It hadn't taken longer than a year for Tom to come to despise Minister of Magic Wilhelmina Taft. She was ineffectual and had no vision. It had taken him longer than he wanted to admit to figure out how she'd ever been selected in the first place - she had absolutely zero charisma, nothing to inspire one to believe in her words. Then he'd put two and two together on the lavish gifts and the legislation that she put forward. Taft was bought and paid for, nothing more than a convenient figure head.

While the Minister didn't have any charisma, it was no secret that everyone found her Senior Undersecretary to be incredibly charming, and always so willing to help out. Taft slowly had him take over more and more of the in person duties, much to the ire of her son, a greedy man who had thought he was being groomed as the next Minister.

Tom Riddle did not need to resort to bribes to accomplish the things that he wanted. Wizards in the Wizengamot were falling over themselves to work with him, recognizing him as the future of the wizarding world - a hard worker with a vision for a better world.

At first, it was easy to get Wilhelmina to sway to his way of thinking. She had almost zero policy ideas of her own to put forward, so she was eager to stamp her name on something that actually had a hope of passing, but required no effort on her part. Tom made his friends very happy, passing all sorts of laws into legislation to help maintain their wealth and influence, ensuring that the old pureblood guard would be running things for a long time coming.

But then, outside forces - namely Dumbledore and his ilk - grew considerably unhappy. They began working to regain the ear of the ever fickle Wilhelmina.

She wouldn't fire her Senior Undersecretary - Merlin knows that she wouldn't be able to function without him at that point - but Tom began to get considerable pushback from the witch. It was enough for him to lament how much he would be able to accomplish if Taft was completely out of the picture, and he were Minister in her place.

After all, Minister Riddle had a nice ring to it.

He ranted about it at every turn to Hermione. She had become a permanent fixture at his side, always providing excellent council to him. When his pureblood friends questioned him, Hermione was quick to remind him that they didn't have the potential that he did, and he should trust his own instincts rather than cowing to their wants and needs. He was the only who could know what was really important for the future. Already Avery had to be culled because he couldn't get the message that he was the one who would be leading them to glory.

She tried to placate him, slithering into his lap and pressing kisses up and down his neck, promising him that Wilhelmina's time was coming - she wouldn't be Minister for much longer. Tom was frustrated that she wouldn't give him more specifics.

But, Hermione wasn't immune to his charm either. He questioned her about the Minister's downfall during their most intimate times, knowing that her mind was turned to mush and her lips were looser. After an evening spent with his mouth between her thighs, he'd questioned her further. Boneless with pleasure and unable to keep her eyes open from satisfaction, Hermione had told him that Wilhelmina's death was just around the corner.

It was blinding clear, then, to Tom what he needed to do. The reason that Hermione had never told him any specifics about when Wilhelmina would be leaving must have been due to the fact that he hadn't made his mind up about it. She would meet her end at his hands, and no other.

As Minister Taft's Senior Undersecretary, Tom learned all sorts of details about the woman, including her incredibly deadly allergy to alihosty. And of her extreme sweet tooth.

What a shame, then, that some alihosty-flavored fudge should find its way onto her desk one evening when she was working late and everyone else had already gone home for the evening.

Tom found her the next morning, slouched over her desk with a purple tinged skin from the lack of oxygen. A half-eaten piece of fudge was still in her hand. He'd acted shocked enough, calling for someone to call the Healers in from St. Mungo's, looking ashen-faced and concerned when he ran back out of her office, getting the attention of everyone. She was pronounced dead not much longer.

Then, all he had to do was wait for the Wizengamot to select him as the next Minister of Magic. They wouldn't dare consider anyone else for the job, not when there was no one as effectual as Tom Riddle working in the Ministry. There was no one as charming, as well liked, that they would select to be the face of the Ministry. No other witch or wizard would be able to accomplish half as much as he would.

He would face a challenge, he was sure, from Wilhelmina's sniveling son Ignatius. Dumbledore might even sponsor him, but his clout as the Chief Warlock was waning rapidly. And Ignatius would never pass muster as Minister of Magic.

Especially not when it came out that it was he who had sent his mother the fudge that killed her.

br

As he had predicted, Tom Riddle was chosen as the next Minister of Magic. He felt even more triumphant when the final vote was tallied and he realized that Dumbledore hadn't been able to muster even a pathetic twenty percent of the Wizengamot to his side. It appeared that the tides were turning.

Hermione had looked...discontent with him once he revealed the happy news. He had expected her to be thrilled that he'd finally achieved what she had predicted he would all those years ago. But then, he realized that her fear must just be due to her uncertainty of her future.

He had never given her any reason to believe that he would abandon her in their three years together. If anything, he'd always delighted in watching her blossom and grow under his tutelage. Her magical talent, previously untapped, had been nurtured with him at her side, and he thought that she might even rival his own power. Really, she should be grateful to him...if he hadn't stumbled upon her, she would have withered away in a shabby, little tea room, selling fortunes to muggles.

Still, he knew that she must be concerned about her continued presence at his side. After all, the Minister of Magic was a high profile position, much more so than the Senior Undersecretary. Everyone would know who he was and who he was with. Did she worry that he would push her aside if he encountered any resistance to their relationship? Didn't she know how much he already fought for her against his followers? Didn't she know that she was a part of him now?

He bought her a new dress for his inauguration party. Tom Riddle couldn't have the woman on his arms looking anything less than perfect. Wrapped in green velvet and tall high heels, Hermione looked sensuous and wild, turning the heads of every man who'd come to congratulate him on his new position. She stood behind him dutifully while he gave his speech, supporting him. Tom knew that with his ambition and ruthlessness, and Hermione's gift of sight, he would be unstoppable.

"I know that I did not have the support of everyone in the Wizengamot, but I want to promise that I will work hard to advance legislation that will help all witches and wizards. My hope is that you will come to support the work that I want to accomplish," he said with a silver tongue from his spot at the dias, looking out on everyone assembled. He wouldn't bow to what the small minority wanted, but he fully expected that he get on board. "Further, I know that some of you think that I want to put restrictions on muggleborns, to rid them from our world."

At this point, he turned back and gave Hermione small smile. He knew that she was consistently concerned that he would give into the desires of his followers, to make sure that purebloods reigned supreme at the expense of everyone else. It was a theory that Dumbledore had floated as well.

"I ask you to consider the source of that misinformation. Who should you believe? A half-blood orphan who was unaware of the magical world until he was eleven or a man whose own father was sent to Azkaban for killing muggles?" Tom said with an even, cruel voice. Murmurs rippled out from the crowd, and he was pleased to see that his tactic had worked. Dumbledore was not nearly as untouchable as he imagined.

Tom turned to Hermione fully then at that point, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her forward, not worried about the nervous look on her face. She was just unused to being in front of such a large audience. "I don't want to get rid of muggleborns. On the contrary, I want to be sure that they are brought into our world, earlier. I want them to be aware of the magical world and to be helped with assimilation to our culture."

His lips quirked into a smirk. "My own...partner...nearly slipped through the cracks," he said giving Hermione an indulgent smile. She wasn't his equal, but he would call attention to her knowing that it would only serve to humanize him further in the eyes of the assembled. "If I hadn't found her, she would still be out in the muggle world, wandless and filled with magic she couldn't control properly."

There was no one who could accuse him of being prejudiced, not when he had Hermione at his side. She was even less than a muggleborn in many of their eyes, seeing as she only lived in the wizarding world for the past few years. "I hope that I will be able to convince you that this is the best thing for the magical world," he said with a false smile. "At the very least, you have my promise that I will work very hard to get you to see it my way."

Applause punctuated the end of his speech. Tom strode off of the platform, with Hermione still wrapped around his side like a snake. Once they were out of view, he gave her a lingering kiss on the lips, not the passionate tangle he would have taken had they been alone. He grabbed them each a floating champagne glass and clinked his glass against hers in celebration.

"I think that the Minister of Magic needs more suitable accommodations than a small one bedroom flat, don't you?" he asked. He had never moved out of his tiny flat the whole time he'd been with her, even though he had more than enough funds for it.

Hermione swallowed, looking at him oddly. "You told all of them that I was your partner," she said blushing. "Surely you will find people that are opposed to me."

Tom grinned at her, cupping her jaw fondly. "Don't worry, Hermione. I've already told them that they won't be able to take you away from me," he said smoothly. He needed her by his side, guiding him with her prophecies. "I'll never let you leave my side."

br

While he thoroughly enjoyed being the most powerful man in the wizard world - Tom couldn't deny how intoxicating it felt to hear his name mentioned as the most influential wizard of this century - being Minister of Magic was also grating. It was not so simple as ordering people around. He had to put in time and effort, real hard work, something his followers didn't seem to have a concept of.

Then when he came home in the evenings, all he wanted to do was to get into Hermione's hot body, but she was insistent on talking about the future. Recently, she had been nagging him to find a way to undo his horcruxes and mending his soul. It was one of the hazards of letting her have access to all of his notes and his books, he supposed. Once she had access to the full magical knowledge, she was able to more effectively argue with him.

He always listened to her, knowing that she had a unique gift, but there was no way that he was going to give in and get rid of his horcruxes, not when they ensured that he couldn't be killed. Would she perform the ritual to restore him from a horcrux if he were killed, he wondered? Did she love him enough?

Tom was startled from his thoughts when three of his followers entered his office without preamble. Lestrange, Rosier and Cygnus Black all filled in before warding the door shut and putting up a silencing spell on the portraits. Raising an eyebrow, Tom wondered just what was so serious that they should all barge in like this.

"My lord," Rosier said, with a grim look on his face. "We need to talk to you about something of grave importance."

"I told you to never call me that when we are in public," he scolded the other man. But then, he supposed that old habits die hard.

"Minister Riddle," Rosier ground out, not hiding the fact that he was not happy being told off like a small child. "It's about some of your policy decisions...forcibly taking mudbloods from their parents? We don't want more of their kind here in our world. We should be keeping them out, not forcing them in."

Cygnus was nodding in agreement. "When we agreed to help make you Minister of Magic, we thought that you shared the same kind of ideals that we did," he said, his mouth in a firm line.

Tom clenched his hand into a fist at hearing Cygnus's assertion that they had made him Minister of Magic. No one had made him anything - he'd had scraped his way up from the very bottom of the barrel, out of a muggle orphanage, and reached the top - the most powerful wizard in the world.

"It seems that you no longer have faith in the pureblood tradition."

Tom didn't speak for a while, steepling his fingers together while he thought over their words. "Lestrange, do you feel the same?" he asked, wondering just how deep this betrayal went.

"It seems as if you've turned your back on us," Lestrange scowled. "In school, you promised to continue Salazar Slytherin's noble work. To help remove mudbloods from our world. Now, you are welcoming them in with open arms, into the magical world, even into your bed."

Hermione had warned him about this, Tom remembered. She worried to him that his friends wanted to keep people like her out of their world. "Make no mistake, I have not lost sight of my beliefs," he sneered at the men. "Muggleborns do have their place in our society, but their place is beneath purebloods. I can't allow their...talents to be under-utilized, though."

"You don't even call them what they are anymore - mudblood filth," Rosier spat, clearly not moved by his promise.

"I'm the Minister of Magic, Rosier," Tom said angrily, standing up. "Dumbledore promised that I wanted to wipe out the muggleborns as a way to get people to oppose me. Of course, I can't be heard calling them anything but muggleborns."

A sinister smile came across Rosier's face. "No - it's that fucking seer," he said, pointing his finger at Tom. "She's gotten into your head, constantly whispering into your ear, telling you what you want to hear so that you'll do anything that she says. She's changed you."

"Hermione hasn't changed me," he insisted. "She has guided me faithfully for years, and never once lead me astray. She has helped me, the same as all of you."

"She is poison," Lestrange insisted, nostrils flaring. "I cannot deny her gift, but she cannot be trusted, not if she is able to influence you so."

A horrible feeling began to twist in Tom's stomach, wanting to deny their words. He couldn't stand to hear them say such terrible things about Hermione. He couldn't deny the part that she had played in his rise to power. The thought of removing Hermione from his life, from making a decision without her insight felt painful and wrong.

"Don't you think it's odd that she just showed up?" Rosier asked, his voice edging on the hysterical. "Don't you think it's just a bit too convenient that she has all the answers that you need, at precisely the right moment? You were going to go to Albania, to study the dark arts, but the moment she shows up, you completely changed course."

"Enough! Do I need to remind the three of you what happened to Avery?" he snarled, remembering the way that the other man's face had been etched in permanent surprise when the Killing Curse struck him. "Please do not think that you can't be replaced."

"My lord," Cygnus choked out, obviously concerned by his harsh reaction. "We aren't...we are only - we are trying to look out for your best interests."

"Then you will leave Hermione out of your concerns," Tom ordered. "And if you continue to assist me, you might be rewarded. Just look at Abraxas." While Tom wasn't afraid to trim the fat, as it were, he knew that he needed to reward his most ardent supporters as well. Abraxas Malfoy had been selected as Chief Warlock after Dumbledore resigned in shame.

The three men looked between each other, perhaps debating with their eyes if it was worth it to continue this argument between them. But Tom was in a volatile mood, so it was best not to press their luck. "Of course, Minister Riddle," they chorused eventually, through gritted teeth.

"I won't entertain talk of this again," Tom added sternly. The thought of anyone taking Hermione away from him, from insisting that he just give her away made him nervous, unsteady. Worse even was the worry that his followers were right. Was he completely crippled without Hermione at his side to guide him to the correct path? "Now, go."

They filed out, but long after they left, Tom was unable to get their words out of his mind. Was it convenient the way that Hermione had shown up? She had immediately lured him in with her knowledge of Slytherin's locket and he hadn't looked back since then. What if Hermione was nothing more than an insidious trick wrapped in pretty packaging?

There was something...off about her, but he had never been able to put his finger on it.

Calling for his secretary, he ordered the Hogwarts attendance rolls be brought to him for the 1940s. The scrolls were produced quickly, and he leafed through the old parchment with shaking fingers. Year after year, he became more and more concerned. Even if she had not attended the school, her name should appear on the list as an eligible student. But still, year after year, there was no Hermione Granger to be found.

The twisting in his stomach grew tighter while he questioned the possibilities.

It shouldn't be possible - he had seen the memory of her meeting with some witch or wizard who had told her about her magic, inviting her to Hogwarts. Furrowing his brow, he tried to picture who it had been that had come to see her. Certainly not Dumbledore acting as Deputy Headmaster. It hadn't seemed important at the time, but...wasn't it now?

One possibility began to stick out, no matter how much he'd wanted to deny it. Hermione could have been lying to him.

He didn't bother to let his secretary know that he was leaving for the day, needing to get back to their shared home, to question her. Stepping through the Floo, he called out for Hermione, only to be met with silence. Stalking out of the ash, he made a search through every room for the witch, determined to find her. His efforts remained unfulfilled - Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

Sneering, he realized that she must be at her tea room, her tie to the muggle world still maintained even though he had given her every reason to sever it. He couldn't figure out what was so important to her about it, but he didn't dare demand that she leave it behind either.

Tom was so furious that the noise his apparition created rattled the panes of glass in their windows at Hermione's little tea room. He looked around, nostrils flaring when he discovered that she was not here either. The room showed signs of deterioration and a thin layer of dust had settled on the bookshelves and window sills, owing to her reduced time here.

Where could she be hiding, he wondered?

Pacing around the empty living room, Tom could feel his fingers itching for his wand, wanting nothing more than to blast everything in this room to the ground. He wouldn't be able to stand still until Hermione returned and he could question her. Her memories had seemed so realistic. In order to get one over on him, she would have to be a very powerful witch. But then again, there was no denying that Hermione had become a very powerful witch.

Stalking to the bookshelves that she had, Tom began pulling random books out and throwing them on the floor, hating how muggle they were. He wanted to destroy them, knowing that it would hurt Hermione to see her precious books trampled on. He pulled out a heavy, dark green tome. He was about to toss it over his shoulder, too, when he saw the picture on the cover move.

That was odd, he thought to himself, realizing that it must be a magical book. Why is Hermione hiding a magical book here? He couldn't allow himself to wonder anymore and he eagerly opened the cover, reading the title. At first it didn't make sense, but then everything clicked into place. Bile rose in his throat as he flipped page after page, reading about various births and marriages and deaths that hadn't happened yet.

A time traveler.

"Tom?" Hermione's voice called from the open doorway, shutting the door behind her. "What are you doing here?" she questioned, surprise in her voice.

"Care to explain what this is?" he snarled at her, crossing the distance between them and shoving the book none too gently into her hands.

She looked concerned for a millisecond, her face going pale and drawn when she realized that her secret had been exposed. But then, she looked up at him with a horrible grin that had Tom's heart leaping into his throat. "It's a book. What does it look like?" she questioned smartly.

"It was printed in 1975," Tom answered fiercely, pressing her back against the wall. He enjoyed the jolt of fear in her eyes when he handled her roughly. "And, you...you've never shown up on the rolls for Hogwarts."

"I haven't shown up yet," Hermione clarified with a sneer. "That won't happen until 1991."

"Don't sound so smug," he said, menacingly, shoving her further into the wall, their bodies completely flush. "I've found you out, and now I will take care of you."

Hermione gasped at the feeling of his hard body against hers, but she quickly smiled at him, patronizingly. "Why shouldn't I be smug? I've managed to fool the most powerful wizard alive for four years," she said with a cruel laugh. "I've carefully exploited your weaknesses and guided you to a path that I chose for you. I always knew that you put far too much stock in prophecies and fortune tellers and you fell right into my trap. It's pitiful, really."

It was the first time that Tom was certain of the maliciousness in Hermione, of the darkness. She constantly feigned that she was uncomfortable with dark magic, uncomfortable with using other people to her own gain, but seeing how she was enjoying hurting him made him see the truth he'd known all along. Hermione was a vicious little creature, and it sent a thrill up his spine.

Tom didn't bother to hide the hardness between his legs, the evidence that she was affecting him this way. Their bodies knew each other too well after so many years together. Pulling at her hair, Tom pulled her down into a kiss, biting and sucking her lower lip between his. Hermione returned the kiss just has eagerly, her dull nails digging into his biceps.

Pulling away, he breathed in heavily, never breaking eye contact. "How did you do it?" he questioned, needing to know the answer.

Hermione shrugged. "You didn't expect much out of me," she said simply. "Not at first. So when you looked into my memories you didn't delve too deeply. After all, I was just a stupid little mudblood who slipped through the cracks."

"Witch," he muttered, palming her breast and feeling her hard little point of her nipple straining through the fabric, pinching it. His other hand began pulling up at the hem of her robes, eager to get at her hot center. "Are you even a mudblood?"

She smiled at him sinisterly. "Proudly muggleborn, Tom," she said, rubbing it in. "And how does it feel to know that I bested you?"

He didn't answer her question, currently too unwilling to put to words just what he was feeling. Instead, he focused on freeing himself from his trousers, before lining up with her hot cunt. Lifting her by her arse, Tom slid home in one stroke. Ever the active participant, Hermione eagerly wrapped her legs around his waist, her body embracing him as he began to rock back and forth into her.

She was too open though, too focused on gloating, on rubbing it in his face that she'd managed to trick him. She left her mind utterly unguarded and it was easy for him to slip into her mind once again.

The visions that he saw made him dizzy and confused, everything about him was so out of order. Lord Voldemort, a name he had chosen for himself in school but nearly abandoned now, buzzed around full of fear. He saw a monster with a powder white face and red eyes. It had no lips and only slits for nostrils, but it couldn't be...yes, that was the person he had become after he made seven horcruxes and been brought back to life, not once, but twice. He had...won he realized, looking at the memories in her mind, the crushing agony of defeat in her mind, and every witch and wizard had feared his name, just as he'd always desired.

Hermione had changed him, eager to erase the future that she had come from. She had hated him, wanted him dead, and yet, she had come back to the past to guide him to a more preferable future. She had even given her body to him, become his lover and confidant. He admired her willingness to do whatever it took to achieve her aims.

Tom pulled back from her mind and could feel her walls fluttering around him and he knew that she was close. Snaking a hand between them, he pressed his thumb to her clitoris, circling it again and again. He smirked at her, still giving into him now even when he knew what he was to her - a mortal enemy. "How does it feel to be fucked by your greatest enemy?" he countered.

Her head leaned back, overwhelmed by the sensation, panting heavily. He dropped his lips to the pale column of her neck, sucking at the delicate skin, knowing he wouldn't rest until he saw it covered in red bruises. He wanted her to hurt, and he wanted her to come, and he wanted her to need him the way that he needed her.

"I made you a better person," she said, desperately, as if she was trying to convince herself that it was true. Her fingers ran through his black hair, holding him to her. "I've made you the most powerful wizard alive, and if it wasn't for me you'd be nothing more than a monster, too obsessed with death to see the big picture. So consumed by the dark arts that every good thing about you faded and-"

She squealed when he hit that particular spot inside of her, keening as she came around him. Tom gave a few more erratic thrusts before he was following behind her, gasping into her skin. His heart was pounding in his ribcage from exertion or excitement, he wasn't sure. He didn't let her down, holding her body as tightly against his as he could manage.

"So, are you going to kill me?" she asked, her voice small and exhausted.

Tom laughed at the question, before sneering at her. "Even if you aren't a genuine seer, you are far too valuable for me to kill. You still have information to give me about the future, information to help me avoid the same mistakes I made last time," he said, taking delight in her - his enemy - helping him achieve the greatness he so desired. He pressed his lips to her ear, to whisper. "I told you, Hermione...I won't let anyone take you away from me."