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“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…”
The wooden bench before the screen felt hard against her bare knees.
“It has been… several years since my last confession.”
More like sixty bloody years.
“Tell me, child. What sins have you committed?”
Stole a time turner from Theodore Nott. Traveled back in time to kill a genocidal maniac. Lied. Cheated. The list goes on…
“I – uh. I have harbored impure thoughts unbefitting of a girl my age.”
________________________________________________
It started like this.
Harry had mentioned that there was going to be a raid on Theodore Nott’s home. Apparently, there were rumours he had created an experimental time turner that was more powerful than the one she had used back in third year.
An idea popped into her head then.
She could change everything. She was experienced. She knew the risks.
Harry and Ron would forgive her, she hoped – especially if it meant that Harry’s parents and Fred Weasley lived.
She just wouldn’t be around to see it happened.
There would be no coming back from 1943.
She would either kill the young version of the Dark Lord and live the rest of her life nearly sixty years in the past or die trying.
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Infiltrating Hogwarts was almost too easy.
Where the fuck were the security wards? There’s a bloody war going on!
It was even easier convincing Headmaster Dippet that she was a displaced orphaned halfblood from France trying to seek refuge. It was one of the few benefits of traveling to this point in the timeline – she could essentially be a ghost with a solid sob story that pulled on the right heart strings and they wouldn’t second guess a thing.
And they didn’t, for the most part.
Except for Tom Riddle.
It seemed that from the moment she sat beneath the sorting hat, which placed her in Slytherin – all according to plan, his eyes did not leave her once.
Where people would look at her with sympathy and pity, he looked at her with distrust and suspicion.
As if he knew.
She played it off, dismissing Tom’s stares.
He couldn’t view her as a threat, not yet at least, otherwise she would never be able to get close enough to kill him.
So she waited.
________________________________________________
As it fucking turned out, Tom Riddle was nearly impossible to get close to. He was always surrounded by those bloody idiots he called his “Knights”. He was an insufferable cunt even during his Hogwarts days apparently – always needing a group of dimwitted foot soldiers to do his dirty work.
It was a blessing then, when Headmaster Dippet called her to his office, explaining that since she had no living family and could not stay at Hogwarts during the winter break, she would be staying at Wool’s Orphanage.
But don’t worry, Miss Granger. Your house Prefect, Tom Riddle, will be there as well to keep you company.
Hermione did her best to suppress the bubble of giddiness threatening to burst through her.
It was almost time.
________________________________________________
Wool’s Orphanage was a depressing monstrosity. She wondered, given how large it was, how it possibly survived the Blitz and what a shame that it did.
“Well, Miss Granger. Here it is. Your home away from home.” Tom remarked sarcastically.
Home. She hadn’t thought about it in quite some time. It sent a wave of pain through her heart as she pictured Harry and Ron’s faces.
“Lovely.” She muttered.
“Mr. Riddle.” Mrs. Cole spoke coldly as she approached them. “Ah, you must be Miss Granger. I hear you attend the same… institution as young Mr. Riddle, is that correct?”
Hermione nodded, before offering her hand in greeting.
Mrs. Cole eyed her outstretched hand suspiciously, before clearing her throat.
“Well, as Mr. Riddle is acutely aware, I will not tolerate any tomfoolery here, especially from your kind. You will eat during designated meal times and attend confession weekly until your return. God only knows how hard the devil works up at that school of yours, I’m sure you both have plenty to repent for.”
“Of course, Mrs. Cole. You know how it is. The Devil works hard, but I work harder.” Tom sneered, years of built up resentment seeping out of his pores.
“He certainly does.” Hermione muttered, causing Tom to glare at her as well.
Mrs. Cole eyed the two of them with disdain.
“Father Patrick is currently finishing up this morning’s confessionals, so off with the two of you.”
“Of course, Mrs. Cole.” They chimed in eerie unison.
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Tom went first, a stark difference to his behavior at Hogwarts where he would have surely gone out of his way to allow his female peers a chance to go before him.
It wasn’t long before he exited his side of the confessional, a smirk lingering on his face before gesturing to Hermione that it was her turn.
For whatever reason, it sent her into a panic.
Alright, it’s fine. It’s only been…how long has it been? Bloody hell, Granger. It’s just a priest, pull yourself together.
She made the sign of the cross before reciting the familiar words.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned…”
There was a noticeable pause as she mentally went through what she could possibly say to this muggle priest.
“Tell me, child. What sins have you committed?”
Stole a time turner from Theodore Nott. Traveled back in time to kill a genocidal maniac. Lied. Cheated. The list goes on…
Grasping for what she figured to be the least of her sins, she began.
“I – uh. I have harbored impure thoughts unbefitting of a girl my age.”
“Tell me, child. What impure thoughts?”
Murdering Tom Riddle. Watching the blood drip from his mouth as what was left of his severed soul escaped through his lips.
His beautiful, full lips.
Fuck.
It had become apparent to her in her time in 1943 that she was not as immune as she’d like to believe to Tom’s good looks. He was undeniably handsome. He did not have the regalness that Abraxas Malfoy had, nor the athletic build that Evan Rosier had as Slytherin’s Seeker.
No, it was something more. It was his charisma – his power. It was simply unmatched.
And she was lonely and horny and sometimes…in her weakest moments in the dead of the night her hand would slowly and surely slide down her cotton nightgown. Deft fingers would lift up the edge of the lace, revealing her bare cunt, sliding them between her wet folds.
Coming to the image of Tom in potion’s class – his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, arm muscles flexing as he stirred whatever potion he was brewing.
Arm muscles she envisioned holding her tightly as he took her on the very table he was working on.
“They’re about a boy. He’s very handsome. Sometimes…I – I touch myself. Down there. Thinking of him.”
The priest remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
“That is all I remember, Father.”
“Very well. Recite two Hail Mary’s for your penance. And child…”
Hermione looked up to the darkened screen.
“Remember Corinthians 11:3, “But I am afraid that just as Eve was deceived by the serpent’s cunning, your minds may somehow be led astray from your sincere and pure devotion to Christ."
The imagery of the serpent did not go unnoticed by Hermione, as the very heir to Salazar Slytherin was to be her ultimate undoing.
“Go in peace, young lady. God has forgiven your sins.”
She heard Father Patrick exit the other side of the confessional, no doubt eager to head to whatever local pub to drown himself in the drink after listening to the sins of countless children that day.
Exiting the confessional, she was surprised to see Tom seated nearby on the pew, as if he was waiting for her to finish.
“Riddle? What are you still doing here?” Confused, she asked. “Surely you have something better to do than wait for someone like me.”
“Oh Hermione.” He stood from his seat, making his way towards her menacingly.
“You’ve been quite the bad girl, haven’t you?”
Hermione gulped, before realizing that Tom must have spied on her during her confession. Conversations between a priest and parishioner were sacred, if nothing else.
“How dare you –” She raised her hand to strike his cheek.
He tsked at her, grabbing her wrist before her strike could land.
“I knew there was something off with you. You…you’ve always seemed to know more than the rest of these fools. I thought perhaps you were a seer.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped at the implication. Surely he doesn’t…
“A time traveler. I wasn’t expecting that, I’ll admit. And certainly not a time traveler whose sole purpose is to rid the world of me.”
She remained glued to the floor despite her anxiety sending alarm bells throughout her body to fucking run.
“But perhaps the biggest surprise, Miss Hermione Granger, is that a time traveling witch set on murdering me finds me attractive enough to touch herself in the dead of night, coming on her fingers to the simple image of me in her mind.”
Hermione stumbled back, her legs meeting the edge of the pew.
“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about Riddle.”
He laughed darkly.
“Professor Dumbledore really failed you, didn’t he? He didn’t even bother to train his child soldiers in occlumency.”
A cold sweat came over her.
“I know everything, Hermione. I know your future, your past, and your present. I know exactly why you’re here. And I know exactly why you haven’t completed your mission.”
He touched her then. Gently running his long, slender fingers along her jawline.
“You want me. I know you don’t want to admit it. But I have seen your mind. You came here with a goal in mind – a plan to create a different, happier future for your friends. You’ve had plenty of chances,” She began to scoff in defense of herself, but he stopped her. “Don’t lie to yourself, Hermione. You could have sent a killing curse during breakfast countless times. But you didn’t. You chose not to. Because a part of you was intrigued by me – attracted to me.”
“The Devil beguiled even God’s most fervent soldiers.” He whispered against her lips, before planting his lips fully against hers.
She responded immediately – her tongue meeting his in a struggle of heated dominance.
Months of build up led to this moment of her ultimate betrayal. But the taste of sin and peppermint toothpaste was too much for her to deny any longer.
Halting their kiss, he pushed her back gently, enough that she was forced to sit down on the pew she was previously backed up against.
“God…” She breathed out in between pants.
He knelt before her, flipping her wool skirt up. “You can just call me Tom, Hermione.”
Vanishing her panties, he exposed her entire lower body. Tom appeared to be salivating at the sight of her.
“I’ve never fully understood these pathetic fool’s reverence for their muggle god until this moment.”
She screamed as he planted his mouth on her cunt. He lapped with the devotion of a priest – his tongue reaching points within her that had never been touched, even by her own fingers.
As he licked and suckled her clit, he entered a finger inside her – working her thoroughly before adding another. Hermione was in a haze of lust and the overwhelming feeling of something tightening within her.
This was insane. Not only was Tom Riddle eating her out better than any man had done before in her life, he was eating her out in a church where she had just confessed dreaming of this very situation not even ten minutes prior.
Maintaining his rhythm of his tongue against her clit, he removed his thoroughly drenched fingers, slowly moving them back to her arse.
With his pointer finger, he swirled it around her tight, virgin hole – a hole she had never even played with or allowed anyone to see even after the war – before entering her slowly.
It was her undoing.
Hermione came hard against his mouth as she yelled out in ecstasy.
He removed himself, not even bothering to wipe his face as he faced her.
“Perhaps it really was Eve that tempted the Devil, and he had but no other choice than to take her for his own.”
It hit her then, just exactly what she had done – what she allowed to happen. The ultimate betrayal of her loved ones.
But she couldn’t find within her an ounce of remorse.
Maybe – maybe this could work in her favour. Maybe she could steer him on another path. Change the future in a way that didn’t need to stem from his early death.
“On your knees, Hermione.” Tom spoke roughly, his erection bulging against his woolen trousers.
Well, needs must when the Devil drives.