Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Aftershocks

Tom woke early the next morning. Hermione was fast asleep, and he laid beside her for a while, his eyes tracing the scars on her arm and chest. It was Sunday and they were both free for the day. Hermione typically met with Dumbledore, but the old wizard was out of the country on some kind of Hogwarts business. Tom quietly got out of bed and donned his trousers. He hoped Hermione would sleep for a while yet so that he could process his thoughts about their conversation the previous night.

He entered the kitchen and began brewing coffee.

He'd had a plan last night, and while his plan hadn't gone exactly as he'd hoped, he had gained quite a bit of valuable information from his witch. He was still itching to learn everything she was hiding, but he was a patient man. Once he'd seen the look of pure terror in her eyes, Tom knew he would need to work harder to gain her trust. He would need to be vulnerable and gentle with her.

He'd learned that whatever torture Hermione had endured was at least partly, if not completely, his fault. That reality made Tom physically sick. He shoved that down to re-examine later. He had a plan to execute today and couldn't afford to be distracted.

He'd learned that she was, in all likelihood, not related to Albus Dumbledore. But then, where had the Phoenix come from?

He'd learned that whatever Tom had become in this ambiguous future timeline, he had likely achieved many of his goals. She feared him. Voldemort. More than anyone else in the world. Isn't that what he'd vowed to himself? That one day, every witch and wizard would fear his name.

Learning that little tidbit didn't feel as good as he thought it should. Not when the witch he cared about shrunk away from him as if she thought he would strangle her with his bare hands. So many times over the past few months, she had randomly become skittish and paranoid, as if she were waiting for him to turn and curse her. Now he partially understood why.

They were enemies.

Which explained her initial fear when they'd bumped into one another in Diagon Alley.

Suddenly, every interaction they'd ever had began to play over in Riddle's mind. He saw each conversation, each touch, each kiss, from Hermione's point of view. No wonder she'd fought against him so hard. No wonder she carried such guilt.

But he wanted to know more. Why did she feel guilty? What has become of him in the future? What had he done to make her feel so terrified? How would her being here affect the future?

It was maddening. Not knowing.

Still, he felt it was a step in the right direction. Now, she knew that he was aware of where she'd come from. Perhaps, with proper handling of these secrets, he could earn her trust and learn more.

Suddenly, a thought struck Tom.

Did Hermione know about his horcruxes?

It was unlikely. He hadn't told a soul about them, and he didn't plan to divulge the information to any of his followers. It was nearly impossible for her to know about them, but yet...

A plan began to formulate in Riddle's mind.

When the proper time came, he would test her.

An image bloomed in Riddle's mind, a vision of her arm, etched with the ghastly cuts that formed "Mudblood."

Tom was still conflicted about it.

"Fuck blood purity," he'd said, and his words had even shocked him.

He was saying and doing things he didn't understand.

He'd killed his basilisk. Was he turning his back on the ideology he'd held aloft for so many years? Was he turning his back on Slytherin, his ancestor, the idol he'd placed on a pedestal for the majority of his life?