Power Struggle

September 15, 1944

"I'm not finished," he told her in a low, smooth voice. She could feel his breath against her ear as he stepped closer to her, curling his fingers around her wrist and removing her hand from the doorknob.

Rosemary began turning around to face him, but Tom took another step closer to her instead. The gap of space between their bodies diminished rapidly and she suddenly found herself pressed up against the cold, stone wall. He stood behind her, his hands began running up and down the sides of her body. Her mind began to spin as she felt the growing erection in his trousers (which was somewhat impressive, considering the fact that the dress she had worn to Slug Club had several layers of fabric).

What in the bloody hell was happening? Hadn't they been fighting just minutes before? Was this supposed to be some sort of make-up sex? If so, she wasn't sure she was in the mood – they hadn't exactly ended the conversation on a good note…

While these thoughts flashed through her mind, Tom's hands slid underneath the skirt of her dress. She closed her eyes as they traveled up her legs, over her hips and back to her bum before a single finger glided between her legs to feel her through her knickers.

Well, perhaps she was in the mood.

He brushed her hair to the side and kissed the back of her neck. Her eyes were still closed when he slowly stepped away from her and by the time she turned around and opened them, he was sitting at the edge of his bed. She couldn't help but notice that same, eerie look in his eyes for the second time that evening. He seemed distant somehow; removed.

"Undress."

It was a command. Not a request.

His demeanor continued to puzzle her, but, admittedly, his tone of authority was quite attractive. And so, she obeyed him, slipping off her heels and unzipping her dress before finally allowing it to fall to her feet. Rosemary started toward him, essentially ready to jump on him at this point, until his cool voice stopped her abruptly: "All the way."

Her eyes were fixed on his as she slipped out of her lingerie, tossing it in the general direction of her dress and shoes. Finally, she stood completely exposed before him. She watched his face as his eyes scanned her, though his face was still unreadable. And then, with a twitch at the corner of his mouth as though he might smirk, he said: "Good girl."

Rosemary was relieved that he finally seemed satisfied. Thinking that it might finally be her turn to tease him in return, she strode up to the bed and traced her fingers down his chest while sporting the most seductive look in her eyes that she possibly could. Her hand dropped lower and lower, and she was about to reach his trousers when he caught her wrist. She wasn't sure exactly how it happened, but after one quick motion, he was on top of her and pinning her arms down near either side of her head.

There was another glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he looked up at her, just before he bowed his head and traced his tongue from her collarbone to the top of her right breast. His teeth, lips, and tongue entertained her hardened nipple and she emitted an involuntary groan of pleasure. He switched to her left side as she felt herself begin to grow wet for him.

As if he had somehow sensed this, Tom let go of one of her arms and brought his hand between her legs. Her eyes rolled in ecstasy as a solitary finger grazed the sensitive ridge on the way down and once again when the same finger slid inside of her.

Rose began to lose herself in the rhythm of his touch and was quickly growing close to a climax. If there had been any doubt in her mind earlier, there was none any longer – she wanted him, and that was that.

Just as she was about to be sent over the edge with pleasure, he removed his finger and briskly climbed off the bed, pulling her to her feet. The sudden withdrawal of stimulation when she was so close to an orgasm already was nearly too much to handle; she felt her knees wobble, but he steadied her with his strong hands, turning her back toward the bed and bending her over it.

"Spread your legs," he commanded her. She did as she was told, growing even wetter in anticipation of what she knew was coming when she could hear the clinking of his belt and unzipping of his trousers.

He pressed his throbbing cock against her and she braced herself for his entrance, but there was no need – instead, he began to tease her, lightly tracing her opening with his member. She was so caught up in her desire for him that she couldn't help but let out one moan after another.

"Say it," he told her.

Rose didn't have the first clue what he meant; what he wanted her to say. There was only one thing running through her mind: "I want you."

"You want me?" he said it with incredulity, as though she had said something ridiculous. As he spoke, he pressed himself just barely inside of her.

"I need you," she corrected rapidly, praying that he would press deeper inside of her.

"Who do you belong to?" he demanded.

"You," she breathed between moans, delirious with pleasure.

"That's exactly right." His hands grasped her hips suddenly. "Don't ever forget it."

Rosemary let out an involuntary, sharp gasp as he slid himself all of the way inside of her.

As her noises of pleasure filled the room and he thrusted into her over and over again, she found herself lose track of time. She hadn't the slightest clue how long they had gone when they finally finished – it could have been anywhere from two minutes to two hours; everything was a blur.

She climbed back into bed with him and pulled his arm around her as he fell asleep almost instantly. Rose found it hard to keep her eyes open at first, but as the effects of her climax slowly wore off, all of the little thoughts that had fled her mind during her state of pleasure came wandering back into her consciousness.

A sickening feeling appeared in the pit of her stomach without warning: were things between them actually okay? It suddenly seemed so wrong that they had been so intimate after one of their worst fights to date. And what exactly had been going on inside Tom's mind? What were the thoughts behind all of those strange looks?

Truthfully, she was afraid to ponder any of it in much depth at all. What if, somehow, things had changed between them permanently? As this thought danced across her mind, the nauseous feeling in her stomach continued to spread.

And then there was the sex itself…while she certainly hadn't minded the fact that Tom had taken complete control of her, there was a part of her that worried it might be a sign that things had indeed changed between them. After all, what she had just experienced was quite a stark departure from their normal, much gentler intimate encounters. What if, because of their most recent argument, he had lost respect for her in some way and that had been his way of showing it? She shivered; the thought alone was traumatic.

Rosemary tried to force these troubling thoughts from her mind in a sad attempt at sleep, mustering all the hope she possibly could and telling herself that she was wrong: that she and Tom had not changed.

By the time she awoke the following morning, Tom had already gone and she found that she had sprawled herself out, invading his side of the bed. She shifted her head to his pillow and inhaled, while his attractive scent filled her nose. Rosemary felt quite content, really: she was lying in Tom's bed, it was the weekend, and they were one day closer to graduation.

Then she remembered the previous night and felt uneasy all over again. Determined not to dwell on it any longer, Rose pulled herself out of bed, telling herself that the tension between them had simply been caused by the additional time she had spent with Warren that week during the Slug Club meeting.

She dressed partially and crossed the hall to her room. Though she had yet to check the time that morning, she knew she had missed breakfast when she saw a cream-colored envelope that had been slipped under her door, presumably by a house-elf. Her stomach dropped when she picked it up and turned it over, instantly recognizing the golden ink and her father's neat handwriting.

Rose hadn't heard from her parents since she left for school, which she had taken to mean that she, Warren, and Tom had done a convincing enough job with their charade. But now, as she held her father's letter in her hands, she couldn't help but fear the worst.

Her heart pounded violently as she forced herself to rip open the envelope.

Dearest Rosemary,

I hope that this letter finds you well and that you've enjoyed your first two weeks of classes. I'm looking forward to hearing all about them next Saturday during Comet's Annual Gala. Speaking of, I discussed the event with Headmaster Dippet and he assured me that you and Warren would be permitted to leave the school grounds, provided that we send someone there to fetch you. Your mother has been working tirelessly in preparation; she purchased your dress just yesterday, I believe…

She felt her pulse slow back down to a normal rate as her eyes scanned the remainder of his letter. Of course – the Gala! How had she forgotten? She had been forced to attend the event, which celebrated the beginning of Quidditch season, for years. In fact, the only time she could remember that she hadn't attended was the year prior, when she convinced her parents that she had come down with a dreadful stomach flu. Although, the real reason she hadn't gone (besides the fact that she overwhelmingly disliked socializing with the bulk of her parents' friends), was that she hadn't wanted to spend any more time with Markus than was absolutely necessary.

It was rather ironic to realize both how little and how much things had changed since then. She was no longer trapped in a loveless relationship, but was still expected to attend this stupid event with someone she rather wouldn't. A few dozen excuses to give her father in an attempt to get herself out of it flashed through her mind, but she knew that bringing Warren would be an important stride in convincing her parents that they were a legitimate couple.

Though perhaps it wasn't entirely necessary for Tom to know about it.

September 19, 1944

With the first round of scouting events quickly approaching with the coming weekend, finding a way around Dumbledore's outrageous restrictions had become his top priority. Which was precisely why he found himself sitting outside Armando Dippet's office early Tuesday morning.

Tom had knocked on the door and waited for nearly five minutes when Dippet finally appeared at the door. When he noticed Tom sitting outside, he looked considerably surprised, which was rather puzzling until Tom remembered just how awful the Headmaster's hearing was quickly becoming.

"Good morning, Mr. Riddle," Dippet greeted him, recovering somewhat. "Is everything well?"

"Yes. Er, well, I suppose so…I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time, Sir."

Dippet bowed his head slightly and a small smile appeared on his wrinkled face. "Of course."

Once again, Tom was struck with the realization that essentially everyone (with the exception of Dumbledore and Rosemary's parents) was completely charmed by him. He couldn't help but smirk with satisfaction as Dippet led him inside his office.

The older wizard settled into his chair and Tom took a seat across from him. If it had been a normal visit to the Headmaster's office, Tom might have allowed his eyes wander to any of the many curiosities housed within it; but this particular visit called for his full attention. He had to convince Dippet to allow him off the school grounds, both to assist Beaumont in scouting and for training later in the year. The Tournament had been one of the best, most notable experiences of his life to date, and he wasn't about to allow a year of his potential participation to slip by unutilized. Especially considering the fact that he was convinced he might just win that coming year. But it wasn't all about the Tournament, either; there was a rather large part of him that just wanted to get away from Hogwarts (or, more specifically, encounters involving Rosemary and Warren).

"How can I help you, Mr. Riddle?"

Tom reminded himself that he needed to pace things out; Dippet would not appreciate his persistence right off the bat: "Well, Sir, I suppose that Professor Dumbledore has spoken to you about my request to leave the grounds based on my involvement in the Continental Wizarding Dueling Tournament. I spoke with you about it prior, if you remember –"

"I do," Dippet nodded slowly. "Unfortunately, I do believe that Albus knows best in these matters…"

Tom fought the urge to lock his jaw in irritation.

And why don't you know what's best for the school? You're the damn Headmaster.

"I completely understand," he somehow forced himself to say. "But I was hoping that you might make an exception…It is for the Tournament…"

The Headmaster smiled sadly. "The only exceptions that have been made are to those whose families have made arrangements to retrieve them."

This comment set Tom's temper ablaze in an instant; now he was being discriminated against because of his lack of family or proper guardian? He couldn't even think of anything more offensive. Although, perhaps this apparent loophole to Dumbledore's rule could also work to his advantage.

If anything was a sign of his obstinate desperation to triumph over Dumbledore, it was what he said next: "As you know, Headmaster, these grounds for an exception leave me without a single option…" he paused to let the full effect of these words to sink in and appear on Dippet's face. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to consider my participation in the Tournament's events as long as the sponsor I work with – Raoul Beaumont – would agree to travel with me from Hogwarts?"

"Ah! Raoul; he's such a lively spirit."

"Lively is certainly one way to put it," Tom said with a slight smirk.

"Unfortunately, I believe that is something we still cannot allow…"

He couldn't help but scowl.

"However," Dippet continued, "It may be acceptable if one of the Hogwarts faculty agreed to escort you – Professor Dumbledore, perhaps?"

"Actually, I was thinking Professor Slughorn might find the events more interesting," Tom said quickly in an attempt to hide his disgust at the Headmaster's suggestion.

"Nonsense! Albus is a very accomplished Dueler; he'd surely enjoy himself."

Well, clearly Tom wouldn't be enjoying himself.

While he searched his brain for another reason as to why Dumbledore would be a completely unsuitable chaperone for this particular task, Dippet continued, "Yes…I believe that would be an excellent solution…"

"But if Professor Dumbledore is the head of the school's safety, shouldn't he stay on the grounds?" Tom protested, continuing his attempts to hide his disdain.

Dippet waved a hand nonchalantly. "You'll only be gone a few hours every weekend. I'm sure I can look after the school for that amount of time. It would be a nice break for him."

Tom could see from the satisfied look on the Headmaster's face that his fate had been decided. Unbelievable. He supposed he had succeeded in his goal – to attend the scouting and training sessions – but he surely hadn't anticipated them at such a high cost. A few hours. Nearly every weekend for the rest of the term. With Dumbledore.

Then again, he would be fairly preoccupied with helping Beaumont and participating in his own training. Perhaps he wouldn't even notice the old fool's presence at all. How bad could it really be?

It only took a few seconds for his mind to flood with the cynical possibilities. Quite bad; quite bad, indeed.

He was absorbed in dread about this prospect for much of the remaining day; in fact, the only time he could recall thinking about anything else was later that afternoon in the middle of Potions.

"Did you add the lacewing flies?" he asked her as he gave their cauldron a quick counter-clockwise stir and poured in five drops of armadillo bile.

"Yes," she answered without looking at him (as she hadn't all class), staring instead at the potion's swirling mixture of green and blue.

Things had gotten even more complicated between them after the past weekend, so it seemed. During the first two weeks of class, in which they had been made Potions partners as per Professor Slughorn's promise and brewed two potions together, Rosemary had been quite friendly to him in class despite their ongoing façade. But now, the stolen glances and secret smiles when she was sure no one was looking had disappeared and had been replaced with a somewhat distant version of her.

Tom caught a glimpse of the inside of her wrist when she reached up to sprinkle in the dried nettles and swallowed when he noticed the small bruise right beneath her palm. He felt awful immediately, knowing that it was he who had caused it as he pinned her to her bed.

Had he taken things too far? Probably. He had a strong urge to take advantage of his Legilimency prowess and take a quick peek inside her mind to find out what exactly had been going through her mind these past few days, but he had to draw the line somewhere, after all.

Although, even as someone who tended to live with few regrets (which was likely due to his rather significant ego and extraordinary self-confidence), he had thought back to that night several times, wondering if it had been a mistake.

He could remember precisely how he felt after their argument; his anger with her had flowed away, leaving behind only a single impulse. While it was impossible to place its exact origin, something inside him had shifted – he could feel it.

Tom had realized, suddenly, that Rosemary's own impulsiveness and desire to be in control of the situation was the entire reason they were in it to begin with. If she had simply trusted him instead, he would have come up with a much less messy solution and there would have been no need to involve Warren Cramer at all.

Of course, he too was rash and controlling. They really were quite alike, which was a rather conflicting realization. He did enjoy seeing these qualities in her…at least when she interacted with others. They showed off her shimmering self-respect and confidence, which were two of the things he loved most about her.

Unfortunately, it was impossible for him to see the control over their relationship that she had seized in the same light. He knew instantly that this dynamic would have to change if their relationship was to survive. He could not allow her to continue making decision after decision without so much as discussing it with him first. It was he who needed to be in charge. Not her.

And so, the impulse to educate her of this shift had been born. It would have been quite satisfying to inform her that he had thought of a better solution that didn't require Warren, but he regrettably felt as though they had gone too far down that particular path already to change direction. Instead, he had gone about it in the only way he could think of at the time.

Tom had never meant to disrespect her, of course, though he dreaded that this had indeed been a consequence. He was certainly beginning to get the feeling that he would need to talk to her about it at some point if she didn't put an end to her detached attitude soon; as strongly as his gut was telling him that he needed to have at least the majority of control, it would become irrelevant if he allowed himself to do irreparable damage.

"Is it sick of me to need control of you? Is it sick to make you beg the way I do?" – Maria Brink

Thanks so much to those of you that reviewed last chapter: Mrs. TomMarvoloRiddle, CharlotteBlackwood, Guest, silverfox1611, RosiePosie15, and A regrettable decision!

OMG, 3 chapters left in Part I! And there is still SO MUCH that has to happen!(:(: I'm so excited to share it with you all.

So, on an entirely unrelated note, my friend CharlotteBlackwood started posting a review prompt at the end of each chapter of her AMAZING fic, (seriously, you should totally go check it out) Craving Comfort. While I'm not going to make this a regular feature on this fanfic (as I believe I would probably lack the creativity/energy to come up with a prompt after finishing a chapter), all of hers DID inspire me to try it out this once. So! Here goes:

What is Tom Riddle's favorite flavor of ice cream? I mean, c'mon...even Dark Lords gotta love ice cream.