Hermione stared thoughtfully at Professor Slughorn on Monday morning. He had invited her to his club meeting again for the coming weekend, which in turn had reminded her that she hadn't thought about the salon she had wanted to organise regularly since the end of September. Too much had happened and time just seemed to fly by.

Next to her, Tom intently stirred the liquid in their shared kettle. Once again, they had been forced into group work as the potions on the seventh-year syllabus became increasingly dangerous and elaborate. Obviously, their professor wanted to make sure that two pairs of eyes were overseeing the production. Hermione had to suppress a grin at the beginning of the double lesson when she heard that they would be starting Polyjuice Potion today. In her own school days, they had never covered it in class and the fact that it was only covered here in seventh year filled her with pride.

She had insisted that they use her copper cauldron instead of Tom's cauldron, which was made of pewter. However, when she had explained to him that the brewing time of the first phase of the Polyjuice Potion was reduced by using a copper kettle to the extent that they could also finish the second step of the first phase in this period, he had nodded in agreement.

"Step one is done," Tom announced after waving his wand over the cauldron.

"Sixty minutes from now, then," Hermione nodded and turned the hourglass round.

"We'll only finish just before the end of the period."

She nodded once more. "If we prepare the ingredients from step two now, it shouldn't be a problem. We just need to add the leeches and lacewing paste and then heat for thirty seconds."

Once again, Hermione saw a hard tug around the corner of Tom's mouth. He was Slughorn's favourite student and he clearly didn't like the fact that she was so confident in brewing potions. Before he could say anything to that effect, she assured him, "I've brewed the potion before at my school, Tom."

"I didn't say anything," he replied coolly.

Hermione just rolled her eyes. "I saw you getting angry again. It's not your fault that you've never brewed the potion before. It goes without saying that I have a head start with my experience."

Tom's mouth twisted into a grim line. Although she wanted to appease him, in the end she deliberately chose her words so that she could rub Tom's nose in his defeat even more. Inwardly, she shook her head at herself. She was playing a dangerous game by teasing him like this, but she couldn't help it.

Something inside her longed to be punished.

"Tom, my dear, how are things with you?" Professor Slughorn interrupted the awkward silence between them at that moment.

Immediately, Tom's lips broke into an exquisitely polite smile. "I think we're making good progress. We've utilised Hermione's copper cauldron so we can finish the second step of phase one before the end of this period."

"Oh, that was very thoughtful of you!" Slughorn praised them both. "Then you can start phase two on Wednesday, how nice."

Hermione imitated Tom's smile. "You'd just have to put a stasis over the cauldron after eighteen hours. I'd normally do that myself, but it probably wouldn't be a good idea for me to be in your office at six tomorrow morning just so I can freeze the potion."

Slughorn's eyes widened, while Tom shook his head barely perceptibly beside her. Her professor hurriedly assured her, "Of course, Miss Dumbledore, I'll do it for you. That's not a question, I always do that."

"Thank you very much." Hermione flashed him a broad smile. As expected, Slughorn hurried away from her table.

"It's always interesting to see how easily you can upset the good Slughorn," Tom murmured quietly, but Hermione thought she could hear amusement in his voice.

Just as quietly, she replied, "Please. If the mere mention that I might turn up in his chambers so early in the morning causes such a reaction, it's hardly my fault."

"You have to point it out to him, of course," Tom insisted as he turned his attention to crushing the lacewings.

Now Hermione had to giggle. "It's just too ridiculous to see how stiff everyone is here. I suppose it's just because you all secretly have very dirty thoughts and any little suggestion is enough to make your imagination run away with you."

"What do you mean by we all?"

"You Brits," Hermione explained, though she was really alluding to the decade.

"Do you really want to feed the prejudices against Americans even more?" Tom asked, his eyes still focussed on the small bowl of lacewings.

"Do you believe in these prejudices?"

Now he looked directly at her. "So far, you haven't done anything to disprove the prejudices," he whispered, before leaning forward and adding in an even softer voice, "so willingly as you come into my bed."

She hated herself for the involuntary quickening of her heartbeat. Images of her and Tom in intimate poses flashed through her mind, images that pleased her, that excited her.

"When you look at me like that," he murmured in a dark voice, "I find it hard not to devour you."

Hermione took a deep breath and moved away from him. She knew that his statement only served to unsettle her further, after all, Tom had far more control over his physical needs than he pretended to have at times like this. Nevertheless, it had the intended effect: She felt desired by him. What would have been repulsive not so many weeks ago was now fuelling her arousal.

Grinning triumphantly, Tom turned back to his task. Hermione, on the other hand, gazed into the cauldron that stood between them. Unbidden, her thoughts wandered to Harry and Ron. Would she ever be able to tell them what had happened here in 1944? Would she ever be able to tell anyone at all? She was here to find Voldemort's weakness, but the boy standing next to her, diligently doing his schoolwork, was not Voldemort.

As she had said to Dumbledore the day before, this boy could perhaps still be saved. She didn't want to excuse or minimise his actions - or her own - but compared to the monster he would one day become, this boy was so much more human. He had never had a chance in life and for all the self-pity he liked to bathe in, he had not given up, on the contrary. He didn't make himself smaller than he was, but was driven by the need to prove to the world that it had done him wrong.

Involuntarily, she thought back to her first year at Hogwarts. How she had wanted to help Ron and her other classmates because she found learning easy and the others did not. She immediately recognised what the others were doing wrong and knew how to correct it. But instead of thanking her, Ron had only complained about her. Would it have been different if she hadn't been a muggleborn? Or if she had been a boy? Even Professor Snape had grown to hate her because she knew all the answers and wasn't afraid to show it. Would it have been different if she had been a Draco Malfoy?

Tom didn't put up with it. He sought shelter behind the mask of politeness and found a way to be seen as brilliant but humble, when in reality he showed contempt for everyone. He was not afraid to show his intellectual superiority. Hermione wished she was a little more like him.

It took her a few seconds before she realised what she had just been thinking.

She propped her head up on her hands in despair. She couldn't even be shocked at her train of thought, because she felt she meant it. Harry and Ron would never understand her. Never.

A warm hand placed itself on her back and made her look up. Tom was staring at her insistently. As if he were a lifeline on a stormy sea, she held on to his gaze.

"Come to me tonight," he whispered to her, without mockery, without arrogance.

Hermione suddenly felt lighter. Tom Riddle actually understood her. She didn't have to say what she needed, he understood her wordlessly and was prepared to give her what she craved.

oOoOoOo

Orion couldn't help but stare over at Tom again and again. Or rather, at Tom and Hermione. It was an ordinary evening in the common room, he was sitting at one of the tables checking the Potions essay he had to hand in tomorrow, but something was different. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but he could clearly sense that something was different between Tom and Dumbledore's niece.

Maybe he was just imagining it. Maybe it was just the way Tom put his hand on her back from time to time that bothered him. The way he gave her an unusually friendly smile. The way she looked at him not with disgust, but with anticipation.

Maybe he was just jealous.

His feelings for Tom were unchanged, even though he had avoided being near him. In the confines of the common room, however, it was almost impossible to avoid him completely, and whenever the head boy glanced at him, his heart beat faster. He would prefer to leave the room whenever Tom entered, but he knew that would not only be rude, but would also ruin his relationship, his special position with him in the long run.

It was already late in the evening and apart from him and Tom and Hermione, only three other, older Slytherins were awake. Lestrange and Avery were engrossed in a quiet conversation, while Nott was reading a book intently. Orion decided to finish correcting his essay as quickly as possible so as not to be exposed to the sight of Tom any longer.

Another, almost involuntary glance in his direction made Orion freeze. Somehow, in the last few minutes, Hermione's skirt had ridden up, revealing her thigh. Tom's hand was there as though it was the most natural thing, his thumb moving slightly while his other hand played with his girlfriend's curls.

He should look away. It wasn't decent to watch a couple making love, but he couldn't avert his eyes. The pale skin of the exposed thigh stirred feelings in him that he hardly recognised. Suddenly he wished he was in Tom's place and could touch her. Her skin was certainly soft and warm. The soft blush that adorned her cheeks was inviting and her slightly parted lips were full of promise.

Horrified, Orion lowered his eyes. How could he think that way about Tom's girlfriend? And why was he thinking like this about any woman at all? Hadn't he just admitted to himself that he was attracted to men? How depraved was he that he apparently harboured impure thoughts about all genders? Trembling, he clenched his hands into fists. Something was wrong with him. It wasn't right that he felt and thought like this.

He quickly glanced over at Rufus and Humphrey, fearing that they noticed his lustful stare. But to his relief, the opposite was the case. They interrupted their muffled conversation and were looking over at Hermione and Tom themselves, highly focussed. Humphrey licked his lips several times, while Rufus wore a calculating expression on his face and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Only Peter Nott seemed unaffected by what was going on around him. This was how a true gentleman should react to this situation: Even if he was aware of what was happening, it was his duty to pretend not to notice. The young couple deserved their privacy, it was not appropriate to stare openly. Perhaps he should leave.

But that was also out of the question, Orion realised immediately. If he got up now and packed his things, all the attention would involuntarily be on him. Everyone would be reminded that they were not alone in this room and he would put every single one of them in an awkward situation. He had to stay here and wait for someone else to make the first move. Preferably Tom and Hermione.

Orion tried desperately to get his focus back on the essay, but he couldn't get the images of Hermione's exposed thigh and her glowing face out of his mind. A soft sigh caused his gaze to drift back to the sofa. Tom leant over Hermione and was kissing her as she savoured him with her eyes closed and her head back.

Before he could control himself, a moan escaped Orion.

Horrified, he tried to pretend he was moaning about his difficult essay, but it was already too late.

Tom gave him a brief, amused look and continued the kiss with a grin. Tears stung Orion's eyes. He was a disgrace to his family. What good was pure blood to him if he harboured obscene thoughts, not only for women, but for men as well? Unable to face the situation any longer, he packed his things and stormed out of the common room.

The laughter of all the older boys followed him on his way to the bedroom.