"We end the ritual now, here and now!"

With arms folded across her chest, Hermione stared down at Tom. She had instantly returned to the Slytherin common room from her trip to the village, only to learn from Abraxas that Tom had told him he was to be found on a bench by the lake. Paying no attention to the cold wind cutting through her thin summer cloak, she had hurried along the path across the lands to confront him. And now she stood before him, completely determined to put an end to the spectacle, and he did not seem the least bit impressed.

"Why?"

"It costs me too much energy," Hermione explained angrily, not wanting to reveal her real reasons. "I realise again how I hardly have the energy to stand here and talk to you. I can't do that. I need my magic for other things. More important things than just playing with classmates."

Tom just smiled at her. "What could be more important than studying the Dark Arts?"

For a long time, Hermione just stared at him. Tom was playing with her, more than usual at that moment. She wondered whether she should just tell him that; whether she should point out to him that she had seen through him. What version of her did he want?

If he really just wanted her as a submissive, silent lamb, an open conflict now would be counterproductive and would throw her far behind. On the other hand, she was no longer willing to play that role. It was too passive. If she really wanted to get close to him, she had to present herself as an equal, even if he might not like it at first.

"Save it, Tom," she finally said in a firm voice.

For the blink of an eye, surprise flitted across his face, but then well-considered neutrality returned. At last, he was looking at her fully now.

Determined not to let him get carried away, she continued, "You want me to throw myself in the dust in front of you and beg for permission to end it. But I will not. I can always stop the ritual without your permission."

A superior grin played on his lips. "You could. But you wouldn't dare."

She tried to mimic the grin. "Perhaps not. Perhaps I do. We'll never find out, because the fact is you want to end the ritual too."

He tilted his head, still smiling. "What makes you think that?"

Hermione could only roll her eyes at the unnecessary questioning. She put one hand on her hip and calmly explained, "You have carefully manipulated Augusta's memories. She remembers the last days and weeks, but not the ritual. She remembers the rape, but not you or me. You made sure that the horror is still there, but that she no longer knows the origin. Why would you do that if you wanted to toy with my power over her any longer?"

With one smooth movement, Tom rose and before Hermione knew what was happening to her, he pulled her into a tight embrace. "Oh, Hermione. Wherever did you come from?"

She denied herself an answer and returned the hug instead. She remembered only too well how every physical contact with Tom Riddle had been more than uncomfortable for her just a few weeks ago, but that had changed. It was not that she enjoyed his touch, but she was getting used to it. Her body got used to him. And despite the heinous crime he had just committed against Augusta, she learned one thing: This Tom Riddle was very different from Voldemort. He was capable of a much wider range of emotions, not ruled solely by hate and contempt. He was so much more human.

"Tom," she finally whispered, "What you did today... what we did... was wrong."

Abruptly he moved away from her. His hands clasped tightly around her upper arms, while his gaze turned relentlessly toward her. "Wrong?"

Hermione forced herself to resist the gaze, though she was infinitely nervous inside. She had to make her point without betraying too much about her good heart. "We have done violence to a woman. The worst form of violence there is. It causes not only physical damage, but also psychological damage. Such a thing can break a person, forever. It was ...", she faltered for a moment, but her decision was clear. "It was intoxicating what we ... I am capable of. The level of control. But... what for? Augusta Bargeworthy remembers nothing. We proved nothing to anyone. We've achieved nothing. It was a senseless waste of energy."

Tom's right hand slowly moved up her arm and under her chin. "Senseless, eh?"

For a moment he held that position, looking deep into her eyes as if searching for something. Then he sighed deeply and pushed her away so violently that she fell to the ground.

Confused, Hermione looked up at him. There he stood, both hands buried deep in his pockets, staring out at the lake. She straightened up, but remained seated on the ground. She did not have enough energy left to stand anyway.

"You're giving me a headache," he finally said without emotion. He did not turn to her, did not look at her, just stood there, his back to her, his gaze directed into the distance. "You have so much potential. And yet you lie all the time. Tell me, Hermine. When I caught you with that book on the Dark Arts ... was it just scientific curiosity that drove you, or did you really mean it? Did I make a mistake in taking your interest seriously?"

Involuntarily, Hermione reached for her wand and rose from the floor. This was not normal behaviour for Tom Riddle. He did not ask for other people's wishes. He demanded and he forced. A cold shiver ran down her back.

"You made no mistake," she whispered, the wand still hidden in her hand. It was as if suddenly this strange crackling energy emanated from him again, as if she could feel his magic in the air. And she herself was weaker than ever.

"You make me ... so angry," Tom pressed out as he slowly turned to her. She had been right. His face was distorted with anger and his eyes flickered red. She waited for his outburst of anger with bated breath.

"From day one!" he hissed, "There isn't a day that you don't do something to provoke me. Haven't I shown you what you are capable of if you just bow to me? Do you not see what you can learn from me? Why... why do you strive so hard to reject me?"

A surprised gasp elicited Hermione. Though he had said similar things before, it suddenly dawned on her what his real problem was. On second thought, it was almost incomprehensible that the thought had not occurred to her much sooner. Everything Harry had told them about Voldemort's childhood was a perfect match. Shaking her head, she put her wand back and stepped towards Tom.

Tom Riddle was a narcissist as a psychology book could not have described him better. And she had actually spent a great deal of time questioning his personality. No wonder he was so emotional and conflicted.

"You know what I don't understand?" she finally said, as she cautiously approached him, "You can be so polite. You show understanding for other students, you are friendly and attentive. Perhaps that is only a mask, but you can do it."

"And your point is?"

"Why can't you do that with me? At least for a moment, now and then? Just for a moment, try to be attentive instead of pushing me in one direction, whether I want to or not?"

Disbelief fluttered across Tom's face, but no sooner had Hermione spotted the impulse than the impatient rage returned. Shaking his head, he rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger. "I thought you didn't like masks and falsehood? I thought we left this level behind us? Do I have to wrap you up in cotton fluff just like the rest of the idiots?"

Snorting, Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that you value me so much higher than your classmates?"

Tom looked at her for a long time, then threw a wry grin at her. "Sometimes I forget how perceptive you are."

The grin disappeared and he slowly turned back to the lake. Hermione waited for him to say something more, but he paid no more attention to her. Unsteadily, she stared at his back. She suddenly had the feeling that something changed between them.

Tom Riddle was a narcissist. The rejection she showed him was incomprehensible to him because he was unable to see faults in himself. She tilted her head. Probably he actually thought that he had the right to rule over other people because he was superior to them. After all, he had sufficiently expressed his opinion about freedom and morality. He knew that the murders of Myrtle and his own father should never be discovered, but she did not think he felt any real remorse about that. Just as he had, as a precaution, altered Augusta's memories so that his crime would not be discovered, but he himself showed no sense of guilt for having actually done something wrong.

His idea of good and bad, of right and wrong was just completely different. He was so caught up in his view of the world, in his self-image, that he could not help but act in this way. And then she came along and questioned everything.

Of course, a narcissist somewhere deep inside himself knew that his self-confidence was on shaky ground, but that was precisely why he reacted all the more aggressively to any attempt to shake his self-image. That he had actually endured her initial rejection, that he had given her a chance, was more than astonishing from this point of view. And it was all the more important that she continued to present herself as valuable to him. But she also had to show him that she did not share his morals.

She approached him quietly. Lord Voldemort might be a monster, but this Tom Riddle before her was first and foremost a young man with a serious mental disorder. Perhaps she should have felt compassion. The stories Harry had told about Tom's time at the orphanage would in themselves have been enough to make her feel compassion. But his acts of violence were too cruel for Hermione to feel that way. She understood that Tom's childhood had left its mark on him, but she did not approve of the consequences. This young man here still had all the time in the world to choose the right path, no one in the wizarding world discriminated or despised him. He did not have to grow up to become this monster. And yet that was the choice he had made. Or would make.

Slowly she bridged the last distance, nestled herself against his back and let her forehead sink against him. She felt him tense for a moment, but he did not move from his position.

"Tom", she whispered softly. "I will now finish the ritual. I am my own master. You cannot control every aspect of my life. But," she added quickly as he clenched his fists in obvious rage, "If you accept that I am an independent human being, then I would like to stand by your side as your partner."

He turned to her, face as blank as ever, but Hermione was sure hot anger was raging inside him. "As my partner?"

She knew she had to choose her words carefully, but at the same time she wanted to come across as confident as possible. "You can't fool me, Tom. All your philosophizing about morality and freedom, about the shackles society puts on us. You dream of something bigger, don't you? You have a vision. You want to make the world a better place. Let me in on it. Tell me about your idea. I can be more than a mere... toy, as you so prettily put it."

For a moment, it seemed to her as if Tom was debating with himself, then finally he coolly replied, "Do you really think you want to do this?"

Of course, Hermione knew she did not want to, but she laughingly replied, "You can't be worse than Grindelwald."

Again, a surprised look flitted across his face. "That you can laugh about it."

Hermione was sure that if she had not known that Grindelwald's terror would very soon come to an end by Dumbledore's intervention, she would not have laughed about it, but apparently her casual attitude to the subject was exactly what convinced Tom.

He put her one hand on his cheek and pulled her closer to him. "As you wish. We'll see if you're really ready for my ... new world. When you have seen what I am going to show you, there is no turning back, Hermine. So, think carefully what you ask!"