Can't run from time

The dream always began the same.

Hermione stood in a void, her breaths echoing in the stillness. A cold voice whispered her name, chilling her to the bone. As she turned, a figure emerged from the darkness—a pale, snake-like face, crimson eyes burning with malice. Voldemort.

"Did you think you could escape me?" he hissed, his voice curling like smoke around her.

She tried to run, but her feet were rooted to the ground. He raised his wand, and the air cracked with malevolence. She screamed, the sound tearing through her as the world dissolved into darkness.
Hermione jolted awake, her chest heaving as cold sweat clung to her skin. She buried her face in her hands, willing her heart to slow. But the echo of that voice, of his face, lingered. The door creaked open, and Tom, who had been on head boy duty, stepped in, his expression unreadable.

"Another nightmare?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

She nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

Without a word, he climbed into bed beside her, pulling her into his arms. His warmth was grounding, and for a moment, she felt safe.

"You're trembling," he murmured, his hand brushing her hair.

"It's nothing," she whispered, though her voice betrayed her fear.

"its your 4th one this week?" he asked 

She nodded, laying her head on his chest and staring into the darkness of the room.

He didn't press her, but his mind churned with questions.

---
The nightmares continued, each more vivid than the last. Hermione began avoiding sleep, her eyes hollow with exhaustion. 

Tom noticed the change but said nothing, merely holding her closer each night.

But he was not a man accustomed to mysteries. And Hermione's fear was becoming his own. ---
One night, as Hermione whimpered in her sleep, Tom's patience snapped. He couldn't stand the sound of her suffering anymore. Gently, he placed a hand on her temple and closed his eyes.

"Legilimens," he whispered.

Her mind was chaotic, memories and emotions swirling in a storm of fear and pain. He navigated carefully, sifting through the noise. But just as he reached the heart of her dream, an image flashed before him.

A pale, serpentine face. Crimson eyes. The name Voldemort hissed like a curse.

Tom's concentration broke, and he recoiled as if burned.

That name. That face. It was his.

He stumbled back, staring down at Hermione as if seeing her for the first time. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

"Tom?" she asked groggily, her voice fragile.

He forced a tight smile, brushing her hair from her face. "I'm here," he said, though his mind was racing.

Over the next week, Tom was quieter than usual. He still held her hand in public and sat beside her during meals, but the easy flow of conversation was gone.

Hermione felt the change. He avoided her gaze, his words clipped and distant. She reached out once, brushing her fingers against his, and he didn't pull away—but he didn't squeeze back, either. His face had become more pale and thin, a lot more like the man in her dreams. She prayed he hadn't made another horcrux.

The silence between them was unbearable.

---
Hermione finally confronted him after a study session in the library.

"Tom," she said, blocking his path. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied curtly, sidestepping her.

She grabbed his arm. "Don't lie to me."

He froze, his jaw clenching. "I'm not lying," he said after a pause, his voice low and dangerous. "Then why won't you talk to me? Why do you barely look at me anymore?" she demanded, her voice breaking.

For a moment, Tom looked at her, really looked at her, and Hermione saw something in his eyes she couldn't quite place—fear, maybe, or guilt. "Just leave me alone" he said quietly, pulling his arm away. Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the darkened library. ---