VI - ABSOLUTE CONTROL


~O~

The aimless one suffers his fate -

the purposeful man designs it.

- Immanuel Kant.

~O~


Trembling, Augusta lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. It was a miracle that she had found any sleep at all that night, but now that morning was well advanced and she had to leave the bed, for better or worse, all tiredness was gone. She did not dare to leave the safe room. Not only because somewhere in the castle Riddle was running around with his lap dog Dumbledore, no, she did not know how to face Ignatius and Markus.

She was just so frightened. Scared to death. Riddle had described the nature of the ritual in rather colourful words and made it more than clear that it took only one thought of Hermione to make her heart stop. Just as he had reassured her that the ritual would leave no trace once the effect was ended by the wizard - or in this case, the witch. She would have no proof.

Sighing, she stood up, staggered to her closet and picked out her most comfortable dress. While she brushed her hair and thought about how she should make clear only to Ignatius and Markus that Riddle was even more dangerous than expected - and Hermione Dumbledore certainly did not need any help - she felt a strange pull in her stomach area. Before she realised what she was doing, she already hurried out of the room and flew down the steps of Gryffindor Tower.

oOoOoO

"I have got to talk to you! Alone!"

Surprised, Ignatius looked up at his best friend. After Augusta had disappeared all Friday night, he and Markus had begun to worry. And now she stood here before him in the Great Hall at the breakfast table, cheeks red, pupils dilated, and spoke with almost pleading intonation.

With a side glance at Markus, who looked at her with the same concern, he rose. "There is nothing that Markus can't hear, is there?

"Yes, there is," Augusta insisted desperately. "Just come with me."

With an apologetic gesture to Markus, he allowed Augusta to take him by the hand and pull him from the Great Hall. It was not long before she ripped open the door to the next classroom, pushed him inside, and magically sealed the door behind them both.

"Really, Augusta, what is it...?" he started, but that was as far as he got.

Without warning he found his oldest friend's lips pressed against his, while her hands clung to his shirt as if he had to save her from drowning. Surprised, he tore open his eyes and tried to get out of the kiss, but Augusta was stronger than he thought. With a passion he would not have believed her capable of, she pressed herself against him, stroked his lips, bit down on them gently, pulled on his clothes, and rubbed herself against him.

"Augusta," he tried to get through to her as she had to take a short breath. "Augusta, slow down. What is this, what...?"

But she did not seem to hear him. Determined, she took his hand and put it to her breast. Blushing, Ignatius noticed that he did not pull away his hand immediately, although Augusta had let go of him. Instead, he caught himself in a fascinated grip and enjoyed this completely unknown feeling. Only when she groaned hoarsely did reality catch up with him again.

"We shouldn't... Augusta, what's got into you?" He tried one more time, and now he grabbed her hard by the shoulders and pushed her away.

Frustrated, she slapped his arms, but he held her at a distance.

"What is your problem?", she demanded to know. "We have been friends for years! It was clear that this would happen one day. I just don't want to wait anymore. I want to make you happy, Iggy, right here, right now."

While Ignatius was still processing what he heard, Augusta pressed herself again into his arms, pressed herself against him, while she pulled up her skirts to be able to rub her hip against his. He needed no experience at all to know exactly where this would lead. He felt only too clearly how one part of his body stirred to life that women should not even know existed. But the way Augusta deliberately rubbed against him right there, she knew only too well what was there. Desperately, he suppressed a groan.

Horrified, he noticed how her fingers tampered with the buttons of his trousers while she pushed him backwards against a wall and did not interrupt the physical contact for a second. He had to stop her, he had to put an end to this, but he did not know how. He did not want to get rough, that was not a good look for a gentleman.

However, when he felt her little fingers in his trousers, he threw all caution out of the window. Determined, he grabbed her by both arms, whirled her around and pressed her against the cool stone wall. Breathing heavily, he stared into her wide open eyes while he desperately tried not to succumb to the temptation.

Her skirts were still pushed over her hips and sometime in between she had taken off her underwear. His own trousers were barely kept from sliding to the ground by his wide-legged stance. And he was aroused, against his will and to his greatest shame, but he could not deny it.

"Augusta!" he said forcefully, "What's going on here?"

To his surprise, his best friend suddenly turned red before collapsing on the floor crying. Hastily, Ignatius dressed again.

"Hey, girl, what's going on? What's the matter?"

"That was her," Augusta sobbed desperately, while she also tried to put her clothes back in order. "Oh, I bet she's having a great time about it! Oh, Iggy, if you weren't such an infinitely decent man... By Merlin, I don't even want to think about it..."

Confused, Ignatius looked at his crying friend. "Her? Who is amusing herself? What are you talking about?"

A new wave of sobs came over Augusta, and it took several minutes until she calmed down so far that she could speak again. "I cannot tell you, Iggy, I cannot. If I say anything, I'm dead. I wish I could... Oh, Iggy, I..."

Completely overwhelmed, Ignatius pulled her closer into his arms and stroked her head. He did not know what Augusta wanted to tell him, but he was not a seventh-year student at a wizarding school for nothing. This behaviour could be explained only by one thing: domination magic.

"Did someone cursed you?" he asked forcefully, after Augusta's loud sobbing had turned to silent tears. "Or have you taken a potion?"

"Please don't ask," she whispered, her voice betraying exhaustion. "Please. I cannot tell you, I cannot. I'm completely at the mercy of her and as long as I am, I can say nothing."

Frustrated, Ignatius chewed on his lower lip. It was obvious that somebody had cursed her, but as long as Augusta did not say anything, he simply could not help her.

"Promise me one thing, Iggy," she finally said quietly but very seriously, "Don't go on spying in Riddle's life. Hermione Dumbledore does not need our help. Trust me. She follows Riddle of her own free will. It's as if they were made for each other."

Ignatius wanted to slap himself. But of course, if anyone had cursed his best friend, it was Tom Riddle. He had every motive, and he was probably clever enough not to leave a trace.

Angrily he asked, "Has Riddle done something to you?"

"No," Augusta replied, and though she sounded sincere, he could clearly sense her panic. "Please, don't ask any more questions. But it wasn't him. I really can't tell you, only that it wasn't him."

Ignatius nodded, but he swore to himself to confront the oh so well-behaved Headmaster very soon.

oOoOoOo

Breathing heavily, Hermione opened her eyes. She could not believe what she just did. When Tom told her in the morning that it would probably take a small demonstration of her power to keep Miss Bargeworthy from running straight to the headmaster, she had thought nothing of it.

But of course, Tom immediately made a suggestion that went in a not at all harmless direction. She wanted to refuse, but naturally, Tom did not accept any of her objections. And so, she was now more than relieved that Ignatius Prewett turned out to be a really decent gentleman.

She did not want to imagine what would have happened if he had not been so adamant. She had broken off her compulsion on Augusta, when she felt her own strength begin to fade. Tom would notice that she had magically exhausted herself for him. This would have to be enough to convince him of her determination.

Slowly she looked up, to where Tom was sitting next to her on her bed, watching her attentively.

"I see you've used a lot of your magic. So, what is the result? Do we have a scandal to report?" he asked with a grin.

Hermione shook her head. "No. Mr Prewett's too decent. My strength weakened before anything could happen."

The grin vanished instantly. "Are you sure you tried hard, Hermione?"

She blanched. Could he not see she was on the verge of total exhaustion? The ritual the night before had cost her so much that the fact that today she was able to do anything at all, was bordering on a miracle.

Nervously, she licked her lips. "Tom, I..."

"Sshh," he hissed softly as he leaned over to her and stroked her cheek. "It's all right. I see that you are completely exhausted. Do not blame yourself. All is well. You are a good girl and I am proud of you. We'll just have to work on getting stronger."

A tremor gripped Hermione's body as she realised that Tom was climbing over her in slow motion, effectively trapping her between his legs on her bed. His words of praise were balm for her self-confidence, but he could not wrap her around his finger that easily. Her mind was still able to make it more than clear that she had to be on her guard against him.

She sucked in the air sharply when she suddenly felt his hand on her stomach. Without caring about her protest, he pushed her blouse up until he could grasp her breasts with both hands.

"The thought of what has probably just happened in the classroom drives me wild," he whispered to her in a hoarse voice while he kneaded her breasts firmly. "And the thought that it was your dirty imagination that caused it only makes me wilder. Shall I show you what my fantasy is?"

Without waiting for her answer, Tom bent further down and placed greedy kisses on her neck. A sigh escaped her as he lowered all his weight onto her. It just felt so good. She wanted to close her eyes, forget where she was, who was on top of her, and just enjoy. But she could not.

"Tom," she said in a firm voice and put her hands on his chest. "Stop. I don't want this."

Slowly, without taking his weight off her, he looked up at her. "And I care about this because...?"

Hermione took a deep breath. She knew very well that he would have no problem taking her against her will right here and now. But she knew even better what his real goal was. "Because I see right through you."

She forced herself to imitate his cocky grin as best she could. Since she had successfully performed the ritual the night before, she felt as if a veil had lifted from her mind. She could see more clearly what reality was. She understood better what was going on inside Tom Riddle.

For a moment he stared at her silently, then rolled himself off her laughing and lay next to her on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "Indeed. That won't do."

Hermione, with red cheeks, straightened her clothes. It was astonishing how easy it was for Tom to make her forget everything else and reduce her completely to her physical sensations. But this time she won, this time she escaped him without exposing herself.

Earnestly, she looked down at Tom, who was still lying on his back in silence, his arms crossed under his head. She was only here a few weeks, only knew this boy for a few weeks, and yet so much changed. It was good that she knew who he would be one day, otherwise she would run the risk of being wrapped up in him.

But the other way round she got to know this side of him better and better: Voldemort was no longer a cold monster in her eyes, but a man who took pleasure in tormenting others, a man who needed to build his confidence by humiliating others. And he was a man who jealously guarded what he considered his own, protecting and defending it.

Whatever the motivation behind his action, the fact that he had freed her from Avery's clutches was highly appreciated. He might as well have just watched, rejoiced and been excited at the fact that she was raped by a slimy idiot. Even if he had not done it for her, she was grateful.

"You're not scared of me anymore, are you, Hermione?"

The silent question tore her from her thoughtful contemplation. She shook her head resolutely. "I'd be a fool not to be afraid of you."

A dry laugh escaped him as he sat up beside her. "That's good to hear. Never forget, Hermione," he continued, and Hermione felt his magic flow unbridled as he spoke, "Never forget what I am capable of. Don't think that I'm weak. Or that you are the least bit like me. You are my girlfriend because I want you to be. You perform rituals of the dark arts that I will show you. Just because you know I'm not the poster boy everyone wants me to be doesn't mean you can get all high and mighty."

Hermione swallowed. He obviously resented her for rejecting him so confidently without showing the slightest hint of fear or doubt. She thought she could almost hear the air crackle around her, so much magic was surging through the room. As if she would ever believe she could take on Voldemort! She would never forget that, that was for sure.

"You are an open book to me, my heart," Tom whispered to her as he buried a hand in her curls. "You are a good girl, but you cannot resist the lure of the dark arts. You hate me because I'm not afraid of my deeper desires, because I live by them rather than deny them. You wish you could be like me, but because you can't, you hate me. And you're desperately trying to hold on to your facade of good girl, even to me. Your constant moral qualms, your supposed indignation, your hesitation. It's all a facade, Hermione, and I know it. There's nothing you can keep from me. I've seen too much of you already."

He did not give her time to answer, but pulled her closer and kissed her again. And this time, she kissed him back. Not because it mattered or because she was afraid of his anger, but because she wanted to. It was as if she wanted to prove to herself that she could give in to her desire without losing herself completely. It was as if she was trying to make his words sound like lies.

"That's much better." Tom smirked after he detached himself from her again.

He smiled warmly at her, stroked her cheek once more, then got up and strolled over to the door.

"Have a nice weekend," he simply said, then he was gone.

Exhausted, Hermione let herself sink back into the pillows. The ritual demanded so much of her and the small taste of her control over Augusta just stole the last remnant of her magic supply. And yet she felt great. She knew where the feeling came from. And somewhere deep inside, she knew she should question it, or rather, not let it happen, but she found no strength to resist.

She would go to Dumbledore tomorrow and talk to him about how the dark arts were actually affecting the psyche. Whether she could protect herself. Whether she was already changing. She felt different, but not bad.

If she really succumbed to the seduction of the dark arts, she certainly would not feel so good, would she?