Nervously, Hermione sat in the big chair in Dumbledore's office. While she had been full of hope the day before that the conversation with her professor would help her, she suddenly doubted that it had been a good idea to tell him about her excursion into the Dark Arts in the first place. She had not given any names and had not described the ritual in detail, but only explained that Riddle forced her to do a rather dark magic ritual.
While she was still talking, though, Dumbledore stood up and went to the window. Now he stood there with his back turned to her and stared silently into the distance. When he finally turned back to her, he looked very stern. "You are walking on thin ice, Miss Granger."
He walked slowly up and down his office, hands folded behind his back, his eyes on the ground. He sounded tired as he continued, "Many people have already made the mistake of sacrificing everything for the good cause. One does things that one can't really reconcile with ones conscience. One harms other people. One betrays friends and family. All in the name of the good cause. But at some point, you realise you've lost touch with reality. Are we still fighting for the good cause? Didn't you betray the good in the moment you used the methods of evil? Don't you end up doing more harm in your fight against evil than evil itself?"
Angrily, Hermione clenched her fists. "With all due respect, sir, please don't compare me to yourself."
Dumbledore stopped and looked at her with such intensity, Hermione almost regretted her words, but she held firm. He once thought he could make the world a better place, and he willingly would have sacrificed many innocent people. He had decided very late to leave Grindelwald, to turn himself in - maybe even too late. That was a fact, and she had no intention of letting him teach her, of all people, especially as she did not believe she herself was in danger of becoming so blinded by the Dark Arts.
"I understand," Dumbledore said slowly as he sat down in his chair, "You do know a great deal. More than my contemporaries. But whatever you may think of my past actions, precisely because I have experienced how easily power can seduce you, I know exactly how important this warning is.
"I have no intention of becoming the ruler of the English wizarding community," Hermione snorted angrily. "On the contrary. I am here to stop a megalomaniacal, dangerous wizard. I have a very definite goal, and it involves exactly one man."
"And in return you're willing to harm other people?"
"If I can earn his trust... nothing else will impress him."
Breathing heavily, Hermione looked over at her beloved professor. He still looked infinitely tired. And somehow disappointed. What was his problem? She had not harmed anyone but Augusta, and even with her she checked that nothing really bad happened. She would not let any student get hurt.
"I'm not going to lecture you," Dumbledore finally said, before proceeding, "You asked about the effects of the Dark Arts. I can't give you a specific answer, only general indications. By and large, the Dark Arts are not prohibited because they do not necessarily harm other people. However, it has been proven that frequent or even permanent use of spells and curses attributed to the Dark Arts have an effect on the soul. The inhibition threshold sinks. Depending on the type of spells, faster or slower. Furthermore, it is known that black magic rituals have a very drastic influence, as they almost always require the performing wizard to make some kind of sacrifice. This can be anything, though usually blood is used. Thus, the spell does not only affect the victim of the ritual, but also the wizard. It can corrupt immediately. Or temporarily."
"Temporarily?" Hermione interrupted the explanations. After she had performed the ritual for the first time, she had indeed felt powerful and proud at times, but nothing more after that.
"Some rituals enhance certain aspects of a personality while they're active," Dumbledore explained. "When you end the ritual, that enhancement usually ends.
"So... it's temporary? Rituals don't have permanent negative effects," she added excitedly.
"I didn't say that," Dumbledore shook his head. "Only the acute, extreme effects are temporary. The long-term effect remains. The inhibition threshold is lowered, and especially in rituals, you begin to see the environment differently more quickly. Selfish emotions are heightened, compassion lessens."
Disappointed, Hermione let herself sink back into her chair. She was sure that her strange open-mindedness towards Tom, her pride when he praised her, was mainly due to the fact that she was still under the influence of the ritual. But she had speculated that she would return to her old self as she had done before with the Puffskein. Especially since she did not feel bad at all, on the contrary, she felt really good.
Thoughtfully, she ran her fingers through her hair. "Why exactly do the Dark Arts influence our being?"
"A good question," said Dumbledore as he stroked his beard. "The general theory is that many Dark Arts spells and curses can only be performed if you have a strong will. A will to knowingly harm other beings. Society teaches us that we must not harm our fellow human beings in particular. Children, for example, need a while before they understand that it hurts others if you hit or scratch or kick them. They must first learn to think not only about themselves but also about others. Then they naturally develop compassion. In society, they also learn to show consideration for their fellow human beings. The Dark Arts reverse this achievement to a certain extent because, as I said, one must be prepared to harm others. And that's where the negative side of magic comes in."
"The dark side of the Force?" Hermione jokingly interjected, though she was not in any mood to laugh.
Dumbledore just looked confused, but since she did not say anything more, he continued his explanation, shrugging. "Muggles don't really have that problem. Magic is power in its purest form. We learn to use our wands to make certain movements and say certain words to work magic, but that is only the controlled, learned form. Every magically gifted child is already working magic before they even know they are a witch or wizard.
He turned to look directly into her eyes. "Surely you remember extraordinary events in your childhood. That was magic you did without knowing. You didn't need a wand or a spell to do it. And that's the way it is: We can do magic without our wand or memorized spells. It only makes it easier because many things you want to do with magic are already in a fixed form. But if we wanted, we could do without them. We have power over everything and everyone, especially when we are gifted with a very strong inner magic."
Hermione noticed she was staring with her mouth open. So many things suddenly made sense. She had always wondered how Harry could have just blown up his aunt. She was sure there was no spell or curse for that specific purpose. And they had learned to cast spells without words. Powerful wizards were known to be able to do without wands when in doubt. But she never thought that any wizard or witch would be able to do so. She shuddered at the thought of the possibilities this opened up.
"I see you understand where this is going," Dumbledore tore her out of her thoughts. "As soon as witches and wizards learn to control their magic with wands and spells, the magic core becomes socialized, so to speak. As children learn to show consideration for other humans, we limit our magical abilities by forcing them into a certain pattern of spells and curses. The Dark Arts also use fixed spells and rituals, but they touch this core of power, reminding us that it exists. The Dark Arts show us just how powerful we can be by throwing society's rules overboard."
"And it's hard to resist the lure of power," Hermione said absent-mindedly.
She remembered the elation she had felt when she realised how much power she had first over the Puffskein, then over Augusta. It was a good feeling, simply pleasant. She understood immediately how difficult it was to reject this power. How great the danger was of succumbing to the temptation and using the Dark Arts over and over again.
"What can be done about it?"
Dumbledore smiled at her, but it was a sad smile. He folded his hands in front of his stomach and looked at her over the edge of his glasses. "Don't use the Dark Arts."
"And... and what if you have no choice?"
His look became even more compassionate. "Then, alas, there is nothing you can do. Sooner or later it will change you, Miss Granger."
oOoOoOo
Hermione was not surprised that Tom was waiting for her outside Professor Dumbledore's office. He always seemed to know where to find her. She smiled weakly at him. "Are you waiting for me?"
"I'm certainly not waiting for Dumbledore," he replied condescendingly.
He gestured a bow and held out his arm, which she gratefully accepted. She did not know what to do with the new information. She had been so sure that she could somehow protect herself against the effects of the Dark Arts. That a person who had no real bad intentions could not really be seduced. But of course, she was deluding herself.
"What are you thinking so hard about, my heart?" Tom interrupted her thoughts.
Annoyed, Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not very enthusiastic about all these pet names, Tom. I have a name."
"Shouldn't a man shower his girlfriend with affectionate names?"
The exaggerated friendliness, dripping almost like slime from his words, only provoked Hermione even more. "I may be your girlfriend, but don't think me so naive as to think for one second that I have anything to do with your heart."
Tom just snorted, "And suddenly, aggressive Hermione is back. If you keep getting like this after talking to your uncle, I'll probably have to forbid you to see him in the future."
That just made Hermione laugh. As if she was going to give this boy- or any man, for that matter - so much say in her life. She shook her head and said, "He didn't do anything. I rather … have problems with myself."
Tom led her purposefully through the corridors, directly to the exit door of the castle, out onto the lands that for a change were bathed in bright sunshine on this Sunday. It was more than cold outside by now, but the sun made them forget this fact.
As if he had planned it, he directed their steps to a meadow off the main path, where he conjured up a blanket on which they finally both sat down, surrounded by a warmth spell.
"Is this about the ritual?"
Angry at herself, Hermione glanced over to the Forbidden Forest. She had to get a better grip on her emotions in Tom's presence, for he still seemed to be able to read them like an open book. But since she knew that he would see through a lie immediately, she finally nodded.
His expression changed to a mixture of contempt and disappointment. "Are you really so attached to the morals that society imposes on us?"
Surprised, Hermione looked directly at him and said, "What's that got to do with anything?"
"You feel it, don't you?" He answered her question with a counter-question. "You feel yourself enjoying the power over Miss Bargeworthy. You cannot resist it, you enjoy it. And I saw how proud you were when I praised you for the successful ritual. For the first time in your life, you feel real power and you love it. You're better than the rest, I know that, you know that, and you love it. It intoxicates you," he whispered as he moved closer to her with every word and began to caress her thigh. "It feels so good. It's an exciting feeling to know your own power. To feel the inferiority of other people. Suddenly there's this unknown desire inside of you..."
A soft moan escaped Hermione's lips as his hand travelled deep between her legs, drawing sensual circles on her naked skin. Frightened at herself, she covered her mouth, but immediately Tom's other hand was there, pulling hers aside to kiss her.
Still his hand lay on the inside of her thigh, crawling up infinitely slowly until he finally hit the silky fabric of her underwear. Heat bloomed in Hermione's face as she realised the passion with which she returned the kiss while not caring at all that his fingers continued to caress her ever more demandingly. Another moaning escaped her, louder this time.
"If I were to demand of you at this moment that you spread your legs for me, Hermione, here and now, in public, in the middle of the meadow - you would do it, wouldn't you?" he whispered to her, while he slowly forced her into a lying position, without his fingers letting go of her.
Still the thin cloth separated her from direct physical contact, and Hermione realised that this frustrated her infinitely. He was right - she wanted more, now, from him, and she would obey his orders if only he gave it to her.
"Look at you," Tom continued, his tone now darker than before, but still superior, arrogant. "You hate me with every fibre of your being, and yet you allow me to touch you like this - and you love it."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, to oppose him with something, but at that very moment he penetrated her deeply, first with one finger, then with two. Instead of a meaningful word, there was an inarticulate rattle.
Slowly she turned her gaze to his face - and froze. Like his tone of voice, Tom's face was completely superior, cold, condescending. He was unaffected by what was happening here.
"Tom," Hermione forced herself to say, "Stop. Let me go, I don't want this. Stop it."
"Oh, no, dear," he cooed with a diabolical grin, "you must learn an important lesson today. We stop when I say so."
Desperately, Hermione tried to straighten up, but immediately Tom pressed her back onto the blanket with his free hand. Faster and faster his fingers moved inside her, and whether it was her will or not, she could feel the wetness between her legs. Heat spread throughout her body as he used his thumbs to give additional stimulation.
"I mean it," she moaned desperately, "Stop. Please... oh, God..."
Mercilessly he held her gaze, cold, untouched, full of contempt, while her breath came faster and faster, her body began to move on its own in time with the rhythm of his hand. A sob came over her lips, followed by a deep, loud groan.
"Stop resisting," Tom said sternly, "You've long since lost the struggle for control. See that you have succumbed to your lust. Surrender yourself. Enjoy."
There was another sob. "Tom, please, please."
His stern look turned into an amused grin. "Please what? Please stop? Please continue? Please fuck me?"
In desperation, Hermione realised she did not know what she wanted herself. His fingers inside her felt so good, everything that was going on in her body was new and exciting and she wanted more. More of him. And at the same time, she knew that this was wrong, that he was humiliating her, abusing her, demonstrating. He was playing with her to make some perverse point, and she had to resist it. But she could not.
With a high scream, which Tom muffled instantly with his hand over her mouth, Hermione came. Trembling and crying, she lay under him as he slowly pulled his fingers out of her and wiped them on her skirt. Exhausted, she hid her face in her arms and rolled to the side.
He had seduced her, had dulled her senses to lull her into safety. And when she realised that he did not really want to exchange tenderness with her, it had simply been too late. She became a victim of her own desire - just as he had planned.
"You enjoyed that, didn't you, my heart?"
The teasing tone of voice dried up Hermione's tears instantly, and instead, an unknown rage rose up inside her. Nothing was more humiliating than being so helplessly at the mercy of your own body's desire, especially when you were usually so controlled. Until just now she had blamed herself for this situation, had cursed herself for giving in to it even for a moment. But now?
Angrily, she stood up. "You are just sick, you know that? Do you realise what you've just done?"
"Yes," came the simple answer, "but do you?"
Hermione cursed herself for keeping her wand out of reach behind Tom, otherwise she would have hexed him to the afterlife right now. She spat at him furiously, "That's called rape, Tom! Do you understand that?"
He simply laughed at her. "You enjoyed it."
"That's even worse."
His gaze grew stern again as he caught her fists trying to beat him. Calmly but firmly, he forced her back into a sitting position. "I only wanted to open your eyes. The Dark Arts do nothing but touch your innermost being and break the chains of your power. Just as I have done nothing but show you how much you love to be humiliated by me. They're two sides of the same coin. Society turns its nose up at the Dark Arts because they seduce us into using our true power and trusting our instincts."
He pulled her onto his lap, gripping her chin to stare deeply into her eyes. "Society turns up its nose at extramarital sexual activity because it tempts us to acknowledge and act out our own desires. Society has no use for wizards and witches who are powerful and self-confident. It needs us as rule-compliant, completely uptight people. That is what this is all about. I have forced you to face your lust, against your will, so that you understand that the changes that the Dark Arts bring about in you are nothing more than the chains that slowly disappear. Society cripples us. I will set us free."
In disbelief, Hermione stared at the young man in front of her. What he had just uttered sounded very much like the moral philosophy of a certain Frenchman. You had to break the chains of morality to be free?
Suddenly the words of Dumbledore came to her mind - had not he also said that the danger of the Dark Arts was that they reversed the civilising influences of education in man? Was that not in the end the same thing Tom had explained, only from a negative point of view?
"Come here, Hermione," he whispered suddenly and pulled Hermione into his arms with gentle force. "I didn't mean to frighten you, dear, believe me, I would never want to hurt you. But it was important that you understand this point. You want to learn, you said so yourself, and this was unfortunately necessary. But I'm going to take care of you so no one else can hurt you, I promise."
While Tom Riddle, the young Lord Voldemort, stroked and comforted her, a shiver ran down her back, freezing cold. She understood all too well what he was doing, and she was afraid she would be unable to do anything about it.
More than ever, she had to be on her guard and always remember who she was dealing with.
