A warm glow came into Tom's eyes. Pride. Satisfaction. With one hand he reached for her cheek, gently pulled her close, and kissed her. Sighing, she surrendered to the kiss. There was tenderness in it, not aggression or condescension as usual. He kissed her because he wanted to kiss her.

Slowly, Hermione let herself sink back onto her mattress. Tom followed her without breaking the kiss. His hands travelled over her body, sliding from her back to her waist to her thighs and back. There was no pressure, just the obvious desire to feel her. Instinctively, Hermione wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. She opened her legs so that he could lie between them, and put her feet up so that she could feel him better.

Breathing heavily, he detached himself from her and simply looked into her eyes for a moment. She returned his gaze openly. She knew that Tom had never learnt to love, but the warmth in his gaze now told her that his feelings for her were as close to that emotion as it was possible for him.

Then he lowered himself onto her with all his weight. One hand still wandered over her body while his lips spread hot kisses over the sensitive areas of her neck. A sigh escaped her as he finally, finally touched her breast, cupping it with his hand. A moan vibrated through his body like an echo, a moan that caused heat to rise inside Hermione.

Greedily, she began to unbutton his shirt while he was still busy touching her body. At last, she removed the distracting fabric, at last she could run her fingers over his muscular arms. Almost unconsciously, she began to press her hips against his. Another moan, louder this time, escaped her.

Tom began to open her blouse with skilful fingers. Quickly, almost feverishly, he tore the fabric from her body. His lips were on hers again, but this time the gentle tenderness disappeared. He insistently demanded entry and Hermione opened up to him only too willingly. His tongue found hers and while she gave herself completely to the feeling, to his taste, he undressed them both.

She felt his arousal hot against her thigh. A moan, caught by his mouth, escaped her throat. She felt his lips twist into a grin, but he honoured her unspoken request. His hand travelled down between her thighs. She willingly opened her legs wider as Tom's fingers ran over her centre. A shiver ran over her whole body. Tom increased her pleasure with constant pressure, further and further, higher and higher, but still not enough. Desperately, Hermione writhed beneath him, trying to get him to sink his fingers inside her.

Again, he seemed to have recognised her need. He broke the kiss to look into her eyes. His fingers left her, grabbing his hard length instead. She looked up at him pleadingly. He ran his hand up and down once, twice, then positioned himself in front of her. Impatiently, Hermione lifted her hips. She didn't want to wait any longer, she needed him.

One hand wrapped around her waist to give her support, the other hand gripped hers, fingers intertwined, as he pressed her hard into the mattress. His gaze still rested on her, holding her eyes captive. She waited with open lips and frantic breathing. Then, slowly, he lowered himself into her. Her mouth opened wide as her eyelids fell shut.

"No. Look at me. Look at me, my heart."

The softly murmured words filtered slowly through her lust-clouded thoughts, but then she opened her eyes again. Curiosity shone from Tom's eyes. When he was finally completely inside her, he let go of her hips to reach for her other hand as well. He brought them together above her head, their fingers still intertwined, looking at her, not taking his eyes off her. A warmth that had nothing to do with her arousal overcame Hermione.

Finally, he moved. Slowly, without the usual harshness, Tom moved inside her, capturing her gaze, holding her hands tightly. Hermione bit her lips to keep from giving in to the urge to close her eyes again and surrender completely to the sensation. Slowly, infinitely slowly, he thrust into her and she met him in time. Sweat broke out on her forehead. She needed more. More. She moaned hoarsely.

Tom's rhythm became faster. His hands came away from hers, wrapping around her shoulders instead as he buried his face in her hair. Instinctively, Hermione put one arm around him, the other hand reaching for his head, for his hair. He moved faster and faster until Hermione could no longer follow him and could only cling to him with her arms and legs.

Her breath came in gasps, interrupted again and again by a soft whimper. She felt the release, it was so close. Tom's almost agonised groans right next to her ear sent hot flashes through her body. He was close, too, she could feel it. He had long since lost control of his body, his hands pressed painfully into her shoulders, his hot, hard cock, the sound of wet skin on wet skin, her own moaning, all mixed together to create a wonderful, hot sensation.

"Come for me," Tom growled, "Come for me, Hermione. Come..."

"Bite me," she breathed her voice sounding rough.

Tom's teeth dug into the sensitive flesh of her neck and Hermione came. The wave of her climax rolled over her hotly. She clung to Tom, her hips pressed against him, rubbing against him as he continued to thrust into her, not letting up. Trembling, she pulled him even closer to her, allowing a throaty moan to escape her. And then he came, with one, two, three final thrusts, pouring himself hotly into her as she felt the last waves of her lust.

Exhausted, she dropped her arms and legs. Tom lay on top of her, his entire weight pressing her into the mattress, but she was too exhausted even to protest. He lay on top of her, inside her, for three or four breaths until he finally rolled off her with the last of his strength and came to lie on his back next to her.

They both lay there for minutes, their breathing only slowly normalising. Then, suddenly, Hermione shivered. The heat of the moment was gone and all that remained was the sweat that covered her entire body. Shivering, she straightened up.

"I'm getting cold," she explained weakly.

Groaning, Tom also sat up, "We don't want that, of course."

While he got out of bed, Hermione crawled under her blanket. She watched as Tom collected his clothes from the floor and got dressed. Thoughtfully, she wondered if he realised what had just happened. They had often had sex before, but this had been more than just sex. She didn't know what to think or feel, but she didn't care. Her body was sated, everything about her was comfortingly weak.

Finished dressing, Tom turned round to face her again. Both hands buried in his trouser pockets, he looked down at her. "I knew you needed the pain."

With a snort, Hermione shook her head. Of course. Tom wouldn't be Tom if he didn't immediately bring out that one, tiny point to distract from how emotional, how gentle he had been in the beginning. She was too tired to argue about it. Instead, she played his game. "I suppose cuddling isn't an option?"

In response, Tom just raised an eyebrow. Inwardly, Hermione wondered if he would make her pay tomorrow, for seeing him so emotional. But instead of paying attention to this fear, she leant back and let herself sink onto her pillow. "I'd like to sleep now then."

Smiling, he approached her and stroked her head. "Sleep well, my heart. Have a nice dream."

Goose bumps ran down her spine, but she forced herself to smile. "You too."

Without another word, without turning round again, Tom left her room.

Hermione lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what had just happened. This was how she had always imagined sex to be. An intimate embrace, looking into each other's eyes, feeling the other person, slowly exploring. But it had never been like that with Tom. With Tom, it had always been about power, about the purely physical act. About proving to her that she was at his mercy and addicted to him. It had always been a means to an end.

But tonight, something changed.

oOoOoOo

Tom stared thoughtfully at the wooden top of his desk. His plan for the glorious future of the wizarding world floated through his mind. Scenes showing his followers putting his plan into action swirled back and forth. He knew what had to be done. He had known it for a long time and his loyal followers here in the castle knew it too. At least in part.

Still, he didn't get what he really wanted. He hated his parents more than ever for denying him access to the magical world. His peers knew so much more than he did. He had never had a father who could initiate him into the exciting side of magic. Slughorn had proved useful, because hardly anyone knew as much as the professor. The fact that he was an opportunist and had started looking after him, the shining star of Slytherin House, very early on had filled in some gaps in his knowledge. But now that well had dried up. He should have known that the question about the Horcruxes had gone too far. If only he had been more patient, he would surely have found out for himself exactly how to create a Horcrux. Tom wished he could hex the stupid grin off his professor's face.

But if he was honest, none of these were his real worries. He was just distracting himself. Distracting himself from the gnawing feeling that Hermione Dumbledore was indeed a stumbling block. In his raging anger, he had gone to her. He had wanted to torment her, to take all his anger out on her. Instead, he had opened up and she had responded with understanding.

"Why should I be afraid to show my power? If you're not afraid, then I'm not afraid."

It was only when she had spoken these words that he had realised that this was exactly what he had wanted to hear. She wasn't afraid of the world because she was standing by his side. He made her strong. That was what she told him. He made her strong. She needed him. Those simple words intoxicated him. She knew more about him than any other Slytherin. More than Abraxas or Rufus. Tom was aware that his view of the world, his way of dealing with those around him, was not what one would describe as normal. He was aware that he was not normal. That was why he had only shown very selective sides of himself, even to his closest followers. Not to her, however. His need to torment and humiliate her, to break her and then put her back together again, was undisguised. And yet she accepted him, she needed him.

Did he need her?

He had successfully convinced himself that she was just a useful tool. That her intellect made her valuable. That he could use her body to make the other students compliant. That he didn't need her, that she merely made things easier for him.

Did he need her?

A clear no rang inside him. No, because he was Lord Voldemort. No, because no one could hold a candle to Lord Voldemort. No, because Lord Voldemort always held all the reins. No, because everyone else needed Lord Voldemort.

A tremor went through his body. He knew that voice that told him that he was superior to everyone else and didn't need anyone else. It was that part of him that had allowed him to survive. Without that part, he would not have survived in the orphanage. Without that part, he wouldn't have found prestige and respect among the snooty Slytherins. This part of him was vital to his survival.

But for the first time, Tom had the feeling that this part was lying to him. That he was lying to himself. The memory of the warmth of Hermione's body, of her open, shining eyes, of her small hands that had gripped his so willingly. She gave him support. Thanks to Slughorn, he had doubted himself, but Hermione had been there, had swept Slughorn off the table and made him realise that his professor simply wasn't strong enough to really help him. For a moment, that part of him that gave him strength had wavered, leaving nothing but unbridled rage. Then she had appeared and the anger had fizzled out.

Tom clenched his fists grimly. He needed her. Without her, he would probably have done something stupid today in his anger. She kept him grounded in reality. Thanks to her, he was still sane.

What did it matter that he needed her?

Determination gripped him.

He would simply make sure she was by his side forever. She would never leave him. What did it matter if he needed her or not when he could just make sure she was always there when he needed her. He would never let her go. Hermione Dumbledore belonged to him.

And he would make that clear to her.