III - THE INNER CIRCLE

~O~

"A man who does not have something

for which he is willing to die

is not fit to live."

- Martin Luther King.

~O~

"You want me to prove to you that I'm worthy?"

In disbelief, Hermione stared down at Tom, who sat on her bed and smiled at her as if no water could tarnish him. It was inconceivable the matter-of-factness with which he had just declared that he would gladly introduce her to his inner circle, as he called it, but only on the condition that she proved herself worthy.

"What did I torture Abraxas for?" she demanded to know, "I thought that was the initiation ritual?"

Tom was still smiling. "Part of it. With that you proved to me that you could be cruel. Now you have to prove to me that you are intelligent and add value to our cause."

"Add value to ... Tom, you can't be serious."

He actually needed another proof that she was intelligent? Had all the weeks they had lessons together not been enough proof? Did she not prove to him again and again that she was not only a powerful witch, but also able to grasp complex concepts quickly? After all, she had learned meditation quickly and had almost reached her goal.

Suspiciously, she raised her eyebrows. "Did the others have to do that too?"

Tom's smile actually widened. "Of course not. These are men I've known since first year at Hogwarts. I can assess their intelligence without having to resort to such an inelegant means as evidence."

Hissing, Hermione breathed out. He was trying to provoke her and he was succeeding magnificently. When people made fun of her abilities, especially her intelligence, she reacted sensitively. Hermione knew she was clever, but her self-confidence was not great enough to really feel it with every fibre of her body. So she provided an ideal target for anyone who wanted to insult her on that level.

"Fine," she pressed out tensely, "How do you want me to prove it to you? And by when?"

"Oh, the how is entirely up to you," Tom countered, as if he did not care one bit, "And when. Well, let me think. I want to call a little meeting on Saturday, so it would be good until then."

Speechless, Hermione stopped. Today was Thursday, so she had exactly two days to come up with something. Why was he putting on this whole show? What was his motive? Determined not to give him any more food for his jibes, she merely nodded. "All right. Then I shall go straight to the library to think of something suitable."

"Go ahead, my dear," Tom smiled, "Go ahead."

She would have preferred to smack the cocky grin off his face, but Hermione controlled herself. She herself liked to provoke him, so it was probably inevitable that he would do the same occasionally. Still seething with anger, Hermione grabbed a roll of parchment and her writing utensils, then, true to her words, headed straight for the library.

oOoOoOo

For the umpteenth time, Hermione noticed that her breathing was becoming strained. Whenever she concentrated, she tended to first hold her breath for a long time and then let it out with a groaning sound. She put the pen down, took a deep breath and stretched. She had spent every spare minute in the library since last night, yet she had not managed to find anything that would sufficiently impress Tom. But she was still absolutely at a loss, so much so that in frustration she had even started leafing through a textbook for seventh graders that was supposed to prepare for the N.E.W.T. exams.

She was well past the middle when her eyes caught on a chapter. An ice-cold shiver ran down her spine. She knew this spell. She had used it herself. It was complex, but not impossible, even if it was N.E.W.T.-level. Unable to react, she stared at the spell.

She could not change anything here in the past that would affect anything in the future, because only if everything stayed exactly the same would she touch her own picture again with the time turner in the Chamber of Secrets. It was impossible for her to change anything. So if she now gave this spell here to Tom to impress him, would that change anything? Or would everything stay the same because he had actually only found out about this spell through her in the first place?

She broke out in a sweat.

Had Tom really only found out about the Protean Charm through her? Did she even have the option now not to tell him about it? The idea was there and she urgently needed something to complete his task. Did she know anything about the historical circumstances that could help her?

Desperately, Hermione dug into her brain, but she found no answer. Did anyone even know when Tom had first used the spell? That was likely to be known to a few Death Eaters at most, who certainly had not revealed it.

It would be a stroke of genius, that much was certain. If Hermione presented him with this idea, he would be impressed, he could not help it. Still, she could not stop the nausea that was spreading through her. How deep into this was she really? How much of what Tom was capable of was thanks to her? First, she had unwittingly alerted him to the powerful shield spell, now she would tell him about the Protean Charm? If she had never travelled back in time, might Tom never have become the monster he was in her time? Would he have been able to unleash his power without her? Would he have been able to implement such an easy organisation of his followers without her?

Determined, Hermione shut the book and went to the librarian to borrow it. It was no use brooding over it. She had to do what she had to do. And the more she knew, the deeper she was in it herself, the easier it would be for her to bring Tom down in the future. Her own portrait had waved at her with a laugh and given her the thumbs up, so she must have done something right before she had prepared the time travel.

oOoOoOo

Tom had not really expected Hermione to produce anything of significance. He did not mean the test so seriously himself. It was less the result that mattered to him than that she showed him how much energy she was willing to invest. The fact that she had practically not left the library since his assignment was effort enough. But she had surprised him again.

She presented him with a result that was invaluable.

Thoughtfully, he let his long fingers glide over the textbook. It was already deep in the night, Hermione had long since returned to her own room, but Tom could not sleep. He did not like the fact that she had now, for the second time in a very short time, contributed something to his cause that he needed but had not found himself. How was she able to do this when she was so obviously less clever than he was?

He lifted the book and threw it into the air. Again and again, he threw it up and caught it again. Angry energy coursed through his veins. Why had he not thought of this on his own?

Angrily, he hurled the book against the wall. How on earth did she do it? Why did he keep overlooking these things? How could she be better than him?

Breathing heavily, he dropped onto his bed, all fours stretched out, and stared at the ceiling. He knew that anger that always rose in him when he could not understand something. Ever since he had known Hermione, it had been a frequent companion. She was special and he had long been aware that he liked her by his side. Yet so often she made him so angry that he would have liked to kill her. A dangerous mixture.

She found the key to his problems, which she could not even know about, in a simple textbook. It was really laughable.

Jerkily he sat up.

Was it laughable? Was that not where the real problem lay? Was that not the root of all evil? She found the shield spell in a textbook he gave her. She found the Protean Charm in a normal textbook for the N.E.W.T. exams. She made use of the contents of textbooks. Something he would never do.

It had never occurred to him that something as simple as a textbook could hold anything of value for him. They were just textbooks, written by simple wizards for simple students. He was not simple, he was special. Nothing in the textbooks for students could impress him.

And there, obviously, lay his fault.

In both cases it had not been the spell itself that was impressive, but what he himself, Tom Riddle, had made of it. Or, in the case of the Protean Charm, would make of it. Even the simplest spell, the one a first-grader already learns, could be powerful if someone with his brilliant mind knew how to use it. That was the difference.

Laughing at himself, Tom crossed his legs. He had concentrated too much on reading special books from the Restricted Section because he assumed that normal school reading had nothing more to teach him. Now he had to admit to himself that this was a mistake in thinking. Even he could not know all the spells that existed, and from the right perspective, every spell was interesting to him.

Hermione had shown him the spell and explained her ideas about it. She had seemed strangely reticent, as if she had more in store but did not want to reveal it. Perhaps she was afraid of going too far out on a limb. Whatever it was, Tom did not care. He had a clear idea of what he was going to do with the spell seconds after she suggested it.

He had to hurry to get the idea ready for the meeting the next day. He had to modify it slightly, combine it with another spell and give it a shape he liked. The latter would be the hardest part. Annoyed, he ran his fingers through his hair. He was a strategist; he knew what the world should look like. He was not an artist. Still, he was aware of how important it was that he chose the right shape from the start. If everything went as he imagined, he would do far more with the Protean Charm than Hermione could have imagined in her wildest dreams.

Determined, he grabbed parchment and ink and began to draw. He was not a good draughtsman, but he had to try. No magic had yet been invented to bring ideas from the mind onto a sheet of paper. Once the shape was in place, he could set about changing the spell and adapting it for his purposes. And then ...

Hermione would be pleased. He would invite her into his inner circle tomorrow, officially, and she would be the first on whom he would try out his spell. It was only right that she should be given this honour, after all, she brought it to his attention in the first place. If she survived, he would also initiate Abraxas and Rufus. The rest of his so-called friends would not know for the time being. Although he had carefully chosen who he initiated, he still wanted to test the day-to-day suitability first before revealing it all.

Satisfied, he looked at the parchment. It did not quite correspond to his idea, but it expressed what it was all about. That was all that mattered. Now all he had to do was create a spell that would allow him to use the Protean Charm the way he wanted.

The sun was already rising again over Hogwarts before Tom fell asleep, exhausted, his wand still in his hand, but with a satisfied smile on his lips. In just one night, he had succeeded in doing what it was said to take learned professors years to do. He had created a new spell. When the time was right, the whole world would tremble at what he had accomplished that night.

And he had Hermione to thank for it all.

He really should reward her for it. And she had to be punished for exposing him again. Maybe it was a good thing the spell was so painful. It would teach her a lesson. With these thoughts, Tom fell asleep, pleased with himself and happy for the first time in a long time. His life was going well. The future looked splendid.