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Tom solicitously opened the door for Hermione and held it for her as the two ventured into the Hog's Head about a week later. He had not given much thought to the copy still growing in the Chamber of Secrets for the last few days, but he knew that he must soon return to the past to erase his memories before he woke up, and enact his plan.
Hermione took his hand and guided him to one of the dusty old tables near the back, and took a seat in the chair opposite his own. The two found it difficult not to touch in some way, so Tom took both her hands in his and his questing foot slid up and down her calf playfully.
"You know, I personally prefer the Hogsmeade of your time," Hermione told him as she covered his hand with hers. "There are so many more bookshops, and so much to read!"
"There's the same amount here, Hermione," Tom smirked as he reached out to take her hands in both of his. "It's just that you've read everything here already."
When this comment made Hermione pout slightly Tom couldn't help himself. He leaned across the table to kiss her lightly, nibbling on her bottom lip a bit before he moved away.
Aberforth was standing over top of them drying a glass. He was staring at Tom as if he had seen a ghost, with his jaw hanging slack. The glass slipped from his fingers and would have shattered completely if Tom had not reached out and caught it.
"Did you lose something?" he asked cheekily as he gave it back to the man.
"Only my sanity," Aberforth commented wryly as he took it from Tom's hand. "Forgive me, I just thought you looked like someone I know—well, knew before, really. May I take your orders?"
"Just a couple of butterbeers, please," Hermione said, her cheeks still pink from having been caught snogging in the Hog's Head. She was remembering that she'd told Harry she'd never get caught snogging there, and now here she was snogging the last person any of them would have ever thought she'd be with. She sighed dreamily as Aberforth walked away.
Tom raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked her, trying not to laugh.
Hermione looked down. "I just—it's been a whole week since we finally got—well, together together, and," she leaned forward conspiratorially to whisper, "and I like it."
Tom smiled slightly as he looked down at the worn wooden table. He was just about to open his mouth to speak when he spotted the old man returning with their butterbeers. He was annoyed by the interruption, but even more annoyed when Aberforth stared at him again.
Hermione followed his eyes and grinned. She liked Aberforth Dumbledore; they had an understanding of sorts. She was grateful to him for saving her, Ron, and Harry
from the very man that sat opposite he--No, that's not him. Not yet at least--and was probably the only reason the three of them were alive and had been triumphant in the war.
"Mr. Dumbledore, sir, why do you keep staring at my date?" Hermione asked to bring the man out of his reverie.
"Please, Miss Granger, call me Aberforth," he replied with a slight nod of his head and a friendly smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Then he looked over at Tom again. His brow shot up as full recognition dawned on him. "No. No, it can't be. It's impossible."
Aberforth stumbled backwards and turned to dash behind the counter. Hermione just stared after him with confusion painted on her face. Then it clicked and she turned back to face her companion. "What did you do?" she hissed.
"Nothing—yet," Tom replied as he shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in the chair.
"Yet?" she growled. "What do you mean, yet? What are you planning?"
"You should already know, right?" he smirked. "After all, I'm the one from the past. I don't know what's going on here, or what I'm going to end up doing later in life, but you do."
Hermione sighed heavily. She had been trying to avoid thoughts about what would happen to Tom—her Tom—in the future, and what role she would play in his life. She knew that Lord Voldemort had to do all the things he had done or this future would not be here, but she couldn't stand the thought of being any part of that. Yet if she saved him somehow, she wouldn't be here and couldn't save him. It was too maddening to think about.
Hermione sighed heavily and slumped in her chair, fiddling with the sleeve of her jumper and trying to think of lighter topics to discuss.
"So, just out of curiosity, how long have you known Draco Malfoy?" Tom asked out of the blue.
"Draco?" she said, looking back up at him. "Since we started school together, seven years ago."
"What do you think of him?" he inquired.
"I try not to," she answered, trying not to wrinkle her nose. "He's a bit of a prat, really. He's never had a kind word for me at all till just recently, when he figured out it would be a popularity boost if he shagged me."
"Yes, he sounds like the Malfoy I have to deal with, too," said Tom with a grimace.
"You had a fair bit of dealings with his father," she mentioned. "Or, you will have, I should say—I guess. Oh, I don't know, it's all so confusing. After all, even though he will be your closest follower, you don't even know Lucius Malfoy at all."
Tom was listening to her, of course, and he covered her hand with his own as she finished speaking, but his eyes, which were always taking in everything around him,
were now trained on a young man standing near the door to the restroom. As he watched, this chubby teen stared right at him for a moment, and then did something he
never would have expected. Almost casually, he pulled up on the sleeve of his left arm three times, and then quickly went in the door.
"Tom?" Hermione asked again. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, love," he said as he got to his feet, and caressed one of her cheeks. "I've got to go use the facilities. I'll be right back."
When Tom entered the bathroom he saw the lad making use of a urinal near the far wall. He stepped up to another one and did the same, taking care not to look at him until he had his pants zipped again. Though his companion did not offer the same courtesy, he noticed, but rather did a double-take at the sight of his impressive anatomy. Tom wondered if that bit of information would be spread through the ranks sometime as well.
"You—You're the Dark Lord, aren't you?" he asked timidly.
"I am Lord Voldemort," Tom agreed.
"N-nobody uses that name out loud, my Lord," he told him. "But if you're him, how come you're so young, and what are you doing hanging out with that Mudblood?"
"Do not call her that," he commanded as he began to circle him. He stopped abruptly and moved forward so that their noses were practically touching. "You're one of my followers? What's your name?"
"Goyle, sir," the young man replied shakily. "Gregory Goyle."
Tom nodded. The name was pure-blooded; he recognized it.
"And what, Goyle, have you heard of my upcoming return?"
Goyle fidgeted, and looked down at his feet. Tom did not like this response, so he grabbed him by his chubby cheeks and asked again. "What news?"
"I heard my father and some of the other Death Eaters talking, my Lord," he said slowly. "I heard them say that you'd made a copy of yourself. Which one are you, my Lord?"
"I am the original, of course," Tom hissed. "Why would you ask me that?"
"I—I cannot say, my Lord," he answered. "You might be lying to me."
"Lying?" he repeated incredulously. "What possible reason would I have to lie to a silly little Death Eater like you?"
"Because of the copy, sir," he blurted out, and then covered his mouth with his hands.
"I'll have it out of you, one way or another, you know," Tom told him in a velvety smooth voice. Then he grabbed Goyle's face and stared into his eyes, casting a silent Legilimens spell.
Goyle could not seem to move as he felt the pressure inside his skull. Tom's mind invaded his hungrily, and with great purpose. He saw the memories in his mind were all jumbled together. He could see flickers of the war, and of his own death, and frighteningly cruel things he'd done to some of his followers, and finally, he found it. A conversation this boy had overheard concerning his double.
"You know the rule," one man was saying to another. "Our fathers made it perfectly clear. No one is to speak about the double. No one can know how the copy tried to overthrow the original."
"But surely we should warn the real Voldemort of his copy's intentions?" said another man insistently. "Do we really want that crazed version set loose on the world again?"
"And how do we know the original is any better?" the first man asked. "He could be even worse."
"I, for one, believe he should be warned," said Goyle's father as he stepped forward. "I swore my oath to the real Voldemort, and it's him I owe my life to, not some cheap imitation. We must make certain who it is we are dealing with now."
Tom broke free of Goyle's mind and shook his head. "Do you mean to say my copy is going to try to come here, and leave me in the past?" he demanded hotly. "I'd better get back there and put a stop to it. You may go, Goyle, and tell no one we have spoken."
"Yes, my Lord," he agreed with a shaky bow, then turned and practically ran away.
When Tom returned to Hermione, their table had been invaded by two other girls. One was the red-head he had seen her with before, and the other was a pretty blonde who was currently in his seat. The two of them stared in shock as he walked up to them.
"Tom Riddle?" Ginny gasped, horrified. "Your new boyfriend is Tom Riddle?"
"Yes," said Hermione with a girlish blush. "He is."
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