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Masters of Manipulation	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 28506 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
Chapter sixteen

Hermione was running down this long and winding road that was covered with thick layers of snow. She had no idea how long she had been in this desolate place, but she had to get away from this castle, quickly, before it was too late. Her body ached from the various cuts and bruises, which were brushing against the fabric of her clothes with every step that she took. Her arm was clutching onto her belly, trying to stop the gushing of blood that was a result of the curse that had struck her. But even if she still would have had her wand, she could not have stopped to try and heal it. They were too close. They would find her, and she would be dead. A burning fire lit up the dark night sky behind her. Hermione swirled around and panicked as she noticed the abnormally large flames, which rose above the trees. They were a distinct sign of the use of Fiendfyre. She saw the fire turn into an enormous flaming Chimaera and she knew who that gigantic fiery beast was sent out to pursue. She turned away to continue running, but there he stood, right in her path, the tall, curly blond-haired wizard, who terrorised millions. His wand was raised at her.

'Avada Kedavra!'

The flash of green light blinded her eyesight, before Hermione woke up. She was seated in her bed, covered in sweat, and trembling with fear as her hand quickly moved to her stomach to check if there really was no wound there. She needed the physical confirmation that it had all been a very bad dream. That it wasn't real. That she wasn't on the grounds of Durmstrang, and that she wasn't just killed by Gellert Grindelwald. It was six o'clock in the morning on Friday the twenty-third of December and in sixteen hours Hermione would go to the place she just dreamt about. She really hoped her dream wasn't a bad omen.

When she fell back into her pillow, she noticed the box that had been placed on her nightstand, while she was sleeping. Apparently, the other dark wizard, that plagued her with his presence, had made one more trip into the girl's dormitory. And the underlying message of delivering it in this manner wasn't wasted on Hermione. I can get to you anywhere. She was beginning to feel slightly resentful towards the Founders for not making the protective measures on the staircase a bit more secure.

Actually, when she started to think about it, all of it was their entire fault to begin with. The stupid Chamber of Secrets; the damn Basilisk; the freaking books; the dumbfounded bigotry; the nutty idea of making different Houses, oh, and let's not forget the library incident, because she was certain Riddle hadn't done anything to open that blasted door. Hermione growled inwardly. She never should have taken Helga's assignment. Those Founders were not to be trusted, none of them. All they had done was making sure that the likes of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley could not enter the girl's dormitories, because, well, everybody knew how much of a threat they were to girls. Hermione rolled her eyes to the ceiling, before she ripped off the envelope that was attached to the box. The note was pretty short. Hermione was certain it was added later on just to spite her.

'You look beautiful when you sleep, very nice and quiet. I hope you like the dress. Tom'

'Prick,' she thought, 'like you care about what I like.'

And she tossed the note away, hopped out of bed and went off to take a shower without so much as taking a single glance into the box. Hermione wasn't concerned about the dress. If she looked horrific, it would reflect badly on Mister Head Boy, so she had no doubt the dress would be fine. She dwelt on the idea of going to the Ball wearing something like her mother's furry, pink bunny slippers underneath the gown. A huge grin made it to her face at envisioning that.

Hermione had previously thought about travelling to Durmstrang prior to the Ball, but she realised soon that might be a tricky endeavour, since she sealed a bet with Riddle about going. And magical bets have a tendency to bite back, if you do not fulfil the requirements. She certainly did not wantthat to happen, while she was in Grindelwald territory. So she had decided to leave halfway through.

Viktor had told her about the Christmas Party at the Durmstrang Institute, which was held right before the holiday, and if his wild stories were even partially true, it would be the perfect time to sneak in. Hermione did not know for certain if the party was held in this day and age, but from everything she read in today's Daily Prophet, it appeared Grindelwald was quite keen on showing the world how victorious and great he truly was. Stopping festivities was no sign of greatness or victory, so Hermione felt there was a good chance it would be party time in Durmstrang tonight.

And she would be fine. She had sneaked into Dark Lord's strongholds before with Harry and Ron. Everything was going to turn out alright. It was, after all, just a stupid dream. She was not a seer, not even a bad, always intoxicated one. Hermione stopped her pondering on Durmstrang and her visit over there. She could not be certain anyway, so this worrying in advance had no point.

The lessons, she followed that day, were quite entertaining and they took her mind away of her plans for tonight. Professor Dumbledore found it necessary to let them Transfigure something for Christmas. Hermione, knowing Dumbledore's fondness for the utterly ridiculous, went completely overboard on that assignment. She Transfigured a hat that was constructed of a gigantic reindeer head with a big, round, flashing red nose, and huge, brown deer eyes, which winked to everybody who passed, while mooing the song 'Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer'. She outfitted the antlers with several strands of enchanted mistletoe, entrapping whoever was foolish enough to come within a footstep of the person underneath the hat. Hermione dropped the hat, purely by accident of course, on top of Riddle's head, while he was busy rummaging through his bag. Alas, Mulciber had, just on time, jumped out of his seat next to the Head Boy, because otherwise they would have been in a very uncomfortable situation. Professor Dumbledore absolutely adored the hat. And when Hermione left for Potions, he was wearing it with a big grin on his face.

Slughorn was also deep into the Christmas spirit and he gave them the task of creating a potion that would enable the drinker to truly enjoy the wondrous event. The deeply annoyed sigh of the person, who sat next to her, was a true indication he would definitely be in need of such a potion, before this class was over.

During her lunch break Hermione visited Minerva, whom, fortunately, was beginning to look a lot less peaky. Her parents would be arriving in a few hours to take her home. The McGonagall's had a huge Mansion hidden in the Scottish mountains. Hermione had seen the pictures of Minerva's home and it was really very beautiful. Of course the school nurse had objected to the transfer of her patient, but Headmaster Dippet had overruled her, claiming the McGonagall's family Healer was more than capable of looking after Minerva. And so she was allowed to go home for the holiday season.

Minerva had invited Hermione to stay with her family for the holidays, but Hermione had declined. She had not told Minerva of her plans to go to Durmstrang and she had made up some Time-Travel excuse for not being able to stay at her house. It was obvious Minerva felt guilty for leaving Hermione alone at Hogwarts with Riddle, but Hermione reassured her that there was no need for guilt, and that she needed to get better first. She felt slightly guilty herself after she had lied to Minerva again and left the infirmary in a hurry.

Her last double class of today was over in a breeze and Hermione went to Godric's Room to take one final look at her travel supplies, because she was planning to take them down with her, in her beaded bag, into the girl's dormitory. The Slytherin Dungeon was, after all, closer to the Ballroom and the exit out of Hogwarts as Godric's Room, which was located way up in the Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione had written a letter, and she left it behind for Minerva to find, in case everything went horribly wrong. She had also taken several steps to make sure Salazar and Godric's books would be unavailable to anyone, while she was gone. Well, she hoped they would be unavailable, but she had done all she could in that department.

Hermione picked up her beaded bag. She was ready, but her eyes fell on the damn jar that contained the stinking, unidentifiable ointment. She tapped with her fingers on her beaded bag, contemplating on her options. Suddenly, she grabbed the jar and tossed it in her bag.

'If I get caught and it screws up the time-line, then I can always blame Dumbledore and Riddle for it,' she said to herself, very satisfied with this reasoning. And she exited Godric's Room contently.

A half hour later, one very upset Hermione came running into the infirmary and paced past Minerva's bed straight for Rodolphus Lestrange's, while holding on tightly to a white cardboard box.

'Riddle,' she furiously started, but as she drew the curtains to the side, the only one she saw was a feeble looking Lestrange, who eyed her with contempt.

'He is not here, Mudblood. So close those curtains and leave me alone,' he snarled.

'With pleasure,' Hermione sneered back, and she turned and paced away towards the exit. The box still tucked tightly underneath her armpit.

'Hermione?' Minerva yelled. 'Hermione!'

Hermione halted her forward motion.

'What's wrong?' Minerva asked, concerned.

She swirled around and dumped the box in Minerva's lap. 'This is what's wrong,' Hermione hissed.

Curious, Minerva opened the box and pulled out the utmost exquisite gown she had ever seen. 'Wow, can I borrow…,' she started.

'You don't want to borrow this dress, Minerva. Nobody wants to wear this – this... Arggh.' Frustrated, Hermione threw her hands in the air and rubbed them through her hair.

Minerva looked at the gown in clear disagreement of Hermione's statement. 'What's wrong with it? It looks more than fine to me,' Minerva said, confused.

'Riddle gave me this gown, Minerva. That's what's wrong with it,' Hermione said, disgruntled.

'But you already knew he would. Why make such a big deal about it now? Tom may be an evil git, but, at least, he's got excellent taste,' said Minerva, turning the gown back and forth, while giving it admiring looks.

'Oh yes, excellent taste,' Hermione said sarcastically.

Minerva was stunned. 'Well, if you don't want the dress…' And she rolled her eyes to the ceiling for speaking such a ridiculous thought out loud. 'I can think of a large number of girls, including myself, who wouldn't mind wearing such a fine piece of art.'

'And how do you suppose, orphan boy, acquired this fine piece of art,' Hermione added, folding her arms over each other.

Minerva dropped the gown back into the box immediately, and she pulled her hands away from it like she had just touched something incredibly filthy. 'Oh.'

'Yeah, oh indeed,' Hermione said, still slightly sarcastic, but she was glad Minerva had, finally, got the point.

'What are you going to do now?' Minerva asked, pushing the box away from her, so she would not get tainted by it. 'You'll have to wear it, won't you? I mean, because of that bet?' And she wrinkled her nose up in disgust.

'I am not wearing this,' Hermione said, determined.

She folded the paper back over the gown and closed the lit of the box. She did not see the alarmed expression on Minerva's face as her eyes were still focused on the box in question when she said: 'I am not wearing anything that jerk provides me with, if he wants to see it tonight, he can, bloody well, wear it himself.' And she popped the box back under her arm with a look of utmost certainty.

'I think it would look much better on you, Evans. Besides, you're bound to our little agreement,' responded the jerk in question.

Hermione's eyes widened and Minerva merely mouthed sorry towards her, before she hid behind one of her pillows theatrically. Hermione's feelings of shock, for getting busted saying what she had just said, were quickly replaced with anger. Furiously, she swirled around and she poked him in the chest.

'Well, I'm ending our little agreement right now, Riddle.'

Hermione saw the amusement flutter to his face, and he was about to respond to her bold suggestion, but she was not finished yet. 'You see, I don't know who you had to kill in order to obtain this gown, Voldemort, but you will not drag me into your foul, rotten, disgusting ways,' she hissed.

'Aren't you forgetting evil, dreadful, despicable, horrif…'

He jumped back just in time, because Hermione swung the box around and it would have made some serious contact with his head, had he still been standing there.

'Temper, temper,' Tom mocked.

Hermione directed another swing at his head, but this time, he was ready and grabbed a hold of the box.

'Look Evans, contrary to popular beliefs, I have absolutely no desire to kill someone over something as stupid as a dress. Nor do I need to. I was quite capable of obtaining it in another manner, so I suggest you get over this, whatever this is, and get ready for a Ball, which I believe is in less than an hour.' And he pushed the box back in her arms violently.

'And dare I ask what this other, no doubt, harmless manner was?' Hermione demanded. She couldn't hide the distinct sarcastic undertone in her voice upon using the word harmless to Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Tom sighed. 'Abraxas owes me quite a huge favour. So there, now you know. No evil, wicked, Dark Arts curses are used to supply you with a gown,' he said smirking.

'Abraxas?' asked Hermione. She couldn't recall anyone in their year by that name.

'You know him. He is in Slytherin too. Tiny, blond, fourth year, bit of a weasel,' Tom added, upon seeing Hermione still had no idea, who he was talking about.

'Malfoy!' she shouted furiously, and she threw the box at him.

'I'm definitely not wearing anything A Malfoy has paid for,' she said through gritted teeth, and she paced out of the infirmary, leaving Tom standing quite stunned with the box in his arms.

Minerva snickered softly at Tom's surprised features. 'I believe you would have been far better off, if you had simply told her you killed everyone in the shop instead of that,' said Minerva, and she laughed out loud.

'Oh, well,' Tom said tiresome. 'Want a dress, McGonagall?' And he casually tossed the box onto Minerva's bed, before exiting the infirmary too, not waiting for her to reply.

Lucretia Black looked utterly shocked, when Hermione entered the dormitory. 'The Ball is in half an hour and you haven't even changed,' she said.

'So what,' Hermione said aggressively, 'it will only take me around fifteen minutes to get ready.'

And she opened her wardrobe, pointed her wand at one of the dresses and thought about the periwinkle-blue robes she had worn to the Yule Ball with Krum. She flashed her wand around and the dress Transfigured into that exact outfit. Satisfied, Hermione pulled it out of the closet and started changing. Lucretia was staring at her in disbelieve.

'What happened to that beautiful gown you had?' she asked.

'Someone made a mistaken delivery,' Hermione answered shortly.

Walburga snickered from behind her mirror. 'Told you,' she said to Lucretia.

But Lucretia ignored her cousin and continued looking at Hermione in disbelieve. 'You can't be ready in fifteen minutes. You'll have to do your hair,' she said with certitude.

'My hair is fine the way it is,' Hermione replied.

During her fourth year, Hermione had spent an entire bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion on her hair in order to get it straight and manageable for the Yule Ball. And she had sworn to herself that if she ever would have to take three hours of fixing her hair up for some event, ever again, then it would better be for something or someone very, very special. And Tom Riddle just did not qualify for those terms at all. So she wasn't planning on doing anything special with her hair at all.

'You can't possibly call that, wild mumble jumble of frizz, hair,' Walburga sneered on her way out, but nobody responded back to her.

'There, all done,' Hermione said when she was finished changing into her outfit.

'No, no, no,' said Lucretia, shaking her head. She blocked Hermione's path out of there and looked at the clock on the wall. 'We still have some time. I can add some Makeup Charms and …'

'That is a definite no on the Makeup Charms,' Hermione interrupted, disgusted.

She felt there was no need for Riddle to think she had made even the slightest bit of an effort.

'At least, let me put up your hair,' Lucretia said desperately. 'I have this blue hairpin that would look smashing with your robes.'

Hermione forwent her resistance to have anything done and settled on the hairpin, hoping that this straw would be enough to make Lucretia happy. That way, Hermione might, actually, be able to leave the dorm and go to this wretched dance event. However, it turned out that something as simple as putting someone's hair up, was extremely time consuming if left in the hands of the likes of the young Miss Black. Hermione had looked at the clock for Merlin knows how many times, but Lucretia was still fussing about. And it was already eight-fifteen.

'Doesn't Malcolm mind waiting?' Hermione, eventually, asked, and she was keeping her fingers crossed that this would get Lucretia to abandon her Cause.

'Oh no, he'll understand if I'm a bit late. And we did agree to meet in the Ballroom, so he won't be bored at all,' Lucretia said cheerful. 'He's probably busy pigging into the food on the buffet as we speak.'

'Great,' Hermione thought.

She would be here forever, and she was very much aware of the fact that her 'date' was probably a lot less understanding.

'And I'm … almost … done!' Lucretia shouted triumphantly as she sprayed something on Hermione's hair. 'There, much better.' And she eyed her handiwork with great satisfaction.

Hermione wanted to get up immediately to leave, but Lucretia pushed her down in her seat and told her that she needed to wait two more minutes in order for the Fixation Potion to take effect.

'Don't move sooner, or you'll look like a complete idiot when you twirl around,' she said warningly. 'I'll tell Tom you'll be right there,' Lucretia added cheerful on her way out the dorm.

Hermione placed a hand underneath her chin and watched the clock in boredom for the two longest minutes of her lifetime.

'Finally,' she said impatiently, when the time was up.

Hermione grabbed her beaded bag, which magically always matched everything she wore, and she went up the stairs towards the Slytherin Common Room. Tom was hanging leisurely on one of the couches in his black dress robes. He was entranced in the book he was reading, and the sheer concentration on his face made his features even more handsome.

'There should be a law against that,' Hermione thought, narrowing her eyes at the evil menace.

Apparently, Riddle had radar for staring people, because he looked up from his book and smiled to her, before closing his book shut. Hermione noticed the side-way glance he threw at the clock to his right. It was almost half past eight.

'Don't you even think of starting to complain about that,' Hermione hissed, before moving toward him.

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. 'I was just about to congratulate you on being able to get rid of Black so quickly. You really must have quite some skills of persuasion. I don't think anyone has ever succeeded in getting her to stop fussing before,' Tom said calmly as he got to his feet. 'Besides, I was otherwise entertained. This is a very good book, Evans. Care to read it when I'm done?' he asked teasingly and showed her the cover.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at reading the title, Beyond Blood Bonds. 'There better not be anything in there that he can use,' she thought, concerned.

'Abraxas has, kindly, lent it to me. Apparently, the Malfoy family has quite an extensive Dark Arts library at their disposal. Oh, sorry, my mistake, I forgot you're not a fan of the Malfoys,' Tom said smirking. 'I'll try to refrain from using their name in your company. I wouldn't want to upset my lovely date.'

'Are we going to stay here chitchatting or are we going to get a move on, Riddle? If I recall correctly you have a Ball to open,' Hermione said grinning. 'Do enlighten me, which unfortunate Prefect is going to be bothered with your presence now that Minerva won't be there?'

'I don't recall Dippet mentioning I had to pick a Prefect in exchange,' Riddle said smoothly, and he held the door open for Hermione to pass. 'I thought I already had a partner, Evans.'

Hermione snorted and walked ahead, until they reached the Great Hall. The gigantic Christmas tree, decorated luxuriously, stood in the centre, and snow fell from the enchanted ceiling. Tom held out his arm and Hermione gave him a critical glance.

'I think we can control ourselves for a brief period, Evans. Wouldn't you agree?' he said.

Hermione wasn't so certain, but she didn't have time to object, because Riddle simply grabbed her arm and moved forward. She felt that peculiar jolt again, and as they walked towards the Ballroom, Hermione felt not nearly as apprehensive about her companion as she had done a few moments ago.

It was already very crowded in the Ballroom, and Hermione noticed students were standing everywhere chattering about the upcoming vacation, the latest Quidditch match between the Chudley Cannons and Puddlemere United, and who was dating who. The Ballroom was dimly lit and emitted an atmosphere of privacy, even though the room was as large as the Great Hall. Hovering mistletoe appeared and disappeared over the guileless victims it entrapped beneath its leaves and young twigs. Hermione noticed that Ernest was watching the mistletoe curiously with his dreamy eyes, while Pomona, who was trapped underneath it with him, was getting thoroughly impatient with his lack of action and constant chattering.

'No doubt about Nargles,' Hermione thought, as she remembered Luna's mistletoe obsession.

Eventually, Pomona just grabbed him and gave him a kiss, before she moved off hurriedly.

Now that the mistletoe show was over, Hermione continued scanning the rest of the environment. There were decorated Christmas Trees all alongside the walls of the Ballroom. A large buffet table filled with all kinds of delicious foods and drinks attracted a lot of students, and a soft Christmas music was to be heard in the background. Hermione looked around when she realised there was no band. How were they supposed to dance to this background noise? But Armando Dippet came charging towards them, so she had no more time to wonder about that.

'Tom, there you are. Finally, we can begin,' the Headmaster said joyous, and he demanded everybody's attention for his speech.

After listening to his drooling words for the longest ten minutes of her life, Headmaster Dippet finally ended his speech by informing them that the Head Boy would, as usual, be opening the Ball, but since the Head Girl was tragically unavailable, he would have to pick someone else from the wonderful House of Gryffindor.

Hermione had not noticed that all this time she had been holding hands with Tom Riddle, until he let go to open the Ball. When their contact was disengaged, she felt extremely lost for a moment, but she, quickly, regained her composure. It relieved her worries a bit that she, somehow, had not lost her mind like the time when they nearly did it in the Room of Requirement. She was still in control of all her faculties, and even though a part of her demanded that she reconnected with Tom Riddle immediately, she could resist it easily.

'I'm going to conquer this,' Hermione thought certain.

She heard how the music started. It seemed to come from the ceiling and she looked up, but it was not clear what exactly the origin was of the music. So she watched the dance floor to see who the unlucky girl was Riddle had picked, and to her horror, she saw him standing centre stage with Augusta Longbottom, who looked rather pale at the moment. Riddle whispered something in Augusta's ear that clearly frightened her. Hermione's eyes found Pomona's and Hagrid's, who were watching the scene with equal concern as her. Ernest was, as usual, living in his own exciting world, and Hermione wondered if he even had noticed something was off.

But soon, she could no longer see the others, because the dance floor got rather crowded. So when Julian Hogsby from Hufflepuff asked her if she would care to dance, Hermione accepted, and she was waltzing the floor trying to find Augusta with her eyes to check whether she was alright. She could not find her. After the waltz she had been looking for Tom and Augusta, but they still were nowhere to be found. And Hermione was standing at the buffet table taking a sip of her punch, when…

'There you are,' Tom said smiling. He seemed very happy about something.

'What did you do?' Hermione asked accusatory, putting her glass back on the table.

'I believe it's called dancing, Hermione. I'm sure it exists where you came from,' he whispered. 'Care to?'

But he did not wait for the answer and twirled her around onto the dance floor. That nice feeling of familiarity was back again, due to their contact. And Hermione realised soon that Tom was easy to dance with. There was no doubt about which way she was supposed to be going. There was no bumping into others and no need to keep a close eye on your feet, so they wouldn't get trampled upon. Time flew by and she was actually enjoying herself. Especially, since nothing out of the ordinary had happened yet. Maybe that mind losing experience was a fluke incident. After all, the Necronomicon had only stated the physiological effects she was feeling right now. She could certainly handle those.

A whirling mist appeared on the dance floor, creating the illusion for the dancing couples of being the only ones present there.

'This mist might be a charming and beautiful idea, but how are you supposed to avoid bumping into each other?' Hermione said, puzzled.

Riddle was eyeing her intently. He twirled her around and halted on the spot, waiting. His hand was near the small of her back caressing her and he pulled her hand that was holding on to his between them. And as they stood there, quietly, Hermione noticed nobody bumped into them. Mobile Proximity Wards. She realised it the moment he said it.

'Quite effective, don't you think?' Tom said pleasantly. 'I probably should thank Professor Carefoch for creating this wonderful, private, little space in an otherwise completely crowded room. I was surprised when she went for it so easily. I was certain it would cause me some effort in convincing her into creating it. You know with all these hormonal teenagers around. But I guess she is a hopeless romantic. So, thanks to Carefoch, nobody will be able to interrupt us, while we are standing here.'

Hermione felt a twinge of fear in her chest as she recognised the tone, but that same comfortable feeling was still flooding through her body, so she did not try to break free, even though her mind was screaming: 'Get out now, while you still can.'

'This has most certainly been a revealing evening, don't you think, Hermione? I feel that those dreadful events from before will no longer bother me.' And he gave her a broad smile. 'How about you? Do you feel in control now, Hermione?'

She saw the predatory glance as his eyes flashed red, and she knew she had to break free now, but her body was not moving. She wanted to push him away, but her arms failed her miserably and her legs were unwilling to take even a single step. And she realised that, somehow, she had lost control over her own body.

'Muffliato,' he whispered content.

And she felt the Sound Deadening Charm flash around her. 'Let me go, Tom,' Hermione said, alarmed.

She saw his pleased expression at her despair.

'But I'm not done yet, dear. It would be such a waste to let an opportunity like this fly by. It is, after all, not often that I get an offer from someone to do whatever I want. You see, Hermione, when you first said that, I knew there had to be a way to tie that offer into our Bond and Malfoy, kindly, provided me with the literature to do so,' Tom explained. 'Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot I promised not to mention them in your presence,' he mockingly added. 'Well, whatever it was that made you dislike them in the past, this is going to top all of it.'

Her previously felt alarm was quickly becoming replaced by utter fright. Her mind was racing with thoughts about ways to get someone's attention, to get help through this stupid mist. But she could not move her arms, so she could not get to her wand. And without her wand nothing would work. She could not break those damn wards by sheer will alone.

'And I do appreciate your willingness to help me test out my theories. I could have never done this without your kind assistance,' Tom continued tauntingly. 'Now, let's see how far I can take this.'

And Hermione gasped, because that same electrical feeling flew through her body with incredible speed and twice the force as before, when Tom Riddle threw both his arms around her waist and pulled her tightly against him.

'Look into my eyes, Hermione,' he said calmly.

It was obvious the sensation wasn't affecting him anymore. She could see it in the calm way he was watching her. His hand caressed her face.

'Keep looking,' he demanded, when her eyes darted away from his.

Hermione felt overwhelmed. It was as if every nerve in her body was overloading. Her legs began to buckle; her heartbeat was speeding up; she was gasping for air, and her mind was screaming: 'Stop looking at him.'

But he was so close and he held her so tight. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. And she trembled with fear, when he placed his forehead against hers. Not again.

'Don't, please,' she begged.

'Shh,' he shushed her, while he placed his hand on the back of her head.

And he softly whispered: 'It's going to be okay. You're going to be all right. Everything is fine. You're fine. This is where you want to be, remember that Hermione. You belong here, with me. Say it.'

And he massaged her head, while fixating her with his gaze. 'Say it,' he repeated more forcefully.

'N-n-no,' Hermione stuttered, and she closed her eyes.

'Look at me,' Tom ordered calmly, and when she did not comply, he repeated his order more forcefully. 'Look at me, Hermione, or this will become very unpleasant for you.'

But Hermione felt it was already very unpleasant for her, and she just knew that if she complied with him now, she would lose. So she tightened her eyes further, waiting for the inevitable. She did not have to wait long. A tremendous pain soared through her body. It felt much worse than the Cruciatus Curse. It was like she was being ripped apart at the very core of her being. Tears sprung from her eyes, but she kept them closed just the same.

'Look at me! It is what I want, Hermione, remember. You have no choice in this matter. NOW, open your eyes!'

And it was like an enforceable pull made her do it. She opened her eyes and stared straight into a pair of crimson ones.

'That's a good girl,' Tom said softly, and the pain subsided as he caressed her tear-stained face. 'And just whose girl are you, darling?'

'Yours,' she whispered in a daze.

'Yes, you are mine,' Tom repeated calmly. And a wonderful feeling of security and safety made its way through her. 'But who am I? Tell me,' he requested smoothly.

It remained silent.

'You know, Hermione, say it.'

'You're Lord Voldemort,' she answered, lost.

'And Lord Voldemort always rewards those who serve him well, Hermione.'

And he kissed her passionately on her lips. It felt so good to be in his arms; she never wanted to let go, ever again. She wanted to stay in this moment forever. But a piece of yellow parchment with a black rim flashed, and, suddenly, she felt in control again. Her muscles were responding to her wishes, her needs, and her hand flew to her pocket to where he foolishly had let her wand remain.

'Levicorpus,' Hermione whispered hoarse, as she pushed him away from her. Something a huge part of her did not want her to do at all.

And she stumbled backwards when the invention of the Half-Blood Prince tossed Lord Voldemort upside-down in the air. His robes fell over his head revealing a pair of such pale white legs that they almost matched the colour of his underpants. Hermione started running away from him, away from the Ballroom and the Great Hall. She ran up the stairs to the third floor, until she reached the Statue of the Humpbacked Witch. She had not even heard the shouts of several concerned individuals who called out after her.

'Dissendium,' she whispered, shaking.

And Hermione fled into the secret passageway and ran all the way, until she reached the trap door that led to the cellar of Honeydukes. She ran up, until she was inside the empty sweetshop. She opened her beaded bag and changed into the blood red robes, the snow boots, the gloves and furred winter coat in a hurry.

Hermione spun on the spot and Disapparated away. She did it without a moment of consideration, without a moment of thought on where she was heading, and without remembering her dream from the other night. A few seconds later, Hermione Apparated just outside the vast iron gates of Durmstrang, all the way into the Land of Grindelwald.

xxx
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Masters of Manipulation