II.5 - Lost in time

For a second time in just a week, Tom Riddle found himself in a thoughtful mood this evening. He had retired early to his room, which he had all to himself thanks to being head boy. He wanted time and peace to reflect on the events of the day. His initial surprise at the strange behaviour of their newest student had by now turned into hot anger. She provoked him at every turn, always behaving as if he was the instigator. She denied him in a way no one had dared before, at least not since the time he had revealed himself as Slytherin’s heir to his best friends. Ever since he had opened the Chamber two years ago to prove himself to them, those few offsprings of the Sacred 28 had defended his honour and demanded respect for him from every single student. By now he was an established leader that no Slytherin would dare to defy.

Until Hermione Dumbledore. She came out of nowhere, treated him with hatred and contempt, and to make matters worse was a singularly talented witch. When he had asked Professor Merrythought to let him duel her, it was with the intent to put her into place. Of course in the end she had lost, she had to admit that she was not his equal, but still. She had been close enough, closer than anyone should be, let alone a woman. No one was as powerful, as disciplined, as thirsty for knowledge as he. Yet she seemed to be almost there. If her concentration during class and her overly full schedule were any indication, she at least was as curious as he.

He could not actually explain the hate he felt towards her. Ever since he had left behind the orphanage, he had not felt this hot anger and hatred. Back then he had been ridiculed, he was the misfit, the scum, even though in reality he was so much more than them. Tom had always understood that the contempt the other children and even the adults held for him was born out of jealousy. They despised him even though they were supposed to respect and worship him. It had made him so angry. He had hated every single one of them. When he first came to Hogwarts, that changed. Here he was one of many, everyone respected each other for their power. The more powerful you were, the more respect you got. And he was the most powerful of all. But not Hermione Dumbledore. She looked at him just like everyone back at the orphanage: with a mixture of contempt, hatred and fear.


Thoughtfully Tom rubbed his chin. If he actually thought about it, he was certain that more often than not she looked at him with fear. She pretended to be strong and hostile, sometimes even dismissive and arrogant, but if he had to name one predominant feeling, it was always fear.

Fear was good. He could work with fear.




Annoyed by herself, Hermione quickened her steps. There was no reason to be afraid. Astronomy class had always been set during the nights, even if it was a bit awkward that it was now scheduled on Wednesdays. She had climbed the tower countless times during her time, had wandered dark hallways and never felt fear. Why should she be scared now? There was no reason.

Shaking, she stopped. Of course there was a reason, she knew it very well. The cold glances Tom Riddle had cast in her direction, his complete silence towards her, his icy smile as he left the platform of the Astronomy tower as second last just before herself – all of that was a very good reason to be afraid of being alone in the dark. That she had a long way down back to the girl’s dormitories in the dungeons did not help, either.

“Scared, Miss Dumbledore?”

Shocked, Hermione backed up one step of the stairs. From around the corner, hidden by the shadows, appeared Tom Riddle, only a Lumos casting some light upon his face. The icy smile that had worried Hermione before was still there.

“You wish!” Hermione retorted, but even to herself her voice sounded shaky. Carefully she felt for her wand inside her bag, but quicker than she thought possible, Riddle had grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm away.

“There will be no need for your wand. Didn’t I make myself clear that I will not tolerate any further attempt on magical violence against students?” Riddle asked while grabbing her other arm, too. Panicked, Hermione tried to move backwards, but there was only the wall.

“Pray, tell, Miss Dumbledore, whatever did I do to deserve your hatred? Please do not try to evade my question this time with silly talk about not everyone liking each other. You hate me and there is no reason for it.”

The conversational way Tom said those things only deepened Hermione’s fear. She was alone, helpless against his stronger body, unable to grab her wand, unable to get away from his firm grip. Here, on the stairs of the Astronomy tower, where every student and the teacher have long left, no one would hear her scream.

Sounding chipper, he continued: “You provoke me every time. Ridicule me in front of my friends, say things that are almost insulting, and whenever I answer with a hint of unfriendliness, you act as if I was a criminal. Don’t you think it is understandable that sooner or later a man will get angry about such behaviour?”

Trembling stared up into the dark eyes of Tom Riddle. She could see his hate, but there was something more this time. Something that told her that he knew she stood no chance against him. That something really, really scared her.

“You’re a monster, Riddle!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Who gave you the right to address me informally?” Riddle hissed, bringing his face nearer to hers while pressing her arms against the cold stone wall.

“You think about politeness and correct manners in a situation like this?” She spit, but her desperate attempt to get the upper hand was doomed from the beginning.

He took both her wrists in one hand before grapping her throat with the other. Panic flooded Hermione: “What are you doing?”

“Scared yet?”

Breathing heavily, Hermione stared into his pale face. His hand on her throat was loose enough to let her breathe just barely, but her system needed more oxygen. His smile had been replaced by now by the look he had hidden beneath it from the very beginning: hatred and contempt. If he had been a predator, he would have smelt her fear by now. She was sweating profusely even though she was shivering in the cold. She knew what he wanted. She knew he wanted to see her beg, see her throw herself at his feet. She should give him what he wanted, otherwise he would kill her sooner or later.

“Riddle,” Hermione whispered, not wanting to give in. She was not ready to lower her head, to admit defeat. Trying to breathe, she searched his eyes for any sign of sympathy, but all she found was contempt.

“Yes,” She finally groaned when his fingers dug deeper into the skin of her throat. Pain shot through her, his fingernails scraping her neck, and a choked scream escaped her lips.

“You know, Hermione,” Riddle murmured directly into her ear, emphasising the use of her given name, “when I see you like this, trembling, your mouth hanging open, eyes big and fearful, I cannot help myself. You arouse unknown desires deep inside of me.”

Before Hermione had time to understand his words, she felt his tongue on her neck where his fingernails had left bloody scratches. He licked the wounds, pressing his full body against her. Horrified, Hermione tried again to push him away, but he instead only pressed further into her.

“You disgusting pig!” Hermione whined: “Let go of me!”

“If you promise right here, right now that you’ll be a good girl in the future, I’ll let you go,” Tom whispered after releasing her throat.

She burst into tears of anger and fear, unable to stop the desperate sobs. She did not want to be here, she wanted to be back in the future, at Harry’s side, fighting against this very man, against his future self, destroy him for good.

“You really try to seduce me now, mh, Hermione?” Riddle purred with a sweet voice, smiling icily again: “Your tears are just so … arousing.”

With that he finally released her. Sobbing Hermione fell down, wrapping her arms around herself, shaking in anger and fear and cold. She did not have to look up to know that Tom’s gaze was simultaneously triumphant and sneering. Only when she felt his fist in her hair and her head was pulled back forcefully, she looked into his eyes.

“Take this as a final warning. Next time I won’t be as friendly!” Tom hissed hatefully.

Then, at last, he left her alone for good. He turned and after a few seconds the darkness of the stairs had swallowed him. Still sobbing and scared, Hermione stayed where she was for several minutes before she could muster the courage and get up. She was thankful for the fact that on Thursdays, she had no classes during the first block in the morning.




Aroused, Tom lay upon his bed and stared up at the ceiling. The day had taken a good turn in the end, because his plan to finally force Hermione Dumbledore into submission had succeeded spectacularly. He could still feel the thrill and joy that had swept his body when he discovered the pure terror in her eyes. Her tears, her trembling body, her moans, all about her weak body left a sweet taste in his mouth. He was stronger. He was powerful. Anyone who dared to defy him would learn true terror.

Fear. Fear was such a wonderful thing.

Never before in his life had he felt so alive, so aroused as in this moment. Even back when he had let the Basilisk loose in the castle, he had taken pleasure in the fear of his fellow students. But that fear had been diffuse, nobody actually knew what or whom to fear. Hermione’s fear, though, had him as direct source. He was the reason. Before he could stop himself, a dark laughter erupted from deep within him.

Carelessly, without really noticing it, his right hand found its way into his pants. Grabbed his hard length, stroking it thoughtlessly. Again pictures of Hermione drowned in tears floated through his mind. The power to make her cry aroused him. She was a clever, strong witch, but in the end she cowered in fear. The movements of his hand quickened while a memory of the taste of her blood came back. Her scared pants, her desperate groans, her pained screams.

Rushed, he opened his trousers with his other hand, freeing his member from its prison. Another image, this time made up by his imagination, appeared: Hermione, still sobbing, as he forced his dick between her lips, sinking deep into her wet, hot mouth, how she screamed in pain, grasping desperately for air, while he mercilessly took his pleasure.

His hand sped up again, rubbing his member more forcefully until he came with a loud groan. Disgusted he looked at the wet, sticky stain on his sheets before he vanished it with a flick of his wand.

He cursed.

He was aware of his carnal cravings, he knew that every human being had these needs. But as of yet no human had aroused him so much that he had actually masturbated to their images. The arousal Hermione had triggered was something else, almost violent in the way it took over his body. Her fear, her weakness had been beautiful to watch.

Shaking his head, he ordered himself to never think about another human being in such a way again. He did not need images of actual people to meet his body’s needs. Carnal lust was for the weak. He could not wait to leave this phase of puberty where his body sometimes ruled over his brain. He could not wait until his brain had full control over every aspect of the body and never gave into lust again.




Slowly, Hermione crossed through the Great Hall to sit at the Slytherin table. She had taken her time this morning, hoping that Tom Riddle would not be present if she appeared late for breakfast, but luck was not on her side. He sat there, happily chatting with his friends, conversing politely with other students and being altogether the perfect image of a head boy. When his gaze fell upon her, his lips curled into an arrogant smile that only deepened when she tried to avoid his eyes.

“Oh, Miss Dumbledore, you’re late this morning!” Riddle greeted her cheerfully, but Hermione could clearly hear the taunting undertone.

“I’m free for the first block,” She explained defensively before sitting down at the only remaining spot, between Abraxas and Beatrix Parkinson.

“Are you okay?” Abraxas asked her quietly.

She sighed. Obviously, her sleep deprived night was visible in her face. Trying to be as quiet as she could, even though she knew Riddle would still know what they were talking about, she answered: “I did not have the best night, indeed. I am very grateful for your concern, but please understand that I don’t wish to talk about it any further.”

“I hope you had a good night’s rest? No nightmares?”

Turning pale, Hermione looked at the man sitting across the table. Tom Riddle really enjoyed his little victory over her. He had shown his true colours, had proven that even as a student he could be as scary as Lord Voldemort – and he obviously took pleasure in her pain. She knew she should not let him stomp over her like that. She had to prevent him from toying with her. It would not do if she lacked sleep from now on just because she was afraid of him. She had to find a way to reverse what happened yesterday evening. She could not allow any further victories on his part. Only she did not know how to do that.

Her fear of him was just too real.


Fairy Dust



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