Deep in thought, Abraxas played with a single strand of his hair while he observed Tom and Hermione who were sitting suspiciously amicably in the common room, working on their potions project. Something in the behaviour of his once best friend made him uneasy, even fearful – but not for himself but for Hermione.
Tom Riddle told them in a small, secretive group about his vision for the future. Told them of a world in which wizards no longer hid from muggles, but would turn their superior power into law and rule the world. A world in which pureblood wizards were on top and everyone else had to bow to them, just like it had been several hundreds of years ago. They knew he was the heir of Slytherin, they knew of his astounding magical skills, and he used that little meeting to prove to them that he was ruthless on top of all that. Without batting an eye he demonstrated that he could and would use the Cruciatus curse. That he was in the process of becoming a Legilimens. He asked them to support him, making clear that while he was the heir of Slytherin, his name still meant nothing, which was why he needed their names: Malfoy, Lestrange.
He should have felt insulted that a no name wizard wanted him to follow him, but he did not. There was something in the way Tom spoke, how he held himself, how he presented his arguments. There was something in Tom’s being that caused joyful eagerness and pride in him, pride to be part of the closest group, even though he realised that they now no longer were equal friends, but leader and follower. Tom was powerful and intelligent. If anyone was able to build a world that was ruled by wizards, it was him.
If only this situation about Hermione Dumbledore was different. He had known her for only two weeks, but during this time he got to know a girl that was surprisingly different. Intelligent, confident, and without any sense of decency. He was not surprised that Tom was interested as well, especially since she was Dumbledore’s niece, with whom he, as everyone was aware, was not on good terms. He understood Tom’s warning, even though he could not comprehend where the hatred came from. Abraxas had decided that Hermione was not worth risking his place at Tom’s side. He simply would have watched from a distance what went on between those two, and perhaps tried to intervene inconspicuously, if he got the feeling that Tom was a real threat to Hermione’s health.
What caused this sudden development? Not only Hermione behaved a lot more civil towards Tom, which was not too surprising, but no, even Tom now made it clear that he personally would oversee her well-being and satisfaction. Why? Abraxas could not help himself, he felt a deep running worry that Tom was planning something very, very sinister. He would have preferred if the two of them continued to avoid each other.
***
Incredulous, Hermione stared at the book in the Restricted Section of the library. She could not believe that it would simply be here out in the open. Of course it was not easily available, as everyone other than seventh year students needed a permission from a teacher to use the Restricted Section, but still. A student like Tom Riddle could easily get to this book. Secrets of the Darkest Art. She knew the book all too well. Just before they left for the summer holidays after their sixth year, she had tried – and succeeded – to summon it. She took it with her on their hunt for Horcruxes, as it was the only book known to include any description of Horcruxes. This should be the book Tom Riddle read before talking to Slughorn. Was he already aware of its existence? Had he already talked to Slughorn? As far as she remembered what Harry had told her, he already had created a Horcrux, as the murders of Myrtle and his own father had been used for that after all. He was aware of this book, right?
Breathing heavily, Hermione took it from the shelf. It was her plan to get Riddle’s attention by reading books about the Dark Arts, but this book was a whole different beast. In her own time, the only book in Hogwart’s library that so much as included the word Horcrux was Magick Moste Evile, but even that only mentioned it in passing, stating it was too dark to be described any further. She feared to open Secrets of the Darkest Art again. She feared what Professor Dumbledore had told them about the Dark Arts. How they could change a human, how studious interest could turn into fascination and even addiction.
Her heart beating furiously, Hermione went to one of the library’s couches and sat down. Back in her own time, she had read the pages about Horcruxes but never found anything related to their creation. What else was written in here? With shaking fingers, she opened the table of contents.
“Well, hello there, what are we reading so secretively on the Restricted Section?”
Shocked, Hermione closed the book and pressed it against her cheat. Why was Riddle here now of all times? Yes, she had planned for him to catch her reading books related to the Dark Arts, but not this quick. And not with this book of all things.
“This doesn’t concern you!” she hissed defensively while trying to hide the book from his gazes.
“Oh, so it’s a secret?” he asked with a sneer. “What could be so bad that you need to hide it from the head boy, mh, dearest Hermione?”
Hastily, Hermione stood up and tried to squeeze past him, holding the book behind her back, but he did not let her escape so easily. Still grinning derisively, he stood in her way and grabbed the hand that was holding the book: “Come on, we are all allies in Slytherin. No need for secrets!”
“You’re hurting me!” Hermione snapped, while Tom tried to pull out the book from behind her. “Let go of me. You have no right to invade my privacy like this.”
His grin grew even bigger and turned into a sadistic sneer: “Did you not realise yourself that I enjoy hurting you? You’ll never get rid of me like that. So, show me.”
Unable to withstand his superior strength, Hermione gave in and showed the book to him. As soon as his gaze fell onto the title, his grin vanished. With a blank face, but an ice cold tone he demanded: “What are you planning?”
“I–,” Hermione started but she had no idea what to say. If she told him that she was interested in Horcruxes, he would grow even more suspicious. He definitely would not like that.
“Is your honourable uncle aware of the … abyss that is your curiosity?” Riddle dug deeper and Hermione could hear the evilness in his tone.
She shook her head: “Of course not.”
“Do you know what kind of book this is?” Tom demanded to know without dropping his gaze.
Hermione took a deep breath and tried to sound as calm and unconcerned as possible: “It’s one of the most dangerous books on earth, just like the Necronomicon. That it can be found in a school library surprised me, so I grabbed it. I was curious.”
She saw the shock in his eyes when she mentioned the Necronomicon, but she preferred not to talk about how she came to know about the book by the mad Arab.
“You were … curious,” Riddle repeated dryly. “So curious that you indulge in the darkest parts of the forbidden arts?”
Against her will, Hermione had to laugh. That Tom Riddle of all people would lecture her about black magic was simply absurd. Condescendingly she retorted: “The Dark Arts aren’t forbidden per se. Society might think negatively about the Dark Arts, but except for the Unforgivables, this magic isn’t forbidden. And I definitely don’t indulge in them.”
For the longest time, Riddle stared at her without blinking. She could imagine that he had trouble to understand what he just learned, that he was thrown off guard that she, Dumbledore’s niece, would talk so self-assured about the Dark Arts. Perhaps it was not so bad that he caught her with precisely this book. He did not seem suspicious that she might be reading about Horcruxes because of him – how would he come to that suspicion anyway? – so the only conclusion he could draw from that was that she perhaps was not so much of a Gryffindor as he suspected her to be. She let a condescending grin play around her lips: “I did not think that a man who threatened me like before would be so fearful in the face of the Dark Arts.”
His eyes turned dark when he stepped closer and put his hand around her throat as if on accident: “Fearful?” he asked quietly, while his thumb caressed her collarbone absentmindedly: “Is that the impression you got? You just love provoking me, don’t you?” he breathed against her ear. An ice cold chill ran down Hermione’s spine while she desperately tried to retain her confident posture. His voice was even quieter when he continued: “The Dark Arts have their very own charm. It’s like a seduction. The writings whisper of power, they promise enlightenment and knowledge. The more you indulge yourself in them, the more you fall prey to their seduction,” Hermione could feel his breath on her cheek. “They unsheathe your darkest aspects – and your best. They show you your potential, show you how much more powerful than everyone else you could be, if you just found the courage to do it. Tell me, Hermione,” Riddle murmured, his voice strangely dark, while his hand slowly clasped around her throat. “Tell me – did you succumb to that seduction?”
Hermione trembled. Those quiet words that he whispered to her, his way of speaking, it was as if this seduction he was talking of came to life with every word he uttered. She noticed how quick her heart was beating, and felt that not only fear caused her excitement. Nervously she wetted her lips.
“I always had a talent for hurting people, “Tom continued when he did not receive any answer. “But I needed to study the Dark Arts to find actual joy in it. What about you, Hermione?” He was so close, she could feel his lips moving against her check. “Does it excite you to provoke me until I just have to torture you, to humiliate you, to hurt you? Is that what the Dark Arts awakened inside of you?”
The hand around her throat closed a little more, not so much to actually hurt her, but enough to limit her breathing. Fear started to form in her stomach. Tom Riddle was a sadist. His dilated pupils, his heavy breathing, the heated gaze that every now and again returned to her throat, all that showed her that he not only enjoyed his little demonstration of power, but that it actually aroused him. She had to get out of here, had to escape this situation. Slowly she felt for her wand.
“Oh no, Hermione, what did I tell you about using magic against other students?” Tom playfully remarked, instantly having noticed and interrupted her attempt, closing his other hand around her wrist.
“When you threaten me, I fight back!” Hermione hissed in frustration. She did not like that she again found herself in exactly the same situation even though she had sworn to herself to never show weakness in front of Tom Riddle again. She could not allow for him to be so certain of his superiority.
“But I’m not threatening you,” he whispered, “quite the contrary. I’m intrigued.”
For a moment longer he held her gaze with his dark eyes, closing his hand harder around her neck, pressing his whole body against hers. Then he let go of her, stepped back, and smiled his typical, arrogant smile: “If you need help, I’ll gladly be of service.”
Snorting, she shook her head. She could imagine that Tom Riddle would love to help her succumb to the seduction of the Dark Arts. She knew how dangerous that was. If she actually tried to get closer to him using the Dark Arts, the last thing she needed was a voice whispering to her to succumb to black magic. It would cost her sanity if she did, just as it had with Riddle.
“Thanks,” she replied condescendingly, “but I think I’ll be fine by myself.”
“I think not,” Tom disagreed and looked her directly into the eyes. “I don’t know how far you’ve advanced by now, but from a certain point onwards, you don’t progress on your own. You will need help.”
“Really,” Hermione huffed doubtfully. She took her book back and went back to the couch she had been sitting on before, but did not immediately sat down. Quickly she glanced around to make sure no one else was roaming the shelves of the Restricted Section, then she whispered: “If no one can get deep into the Dark Art alone, how come you act all arrogant and as if you were well versed in that area? Who is your master?”
“I don’t need a master,” Tom explained and she could hear that he was being serious and really believed what he was saying: “I am different. More powerful. Old blood flows through my veins. It allows me to wander on that path alone.”
“Old blood,” Hermione snorted tauntingly, knowing exactly what he was getting at. Intentionally sneering she added: “There’s almost no wizard family as old and as pure as the Malfoys. But as much as I respect Abraxas, he might be more intelligent than average, but not exceptional. How big of a role can your blood play if even the Malfoys don’t produce exceptionally powerful wizards?”
With that, Hermione sank down on the couch, opened the book and flipped through the pages carelessly, showing Riddle that she was not seriously interested in its contents, but that she purposefully wanted to ignore him. She was not sure what had changed. Before, the always felt fear being near to him, but now, this battle of power made her excited. As if for the first time they were meeting on eye level. When Tom did not replied for several minutes though, Hermione had to look back up again.
“You know not what you speak of,” Tom finally said. His tone was back to what Hermione was used to: cool, condescending, showing her that he wanted to hide his true emptions: “But how could you? There are only very few people that know what I am.”
Hermione decided to give him attention again and directly looked at him. So he indeed had revealed that he was Slytherin’s heir, even though not in front of everyone. That was a useful information. Would he reveal himself to her? It would be a sign of trust. Raising an eyebrow, she taunted him further: “A group of enlightened wizards hand-picked by you. I can picture it just fine, Riddle. Are there secret meetings? Do you dress yourself in black robes and sacrifice a virgin for the devil on the full moon, so that your mind might become enlightened and you gain knowledge?”
Before she could finish her sentence, Riddle had stepped in front of her in one swift movement, leaning down to her and putting his hands left and right from her on the back of the couch.
“I repeat: You know nothing. If you don’t know, you better remain silent, especially if you want to sneer at something that is too much for your little brain.”
Hermione flinched, but tried to resist the urge to press the book against her chest in a protective manner. She wanted to meet him on eye level, so she could not back down at the first signs of anger on his side. Defiantly, she raised her chin: “If you can’t deal with ridicule, then enlighten me. How should I react with anything but ridicule when all you tell me is that you have a select few with whom you shared some secret knowledge? You notice yourself how ridiculous that sounds coming from a seventeen year old boy, don’t you?”
“I do not tolerate ridicule!” Tom hissed, his eyes narrowing.
Hermione believed that instantly. For a narcissistic person like Tom Riddle, ridicule and mock were the worst one could do to them. She was certain that her words made him beyond angry. Imitating his sadistic smile, Hermione replied: “What I don’t tolerate, is arrogance and pride without offering any evidence for true superiority. Tell me, Tom, what do you know that makes you think you of all people could enlighten anyone? What is so special about you that I shouldn’t meet your condescension with ridicule?”
Hermione was shocked of the snappy words that just left her moth, but she tried not to show it. With bated breath she watched as Tom once again closed on of his hands around her throat. A smile played on his lips while his thumb stroked her neck almost absent-mindedly exactly where her carotid was pulsating faster than usual. He leaned down even further, whispering: “It is strange indeed, Hermione. You again and again spark this craving in me to hurt you. And you know what is even stranger? I get the feeling you know it and provoke this craving intentionally. Do you want me to hurt you? Is that really what the Dark Arts awakened inside of you?”
They returned to this question after all. Why was Riddle so insistent on asking her whether she might be a masochist? Trembling, she whispered: “Stop asking me this indecent question all the time. Furthermore, you’re too close.”
To her surprise he actually followed her command immediately. As if nothing ever happened, he straightened up, burying his hands in his pockets, and looked down on her: “You are a riddle, Hermione. But of the kind I actually like. I think we’ll have a lot of fun together this year. Let’s see how much of your arrogance will be left once you realise you’re a riddle that I can solve easily.”
Hermione snorted derisively. At the end of the day, Riddle really was just a boy. This childish insistence on his superiority was simply ridiculous. With a hissed “Have fun with that, then!” Hermione stood up, grabbed her bag and stomped out of the library.
Tom Riddle remained back at the shelf for a moment longer. Hermione really was a mystery with all her contradictions, but different from before, he no longer was annoyed. She presented no danger, of that he was certain. Quite the contrary. If he was not deceived, Hermione herself had more than enough to hide – from the teacher, from her uncle, from all those who accused her of being too Gryffindor. No one researched this specific area of the Dark Arts who was not planning something concrete. Having plans regarding the Dark Arts, surely that would not please her uncle.
Deep in thought, he rubbed his chin while he stared down at the couch where she had sat before. Perhaps his first impression of her had been wrong. Perhaps he could indeed use her. Perhaps she would be useful for his plans.