Tuesday just flew by. Though he was attentive in all lessons, Tom felt as if he stood beside himself today. His thoughts were elsewhere, only a small part of his self was actually occupied with the school material. The much larger part was about Abraxas.

He simply did not understand his so called best friend. All the years before, he had always been sure of his loyalty and friendship; after all, Abraxas had been one of the first to approach him and acknowledge him. The Malfoys were an old family, proud, but also with a strong sense of power. They knew that hardly any other family was as important as theirs, and yet throughout history they had shown time and again that they could bend when they showed serious respect for someone. Abraxas had obviously recognized his potential, had begun a friendship - and determined, as Tom was, he had followed all the social conventions it took to make a best friend. Abraxas had quickly trusted him, had never questioned him, and had fully acknowledged him as superior.

Tom had never expected a woman to distract him from the right path.

What did Abraxas see in Hermione? She was not a beauty, not ugly, but at first glance rather inconspicuous and average. She would never in her life make a good housekeeper, let alone a good wife. She was American and not as pure-blooded as she pretended to be. Abraxas had to know that his family would never accept a woman like Hermione into their circles. She was not even charming.

Annoyed, Tom rubbed his chin as his gaze glided across the common room. There were so many pretty girls sitting there, hairstyles neatly done up, posture straight, legs decently side by side. Each one seemed to be busy with a book, but Tom did not miss that all the girls paused briefly in their movements when his gaze landed on them. They sat here lined up like in an exhibition catalogue, just waiting to be addressed by him or another important young man. What was Abraxas doing with Hermione?

Hermione needed a firm hand. She needed a man who could bring her to her knees, who was superior to her and showed no mercy. Hard as Abraxas could be, he was far too gentle with women. He could never do Hermione justice. He probably did not even suspect how much damage he had done with his tender gesture the night before.

Hermione was not a woman who could have several people in her life. She needed one man, one single man. Anyone else who tried to be her friend only hurt her in the end. It prevented her from giving herself completely, from really letting go and showing her innermost being. If he had been alone, Tom would have cursed. He needed Hermione isolated. She had to realize that nobody but himself could give her what she needed. He would never get near her if a friendship with Abraxas distracted her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hermione entering the common room - followed by Abraxas, who wore a smile on his face that made him look like a fool. They left him no choice but to intervene.

"Hermione, dear," he shouted across the room, "There you are. I hope you haven't forgotten our appointment? We were supposed to study together tonight."

He was astonished at the calmness with which she turned to him. "But how could I ever forget you? I was just going up to my room to get ready."

In a gesture visible to the entire room, she squeezed Abraxas' hand in farewell, smiled at him and then disappeared into the hallway to the girls' dormitories. Ice cold rage rose in Tom. She provoked him. And he was sure that she would not have dared to do so if Abraxas had not lent her a shoulder to cry on the previous evening.

He took a deep breath to banish the hatred from his voice before he stood up and stepped closer to his best friend. "I see Hermione has found in you a very good friend, my dear Abraxas."

The other student stared at him in silence for a moment, a questioning expression in his eyes, then his shoulders sank down and he sighed deeply. "Tom, I just don't know what you want from me anymore. I'm not like Rufus, I can't see through you so easily. If it bothers you that I get on well with Hermione, then please say so. I'm not-"

But Tom did not let him talk at all. Inaudible to the rest, and not anxious to keep the anger out of his tone of voice, he hissed, "Maybe the hat would have been better to put you in Hufflepuff then."

Shaking his head, he left Abraxas standing, without giving him even a second's attention. The lesson he had taught Avery had been a warning to all, but apparently this latest addition to the Malfoy family had not understood. Did Abraxas still think that because they had once started out as best friends, he had a special place in their small circle? Did he really not understand that the same rules applied to everyone?

Arriving at Hermione's room door, Tom paused. It was so exhausting to have to show respect for the old, big names in the wizard world. Many things would be easier and faster if he could just demand obedience, but his few followers were not yet ready for that. They accepted him as their leader, but they still expected him to treat them as important personalities. He had to change that. But for the moment he had other worries.

He had to make Hermione understand once and for all that she belonged to him and him alone.

oOoOoOo

Hermione sat in her room and waited patiently for Tom. The conversation with Abraxas had given her strength. It was amazing how much tears could do that. She felt as if a knot had burst, as if she could finally think clearly again and look at Tom with strength. Even if Abraxas did not know who she really was and what secrets she had, it was good to have a friend by her side who would always offer her a shoulder to cry on. She was no longer alone.

The door to her room opened and closed again. Slowly, Hermione turned around on her bed to look at Tom, but the smile she had tried to put on her lips died instantly. His otherwise dark eyes were filled with a red glow that could not possibly have come from the glow of the fire in her fireplace. Shuddering, she withdrew to the edge of the bed.

"Hermione", it came softly from Tom. "Hermione, Hermione. What am I going to do with you?"

Nervously, she moistened her lips. "Tom... I don't know what you-"

"Silence!" he commanded in a tone that would not tolerate any opposition.

Surprised, Hermione closed her mouth. What was it that brought out this side in him?

Still quiet, still with the icy cold in his voice, he continued, "I didn't think you were so brazen. Or maybe you are just incredibly naive? Whatever it is, I am seriously disappointed in you."

Slowly, Tom walked towards her, circled the bed, to stop right in front of her and look down on her. For a long time, he just stared at her, his face expressionless, only his eyes betrayed how much rage was inside him right now. Determined, Hermione returned the look. She was no longer alone, she had a real friend at her side, a man who could stand her tears without asking questions.

"Do you remember our conversation?" Tom asked softly, but before she could answer, he went on, "We talked about freedom, Hermione. I showed you what you were made of, all those last evenings when we explored the Dark Arts together. And out in the meadow... I showed you the real you, the power inside you. You still rule over Miss Bargeworthy. But what are you doing?"

With his last words, Tom's tone suddenly became sharper. He still stood before her, his form looming before her like a menacing shadow, a shadow from which she could not escape. And still she did not understand what he wanted from her.

"You are a strong woman, Hermione," Tom finally explained after an iron silence from her. "But you have weaknesses, too. Remember Avery? He saw your weakness. Remember that? Do you remember what I said to you afterwards? What you promised me?"

Slowly, Hermione realised where this conversation would lead. Her mouth became dry at the thought that her intimate conversation with Abraxas had been observed by Tom of all people. Fear seized her, fear for her new friend and fear of losing him again directly through Tom, just as she had lost Ignatius and Augusta.

"Do you remember?" Tom repeated his question, and suddenly he bent down to her, his hands firmly on her shoulders, his face only a few centimetres away from hers.

"I said it would never happen again," Hermione whispered softly. She could no longer withstand his gaze, so she looked dazed at her hands.

"That's right," he hissed. With one hand he forced Hermione to look up at him again. "You swore you would never show your weakness to anyone but me. Or your tears. So why," and now Hermione could see clearly that the red in Tom's eyes was no illusion of light, "why do I see you in the arms of my best friend, crying, without any protection? Can you explain how that fits together?"

With her mouth open, Hermione stared at the young man in front of her, who, for the first time, looked like someone who might later become Lord Voldemort. She knew she had to say something, anything, in her defence, in Abraxas' defence, but nothing came. As if all the words had faded from her mind, she stared at Tom, simply speechless.

"I will give you freedom, Hermione," he whispered emphatically, "Can't you see that you are destroying everything with your actions? Don't you understand that you are forcing me to do things I never wanted to do?"

Before she understood what Tom was talking about, he stepped away from her, pulled out his wand and pointed at her. "Crucio."

A horrified groan took hold of her as she heard the quietly spoken word, that carelessly mumbled curse that carried so much misery. But then every thought vanished from her mind and she knew only pain. Every fibre of her being, every nerve cried out under the stimuli to which they were exposed, and without her doing anything, Hermione's body cramped up, slipped off the edge of the bed and hit the floor. She did not even have the strength to scream, the pain was so extensive.

And then it was suddenly gone. As fast as it had begun, it was over again. Suddenly Tom was next to her; Tom looking at her pitifully, pulling her into his arms and stroking her while murmuring softly reassuring words.

"You must learn, Hermione," he breathed to her, while one of his hands kept running through her sweaty hair. "Learn through pain. I was indulgent with you, but you are blind and do not want to see. Believe me, it's hard for me to do this to you, but if you can't be hard on yourself, I'll have to be hard on you."

Breathing heavily, Hermione looked up at him, her hands unconsciously clasping his shirt. All red had disappeared from his eyes, instead, she found only a flickering light there, as if looking into the suppressed flame of passion.

She had lost.