A/N - Sorry for the wait. I was on vacation and took a break from writing/editing/etc. When I got back I scraped the original ending and today I wrote this. It's very sweet (albeit, open-ended) in comparison to the original. So, without further ado...

PART SEVEN.

XXI.

"Hermione?"

Standing just outside of the Weasley's property, she and Luna stood staring at each other, her own eyes wide and blank. She felt her heart pounding in her throat, the locket at her chest burning in warning. Around them, the night continued to exist, but between them it felt like everything had stopped.

Luna tilted her head. "You shouldn't be here."

"I," Hermione wasn't sure what to say. She'd gotten to this point on nerve alone and now that she was here, nothing made sense. "I have come to answer for myself. I figured this was the best place to show up, considering…considering I owe them."

"Is this best?"

Hermione frowned, "Yes? I'm wanted. I…I have to answer for what I've done."

"You look good," Luna told her. "A bit gaunt, but, happy."

She suddenly got the feeling this was a mistake. "Maybe I should go."

"I would agree," Luna started, "but it's too late."

"Luna," she heard behind her. She recognized Ginny's voice easily. "Who are you-"

Hermione turned to face her, watching as Ginny took a step back, drawing her wand.

"Hermione has come to answer for herself, Gin," Luna announced. "She isn't a threat to us. Remember?"

Ginny was pregnant, Hermione realized, and it was such an odd thing to learn that she found herself questioning whether or not anything was real. In fact, even since she'd gotten out of bed with the intent to leave Tom, everything felt as though it had shifted out of place around her. She lifted a hand to wrap around her locket.

"How do you still have that?" Ginny questioned, disgusted. Her wand was still pointing at Hermione. "It's sick. Take it off. Now."

"I can't," Hermione breathed, and it became true as she said it. She felt the clasp disappear, becoming an endless chain around her neck.

"I don't believe you. Take it off."

Hermione tried to pull it over her head, but it tightened around her neck, causing her to choke and gasp in surprise.

Ginny hissed angrily, and she heard Luna talking again, but it was as though her head had been submerged in water. She shook it in attempt at clarity, but it was pointless.

Tom, she wondered, and suddenly she was painfully aware of him. He was angry and upset and hurt in a way she hadn't anticipated. He was…looking for her, she realized, and wondered if he would show up here as well.

In all honesty, she doubted it. Zimmerman was wrong. He would let her die, as he'd promised; she was suddenly sure that was what England wanted, anyway. Her death, in exchange for what she'd done. What else would equal giving Voldemort another chance?

"Should I go to the Ministry?" She asked suddenly.

Ginny looked ready to kill her herself. She stalked closer, pressing her wand into her neck, her eyes focused on the locket. Before Hermione could say anything more, she said "Stupefy," and the world went black.

XXII.

"But, she can't take the necklace off," Ginny sighed. "Luna and I saw that for ourselves."

"Should that mean something?" Hermione didn't recognize the woman's voice.

"Of course it means something," Ginny countered. "Without the necklace, she could be herself again."

"She shouldn't have put it on to begin with. And that mark."

"She may not have agreed to the mark," a male voice cut in, and Hermione's eyes popped open. She would have recognized Draco's voice anywhere. "So you can't hold that against her."

The air felt incredibly sober after his statement.

"She's been with him for a year!" Ron seethed, causing her to flinch, not a moment later. "I remember wearing the locket. I remember what it does to you. You don't lose yourself completely."

"Harry said she wore it for longer than you all did, though," Ginny recalled. "It will attach to someone it has something in common with."

"Well, there you have it," the unknown female voice said again. "Of course she joined him. They have similarities."

"He and I have similarities as well."

It was Harry, and he had so much tenderness and patience in his voice that Hermione had to press her hand to her mouth to keep her gasp inaudible. They sounded as though they were right outside of the door, and she wasn't ready for them to know she'd regained consciousness. "Should I join her in there?"

She sat up to find a magical shackle around her ankle. It was too dark to see much of anything, but a small sliver of light cut through overhead, showing her the small size of the room. Her back was against the wall, and there was barely three feet of space before her. They'd locked her in a closet.

She would have laughed if she hadn't felt so hurt.

"And, anyway, you left us, remember? It changed you so greatly that you left us."

"So, what? You're forgiving her?"

"You didn't see her, in the Headmaster's Office. She was…different. Confused. And Voldemort was so pleased. It was as though he'd done something."

Hermione pressed her fingers to her eyes to keep herself from crying at the sound of Harry defending her against his best friend.

"Harry's right. I…I know what it's like to be consumed by a horcrux," Ginny said.

"But it isn't a horcrux anymore. Voldemort is alive. We all saw him. With her. Don't make this mistake," the unknown witch cut in.

"Pansy," Draco started, and Hermione wouldn't have believed this was happening if she wasn't there. "She's still wearing it, though. It can't come off. There is power there that I'm sure even he doesn't understand, considering he hasn't killed her yet. What use does he have for a Muggleborn?"

"She's an intelligent witch. She knew what she was doing. You all can't just accept this stupid 'I was under the Dark Lord's spell' ploy."

"To be fair, she never said that," Luna said.

Ron huffed. "Love, please."

"And, anyway, of course he'll use a Muggleborn. What greater front?" Pansy continued angrily.

The sound of the door opening filled her ears. "Well?" It was Molly. "Where is she?"

"In the cupboard, there," Pansy said. "Ginny stupefied her."

"Did she say anything?" Kingsley asked.

"Just that she wanted to answer for herself."

"Do you think Voldemort will come after her?"

"You never know," Draco told them. "If she means as much to him as the rumors make it out to be."

"The rumors make them out to be harmless."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, right."

"The locket can't come off," Luna said.

"The locket?" Molly questioned. "Slytherin's locket?"

"Yes," Ginny said.

"Shame she got mixed up in that," Molly murmured. "Well. What can we do?"

"I don't recommend putting her in Azkaban just yet. As Draco said, Voldemort may come after her. The opportunity to get them both is too good to pass up," Kingsley said.

"Azkaban is the safest place for her- for us," Pansy said surely.

"He's broken people out before, though," Harry commented. "Though he doesn't have as many followers as before-"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. We have intel that he has been meeting with old contacts," Kingsley said.

Ginny huffed. "Well, she is magically bound, and Ron, Luna, and I reinforced the protection spells on the house, so we will know if anyone attempts to gain access."

"The Minister is out of the country," Molly reminded him.

"I will send word. This is very important. He will return early."

"Well," Molly clapped cheerfully. "We'd have the pair. Look at that. Thank Merlin."

"We should celebrate," Ron suggested.

"Ron!" Luna sounded disturbed. "She's your best friend."

"And she might as well be Voldemort's wife, love. What do you want me to do?"

"I think a celebration could be nice," Ginny said. "Just…you know, finally: something has happened. We're closer to being able to move on."

"Well, it's settled," Molly said with an air of finality. "Call your brothers."

XXIII.

It was Draco who opened to cupboard door, much later, staring blankly at her. She remembered the moment she'd had with his mother, her mouth opening to say something –anything-, but she really couldn't find the words.

"Is this a trap?"

"No."

He nodded once, as though he'd just needed some sort of confirmation, and Hermione tried again to tell him. As he began to close the door, she said, "Draco."

Their eyes met, his narrowed suspiciously.

"How are you here?"

"Pansy and Potter are…quite serious."

It was news if she'd ever heard any.

"And Ginny, with the whole Blaise thing," –Hermione's eyes widened- "They are all that I have, and they have accepted my presence."

Hermione nodded slowly before finally saying, "Your mother. She…she went looking for you, when everyone fell unconscious. I saw her because I was wearing the locket. It protects me.

"She was a great woman, Draco. Truly. She told me to run and I- I tried, but I was caught and she…Narcissa Malfoy died protecting the Wizarding World. I just," she straightened up, folding her legs beneath her. "I wanted you to know that. Your mother is a hero."

At length, he asked, "What are you playing at?"

She frowned. "See for yourself," she gestured to his wand and her forehead. "I have no agenda. I am here because I have to answer for the pain I've caused."

"Why now? Why not last year? Why not stay and take responsibility?"

"I was scared. I was…he lied to me. He kept me in the dark and made me feel like what we were doing was important for Britain's future. Once I found out, I was able to think more clearly, and I made up my mind."

He stared at her.

"To come here."

After just a moment longer, she felt him in her head. She drew up the memory, releasing a shaky breath once it came to an end. She expected him to leave her mind after, relaxing slightly, but instead she felt him more firmly on her conscious, tearing through memories he had no business accessing. She tried to pull away from him, to force him out of her head, but he was stronger than she'd expected him to be.

There wasn't any one thing he was looking for. With him, she relieved waking up in the Headmaster's office; Tom calling her slightly above average; their travels and her duels and the first time he drunkenly climbed into bed with her. He watched her realize that she'd been lied to, and unease and uncertainty she'd lived with after. He-

He pulled out of her head, watching her with a curious expression on his face.

"He loves you," he quietly murmured.

She recoiled. "No. He needs me, so he tolerates me. And, even if he did 'love' me, I don't love him. There is too much bad blood between us. We could never be anything more than we are."

"You've spent so long with him, Granger. You've kept him sane and human and he's kept you alive. He didn't have to do that. He could have killed you in that parlor and taken your magic-"

"That's not possible."

He gave her a flat look, "I think we both know that everything is possible. I'm talking to you, in the Weasley Burrow, and you're the one in bondage."

"He's Lord Voldemort. He is a vile and disgusting man."

"Ok. But, he could have killed you. He didn't. Why?"

"He needed me."

"He didn't. He didn't need you then. You're-He," Draco paused in obvious frustration. "He kisses your hands."

He was the second person to point that out.

He lifted his wand to her again, but this time, he freed her, breaking the magical shackle. "If you stay, they will kill you."

"You're-"

"You have kept him quiet. Keep him that way, and we won't have any problems."

"That's not fair," she told him. "I don't want that responsibility. I didn't ask for this."

He didn't appear to care. "Death or freedom," he told her before turning to leave.

She remembered the last time someone had tried to kill her- Voldemort, the day her life turned out to be forever damned-, the way the locket had protected her. The whole reason she and Tom were alive and in the mess that had become her life.

"I want to die," she told him, and it was the truth. Because she didn't think she could anymore.

He froze, not turning to look at her, but his shoulders were tense beneath the black cashmere of his sweater.

"You don't know what it's like-"

"Don't I?" He turned back to her. "Don't I know, Granger, what it is like to have my life consumed by that monster? I have no family. I have nothing. I am not liked or trusted, and I fought against him in the end. All it got me was out of Azkaban, but I am not free. Do not mistake this for freedom-"

She gasped. He'd told her- he'd told her he wouldn't be free in England. Still, she asked, "Then why would you suggest this for me?"

He looked plainly at her, as though she were a child. She got out of the cupboard and stood before him, watching as he looked her over. "You will be fine. I know about you all. He needs you now. He did not need any of us. He loves you."

"He cannot love. He doesn't know-"

"Don't be stupid. Don't be blind."

She felt hyperaware. Covered in a layer of skin that wasn't her own. Someone was ripping every bit of sanity –of reality- from her and leaving her with-

"He loves you," he repeated, as though he found some sort of solace in it.

"I live in a world that revolves around him," she quietly admitted.

Hermione looked around the kitchen to see that nothing had changed. She wondered if this was real life, or if she'd already died and was now forced to live in this endless argument. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looked back at Draco and said, "I lose myself when I don't have his attention. I'm sure I've spent days staring at the wall while he went off to do whatever he wanted-"

"You're conscious now," he countered.

"By the grace of god, Draco. I don't know if I'm dead or alive right now. This is the longest I've spent away from him awake. I don't know if it's been minutes or days-"

"It's barely been a few hours, Granger."

She shook her head, arms tightening. "I cannot explain it, this magic that has united us. But I can't be rid of it without you all. Without answering for myself."

After a brief pause, she said, "I will only find freedom in death," and it was only as the words left her mouth that she realized how true they were. She closed her eyes for a moment, accepting it, and he was gone when she opened them.

As though he'd never been there at all.

Again, all that she had was Voldemort. Was Tom, she reminded herself.

A short laugh escaped her.

She left out of the front door.

XXIV.

Hermione was sitting just outside of the Weasley property when Tom found her the next morning.

The sun had just started to rise, bathing them in a warm, golden glow, and as he sat down beside her, leaning back on his elbow, she remembered the first time she'd met Voldemort, when everything in her life turned to- well, not shit, but it would have been by anyone else standards. It was funny to her, how they'd managed to come full circle, especially when she considered the fact that she used to laugh at him for believing himself to be different from the wizard who tried to kill her a year ago.

It'd become so obvious to her as she'd sat Devon after she and Draco's conversation. Despite the way it'd started, she couldn't imagine what would have happened if she'd stayed behind in Dumbledore's office, but she was sure she wouldn't have become half the witch she was now if she had.

"What are you doing?" He asked her, a strange tinge of curiosity in his voice.

She considered lying before saying, "Counting my blessings."

"Oh," was all he said.

"I turned myself in."

She felt his surprise just before he said, "To the Weasley's? That's…excessive."

She turned to look at him, watching as he stared blankly at the Burrow.

His eyes slid slowly to her, oddly empty as he said, "They only want to cut your wings, Hermione."

"Perhaps that's what needs to happen."

"Don't be foolish." He looked away from her, back at the Burrow, lips pursed in thought.

"I know," she admitted, still observing him. When she realized just how handsome he was in the morning light, she looked away from him with a suppressed hiss. "Why are you here?"

"I came to rescue you," he told her, as though it was obvious. "Though, I suppose, I should have had more faith in you." He touched her hair, so lightly that if she hadn't been waiting for him to touch her, she wouldn't have felt it. "If you turned yourself in, how are you sitting here?"

"Draco released me."

"Good boy," Tom commented, as though Draco releasing her was to be expected. "I did always like him more than his father. Lucius lost his way-"

"He loved his family. He realized you were raving and realized his mistake. It was all too late but…don't talk about things you don't understand."

"I don't understand love?" He questioned, as though it was surprising. Dismissively, he said, "Ok," and then, "Come home."

She blinked. "Raginmund and Zim's place isn't home, Tom."

He tensed beside her, sitting up. He was closer to her now, his body pressed flush against hers, and he pressed his face into the curve of her neck as though he'd done it a thousand times before. "You've never called me Tom," he told her, lips moving against the curve of her throat.

Hermione laughed. She hesitated for just a moment before unwrapping an arm from around her legs and hooking it over his knee. His leg pressed more heavily against hers. "Really?"

He hummed, the sound vibrating his chest and her shoulder. "I told you I'd remember if you said my name."

She turned to look at him, felt his lips against her cheek and arm around her lower back. His hand settled on her hip. "What does that mean?"

"I'm perfectly distracted from how upset I am with you."

"Tom," she started, but he smiled, his eyes closed and face so perfectly content that she got distracted. For a moment she thought he was drunk, but he didn't smell like it.

"You planned this, didn't you?"

"No," she told him. "I didn't want to distract you or anything like that. I just…" She looked back at the Burrow. "I realized something. I changed my mind."

He put his chin on her shoulder, humming appreciatively.

She closed her eyes, tightening her hold on his knee. Tom smelt like soap and peppermint and warmth. He felt like- She swallowed, relaxing against him. "Did you miss me?"

"It's barely been a few hours."

"I feel like it's been a lifetime," she admitted, attempting to get closer to him. She felt him smile, felt the locket preen against her skin. "You felt angry with me," she touched the locket absently. "Earlier, I mean."

"I was. But, I didn't want to be. And you were here, instead of in there. You admitted it didn't feel like you thought it would." He tilted his face into her neck, inhaling.

"You're not going to ask why I came?"

"I know your heart, Hermione. I know your fears and dreams and desires. I acknowledge and accept them. I don't understand why you would leave home-"

"We don't have a home, Tom. We've been living out of hotels for a year. Rag and Zim's place doesn't count. We're just…nomads, I guess, is a polite way to put it. And we aren't even 'we' most of the time."

He chuckled. Laid his forehead against her shoulder. "I thought it was the same for you."

"What?"

"You feel like home to me."

"Tom-"

She felt him exhale. Felt his relief and calm and content. Felt his other arm wrap around her stomach.

"Please don't do this again. I really don't want to kill you, Hermione." He rubbed her side familiarly.

"That isn't really inspiring," she grimaced.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Tom's hold on her warm and solid and oddly comforting. For whatever reason, being in his arms felt like the sun would never set and she wasn't sure when his touch had started to do that to her.

"I'm really tired," she told him.

"Are you really?" He asked, as though she truly couldn't be sure that she was tired.

For whatever reason, she hesitated.

"I did, by the way," he told her quietly. "I missed you terribly."

XXV.

A few nights later, Hermione shook Tom awoke in the middle of the night, her fingers digging into his shoulders until he opened his eyes to her. If he was surprised to find her completely awake, straddling his lap in the dead of night, it didn't show. He lifted his hands to pry hers from his body, lacing their fingers in the darkness.

"Do you believe we can live forever?"

His brows rose, fingers flexing around hers.

"I don't think we can die. I have no theory or reasoning I just…I just don't think we can die."

"The locket recognizes you as a life source, as something to protect, made evident by the way it protected you in the Forbidden Forest, and by the way it would sooner drain me, it's reason for existence –it's heart, so to speak-, then you."

"If you're the heart then I'm blood."

He grinned at her. "Hermione, I do think that is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

Despite herself, she laughed.

"Yes, though. If I am the heart, you're the blood. It needs the both of us to survive; therefore, it will ensure our survival."

She sat staring at him for a long time, enjoying the feel of his warmth and strength and the way the locket seemed to come alive at their physical closeness. The realization that she wanted to kiss him wasn't really a surprise, but it did fill her with a level of apprehension she hadn't anticipated.

Tom had expressed interest in her before, and she'd been incredibly uninterested in him at the time. He was just…someone that she was forced to exist around. She had to accept him in the same she had to accept that air was necessary for survival. She didn't necessarily need him to survive –she didn't think, at least; but, then again, she wasn't really alive, and-

Hermione gasped, her hands gripping his. He tilted his head, observing her curiously, and the locket attempted to sooth her as she realized that she did need him. That it was mutual and necessary and they were dependent on each other.

After a moment, he kissed the back of her hand. "What are you thinking?"

Her brows rose, "You mean you don't go fishing through my mind anymore?"

He smiled. "I try to respect your wishes."

"Oh, is that right?" She pulled her hands from his and got off of him, laying back down on her side of the bed.

Tom rolled onto his stomach, closer to her, his arm hooking over her waist and pulling her flush against his side. "Is this okay?"

The uncertainty in his voice caused her stomach to flip.

He was sober and touching her and wondering if it was okay and Hermione wasn't sure what had happened, but it was okay.

"More then," she told him, feeling him smile against her shoulder.

"I can only hear your thoughts when you project them," he told her quietly. "For example, for the last few days, you've been anxious. Worried. You've needed me."

"Have I?"

He laughed shortly, rubbing her hip soothingly. "I'm very happy you didn't go through with it, Hermione."

Her eyes opened, fixing against the ceiling as her heart beat painfully in her chest. "I didn't know happiness was a thing you could feel."

He hummed thoughtfully. "I'm not heartless."

She felt her breath catch. "Wouldn't killing me kill you?"

"I have a theory that I'm supposed to kill you. That if I refill that locket, I will have my life back, and I will be able to complete my goals without fear of you not approving."

"You fear me not approving of your actions?"

"No," he told her. "Fear was that wrong word. I believe it will prove to be a large set back if you aren't happy with me."

She sighed. "So, you would have killed me."

"No," he assured her quickly. His fingers now splayed over her hip, thumb rubbing circles against her skin. "I've decided that I will not kill you. However, I am not above ensuring that you cannot leave me. I wouldn't be happy about it, love, because I enjoy that we are both willing in this relationship, but should you decide there is something else you should be doing-"

Tom made a funny sound in the back of his throat, his words hanging in the air. "Don't make me crazy, angel," he requested.

Once his breath fanned evenly against her, slow and even as the night drew on, Hermione realized that she didn't want to make him crazy at all.

XXVI.

"This is about the time you usually attempt to convince me that we are better on our own," Tom commented, watching as Zimmerman and Raginmund slow danced in the middle of a back-alley club in the Wizarding Germany.

Hermione leaned against the balcony railing, smiling as she also watched the couple. They were absolutely out of place, but neither seemed to notice as they enjoyed their time. Sipping her Fire Whiskey, she leaned into Tom's side and said, "I changed my mind."

He chuckled. "I'm glad."

"But, I have been thinking."

He turned to her, his dark eyes only half curious. At length, he offered her his hand –which she took without thought- and led her out of the club. As they began to walk down the alley, he said, "Let's not think."

She froze, looking up at him confusedly. "What are you talking about?"

"We both know what the other wants, above all- Don't argue me, Hermione. You wear a piece of my soul around your neck. You nourish it.

"I told you before that everything about you impacts me and it is important to me. You've trusted me this far, haven't you? Trust me enough in this, too. Let's not think about what goals we should be working toward or anything that impacts this."

"This," Hermione repeated, but she understood what he meant. For the last few weeks, since leaving Calais, they'd been –for lack of a better phrase- honeymooning. Everything between them had been perfect, and she'd found that when she forgot who he had been in her past, Tom was a perfectly interesting and incredibly handsome person. She enjoyed their time together and whatever it was that they were doing (because it wasn't exactly nothing. They met up with Raginmund and Zimmerman two days a week; they studied and networked and laid in bed together for hours longer than they should have, everything on the table between them. They hung out in Dark corners of the Wizarding world with witches and wizards she wouldn't have been caught dead with before...everything was- she would have said perfect if she hadn't thought about it).

She was still exhausted. Incredibly so, as though she was carrying around her fatigue like stones. She'd thought it was the locket, and given it to Tom for a week, but it hadn't helped. In fact, there had been moments that she was sure it'd made things worse. But, it was something she was slowly learning to live with.

"And what should we do in the mean time?"

He smiled slowly, taking her face in his hands. Before she could really hope that he would kiss her, his mouth was slanting over hers, a contented tone of surprise escaping her. "Ok?" He breathed, mouth hovering over hers as he stroked her neck, fingers warm and firm.

"Yes," she hissed, and instantly he was back, his tongue stroking her bottom lip as she opened her mouth to him.

She hadn't realized that he was backing her against the wall until her heels hit it. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he stepped between her legs, his hands settling briefly on her hips. "This is stupid, Tom," she rasped despite herself, moaning at the feel of his tongue against her neck. "We can't-"

"Don't think," he reminded her, angling them so that he fit perfectly against her center, the feel of him causing her to whimper. Their mouths found each other again, his fingers slipping between them. "Tom," she breathed.

He hummed appreciatively, pushing her skirt over her hips. She gasped when his hand found her, his long fingers firm over her damp knickers.

"More."

He smiled against her neck, pressing the lace fabric to the side.

The locket distracted her, hot and overjoyed and there was so much magic, on and around them. Protectively. Instinctively. As though the entire universe just knew far more than she did.

Two fingers sunk into her, his thumb rubbing circles against her clit. He swallowed her moans and cries of pleasure, and she felt him fighting a smile the entire time, her own hands slipping under her shirt to touch his bare skin before finding hair and his jaw and his belt.

"Tom," she hissed. "Please."

He grinned, pulling his fingers from her and lifting them to her mouth. He pulled them away from her as tongue darted out, pushing them into his mouth as they watched each other, her hips rolling against his needily as she undid his trousers. Once he was satisfied, he hooked his arm around her waist and lifted her off the ground, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck again, fingers smoothing through and tugging at his hair as he pulled himself from his pants, his other hand pressing her panties to the side. She opened her mouth for him, stroking his tongue with hers as he rolled his hips.

"I've dreamt this moment," he told her between kisses, rubbing the head of his cock over her clit torturously. "You've no idea how long, angel."

"Please just," she begged, pressing herself closer to him.

He smiled, his eyes dark as he pushed forward, stretching her slowly as she groaned, angling her hips as best she could as her head fell back against the wall. He nipped and sucked at her throat, his groan vibrating through her as he settled within her. "Tom," she breathed.

Tom took hold of her hips, his strokes long and measured as he watched her, taking in her half open mouth and the trembled of her shoulders every time he settled within her. She clenched him deliciously, hot and wet and she was so soft beneath him, fit so perfectly for and around him.

"Harder," she breathed.

His eyes seemed to darken further at her request. He pulled almost completely from her before he plunged back into her, hard and deep with every thrust. She gasped and whimpered, each little sound swallowed by him as he claimed her mouth as his own. Even her cries were taken by him, fingers digging into her as she met his thrusts, her back scraping against the wall.

"Fuck, Tom."

"You're so fucking-" his words died in his mouth, jaw shaking, and Hermione felt herself tightening around him at the sight of him. "You feel so good, my love."

It was such a stupid thing to notice, as he was fucking her into an alley wall just outside of a club, but his skin was flushed, his eyes blown wide. His lips were red and swollen and she realized, belatedly, that it was all for her. Because of her.

She smiled at him, faltering when he shifted his hips. "Tom," she breathed, repeatedly, her hands pushing and pulling and legs gripping him closer as her nails dug into his neck.

He pressed her closer to him, his mouth gentle against hers as he said, "Come for me, love."

She whimpered when one of his hands lifted to her throat, squeezing and soothing as he licked and kissed her lips, his pace unrelenting. All too suddenly, she realized that she was shaking, her core tightening, clenching his swollen cock as he continued to rock against her. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, face pressing into his neck as she cried out in pleasure, her core pulsing around him as her body begged his to follow.

With a few more jerky, too rough thrusts, he forced her to look at him. She felt him throbbing as she tightened around him, pulling him closer, licking and kissing at him in the same way he had her as he spilled himself within her.

His body relaxed against hers as he attempted to pull away from her. But, Hermione tightened her hold on him. Tom let out a breathy laugh, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he pressed his lips against her.

"Don't let go."

He didn't.

XXVII.

Not thinking found them in a small, seaside cottage on the northern coast of Iceland. It didn't change much, though. They still enjoyed a few days a week with their German Vampires, got too drunk with intelligent Wizards and Muggles alike, and when she had questions about Dark magic she was too prideful to ask, Tom would always find wizards so old Hermione wondered if they knew the Hogwarts Founders to answer them for her. She found that it was all very comfortable and practical and she never wanted it to end.

As she sat on the beach just outside of their home, Hermione rolled the sleeve of the shirt over her forearm. Her fingers smoothed over her skin, and she watched as the tattoo came to life, the snake twisting around her arm as though it was stretching after slumber. It'd been months since she'd even thought about it; having started keeping it constantly glamoured. But, as she observed it now, she realized that it was quite intricate. Despite being nothing more than a black outline, it's scales seemed to glow against her skin; and as she touched it, the locket's magic stretched over her in an almost lazy, protective crawl, moving slowly to the tattoo, turning the scales opalescent under the attention.

"Curious," Tom mumbled, sitting down beside her.

She made to pull her sleeve back down, but he stopped her, fingers coiling around her wrist as he brought her arm into his lap. His touch was cold against her skin, and she belated realized that he'd casted a warming charm around them, the frosty spray of the ocean no longer reaching her.

Hermione pulled the locket off and offered it to him, watching as he observed it before taking it from her. Quietly, she asked, "Where have you been?" It'd been three days since she'd last seen him.

Instead of answering the question, he said, "You're really mine," as though he'd forgotten that she'd been marked on the morning after the final battle.

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes falling closed at the feel of him pressing his fingers more firmly against her tattoo. There was an odd feeling that flared within her, a mixture of calm and excitement and endlessness that had begun to pop up more often than not. It was as though she was responding to a claim he'd not made (at least, not in those words) since they'd argued in Morocco.

After a moment, she met his eyes, looking between them for anything that would sway her way from him. When she found nothing, she pulled her arm away from him long enough to hook it under his, laying her head on his shoulder. "I had a dream about you," she told him. "A long time ago, when we were in Morocco. You were…happy."

"With you?"

"Ha," she smiled, "Like you could ever be happy without me, Mr. Riddle."

He hummed in thought. "Quite true." Softly, he added, "I never expected that…this. I never expected this."

She closed her eyes. Over the smell of the ocean, she could smell him, warm and minty and oddly clean. "You're always drunk when you're with me."

"To dull the effects."

"The effects of what?"

He turned to kiss her forehead, his cheek settling against her. "We are two parts of a whole, on one level. The purest level, really. The only one that matters.

"There is darkness and there is light, and we are constantly feeding each other through the bond- not the necklace, Hermione, the bond that formed when I was forced to kill my followers in your place, that was sealed when you chose me over them-"

"It wasn't a choice," she told him. "Not really."

"No," he said softly, "I imagine it wasn't. Because this was always meant to happen."

She smiled, but knew he wasn't kidding. "So, to dull the effects of no longer being independent?"

"Interestingly enough, I wasn't very independent as Voldemort, was I?"

She wasn't sure what to make of his observation, or what other realizations he may have had with it, so she said nothing.

"Were you happy," he asked sincerely, "in your dream?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "I was."

"What we were doing?"

Hermione turned her face into his shoulder, inhaling deeply. Instead of answering his question, she asked, "Were you telling the truth when you told me I felt like home to you?"

"Yes."

"But you…you still want the same things from life. You still want power and control."

Tom thought for a long time, refreshing his warming charm and running his thumb repeatedly along her mark before he finally said, "I do. However, I have come to understand that relationships involve compromise."

"Oh really?" Her tone was teasing, but she turned her head, looking up at him for his reply.

"For example, your beloved Zimmerman really loves to hunt. He loves to toy with his prey and ensure that they understand it's his hands their life rests in.

"Raginmund, on the other hand, hunts only when he is hungry. He is quick and efficient, not affording them the opportunity to really consider their last thoughts, their last moments. He is, however, very enamored with Zimmerman, and despite his disgust over how he chooses to hunt, he indulges him."

"I take it you consider yourself Rag in this."

"I've always been merciful, Hermione."

She winced, turning her eyes away from him as she rested her head on his shoulder again.

"Yes," he told her. "I still want power and control. But I want what you want more."

"I don't know what I want."

He made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat, heavy with satisfaction and indulgence. "How does it feel to admit that?"

Horrifying, she thought to herself. Self-depreciating and sacrificing and terribly dependent, but, she swallowed. "Free?"

"Because you aren't lying to yourself anymore."

"Is this what we've been working toward for the last 16 months?"

"Has it been that long?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"That's odd," he said thoughtfully. "We are moving too slowly."

"I'm sorry, did you have a deadline to take over the world by?"

"No. I suppose I thought you'd realize that there was nothing wrong with England sooner."

"How would that have happened? We spent very little time in Wizarding communities. I never got to read any new papers or talk to anyone that wasn't on your team. How would I have known you were fucking lying to me?"

He shrugged. "I was never on task."

"I thought that was because you're, you know, predisposed to insanity."

"That's comforting."

"Stop being so…odd."

"It would have mattered because we would have gotten to this sooner. We would have worked through your issues with 'us' differently. Though, I will say that this worked out greatly."

"I want the mean you back. The cold, clinically intelligent pre-Voldemort wizard that felt invincible and never-ending and angry at the world for denying him."

"You want to hate me again."

"I don't want to hate you. I just want to know where I stand. I don't want to feel like you're using me as a Muggleborn prop to help with your agenda."

"It definitely helps that you're Muggleborn," he told her. "People like me more knowing that I can get along with you, and you know a great deal about Muggle culture that I was never privy to.

"But, Hermione, that doesn't mean I don't value you intimately."

"Of course it doesn't. Now you get to fuck me."

Tom groaned tiredly. "If you never want to do that again, I would be okay. I value your mind and company and the unique way you view the world. Anything else between us, I greatly appreciate, but it isn't necessary."

"So, I could leave. Emotionally, at least."

"Hermione," he said seriously.

"Don't worry. You're stuck with me. But, I still want a family. I still want a world I won't ruin away from," for some reason, it became to breathe. She swallowed again.

"Your desires." His voice was so quiet, so soothing.

She wondered how long he'd been waiting to have this conversation with her. How much sooner it would have happened if she'd realized that he'd been lying to her.

"I didn't realize you fell in love with the locket's version of myself."

"In love?" Hermione questioned, but she didn't deny it. "I was enchanted, perhaps."

There was a smile in his voice as he said, "Things just keep getting more romantic with you, my love. My angel."

Hermione wasn't sure if he was joking or not. She pulled away from him, turning to face him as she sat on her knees. "If we get to live forever, I want a family first. I want you home and helping and satisfied with this," again, she gestured between them.

"I can do that," he told her quickly, solemnly, his eyes fastened wholly on hers.

She nodded slowly, tugging her bottom lip between her lips. He looked at her curiously, as though he could sense what she was going to say next. Before she could say anything, though, he touched her face.

"I'm sure I told you before that I could do anything for you."

She smiled softly. "Whenever you touch me, I feel like the sun is never going to set. It's magical and enlightening and it makes me want…" Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. "It makes me feel like I'm at home."

His brows rose.

"We were here, in my dream. We weren't…we weren't doing anything, really. Just existing. You and I."

Tom reached for her then, pulling her into his chest before laying back in the cold, damp sand. He slipped his hand under her sweater, resting heavily on her hip. "Love," he spoke lowly. "What do you want after your family?"

She looked up, lips brushing against his jaw, causing him to grip her hip more firmly. "What do you want?"

She prayed it wasn't the world, and was grateful when he said, "Hermione," he took her face in his free hand. His kiss was soft and sweet and he was smiling when he quietly asked, "Have you killed before?"

Her eyes lifted slowly to his, a small smile on her lips. She felt what she'd mistaken for fatigue filling her body. It'd been darkness all along, and now- now.

"I can only find freedom in death," she murmured, remembering saying those words to Draco. She'd never specified that it had to be her own.

Tom kissed her forehead, holding her closer to him as he let go of her face and propped his arm under his head as they both looked to the ocean. "My little fallen angel."

She drew her arm over his stomach.

"Mine."

"All this bad blood here,

Won't you let it dry?"

-Bastille, Bad Blood

The End.

A/N - Thanks so much for reading and hanging out with me!

To every guest reviewer, thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment! I really love logging on and reading what you all had to say.

Special thanks to the Anon on June 29 who also read a few of my other fics, I really appreciate it and wish I could send you a private msg but since I can't, please know that I love and appreciate everything you had to say ! ! !