Can't run from time

They apparate back to Hogwarts late that night. They informed Professor Dippet that the house still needed work so they would be leaving again the next morning.

The following day brought a clearer picture of what the Riddle House could become. As Hermione stepped out into the frosty morning air, the quiet charm of Little Hangleton greeted her. She pulled her cloak tightly around her, heading for the small collection of shops nestled at the town's center.

Inside the linen shop, Hermione carefully selected a set of soft, neutral-toned sheets, embroidered curtains, and a quilt thick enough to stave off the winter chill. She lingered over a set of delicate throw pillows before deciding they might be too much for Tom's taste.

The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with sharp eyes, gave Hermione a curious glance. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Just passing through," Hermione replied with a polite smile, keeping her answers vague.

When she returned to the Riddle House, arms full of purchases, she was greeted by the faint hum of activity. The transformation was well underway. Tom had enlisted house-elves, who moved through the hallways with a determined efficiency. The floors shone with polish, the furniture gleamed, and the thick layer of grime that had coated everything was slowly disappearing.

Tom appeared in the grand dining room, his sleeves rolled up and a trace of dust on his cheek. His sharp features softened slightly when he saw her. "Finally," he said, glancing at the bags she carried. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost."

Hermione set the bags down with a huff. "Some of us can't just wave a wand and have everything appear out of thin air."

Tom's lips curved into a faint smirk. "A limitation I find endlessly amusing."

Despite his teasing, he helped her unpack the linens and assess her purchases. By the time they had made the first of the beds, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the house in a warm, golden glow.

That evening, as they sat together in the parlor. She glanced at Tom, who sat in his usual composed manner, a book in his lap.

"This place," she began cautiously, "it doesn't... haunt you?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Haunt me? Why would it?"

"Because of what happened here," she said softly, her eyes flickering to the darkened corners of the room.

Tom leaned forward, his voice low and deliberate. "What happened here is in the past. What matters is what I will make of it." 

 
Hermione nodded, though a part of her couldn't shake the horrors that clung to the walls of the Riddle Mansion. 

Later that night, after sending Professor Dippet an owl to inform him of their extended absence, Hermione retired to the bedroom she'd reluctantly agreed to share with Tom during their stay.

She turned, her heart thudding in her chest as she went upstairs. She changed into her lacy pjs and slipped into the covers, sitting up and resting her back on the bed frame. A few minutes later tom stepped into the room. His presence filled the space effortlessly, his tall frame silhouetted against the soft glow of the firelight.

"Reading again?" he murmured, his voice like silk as he gestured toward the open book in her lap.

"It's a distraction," Hermione replied, though the pages in front of her blurred under his intense gaze.

Tom moved closer, his every step deliberate. Hermione's fingers trembled slightly as she flipped through the pages of the book in her lap, but her focus wasn't on the words. It was on the man across the room—her husband, Tom Riddle.

He stood by the fireplace, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the sharp lines of his collarbones and the smooth plane of his chest. The flames flickered against his pale skin, casting shadows over his angular features.

"You're staring," his voice broke through the silence, low and gravelly from sleep.

Hermione smirked, unabashed. "Am I not allowed to admire my husband?"

Tom's eyes opened, the familiar sharpness returning as he turned to face her. "Admire all you like," he said, his voice laced with mockery. "But don't think I've forgotten how you took charge last time...." He smirked as her eyes widened. He was referring to the last time they had sex, at christmas.

"Oh?" Hermione tilted her head, her tone light but challenging. "Did you mind?"

Tom's lips curved into a dangerous smile. "Mind? No. But I do believe it's my turn now."

Before she could respond, he moved with his usual grace and precision, slipping into bed and crawling on top of her, pinning her beneath him. His hands rested on either side of her head, his dark eyes boring into hers with a mixture of amusement and hunger.

"You're quite bold, Hermione," he murmured, his lips brushing against her jawline. "It's almost as though you've forgotten who you're dealing with."

Hermione's heart raced, but she refused to let him intimidate her. "Boldness is a requirement when married to someone like you," she replied, her voice steady despite the way her body reacted to his proximity.

Tom chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin as he kissed a trail down her neck. "Touché," he said, his voice low and sultry.

"Though you've been unusually quiet recently," Tom said, his voice low. 

"I thought you preferred it that way," Hermione replied, forcing her tone to remain even.

"Not at all darling. I actually find your arguments amusing. You are cute when you're angry"

The way he said darling sent a shiver down her spine. It was mocking and possessive all at once.

"So...what should we do" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

Tom chuckled, the sound low and intimate. "oh stop it" he said, his lips brushing against her ear.

Hermione's breath hitched as his hand moved to her waist, pulling her closer. The warmth of his body against hers was dizzying, his scent—dark and intoxicating—clouding her thoughts.

Tom's smirk softened into something more dangerous as his hand slid lower, his touch both commanding and teasing.

Before she could react he kissed her—hard and demanding, as though he was staking a claim. Hermione's initial resistance melted away as she gave in, her fingers tangling in his hair.

When they finally broke apart, Tom's eyes burned with a mixture of triumph and desire. "Shall I continue, or would you like to take over again this time?" he asked, his tone dripping with mockery.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't respond. Instead she moaned as tom pressed into her.

By the time they finally collapsed onto the bed, their bodies tangled in the sheets, it was almost dawn.

"Tom," she whispered, her voice trembling quietly.

"Yes?" he murmured, his eyes closed in satisfaction.

It was silent for some time. "Yes Hermione?" Tom said, opening his eyes and propping his head up with his arm. But she was already asleep, snuggling into his chest. He smiled, pulling up the blanket and holding her close.

And he swore he would never let go.