Hermione sat on her bed with a pounding heart. She fled after Tom had come so close to her. Ran away so as not to have to deal with the question of why his power, his overpowering, all-destroying demeanour so aroused and captivated her. And he had let her go, had simply silently released her from his grip, not trying to stop her in any way. Probably he felt the same way she did: He knew that if he did not let her go, things would happen between them that should not happen in a rather public space. And after all, despite everything, he still had a reputation to uphold.

Only slowly did her heart calm. Concentrating, Hermione placed both hands flat on the bedspread, burying her fingers in the soft fabric as if she needed to reassure herself that she was surrounded by reality. It was pointless to resist the truth any longer.

Since the moment when the black abyss of her soul had stared openly at her at the moment of her climax, her relationship with Tom had changed.

She was not a good person. Not in any moral sense, as some ancient philosopher's book might define it. Tom promised power, power on a scale that had been completely unknown to her before. And though she previously loathed that power, hated everything that Tom - or rather Lord Voldemort - stood for, that had now changed. He loosened the shackles inside her piece by piece, showed her that she had much more magic at her disposal than she had previously known. And although she had not yet learned to do anything with it, this knowledge alone was intoxicating. She understood Tom. When one saw that power resting in oneself, it was hard to resist temptation.

How should a boy who grew up in an orphanage, without love, ever have learned to bow to society's moral rules and resist the temptation of power?

Sighing, she let herself fall back and stared at the ceiling above her. Was that why she was here? Was she here to learn to unleash and master her powers? Was she to learn to face Tom in a duel later and defeat him?

She turned onto her side and clutched her pillow. The idea was frightening. Dumbledore had been able to defeat Grindelwald, but in a duel with Tom he had never been clearly superior. If Dumbledore could not be victorious, what chance would she have? Or did he not stand a chance because he did not use his full powers? Or did he, unbeknownst to anyone, and yet was no match for him?

Annoyed, Hermione realised that her thoughts entered a vortex that no longer produced anything productive. She buried her face in the pillow. They finally found a possible way for her to return, yet she was more confused than ever as to what exactly her mission here was supposed to be. Was she supposed to get close to Tom so that he would unleash her powers so that she could then use them against him?

Would she even be able to do that?

Horrified, Hermione's eyes snapped open and she flung the pillow away from her. Where had that question come from now? Of course she would be able to kill Tom in a duel, if only she had the power. He was Lord Voldemort and he had caused endless suffering to everyone she loved. Of course she would be able to kill him. There was no question about that.

"I will kill him," she whispered softly, "Directly or indirectly, I will kill him. I will kill Tom Riddle."

An icy hand tightened around her heart. She had already spent so much time with Tom that the thought of a world without him became almost unimaginable. A world without an ice-cold, man-killing monster. Without condescending remarks. Without intellectual exchange. A world without inspiration and passion and hate and fire.

Slowly, Hermione closed her eyes. Breathed out. Spread her arms. A world without Tom Riddle was a better world. She would kill him; she would not hesitate. There was no need for hesitation. There was no reason for doubt. She would kill him.

oOoOoOo

What was he doing here? What was the point of his presence if he was just going to stand silently in the room without any conversation taking place? What was he here for?

Before his eyes, Tom Riddle was pacing up and down, obviously lost in thought, even though his facial expressions, as usual, gave nothing away. Why did he ask him to follow him to his room if he was not going to talk to him now? Or did he forget he was there? Should he perhaps leave again?

Uncertainly, his gaze wandered to the door. It was locked, not just simply closed, but magically locked. He had seen Tom put a spell over it, and he assumed that Tom wanted to initiate him into new things. But instead, he just left him standing there, offered him no chair, nothing. He simply wandered restlessly up and down.

If only he would not felt so uncomfortable in Tom's presence. Not that he did not like him. He did, without question, after all, he respect Tom. Very much so, he looked up to him, admired him. But this nervousness, these palpitations he felt in Tom's presence, especially when they were alone, irritated him immensely. And that was why he felt uncomfortable. There was no reason for his heart to beat so fast in Tom's presence. Tom was a boy. A man. Attractive, intelligent, respectable, and incredibly talented as a wizard, but still a man. That heartbeat was completely out of place.

"Orion."

He winced in surprise. He had already stopped expecting Tom to address him after all. With widened eyes he replied, "Yes?"

"Have you ever thought about the nature of man?"

Unconsciously his mouth dropped open. What kind of question was that? For a moment he could only stare, but then he remembered where he was, who he was facing, and decided that Tom certainly had a valid reason for such a question. Thoughtfully, he scratched the back of his head. "Honestly, not really. People are just ... people. There are wizards and there are muggles."

With a flash of movement, Tom stepped directly in front of him. "Yes, certainly. But if you leave magic out of it, what is there? What motivates people? What is behind their actions?"

Irritated by the sudden, physical closeness, Orion's head went completely blank for a moment. By Merlin, he had to find a way not to react to Tom like this. And he could not, under any circumstances, show him that he was reacting like this. What a disgrace he was. He closed his eyes to take at least one of his senses away from Tom. He could still detect his subtle, typical smell, feel the warmth of his body, hear the soft breathing. Feel his presence. Reluctantly, he shook his head.

"I have no idea," he finally said, after he halfway collected himself again and found the courage to look directly at Tom. "With us snakes, it's quite obvious, I would think. We are driven by the pursuit of greatness. There is calculation behind our actions, we never do anything unless it brings us short or long term gain. With others... well. Hufflepuffs never think about anything, so it's hard for me to judge. In Gryffindor, the guiding motive is probably to appear as honourable as possible. The Ravenclaws are probably still the most like us, they think before they act, but I can never judge the motives with them either."

A grin played around the corners of Tom's mouth, giving Orion the strange feeling that he just said something very stupid, but satisfying him nonetheless. Nodding, Tom put a hand on his shoulder. "I suppose it's only natural that we judge people by their house affiliation, isn't it? I suppose every person, even if they've never set foot in Hogwarts, can be categorised into one of the Houses."

His skin seemed to burn where Tom touched him, but he forced himself to ignore the feeling. Nervously he licked his lips. "I think so."

"If you were to choose a leader," Tom continued without taking his hand from him, "Which house would that one come from?"

Orion could not deny that the point of this conversation still eluded him, but he was in no position to question Tom. He thought for a moment before answering cautiously, "I guess it would depend on what the endeavour was. Normally you would probably say Gryffindor first, after all there are all the brave, strong, heroic ones. But they are also rash, too quick, too fixed. They could never put together a well thought out plan. Hufflepuff is ruled out for obvious reasons. In the house of Ravenclaw ... well. I can't tell you why, but I never got the impression that anyone there particularly cared much about leading other people. They're loners who are only interested in their studies. So, I guess that would just really leave Slytherin. We can make plans, see complex structures, think far into the future, consider all eventualities."

The grin did not leave Tom's face, but now he let his hand slide inappropriately slowly from Orion's shoulder down his arm, all the while walking around him with lithe steps. Goosebumps spread over his body and his breathing quickened. What was Tom doing? Determined, Orion fixed his eyes straight ahead on the bed so as not to succumb to the temptation to turn to Tom. Thus, he only felt Tom step right behind him, so close that he almost bumped his back against his chest. He felt the hand that just slid down his arm now move back up and back onto his shoulder. The warm breath on the back of his neck told him that Tom moved a little closer to his right ear, as if to whisper intimate secrets to him. A hot shiver ran down his spine. What if Tom was more like him than he thought? What if ...

"Not everyone from House Slytherin is suited to be a leader though," Tom interrupted his racing thoughts, "Don't you think?"

Orion gasped in exasperation. He could not think like this, he had to stop feeling these feelings. Tom was not like that, obviously. He just wanted answers, Tom just wanted to talk to him. There was something wrong with himself that he misunderstood Tom's behaviour like this. He should leave.

"Don't you think so, Orion?" Tom repeated the question and now he stood so close that Orion could clearly feel his chest. The thumb of Tom's hand that was resting on his shoulder moved down a little and came to rest on his hairline at the nape of his neck. Trembling, he closed his eyes, clenched his fists and tried desperately to fight his body. But it was no use. The heat remained, the trembling remained, the goose bumps remained.

"Tom, I ..." he began, but was immediately interrupted again by the other.

"I see your head is not in the game," Tom said slowly and lowered his hand, not without stroking it down his back as if by accident. Orion's trembling intensified.

"Pity. I had you down for a man of greater concentration," Tom murmured, the disappointment in his voice almost palpable. Tears of shame burned in Orion's eyes, but he ordered himself not to show them. With his head bowed, he stood there while Tom stepped back around him, away from him and dropped onto his bed. With his legs crossed, his chin resting on his right hand, he eyed him.

"You're a good boy, Orion," Tom finally said with a sigh, "But you still have a lot to learn. I thought you were ready. I thought you would understand me. But maybe I was wrong."

"It's not that, Tom! Really, believe me, I am ready, I can ..." Orion cried out pleadingly, but Tom merely raised his hand to signify him to be silent. Orion hung his head in despair. Who was he fooling here? As long as he could not get his unnatural feelings under control, he could not do anything for Tom, on the contrary, he was more of a burden. And knowing Tom, he had seen through him long ago.

Had he?

Horrified by this sudden thought, he looked over at his friend. Tom's mild smile said it all. He saw through him. He saw through him, but he kept silent so as not to embarrass him further.

"Tom, believe me, it's not what you think," Orion stammered desperately, but again Tom only silenced him with a simple gesture.

"Yes, Orion, it is just as I think," Tom said firmly, his gaze fixed on him without any warmth. "But fear not. Your secret is safe with me. I would never do anything to cause you distress. I am your friend, Orion, as you are my friend. I have your back, as you have mine. Never forget that. Now go."

Wide-eyed, Orion stared at him. Tom was a good man. As determined and ice-cold as he could be, he was probably the only person in the world who would not tell his secret. He should feel gratitude for that. With weak knees, Orion turned and strode towards the door Tom unlocked with the wave of his wand. He really should feel grateful for Tom's understanding.

And yet Orion could not fight the feeling that it would yet be his undoing that Tom knew so well how he felt about him.