I went back and edited a few of my chapters. Nothing major, just a few typos and grammatical errors I found after rereading them. Moving on, here's chapter five, I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you to everyone who's favorited and followed this story and/or me and who's left reviews. I love hearing y'alls feedback so please continue to leave reviews! That's the only way I can know how you guys feel about my writing and the story so I greatly appreciate it.

For this chapter I highly recommend you look up Francis Bacon's Study after Velazquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X that I mentioned in the previous chapter if you have not done so already. It will help you visualize one of the scenes near the beginning of this chapter. The original painting by Velazquez is just a regular portrait, but Francis Bacon turns it into something that I find very haunting in it's beauty.

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling, a sad truth I must accept every day.

She was running. Hermione didn't know what, or who, was chasing her, but she knew she didn't want to find out. Her lungs were on fire, her muscles were aching, and a stitch was forming in her side, but she kept running. Despite her efforts, she could hear the footsteps chasing after her getting closer and closer and Hermione felt a crippling wave of despair rush over her. Then something heavy was slamming into her from behind, knocking the wind out of her and throwing her forward onto the ground. She quickly scrambled to her knees and spun around, shrieking at the sight before her. The man from the coffee shop, Mundungus Fletcher, was standing above her. He was drenched in blood, the thick liquid flowing off of him almost lazily and onto Hermione. There was a large gash across the length of his throat which had to be the source of all the blood. He reached forward to grab her, but Hermione was faster, and she got to her feet before he could reach her.

She turned and sprinted away from the dead man. She needed somewhere to hide. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the museum appeared in front of her. Without a second thought, she yanked the door open and rushed in. When she turned back to lock the door, it was gone, leaving her trapped inside. The place was dark and empty. She glanced around, her dread growing at the lack of exhibits. The only thing that seemed to be in the building was a painting hanging on the far wall with a single spotlight illuminating it. Studying it further, she saw that Tom was the subject of the painting.

Hermione approached the painting slowly. He was wearing a black robe and sitting on some type of throne. No, not a throne, she realized as her brain pieced everything together. It was the chair from Francis Bacon's painting. As she stared at the canvas, Tom turned his head sharply. His expression was dark as he looked down at her in disdain. "I always get what I want." He hissed at her, his voice high and cruel. Thick black lines appeared at the top of the painting and then rushed down to the bottom as if someone had used a knife to make big slashes on the canvas. As soon as the lines touched Tom, he began to change. Hermione watched in horror as his hair receded and his skin became deathly pale. Red bled into his eyes until that was all she could see and his nose became nothing but slits. His mouth opened wide in a scream, the terrible sound crawling under her skin and burrowing into her brain like a parasite.

She shot up in bed, covered in sweat and panting heavily. Her ears were ringing and her throat was sore. Hermione had been the one screaming, not Tom. Or whatever that thing was that Tom became. Whenever she blinked, she saw a flash of those red eyes glaring back at her. She jumped when a sudden loud noise reverberated through her apartment but relaxed when she realized it was just someone banging on her front door. Probably a neighbor, trying to get her to shut up. When the person kept knocking, Hermione groaned and dragged herself out of bed. She had stopped screaming, so why couldn't they just leave?

Opening the door, Hermione immediately regretted not looking through the peephole when she was greeted with the sight of Tom pacing back and forth anxiously. His hair, which was always perfectly styled, was fussed up with random pieces sticking in every direction like he had run his hands through it repeatedly. He was wearing sweatpants and a soft looking cotton v-neck that gave Hermione a glimpse of his collar bones. She had never seen him so discomposed before and all she could do was stare.

"Are you going to let me in?" Tom asked after a minute. His voice was quiet and unsure and he brought his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. Was he nervous?

Hermione's first instinct was to tell him no. To close the door in his face and lock it tight. But something was wrong. She had never seen Tom like this before, and she wanted to know what happened. He looked so vulnerable, in that moment. Her curiosity winning out, Hermione wordlessly opened the door further and moved to the side so that he could come in.

"What are you doing here Tom?" She asked him softly, after closing the door behind her. The nightmare was still fresh in her mind and when her eyes landed on him, all she could see was the monster from the painting. Hermione cleared her throat. "How do you even know where I live?"

"I got the address from your job application."

Her eyebrows shot up and she crossed her arms. "You broke into the director's office and went digging through his files until you found my application?"

Tom didn't even blink at her accusatory tone. "I needed to talk to you."

"In the middle of the night? It couldn't have waited until work tomorrow?" Hermione's head throbbed. She moved into the kitchen and grabbed painkillers from the cabinet. She kept an eye on Tom as he followed her, unable to trust him enough to look away.

"I spent hours debating whether or not to come here," Tom told her. "I decided it was too important not to."

"This is about Mundungus Fletcher, isn't it?" It was risky asking him, but Hermione wanted him to get to the point so that he could leave. His presence made her unsettled and she didn't like him being in her apartment. Her eyes flickered to the block of knives on the counter next to her and then back to him. This man was a murderer Hermione reminded herself. If she needed to defend herself, she would.

Tom's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly controlled his expression. "Why would you think that?"

"It's all over the news and he was obviously terrified of you. I'm not stupid, Tom." She scoffed as a way to hide her unease. She rested her hand on the counter, making sure the knives were within reach.

"I know," Tom closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. "I know. I came here because I need you to know that I didn't mean to. I didn't plan on killing him, it just happened."

Fear flooded through Hermione and she took a deep breath through her nose to try and calm herself. Her entire body was shaking and she blinked back tears. She had already assumed that Tom had murdered Fletcher, but it was so much worse hearing him admit it. "Why?" Her voice cracked, and she barely managed to get the question out.

"He threatened you." Tom's voice was low but steady. He gave her a pleading look and stepped forward slowly so as not to startle her, his hands out in front of him to show he wasn't a threat.

"What?" Hermione's brows furrowed. That was the last thing she had been expecting him to say. "I don't understand." Confusion and desperation seeping into her voice. Her fingers were still inches away from the knives, and they twitched towards them involuntarily. She saw Tom's eyes narrow at the movement and she swallowed to try and relieve the dry ache in her throat.

Tom took another step. When Hermione didn't make a move for any of her knives, he crept forward until he was right in front of her. "He didn't like the conversation I had with him at the coffee shop. After he left, he came up with a plan. Insurance, he called it." Tom growled out and Hermione flinched at his tone. His face immediately softened and he brushed his fingertips against her cheek lightly. "He saw us together at the café and figured he could use you as leverage. He found out who you were and came to me saying that if I ever even spoke to him again that he would hurt you. I lost it, Hermione. As soon as he said your name, I saw red. I couldn't control myself."

"Why?" Hermione asked, looking up at him. "It's not like you actually care about me."

Tom shook his head and leaned down to press his lips to her forehead. "That's where the problem lies Hermione," He whispered against her skin. "Because I do care about you. Much more than I'd like to admit."

Before she could respond, Tom had tilted her head up so that his mouth could press against hers. Gone was the hesitant, timid Tom; his old self had returned in full force. The kiss was insistent and he tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth until she opened for him. His hands trailed down her arms, leaving fire in their wake, until he was gripping her hips. He pulled her tightly against him, and Hermione sighed into his mouth at the feel of his body against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her up to sit on the counter, moving to stand between her legs.

She couldn't think, couldn't process anything besides how good his touch felt on her skin. The fingers on his left hand dipped below the waistband of her sleep shorts while he braced his right against the counter behind her. Hermione couldn't contain her moan as his fingers brushed against her through her underwear. Tom smirked at her reaction, and took his time running his thumb up and down her entrance, knowing that the slow pace was torture. She couldn't help her disappointed whimper when he pulled his hand away, but gasped when his fingers grazed her breast before knotting in the hair at the back of her head. He yanked her head back, giving his lips access to her neck before skimming them down to nip at her collar bone. Hermione's eyes had closed in pleasure, but they flew open when she suddenly felt cool metal pressed to her throat.

Tom's left hand was still tangled in her hair, keeping her head from moving, while his right had the sharp blade of a carving knife pressed to her skin. "Tom, what are you doing?" Her hands were still at his neck, but she didn't try anything. He would cut her throat the second she did. If she wanted to live, she'd have to talk her way out.

Tom studied her face for a moment before responding. "I came here tonight because I knew that you would have connected the dots. You knew I was probably the last person who saw Fletcher alive and that he was scared of me. I can't have that kind of information getting out." He explained coolly.

Hermione's heart plummeted. Despite how much he got under skin, she couldn't deny her obvious attraction to Tom, and so a part of her had been ecstatic when he said he cared about her. Finding out that none of it was real had Hermione cursing her foolishness. She took a deep breath. "All of this was a trick. Lies to get me to invite you in and let down my guard." Tom nodded, a dark grin playing on his lips. "Why? You're stronger than me. You could have easily killed me as soon as I let you into the apartment. Why do all of this?"

He chuckled. "When we first started working together, I told you that I'd have you falling at my feet, Hermione. And fall, you did. I just confessed to you that I murdered somebody and you still let me kiss you, still let me touch you." His smug expression made her sick to her stomach.

"Please, you don't have to do this." Hermione begged. She closed her eyes, but that didn't stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. "I won't tell anyone."

Tom hummed and she felt him slowly trail the knife down her chest and between her breasts until the point rested just above her belly button. "But how can I be sure that you'll keep your promise?"

"I will, I swear. Please, Tom."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. It's nothing personal, it's just easier this way." Tom said before driving the blade into her abdomen.

Hermione inhaled sharply as her eyes opened. She was laying in bed. Sitting up slowly, she looked around her darkened room. She was alone. There was never any knocking on her front door. Tom never came to her apartment. With shaking fingers, Hermione pulled up her shirt and looked down at her stomach. Nothing. It had all been a nightmare. Her heart continued to pound frantically, and every little noise made her jump. She couldn't shake the nightmare from her thoughts. It had felt so real. The first part of her nightmare, while scary at the time, hadn't felt real. The logical part of her had known she was dreaming as she ran through the streets, but her subconscious had forced her to keep running anyways, made it feel like she had to.

But the second part… Hermione shuddered. The first time she opened her eyes, she had thought that it was over, that she was awake. Everything had been so realistic. If she focused, she could feel Tom's touch tracing up her arm and his fingers slipping beneath the band of her shorts. Goosebumps broke out over her body, and she wanted to scream at herself. In her dream, Tom had only kissed her as a distraction so that he could kill her and here she was getting flustered at how good his distraction had felt.

She tried her best to block out the nightmare and glanced over at her clock. 3:27 in the morning. There was no way that she was going back to sleep tonight. There was a dry ache in her throat and she reluctantly got out of bed and headed to the kitchen to make some tea.

While waiting for the water to boil, Hermione's eyes flitted around nervously. When her gaze fell on the knife block sitting innocently on the counter, her heart skipped a beat. Reaching over, she grasped the handle of the carving knife and took a deep breath before pulling it out of its resting place. She examined the knife, turning it over in her hand slowly. The set was new so the blade was still wickedly sharp. Her hands were clammy as she returned the knife to the block.

The sudden, piercing whistle of the kettle made Hermione scream. She shook her head as she poured the water. She needed to calm down, it was just a nightmare. She tried to control her breathing while waiting for the tea to steep. She couldn't go to work like this. If a tea kettle made her scream, she had no idea how she'd react to seeing Tom. Her legs nearly gave out just thinking about it. No, she couldn't see him. She'd just have to call in sick.

With her mind made up, Hermione did everything she could to try and relax. She treated the day like a mini vacation. She took a long bubble bath, read, did a jigsaw puzzle, but still her brain was buzzing with activity. The nightmare had faded into the background, but now she couldn't stop thinking about Mundungus Fletcher. It couldn't just be a coincidence that they ran into him at the coffee shop and then later the same night he ended up dead. She hated not knowing.

Making a rash decision, Hermione got in her car and started driving towards the coffee shop. The day had passed quickly and she was surprised to see it was already evening. The tiny lot in front of the shop was full, so she parked at a nearby garage. Hermione walked the short distance but hesitated outside the door. She had no idea why she had gone in the first place, but she was already here and there was no point going back now. Sighing, she pulled the door open and stepped in.

Hermione didn't know what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't Tom. He was sitting at one of the tables and she looked away, hoping that he wouldn't notice her. Of course, life never worked in her favor because a second later she heard him calling her name. She turned and saw he was walking over to her. "Hello." She greeted quietly. She kept her eyes down, not sure if she could handle looking at him.

"I didn't see you at work today, is everything alright?" He asked, nothing but concern in his voice. Hermione didn't understand how he did it.

"I was pretty sick last night and this morning, but I'm feeling better now. It must have been one of those 24 hour bugs." She told him, trying to sound as convincing as he always did.

"I'm glad you're feeling better. But what are you doing out? Even if you don't feel sick anymore, you should still be resting."

Hermione's heart rate picked up. He wanted to know what she was doing here. "My throat's still a little sore, and I wanted tea. I really liked what I got here when you brought me the other day, so I figured I'd try theirs."

Tom nodded. "This place is pretty good, I come here a lot."

He stood with her as she ordered and waited for her tea. When she got her drink, she gave him a small smile and waved. "I'll let you get back to what you were doing."

"I was about to leave anyways." She very reluctantly followed him to the exit. He held the door open for her with a charming smile on his face. It was a shame that this was all a charade. If Tom was an actual gentleman, Hermione was sure that she would have already fallen in love with him. As soon as they were outside, she turned and begun walking as fast as she could without being suspicious away from the shopping area when she heard Tom call out. "Did you not drive here? I can give you a ride if you like."

"Thank you for the offer, but I did drive. The lot was full so I had to park a couple blocks away." She explained. "Goodnight, Tom." She started walking again.

Despite her goodbye, Tom jogged lightly to catch up with her. Hermione almost groaned. He refused to leave her alone. "I'll walk you to your car." He offered politely.

"That's not necessary," Hermione responded too quickly. Tom gave her a curious look and she internally swore. She needed to stop being so obviously uncomfortable around him. "I'd feel bad making you walk all the way there."

"I don't mind at all. Besides, it's getting dark and with everything that's been going on recently, I'd never forgive myself if something happened."

A cold lump of fear slithered down Hermione's spine and her nightmare reared its ugly head. He was trying to find out what she knew, just like in her dream. "What do you mean?" She asked, playing dumb. She could see the parking deck and it was like a beacon of safety, but it was still about a block away. Surely Tom wouldn't do anything in such a public area, but as they walked, Hermione noticed that no one else was on the streets but them.

Tom frowned. "It's all over the news, haven't you heard?"

"No, I felt so sick when I got home from work yesterday that I went straight to bed. I haven't seen anything."

"Remember my friend from the coffee shop? They found his body early yesterday morning."

"What happened?" Her voice shook, and she prayed he didn't notice.

"They think it was a mugging gone wrong. It was one of the most violent attacks the city has had in years." Tom told her. "That's why I insisted on walking with you. Whoever did it is still out there."

Hermione shivered. "That's awful." She whispered. Maybe she was overreacting. Sure, Tom was manipulative and cunning, but could he actually commit such a gruesome act? She had always been a logical, analytical person. She looked at things rationally, and never just went with her gut. That was much more Ron and Harry's style. She did extensive research and gathered as much information as she could before making any conclusions. So then why was she so quick to call Tom a murderer? She had no real evidence, just a few a news articles and a bad dream. The reports never pointed to Tom, and besides, he had never actually done anything to hurt her, not in real life anyways. Perhaps she needed to give him the benefit of the doubt.

They didn't talk again until they had reached her car. "This is me," Hermione gestured at her car. "Thank you for walking me."

"Of course," Tom replied. She grabbed the door handle, but Tom had reached out and pressed his hand against the door to keep it from opening. She did her best not to start hyperventilating and turned to look at him. "Stay safe." He told her, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss to her forehead and then smiling down at her.

It was too much like her nightmare. Hermione needed to get out of there before she had a nervous breakdown. She just nodded at him. "I will. I'll see you at work, Tom."

His smile broadened until it became the one she had only ever seen him direct at her. The smile hit her like a battering ram. It made her feel giddy, and she desperately tried to shoo away the feeling. "Until tomorrow."

As soon as he turned and walked away, Hermione got in her car and locked the doors. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, resting her head against the steering wheel. Tom Riddle was a force of nature, devastating in his intensity. He swept through and destroyed everything in his path, and there was no way to avoid it. He was a hurricane and all she could do was wait for him to pass and hope that in the end there were still pieces that she could put back together.