Not wishing to leave his enemy alone in his property, Tom politely waited an hour before entering his room. Upon noticing the witch's figure sprawled atop of his bed, the man clicked his tongue as he pondered over where he would sleep for the remainder of the night. It was ungentlemanly of him to force a woman to slumber on a couch and even more so to place her there when there is evidently a bed that she could occupy.

But it wasn't as though anybody knew of the witch's existence considering she only arrived in his abode a few hours prior to their argument.

Their argument. Him and his wife. A growl of frustration escaped him as he berated his psychotic future-self for binding each other together. Perhaps that's what he could do instead; research the bloody ritual and reverse it so he could be a free man once more. Changing his attire into something far more comfortable, Tom entered the spare bedroom he had transformed into a small office and scoured through the numerous dark books he had collected through his years as working as a lowly shop assistant.

The first of the sun's rays unfiltered through the window broke the dark haired man from his accidental slumber. The sweet scent of what he recognised as pancakes wafted around his small apartment and triggered his salivary glands with hunger. Stretching to remove any kinks he had accumulated after dozing off at an awkward angle, the satisfactory crack of his joints resetting allowed him to exit through the door and greet the witch that he was now condemned to live with.

Hermione appeared to be in a fairly chipper mood though he doubted it would last long once the serotonin high she seemed to have found herself in levelled out. As she flipped a pancake in the pan smoothly, Tom couldn't help but raise a questioning eyebrow at the light blue shirt and black trousers that were both extensively oversized that she had changed into from the white shirt he had put her in.

"You haven't yet questioned whether I undressed you or not," he stated conversationally as he swiped the small plate with five pancakes piled onto it.

"I know."

"You do not care?"

"Of course I do," she said whilst sliding another pancake onto a plate for herself, "I know you used magic, so no harm done."

"How do you know I didn't leave you naked for a while before putting the other cloth on?"

Hermione stared at him, "Do you want me to accuse you?" she rolled her eyes at his indecipherable mask, "When I woke up this morning that realisation did occur to me, so I did a few scans and such to check if you placed any curses on me while I slept."

"Without a wand?" he asked sounding slightly impressed.

"Basic auror and healer training. Constant Vigilance. Understand?"

"You are a healer?"

Hermione shook her head, "Not completely though I managed to finish the first few months of the course."

"And the auror part?"

"Fighting in battle should suffice."

"True," Tom conceded, "I found a passage that has some resemblance of the ritual I.. Lord Voldemort used to bind us,"

"Finally going to give up on that moniker?"

"Only if I can come up with a new one,"

Hermione forked a piece of her chocolate syrup covered pancake into her mouth. Swallowing what she presumed as the best pancakes she had made in a while, she questioned the dark man sitting opposite her, "Why do you hate your name so much?"

"From what I saw in your memories you already know the answer to that,"

"I also know that you tend to tell people what they want to hear rather than what you truly believe. Now that we are married," here she grimaced, "there shouldn't be so many secrets,"

"Who's to say we will remain bound for much longer? If I find a reversal, then the secrets I spill will leave me vulnerable to you." Tom's eyes hardened, "Not something I find myself fancying."

"What was the translation of the incantation Voldemort used?"

"The gist of it was that neither of us could harm or kill each other,"

"Do your secrets have the potential to harm you if they become known?" she questioned.

"If in the wrong hands, what do you think?" he snarled.

"Dependant on who you consider to be the wrong hands." Hermione commented as she ate another bite, "Your current enemies were my allies and your allies were my enemies. Quite the predicament, don't you think?"

Tom licked his dry lips, "Quite."

Standing up, Hermione allowed Tom to take his final pancake off of his used plate before placing it in the sink to wash with hers. An awkward silence fell over them as they both busied themselves in cleaning and reading until the green eyed man broke it with a loud "Found it!"

Spread on the desk of his study lay an old tome that Hermione figured was undoubtedly dark in content with scrawl written in the dead language Ancient Babylonian. The golden flicker of a translation spell possibly crafted by the man himself revealed words she could decipher in Latin. With her further knowledge from the future, the young witch aided the translation to reveal the name of the ritual as: Fide Imperium, or forced loyalty.

The absence of Hermione's healthy pallor blanched further upon the realisation that Lord Voldemort had not only thrust her back in time but had also forced her to ensure that his younger self failed to make the mistakes he had done so during his ascent to power. She swallowed thickly as the fragile book collided with the smooth surface of the table. Her breathing became heavy once more and the hidden fury she had fought to keep at bay upon arrival unleashed itself as she glared at the dark man behind her. Sparks crackled around her hair that slowly began to frizz under the intensity of the power she was exerting and the pace blood was reaching her head. Attempting to control her magic lest she end up on the receiving end of Tom's ire by blowing his abode up, Hermione swiftly left for the bathroom wherein she turned the shower onto its coldest setting and sat under the icy spray.

"Bastard, bastard, bastard! I'm going to kill him, even if it kills me!" she grumbled under her breath as she slowly rocked herself whilst droplets of refreshingly cool water soaked the borrowed clothes of her... what was he? Husband?

The door to where she was sat in slowly creaked open, revealing the man of her fury himself.

"What do you want?" she spat as she wrapped her arms around her knees.

"I..." he began before cutting himself off with a confused expression, "I don't know really. Coming here felt like a good idea," he said as if that explained anything.

"If you have nothing to say then leave."

"This is my flat." He deadpanned.

"I am a woman in a bathroom in a shower."

"A woman who is also fully clothed under cold water which no sane person would do," he countered.

"You know; I always did wonder whether you showered when you were snake-face." Hermione commented offhandedly.

Tom rolled his eyes as he turned the knob to a more comfortable temperature, "With how clean he looked at your tea party in comparison to the battle, I think it's safe to say he did."

Hermione observed as he clambered to sit in front of her, mimicking her position, "Yes but he was dirty then, even animals would wash themselves. I meant on a regular basis."

"I shower daily,"

"Good to know," the witch bit her tongue to prevent herself from accidentally insulting the formidable man that had been as decent as a budding Dark Lord could get. "Why are you still in here?" she questioned as she pushed her hair behind her shoulders.

"Cooling off,"

"The water's warm,"

"I'm not insane unlike you,"

Hermione cackled and tilted her head backwards, inadvertently giving Tom a front-row view to her soaked figure underneath the translucent blue shirt. "You're one to talk about insanity,"

"I am not insane," he retorted as he subconsciously eyed his apparent wife appreciatively, "But you definitely are for remaining in a shower alone with a man. What will the others think?"

"What others? Nobody knows me but I know all of them."

"Care to share?" he asked, referring to the secret intel she had due to her coming from the future.

"No," Hermione finally looked back at him, her dark eyelashes coated with droplets of water and her face sprinkled with the remnants of water that had dripped off. A light flush spread over her cheeks from the heat of the water, darkening slightly under the intensity of Tom's gaze. "Since I am effectively stuck here, mind helping me get a job?"

"Women don't normally work unless they are the last of their line and the males are elderly or absent."

"Well this woman has to at some point earn something," she glared, "I can't even get married properly due to the Fide Imperium bond."

"My pay as an assistant barely passes for just me," Tom moved so he too was under the warmth of the water.

"Evidently," Hermione snarked, "Why don't you invest in renting properties?"

"Where would I gain the finance to even purchase one?"

"Where's my beaded bag?" Hermione questioned.

"With your wand elsewhere,"

The witch groaned, "It's been identified that we cannot harm each other-"

"Much to my dismay,"

Ignoring Tom, Hermione continued, "-so just give me my wand and bag so we can sort through whatever you decided to send me backwards with."

"Well I'm not going to bring parchment into the shower, silly chit,"

Hermione smiled tightly, "I know that, I meant after we get out."

"So it's we now?"

"No- I- argh! That's not what I meant and you know it!" Hermione stumbled over her words as the blush on her cheeks darkened.

Unable to resist, Tom's rapidly warming hand reached out to grab a hold of her flushed countenance. Freezing under his touch, Hermione's eyes slowly flickered to his dark ones that seemed to have lightened temporarily in comparison to their appearance when they were eating. Subconsciously moistening her lips, the desire to have a taste of those forbidden lips of his increased till they both began to slowly lean in.

"What are you doing to me, witch?" the dark haired man mumbled as one of Hermione's hands lifted up to brush a lock of curly hair falling over his eye.

Something within their chests and in the deepest pits of their minds thrummed to life as eventually their lips met in a slow, intimate dance. The sounds of water hitting the shower tiles became muffled as Tom's hand crept up Hermione's drenched back and tangled itself within her messy, caramel curls. On instinct, one hand fiddled with the smaller curls on the base of his nape while the other rested on what she could appreciate as a toned chest in case she felt the need to push him away. A pleasant, comforting sensation washed over the both of them as their bound magic mingled and caressed each other with curiosity and lust fuelled by the bond made in 1998.

Only when the requirement for oxygen became too much of a burden to bear, a smirk filtered its way onto Tom's face as he resisted her struggling attempts in moving further away. "Maybe my psychotic alter-ego knew what he was doing,"

Hermione snorted, the impassioned atmosphere breaking into shambles as she retorted with a fervent shake of her head, "I highly doubt that."