Can't run from time

A few days passed. Tom had been so absorbed in his dark spells he hadn't noticed the time turner gone. He barely noticed Hermione either.

The newspapers had been full of pages about Tom. "New Rising Dark Wizard?" "Grindelwald Part 2?" and "Anonymous group seen using the unforgivables" have been in the top headlines recently. 

For days, the Riddle House had been a flurry of spells, discussions about Tom's growing influence, and the unnerving tension of Tom's hunt for answers about his missing Horcruxes. 

Hermione could feel his suspicion growing, as tangible as the icy January wind that howled outside their home.

Hermione had been careful—so careful—to mask her thoughts, to keep her movements subtle since she smuggled the Time Turner away and sent it to Dumbledore. But part of her knew it wasn't enough. To her disappointment, Dumbledore hadn't sent a reply. She didnt even know if he had got the message. It wasnt her owl after all, it could have disobeyed.

She stirred her tea in the drawing room, her gaze flicking to the darkened window. Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the world in white. Tom entered the room abruptly, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud.

"You've been quiet," he said, his tone deceptively calm. He sank into the armchair across from her, his piercing eyes fixed on her.

"So have you," she replied, forcing a small smile.

His lips curled into a smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "True."

She set her cup down, her fingers trembling slightly, but she hid it by clasping her hands in her lap. "Tom, what's going on?" 

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze unrelenting. " I've been busy. I wished you could be more active as my dark lady. You should have seen us the other day. We used the imperious curse on almost everyone in diagon alley! the ministry is fuming" he chuckled darkly.

"Ive heard.." she said, indicating to the Daily Prophet on the table next to her.

"You've been strange. Youre the dark lady you should be coming with us on these little adventures." he looked at her, not giving anything away with his eyes

Her heart raced, but she met his gaze, refusing to flinch. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tom chuckled, low and humorless. "Of course you don't. You're very good at pretending, my darling." He reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek, but there was no tenderness in the gesture—only an underlying threat.

She swallowed hard. "I'm not pretending."

"Good," he said, leaning back. "I'm going out. I'll see you later."

The room felt colder as he stood and left, leaving Hermione to sit in the suffocating silence.

------

Later that evening, Hermione found herself in the library, surrounded by books she wasn't reading. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying Tom's words, his touch, the way his gaze had lingered just a second too long.