"Miss Dumbledore!"

Hermione closed her eyes. Of course, she was expecting it, even if she wished it did not happen so soon. But she had to face the inevitable. With a friendly but noncommittal smile, she turned. "Mr. Prewett, good morning."

"Hello," he said briefly as he reached her.

Hermione wished Tom was here to escort her from one classroom to the next, but he had gone off somewhere with Abraxas, leaving her alone. Not that she cared much for his presence, but the conversation with Ignatius would certainly not end friendly.

She swallowed and looked at him expectantly, so that he finally continued, "You do not happen to know whether on Friday evening or Saturday morning something happened between Augusta ... Miss Bargeworthy and Mr. Riddle?

Hermione stopped and looked at the boy in front of her. She longed to tell him the truth, to confess all the wickedness that was within her, but she knew she could not. What was even worse, she knew this development was good and she had to keep playing the game. Augusta was under her control and was taught a lesson by Tom through her.

So was, indirectly, Ignatius. If she could use this whole mess in a way that both would keep away from Tom - and from herself - they would be out of danger. She simply could not allow innocent people to be dragged further into her problems, Tom had demonstrated that more than clearly. She had to use this chance to end her budding friendship with the Gryffindors. For good.

"Why would I know about such a thing?" she finally asked back. With her lips pressed together and her arms crossed in front of her chest, she waited for an answer, trying not to let her nervousness show.

It was obvious that her refusal was not what Ignatius expected. His face darkened when he finally replied, "Two reasons. First, you are the girlfriend of Tom Riddle. And second, Augusta told me that you were indeed on his side. As his most trusted confidante, you must surely be aware of his actions."

Hermione had to hold on to herself, to not just stare at him. Ignatius was so direct and attacked her so openly that she wondered if he understood anything. She clung with all her might to her neutral expression, while she replied, "You are on very thin ice, Mr. Prewett. Did you not understand the message? Are my schoolmates right when they accuse the Gryffindors needing everything spelt out before they understand? Do you really need straight facts?"

She could see how Ignatius grew paler with each of her words until finally, trembling, he clenched his fists. "You... You are different from what I expected, Miss Dumbledore."

It almost broke her heart to hear those words, but Hermione stood firm. "You don't know me, Mr. Prewett. Whatever you may think you know about me and my relationship with Mr. Riddle, you have drawn conclusions on your own without consulting me or him. In fact, you were so bold as to involve Miss Bargeworthy in this affair, you sent her ahead to spy on me. And now she's the one who must pay the price for excessive curiosity. Does this make you feel good about yourself?"

The previously pale face of Ignatius turned bright red during her reproachful speech. Enraged, he pushed Hermione against the stone wall and towered over her. "You have no right to talk to me like that. What I did was out of concern. Concern for you, Miss Dumbledore! You have no right to..."

"No, YOU have no right!" Hermione interrupted him, who was now slowly getting angry herself. Did Ignatius not see the danger? Did he not know what he was risking with his words? With dangerously low voice she explained, "We have a nice conversation, you see me with Riddle and Abraxas, you see my indisposition - and make something else out of it. Then you talk about it with your friends and smell an opportunity to frame the hated head boy, while at the same time you can play the noble saviour of an innocent damsel in distress. Not once have you asked me if I wanted your help. Or even if I needed it. The only one who had the courage to do so was Miss Bargeworthy, and I made it abundantly clear she was not to interfere. You jumped to conclusions, blinded by your prejudices and your imagined virtuousness, but you lost sight of reality! I don't want your help! And Tom does not appreciate your interference in our relationship! Augusta has paid the price. Is still paying it. Learn from it and stay away!"

She had no time to even reach for her wand when Ignatius' clenched fist rammed into the wall right next to her head. Breathing heavily and with flashing eyes he stared down at her. "You played with me. With us. You can say what you want, but your behaviour before clearly signalled that you regard Riddle as a danger. That you blame me for what happened to Augusta is simply-"

With a sweet smile, Hermione looked up at him and said, "What happened to the poor girl?"

She could see Ignatius pressing his jaws together and looking for words, but of course he did not really know what had happened. Tom had assured her that Augusta would not talk. In a cold voice she added, "You have been violent with me, Mr. Prewett. You accuse me and my friend of having done something to Miss Bargeworthy, whereas today, as far as I can see, she can walk through the castle quite normally. Consider yourself lucky I don't inform my uncle of your impossible behaviour."

For a moment Ignatius looked as if he really wanted to hit her, but then he seemed to come to his senses. Instead he came one step closer to her, until his face hovered only a few centimetres away from hers. "This is not over. Be glad you are a woman, or I would not have been so courteous to you."

Then, before she could react, he pushed himself off the wall and walked away in haste. Hermione was left alone. She felt empty. She knew what she had done to Augusta was beyond excuse. It was pure luck that nothing really happened. Downcast, Hermione sank down the wall to the cold stone floor.

She was as much a monster as Tom. She tormented other people and made fun of their suffering. And she felt disgusting excitement in the face of the power the ritual gave her. Tom was right in everything he said yesterday: The black magic ritual had touched her innermost magical core and this touch had caused an unprecedented elation. And so had Tom's touch.

Again, this nauseating shame came over Hermione as she thought back to the incident of last afternoon. She was sick, mentally ill that she had reacted to Tom's words and touch with arousal. It was just this damned pride. It felt so good to have Tom Riddle, the stone-cold killer, the power-hungry Lord Voldemort, all excited. No one was closer to him than she was, no one knew him like she did. She fell for it again and again. Again and again, he was tender, seductive, pretending to desire her. And she reacted as if at the touch of a button, guided by her damned pride. And each time he brought her back down to earth, demonstrated to her that he was not at all affected by her, that he just wanted to show her his power.

And the influence of the ritual did not make it better. She was sure - no, she hoped! - that her positive reactions to Tom at the moment were mainly due to the ritual. That she did not really react that way to him, but that her feelings were only strengthened disproportionately.

"What am I actually doing here," whispered Hermione softly into the silence of the empty corridor, her arms wrapped around her knees. "What's the point? What am I here for? I am not allowed to change anything anyway ... and I am not learning anything about Riddle that I did not know before. Why have I sent myself here?"

oOoOoOo

It did not escape Abraxas's notice that Hermione seemed very pale and absent all Monday, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. Tom obviously noticed it too, but for some reason, only a satisfied grin would play on the corners of his mouth whenever he looked over at his girlfriend.

Abraxas sighed. It seemed an eternity since he had last spoken to Hermione alone. Ever since Tom had made it so clear to him that he should not get too close to her now that she was his girlfriend, he had not had a chance to be alone with her. Now more than ever, he felt the need to ask her directly if everything was alright. She really looked like a ghost.

Reluctantly, he pushed the food back and forth on his plate. He had never been one to eat much in the evening and today he definitely had no appetite. So much was on the move when he should have been concentrating on school. It had taken an explicit ban from Tom to prevent him from talking to Avery himself again after it had come out that he was to blame for Hermione's pitiful condition over two weeks ago. Tom seemed to be moving ahead with his plans, whatever that meant exactly. Abraxas clearly felt that this was about something more significant than he had previously realized, and wondered if his grades would even matter if Tom shared his vision with the public in the near future.

"Abraxas."

Surprised, he looked up at the thin woman next to him, around whom his thoughts had just so intensely circled. "Yes, Hermione?"

"Tom wants to talk to Professor Slughorn about something today, and I've already finished my homework," she whispered to him, without looking at him. "Would you be interested in accompanying me a few steps across the grounds?"

Abraxas forced himself not to stare directly at her. Of course, this was still Hermione Dumbledore, the young woman who obviously did not care about any conventions. Just as quietly, he replied, "Very well. I'll just wait for you outside the gates in half an hour?"

She hinted at a nod and returned to her meal. Carefully, Abraxas peered over to Tom, who looked back at him openly. It was impossible that he had overheard the content of her conversation, yet he had the impression that his best friend saw through him.

Abraxas took a deep breath. He had never doubted Tom before, only after he met Hermione had he discovered sides of him he did not understand. Every now and then he wondered whether it was only because Hermione had taken his heart by storm and Tom had beaten him to it, or whether Hermione simply brought out aspects of Tom's personality that no one else had noticed before.

Annoyed, he put aside his knife and fork and stood up. He had no appetite; it was no use poking about in his food any more. With a nod to his friends, he said goodbye and instead enjoyed the last rays of sunshine on the steps in front of the castle, waiting for Hermione to come.

"Have you waited long?" her bright voice tore him from his thoughts. He had the feeling that he had just sat down, but the position of the sun signalled to him that he had indeed been sitting here for half an hour.

"No, I did not wait. I just needed the time alone outside the walls," he replied smiling as he stood up and offered her his arm.

The smile with which Hermione accepted him was weak. But though he still worried about her, Abraxas could not help but enjoy the feeling of her graceful figure by his side.

Since Hermione did not respond to his statement, Abraxas finally set off and led her down the long path to the lake. The sun was just sinking behind the trees, casting long shadows as the wind grew cooler. A strange calm lay over them, making Abraxas feel as if a storm could break out any second.

"Are you okay?" he finally broke the silence after he could not stand it anymore. They arrived at a bench by the wayside, and he forced Hermione to sit down. It was obvious that her body needed rest and recuperation, not a strenuous walk in the cold of the night.

"It's always amazing how sensitive a man can be," Hermione returned, as she reached for his right hand with both hands and squeezed it.

Nervously, Abraxas returned the handshake. He knew he would better not be caught by anyone while he was so intimate with his best friend's girlfriend, but he could not help himself, Hermione seemed so lost and exhausted that he just wanted to be there for her.

Silently, he waited for her to go on. He did not want to press her, he just wanted to give her a chance to get what was bothering her off her chest.

Finally, she moved a little closer to him, his hand still in her hands, and began, "Sometimes I just feel so alone. I am so ... so alien here. At home ... I can't even tell you anything about my home, but I had friends there, real, true friends. Everything is so different here. And... I don't know if you understand what it feels like, but... death seems to be my constant companion.

Sadly, Abraxas put his free hand on her intertwined hands. "I wish there was something I could do to make you feel more comfortable here. Does Tom know you feel like this?"

"Ugh, Tom!" Hermione replied so violently that Abraxas almost felt attacked. A little calmer she added, "That's not something I can talk to him about."

Torn apart, he remained silent. He did not want to stab his friend in the back and certainly did not want to risk ending up on his bad side like Avery. But he could not help but ask, "Why? You're together. Shouldn't he be there for you when you need him?"

The look on Hermione's face only got more desperate. "Tom and I aren't... he isn't... oh, honestly, Abraxas. Can you really imagine me talking to him about something like that?"

Something was there. Something lurked behind Hermione's sadness, which definitely had something to do with Tom, he could feel it. With narrowed eyes he stared up at the castle, tried to imagine how the conversations between Hermione and Tom would go when they were alone, but there was nothing. It was obvious to everyone that the two had had a strange connection from day one, a kind of chemistry, but he had never discovered anything more than aversion in Hermione. And Tom himself had once called her a problem for his plans. So, what did romantic meetings between the two look like?

"Did he...," he started, but then interrupted himself, because he hardly dared to say the words. "Did he... try and get too close?"

"Abraxas..." Hermione's fragile voice was almost lost to the wind; her lower lip began to tremble and suddenly, out of nowhere, she wrapped her arms around his neck and collapsed crying.

Overwhelmed, Abraxas laid his hands on her back. He did not understand what was happening, but if there was one thing his father had taught him, it was that a crying woman needed a strong shoulder above all else.

It took a long time until Hermione's loud sobbing faded away, but even then, the stream of her tears did not stop. Unhappy that he could do no more, and completely helpless Abraxas sat there the whole time, stroking her back, and kept silent. He was painfully aware that Tom was supposed to sit here in his place, but it seemed that he was the one responsible for these tears.

When it was dark and the first stars appeared in the sky, Abraxas finally stirred. They had to go back to the castle, otherwise they would be punished for being outside the common room so late. Hermione, however, did not react to his movement at all, and suddenly he realised that she had fallen asleep in his arms. For a moment he thought about just waking her, but he decided against it. Carefully, he stood up with her in his arms and carried her back to the castle.

Whatever her worries were, they had to be bad. A woman should never have to cry to the point of absolute exhaustion. Abraxas hoped that Tom was not to blame for this. Hermione did not deserve any of this.

So absorbed in his thoughts, Abraxas did not notice that a shadow coming from the direction of the Potions classroom stopped abruptly and looked after them. And just like that he also did not noticed the hatred which made the otherwise dark eyes glow in an unreal crimson.