She had trouble sleeping the night after that. She couldn't help but wonder...

What was it that Tom would've said had she not intervened?

Day 28. R. v. Riddle

Moody's summation, like all of his speeches she'd witnessed, was strong. He made good points, many that couldn't be argued with. It would be difficult to follow.

But while his was strong... her summary would be stronger.

"Thank you, Your Honour. May it please the court, ladies and gentlemen of the jury."

She took her place on the floor, her muscles relaxing as she entered her element.

Summations were her favourite part of being a lawyer.

"The Crown, the prosecution, must prove to you, that beyond reasonable doubt, Tom Marvolo Riddle committed the crimes that have been presented to you," she said as if in a private conversation with the jurors. "Whether or not they have in fact done so throughout this trial now rests entirely upon your shoulders."

"It is a heavy burden," she acknowledged, passing her eyes down the line of jurors to meet each pair, "one with risks on both sides, and I am very sorry that you've been placed in this position. There is nothing pleasant about this case. We have seen evidence of some of the most heinous of crimes to pass through this courtroom, and words cannot express my sympathies to you, the jury, and to the loved ones of all of the victims of this case.

"However, the time has come for a decision to be made, and I am here, speaking to you one last time, to assist you in doing so." She straightened to her full height, eyes passing over her audience. "I would like to begin by acknowledging a fact that has been presented to you all in this courtroom, one that the defence absolutely does not disagree with. We heard from Dr. Remus Lupin, that the atrocities committed in this case were most likely the work of a serial killer. That much is, in my learned friend Mr. Moody's words, obvious.

"But this crucial and accepted fact brings us back to the beginning, to young Miss Myrtle Warren. As a student of 19 years old, she didn't deserve what happened to her. No one deserves what she went through, or what any of the other victims went through. Of little comfort, is the fact that her death was a fast one; we heard from the coroner Ms. Pomfrey of as much.

"For her death to have been as rapid as it was concluded to be, however, Miss Warren would have needed to have been killed by one with experience, someone who knew how to use a knife and knew where to aim it.

"Tom Riddle was not capable of this," Hermione stated without question. "It's that simple. A young man of twenty-one years would not have been capable of teaching himself the technique necessary to make such a - as Dr. Dumbledore put it - clean kill. He had never even met the girl. He had no reason to be capable of her murder."

She paused, letting the soft clicks of her footsteps fill the room.

"Shortly, the Honourable Judge Fudge will ask you to determine whether the evidence proves to you, beyond reasonable doubt, that Tom Marvolo Riddle is guilty of murder, or, the unlawful killing of another human being without justification or excuse, with malice. Whilst deliberating, I implore you to reflect upon the first day of this trial, when the common summation of any crime was explained to you. This was explained as means, motive, and opportunity; three crucial aspects in determining whether guilt can be determined in any criminal proceeding."

Hermione took a long breath and met Tom's eyes.

"Tom Riddle did not have the means to kill Miss Warren, nor any of the other victims, for that matter. Tom Riddle did not have the motive to kill Miss Warren nor any of the other victims. Tom Riddle did not, apparently, have the opportunity to kill Dr. Charity Burbage. If we can assume that the same person is responsible for the deaths of all seven victims, then... Tom Riddle was simply, not capable.

"We saw, from multiple highly esteemed witnesses, Dr. Lupin and Dr. Dumbledore, that the culprit in this is case will be one of an exceedingly high level of intelligence, with psychopathic tendencies. The tests say that Mr. Riddle is a highly intelligent individual. While I do not dispute this fact, we also heard that Tom Riddle was not found to have psychopathic tendencies.

"In fact, we heard the opposite from multiple witnesses, Dr. Horace Slughorn, Mr. Evan Rosier, and Mr. Caractacus Burke; three men with close, longstanding relationships with Mr. Riddle.

"We heard from Dr. Severus Snape that he spoke with Mr. Riddle the day after Lily and James Potter were murdered. While the defence does not argue with this fact, I would like to remind you of the highly emotional state that Dr. Snape had been in at the time of the conversation, and of the many instances he himself claimed not to remember details of that day. While Mr. Riddle may not have been the most supportive of shoulders to lean on in such a time of distress, this by no definition indicates that he was responsible for the deaths of Lily and James Potter."

She took a deep breath as she paused, knowing the next subject needed to be treated lightly.

"But what was the most compelling of the evidence presented to you has surely been the testimony of that a man matching Mr. Riddle's appearance was seen at the scene of the murders of Lily and James Potter," she stated. "However, I must remind you that this was the testimony of their son, with a heavy emotional attachment to the case at hand. Of further importance - critical importance - is the fact that the identification of Mr. Riddle took place within a hospital within days of Mr. Potter waking from a coma - one which was induced after sustaining a bullet wound to the head. As you can imagine, during this time, Mr. Potter had been under extensive treatments for his pain, and any statement made should be taken with the upmost caution."

She ignored the urge to look in Harry's direction.

"What you have before you, is a tragic case. A horrific case, one which I know that simply to witness has been distressing. But I must urge you to not allow the horrific nature of the case to stop you from deliberating with conscience. The burden of potentially condemning an innocent man due to circumstantial evidence while the true culprit remains free to kill again is heavy... but it unfortunately now rests upon you."

Slowly, her glance brushed over each of the jury members, meeting their eyes one by one. She had reasonable doubt. She knew it.

Whether the jury knew it was another matter.

But for Tom to be found guilty, the jury needed to vote unanimously. All she needed was one juror on her side. Just one stood between herself and victory, between Tom and freedom.

"Thank you."

By the looks of the jurors, she would have bet her life that she had three.

"If I am to be acquitted," Tom breathed, his lips trailing down her sternum. "I'll take you to Paris."

Hermione, about as romantic as a teapot, snorted. "You will do no such thing."

He glanced down at her questioningly from where he hovered over her.

"Could you imagine?" She asked with a rhetorical edge. "The media would have a field day. Alastor would demand a retrial."

"That's an awfully bleak outlook," he murmured, shifting to catch one of her nipples between his teeth.

Her eyes rolled back into her head as he gently sucked on the delicate skin. "I'm being - hm - realistic."

He released his suction with a pop. "I'm serious about you, Hermione. You're not just a quick fuck to me."

She sat up suddenly, pushing him along with her in the process.

"That's all this can be," she said, her tone gentle. "You know that." When he didn't say anything, she pushed, "you do know that, right?"

His dark, impossibly deep eyes held hers hostage. "I thought this was more than that," he murmured eventually.

"Tom... it can't be. My job is my life. You know that, you've seen that."

He pulled his lower lip between his teeth thoughtfully as his thumb traced patterns over her thigh.

"What if I were to say that I think I'm falling in lo-"

"Don't!" With the reflexes of a sportsman, she clamped her hand over his mouth. "Just... don't. We'll talk. Alright? If and when you're acquitted, we'll... discuss."

After a pause, she hesitantly freed his mouth.

She saw the subtle movement of his tongue brushing over his teeth through his skin as slight wrinkles formed on his forehead while he thought.

The beginning of the telltale weight of guilt pressed down on her shoulders.

"Oh no, I've upset you-"

"No," he breathed lowly as he readjusted his position over her, gently pushing her back down onto the pillows. "No, I understand."

"Do you though? You seem..."

"It's fine," he said quickly, shifting back downward. "We'll talk." He pulled the sheet up from behind him, pulling it over his head as he continued south.

"Tom-" she started, resisting his pull on her legs as he pried them apart to position himself between them. "You can't just do - do that, and end the conversation..."

He made a noncommittal grunt and ran his palms up the inside of her thighs. He surely felt the beginnings of goosebumps on her skin as he ever so gently ran the pad of his thumb over her lips, and she was thankful that she couldn't see the look on his face.

"Tom, I'm serious, please-" she tried, she really did, but as he leaned into her and slowly dragged his tongue over the delicate skin of her clit, her attempt at telling him to stop came out as an unintelligible mess of syllables.

Her nails tightened around the sheets, and the distant look she'd seen in his eyes went dismissed.

Day 34. R. v. Riddle

"In the first count of murder, how does the jury find?"

The air in the courtroom was still, yet the imbalance of it was almost perceivable.

Like static.

"We find the defendant, not guilty."

Her lungs emptied with a sensation like nothing she'd experienced before as the words ignited the sparks in the air. Scalding hot relief circulated through her, and although she tried not to get ahead of herself - there were seven counts, after all - the first verdict was possibly the most important one.

If he's not guilty of one, he's likely not guilty of the rest.

"In the second count of murder, how does the jury find?"

"We find the defendant-" the blasted juror spoke with far too much space between his words, "-not guilty."

The firm tension the muscles in her back held released all at once. She glanced to her left to see Tom with his eyes on her, a light shining behind them.

But strangely, it didn't look like happiness.

It was more like pride.

"In the third count of murder, how does the jury find?"

"We find the defendant, not guilty."

A wave of sound rippled through the courtroom, prompting Fudge to intervene to silence the audience. Hermione didn't dare look toward the spectators, knowing both Harry and Severus were among them - god knew, she didn't have the energy to face them - but she did take the opportunity to watch Moody.

He sat bouncing his foot, impatiently waiting for the rest of the counts, though the deep scowl on his face and his tight fists made it clear that he knew.

He'd lost.

As Fudge questioned the jury again and again, and the juror answered again and again, each time in the same way, Hermione struggled to pull her gaze off Tom.

Not guilty, not guilty, not guilty.

She'd done it. She'd really done it.

She'd won.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, I hereby declare you acquitted on all counts."

There is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it.
- JK Rowling

31 days after the trial

She kept seeing Tom.

It was foolish and unethical and it could ruin both her reputation and career, but a month after the trial, Hermione was still spending more time than not at Tom's apartment.

It wasn't as if she hadn't tried to nip it in the bud. She'd told herself almost every time she went to see him that it would be the last time, but she could've sworn the man was a psychic. Each attempt at bringing it up was met with him expertly slithering around the conversation, fucking her senseless, and making her wonder why she'd ever had the nonsensical idea to leave him in the first place.

Not to mention, it was far easier to sleep beside a man who was no longer her client or a murder suspect.

He hadn't yet told her he loved her - probably due to way she'd reacted the last time he'd tried - but as time went on, Hermione progressively grew more and more nervous about the subject. She knew he wanted to say it. She could see it on the edge of his tongue each time he woke up next to her, feel it in the tender way he touched her.

Never before would she have described herself as squeamish about the concept of love, but something about Tom was making her so. She wasn't sure why; he was a perfect gentleman and he was perfectly charming and he was good at everything and she liked him, very, very much. But she'd begun to notice that he was a little bit - for lack thereof a better term - clingy.

When they were together, they were always together. When they weren't together, he was texting her or calling her. He wasn't giving her the opportunity to clear her mind of him, and she was beginning to think that it might've been a little bit possessive.

It was almost making her worry.

But, like she'd told herself multiple times in the last few weeks, she'd be thirty soon, and everybody had their flaws. Besides, what she had with Tom was passionate. While she'd been happy with Ron and with Viktor, she hadn't ever experienced the passion she had with Tom. And maybe that was worth fighting for.

Maybe she'd grow to love him.

And so, she kept seeing him.

She was in quite the hurry that Friday evening, having gotten carried away with one of her current cases yet again. Normally she wouldn't have minded being a bit late - he knew how she obsessed - but this time, she knew he had a special dinner planned.

Wear the red dress, he had said.

She used almost all of her short amount of time polishing off her lipstick, leaving none to fix up her hair. Still, knowing how he liked to pull it, she chose to leave it down.

She dashed through her apartment on the way out, almost accidentally kicking Crookshanks as she abruptly turned back around realising she'd left the T.V. on. Without looking at the screen, she snatched up the remote and pointed it in the direction of the television to switch it off.

She was in such a hurry that she didn't see the red banner that flashed across the screen, framing the words 'breaking news.'

And off to see him, she went.

It had been a special dinner. Tom was an adept cook and she'd arrived at his place to the welcome aromas of rosemary, and garlic, and lamb. She had to fight a moan on her way in.

"I would like to tell you something," Tom murmured softly from across the table an hour later, the dim lighting of the candles lit along the wall flickering across his features. The way it complimented his jawline could've been criminal. "I hate lying to you."

She toyed with the stem of her wine glass, knowing that when a man said 'we need to talk', it wasn't often a good thing, especially after one openly admitted to lying.

"I'm all ears."

His tongue moistened his lips at her words. He took his time as he shifted his own glass to the side and leaned forward. With a long finger, he gestured for her to follow suit.

"Closer," he whispered, waiting until he heard the scratching of her chair on the wooden floor as she shuffled closer to lean in across the table.

The flickering light made his eyes sparkle.

"It was me." The soft words fell from his lips like sweet nothings. "I did it."

But his words didn't register. Not with the warmth of the wine in her blood and his low tone and proximity giving her goose-pimples down her skin.

"I'm sorry?"

He tipped his head back and made a sound deep in his throat, one very close to a groan that broke the quiet tension in the air. "God, you have no idea how good that feels, to get it out there."

She laughed hesitantly. "What are you talking about?"

He looked back and held her eyes, smiling warmly. "I killed them."

His words registered then.

It was only momentarily though, for her brain very quickly stalled. "Tom-"

He shot a hand out to grip hers, his hold tight. "All eight of them."

His eyes were still warm. His tone was as if he were telling her how his day went, as if he were telling her an amusing story. His expression, together with the shock his words instilled in her, distracted her to the point where it took her a moment to put it together.

"I - what are you..." she trailed off, sobering as the understanding of what he meant hit her, and then what else he meant. "Tom... you were charged with seven."

"There were only meant to be seven." His thumb traced patterns over the visible veins on her skin. "Lily wasn't meant to be there, she wasn't meant to see... it was rather unfortunate really," he said with a ghost of a smile, offhandedly. "And then the Potter boy wasn't meant to live, he wasn't meant to talk... but you know, I'll be the first one to admit that my talents don't lie with firearms. I don't like to use them, they're unreliable, you see, but... ah, that's been fixed now. The news will break soon, I'm sure..."

She hoped he couldn't feel the way her heart rate had sped up beneath her skin.

"You lied to me," she stated calmly, swallowing down the urge to vomit as the adrenaline coursing through her veins willed her to up and run.

"Yes," he conceded as he brought his other hand to hold onto hers. "I'm sorry for that, truly, I am. I didn't believe you'd fight quite so hard to win, had you known."

"But you..." she tried her hardest not to start to panic, she really did, but her composure was slipping. "You didn't - you couldn't have, I... I saw you in that cell, I..."

"I'm good at what I do, Hermione. I needed you to believe me innocent."

"This isn't..."

"You performed magnificently. Better than I'd ever hoped. After your summary, I'd expected to only be convicted for the Potters, but you proved yourself more capable than I ever could have guessed."

Her mouth was dry. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I told you," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I hate lying to you."

She felt sick.

"I've never wanted to be as open with anyone, as I want to be with you." He pulled back one of his hands to take a slow sip of his wine. "I want us to be able to move forward. I just... well, I couldn't see a way to do that without telling you."

A nervous laugh escaped her. "Are... are you having me on?"

"No."

"Is this a game?"

"No, no. I'm being honest with you. Truly, I am."

Though she willed herself to reign it in, her breathing sped up to become short pants of air, the loud thumping of her heart echoing between her ears to match.

"I've scared you."

"No, I-"

"I can see it, don't lie to me," he instructed, and although his tone was calm, the warning underneath was clear.

"I just... I need a moment," she said breathlessly, finally daring to take her hand back from his.

"Of course." He didn't blink as he watched her cradle her hand.

Shakily, she rose to her feet and stepped over to the kitchen. As if being run on autopilot, she took a glass from the dish rack and filled it with water.

She could feel his eyes on her.

He'd done it. Seven - eight people, innocent people, two of them teenagers, and she'd gone along with him, blindly, stupidly, like an infatuated teenager, like a moth to a flame.

But she'd suspected it. She'd suspected he might've been guilty for a good half of the trial, and she'd chosen to ignore it. She hadn't cared.

She wanted to win.

And she'd condemned a boy to death.

What did that say about her?

She leaned her weight on the counter as she refilled her glass, a foolish attempt to drown the heavy weight in her stomach.

"I have something to ask of you, Hermione," he said, his calm voice unnervingly still as pleasant as it had been at the start of their discussion.

Her muscles tightened as she turned to meet his dark eyes once more.

"Lucius is... in a spot of bother. The Scotland Yard has at last managed to gather enough evidence for his tax evasions that he can't buy his way out of."

Her thought process was delayed. "I...you want me to take his case?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I need him to win it."

She shifted, the side of the counter digging into her hip. "Why?"

His teeth flashed as he laughed. "Do you honestly think that Lucius has the brain power to run his empire? Do you think he managed to build it, from the ground up on his own?"

Though the cogs of her mind were turning, they weren't fast enough.

"Do you really think I give a rat's arse about the old tea cups Mavis brings into the store every odd week?" He went on, the tips of his teeth visible behind his lips. "Come now, love, I thought you were a bright one."

"You've been working with Malfoy," she stated. "That's why he pushed so hard to get you out on bail."

"No," he said, his voice becoming dangerous in a way she hadn't heard before. "I have never worked with Malfoy. Malfoy works for me."

The distinction, though a small one, was clear.

"He's the face," she voiced the epiphany as it came, "he's the name. But you... you..."

"I am the Lord." He rose as he spoke, his height and broad shoulders casting a foreboding shadow on the wall behind, the way he breathed his self-given title draining the warmth from the space between them.

He pushed his chair back and slowly stalked across the apartment, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as the space began to close in.

"I need a lawyer onside. One who knows the company and one who can win. This certainly won't be the only time we struggle with the law," he said, his tone still low. "I want it to be you."

"I-I-" she struggled, distracted as she finally saw him.

Not Tom.

No.

Lord Voldemort.

"But... I... you can't honestly believe I'm the best choice. You know that financial cases are hardly my speciality-"

"You got me off." His lips turned upward at the innuendo. "I've seen what you can do. I very much doubt Lucius will prove to be a struggle for you."

She swallowed as he finally came to a halt mere inches away.

What was it Moody had warned?

'This case will lock you in as a defence lawyer for the rest of your life.'

"So... Hermione," he began, in the same low whisper he reserved for the bedroom as he offered her his hand. "Are you with me?"

She eyed his outstretched palm. Take it and do as he said, or... well. Years of training and working with criminals had taught her the alternative well enough, and this wasn't just any criminal.

The threat was clear. It didn't need to be spoken.

And so, knowing that she didn't really have a choice, not really, she placed her hand in his.

His smile was broad.

"I knew you'd understand."

yeah. i don't know why i wrote this. it was a real whim i had one day and it's gone way too long, but i'm happy i've finished it. anyhoo i hope you have enjoyed yourselves! hit me up, plz let me know what you think, i love some insight from those of you who take the time to read my trash :)

#stillnotalawyer