He had her in the palm of his hand. She might not know it herself yet, but he now had her in the palm of his hand for good. After all the weeks in which he had never known for sure whether Hermione Dumbledore really meant her vows of loyalty to him, he now had the certainty that she could no longer escape him. Regardless of whether her loyalty was just an act - which he doubted, but unfortunately one could never be sure with people - he now knew that he possessed her heart.

She needed him.

Tom allowed the triumphant grin he wanted to show settle as a slight smile on his lips as he looked over at Abraxas. She had defied his indirect command and refused to engage with Abraxas, but that only bothered him for a moment. Tom knew from his own experience how easy it was for a man to fall for a woman's charms; it would be correspondingly easy to control his minions with Hermione. But apparently, she had seen through his intentions immediately and decided to put a wrench in his plans. She understood him, and yet did not understand him.

Or perhaps she simply had too deviant an inclination for Abraxas to satisfy. Perhaps she had instinctively sensed that this young, innocent man could not give her what she needed.

Instead, she had thrown herself at him, Tom Riddle, deep beneath Hogwarts, in the immediate vicinity of a basilisk.

With difficulty, Tom kept control of his smile. It was almost ridiculous how easy it was to manipulate even an intelligent person like Hermione through something as banal as sex. She needed him; she would always need him. Yesterday, when he had taken her without paying attention to his surroundings, that had dawned on him. And since then, he felt a high like never before.

Certainly, many times she had said that she was at his mercy anyway, because they had done unspeakable things together, as she put it. But that had always been her mind talking, never her heart. It was an interesting development that for him, who always relied so much on rationality and coldly calculating intellect, a woman's heart could one day become so important.

And how he enjoyed it when she gave herself to him, when she opened up and allowed him to do whatever he felt like with her. She was the one woman who had resisted him and she was now the one who had lost. She was his, she had said so herself.

His gaze wandered again to Abraxas, who seemed to want to spend this Sunday in the company of Rufus Lestrange again. Strange. Tom remembered that they had both been close friends at the beginning in their first year at school. As offspring of the Malfoy and Lestrange families, that was not really surprising, but both had soon gone their own ways and had moved on to polite distance. So why this sudden closeness again?

But of course.

Tom almost laughed out loud. Both Rufus and Abraxas had only recently experienced defeat at his hands. They bowed to his power because he wanted it that way, but Rufus, at least, did so only through gritted teeth. The fact that Abraxas had now fallen victim to Hermione's first Cruciatus curse did not seem to sit well with the blonde beau either. They were both equally transparent. Predictable.

Boring.

Tom rubbed his chin thoughtfully. What did he do before Hermione had come into his life? She frustrated him often enough, but at least she offered excitement and was not as predictable as everyone else. Had he always been bored before without really realising it, or had he really enjoyed his so-called friends? It was a mystery to him. They were foot soldiers, he needed them, still at least, but at the end of the day they were just pawns, means to an end.

They had both obviously realised that now. And it did not suit them. Naturally, they then formed an alliance. Tom suspected Rufus was behind it, for as clever as Abraxas was, he was at the same time too loyal to forge an alliance against his ostensible best friend on his own.

Tom's gaze became calculating. Was Abraxas even aware of why Rufus sought his proximity? Had Rufus laid his cards openly on the table, or had he merely approached him under some pretext? He would certainly trust Rufus to seek allies without revealing his motivation. It was not for nothing that Lestrange had been his favourite henchman before.

Slowly, Tom let his gaze glide through the common room - and lingered on Orion. He had almost forgotten about young Black. He had him in his hands like no other, because not only did Orion adore him, no, he also had to fear that his secret would become public if he did or said something against Tom. His secret. Tom was pretty sure that Orion was just confused and not really interested in men. But he would be the last person to tell him that.

Maybe he really should officially accept Hermione into his ranks. Not only to show her that he was more than a mere boy, but also to make it clear to his friends that he was open to all who were powerful and clever. He just hoped that no one would ever look closer at her family background.

oOoOoOo

"Have you spoken to my brother about this yet?"

Hermione stared into her glass of butterbeer. Of course she had not spoken to Dumbledore about her relationship with Tom. At least not in detail. She somehow felt that she would disappoint him. Or that he would lecture her on how dangerous it was to make the wrong friends - which, after all, he had experienced first-hand. But she had to talk to someone about the spiral of escalation into which she had somehow fallen.

"I'll take your silence as a no," Aberforth grumbled.

She nodded without looking at him. It took a lot for her to really talk about everything, and some things she kept quiet about even now. All the time she was talking about Tom, she did not look at Aberforth. She did not want to know how this older wizard reacted to her unusual escapades. All she really wanted to hear was that everything would be all right.

"Miss Granger," he said quietly and something in his tone finally made her look up, "Perhaps the fact that I am the innkeeper of Hog's Head gives it away, but I am quite familiar with the abysses in which we humans move. My clientele here is shady and I also have business in Knockturn Alley often enough. Believe me, I know the power that carnal lust has over us."

As during her narration, the blush rose again in Hermione's cheeks. She could not believe she was talking to this man about such intimate details of her life. She just knew she had to.

"What do you want me to do?" she whispered, "I feel so helpless. Like I have no control."

Aberforth emptied his small glass, which contained some clear, acrid-smelling liquid, in one go and looked at her sympathetically. "You are young and inexperienced. Realise one thing: your fears are normal. And above all: what happens between you and a man in bed has nothing to do with what happens outside. Nothing."

Dryly, Hermione laughed. "I rather feel it has everything to do with it."

A wry grin could be glimpsed under his beard. "A saying sums up the feeling well: All things in life are about sex, only sex is about power."

"That's exactly what I mean."

"That's not true in my observation, though," Aberforth objected, "I've watched the working girls of Knockturn Alley long enough. They sell their bodies, but that does not mean they lose their pride. Some also offer more unusual services. Games of dominance and submission. An old friend of mine gets paid well to play the role of a submissive woman, and she does it gladly. Nevertheless, the girl is one tough cookie. No one is imposing their will on her. If the sex you have reflects what you really are, how would that fit?"

Hermione was silent. Her cheeks glowed, while Dumbledore's brother seemed perfectly at ease with this conversation. Presumably, as innkeeper of the Hog's Head, he really was used to a lot, even at this time.

"Tell me more about this boy, about Tom," he prompted her gently, "He does seem to have rather unusual tendencies himself."

She took a deep sip from her glass before she felt ready to talk further about him. "He loves dominance and superiority in all circumstances. When he feels threatened in his superiority, he can become really dangerous and unpredictable. I have been aware of that for a long time, I knew what I was getting into. But yesterday ... I can't describe it, but the way he looked at me ..."

Aberforth just shrugged. "He looked at you the way a man looks at another who can give him what he seeks. You seem to complement each other perfectly in terms of your inclinations and he understood that. But at the end of the day, that's just sex. Ask yourself honestly, do you see yourself as perfectly compatible with him in any other areas of life?"

Again, Hermione remained silent for a long time. Of course, Aberforth was somehow right, but there was more. She just felt that there was more between her and Tom. They were not just two people who happened to work well in bed. It felt more like they were actually a good couple in every way.

And that was an incredibly scary notion.

After all, she could ill-afford to go back to her own time and say to Harry that she actually got on pretty well with Tom and needed him in her life.

"Oh my God."

As she was thinking about Harry, it was as if a blindfold were stripped from her eyes. She instantly understood why that moment yesterday scared her so much. It was not just that Tom had looked at her with triumph. It was just the effect.

For a split-second yesterday she thought of Ron while Tom was getting dressed. And for that one split second, she wondered if she could ever get back with Ron - or even get with him in the first place - now that she had found out what she was made of through Tom. And in that same split-second, she had wondered if ever again a man would be able to give her what Tom gave her.

She had quickly forgotten the thought, pushed it away, but the fear had remained.

"You'll understand soon enough," Aberforth interrupted her panicked thoughts, "When you learn that sex isn't so significant and can be fun with other men. I know, I know, you don't like to see that in our society, but that's the reality. Young people in particular tend to put too much importance on sex because they don't know yet how easy it is to get it."

"I don't know if that applies to my situation," she admitted carefully, "Tom is ... just special."

Sighing, Aberforth propped both elbows on the table. "Well, one more clue then, maybe it can put your mind at rest. Like I said, I have this old friend. She likes to be submissive. She willingly relinquishes all control. But actually, the real control always remains with her. She sets the boundaries. No matter how dominant the man pretends to be, no matter what he is given control over, he can only ever go as far as she allows. He has to focus on her, not the other way round. On the surface he has the power, but actually, she has it."

This gave Hermione pause for thought. In fact, that was exactly what she had wanted to take advantage of, because she had instinctively felt that she somehow had control over Tom, even if she did not quite know what that looked like. Especially with Tom, the usual rules of the game did not apply. When he wanted to, he simply went beyond her limits without bothering about her protests. After all, he admitted himself that he enjoyed her tears.

But he just as obviously enjoyed her giving herself to him. How would he react if she simply refused him? If she did not respond, either with tears or arousal?

Could she even control that? If he did not get the reaction he wanted, he would torture her until she at least responded with the fear he wanted.

"Always be aware," he continued after Hermione did respond after a long pause, "Whatever happens between a man and a woman should always be by mutual consent. If it does not, you have every right to leave him. Set limits for him and don't go beyond them."

"It's not that simple," Hermione said shaking her head, "I know that's how it should work in theory, but it's just different with Tom."

Still, she had to agree with him. Just because she enjoyed being sexually submissive to Tom did not mean she actually submitted to him. Until she decided to do so, he could never fully submit her. At the same time, he had apparently not yet realised that his possessiveness of her was dangerously close to the feeling of love he so despised. It was not yet too late to tip the scales in her favour in the battle of who had power over whom.

It was a little ironic that she learned to stop fearing Tom and was now afraid of herself instead, because she could not yet understand or control her reactions to him.