AN: Thank you Deweydecimateher from Discord for beta-ing this for me. Also, thank you all for your patience as you deal with my slow updates but as you can see I shall do so eventually when my health and inspiration are as of one mind to allow me to write. Thank you all for supporting me.

This is the first story in a long time I have made it to chapter five, so that is an achievement in itself!

Remember Aiden Turner is my Tom Riddle after Hogwarts.

The Second Chance Enchantment

Another's Second Chance

20th November 1948

Sitting in the Albanian woods was enough to drive anyone batty. He was gracefully perched on a rat-infested mattress hanging his head in despair as hope for the lost diadem waned. Though he did not wish to use it for its famed powers—he'd had other designs on the tiara that had caused so many problems. GODS! To get another chance, he'd travel to the future if he was certain he could succeed. But that last Seer he spent hours with seemed mostly doped up on Gigglewater. Useless. Bloody useless.

The weather was turning towards the autumn chill. There weren't enough blankets and he was terribly cold. If only he had Abraxas with him but no, Abraxas would use the diadem towards its own proper use. Besides, this was something he had to do all on his own.

Argh!

What he wouldn't do for a willing Witch to fall into his lap so that he could finish what he started with Olive Hornby. She was pretty. She was spiteful. He had used her pretty spiteful nature to lure Myrtle Warren into the second-floor toilets, and the plan worked. His diary was his own Horcrux and he fed his words, his personality into it every day. Even going to the town and picking up a Muggle maiden held a soothing balm to his loneliness.

No, he was Lord Voldemort! Lord Voldemort did not go into villages just to satisfy human – mortal, he sneered – urges like meaningless sex.

** Flashback **

"Albania?" Abraxas questioned when he was taking a snifter of high-quality brandy. "Why on earth do you want to go to that awful country for?"

Rolling his eyes he sat back against the thick cushions of the love seat, "It is to further our cause, Brax," he sighed. "Do I have the funds or not?"

"Do I have the excuse of insanity for loan…"

"Did I say anything about a loan, Brax?" His arched eyebrow sent a silent response.

Abraxas sighed as he sank down on his green wingback chair. "Fine," he muttered as he rubbed his temples. "This is for the infernal cause after all."

"The infernal cause, as you so succinctly put it, is still in its early stages and I need to make myself immortal. I need the diadem to gain the wisdom to be a good leader, from what Helena told me she hid it inside a hollow tree somewhere in Albania."

"Does she not remember where?"

A nasty smirk flashed across Tom's face. "She says she was in a hurry!"

"Typical of her sex I suppose. Could not be bothered to put a marker or even…" then Abraxas paled. "Gods, my Lord, what if…?"

"What if what? Speak clearly, man!"

"What if the tree she hid it in no longer exists and is under the floorboards of some Muggle house?"

"I highly doubt even in a thousand years a Charmed tree is gone. However," Tom leaned forward clasping his hands together, "I shall entertain your supposition." He stood up and began pacing the carpet. "What if, as you say, the tree is gone and the diadem has moved on, I will simply charm my way into the home and ask the owners the history of their abode. I shall then dispose of them – but not permanently – and dig up their floorboards. Helena, however, was quite certain she had placed sufficient charms to protect the tree and its treasure. She may not have inherited her mother's lauded logic, but she still had a brain somewhere in amongst her injured pride. Easily appealed to if you suck up to her icy beauty."

Something else occurred to Abraxas. "Did not an ancestor of yours crave the Lady Helena's affection?"

"Yes, but the proud bitch did not like him."

"What was his name again?"

"I cannot recall, Abraxas," Tom sighed. "That little fact is irrelevant to the chase."

"Speaking of the chase," Abraxas smiled as he lifted his refilled glass of brandy, a French cigarette hung loosely from his left hand. Lithe and sharp-suited, the only unfashionable thing about him was his long blond hair. "Walburga was making calf-eyes at you again."

Tom groaned, "She should be happy I entertained her at all. When I found out her beauty was glamoured and she turned out to be a pasty fish I rejected her." He glanced at the grandfather clock. "I have to prepare for my journey early in the morning where I hope to rely upon your donation?"

"Ah yes," his friend also glanced at the time. "Why don't you take a girl with you. Believe me," he sighed as he gazed around his mansion, "you will need someone for the long cold nights ahead. Even if it is just a Prewitt or Weasley…"

"Think I'd join forces with either of those families…"

"Even so, my Lord, you could become a lonely beast out there in the back of beyond of the world," he scratched at his eyebrow with the hand holding his cigarette, the irritating sigh was back. "Just consider it, my Lord, I could hire an upper-class companion for you to do with as you will."

"I am sure there are Witches where I'm going, Brax," Tom grinned. "I would rather a willing Muggle than a whore who has to act."

"Just as you please," Abraxas sighed. "I have no sway over you."

Tom drained his glass and gasped with appreciation. "Good stuff, Brax, just supply me with this and I'll be a happy Wizard."

"You know what you are, my Lord, don't you?"

"Stunningly charming."

"Unfortunately, yes, but you're also contumacious."

"I live to please," Tom replied with a good-natured laugh from the depths of his belly, allowing the humour to subside into a dirty chuckle as he returned his glass to the table. "Now, I shall miss you my friend, but this is something I must do alone, you must understand that," he sighed as he patted Abraxas' back.

**End Flashback**

Gods, how he wished he'd taken his friend's advice on the high-class hooker.

I must be bored if I am just flipping through my own bloody diary! If Abraxas was there he'd have laughed over the cruel joke in the ingredient to make a Horcrux. Virgin's blood. "Anyway, it's like this…hang on, yeah, what I thought." Like a bolt of lightning, reason had hit the brow of the young man's head, "Of course," he sighed aloud.

On his research going through the older scrolls and tomes written by and were about Salazar Slytherin, he noticed, at the bottom right hand corner on the scrap that he'd held in his fourth year, some sort of spidery scrawl emerge from the depths of the parchment, the self-same parchment that held the beginnings of the secrets of the making of a Horcrux.

"So, great grandpa held onto hope did he?" He sneered as he picked up his flask of vicious vodka. "Those are runes and…," he pulled the notes closer to his line of blurred sight, "arifan… Amirath… Arif…" he hiccupped, indicating how drunk he had become. "Fan… (hiccup) F-f-fanny Adams!" he giggled, was this vodka laced with Gigglewater? "Fancy Maths!" he finally finished feeling rather proud of himself. "S'right, Fancy Maths, s'what it is!"

Now he felt he'd worked that out he smiled like a shark. "Good at that…" he hiccupped again. "Rott (hiccup) en drink."

Even the finest of drinks was not safe from a thwarted Dark Lord. Now all he had to do was work out the sums and align them with the runes. His wand danced, intricately weaving the shapes of the runes masterfully in the air; he was not as drunk as he appeared. Despite the slurred speech, Tom Riddle Jr managed a self-assured air as he invoked the cantrip, the Runes spelled out in the air above him. Awestruck, he stood in the middle of the cabin watching as silver strands wove their way through what looked like a golden canvas.

"Wow." Hardly anything left Lord Voldemort speechless, but this was spectacular.

Suddenly he found it difficult to breathe, this was beautiful. Almost as wonderful as a perfect potion. The young man stood up and stepped under the hovering runes. Then he felt his stomach twist inside...

How was this happening?

Why were blue lights lifting him up in the air?

What was with the tornado of lightning and 70mph gale force winds?

As he landed with a thud on the edge of what seemed to be a densely tree-packed area, he had only two questions left in his brain: where the hell was he? If he woke up to annoyingly-voiced 'munchkins' leading him down some thrice-damned yellow brick road he'd curse the day Mrs Cole sent him to see that bloody film in the first place.

When was he was another accurate question filled with its own paradoxes. There were histories of Wizards and Witches going missing; what Muggles called the "twilight zone" was all too real in the Wizarding world.

Gods his head hurt, what had he done when he'd mixed magic and alcohol? Something he normally would not do – yet, he was lonely. An emotion foreign to him as he hated the socialisation that went along with going to a boarding school and living in an orphanage, but that night he felt an ache in his belly. Darkly spreading through to his still somewhat-functioning heart.

"Hello," said a voice from above him – why was he still sprawled in the ground? "Ouch." He did not need to see the wince. "Here," she said, for it was a female's voice, as she bent down and touched her wand to his forehead. "There, you should be all cleaned up now. Do you want some water?"

"Please?" he put on a parched throat effect to his voice. "Hurts."

"I am sure you're in absolute pain. I saw you being flung down on the ground! Come across Grawp?"

He coughed as she handed him a cup filled with the sweet nectar of the gods. "What the hell is a Grawp?"

The voice laughed. "Our Care of Magical Creature's professor's half-brother. A bit dumb, but he seems to like me."

How he would laugh about this later, he was sure. Sipping the water slowly he managed to crawl along the ground on his knees. The girl gasped as she spotted something terrible.

"My word you look awful," she said, kneeling down in front of him. "I need to take you to Hogwarts."

"Where am I?"

"Forbidden Forest, you should be glad you did not come across my friend who is partnering up with me. He's not nearly as observant, here," she lowered her knees and slung an arm around her shoulders, "lean on me, that's it. Now, you will excuse me."

She flicked her wand shouting out a spell that marked her as a light Witch. Shooting out from it was a cheeky silver otter that flittered and flirted with its Witch but seemed to scurry away from him. Not that it mattered. Patronii were awful things, fuzzing up his cold Dark intent and filling him up with warmth and kindness instead. He enjoyed being cold and unkind.

"Convey a message to Headmaster Dumbledore," she said, ignoring the squeeze in her shoulders. "Found another stray, contusions, bleeding, scratches and scuffs on his knees and ribs. I've cleaned where I can and have given him some water. Need assistance. Follow my Patronus."

The otter nodded at her but again snarled at him, he was pleased when the meddlesome apparition scampered off to Headmaster Dumbledore.

"When am I…Miss…er?"

"Granger," the Witch said, "my name's Hermione Granger. Gryffindor Prefect."

Gryffindor… How deliciously perfect! He would smirk if he could. This was the kind of warmth he did like. Soft, curvy Witches like this one. She also seemed to have a lot of hair. Hair that would be perfect to grab onto as she was bent over a desk… he dare not let that trail of thought continue. Not when all he could determine in the dark were a pair of large eyes shining under the moon's glow, her anxiety for him etched into them. She shivered suddenly.

"Cold?" he asked as he felt the ripples of her shudder through him. Hermione nodded, affirming the query after her health with a quiet, 'yes,' and she blew on her hands. "Here," he said as a gentleman first, "my cloak…" it was the least he could do for a Witch who helped him without knowing anything about him. Compassion was a rare emotion, one of life's luxuries he had learned to live without, but when it was directed at him he could not help but latch onto the person conveying the emotion as a leech loves to suckle on human blood, and like the person who showed it. "I don't mind the cold."

"Did you go to Hogwarts in the eighties?"

"Eighties?" he questioned as she refilled the cup with water, wrapping his hands around the vessel guiding it to his swollen lip. "When am I?"

"What do you mean when are you? Oh, Merlin… Concussion or amnesia? Um," he watched her sink her teeth into her lower lip, gods he never wanted to be teeth more than he did now. "Well, the year is 1996, it's November, that's why it's cold. Can't wait to get to my boyfriend," she blew on her hands again. "Sorry," he could feel her body heat, "we met in September–well, met properly in September. He was such a jerk for the first six years. Anyway, I'm babbling. I always do that when I am nervous."

"Don't stop, I-I like your voice," affecting shyness he almost never felt was as second nature to him as was breathing. "What is your boyfriend's name, so I may compliment him on good taste."

"Only you can come across a stray, Hermione," a gruff voice said in the darkness.

"Oh shut up, Ronald."

"Ronald?"

"Weasley, not that it matters to you."

Nice to know some things don't change, like how irksome Weasleys are. The girl was clearly annoyed by him as evidenced by her sweet huff of annoyance. "What's tak…"

"HERMIONE!" a voice shouted through the dark.

Immediately her demeanour changed, and she smiled as she abandoned him and the ginger tyke. Both of them were equally awkward in the other's company.

"SEPTIMUS!"

"Sickening, ain't it?" the Weasley said, scuffing his shoes against the stone. The only thing he knew as a rule that Weasley matrons purchased brand new at the start of the new school year. "I mean it's not like she'd have gone out with me if I'd've asked her."

Keep telling yourself that, Tom thought, but the truth of the matter was Salazar brought him to her for a reason. Clearly, that reason was that this divine Witch was meant to be his.

Suddenly a convergence of Wizards and Witches were thrust upon him. A Scottish word escaped one, a squeak the other, and one that surprisingly sounded like Slughorn – but surely that old scrote would be dead by now? He'd been teaching at Hogwarts since his mother was a baby.

"What are you even…" then it sounded like he was elbowed in the gut by someone, "right... er. I best be off then. No longer needed, see you all la…"

Then above the rising din was the stentorian tones of Albus Dumbledore silencing the panicked cacophony that had risen to such a crescendo it had pierced Tom's ears, the silence after the Headmaster's interference was almost as hurtful, the leftover effect had given several people bouts of tinnitus.

"Miss Granger is the one with the explanations, perhaps it is she who can make sense of all this. Do not go into a conniption, Minerva, stand your wand down Severus, stay right where you are, Horace, and Filius you should know better than to attempt to gnash your teeth at a stranger, remain calm. Now, Miss Granger, kindly explain what is going on here."

Tom Riddle Jr slouched against the tree enjoying the predicament he had landed in, "There is not much to say, sir," she said a little shyly as she snuggled further into Septimus' embrace, "except that Ron and I were patrolling the outer rim of the Forbidden Forest and I saw this man fall from the sky smack down on the ground. Immediately I ran to him and helped him best I could. He's hurt, sir," he heard the concern practically crawl out of her voice. "Cold, hurt and he's concussed or has obtained Amnesia, I think, he didn't know when or where he was. Perhaps," she gulped, "it would be better if we were in the Hospital Wing discussing this instead of out in the crisp autumnal air."

"Of course," the Headmaster's tone softened, it seemed she was a respected student. Definitely meant to be his. Only someone with great power could make Dumbledore sound at least a tiny bit humble. "As young Miss Granger suggests we should all move forth to the Hospital Wing."

Definitely meant to be mine, he confirmed to himself once he caught sight of her in the warm glow of the lit sconces along the halls and the torches carried by the entourage. Recognising Horace straight away, he glanced up from his lashes pretending to be innocent.

After a while they had all reached the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had bustled the injured stranger into a bed and pulled curtains around him and the miscellaneous group of people who had brought him in. She gave Hermione and Ron a look as if to say; 'I might've known', before going into her inventory to find the necessary potions needed to cure him.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, "must be the amnesia but I could swear you are someone I know."

When Hermione was not looking Professor Slughorn turned around and growled, "Listen you, I can't sit by and watch it all happen again. You go and I will not breathe…"

"All right, so you've toughened up a bit since," Tom Riddle hissed. "Yet I feel you should be informed I have no intent on leaving my future bride in the hands of that hook-nosed sapling and that hyena of a Weasley. Tell me – is she part of your club?" he sneered. The crestfallen look on his old teacher's face said that it was so. "Oh, this is going to be good, you and Dumbledore and likely that oafish Hagrid will know who I am and yet not a single one of you can breathe a word for fear of creating a paradox, am I right? I have to stay in Hogwarts. So, tell me, Professor, how good a Witch is she?"

"Talented, bright, extremely perceptive and has been through a lot because of you so I doubt when she finds out…"

"But who's going to tell her?"

Albus Dumbledore had caught the tail end of the conversation and walked closer to the bed. "Oh but there are two others in this school who also know a lot about you, Tom Riddle. Two of her closest and dearest…"

"If you want me to keep quiet about you, Dumbledore, you have to remain silent about me and order those two to keep their mealy mouths shut. Unless you want the whole world to know about you and a certain Dark Wizard who terrorized the Wizarding world long before I was even born."

"You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?"

Such an innocent expression befell Tom Riddle's face at the moment his Witch granted him a smile of such beguiling kindness that he could not help but send one back with a wink.

"Hermione, you have been so kind to me. For reminding me of how Hogwarts is always open to those in need, come here," he beckoned her with his finger and like she was iron nails to his magnet, she walked over to his bed and took his hand. "So beautiful," he whispered. "You're just so, sweetly beautiful, I shall dream of beauty tonight for I now know what she looks like."

The moment he heard that Septimus stepped up and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, "Find someone nearer your own age," he said with jealousy itching through his fingertips. This smarmy Wizard had a face one could merrily punch. "Come on, Hermione, let's go back to our Common Room."

"Sorry about this, sir, um… what is your name?"

"I can't remember," he said, "but you'll be the first to know the moment it comes to me." She was ever so sweet when she smiled, and that was a perfect alibi she gave him in having amnesia. It meant he could swan around Hogwarts with her as she helped him 'remember' and when she was suitably torn from her suitor he would be there to help fix her broken heart as he would piece it all together. "How about you get some rest now, and I've been told a mug of hot chocolate can always make things better. Isn't that right?"

This question was deliberately aimed at Dumbledore, "Yes, I shall make sure one is sent to you immediately, Miss Granger."

"I wouldn't want to be any trouble, sir."

Too late, smirked Tom Riddle Jr as he laid his head in his hands, resting against the comfortable pillows, "Quite a lovely girl. I can't remember if we had them made from the same mould as her in my day – can you Professors?"

"Miss Granger is completely off-limits to you," snapped Professor Snape.

Judging by the look on Professor Snape's face he was certain that he'd struck a nerve. As for Miss Granger, she was his for the taking – even if she did not know what was good for her now, she'd know in time. He could charm the birds from the trees with just a smile. It seemed somewhere along the way he'd lost Slughorn, not that that was a great loss.

"Hermione, the feminine derivative of Hermes the winged messenger of the Gods," he smirked, "god of travellers, thieves, trickery, heraldry and trade. If she is anything like her namesake she will be quite a catch and like a fisherman waiting patiently for the fabled trout so shall I wait for her."

Horace grabbed him by the shirtfront. "You're despicable, Riddle."

"Ah but that's not my name, that can't be my name."

"Maybe so," he threw the young man back against the pillows, eyes gleaming with the look of a man who wished to commit murder right here and now. "But that woman, that Witch, is not yours."

"If I see something or someone I want…"

Deliberately, Riddle let the sentence trail off into the air, remaining unfinished, the ghost of words unspoken yet heard in the ears of those who listened. A threat that picked out the worst trait of the man. That ever-present smirk plastered across his face seemingly effortless in his disgusting parody of innocence.

"I wish you had never darkened the corridors of this fine establishment," hissed Slughorn.

"Just remember," he said, "you don't know who I am."

As Horace was about to throttle him he was held back by both Severus Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore, "He's not worth it," Severus said as he glanced spitefully at Tom.

He watched as the three men who knew who he was without introduction walked out of the Hospital Wing. He was about to get up to sneak down to the second-floor corridor to check his basilisk when the nurse walked in.

"Drink up," she said, "you have to regain your strength."

He did not know this Healer at all, she looked to be a proper Hufflepuff, a house easy to corrupt if one knew the right way to go about things. A sprinkle of charm, a soupçon of loyalty with the essence of honeyed phrases and they were yours for the taking.

"Of course I shall," he simpered making his voice sound faint. "I shall be yours if you desire it."

The nurse actually blushed and preened under his deep voice. "A lucky Witch'll have you someday," she giggled. "You'd make an attentive husband."

Believe me, I'm working on it, he thought darkly as he gulped down the foul concoction that would ease his pain and help him sleep. I've even met her. Behold the day when Miss Granger becomes Mrs Riddle for that is when I have conquered the best part of the world.

It was with this cheery thought that he slipped off into delightful slumber, Morpheus had closed his eyes and opened his mind, he planned well when asleep for that was when his subconscious picked up on things his conscious self, missed.

Little things, like Hermione's eyes slipping appreciative looks at his semi-naked body; like the manner in which Professor Snape kept an eye on the young Witch as much as he possibly could; the heat of hatred emanating forth from Dumbledore's eyes when he mentioned his past association; and the glimmer of murderous intent in the Weasley's eyes, that one was jealous, he could work with that; lastly, he could see how Hagrid had blundered in only to bluster his way out again.

Yes, this could be loads of fun, just the sort he was pining for when he was in that infernal shack all those years ago.

AN: There is going to be one more sting into the tail before the story can be carried forward.