He still was silent. Hermione would have liked to empty her cup of hot tea over his head, she was so annoyed by his behaviour. What was Tom thinking? Did he seriously expect that she would never question why he was having all these political, sometimes even philosophical, conversations with her? Moreover, he had certainly not decided to help her study the dark arts out of pure philanthropy. She expected that his aim in all this was to test her, to initiate her sooner or later. So why was he so coy? What more did she have to do to prove to him that she was trustworthy?

"So, you think I plan to join Grindelwald?"

Hermione almost choked on her tea. She did not expect such a direct opening. Quickly she put her cup back on her desk so as not to suffer an unpleasant accident in the course of the rest of the conversation. With her hands folded in her lap, she pondered his question. Of course, she knew that Tom had no such plans, and even if he did, before the end of this school year, Dumbledore would make sure that Grindelwald was history. But equally, she was sure that it would provoke him if she told him to his face that she assumed he would join as a follower.

With a barely suppressed smirk, she explained, "Your ideas sound exactly like his. It seems obvious that you intend to join him."

As she expected, Tom's nonchalant posture tensed a little, but he kept his expression under control. "You can't help it, eh? Always a cute little provocation on your lips."

In reply, Hermione merely smiled affectedly and tilted her head. She knew Tom still could not handle her confident, condescending manner, and she had developed a strange delight in always trying to draw him out. It was a dangerous game, she had learned by now, because if she went too far, that side of Tom that was responsible for Voldemort would come out.

"I would expect you to know me a little better by now. I'm not one who likes having a master over me," Tom finally said, his face still locked into a calculated, impenetrable mask.

Hermione grinned. "Yes, indeed, you are not good at bowing your head to others. But how do you imagine that?" she continued more seriously, "Grindelwald is out there doing his utmost to start a revolution so that the Muggles realise we exist. I wasn't born then, but he was also with us in America twenty years ago and did a lot of damage."

Tom carelessly waved his hand. "As you say yourself, twenty years ago! Grindelwald has been trying to shape the world to his liking for so, so long. And what has he really achieved so far? You call him a terrorist, but still the secret of our existence is hidden from the Muggles. He's trying to do too much at once. He has spread fear all over Europe and then he goes to America to continue there when he hasn't even really achieved anything here? He wants too much at once."

Hermione had to strain not to laugh out loud. The way Tom talked about how little Grindelwald had achieved in so much time was beyond ironic when she thought about how he himself would achieve even less in a comparable amount of time. Voldemort had never really crossed the borders of the United Kingdom. However, she understood his reasoning and with the knowledge that he had and that she herself should have, it was logical what he was saying. Accordingly, she nodded. "I never thought of it that way. The coverage in the newspapers has only ever focused on how much damage he is doing. But considering his actual goals, he has indeed not been too successful yet. But what are your plans? Are you just going to go up to him after school, pat him on the back and say thanks, I'll take it from here?"

Tom grinned broadly. "No, that wouldn't work, although the thought is amusing. For such a venture you need reliable, loyal men. Followers who mean business. It would be impossible to take over his organisation. Even if Grindelwald's followers bowed to another master, what would that say about them? I don't need men who hang their banner to the wind and opportunistically go along with the next best thing."

Hermione could understand that thought too. Slowly, she took another sip of tea from her cup. She was almost there. She already got him to more or less admit that he was building up a following of his own. Now she just had to keep working him until he agreed to recruit her too. Slowly, careful not to present too much impossible knowledge, she said, "From what I can see, you already have a small band of true friends here at Hogwarts who would do anything for you."

To her surprise, a look of contempt came across Tom's face. "Friends. Indeed. Do you really think any of these young men are really friends of mine?"

Annoyed, she rolled her eyes. "No, of course not. The High Lord Tom Riddle is, of course, above feelings of friendship. They are all mere servile slaves, am I right? Slaves who are lucky to bask a little in your attentions?"

With a fluid movement, Tom rose from his chair and sauntered over to her. For a moment she feared he would curse her outright for her spiteful words, but instead he merely stood behind her and began massaging her neck. A cold shiver ran down Hermione's spine. This behaviour almost scared her even more.

"Despite your obvious sarcasm, my dear, that is exactly how I feel about my so-called friends," Tom's voice was almost affectionate as he said this, "None of them have the magical strength to command serious respect from me. They are all deluded men who imagine their family names will give them whatever they want."

"And you don't imagine anything about your lineage?" Hermione interrupted him dismissively.

His cool fingers on the back of her neck paused in place for a moment before he continued to caress the bare skin of her neck. "Hear me out, my heart. Abraxas and Rufus, even Humphrey, they all think very highly of their families. But do they bother to live up to the name Malfoy or Lestrange or Avery? They carry their names around as if they could be proud of them, but that's not how the world works. You can only be proud if you've achieved something yourself."

Still Hermione was not sure what this affectionate gesture of his was supposed to mean, still she was more than tense, but she was not about to buckle under this strange show of power. "That is the way the world works, Tom. Are you seriously telling me that you wouldn't be aware of that?"

Tom's left hand rested gently on her shoulder while he ran the fingers of his right hand up her neck to her chin, forcing her to put her head back and look at him. A smile that was in absolute contrast to the icy hardness in his dark eyes played around his lips. "The world may work like this right now, but that doesn't mean it's right. Or that it will always be so. Many before me have carried the blood of Slytherin, but no one has lived up to its name, no one has used the power that came with it. I am going to change that. The world must learn that nothing but power should determine who should hold what rank in society. A Malfoy who is neither intelligent nor magically gifted has no right to be above others just because he happens to have the name Malfoy."

Hermione had to agree with him on that. She might not take power as the deciding factor, but Tom was still right: in their time at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy had always acted like the king of the world, and especially in Slytherin house, people never questioned that, even though he had never shown any greatness at school or in his dealings with other people. Why was it that Tom was right about so many things? Why were the arguments he made logical, even if one wanted to evaluate them morally?

Still smiling, Tom leaned over her and breathed a kiss on her lips. It was a surprisingly tender gesture that Hermione did not see coming, and quicker than expected, Tom pulled away again, straightening up, and easing off her neck. Goosebumps spread all over her body. The days since he had defeated her in a duel for the second time, Tom appeared friendlier and more open than before. Though his irascible, violent side still came through often enough, it was obvious that he was meeting her with increasing tenderness and attentiveness. This too was not reassuring, but rather suspicious. Very suspicious.

"Back on topic, Tom," Hermione finally broke through her own endlessly circling thoughts, "So you don't want to join Grindelwald and you don't call your friends friends. In other words, they are your followers, whom you are wisely recruiting even now?"

"Quite right."

She ran her hand through her hair thoughtfully as she looked at Tom, who took to sitting on her bed. She really wondered how far along he was. Chewing on her lip, she huffed. "Do the lucky ones know about your parentage?"

Relaxing, Tom leaned against one of the high bedposts at the head of her bed. "Of course. They are too entrenched in their traditions to have followed me just like that. They knew I was good at school, but they needed reassurance that my family, my blood was worth something. So, I told them."

Promptly, Tom tapped a hand on the bed in front of him. Hermione hoped very much that he had no intention of using this evening for anything other than drinking tea, but she complied with his request without hesitation. At some distance from him, she sat down cross-legged on her own bed, also leaning against one of the bedposts. His words were in marked contradiction to everything he said earlier. "Interesting how disdainful you think of blood, considering how fond you are of calling me a mudblood."

"I don't think much of mixing Muggle blood with wizard blood," Tom retorted sharply, "It only makes us weaker. The thinner the magical blood in a person, the lower their abilities."

"Yes, exactly," Hermione snorted. "Because my abilities are so low too."

Intensely he eyed her. "You are an exception. And I am very sure that you too have ancestors that could explain your strength. Look at me. The magical side of my family was almost laughably weak, but the blood of Slytherin endured until it reached me. In me, someone has finally been born into the family again who knows what to do with power."

Hermione knew it was pointless to argue with Tom on this point. And she was not allowed to get so emotional either, after all she had successfully let him know before that she herself had a great dislike for Muggles. Unimpressed, she shrugged. "Whatever. So, you've already started planning your future. Who's with you?"

With a quick movement, Tom leaned forward and rested a hand on her knee as he looked her straight in the eye. "That, my heart, I will not tell you. You'll have to prove to me that you completely put your heart and soul into it before I'll let you into my circle."

"I performed a black magic ritual on a fellow student!", Hermione snapped at him angrily, "What more do you want from me?"

He moved even closer to her, so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. "It's one thing to use an uninvolved, uninteresting person as a plaything. But are you also capable of inflicting pain on other people? People who are close to you? Do you have the will it takes to cast these spells?"

Hermione's heartbeat quickened. She knew exactly what he was alluding to. She had already done so many things in the name of war because on a rational level she could tell herself it was for a good cause. But there had never been any serious emotional attachment. Would she actually be able to speak the Cruciatus? It took so much willpower to perform it.

And no matter how much she hurt him with her words before - she genuinely liked Abraxas. He was a good man, loyal, sensitive, educated, polite. To Tom, he might be just a spoilt, proud child of the Malfoy family, but she herself saw him as far more than that. But that was precisely the problem. Tom knew of their mutual affection, and even if he did not care on an emotional level, he could not condone it.

So, he had to test whether her feelings for Abraxas were stronger than her will to join his cause.