from a teacher."

"I don't require permission." Tom's remark was cutting. "I am the Librarian stepping in for Irma Pince, after all."

I was outraged. "But you're a Slytherin student." I demanded. "You're not a registered Librarian like Madam Pince."

"The difference between potential Head Boy and Prefect would be rising to occasions such as this. The more extracurricular tasks I take on, the better I look. My grades need no further work, they're perfect. In fact, I had to find a way to keep occupied, so this is what I've chosen to do. I do have an assistant who also aids me if I am absent."

Tom walked into the Restricted Section, and helped himself to a very large book bound in dark leather.

"Here. Be gentle with it, it's old."

I walked over and into my hands he carefully placed a book I had never seen before.

Secrets of Rare And Unknown Darke Arts: Malevolence To Clemency.

"That doesn't make sense." I stared at the shining silver cursive on the front of the book. Clemency?

"Mercy has next to nothing to do with the Dark Arts." I examined the book closely. It really looked as if to have been around since the 15th century.