“What do you mean, you’re worrying?”
“What do you think I mean?” Ignatius impatiently snapped at his friend. Marcus was a bit too slow sometimes. Deliberately exhaustive, he explained once more, “We both have thought for the longest time that there’s something wrong with Tom Riddle. Today, I witness how Hermione Dumbledore, the powerful and intelligent niece of Professor Dumbledore, turns white as snow just looking at him. He didn’t even say much before she started to try and appease him without any reason I could see. She stops talking to me, hurries over to his side, and then hastily leaves. If that isn’t a reason to worry, I don’t know what is.”
A merry voice interrupted his thoughts. “Who are you worrying about, Iggy?”
“Augusta,” Ignatius groaned annoyed. “How often did I tell you not to spy on people? Don’t you have any respect for your fellow Gryffindors?”
“For Mr Longbottom perhaps,” the young Gryffindor smiled and winked at Marcus. “But for you? Never! So, what is this about?”
“Good evening, Miss Bargeworthy.” Marcus bowed politely. “I apologise for my rude friend. He seems to have forgotten how to properly treat the fairer sex. We were talking about Miss Dumbledore. Apparently, Ignatius is convinced that she is in trouble with our head boy.”
Her eyes turning big, Augusta sat down on the couch next to Ignatius. “Why should a student of Slytherin have any trouble with Tom Riddle? He’s known for always standing behind his comrades.”
With a groan, Ignatius buried his face in his handy. He intended to talk to Marcus confidentially, but of course, once Augusta made an appearance, any sense he might posses simply vanished. He had a propensity to disclose any and all secrets to her, simply to keep the conversation flowing.
Staring darkly into the flames of the fireplace, he finally explained, “Perhaps Miss Dumbledore is an exception to that rule. She is the niece of Professor Dumbledore, after all, and we all know Riddle dislikes him.”
Augusta looked around the common room as if to ensure nobody else was listening, then she lowered her voice. “I’ve been to the latest meeting of Professor Slughorn’s club, do you remember? Mr Bell had been so kind to invite me. I really didn’t get the impression as if Riddle and Miss Dumbledore didn’t like each other, quite the contrary. Why should he take her as his plus one if that was the case, anyway?”
“I, too, feel like you’re overreacting,” Marcus immediately agreed. “Perhaps they’re a couple in secret, so she way worrying he might be jealous if he sees her with another gentleman?”
Determined, Ignatius shook his head. “No. She was almost panicking. You wouldn’t react that much to simply being caught with another man. There’s more.”
Silence engulfed the three friends while the common room around them slowly emptied. Ignatius could not help himself; he just knew that Tom Riddle was not a good man. That someone who was supposedly close to him would react with panic to his presence was suspicious.
“I could ask Mr Black, if you really want to,” August suggested after a long pause. “Orion Black. He’s in my year and seems to be getting along quite well with Riddle. We’re not really friends, so to speak, but we’ve been working together on a potion’s project last week. Perhaps he can tell me more about Riddle’s relationship with Miss Dumbledore.”
“You always know the right people,” Marcus praised her with a big smile.
Ignatius though was not convinced. With worry in his eyes, he looked directly at Augusta, “I’m not sure whether that’s such a good idea. What if Riddle finds out that you’re asking questions?”
Augusta simply laughed at that. “Now you’re really overreacting. What do you think will happen? He’ll sternly tell me that it’s not polite to inquire about other people and that’s that. I can deal with that, I got thick skin.” She was shaking her head, still giggeling. “Seriously, Iggy, the way you’re acting one could thing you’re talking about Grindelwald and not a mere student.”
“I agree with Miss Bargeworthy.” Marcus nodded. “Tom Riddle is our head boy. Have you ever heard of a head boy who turned to the Dark Arts later on? That’s quite absurd. He’ll not kill anyone for simply asking questions.”
With a sigh, Ignatius leaned back. He was well aware that he was probably overreacting, but he could not shake the bad feeling he got. Even here in the Gryffindor common room, surrounded by his friends, sitting in front of the fireplace, he got chills when thinking about Tom Riddle. Perhaps he was delusional. He would never forgive himself though, if anything happened to Augusta or Miss Dumbledore, just because he refused to listen to his gut.
***
Horror-stricken, Hermione watched as Tom magically closed her door and put several charms on it to prevent eavesdropping. Whatever he had planned for her, he obviously wanted to make sure that this time absolutely nobody was able to catch him. She was sweating profusely, feeling cold and sick at the same time. It was one thing to be fighting in a duel and having the adrenaline rushing through her veins help with concentrating. It was something else entirely to have to sit and wait, not knowing what would happen, but being sure that it would be terrible. She felt frozen in place and helpless in a way she never knew before.
“Tom,” she tried again, “Why do you need these charms?”
As if he had only waited for her to speak up, he turned around, and smiled merrily. “Du you really need to ask? I’d have thought you brighter.”
“I know exactly what you’re planning to do,” she hissed fearfully. “You don’t want any witness for what you’re going to … do to me!”
“Me?” Tom chuckled. “This isn’t about me. This is about you. About us.”
With this, Tom stepped forward, cupped her cheek with his free hand and forced her into a kiss. Hermione’s panic grew as she struggled to stay still and let it happen. When he finally let go of her, she was sure her face was grey from her anxiety. Her heart was still beating too fast, pumping blood through her body in a tempo that made her head spin.
“I am sure you’re not interested in having anyone interrupt what we’re about to do.” Tom’s voice sounded calm, only the twitching of the corner of his mouth betrayed that he noticed her fear.
Slowly, he lowered his school bag to the ground, unfastened his tie, and then with one swift movement pulled it from his neck.
“Come, dearest.” His voice was a low, dark purr. “Surely you want to be comfortable for our joint activity.”
Without waiting for her answer, he sat down on her bed, and patted the spot next to him. “Come here.”
Hermione swallowed. Closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. This was the path she had chosen. She wanted him to feel as though he could control her. She wanted to gain his trust. Get to know his weaknesses to ultimately destroy him. Her personal sacrifice meant nothing compared to the prospect to destroy this evil monster once and for all – in the future.
She was hesitant at first, but when she finally made up her mind, her movement became determined. She pulled her jumper over her head and got rid of her tie as well. Then, with a calculated smile, she sat down next to Tom. “Now what?”
“Now, dearest Hermione,” Tom growled, grabbing something from his bag. “Now you’ll show me how powerful and determined you really are.”
With that, he pulled a Puffskein from his bag and placed it on the bed. Immediately, the fluffy creature hopped to Hermione to beg for a little petting. Instinctively, Hermione reached out for it, but stilled before she touched it. If she petted the Puffskein now, it would only be even harder to hurt it later on.
Tom furrowed his brow, looking at her with a patronising expression. “Oh no, you poor little guy. It seems this lady is not willing to love you. Come here!” Tom coaxed the little creature with a surprisingly soft voice. “If she’s not willing, I’ll happily oblige. Come here.”
Happily, the Puffksein followed his luring voice, hopping into his open hands where it was immediately pressed against Tom’s chest. Hermione trembled as she observed the strange image. She knew it was selfish, but she was relieved that Tom obviously did not plan to turn his threats into reality, even if that meant an innocent being would be hurt. How was a human being able to be so loving even though he planned to hurt the object of his caresses shortly after? She pressed her lips into a thin line, hands grapping her skirt, and waited for instructions.
“Are you familiar with blood magic?”
He asked this so nonchalantly that Hermione at first could not believe she heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Tom’s gaze suddenly turned directly to her, full of grim determination. “Are you familiar with blood magic?”
“Of course not,” she replied harshly. “Contrary to most forms the Dark Arts can take, blood magic is actually forbidden.”
“Huh.”
She understood immediately. That was why he needed the protective charms. Tom Riddle wanted to make sure nobody noticed that they were about to perform forbidden magic. She swallowed. Blood magic was forbidden for two reasons. On the hand, the object, a living being in most cases, would be severely hurt more often than not. On the other hand and more importantly, the one performing blood magic would feel a long lasting, perhaps even permanent influence the spell had on their soul. It could corrupt the performing witch or wizard over time. Together with Necromancy, this was the darkest side of wizardry.
“You cannot be serious!”
“You should know me better,” Tom replied unapologetically. “I thought you were serious about studying the Dark Arts yourself.”
“That has nothing to do with blood magic!” Hermione almost shouted her words. “Tom! Even for you, this is– don’t you know what it will do to you? To your soul?”
“You’re worrying about my soul?” Tom laughed. “How touching.” He immediately grew serious and unrelenting again. “What I do and how it affects my soul is nothing for you to worry about.”
Of course. When Hermione thought about it, it made sense. He should have created his first Horcrux already, which meant that his soul was already damaged. That was why he did not care about the effects of blood magic.
“But this is about me, as you said earlier!” Hermione objected frantically. “Do you really expect me to play with the well-being of my soul?”
An annoyed expression appeared on Tom’s face. “It’s your mind that’s making you exceptional. I don’t care about your soul. Your mind won’t suffer and that’s all that matters.”
His reasoning was wrong and Hermione knew it. Of course, her cleverness would not suffer, but her mind would begin to grow ruthless and unethical, until one day she would be as stone-cold as Tom. She wondered whether it was exactly because he already had no emotions left that he could talk so easily about these things. Would she notice when her feelings changed or faded?
She looked at Tom. He was serious and every fibre of his being signalled that he would not accept any disagreement. It would be only this one time. Just once might not be as bad. She would not suddenly turn evil from just one single time.
“Fine,” she finally hissed. “What do you want from me?”
The dazzling smile returned while Tom gently put the Puffskein down between them. He bent down once again to grab a book from his bag. A bookmark was tucked between the pages and Tom opened it right there.
Without looking at her, he started to explain. “As you know, we divide spells into charms, hexes, and curses, though there are some more subtle differences. More complex spells are sometimes called rituals. All known forms of blood magic fall into that category. Furthermore, there are specific traits of spells if you want to organise them in a more traditional manner. We usually don’t learn about that today.”
Now, he finally looked up at her, staring into her eyes with an intense expression, his smile long gone. “Can you tell me what those traits are?”
Hermione could not help herself: Tom’s short lecture about categorising spells using traits was fascinating to her, especially since she had never heard of that before. She wondered shortly why this was never mentioned during her time at Hogwarts.
After a long pause, she finally admitted, “We were never taught about that. Thinking about spells I know, one trait might perhaps be Healing? There are several spells used in healing, so I’m sure that would be a trait.”
“Very well.” Tom nodded without showing any emotion. “Can you think of anything else?”
She bit her lip and stared ahead. There were so many words one could use to describe spells, how was she supposed to know which were used as traits? She tried a shot in the dark. “Perhaps– there might be something like Damage? Hexes used in duelling for example could have that trait?”
“Right once again,” Tom confirmed.
Unknowingly, a proud smile appeared on Hermione’s lips. She was more than books and learning by heart, after all. She was very well able to form her own thoughts and extrapolate from missing data. Curious, she waited for Tom to tell her more.
“To cut this short,” he slowly explained, his gaze landing on the pages of the opened book once more, “there are eighteen traits altogether. Most spells have at least two traits. Take most Transfiguration charms for example, those often carry the traits Form and Object. The two traits that are important tonight are Influence and Control.”
The smile vanished from Hermione’s face immediately. She actually forgot who was sitting in front of her – any why. She swallowed. “Good. Fine. Tell me what to do.”
“You’re so obedient tonight,” Tom commented while pulling another item from his bag. “I like that. If you try your hardest, I might have a reward for you.”
“I– thank you,” Hermione whispered.
She was not interested in any kind of reward from Voldemort, and she suspected that she would not like it either. She banned those thoughts from her mind. Instead, she eyed the shallow bowl and the silver knife Tom had put in front of her.
He took the knife and gave it her. “I will provide you with the correct words and you will repeat them. First, though.” Tom nodded towards the bowl. “We’ll need three drops of your blood.”
With shaking hands, Hermione grabbed the knife and angled it towards her palms. One cut there would produce enough blood, so she would not need to cut deep. She closed her eyes, licked her lips, took a deep breath – and then she pressed the knife lightly against her palm.
Hot pain shot through her. Instantly, she felt warm blood run down her hand. Without batting an eye, Tom caught three drops of the blood in the bowl. The drops trickled slowly down the bowl until they formed a tiny pool of strange, almost black liquid in the centre. Some of the runes that were worked in on the inner walls of the bowl flashed for a heartbeat before turning blood red.
A shiver ran down her spine. She did not want to know where Tom got this object. Forcefully, she inquired, “Now what?”
“Now we need three drops of blood from the Puffskein. If you would do the honour?” Tom invited her with false politeness.
Hermione could see the eager gleam in his eyes all too well. Even though he usually was a master in hiding his emotions, Tom could not hide how excited he was to see her soul get hurt.
Full of remorse, Hermione grabbed the Puffskein and parted the fur at his back a bit so she could make a clean cut. She avoided eye contact intentionally this time while she did the deed. Only the quiet, shocked squeak as the knife cut into the flesh told her how much the little creature was suffering already.
Tom did not pay the Puffskein any attention as he waited for the blue blood to drop down into the bowl. As soon as the third drop touched the bowl, the runes flashed once again, showing a deep violet this time before turning black.
“Put the Puffskein aside,” Tom ordered.
Hermione could hear in his voice when he continued talking that she would need to follow his instructions perfectly if she wanted the ritual to succeed – and especially if she wanted to prevent any unwanted side effects.
“Speak after me”, he whispered almost inaudibly into her ear.
One last time, Hermione took a deep breath. Then, she grabbed her wand. She nodded.
“I am ready.”