Silently, Hermione walked beside Tom. They were still deep underground, just about to go back to the tunnel that would lead them back to Myrtle's bathroom. After Tom had closed the large door to the chamber, he had grabbed her hand and had not let go of it until now. Hermione felt good. She felt more than good. A strange form of daring gripped her, enhanced by the tender gesture of holding hands. She wanted to do something, something brave, to soothe that tingling feeling inside her.

It was not as if she was unfamiliar with this feeling. Every time she had done something together with Ron and Harry that had clearly broken the rules, she had felt like this. Alive. Strong. Rebellious. She knew why rules existed, just as she valued rules in pretty much all situations in life. But that was precisely why it felt so liberating to deliberately break rules every now and then. It was a heady high.

Except that right now she did really break any rules. Now, at this moment, the high stemmed from the twisted confession of love Tom had just made to her. He promised her absolute protection, which meant she had nothing and no one to fear. On one side stood Dumbledore, on the other Tom, and as long as they both looked out for her, she was as protected as she could be. The only danger was Tom himself, but Hermione just hoped she could control him.

Unconsciously, she started massaging the back of Tom's hand with her thumb. And almost as unnoticed, Tom begun to return that touch.

Just before ascending to Myrtle's toilet, Tom stopped abruptly. "Hermione. What are you doing?"

Several times she blinked in confusion before she realised what he was getting at. Blushing, she looked down at her hands where her thumb was still caressing his hand. A wave of heat ran through her, but it was clearly not due to a sense of shame. Her elation intensified.

With a bold step, she approached Tom, ran one hand under his jumper and curled her fingers into the sensitive flesh just above his buttocks. A sharp hiss escaped him, and faster than she would have thought possible, Tom grabbed her, spun her around and pressed her back against the cold, rough stone wall.

"Tread no paths you are not prepared to walk to the end, my heart," he breathed into her ear as his free hand found its way to Hermione's bottom. Still her left hand and his right were entwined.

"I want to feel your naked skin, Tom," she replied without looking at him. She knew exactly what he was alluding to with his words, but instead of her feeling fear, it only increased the wild pounding of her heart. Down here, there were no rules. Down here, she could do what she had been craving for so long, though she had never admitted it to herself.

With a growl, Tom pressed himself even closer to her. "You've lost your mind, my dear. Down here? So far from the light, so far from anything that could help you against me? Are you sure you want to unleash the sleeping beast inside me?"

A small part of Hermione merely rolled her eyes at his theatrical choice of words, but the much larger part was thrilled. A hoarse moan escaped her as Tom buried his teeth in the soft flesh of her neck, and that was the end of them both.

Without caring, Tom tore at her jumper, pulled it roughly over her head and dropped it carelessly aside. Feverishly, Hermione tried to do the same to his clothes, but immediately Tom captured her hands and pinned them above her head. "You still don't get it, dear: this game is only for me."

Frustrated, Hermione fought him. "I want to feel you. Let me touch you!"

Instantly Tom changed his position, forced her thighs further apart with his knees, and penetrated her so deeply and so relentlessly with his fingers that Hermione could no longer tell whether she was whimpering in pain or in pleasure. She was sure he was still staring down at her with a cold expression, but she did not care. She opened herself to him and was rewarded. Here she stood, legs wide, her arms fixed above her head, her underwear torn, allowing Tom Riddle to touch her. This seventeen-year-old boy, who was actually her enemy, had his fingers buried deep inside her, and it felt divine. She needed more, more of him, more of his long hot fingers inside her, more of his slender but strong body against hers. Even more of the cold, hard wall at her back. With no regard for her surroundings or herself, Hermione opened herself to him completely, returning the ever-faster movement of his hand with equal beat of her hips, until finally a tremor gripped her body.

The orgasm rolled over her like a wave. Only peripherally did she notice how Tom withdrew his fingers, how he released her arms and instead gripped her hips with both hands. Automatically, she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, and just as the trembling of her climax began to calm, Tom sank himself into her in one hard movement.

Involuntarily, Hermione cried out. Although her body still glowed with arousal, she sensed that this was something quite different from a few fingers. Instantly she was reminded of how big it was and how hard. Briefly she tried to move into another position that would hurt less, but Tom interrupted her directly. "Oh no, you've had your fun, now it's my turn."

With a purposeful flick of his wrist, he wrapped her thighs around his waist, pressed her even harder against the rough stone wall littered with sharp edges, and then began to sink himself into her again and again, deeper and deeper, with hard movements. His breathing by now was also heavy, the sound of bare skin on sweaty skin echoing off the walls. Hermione felt the sharp-edged stones at her back ripping her skin, but she did not care. What mattered now was being there for Tom. To be open. She was his and nothing else mattered. Whimpering and sighing, Hermione snuggled up to him, holding on tight as he increased his pace. She was lost in a whirlpool of pain and pleasure, but even that did not matter. The only thing that mattered was Tom.

"Did you sleep with Abraxas?" asked Tom suddenly, without stopping his movement.

It took Hermione a while to register that he asked a question. She shook her head in disbelief, but without taking her face from his shoulder, she pressed out between two sighs, "No."

"I specifically asked you to do that," Tom replied, but did not really sound angry.

"I know," Hermione groaned, barely able to form a clear thought, "I know. But I didn't want to."

Abruptly, Tom paused and took a step back so he could look her in the eye. "It's not about what you want. It's about what I want."

Hermione's knees trembled. She needed his strong body to keep her from just sinking to the floor. Weakly, she murmured, "Tom..."

Just before she fell to the floor, he caught her, turned her chest-first to the wall and pressed himself against her from behind. "You don't understand me," he murmured softly.

She no longer had the chance to answer. Mercilessly, he penetrated her again, one hand pressed on her back to immobilise her against the stone wall, the other tightly around her waist. Desperately, Hermione searched with her hands for a hold on the wall, but all she found were sharp stones. Tom did not seem to care that the sharp edges were hurting her all over with small cuts and abrasions. His moans deepened and his hands started to move further down, to her bottom. Apart from his hands on her bottom and his hardness deep inside her, Hermione felt nothing from Tom, as deliberately he chose his distance from her. She should have felt used, but instead it only heightened her awareness of the few sensory input she was still getting. Her world almost seemed to consist only of him inside her, of the heavenly sensation of his unrelenting hardness, of his hot hands on her butt.

"You are mine," he whispered strained, "Your body is mine. What you do, I decide. You are mine. Mine!"

Whereas before he had sounded mocking and cold in his typical way, now his voice sounded almost desperate. The demanding, urgent tone and the possessive words were driving Hermione out of her mind. For the second time she was washed away by her orgasm, more intense than before, driven not only by pleasure but also by pain. Her whimpers and sighs turned into soundless gasps as she wantonly pressed her butt against Tom. His cock, the feeling of fullness, and the mercilessness with which he took her down here in the dirty, dark cold almost robbed her of her senses. And all the while, as she surrendered to her orgasm, moaning and gasping, writhing between his body and the stones despite the pain, Tom did not stop sinking into her again and again.

"Say it," Tom demanded after she was halfway there again, "Say! It!"

"I am yours," she whispered almost inaudibly, but it was enough.

With an almost pained "Mine!", Tom came inside her. His fingers clawed into the bare flesh of her hips, his chest pressed her harder against the wall, then he slumped a little. Resting his forehead on the nape of her neck, his breathing frantic, Tom paused inside her for another brief moment, then released her.

Slowly Hermione turned to look at him. He did not look away. While he adjusted his trousers, he held her gaze, while he adjusted her underwear, her blouse and her tie, he held her gaze. She could see in his eyes that he thought he had won. That her admission of belonging to him meant her final submission.

But there was more. Without realising, Tom had revealed how much he needed her to belong to him.

Still, his look scared her.