Hermione jumped up from her bed with a scream. It was dark in her room, but she sensed the presence of another person. She looked around frantically as her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. It was only when a hand rested reassuringly on her shoulder that she breathed out.

"I'm here, my heart," Tom murmured softly in her ear.

Now she realised that he was lying next to her in bed, clothed only in his trousers. Groaning, she buried her face in her hands. Images haunted her mind that she never wanted to see again. She could still hear his voice, his gentle whisper, his ingratiating words. Although she had showered thoroughly, she still felt dirty.

When Tom had broken through the door, shattering it into a thousand splinters, her heart had been lifted. But her guilty conscience had kicked in. In the end, it had been her failure that it had come to this. Tom had made it clear to her that he would not tolerate her being defeated by someone like Rufus. And yet that was exactly what had happened.

Tears burned in her eyes as she sat trembling in bed next to Tom. Too many thoughts rushed through her mind at once.

Rufus had really done this.

It was her fault because she had been careless.

She had let Tom down.

Tom would turn his back on her.

She had no one here to comfort her.

She was all alone.

She had helped Tom do exactly the same thing to Augusta.

She had handed Umbridge over to the centaurs, who had certainly done the same to her.

She deserved what had happened to her.

Her breath came in gasps as she wrapped her trembling arms around her body. Nausea spread through her stomach. She had done something wrong. This simply couldn't be the right way. Surely, she would never have sent herself back in time if something like this had happened to her. Would she?

"Hermione," Tom's voice cut through the vortex of her thoughts. "My heart. It's all right. I am here. You're in no danger. Everything is okay."

"Tom," she sobbed desperately. She finally let herself sink against him. Allowed him to wrap his arms around her. She didn't care if it was a calculated gesture on his part, she needed closeness. Security. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her hands clutched at his shoulders. "Tom. Are you angry with me?"

He stroked her back reassuringly. "No, my heart. We've both made mistakes. I miscalculated. I underestimated the stupidity of my followers. That's the only reason you were in danger in the first place."

Sniffling, Hermione looked up at him. He admitted a mistake. Tom Riddle had not only realised, but also said that he had done something wrong. As emotionally devastated as she was, this thought warmed her heart. Tom Riddle continued to develop. He was learning. And he gave her comfort.

A new wave of tears rolled over Hermione, but this time they felt better. They brought relief, as if a knot burst inside her. Not caring that her tears hit his bare skin, she sobbed uncontrollably and clung to him.

"It's all right, my heart," Tom murmured without loosening his embrace. "Go ahead and cry. We'll talk about everything in peace tomorrow. I want you to sleep tonight."

As if he had cast a spell over her, Hermione slid into the pillows, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. The dark images from before disappeared and only cosy blackness enveloped her mind.

oOoOoOo

Tom paced impatiently up and down his room. He couldn't remember ever having such an exhausting day. Even back then, when Hogwarts had been on the verge of being closed because he had let the basilisk loose on the castle, he had been calmer. Too much had happened in one day.

He told Headmaster Dippet that he found Hermione alone and unconscious, that violence had obviously been done to her, but that he didn't know who the culprit might be. Dippet heard this with increasing horror and of course immediately called in Professor Dumbledore.

For a moment, Tom had feared that Dumbledore would reproach him, but to his surprise that didn't happen. Instead, he was concerned and grateful that he had looked after Hermione so well. Both wizards agreed with him that it would be best for Hermione if the incident remained a secret. Since there was no known culprit and, according to Tom, Hermione didn't remember anything, she would only suffer if everyone knew what had happened to her.

Tom felt the need to do something. He had to act. Making plans and thinking about the future were his ways of dealing with stress. But there was nothing to do now, except wait for Hermione to wake up the next day and hopefully be able to have a serious conversation with him.

After his first rage subsided, Tom realised that his anger against Hermione was irrational. She should be stronger than Lestrange or Avery, that was still true, but she did not simply lose in a battle of strength. She lost to a plot that included almost everyone he counted among his followers. If he was truly honest with himself, she lost just as much as he did. He had relied too much on the conviction that his followers were intelligent and understood his goals. That was a mistake.

Still, that was not all. He hated to admit it, but in the end, his own plan had backfired. The men around him had bought the charade that he no longer valued Hermione a bit too well. His calculations of what that would lead to among his followers had been off. Again, because they were simply dumber than he accounted for. He should once and for all stop thinking that anyone was intelligent or even clever. Nobody was. Nobody could be trusted to follow his orders implicitly. He had to spell it out every single time.

His hands shook. The anger inside him did not subside despite his rational thoughts evaluating the situation calmly and clearly. He still was angry at Hermione. He wanted to punish her, to lock her up, to scream at her. Why was he so angry? His mind told him that she did nothing wrong, but still he felt this rage directed at her.

Frustrated, Tom stopped and looked around his room. He had lived in this room, or rooms very similar to it, for over six years. The dark green curtains, the soft carpet, the clear edges. This was his home. In six months' time, he would have to say goodbye to these walls. He wasn't ready to leave Hogwarts yet.

No one knew, but he planned to become a professor here himself after graduation. Having direct access to young people in order to win them over to his plans was just one of the advantages. Hogwarts made him feel important. Here was the origin of all magic in England. This was where he belonged.

His gaze wandered to the pile of books piled up on his desk. Driven by his urge to act, he borrowed a whole series of books from the library. He had to find a way to protect Hermione permanently, even if he couldn't be by her side all the time. He had to prevent an event like today from happening again.

He shook his head. It didn't do anyone any good if he ran trenches into the carpet. What had happened had happened. He would call his circle of followers together on Saturday and punish Rufus. Just as he would punish Nott and Black. Perhaps he would also make an example of Avery. He had actually planned to recruit new members before the end of the year, but that was put on hold for the time being.

They all disappointed him. Apart from Abraxas, they all proved to him that they were nothing more than headless chickens who didn't know where left and right were without clear, unambiguous guidance. He would make it unmistakably clear to them that he would no longer accept them trying to think for themselves.

With a sigh, he lowered himself into the chair. People were so difficult. Driven by their emotions and base instincts, they constantly behaved so unspeakably predictably, only to suddenly become completely unpredictable the moment you wanted to rely on them. He would love to put the Imperius Curse on them all so that they would simply do as he asked, but that was impossible. If he managed to cast and maintain the curse at all, it was impossible to cast several at once.

So how could he protect Hermione in the future? Resolutely, he rolled up his shirtsleeves. He would not go to bed tonight until he found a solution. There was one, he was sure of it. Once again, he let his eyes wander over the pile of books. They were all about protection spells and communication spells. He would find a solution in one of them.

oOoOoOo

"What really happened, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's smile collapsed. She had suspected that Dumbledore would not let the matter rest, however kindly he had behaved towards Tom. The fact that he had sent for her on a Thursday evening spoke volumes. But she hadn't expected him to be so direct.

Her fingers tightened around the cup of warm tea. She wished he hadn't asked. She didn't want to think about it. The images were too fresh. The feelings were too fresh. She forced herself to put the cup back on the table and relax her hands.

"Miss Granger," her professor urged her gently. "What happened to you is terrible. You need to talk about it. I'm not asking because I distrust you, but because I care about you."

Overwhelmed, she shrugged her shoulders. "It's all for the good of the wizarding community, isn't it? What does it matter what happens to me?"

Dumbledore leant forward seriously and rested both his arms on the large desk. His eyes did not sparkle, but looked at her openly and sadly. "We are all human, Miss Granger. We don't always put the welfare of others first. Sometimes we have to think of ourselves too."

"Is that why you still haven't done anything about Grindelwald?"

The words were out before Hermione could stop herself. Horrified, she clapped both hands together in front of her mouth. She was angry with Dumbledore, incredibly angry, but that didn't justify this outburst.

Silence spread through the office. Her professor's expression had remained the same, but obviously she surprised him, otherwise he wouldn't be silent. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. Everything had gone so well, and now everything was awful.

"I... I'm sorry. I had no right to say that," she finally managed to get out after realising that Dumbledore wasn't going to give her an answer. She took a sip of tea and forced herself to return to her rational self. "What really happened ... Mr Lestrange was trying to impress Tom. In his twisted way, he thought torturing me and ... and ... raping me would impress Tom."

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "You know who it was? Why didn't Tom tell us? Why didn't you tell us?"

Hermione took a deep breath. When Tom first told her that they would not reveal Lestrange as the culprit, it had hurt. As if she really was just a pawn for Tom. As if what had happened was unimportant. As if she could just carry on as before. But after a while, she understood. She saw clearly what would happen if she told the truth, and she hated it.

"It's a display of his power," she explained monotonously without looking at Dumbledore. "He protects his followers, even those who have disappointed him. He will decide on a punishment himself. It's an internal matter, a power struggle among his followers, so he won't tolerate outside authorities intervening."

Dumbledore rose from his chair with a flourish, leant forward, and supported himself with both hands on the desk. His eyebrows were furrowed and there was anger in his voice. "Miss Granger! You cannot be serious. Are you just going to accept it? Are you going to let Tom decide what happens to you and your body?"

Hermione jumped up in a huff as well. "As if you care what I want! You don't want me to do what Tom says, you want me to do what you say. But what I really want is of no interest to you at all."

She felt her inner core begin to pulsate. Her magic, which rested deep inside her, was crying out to be violently released. She was so angry. At Dumbledore, at Lestrange, at Tom. At herself. And she knew there was no one here, in this time, who could just take her in their arms and comfort her. Even in her own time, there had never been anyone like that. Her life had never been about what she wanted, it had always been about what she could do for other people.

Breathing heavily, she stared at Dumbledore, who only looked at her as if he didn't know what to say in response. She clenched her fists and forced herself to keep her magic under control. "I don't want this incident to become public knowledge. And I don't want anyone to know that Mr Lestrange was the culprit. And do you want to know why?" she hurled at Dumbledore. But before he could answer, she continued, "Because you would expel him from the school. You'd expel him and then his family would send him to America to finish his degree and in six months he'd be back in England and nobody would know anything had happened. It would do nothing. Nothing."

A hard look came into Dumbledore's eyes. "And what do you think will happen now?"

She straightened up taller and looked at him challengingly. "Tom will punish him. He likes the Cruciatus Curse, as I know from personal experience, and he will make it clear to Rufus how wrong he has been in his ways. Rufus will never again do anything in his life that displeases Tom. He'll see to that."

She stared at Dumbledore without blinking. He held her gaze for a moment, then took a step back and slumped down. "This is blind revenge, Miss Granger. The Unforgivables are called that for a reason. Can you really reconcile yourself to another wizard being tortured?"

Hermione laughed coldly. "If Tom would let me, I'd say the curse. Lestrange tortured me with the Cruciatus himself. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but I won't shed a tear if Lestrange feels the pain he did to me."

Dumbledore just shook his head. His posture slumped and he clutched the back of his chair with both hands. Suddenly he looked so much older. But Hermione refused to be touched by it. Dumbledore allowed Grindelwald to terrorise the wizarding world in the first place, and now he was holding back from putting an end to him for sentimental reasons. He had no right to lecture her on the Unforgivables or question her decisions.

"If that's all then, sir," she pressed out angrily.

"Yes, Miss Granger. I think that will be all."

She nodded once, then turned and stomped out of the office in a rage. As soon as the door slammed shut behind her, she slumped against the cool stone wall and slid to the floor. Tears, which she previously struggled to hold back, welled up in her eyes. She sobbed out in despair. Everything was so twisted, so terrible.

And even the thought of being back in her own time in a few months' time didn't cheer her up. No one there would be able to understand her, just as no one here could understand her.

She was alone and she brought this on herself.