Can't run from time

The prefects' bathroom was eerily quiet, the warm steam from the enormous pool-like bath curling around the golden taps and filling the room with a humid haze. Hermione leaned against the wall, her arms crossed, trying to ignore the way Tom was watching her. 

His sharp eyes held a teasing glint, a small smirk playing on his lips as he leaned casually against the marble counter.

"Are you going to stare at me all night, or are you going to join me?" he drawled, his voice low and inviting.

Hermione felt her cheeks burn. "I—I just don't know why we're even here," she muttered, glancing around.

Tom stepped closer, his fingers brushing her wrist lightly. "You've been so tense lately," he murmured. "I thought a little... relaxation might help."

The air between them grew heavier, the heat from the bath seeming to press against her skin. Hermione swallowed hard as Tom moved closer, his hand sliding up her arm, his touch sending a shiver through her.

"Relax, Hermione," he said softly, his lips brushing against her ear. "For once."

Her resolve crumbled. Before she knew it, she was kissing him, her hands tangling in his hair as he pulled her closer. His hands roamed, slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt, and soon they were half-dressed, their clothes scattered across the marble floor.

Tom's kisses grew hungrier, his hands rougher, but then, suddenly, he pushed her away.
Hermione blinked in confusion, her breath hitching as she looked up at him. "Tom?" He was already turning away, his movements stiff as he reached for his shirt. "This was a mistake," he muttered, his voice cold.

"What?" Hermione stepped forward, her hand hesitating before she touched his arm. "Tom, what's wrong?"

He flinched at her touch, spinning around, his eyes blazing with fury. "My name is not Tom," he snarled.

Hermione froze, her mind reeling. "What are you talking about?"

Tom's lips curled into a bitter smile. He turned to his bag, rummaging through it before pulling out something that glinted in the soft light. The time-turner.

Her stomach dropped.

"Where did you get that?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He stalked toward her, the time-turner dangling from his fingers like a noose. "You think I don't know?" he hissed. "You think I'm blind?"

"I—I don't understand—"

"Stop lying to me!" he roared, his voice echoing off the walls. "Say it. Say my name."

Hermione took a step back, her legs trembling. "Tom..."

"NO!" he bellowed, his fists clenching. "That is not my name! Say it!"

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Tom, please—"

"I AM VOLDEMORT!" he shouted, the words reverberating through the room like a curse.

Hermione's breath hitched. The name lingered in the air, suffocating her. For a long moment, the only sound was the steady drip of water from the golden taps.

"How did you get that?" she finally whispered, her voice shaking as she pointed at the time-turner. "is that why you've been distant lately..?" she whispered so only she could hear. her thoughts were racing. 

Tom's expression darkened, a sinister grin spreading across his face. He raised his wand, the tip glowing with a dark, unnatural light.

"Let me show you what happens to those who lie to me," he said coldly.

"Tom, no!" she cried, but it was too late.

"Crucio!"

The first time he hit her with the curse, back when they first met,  she was ready. This time, shock through her off guard. 

The curse hit her with a sickening force, throwing her across the room. Her back slammed against the marble wall, a sharp crack ringing out as she crumpled to the floor. Pain seared through her, and she gasped as blood began to seep through her torn shirt.

Tom lowered his wand, his chest heaving as he stared at her. For a fleeting moment, his expression softened, guilt flickering in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

Hermione scrambled to her feet, clutching her shirt to her chest as tears blurred her vision. 

"You're a monster," she sobbed, her voice breaking.

"And you're a liar," he spat, turning his back on her.

Without another word, Hermione grabbed her clothes and fled, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the empty corridors.
The castle felt colder that night, the shadows deeper, the silence louder. Hermione ran until her legs gave out, collapsing in a hidden alcove as sobs wracked her body.

How had it come to this?

Her mind spun with images of Tom's fury, of the darkness in his eyes when he shouted that name. Voldemort.

Her Voldemort.

She shuddered, clutching her knees to her chest as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She had thought she could change him, soften him. How did he find out? This wasnt meant to happen....

And now she knew. it was too late.