Author's Note: Thank you to anyone who has added this to alerts or favorites. Thank you to ; Aristocratic Assassin; DailyMirror; AnnaOxford; Mega700201; Roselianne Malfoy; Bianca and guests for your reviews on the last chapter- they are much appreciated!

Disclaimer: All properties are owned by JK Rowling, and I am receiving no financial compensation for this work of fiction.

Chapter Seven: Afraid of the Devil

"The people on the edge of Hell were most afraid of the devil; for those already in hell the devil was only another and no one in particular."

-Joanne Greenberg, I Never Promised You A Rose Garden

"Well now, Dolohov, you've had several hours to think about it. Come up with anything?" Riddle asked, his lean figure standing over the boy as the three others shifted uncomfortably in a circle around him. Dolohov was laying in the center of an ornate tapestry, one of many pieces of decoration provided to them by the Room of Requirements. His face was held in a tight grimace, his eyes squeezed shut as he gritted his teeth in pain.

When he said nothing, Riddle began to walk around him slowly, like a cat waiting to pounce in for the final kill, his prey already weakened. His wand remained trained on him as he turned about, a pole for his axis to move around. "You have had all of Slughorn's party to do some thinking, Miss Dumbledore is safely tucked in for the night- we have all the time in the world," he said, his voice deep and velvety, almost like a purr.

Dolohov made a noise, a guttural sound from the back of his throat. Sucking in a breath of air that sent him into a fit of coughing, he stammered, "I...don't...I don't know...please."

Riddle smiled, little half moons forming around his mouth as he dropped down into a squatting position, balancing on his feet as he propped his forearms on his knees. "Surely, Dolohov, you wouldn't come to me with such concern about who I was spending my time with, but offer no solution for me? It would be rather...irresponsible of you to suggest that Hermione has less than innocent intentions, but then expect me to figure out the rest," he said, dragging the tip of his wand along Dolohov's neck, drawing invisible lines over the dip of his collar bone and around his adam's apple.

He pressed his eyes shut. "I...I never said that," he whimpered, cringing as Riddle pressed the wand in to a particularly delicate area of his neck.

Feigning innocence, he said, "But oh, you did. Do you truly believe that just because I wasn't around to hear it, that it wouldn't come back to me?"

At this, the boy flicked his eyes around the circle, glancing between Rosier, Mulciber and Nott in an attempt to decipher which of them had betrayed him, which of them had told Riddle what he said to them in confidence. A low growl rumbled in his chest, as he struggled to sit up, casting the three with a menacing gaze. But he was quickly thrown back with a hiss, the sharp jab of the wand in his chest sending him down to the floor with a thump.

"Nu-uh," Riddle taunted, wagging a finger in front of his face. "You will not even think to threaten my loyal followers. They have not turned their back on me, haven't questioned my judgment, not as you did." His teeth chattered, but he remained silent, his brown eyes boring heatedly into the faces of his friends.

"Now," Riddle continued, his voice dripping in an overly saccharine manner, "Tell me. If Hermione isn't to be trusted, what do you think I should do about it? Hmm?"

He grimaced, squinting his eyes. "I...I don't...veritaserum?"

Riddle rolled his eyes at this, before grunting as he pushed his wand in deeper. Sparks emerged from the sunken tip of his wand, heated silvers and blues of light crawling over Dolohov's body as he convulsed, gaping as he quickly inhaled and exhaled against the shock traveling up and down his spine. As he flopped on the floor, his fingers twitching with the throb of electricity coursing through him, Riddle said, "If she can prevent me from entering her mind with occlumency, I doubt that will be any more effective. Or has your intelligence taken the same path of your dueling skills and disappeared?"

As the effects of the curse left his body, Dolohov opened his eyes and fixed the older boy with a dark stare, his gaze hardening as he gasped out ragged breaths. "Torture her, then. She'll confess everything if you torture her. Then just obliviate her," he hissed, his tone sharp.

Riddle raised a brow. "Clearly, I was correct in assuming your intelligence is gone. Even if I obliviate her, her mind will still bear the mark from the trauma of it, and she'll never trust me, though she won't know why," he responded, sounding bored as he jabbed his wand forward again, the same little sliver of lightning emerging to snake around Dolohov. "Try again."

"Bloody well drug her with some amortentia then! She'll do anything you say!" he snapped, his voice trembling as his body rocked with the waves of pain and shock. And suddenly, the curse lifted, his body flailing to the floor in an exhausted heap as his extremities twitched with the occasional aftershock. His breathing was deep and heavy, relishing in the feeling of air entering his lungs, in his body laying softly against the flat surface of the tapestry. How wonderful the little pleasures in life became after coming down from the height of agony.

Had he opened his eyes, he would have seen that the worst was yet to come, that Riddle had brought himself to his full height, his lips tightened into a line that was turning white from how hard he was pursing them. His brow was furrowed deep into a look of pure rage, his eyes looking near gray with the storminess within them. His tight grasp on his wand- his spare one, the one he had stolen from his uncle- caused his fingernails to plunge into the soft skin of his palm, and he was vaguely aware of the blood slicking the handle. Raising his dominant hand, he began to slice it through the air in quick succession, punctuating each cut with a venomously hissed word.

"Never."

Slice.

"Suggest."

Slice.

"That."

Slice.

"AGAIN!"

Crack!

By the time Riddle resigned, his wand falling to his side as his chest rose and fell deeply with each exaggerated breath, Dolohov was littered in deep cuts, his shirt cut open as blood saturated through the fabric of his jumper. His nose was snapped in sickening degree, blood trickling down from his nostrils as he whimpered and gasp, rolling onto his side as his hands reached to cup over his nose. His shoulders shook with sobs, which only enraged Riddle more, to see a follower of his looking so pathetic. There was a fine line between weak and obedient, and he sneered at Dolohov's quivering form in disgust.

'Hermione wouldn't be so pathetic,' he thought, stepping his long leg over the lump of flesh and clothes, careful to avoid the small patches of blood. 'Hermione is stronger than him- than all of them. She wouldn't even be dumb enough to get herself into this situation.'

He stood in front of the large, gaping mouth of the fireplace, the flames leaping toward him in all their brilliant emerald and jade colored glory. Dolohov would be fine; he had ensured that the cuts were only skin deep, much to his chagrin. He wouldn't have minded it much if the boy had bled to death at his feet, spending his last few moments of life grovelling for redemption and another chance, attempting to kiss the hem of his robe. But Tom would just kick him back, tutting him for being such a disgrace.

However, after the Warren girl died, another death would only encourage Hogwarts to close it's doors, and he would be sent back to that dreadful orphanage, away from his men and from the girl whom he hoped to make his. Dolohov couldn't die, and he had left him alive begrudgingly, the amount of effort required to not deliver a fatal blow almost enough to wear him out for the evening.

Behind him, he could hear the other boys rushing to his aid, batting around him as they all frantically attempted healing charms and spells. He smiled, knowing the level of skill his men possessed in the area. Dolohov would live, yes, but he would certainly bare some rather atrocious looking scars as a result of the ineptness.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he attempted to steady his breathing, the anger still teeming within him. The very thought of using such a vile potion on anyone was enough to make him want to be sick. He was better than the weak and lovesick excuse he had for a mother, a witch who couldn't even use her own magic properly, and he would never be as disgraceful to get what he wanted in life with the help of amortentia. Just the very notion of it made the bile billow up in his stomach, building in the back of his throat.

Pity, as it was perhaps the only way to get Hermione to confess to any of her wrongful intentions. Tapping a finger to his chin in contemplation, he wondered if there was any weight to Dolohov's suspicions, or if he was operating under bitterness. It was true, that she did seem to be rather off, and as he had come to realize, did not say or do anything without first careful deliberation. Honestly, he had written it all off as a symptom of being from the Dumbledore family, that being insightful and seemingly omniscient was something that came rather natural to the lot of them. But what if he had been too quick to trust her?

What if she was indeed working on ulterior motives, and she was playing Tom just as much as he was playing her? The thought stirred something within him, something alarmingly torn between anger and admiration. Between wanting to torture the girl for manipulating him, and wanting her even more for having the ability to do so. While it would certainly make her even more desirable to have beside him- someone who could rival even him in his intellect and power of persuasion was better left an ally than an adversary after all- it would also be cause for great concern. If she truly was able to influence him and the situation as much as Dolohov believed her to be, then he would have to put an end to it, would have to ensure that she did not have any upper hand on him.

But how? As he had told Dolohov, veritaserum would not work, and neither would torture. While amortentia just might be able to accomplish what he wanted, he would not bring himself to that level. So what was left?

He continued to stand there, lost in thought, as the others tried to heal Dolohov's wounds, the knotted clumps of flesh looking amateurishly sewn together. He let out a gasping sound and muttered several profanities beneath his breath as his nose was snapped tightly in place, the bone cracking and slicking as it healed. Shaking hands reached up to poke it, pulling back as he winced. It was still sensitive and sore from having been broken.

Just as Dolohov was coming to a standing position, angrily slapping away the hands that tried to steady him, Riddle whipped around, smirking as his eyes twinkled in sinister delight. "I believe I just may have an answer to our problems," he said, walking towards the group with his hands folded behind his back.

With a pop, a round, polished mahogany table appeared in the center of the room, the deep undertones of red running beneath the dark brown hues. Chairs appeared around it, sturdy and simple with clean lines and a soft seat made of green velvet. After only a second of hesitation, they all sat around it, hands in their laps as they waited for Riddle to proceed.

"It may take some weeks to finish, and that is with constant attention, mind you- I will expect each and every one of you to forfeit your personal time for this. But if Dolohov is truly so concerned that our darling little Hermione is up to no good, then as his friends we owe it to him to help alleviate his worry. Isn't that right?" he said, his tone no longer dark and mocking, no different from the way he would speak to them at the Great Hall during lunch. He was met with a chorus of agreement, eyes averting away from the resentful look on Dolohov's face.

"Excellent," he said with a chuckle. "Well then, while none of your suggestions were suitable, I do believe I have come up with one more than adequate." He paused for effect, ever the showman, before continuing. "She is skilled in occlumency, and as such can resist the effects of any and all truth serums. Something as barbaric as torture"- here he was interrupted by a snort from Dolohov, but only raised his eyebrow before moving forward- "Something as barbaric as torture may or may not yield any results, depending on her resolve, and she would never trust me again afterwards, no matter how many memory charms I fixed on her. I will not use something as silly and stupid as a love potion, so that is out of the question." His eyes turned steely with the mention of the elixir, his voice dropping down several octaves as though in a warning.

"However, perhaps if we combine several attributes of a love potion with a typical truth serum, we can come up with something less vile," he finished.

"You mean, create our own potion?" Nott said, scratching his chin.

Riddle nodded. "Unlike a truth serum, which can be fought against with skill- skill which she possesses, mind you- we will build one that will make her want to tell me. She won't fight against it, because by using some aspects of an amortentia, we will be able to trick her brain into thinking she has no reason to hide anything from me."

"But...how? Isn't it really complex to just...make your own potion?" Mulciber said, eyes widening before he added, "Not as though you couldn't do it, but wouldn't we need at least months? And all the resources? You'd have to be a Potions Master in order to know how to combine it all successfully. Where are we supposed to get all of this? "

Tom leaned back in his chair, his fingers lacing together in front of him. "Leave that to me."

-xXx-

Professor Slughorn rose from his seat, grumbling as he made his way over to the door to answer the rapt knock he had heard. "Better be Dippet," he muttered, knowing that students typically avoided coming to his office during the weekend. Besides, he had just spoken to the Headmaster through the floo connection, demanding immediate attention be made to the fact that he had awoken to find his privates storeroom burglarized. He had been in the midst of compiling a list of all the stolen ingredients and potions- nearly his entire stock of dreamless sleep potion, as well as the only vial he had left of felix felicis! "Surely some trouble makers, hoping to use the potion to get an unfair advantage in the first Quidditch match. Ruddy Gryffindors," he continued to mutter, shaking his head. It was well known by now that Slytherin had just gained themselves a knew and worthy chaser, one who would hopefully prove a good enough match for that Potter boy Gryffindor procured as their keeper. Lions couldn't handle competition, he supposed.

Reaching the door, he twisted the handle as he pulled it forward, surprised to find Tom Riddle standing before him, a polite smile on his face.

"Mr. Riddle? To what do I owe the pleasure?" he said, straining a laugh as he eyed the boy with slight unease. He had become rather uncomfortable to be alone with him, ever since last year when he had come to him with questions regarding a certain manner of dark magic. But now, looking at him and seeing the shiny Prefect badge adorning his robes, he wondered why on earth that had ever been the case. He was merely an intelligent boy, too curious for his own good if anything. Teachers were constantly allowing him access into the restricted section of the library, it was no wonder he had come across that word in a book and, not finding a suitable explanation for it and his curiosity piqued, he sought out a teacher.

That was, of course, what teachers were for. Why would he ever feel the need to fault him for merely using his resources? For studying? He fought the impulse to laugh at himself now. Yes, he had been very silly to feel weary around him.

"Sorry to bother you on your day off, Professor. But I was up all night, thinking."

Slughorn chuckled. "A dangerous prospect!"

Riddle laughed, smiling at him with a perfect set of white teeth. "Yes, I suppose it can be. However, I wished to speak to you about a project I intend to set out on. You see, I think I might rather like to become a Potion's Master when I graduate-"

Slughorn beamed at him, his face turning red with delight. "Ho, ho, my dear boy! How wonderful! The position would be perfect for you!" After a second, and not quite sure why he said it, but regardless he added, "Anything you need from me to help you on this journey- anything at all! It is yours!"

"I'm very grateful for that, sir. As you know, I'll need to come up with a thesis and develop my own potions in order to be successful in that endeavour, but doing that can take years. I was hoping I could get a head start on it, and that perhaps you'd be willing and kind enough to answer some questions I had?" he asked, chewing on his lip nervously as he walked further into the room.

How on earth could he ever say no to such a noble thing? 'If only all my other students were as hard-working and devoted to studies as Mister Riddle,' he thought, any feeling of unease or distrust completely forgotten, his smile stretching as far as it could. "Very smart of you. Many people underestimate the time and effort put into creating a potion, and I should have known you would be clever enough to use me while you still could, eh?" He winked, pulling the door shut behind him as he asked Riddle what type of potion he had in mind.

"Quite ambitious, sir. See, I was hoping you'd help me discern a way of almost combining two existing potions into one..."

-xXx-

Hermione strode through the grounds at Hogwarts, heading down the path with the rest of the students towards Hogsmeade. She tried her best to hide her sour expression, but was finding it quite difficult. Tom was running late- 'Again!' she thought bitterly, unaware that the Dark Lord was such a truant- He hadn't even been at breakfast!. Had she known he hadn't planned on arriving on time, she would have spent the day to herself, basking in the quiet of her dormitory, knowing not even Riddle had a way to sneak through the ancient wards preventing the male occupants from entering the girl's dormitories. But she had been herded through with the rest of the students, the attending teachers and prefects not even giving her a moment to turn back.

Just as the group came towards the large, wrought iron gates, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around to find a slightly out of breath Tom, his hair disheveled so that the normally neatly pushed aside curls hung in strands over his eyes. Eyes which she noticed were brighter than normal, the pupils dilated in a large way that seemed inappropriate for the sunny day. It was then that she also noticed the slight flush look to his cheeks, the way his lips seemed pinker. He smiled, the action truly reaching his eyes so that the skin around them folded and she reeled, taken aback by the genuine glow surrounding him.

'Why on earth-'

And then she remembered where she had seen this before, this almost defiant display of eagerness and physical glow of delight. Harry had been the same way when he used the felix felicis in their sixth year, had been near giddy with the high of the liquid luck. And Tom was looking in quite the same state, his smile not wavering as he said, "Sorry I was late. I had to speak to Slughorn about something and got carried away with the time."

She nearly groaned. What did he need from Slughorn that required the vial of potion? 'More importantly, how could a supposed Potions Master be fooled by it, not once, but twice,' she thought, resisting an eye roll. Being that the potion had its limitations- it was, after all, liquid luck and as such did not guarantee the promise of success, especially if it was used against a particularly strong willed individual- it was a wonder that the man fell for it so often. It would not work if the power of suggestion wasn't already in place, and it was truly astonishing that Slughorn could have such poor defenses.

"What were you asking him about?" she asked. She knew that it wasn't the conversation in which they had discussed horcruxes, that having occurred prior. So what could it have been then, where his typical level of charm was simply not enough?

"To get you these," he said, producing from the inside of his robe a black velvet bag, the ends closed tightly into a knot. He handed it to her, and, dumbfounded, she reached for it, taking a moment to look at him in a leery manner before pulling the strings, undoing the knot. Peering inside, she saw a large amount of stoppered bottles, purple liquid sloshing around within the containers.

"Dreamless Sleep?" she asked, knitting her brows in question at him.

His smile, which hadn't faltered in the slightest and was beginning to unnerve her, grew. 'Strange, he's creepier when he's smiling legitimately than faking one,' she thought, tearing her eyes away to look into his still massively dilated ones. "I thought that perhaps the reason you slept in so late yesterday was because you might have some nightmares, after everything you've been through. So I stopped by Slughorn to fetch you some," he said.

"And you needed felix felicis to do that?"

He laughed, a hearty, deep laugh that came from the center of his belly instead of the back of his throat like his laughs normally did. Again, the true display of emotion unnerved her more, and she tried to make some distance between him and herself.

"You would think he would recognize the symptoms, or at least not be so swayed by it. But I guess he's a bit of a simpler man than you or I, my darling," he said, bridging the gap between them as Hermione sighed and tucked the bag within her own beaded one. She hated to accept something under such dubious means, but she would also hate to turn down any chance at having a proper night sleep. It would take two weeks for her to brew her own supply of the potion, and even then she had considered possibly stealing some of the ingredients from Slughorn's cupboard. At least this way bypassed the time she would waste.

"Well, thank you. I do appreciate it," she said, though she made a mental note to analyze the contents of the potions to make sure he had not laced it with anything.

The group came to a stop just outside of Hogsmeade, the supervising professors turning to the group as they explained the rules, as well any consequences to poor behavior. When the speech was over, the students dispersed, a flurry of hair and colored jumpers, some wearing robes over their ensembles.

Turning to Hermione, Tom asked, "So where to first?"

-xXx-

Hermione wasn't certain how much time she had spent wandering the aisles of Tomes and Scrolls, a finger up to the spine of each book as she passed, but it had been enough time for the effects of the potion to wear away from Tom, his giddy nature coming to an abrupt end. 'Thank goodness,' she thought. She could predict and work with Tom Riddle when she knew everything he said and did was a lie, but it was harder when he lost the veil of fallacies, for once not having to pretend a show of mirth. Still, she looked over her shoulder at where he sat and couldn't help but to giggle. His head was being held in his hands, his elbows resting on his knee as he sat in one of the secluded areas of the book shop, two overstuffed armchairs with patches of mismatched fabric sewn sparsely over.

With a smile, she grabbed two books over from the shelf, dropping them down loudly on the table between the two chairs so that a thud ricocheted off the towering bookshelves. Peering up over his fingers, he looked at her through squinted eyes.

"Oops," she said, shrugging her shoulders as she sat in the adjacent chair. His headache had been pervasive for some time now, only growing stronger as the day progressed. "It's a shame you're having such bad luck on our one day to spend in Hogsmeade," she said, biting down on her lip to stop from laughing as she thought she heard him mutter a curse under his breath.

Pulling one of the books towards her, she began flipping through it, skimming the contents of it. "I'm sure one of these will have something for it," she said. She hadn't entirely been surprised to hear that Tom had a limited supply of knowledge regarding healing spells, and had in fact probably considered them a waste of time. But even the few that she had in her arsenal- as well as the headache tonics she had in her bag- did nothing to alleviate the ache in his head. Harry hadn't responded like this when the potion began to wean out of his system, but then again, it was likely that, just as the potion made the drinker more adaptable to change and seemed to be pave ways for them, it would have the opposite effect when it began to wear off. Bad luck working in to balance out the abundance of good luck. Perhaps, a migraine was simply one of the workings of bad luck, one that would require more advanced mediwitch spells to heal.

'He wouldn't do this just for dreamless sleep,' she thought, looking over at him. His head was leaning back now, his forearm draped over it to cover his eyes and shield it from the light. 'That was a lie. And thanks to the potion, I didn't think to press him further. Damn it.' She was angry at herself, knowing that, if even in small ways, the potion had effected her. Up until it began to wear off, she had found that she was actually quite enjoying spending the day with him, unaware at the time that it was due to the influence of the potion. 'The thing should be banned, I swear,' she seethed, her eyes finally settling on a chapter title that sounded promising.

Healing Ailments Caused by Over Use of Potions

"Oh!" she said, not realizing how loud her exclamation was until she heard a low hiss from her side. "Er, sorry," she muttered, her eyes quickly going through the page. It was unlikely that he administered too much of the elixir, as he certainly had more than enough skill with potions to not make such a potentially disastrous mistake. But it was worth a shot wasn't it?

"Alright, hold still," she said, standing up from her place and moving so that she was in front of him. With a sigh, he let his arm drop away from his eyes, slowly picking his head up to look at her through little slits, not opening them all the way. She grabbed hold of his chin, smirking as he made a look of shock and irritation at having been so manhandled. Lifting his chin up, her fingers still cupping it, she raised her wand and pressed it lightly against his forehead, causing him to wince. Glancing back to read over the incantation on the open book, she whispered the spell quietly, deciding to take some pity on him and be gentle with her voice. A cool, silver glow washed over his face, and she watched as his features relaxed, sighing in relief. She could feel his jaw muscle loosen in her hand, felt him press his chin into her palm.

"Better?" she asked, slipping her wand pack into the sleeve of her jumper.

"Much," he whispered, opening his eyes as he slowly pulled away from her hand. "Remind me to study healing spells more frequently."

"I'll also remind you not to use our good friend Felix on an empty stomach," she said, pointing to the page in the book she had used that listed possible reasons certain potions caused ailments. "Let me guess, you're discussion with Slughorn went right through breakfast, and you didn't get a chance to eat today, did you?"

He scoffed. "Felix isn't our friend anymore. He's the enemy."

"Come on, let's go to the Three Broomsticks. We can get you something to eat there," she said, picking the books back up in her arm and walking them back to the shelf. She had pulled one out and was reaching up to slip it back onto the shelf, balancing on her tip-toes when she felt a hand press down on the small of her back.

"Allow me," Tom said, leaning over her as he grabbed the book and, reached over, slipping it back into place. He then grabbed the other from her hands as she stood there, her mouth slung open as his chest pressed into her back, his hand holding onto her shoulder to support himself. He was radiating heat, and she was surprised by the amount of effort it took to not lean back into him, welcoming the warmth. It was a human need, a desire to be close to one another, but she felt so ashamed in herself that she brushed him aside, her cheeks reddening as she grabbed hold of her bag that had been deposited at the feet of the table.

"Good to see you're back to your old self," she sneered, stomping past him and trying to ignore the chuckle she heard behind her.

Catching up to her, they walked side by side down the winding staircase and out the door of the cramped book shop, sunlight bathing over them. "Well, I suppose my liquid luck has indeed run out then," he said with a smirk.

-xXx-

Author's Note: I really like Tom Riddle, because I get to write two sides for him. The nasty and evil side of him, and the charmingly sweet side of him he uses as a front. I can't decide which is more fun.