Can't run from time

The sun filtered through the heavy curtains of the Riddle House, casting golden streaks across the grand bedroom. Hermione lay half-propped on the bed, eyes trained on the distant hills beyond the glass window. 

Tom lay awake beside her. He proped himself up just as she did. She still gazed through the window. He leaned in behind her, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin of her neck, fingers trailing possessively over her waist. His touch was slow, indulgent, meant to make her crave him as much as he constantly did.

"You've been awake for a while now," he murmured against her ear.

Hermione swallowed, forcing a breathless chuckle. "Just thinking."

Tom hummed, softly biting her earlobe as he whispered. "Thinking can be dangerous."

His hand slid up her thigh, leisurely, as if she was just a plaything he could use whenever he pleased.

"You always seem to be thinking about something," he continued, voice lazy but sharp. "Tell me, kitten. What's on your mind?"

She turned in his arms, smiling sweetly. Lying to him. As always. She had perfected it by now.

"You."

His lips twitched in satisfaction, and he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her mouth, his fingers threading into her hair, pulling slightly.

But before things could go further there was a knock at the door.

The death eaters had arrived.

Tom exhaled sharply against her skin before pulling away, irritated. He shot her a look, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes.

"We'll continue this later."

It wasn't a promise. It was a threat.

And then he was gone.

-----

The Death Eaters had gathered in the dining hall, a grand yet dimly lit space filled with shadows. Tom sat at the head of the long table, fingers tapping rhythmically against the wood, his expression unreadable.

She could feel his frustration simmering beneath his perfect, composed mask. The Horcruxes. Their destruction. He was slipping further into paranoia, his desperation evident in the way his grip tightened on his wand, in the cold glint in his dark eyes as he spoke.

"We will infiltrate the Ministry," Tom declared, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Minister Hector Fawley is a fool, too distracted by the threat of Grindelwald potentially managing escaping Ascaban . He will not see us coming."

The room fell into silence. Some of the Death Eaters exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared to question him. Hermione kept her gaze lowered, hands trembling under the table. Tom was spiraling. She could see it—the gradual loss of restraint, the hunger for control.

Abraxas, seated beside her, shifted uncomfortably. His hand brushed against hers, a silent grounding touch. Then, when he felt that she hadn't pulled away, he slowly grabbed her hand and held it in hers under the table. A quiet reassurance. He knew. He understood. And he wasn't afraid to let her see it.

After the meeting, Hermione stayed behind as the others filed out. Tom's gaze followed her.

"So eager to leave are you darling?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

"Just wanted to head to our room.. there's a book I wanted to finish" she sent him a small smile but the way she spoke made it clear she was lying. She knew what she had to do. She knew it was too late to fix the broken boy in front of her. She'd been planning to do it for weeks now but couldn't bring herself to say goodbye.