The next few days flew by. Hermione started to notice more and more that she had missed her own seventh year, as she had to invest increasingly more time in studying. In a way, it was reassuring to know that at the end of the year she had to be awarded top of her year to be able to repeat the time travel, because she was sure that even without that motivation she would have tried hard - but unlike now, she would have felt guilty for it. This way, however, she could always excuse her own enthusiasm for learning by saying that it served her mission.

Tom, for his part, had not forced her into another study session, though Hermione was sure he had not dropped that topic yet. Currently, he sat quietly with Abraxas, obviously trying to write the paper for History of Magic. She herself had already got that over with and was concentrating on her Arithmancy assignment. At the other end of the long table in the common room sat Beatrix, also pretending to be busy studying, but the scowls Hermione kept catching from her rather gave the impression that she was only here to watch Tom and Hermione.

At the same time, Hermione was only too aware that Abraxas was also eyeing her intently every now and then. They had hardly spoken to each other since she had so humiliatingly rejected him. His expression, however, were clear: he still had not been able to banish her from his heart. He was still suffering from the hurt, still seemed to be searching for something in her actions and statements that told him that in reality she still valued him as well.

She sighed. What was she going to do with him? She actually and honestly liked him and that was exactly why she could not risk Tom continuing to be too interested in their relationship. She should put her selfish inclinations aside and come to terms with the fact that she could not have a friendship with Abraxas, however much she enjoyed his attention in the beginning. Moreover, she was aware that Tom's intention was to isolate her from everyone. The less interpersonal contact she had, the more vulnerable her emotions became to his manipulations.

But Tom should not underestimate her. She already got him to tell her that he was Slytherin's Heir. She would spend the coming weekend trying to get even more information from him. Perhaps in a further discussion of Slytherin's views on Muggles and Muggleborns, she would manage to steer the conversation towards the Chamber of Secrets. She could not very well start that herself; after all, she was supposedly American and even here in England hardly anyone knew of its existence.

Deep in thought, Hermione chewed her lip as she stared absently at the numbers in front of her. She had grown closer to Tom by now than she had ever thought possible, and she realised she was finding it harder and harder to see him as Lord Voldemort. It was not even that she thought him less cruel than before. But Voldemort had always been just an abstract concept to her, she had never seen him face to face. Tom Riddle, on the other hand, was definitely flesh and blood. Tom Riddle was a real, existing person who posed clear danger, but who was tangible. She could get to know him, study him, analyse him and perhaps learn something that would be helpful in the distant future. She still was not sure what that would be, but there was still time.

Resolutely, she shut the book. Her mind obviously decided to wander in all sorts of directions, so she was barely able to concentrate on her homework. She did not have Arithmancy before until Monday anyway, so she could do that at her leisure over the weekend. For this evening, she definitely did not have enough peace to think about complicated numbers and formulas.

She nodded to her housemates, gave Tom an apologetic smile, and left the long table. She would climb up to the Owlery to let the cold evening wind cool her thoughts. Unlike the Astronomy Tower, in the Owlery one rarely met students who wanted to do anything other than send letters. One was clearly more undisturbed.

Snuggled into her warm cloak, Hermione climbed the stairs. Her thoughts were still circling around Tom. She had discovered a new side to him in the last few days. She still could not be sure that the gentle attention he now showed her was not also an act, but she suspected other reasons behind it. His narcissistic streak was satisfied that she admitted to being his. Of course, she had not meant it that way, but he had taken it that way and that was what mattered. He seemed sure he had broken and subdued her. Now that he did not have to wear a polite mask, as he did with other people, nor constantly had to deal with her stubborn rejection, he seemed to relax.

Thoughtfully, Hermione played with a strand that came loose from her plait due to the sharp wind. Was there possibly still a normal soul buried somewhere deep inside Tom that simply craved affection, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it? Could she possibly succeed in reaching out to this soul and strengthening it?

Gruffly, Hermione tucked the curl behind her ear. This was nonsense. Reality did not work like that. Tom had done too horrible a deed to be saved. She could not show him any sympathy or even pity or she would just become an easy victim of his manipulation.

"Miss Dumbledore, what a coincidence!"

Surprised, Hermione looked up. At the top of the stairs stood Markus Longbottom, a letter in his hand, which he was obviously about to send off. Smiling, she hurried to bridge the distance to him.

"Mr Longbottom," she finally said when she had reached him. "What are you doing here on a late Thursday night?"

"To be honest ..." he began, but broke off and scratched his head, blushing. Surprised, Hermione tilted her head.

"I'm writing a letter to Augusta's parents," he then explained, obviously struggling to get the words out.

Hermione's eyes widened in astonishment. She instantly understood the implications of this statement, "Isn't that ... actually a joyous occasion?"

"You're probably right, I suppose I should be happy," Markus nodded slowly. "But I had to talk to Augusta for a really, really long time before she agreed. She was so ... convinced she was bad for me. Worthless."

Dejected, Hermione hung her head. The Augusta Longbottom she knew from Neville's stories was a stubborn, confident, fun-loving woman. Just as Augusta had been before her rape. She wondered if she had already caused harm, that she had let Tom have his way instead of stopping him. Had she already changed a person's life permanently from what it had originally been?

"She agrees, don't worry about that, Miss Dumbledore," Mark snapped her out of her self-reproach. "In fact, she was more chipper and cheerful than before after she finally realised that I love her ... unconditionally. I really do. She can't help what happened to her, so why should I hold it against her?"

With a pained smile, Hermione grasped his free hand with hers and squeezed it. "You are one of the few men in this age who think so. I can't thank you enough for your support and understanding."

"And what about you? I see that Riddle hardly leaves your side any more, but you don't seem happy."

A laugh escaped her involuntarily. "I'm the last person you should worry about. Tom is no longer a danger to me, believe me. But for others ... I can only repeat to you what I have already asked Augusta and Ignatius. Stay away from Tom - and thus also from me. At least in public. One day you will understand why."

With a shrug of his shoulders that made his discomfort more than clear, Markus looked at her, "There are many things in this world that I don't understand. I have long accepted that. But I know when I see a good person. You are such a person, even if you have probably succeeded in making Iggy and Augusta know otherwise."

"You're too good to be true."

Hermione could clearly see where Neville would one day get his loyal, brave traits. Few people were willing to trust a fellow human as unconditionally as Markus was doing right now. It was probably a common trait in Hufflepuffs, but in this young gentleman it was in such a pure form that Hermione almost felt guilty. At least Augusta had every right to hate her, even if she probably did not know it now.

"Send your letter," she said at last, when she noticed that Markus was still standing awkwardly in front of her without answering her. "I don't want to keep you. I'm going to enjoy the cool air here for a moment, then I'm going back to the castle."

oOoOoOo

Back in the common room, Hermione immediately noticed that Tom was no longer there. Since she missed dinner with her extensive walk to the Owlery, she assumed that she would find him and his friends here again, or at least in the small study room next door, but only Beatrix was sitting there, demonstratively paying no attention to her.

With a queasy feeling in her stomach, Hermione headed for her room. When she put her hand on the door handle, she already suspected that Tom would be waiting for her. Determinedly, she opened the door.

"There you are again," came a delighted voice from her bed. Frowning, Hermione went to her wardrobe to stow her warm coat inside.

"You're taking advantage of your privileges to snoop in my private rooms at all hours, Tom," she said accusingly as she kicked off her shoes. "I don't like it. I need my privacy."

Amused, he raised an eyebrow. "So? What secrets are you trying to keep from me, your boyfriend?"

Snorting, she pushed her shoes aside and put on more comfortable slippers. "Don't be ridiculous. We both know I'm not in this relationship out of love for you. Of course, I'm keeping secrets from you."

To her astonishment, Tom made a most inappropriate sound in response: he chuckled. With an inviting gesture of his hand, he pointed to the foot of the bed and despite all her provocation, she obediently complied. She sat down cross-legged on her own bed opposite him.

"Don't you think you could hurt me by renouncing your love for me," he said softly as he ran his hand through her curls. "Nothing could be more indifferent to me. You're mine, that's all that matters."

Hermione returned his gesture and in turn gently stroked his full hair. "Yes, I am indeed yours. But it's the same the other way around."

In mid-motion, Tom froze. She could feel his hand clench into a fist in her hair, but before he could hurt her in any way, Hermione leaned forward and pulled him into a long kiss. Tom could imagine whatever he wanted, but a person who wanted, who needed to act out his dominance always needed another person to willingly submit. If she denied him her submission, he would suffer. Suffer more than she did under his torture. She submitted to his will because she had to achieve a very specific goal. He, on the other hand, wanted to subjugate her because he wanted her, Hermione Dumbledore, a strong, intelligent witch. He wanted her for her own sake. She allowed it to happen as a means to an end. And thus, she was ahead of him in this power struggle.

Slowly, inch by inch, Hermione moved closer to Tom without breaking the kiss, until finally she was sitting on his lap, her legs placed to his left and right, both hands buried in his hair by now. Tom himself let go of her curls, and instead grabbed her bottom to force her even closer. A grin stole onto Hermione's face as she continued to kiss him. She could clearly feel the effect she was having on him, and although inside she was still dreading where this passion would lead sooner or later, she was also aware of how much power she had over him right now. She showed him what he could have. And she could take it away from him at any time.

"Hermione," Tom almost growled as he finally broke away from her lips to look her in the eye, "you still don't seem to understand how this works between us. Do you want me to show you? Do I have to show you?"

Her own breathing was frantic and she could not deny that the physical contact and the feeling of power she had over this handsome man was arousing. She knew exactly what Tom was getting at. Sooner or later, she would have to face it anyway, so why not now that she was in control and more than ready to open up to a man for the first time?

"Maybe I want you to show me?" she breathed to him in an attempt to sound as seductive as possible. She had no idea what a real woman with a lot of experience would say or do at a moment like this, but she just hoped he would not notice her nervousness when he was distracted by his own arousal. She had a rough idea of what would follow now. He would undress her, strip himself, then she would spread her legs for him and he would pleasure himself inside her until he came. She would endure it, make a few encouraging sounds, and then she had him in the palm of her hand.

Intensely, Tom stared into her eyes, as if looking for a twist in her words, but finally an ominous grin crept onto his lips. "Good. We'll see if you're still so confident afterwards."

Hermione took a deep breath. So, this was it. Tonight, she would sleep with her worst enemy - and no matter how revolting the idea had been a few weeks ago, her body tingled with tension and joyful excitement. Tonight, she would make Tom Riddle fall for her.

Slowly she disengaged herself from his lap and began to unbutton her blouse, but was immediately stopped by Tom. "What do you think you're doing?"

Involuntarily Hermione blushed - did she know so little about sex that she had already done something wrong right at the start? All the books she read on the subject in her time always said that both partners were fully or at least partially naked, and that there could be an erotic appeal if the woman undressed emphatically slowly for the man. Had she been too quick?

To her great confusion, Tom got up from the bed and held out his hand to her. "Come!"

With a furrowed brow, she grabbed his hand to let him pull her up. Walking backwards, he pulled her along until they stood in front of her mirror. There he stood behind her, both hands wrapped around her petite body, and grinned challengingly at her reflection. "My game – my rules, my heart."

She felt him loosen an arm from her, run a hand over her thigh, trace sensual circles on her skin until finally they came upon her panties. Before she realised what he was about to do, Tom tugged at them, pulling them down until they were caught between her knees. With one hand he held up her skirt while the other slid back, between her legs.

"They say a woman is beautiful at the moment of her climax," he murmured in her ear as two of his fingers slid gently over her middle, "We wouldn't want you to miss the sight of yourself at a time like this, would we?"

Before she could say anything in reply, he pushed two fingers into her. A surprised gasp escaped her. If she thought that being dressed would somehow help her with her sense of shame, she was wrong. Quite the opposite was the case. There was something repugnant and humiliating about the way her pristine white underwear hung between her legs, the way she stood in front of that mirror in full school uniform, in the arms of a classmate who was pleasuring her with his fingers. Hot shame shot up her cheeks and involuntarily she turned her head away, closing her eyes.

"Oh no, my heart," Tom reigned her in, grabbing her chin with his free hand, "You will be a good girl for me and keep your eyes open and look."

With a gasping breath, Hermione opened her eyes again, staring in horror at the image that presented itself to her in the mirror: there she stood, in the arms of Tom Riddle, his face positively glowing with superiority and condescension. Her own face was marked by lust, her cheeks red, her mouth open, her gaze glassy, veiled by lust. Sweat came to her forehead as Tom's fingers grew faster and faster. A hoarse moan escaped her.

This was not supposed to happen.