Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11078427.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Tom_Riddle, Merope_Riddle_&_Tom_Riddle, Merope_Riddle/
      Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Tom_Riddle, Hermione_Granger, Merope_Gaunt, Severus_Snape, Harry_Potter,
      Rodolphus_Lestrange, Armand_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Medieval, Alternate_Universe_-_Norman_Conquest,
      Politics, Nobility, Prejudice, Ethnocentrism, Nationalism, Arranged
      Marriage, Drama, Eventual_Sex, Character_Death, Game_of_Thrones-esque,
      Celtic_Mythology_&_Folklore, Period-Typical_Sexism, Dark
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-03 Updated: 2018-03-26 Chapters: 44/? Words: 269013
****** Serpentine Moves ******
by betagyre
Summary
     Medieval Norman Conquest AU.
     Fourteen years after eloping with a Muggle, Merope Riddle, of an
     English wizarding noble family, discovers that she and her son are
     the last of the line, so she petitions for her title and fiefdom
     back. Meanwhile Lord and Lady Granger are minor nobility who want
     their daughter taught magic, but Lord Malfoy, appointed by William
     the Conqueror to rule English wizards, won’t allow an unattached
     Muggle-born to study alongside young purebloods at Hogwarts. Merope
     and the Grangers make common cause and betroth their children,
     thwarting him for now. But war is coming, and a long, dark path lies
     ahead.
Notes
     The purpose of this really, I swear, isn’t just to force Tom and
     Hermione to marry. I wanted to write a Norman Conquest fic, and the
     story will be about much more than their relationship.
     Disclaimer 1: I am not intending to hew too closely to Potterverse
     “history” as detailed in the Famous Wizard cards and Pottermore.
     Specifically, there will be some Hogwarts policies that serve as
     major plot points and don’t adhere to the canon timeline. Certain
     events and character developments will be canon-influenced, but this
     story occurs in a true AU.
     Disclaimer 2: I’ve never written anything like this before. Although
     there will inevitably be historical inaccuracies, I will attempt to
     not make it too anachronistic… with one exception: Their speech won’t
     be archaic. There will undoubtedly be some words in their dialogue
     that weren’t coined yet in real history. Still, I’ll try to avoid
     terms that are glaringly modern.
     Warnings: I don’t want to post too many spoilers or spoiler tags, so
     I’ll just say that this is going to be a very dark story, especially
     the latter half. When I reach the chapters that may contain
     triggering material, I’ll post more specific warnings in the chapter
     notes. There won’t be descriptions of rape or sexual assault (and it
     won't happen to the protagonists at all), but I’m not taking anything
     else—and I do mean anything—off the table as a possibility.
     Another thing: Tom is about a year older than Hermione in this AU,
     and the Underage warning will be for consensual sex between
     teenagers. However, they’ll be young enough at one point that it
     might make some readers uncomfortable. This story is set in the
     1100s. I will not write it as “porn” where their ages would make that
     distasteful, but I’ll post a warning at the top of the pertinent
     chapter(s) regardless.
                                        
           [https://i58.servimg.com/u/f58/19/44/90/43/serpen11.jpg]
***** Twilight of the Old Ways *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The Gaunt family, Lords of Hangleton, maintained that they had held their
feudal fief from before the fabled Battle of Camlann in which Arthur and
Mordred fell. Among the last nobles of primarily Celtic ancestry, they avoided
slaughter or assimilation by the waves of invading peoples because of one
critical factor: magic.
The Gaunts were highly magical, and they used their abilities to protect their
fortress and lands. In the days of frequent wars between the Saxons and the
Vikings, they isolated their holding from the outside world. It was to their
benefit—and the detriment of many who served them. Hiding from religious
conflict, they kept to a corrupted, brutal form of paganism which demanded
human sacrifice and held that the act of ritual mass killing invoked great
magical power.
They taught magic to their own children and the children of their vassals—for
they would not elevate any to a title who did not also have the ability to
perform spells. One of those vassals became a great master, so renowned and
revered for his role in founding a school that the high family even permitted
the wizard to marry their daughter.
But with the founding of Hogwarts, the ways of the Gaunts began to change as
the light from outside breached their walls for the first time. Their other
children, and their vassals’ children, went to the school while Salazar
Slytherin still taught there, and there they were exposed to the children of
the Anglo-Saxons, the Danes—those who had practices different to those of the
Gaunts.
When Slytherin left, the Gaunts stopped sending their children there for
instruction. No traitors to magical blood would instruct any scions of their
ancient line in the art! Slytherin’s lady remained, because she had one small
child and was pregnant with another, and she did not know where her husband
meant to go. The Gaunts resumed their policy of utter secrecy, but the
interlude was brief.
In the year 1066, a great prince on a great horse entered the country from
across the water and changed it forever. He brought in his company a wizard by
the name of Armand Malfoy and set him to rule all magical people in this
kingdom—including the reclusive Gaunts. King William the Conqueror was, after
all, a Muggle, and although he knew of the existence of magic and wizards, he
wanted as little as possible to do with it. Lord Malfoy was his viceroy in all
matters concerning the English wizarding population, and he was given almost
unrestricted authority.
The Gaunt family later held that Slytherin’s son, who bore the name of Gaunt
since the great schoolmaster had departed, brooded over the decision to swear
fealty to Malfoy. What kind of wizard would put himself in service to a Muggle
king? But he was ultimately persuaded by Lord Malfoy’s assertion that this king
would let wizards manage their own affairs if he had assurances of their
loyalty. Was it not better to take an oath than to invite war? Then, too, there
was the fact that Malfoy had proper views about the importance of wizarding
blood. It was a view that far too many of the wizards in their native land—even
some of the landed families—did not share. However, the ones who were traitors
to their own wizarding blood—and who refused to take the oath—would be
dispossessed on Lord Malfoy’s orders, stripped of their lands and titles. In
Gaunt’s view, it was a just punishment.
Thus Gaunt was among the first English to take the oath of fealty to Lord
Malfoy. Malfoy made him swear some additional things. His family would cease
open worship of ancient gods and stop practicing human sacrifice—even of
Muggles. It was the sort of conduct that was likely to attract the King’s
attention in a bad way, Malfoy counseled Gaunt. Since his mother had attended
the school at Hogwarts and had not herself overseen any of the bloody ritual
massacres that his family of old had performed, Gaunt had no objection to
swearing this. It paid off. His family held their land and lordship. Malfoy
declared Gaunt a Baron.
Gaunt did have a private request, a family exception to a certain decree in the
King’s law. It was something of a family tradition that he wished to retain, he
said to Malfoy in a seemingly apologetic tone, and it was manifestly natural
for blood purity. Lord Malfoy agreed. After all, he did have broad authority to
oversee wizarding affairs, and what the King did not know would not hurt him.
===============================================================================
The fate of the Muggle petty nobles was rather different, and Alberic of the
Grange was among the many who were dispossessed of their holdings by the
invading Normans. He, his wife, and his son Bryan—who was but a four-year-old
boy when he was removed from his family’s home—became important figures in the
town that they had once ruled, teaching the peasants to read and including
Norman French as a subject to learn. The lord who replaced them was benevolent
enough to be pleased that his own subjects valued knowledge, unlike—in his
opinion—so many of the savages. As the years of his rule lengthened, he came to
regard the former occupants of the castle with fondness and respect.
After his parents’ deaths, Bryan—now called Bryan Granger—assessed his options.
The lord had but one legitimate child, a daughter, and she was prohibited from
inheriting in her own right. Granger himself was thirty-two, and it was time
for him to marry if he ever intended to. Surely the old lord, who had permitted
his family to live and had even allowed them to foster education in the
village, would rather his own grandchild inherit—even a half-English
grandchild—than a rival step up and bring violence, or try to take the young
lady by capture. Besides, Granger wasof noble blood, and he didhave the support
of the village. Many of the villagers still regarded him as their rightful
lord.
Granger was shrewd enough not to couch his request for the hand of the aging
lord’s daughter in a threat. There was no point; the man was no fool, and in
any case, why squander the goodwill that had taken years to establish? It was
obvious, too, that the old man knew that this would please the locals and quash
discontent: a show of respect for their country. The gambit worked, and
although Granger was sad that his own dispossessed parents had not lived to see
it, he exulted in his recovery of the family home through the marriage.
After Bryan Granger’s marriage, the family lived peacefully with Norman rule.
It brought yet more culture, learning, and refinement to their home, and Castle
Grange boasted one of the largest libraries of feudal England. They had three
children—two sons and a daughter. The daughter, inspired by the atmosphere of
learning, joined a convent. The two brothers married twin sisters from a nearby
fief, knowing it would fall to one of them to secure the line.
===============================================================================
January 1129.
Merope Gaunt, aged seventeen, did not look back. She stood beside Sir Thomas in
the little church and dutifully repeated her vows before the priest and few
witnesses, friends of Sir Thomas who had agreed to stand by him as he married
the well-dressed merchant’s daughter behind his parents’ back.
Merchant’s daughter. That was what she had told him, keeping her wand, her
cauldron, all the trappings of magic secret. She had to use her real name for
the marriage to be legal, but he would have fled in terror—perhaps even in
disgust—if he knew that she was one of thoseGaunts, the ones who practiced
sorcery and used to do vile heathen rites. The ones who were unrefined,
uncultured. Savages.
They are, she thought as the priest affirmed their marriage. They are savages,
and I was right to run. What they had planned for me— She broke off that
thought at once.
It had been very tempting to apply her magical talents to ensnare him. She was
good at making potions. However, in the end it had not taken any more than a
few well-placed spells to improve her facial features, and she had become—not
beautiful, but not at all repulsive either. She had a nice smile, she
discovered, and that was quite enough. Sir Thomas was a young knight, hot-
blooded and a bit rebellious. His family was sworn to the service of a Norman
lord who occupied the manor that they used to own, and in the discontent of his
life, he was eager for a romantic adventure.
Well, they would both have one.
===============================================================================
New Year’s Eve 1129.
Lying in a shabby bed in a London inn, Merope struggled to stay alive. Her
newborn son needed her. There was no one else to whom she would entrust him.
His father’s family would surely not accept him, as he was bound to be a
wizard, and the very reason Sir Thomas had abandoned her was his discovery of
her greatest, darkest secret. Hersurviving family would probably kill him for
being half-blood. The Church? He mighthave a place there—she had heard of one
or two wizards who managed to pass off their abilities as “divine miracles”—but
it was a risk that she was unwilling to take. No, she had to survive for his
sake. He had no one else. She had no one else, for that matter—but he was her
son, and that was a reason to try to live.
She fumbled for her wand, that stick of wood that had betrayed her identity to
Sir Thomas. It was the cause of this, she thought. Not her lies. Her lies had
been necessary. Continuing to live at Castle Gaunt had not been a possibility
after what she had discovered, and her elopement with Sir Thomas had been the
only viable way to escape it. It was not her fault that he was prejudiced
against magic. He had fallen for her—her, the person—while not knowing what she
was. She had had to lie. No, the wand was the reason for this situation, so she
supposed that she might as well use it now.
She gripped it and pressed its tip against her belly, quietly casting a spell
that—she hoped—would heal the internal injuries she had suffered in the birth.
As the healing light passed over her, she thought it seemed to be working. Had
she felt her tissues knitting back together, perhaps? She definitely didn’t
feel any further flow of blood. Yes, it must be working. She was feeling better
already.
For the first time since her husband had abandoned her, Merope Riddle managed a
smile. She was going to live, and she was going to make a life for herself and
little Thomas in London.
===============================================================================
There was never any fear about the inheritance of Castle Grange. Of the two
sons of Bryan Granger, the younger brother and his wife quickly had several
children. But the elder brother—who inherited the title directly from his
Norman grandfather as a child, although his parents acted as regents until he
was of age—struggled with his lady to have any children until she was thirty-
one. Like his grandfather, he sired only one child, a girl. As a daughter, they
would have to provide for her situation, because the land and title were still
limited to male heirs, like most.
Like most Muggletitles, at least—not that Lord and Lady Granger had any
awareness of that term until their daughter began to show odd abilities, very
odd indeed….
===============================================================================
June 1143.
Lord and Lady Granger had never heard of Armand Malfoy, Lord of Wiltshire,
until their daughter Hermione turned out to be a witch. Like most non-magical
people who did not live in the immediate proximity of witches and wizards, they
knew vaguely of the existence of such people, but to discover that their own
daughter had the power of magic was another matter entirely.
Their vast library included numerous codices that were exceedingly rare, even
considered occult in some quarters, but the Grangers were people of the world,
and they could read the text without prejudice. The tomes made it perfectly
clear that Hermione’s odd talents were magic, and a newer one by a “Mistress
Rowena” alluded to the existence of a school of magic somewhere in the north.
The Grangers had discovered that it was true, and that the person to see about
getting her under the tutelage of the masters of magic would be Lord Armand
Malfoy, a very old wizard now.
===============================================================================
Severus Snape observed through the bustle of London as Merope Gaunt—no, he
corrected himself in thought, Merope Riddle—welcomed her son back from his
first year at the Hogwarts School. Instinctively he pulled his black cloak
close, though he was sure that they would not recognize him even if they saw
him. Still, she might detect that he was a wizard, and he did not want her to
know even that much.
Lurking in the shadows, Severus reflected on why he was even here. His family
had been respected, titled vassals of the Gaunt family until his mother had
married a Muggle lordling. It was not even an elopement; the marriage had been
conducted openly and with the full consent of both sets of parents, but this
“offense” was enough for Marvolo Gaunt to strip the family of its noble title
in outrage. He had only deigned to admit the half-blood Severus as the castle
seneschal—a servant—and now Severus was being made to carry out the
increasingly insane orders of a tyrant.
Lord Marvolo Gaunt had died a few years ago, and his half-wit son Morfin was
now the lord of the castle, much to Severus’s disgust. He was loud, boorish,
ignorant yet arrogant. He gave orders that made no sense and harmed the
standing and interests of the family. He was utterly unable to keep his hands
off the enserfed women who served in the castle, but was convinced that his
unwanted “attentions” were charming. Severus was reasonably certain that
Morfin’s—he refused to think of this creature as “lord”—mind was going. His
latest outrageous order was for Severus to go to London, find his sister
Merope, and bring her “home.”
Severus had absolutely no intention of carrying out that order. He would report
back to his “lord” that he had heard in the city that Merope was dead. Morfin
would not know any better. He hardly set foot outside the castle, and he
certainly did not accept owls or other communication from his fellow wizard
nobles.
It was a disgrace for a fool to occupy such an ancient high seat while another
contender still lived. Severus had queried a few witches and wizards from the
magical quarter of London, called Diagon Alley, who had known Merope. All were
in agreement that she had sense, intelligence, and was shrewd, frugal, and
resourceful. She had maintained herself respectably as a potionmaker’s
assistant, living a clean life with no hint of scandal attached to her name.
And she had an able-bodied heir who could do magic—quite well, if the rumors
about young Tom’s first year of instruction at the school in the north were
true. Severus would have to contact his old friend Horace, the potions master,
but he did not doubt the accounts.
Yes, Lady Merope would be a worthy liege, unlike her brother. As Severus saw
it, his oath was to uphold the honor and the good of the family, not to
unthinkingly carry out the orders of a lunatic. Severus would go back to
Hangleton, and then he would do what was necessary.
He was quite good at potions, after all.
Chapter End Notes
     Armand Malfoy isn’t book canon, but in Pottermore he is the first
     Malfoy in Britain, who came over in 1066 with William the Conqueror.
     Since that works very well with my setup of a Malfoy as the Norman
     overlord of English wizards, I made him one of the chief antagonists.
     I wanted the Malfoys we’re familiar with in the story as well, and
     they’ll appear.
     You can work this out from the information in the chapter, but just
     to spell it out: The “present time” is June 1143. Tom has been at
     Hogwarts for one year. He’s 13 years old, and Hermione is about a
     year younger. I can’t see any reason to stick with the seven-year
     progression of modern Hogwarts for this story, nor the starting at
     age 11 rule. They’ll attend until the professors consider them to
     have mastered the arts of magic.
     This was largely background information to set up the AU. The “story”
     properly begins next chapter. Thanks in advance for the interest!
***** Toward Parselhall *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so much for the interest in this AU! The story begins, as
     promised.
     I think I'm going to have alternating points of view in this story,
     in order to tell the story I need to tell. There will be chapters
     (and sections of chapters) from Tom and Hermione's viewpoint later
     on. For now, this is mostly POV Merope.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Merope pondered the document in her hand, occasionally giving Tom quick glances
as he perused… whatever that book was. He said that the potions master had let
him take it home for the summer season.
He was a dedicated student of the magical arts, and much more talented than she
herself was, Merope thought. She returned to the document, biting her lip as
her thoughts converged toward a decision.
A wizard whose name she only barely remembered, Severus Snape, was acting as
steward of Castle Gaunt and the barony in the absence of any members of the
family to hold the seat. He had learned of her residence in London and was
writing to her to bring her the news: Lord Marvolo had been dead for several
years, and Lord Morfin had perished suddenly in what Snape had declared was a
sudden digestive ailment brought about by eating a large dinner. Merope would
have to go before Lord Armand Malfoy, the Crown’s viceroy for all wizarding
matters, and he had significantly increased autonomy given that the Muggles
were currently locked in a war over their throne and had other things to worry
about. Merope reflected on how odd it was that she knew more of the Muggle
conflict between Stephen and Matilda than she now knew of current wizarding
affairs in the aristocracy.
But the wizarding world did not hold itself to the Muggle custom of considering
women unfit to rule in their own right. If she wanted the seat, it was probably
hers, pending her appearance before Lord Malfoy at the Wizards’ Council.
Morfin is dead. My father is dead. Tom and I are the last of the line. She
thought about Castle Gaunt and her youth there, mentally contrasting it with
the one-room flat that they lived in now.
Fine embroidered linens, jewels, luxurious bedcovers, tapestries, the family
library…. Over the past fourteen years, Merope had avoided thinking of the
positive aspects of life in the castle too much. Her father and brother had
been mean-spirited, tyrannical, and—in her opinion—borderline mad, and it had
been hard to separate the memories of grandeur from the memories of bad temper,
pointless cruelties to the servants, vicious bigotry that never made sense to
Merope, and then, at the last, the threat—the threat of something unspeakable—
She rolled up the parchment and tied it back. It hadn’t happened. She had
avoided that, at least, and now that Morfin was dead, it never would happen.
The other memories—however unpleasant—would fade with time. She could make the
castle into what she wanted. She glanced at Tom once again, smiling in spite of
herself as she imagined the pleasure he would feel upon seeing the ancient
library.
And other things, too, Merope thought. Tom did have a taste for grandeur and
luxury, which had only accelerated over the previous year when he was placed—as
she always knew he would be—in Slytherin House. She had been unable to provide
him the finer things in life, but now, perhaps, she could. In her view, he was
born to be a lord. He had the bloodline on both sides, and he had a way about
him—as much as Merope was loath to admit it, he was pretty good at getting his
way in matters that did not involve expenditures of money. He was a natural
leader… and, unimportant as it might seem, he looked the part. Yes. She would
claim the estate for his future as much as for her own.
She took up a quill, dipped it in precious ink—thank Morgana that I am a witch
and can make it last longer, it’s so expensive—and began to compose her reply
to Snape.
===============================================================================
Severus Snape was not an excessively handsome wizard, Merope noted when she met
him at the wizarding tavern. Then she immediately rebuked herself; she was
certainly nothing to look at. Snape at least was distinguished-looking.
She was not ashamed of her clothing, at least. It had cost her the entire
month’s salary, but she had ordered a new witch’s robe of olive green, lined in
light grey. The sleeves had more fabric than she was used to; she had not had
sleeves like this since she was a girl. It was a gamble to spend this much
money, certainly, a gamble that she would indeed be granted the title; but it
would not do to appear as a pauper before Lord Malfoy—even though he probably
would know that she was. Even so, this would indicate that she could dress the
part of a noblewoman and comport herself with dignity. The best clothing Tom
owned was his school robe, but it was good cloth and well-cut.
Snape introduced himself and bowed to her. She could tell that he was
attempting to smile, but it came across as a grimace instead. What would a
smile look like on Snape’s face? she wondered as she and Tom followed him into
a small, quiet alcove off the common room of the tavern.
They took their seats, and Snape began to speak of the legal and political
situation, unrolling several documents to support his words.
“Lord Armand Malfoy is an aged wizard now,” he explained, “and although he does
preside over the Wizards’ Council, he tends not to issue decisions until he has
concurrence from his son, Abraxas, and the other high members of the council.”
“And who are they?” Merope asked.
“Arcturus Black, whose family was one of the first English to take the oath of
loyalty to Malfoy; and Rodolphus Lestrange, who is Norman, and is married to
Black’s niece.”
A scowl had formed immediately on Tom’s face. Merope looked at him curiously.
“His daughter Adelaide was hateful to me all year,” he muttered sullenly.
She gave him a sympathetic look and returned to the conversation with Snape.
“Do you expect any trouble from them?”
Snape considered, his dark eyes flashing as his gaze darted about the room to
ensure no one was listening. “They will disapprove of your marriage,” he
finally said, “but the law is clear that you have the right of inheritance, and
that your son—since he is a wizard—has that right as well.”
Merope felt queasy all of a sudden. She hoped that they wouldn’t publicly
interrogate her about whyshe had married Riddle. She could tolerate
disapproval, as long as she got the estate in the end. That was what mattered.
“I greatly appreciate your help,” she said to Snape. “Now I must ask you some
questions about the castle and fief itself….”
He nodded, expecting this.
She took a deep breath. “Is the castle… in good repair? And what of the land?
My late brother… I fear that he might not have….” She trailed off.
Snape seemed to understand what she was asking. “Your late brother’s private
rooms are somewhat disordered, yes, but he kept to himself toward the last, and
the rest of the castle is as it has always been. The fields and village are
also in decent shape… and populated, yes,” he added. “I expect that they will
be glad to have a new ruler.”
I’m sure they will, Merope thought. She knew all too well how her family had
traditionally treated the serfs, villagers, and servants. Authority was
necessary, but there was no need for capricious cruelty. She resolved that she
would be fair to her subjects. She would be a noble worthy of the title.
===============================================================================
Armand Malfoy brought the Wizards’ Council to order. There was not a
significant audience. Although it was much easier for wizards to travel great
distances than it was for Muggles, most wizard nobles did not, apparently,
choose to attend these meetings unless they personally had business with the
Council, since they did not have votes on the Council itself.
They used to, Merope reflected. She had read about it. Before the Normans had
come—before the Muggle king had installed Malfoy—there had been the Wizengamot,
in which all the great families were seated. Malfoy had dissolved it and
replaced it with this small Wizards’ Council, consolidating power unto himself
and his closest advisors.
Merope gazed around the mostly empty chamber. She and Tom were there, of
course. Severus Snape was not, since he was merely the steward of the property.
Merope was on her own, but she had taken the discussion with Snape to heart.
The notes that he had given her helped too. Beside her was a family she did not
recognize, a well-dressed married couple and a young girl with exceptionally
bushy brown hair. On the other side of this family was… oh dear… that was
Caractacus Burke, a London shopkeeper with whom she had had dealings years ago
and had avoided ever since. He had cheated her out of most of the value of a
family artifact, she had belatedly realized after selling it to him, but it had
been a transaction to which they had both agreed, so she was unable to take
action against him. What business did hehave here?
She would find out at once, for Burke’s name was the first that Malfoy called,
in his thin yet somehow menacing voice. The wizard rose, bowed, and began to
speak.
“Your esteemed lordships,” he began, “I come here today to lodge my petition
for the manor at Delafield, which is currently held in trust by the noble Black
family.” He gave a deferential nod to Arcturus Black, then shuffled in his
robes and withdrew a paper, which he began to read. “I have documents
expressing the family’s intention to give this manor to my aunt, Belvina, but
she passed away last year….” Burke trailed off as Black studied him pointedly.
Black considered his response. “I know of what you speak. My family did
consider this manor an extraneous property, one that we had to maintain at our
own expense for little return. It was our intent for your aunt to have it, you
are correct, but she died before it could be put into a deed. You will need to
provide evidence that you are the nearest kin to her, but following this
requirement, we grant your petition.” He turned to Armand Malfoy, who promptly
thumped his gavel.
Burke looked startled that his request had been granted with such quick
dispatch, but he did not complain. He bowed awkwardly and took his seat.
That was quick, Merope thought.
“The next order of business before us is….” Malfoy studied the agenda before
him, and a dark smirk appeared on his lined face. “Lord and Lady Granger, of
Castle Grange, assert that their daughter is a witch and petition for her to be
granted admission to Hogwarts School in Scotland.”
There were several dark, anxious looks from the members of the Council as the
Granger family stood. The father began to speak.
“Your esteemed lordship,” he said, using the same form of address to the
wizarding lord that Burke had, “it is true: Our daughter, Lady Hermione, can
perform magic. We first discovered it when she summoned a book from a high
shelf in our library. She wished to read it, so she… made it slide out of its
place on the shelf and fall into her hands.” He glanced at the bushy-haired
girl, who was standing boldly, completely unabashed, looking almost as if she
wanted to speak for herself. “But she then informed us that she has been able
to ‘make things happen’ for years but had never spoken of it to us.”
“Indeed,” Malfoy drawled. “Are you and your lady magical, then?”
“No, my lord, we are not.”
Malfoy smirked. “Then how did you know that it was magic?”
“We have a very expansive library, my lord. We knew of the existence of magic,
and it is from one particular book that we learned of the existence of this
school in Scotland.”
Malfoy turned to his son Abraxas. They shared grins, which Merope did not like
at all. “In that case,” Armand Malfoy continued, “you understand, then, that we
must first prove that your daughter cando magic. You,” he said to the girl.
Her parents bristled at this disrespectful form of address, but they did not
dare interject. The girl, Hermione, stood forth without fear.
Malfoy picked up a silver coin. “Summon this coin into your hands.”
She gulped as she regarded the coin. “My lord, I have never done magic on
command before,” she said.
He looked at her impassively. “You wish to attend magic school, do you not? You
will have to command your magic there. Move the coin, my lady.”
Merope was struck with the unfairness of the request. An untrained witch, who
knew no spells, doing a specific thing deliberatelyby magic? In a tense
situation, at that?
Hermione was staring hard at the Sickle, her young face contorted with
concentration. Time continued to elapse, though, without any movement from the
coin.
Malfoy picked up his gavel and prepared to slam it down to dismiss the
Grangers—but just as he did, the Sickle shot across the podium into Hermione’s
hands. The members of the Wizards’ Council stopped cold.
Hermione stared defiantly at the aged wizard lord and held up the coin. “There
you are, my lords,” she said, a hint of pique in her words in spite of her best
attempts to keep it out.
Merope glanced at Tom, who was sitting beside her. He had shown little interest
in the proceedings so far, but when the girl had done this—had performed
wandless, nonverbal, specificmagic on command—his attention was piqued. He was
regarding Hermione with new respect.
A sour, malevolent smile appeared on Malfoy’s face as he brought his gavel down
at last. “The Council acknowledges that Lady Hermione Granger is a witch.”
A bright smile appeared on her young face.
“The Council denies the family’s request for her to be instructed in magic at
Hogwarts School.”
Her father sputtered. “What? Why, my lords? She did as you commanded. You
acknowledged yourself just now—”
“She is a witch,” Malfoy repeated, silencing the man, “but according to your
own account, neither you nor your lady can perform magic. We received your
petition well before this Council opened, and we took the opportunity to
research your family history. There is no record of anyone in the past century
being a witch or a wizard. This means that, although Lady Hermione is a witch,
she is also a Mudblood.”
“I beg your pardon—” Granger might not have known the word, but he could tell
that it was manifestly offensive. He began to reach for his sword.
“I did not give you leave to speak. This is our word for witches and wizards
who are of muddyancestry—and you would be advised not to do that. Your swords
are of no use against the wand of a wizard. You saw for yourself what your
daughter can do.” Malfoy stared Granger into submission. “This is our rule,
Granger. If you cannot prove that an ancestor of yours was a witch or a wizard,
then we cannot allow your daughter to attend our school.”
“She must have inherited it from some ancestor,” Granger insisted. “We just…
don’t have records that far back… because they were lost in the invasion….” He
trailed off, realizing that Malfoy was of Norman descent himself.
Malfoy did not let the mistake pass. “Invasion? We are civilizing this country,
Lord Granger. I understand that your own mother was the daughter of a Norman
lord, and that your lady is also partially descended from civilized people.”
“You are right, my lord, and I apologize. But you must understand—where else
can she learn to control her magic?”
“That is not our problem, but do you want to know what would be our problem?”
Malfoy leaned forward, smiling maliciously. “It would be a problem if your
daughter attended school and ensnared a noble pureblood wizard. It would be a
problem if she, by being ‘different’ and ‘forbidden’ due to her blood,
disrupted a purebloodnoble family’s prior arrangement. Yes, she is noble—but
from a wizardingstandpoint, her children would be half-blood at best. If that
happened, then where would we be?” His words were tinged with affected
innocence and concern, but it fooled no one in the family.
Hermione exclaimed in indignant self-righteousness. “My lord, I am not—”
“Did your parents not teach you not to speak out of turn? Be silent,” Malfoy
sneered.
Granger rallied himself for one last attempt. “If that is the problem, then
would she not be allowed to enter the school if she were betrothed to a
wizard?”
Malfoy stared at Granger, brought up short for a moment, but then that ugly
smile appeared on his face again. “Isshe? No? Then I wish you luck, Lord
Granger, in finding a highborn wizarding family who will take her. Purity of
blood is important to us. Perhaps a commonerwizard… but is that what you want
for your noble daughter, to cook and clean a commoner’s cottage, since you
Muggles do not allow your girls to inherit?”
Merope had been listening to the proceedings with growing indignation. It was
obvious to her that the order to move the Sickle was not made in good faith,
but to raise false hopes in the family—and the girl—only to increase the
humiliation that they would face. She noticed, with dismay, that Hermione’s
face was about to crumple at Malfoy’s latest words.
Malfoy thumped his gavel again. “Your petition is denied. Be seated.”
The Grangers sat down, and Hermione buried her head on the table before her.
After that, Merope almost did not want to go before these people, but there was
nothing to be gained by failing her own hearing. It would not help their
situation for hernot to receive her birthright. When Malfoy called her name,
she and Tom rose with great dignity and stood before the wizards.
“Merope… Riddle,” Armand Malfoy said, his lip curling at the surname. “You are
the last of the Gaunt family, and you claim the title of Baroness of Hangleton
and the associated lands and castle.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Malfoy’s blue eyes flickered to Tom. “And you have an heir who is a wizard.”
“I do, my lord. As you must know, he is half-blood, but he is a wizard who
attends Hogwarts. Master Salazar Slytherin, one of the founders of the school,
was my great-great-grandfather.”
“I do know.” Malfoy studied her. “I understand that you ran away from your
family to marry a Muggle.”
Merope steeled herself. “Yes, my lord. I was young, and it was… romantic.” I
will not speak of my father’s threat. I won’t.
“Because of this disobedience, you would not be considered for inheritance if
any other heirs of your family remained,” Malfoy said severely, “but I agree
that it is important to keep the ancient wizarding families in command of their
holdings. We grant your petition.”
Merope let out her breath all at once. “Thank you, my lord.”
“You understand that, if you remarry, and your husband is a Muggle, he will not
be permitted to hold any title, even that of consort. And if you marry a
wizard—any wizard, even a Mudblood—then any children from that marriage take
precedence over your son.” He peered at Tom, then back to Merope. “Are you
still able to conceive, LadyRiddle?”
Merope stared at Malfoy in astonishment. How dare he ask a personal question
like that? And to ask it right after addressing her thus—the first time anyone
called her by the title—was insulting. Armand Malfoy, it appeared, seemed to
want to be deliberately insulting and demeaning to his petitioners. “Yes, my
lord,” she said through clenched teeth. “I am. And I do know of the wizarding
law regarding blood status precedence of heirs.” This was one of Malfoy’s first
changes to English wizarding law, the requirement that when a witch or wizard
had offspring with more than one spouse, the children of “superior” blood
status had precedence.
“Very well. By the power vested in me by the Crown, I confirm you as Baroness
of Hangleton.”
Merope was almost overwhelmed, but she stole a glance at Tom. Pride was
suffusing his handsome face. This is ultimately for him, she thought as she
made her way to the front to offer her oath to Malfoy. This is for him.
===============================================================================
After the Council dismissed, the Granger family tried to keep to themselves in
the outer chamber. Malfoy, his son Abraxas, and his friends pushed through them
dismissively and then pointedly disappeared, as if to rub in their faces that
they could not. The young lady was keeping her face hidden by that cloud of
hair, and as Merope saw them, her heart went out to them.
Lord Granger noticed her. He visibly steeled himself and addressed himself to
her. “I offer you my congratulations, my lady,” he said quietly.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said. She glanced at the young girl. “I am sorry for
how that turned out for you. But….” She hesitated. What couldshe do? She wanted
to do something, but what? Finally something occurred to her. “I remember very
clearly that there is a family library of magic in the castle. I expect there
are also family wands. Your daughter could learn the art from sources other
than the school in Scotland.”
Tom’s ears pricked up at the mention of the library, but he said nothing.
Merope continued, instantly resolved on her sudden idea. “Yes,” she repeated,
“that is an option… and I would like to offer my invitation to you and your
family to visit the castle at Hangleton, once I have established myself and my
son there.”
Granger glanced at his wife and daughter. “Are you proposing to establish a
rival school in your family castle?”
Merope hesitated. “That was not… I meant private tutelage… but….”
Granger looked at her compassionately. “Perhaps you need time to consider it.
You have just come into the property, after all. I accept your preliminary
invitation,” he bowed, “and look forward to resolving the details.”
Merope smiled faintly. “You will receive a formal invitation from me in due
time, then. It may come from… an unconventionalmessenger.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“An owl.”
Granger exchanged a look with his wife. “Indeed. Is that a magical custom?”
“It is.”
“Very well, then.” He rallied himself, taking a deep breath. “I was honored to
have met you, and I wish you well. A safe journey to you.”
“And to you as well.”
===============================================================================
The castle was as Merope had remembered it. It had expanded significantly since
the founding of Hogwarts and the Norman invasion, and had changed in
architectural style as well, but that was still before her birth. Wearing the
emerald-studded tiara always worn by female regnants of the House of Gaunt,
Merope surveyed the great hall in her new olive-green gown, still the best
clothing that she knew for a fact she owned—though she hoped that her old
clothes were still here, that her father and brother had not destroyed them,
and that they fit. Magic could do something to improve the fit of clothes, but
it was easier when clothes were too big than too small.
Tom’s room would be one near the library—because of course it would. He would
have a new bed commissioned, a great wooden bed with heavy green velvet drapes.
There was more than enough money to pay for it. Severus had gone over the
accounts with Merope as soon as she had taken up residence in the castle.
Either Morfin had been frugal—which Merope could not believe—or Severus had
concealed from him the true income to the barony from the farms. That was what
Merope rather suspected.
If that was true, she thought, then it meant that Severus was not entirely to
be trusted… at first. He had acted upon his own judgment about his lord—a
correctjudgment, but still, an independent one—and it meant that she would have
to earn his loyalty. She wondered for a moment about the sudden digestive
ailment that had carried off Morfin, but instantly dismissed that idea. Severus
had been nothing but helpful to her. He had wantedher to be the baroness. He
might have had little loyalty to a man like Morfin, who manifestly had not
deserved it, but he had retained loyalty to the family.
The family. Merope had mixed feelings about that concept. She had a right to
this place because she was a Gaunt, but she had decided that she would not
emphasize the name too much. Tom bore his father’s name, and the name of Gaunt
was extinct in the male line. Merope’s claim was based on her own birth, but as
far as she was concerned, she was starting a new house named Riddle. She had
even decided to rename Castle Gaunt itself. Parselhall, she had determined. It
recognized their heritage without shackling them to the Gaunt name and all its
depravities.
She smiled again, surveying her new domain once more. It was difficult, and she
did not really know what she was doing—she had to rely on Severus to understand
a lot of the clerical and legal matters—but she was determined to learn. It
would get easier with time.
The Granger family was to arrive here in an hour for their visit, she recalled.
Tom had better be ready to receive them. He was holed up in the library, as he
had been every day since they moved into the castle. She could not fault him
for his thirst for knowledge, but he still needed to look the part of his new
station. She walked toward the library to find him.
That room was vast and tall, with two stories of bookshelves holding books,
scrolls, tied codices… and some magical artifacts. Tom was ensconced in a
corner, reading a dusty tome and frowning as he mentally translated the text
from whatever its original language was. Merope drew near to him to see what he
was reading.
He glanced up at her and smiled thinly. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that we’re
descended from Morgana?”
Merope glanced at the book, which was, indeed, a family history. She winced.
The family claimed descent from Morgana le Fay through Mordred, conveniently
glossing over the paternity of Mordred… but only because of Arthur’s Muggle
status. The… practice… had certainly not gone extinct in the family after that,
and she did not really want Tom to learn about it just yet. Slytherin’s own son
and daughter, the very ones who had first sworn fealty to Malfoy after
Slytherin’s departure from the island—
“It never seemed relevant,” she said briskly, taking the book away from Tom and
ignoring the surprise and disapproval in his face.
“You told me about Slytherin.”
“You were going to the school at Hogwarts, placed in Slytherin House, a
Parselmouth, and the man was your great-great-great-grandfather. Morgana was
six hundred years ago. It was not relevant.”
“It’s relevant now,” he muttered, looking longingly at the genealogy that his
mother was levitating to the top of a shelf.
“Our claim does not rest on that, though,” she pointed out. “Now, I see that
you are wearing your fine robes—”
“Yes, Mother, the Granger family is supposed to be here. I know.”
Merope smiled in spite of herself. She should have known that he would be
organized. I’m just nervous, she told herself. Just nervous about all this.
Everything will be all right, though.
Chapter End Notes
     I realize that many, perhaps most, versions of the Arthurian legend
     do not have Morgana as the mother of Mordred. For all we know, she’s
     not his mother in this AU either. Merope and Tom believe that the
     documents in the castle are accurate and therefore that they are
     descended from Morgana le Fay through Mordred (who, in this AU, was a
     wizard). They also believe some other unusual things about the
     legend. Let’s just say there’s a reason Merope didn’t use the name of
     Merlin, a wizard who served a Muggle king, in her mental monologue.
     They’re not going to investigate further, because they don’t doubt
     those documents. There were several versions of the Arthurian story
     floating around by this era even in real history, and their family
     legend is another account that may or may not be “true.” The point is
     that they believe it, and later on, this belief will be highly
     important to certain character actions.
***** Beginnings of a Beautiful Friendship *****
Chapter Notes
     As usual, thank you so much for your interest in this story! I am
     going to try (operative word being "try") to make regular updates on
     Friday evenings... or Saturdays at the latest, because I anticipate
     it being a long story, and I don't want to drag it out in time too
     long.
     About this chapter: Despite how seemingly nice it is, don't be
     fooled. This is not going to be a sugary love story. I am also going
     to say, Tom is nicer than he is in canon (or in 1940s Time Turner
     AUs, including my own Choosing Grey) because in this AU, he was
     raised by his mother. But he still has certain essential qualities
     and interests.
Lord and Lady Granger had a grand library of their own, but they were awed by
the scale and antiquity of the Gaunt library nonetheless. Once introductions
had been made on both sides, and the Grangers and Riddles sat in the vast room
to get acquainted, they still could not help but gaze in awe at the walls of
books and other, older manuscripts.
Hermione could barely sit still. Merope suppressed an amused smile as she
periodically forced herself to be attentive and “ladylike,” only for her eyes
to stray hungrily toward a shelf, to squint, and then for her gaze to slowly
move side to side as she read the titles from a distance.
At last Hermione’s own parents noticed what was happening and pleaded silently
with Merope to let her have a closer look at some of the texts that she so
obviously wanted to see. Merope was not trained in Legilimency, but she did not
have to be. It was obvious to her. Still smiling, she turned to Tom, who was
sitting boredly next to her.
“If our guests do not mind, Tom, would you show H—Lady Hermione some of the
volumes while we continue our discussion?” she asked. The Grangers flashed
grateful looks.
Tom gave his mother a querying look, but he did not refuse. He knew what he was
“supposed to do” and usually did it—though Merope suspected it was usually just
to keep up appearances. Having been raised in a poor household by only his
mother, Tom did seem to feel that he had to prove himself, to appear well-bred
and gentlemanly before other people to stave off at least some of the scorn for
their circumstances—their formercircumstances. Now it seemed he would keep it
up to prevent people from thinking that he was unfit for his new status. It
would serve him well now, at least, Merope thought.
Offering his arm to Hermione, he escorted her impassively to a part of the
library that was out of the adults’ hearing. The books were also primarily
newer, and dealt with more recently developed magic. He stopped in front of a
particular shelf and ran his thumb over the books, finally selecting a
particular one. Brusquely he pulled it out of the shelf and handed it to
Hermione. Its title was The Foundations of Magick.
“If my mother really does intend to foster you here under some sort of private
tutelage, then this is probably the first book you should read,” he said to
her. He gestured for her to sit down in the nearest chair.
Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully as she took her seat and opened the book. Tom
walked to a nearby bookshelf and began scanning it, but in a moment Hermione
interrupted his focus.
“Are you going to get a book for yourself?” she inquired.
Tom had not actually intended to read. He turned around, hands empty, and
hesitated for a moment, debating privately about what to say in response—or
what to do. Pride in his grand new home warred with mild annoyance at the
presence of these guests—this interloping girl in hislibrary. Yet at the same
time, he thought, perhaps this was an opportunity to show her how much magic he
knew. At Hogwarts, the only people who were impressed with his innate talent
and quick mastery were the professors. The students in Slytherin House
disapproved on principle of a half-blood in their midst, even one who was a
direct descendant of the founder himself, and it did not seem to matter that he
could outperform them. Hermione, on the other hand, might be impressed.
Finally he turned back toward the chair where she sat and took his seat in the
chair opposite hers. She had opened the book and was already devouring its
contents. A smirk formed on his face. Thatwas certainly familiar….
He watched her read for a moment, then decided to speak up. “If there is
anything you need explained, by all means, ask me. Or… demonstrated,” he added,
unable to stop himself.
She regarded him evenly, as though she saw right through his offer. “I
wascurious, though—do you by any chance have extra wands? I thought that
perhaps I might….” She trailed off.
As it happened, Tom did know the answer to that. The wands of his uncle and
grandfather were in the library, and out of curiosity, he had tried using them
shortly after he and his mother had moved in. The effect was… not pleasant. He
vastly preferred his own wand. Still, Tom supposed that Hermione might like to
try anyway. He went to the table where they lay, picked up his uncle Morfin’s,
and returned to Hermione with it in hand.
Merope looked up from her discussion with the Grangers, somewhat surprised. She
had not forbidden him from touching these wands, and she had no objection to
him letting Hermione use them either, but this situation could result in a
magical accident. Shewould have to fix the problem if that happened. Her
conversation with the Grangers faltered as they all watched.
Hermione frowned as Tom handed the wand to her. “This is… odd,” she remarked.
“It’s almost as though the wand resists me—but that can’t be so, can it?”
Tom smirked. “Actually,” he said, glad to show off his knowledge, “you will
find that there are many kinds of magical objects that react to you of their
own accord.”
Hermione swished the wand through the air experimentally, not casting a spell,
just getting used to the feel of it. “But they don’t actually think or have
feelings.”
“Some do.”
Hermione gazed skeptically at him. “Is that reallyso?”
“Oh, yes. Wands and staffs are the most commonly known type. There is a debate
among wandlore masters about whether they actually ‘think,’ but it’s well known
that the wand chooses the wizard, and so there’s a kind of match.” He drew his
own and smiled smugly at her. “That’s how it is with my wand. And even if you
decide you don’t think that wands actually know anything, there is another
class of magical objects that unquestionablydo.” He smirked, proud that he
could wow her with his education.
“Well, that doesn’t sound very safe to me,” Hermione said primly. She regarded
the wand in her hand. “Whose wand was this?”
“My uncle’s. My grandfather’s is on the table too, if you would rather try it.”
“I think I’ll try this one first.” She read another paragraph or two quickly
before looking at Tom again. “I’m sorry—I would just like to understand
something better. This estate belonged to your mother’s family? And they
disinherited her for marrying a man who could not do magic?”
Tom nodded. “The word for them is ‘Muggle.’”
“But this is what I don’t understand. Did he die? What happened to his family?
You lived with your mother in London for your whole life. Why did your father’s
family not take you in? Were they poor?”
Tom scowled. “No. He died, and they didn’t like us because we coulddo magic.
They are landed knights. They just didn’t approve of magic. That’s what Mother
told me.”
Hermione looked indignant. “That’s terrible to send their own flesh and blood
away like that. Your parents would have been a perfectly eligible match.
Well—at least your mother got the estate, and it’s all hers now and she is a
baroness. It serves them all right.”
Tom gazed impassively at her. “I wouldn’t marry a Muggle. I think most people
are better off keeping to their own kind when it comes to that sort of
relationship.”
Hermione looked abashed that she had clearly made Tom uncomfortable. She
glanced at the book. “I would like to try this spell—changing the color of
something. It seems very useful.”
Grateful for the change of subject, Tom turned his attention to watching
Hermione attempt spells and—occasionally—helping her with the precise movement
of the wand. She had a very good grasp on Latin and had no difficulty
pronouncing spells, he noted. As she experimented with magic, he found himself
enjoying her company, and not just to play the role of a superior or a teacher.
She was very talented and a quick study. It was a shame that horrid Lord Malfoy
and his Wizards’ Council of invaders and toadies would keep her out of
Hogwarts. Slytherin, perhaps, had not been quite correct on this matter, Tom
considered—or perhaps he just had not known any witches or wizards of Muggle
parentage who were very skilled. Tom could see the point of keeping students of
limited ability out of the school, and maybe Slytherin had assumed that all
Muggle-borns would be unskilled if the only ones he knew were. He would have
changed his mind if he saw what Hermione can do, he thought, watching her
levitate a book on the first try.
===============================================================================
Merope had been watching the interactions. Surreptitiously, she had cast a
spell to allow her—and only her—to hear what the young people were saying. Tom
was a bit of a show-off, she knew, and not always the most considerate of
others when he was exhibiting what he could do or what he knew. She wanted to
know immediately if he acted in a way to make Hermione feel bad.
She had been concerned when he had brought Morfin’s wand to Hermione. That was
very unlikely to work well. Morfin had been a pureblood supremacist, and his
wand was probably still hostile to someone like Hermione. He had died fairly
recently, after all. Tom might have done better to bring Marvolo’s wand out….
Ah, so they were discussing the main theory of wandlore. Tom was showing off,
but at least he was not being obnoxious about it, and Hermione was sincerely
interested.
“Another class of magical objects that unquestionably do.” Merope’s eyebrows
rose at that. What had he been reading? If he was alluding to what she thought
he was…. Well, she reflected, he is thirteen and a half, almost a man. He’s old
enough to know about old ritual magic, even dangerous kinds. The realization
that her son was so nearly grown—tall, handsome, solike his father—made Merope
feel a pang for a moment, but that was life.
She winced as he told Hermione that his father was dead. It was not true, as
far as she knew… but what good would the truth do him? Better that he think his
father was dead than know otherwise.
“I wouldn’t marry a Muggle.”
Merope stared at the young people. An idea had just entered her head as she
remembered something specific that Armand Malfoy had said… and something that
Lord Granger, sitting near her, had said on the same topic.
Merope was not sure if she was technically even married anymore. Sir Thomas
might have procured a divorce and simply not informed her of that fact—but then
again, he might not have. Either way, she had no plans to remarry, certainly
not to marry a wizard. As the odious Malfoy had pointed out, any children of
such a union would inherit instead of Tom, and she could not stand that idea.
That was grotesquely unfair to him. Tom was the heir of this castle—the last
heir—and that meant he would have to marry.
So Tom thought that people should “keep to their own kind” in marriage.
Although she certainlydid not regret her elopement, Merope could not really say
that she disagreed anymore. It was much better for marital harmony if they had
something as important as the ability to do magic in common with each other.
None of the pureblood noble families would consider him, since he is half-
blood, she thought. And while I myself would not object if he married a witch
of common background, it would weaken his standing further among our new peers
if he did. Besides, he does not seem to have any real friends at Hogwarts, let
alone a sweetheart. He does not form attachments easily.
She looked again at Tom and Hermione. They really were getting along well, and
Tom seemed to be genuinely enjoying the company of a magical person near his
own age who respected and admired him. His fellow students at the school
probably did not, either because he was half-blood or because he was in
Slytherin. The interest he was showing in Hermione was more than Merope had
seen him show for anyone.
She needed to see Severus at once, she decided—but first, she needed to ask the
Grangers some questions privately. There were several Muggle servants in the
castle, but after a moment’s consideration, Merope decided to summon the two
house-elves to watch Tom and Hermione because of the magical factor. Then she
ushered her guests to her new study.
Lord Granger regarded her curiously. His lady, on the other hand, was giving
Merope a very shrewd and canny look. Merope wondered if the woman anticipated
exactly what this was about. It was possible.
“I could not help but notice,” Merope began awkwardly, “that our children were
getting along extremely well in the library.”
The Grangers nodded.
Merope decided to get right to the point. “I did not see a ring on your
daughter’s finger, but I have to ask—what are your plans for her? If you have
decided?”
Lady Granger smiled and nodded, apparently confirmed in her guess. Her husband
spoke. “My daughter, as you probably know, is our only child, and… we do not
expect there will be others. Your people—that is to say, people like our
daughter, people who can do magic—may allow women to inherit fiefdoms and hold
ruling titles, but unfortunately for our Hermione, we ‘ordinary mortals’ do
only if there are no other heirs. My estate and title will go to my younger
brother’s son. We might have considered a match between them, but he is her
first cousin through both father and mother—my lady’s sister is my brother’s
wife—so it would be inappropriate.”
Merope winced and then hoped that they did not notice. Her own ancestors had
been guilty of rather worse.
Granger did not appear to have seen. “Besides, he is much older than our
daughter and was tacitly betrothed before she was even born. In short… we have
been concerned about Hermione’s future. If I may say so, we were especially
concerned when she manifested magic, at least until we learned that there were
noble heirs at that school in Scotland. But… we have no ‘plans’ as yet for
her.”
Merope smiled. “Do you remember what Lord Malfoy said at the hearing?”
Granger regarded her evenly. “I do indeed. Are you proposing a betrothal
between your son and our daughter? Do you believe this would satisfy Malfoy?”
Merope demurred. “I will need to review the law on that point to be certain,
but even if it does not, what do you think of the idea in itself? To be frank,
my lord, my son will need a wife, and your daughter will need an establishment.
She would be lady of the castle someday here. The fief is wealthy, and it is
verysecure, protected as it is by magic. As for the young people themselves,
they appear to get on… they have magic in common… they have noble blood… and if
they were betrothed, she could be fostered here without question or scandal and
learn magic here even if the law does notpermit her to go to Scotland. What say
you?”
Granger took a deep breath. He gave a single glance to his wife. She nodded
briefly, and he began his reply. “I think it is a sound idea. It is comforting
to think of her with a husband who is… like her… and who is also of suitable
background. I am sure that you will be teaching him about matters of ruling…?”
“Of course,” Merope assured him. As soon as I learn what I need to know myself.
“I dare say that Hermione knows a great deal about it herself,” Granger
continued, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “She is certainly a
sponge for knowledge. Yes. This is a good idea. Of course, we will need to
write out the details in a formal contract, including terms for her dowry, an
expected date for a marriage, mutual defense clauses, and… personal property?”
he added uncertainly.
“Certainly, she could have property that was her own. In the wizarding world,
witches always own their clothes, jewels, animal familiars, portable property,
tools of magic—like a wand and a cauldron—and books. That is our law—and even
Malfoy formally declared her to be a witch, so it applies to her. Anything
else, any items of furniture, could be designated hers too, if you wish.”
The Grangers nodded, very pleased. “We should get to that as soon as is
practicable, then,” he said.
“Yes—but let us first see what is officially wizarding law about admission to
Hogwarts,” Merope said. She was also pleased with how smoothly this had gone.
She had barely been in possession of the title for a week, and she had already
negotiated an agreement with another noble family, provided for her son’s
heirs, and helped a deserving young woman. It made her feel proud of herself.
I haven’t told Tom about it, she thought—but she instantly pushed that idea
away. He had to know that something like this was likely. His schoolmates in
Slytherin were mostly aristocratic. Besides, he obviously liked Hermione.
Merope called a servant to the study to summon Severus. In a few minutes, he
was there, solemnly bearing the official Codex of Wizarding Law for their
country. He set the heavy tome down on Merope’s desk and turned to the section
concering Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He soon located the
relevant passage.
“‘The wizarding Viceroy to the Crown has an agreement with Scotland to admit
young witches and wizards from Britain and Ireland to Hogwarts School,’”
Severus read, “‘and such admission is granted to all young persons of magic who
have a grandparent who is a witch or a wizard.’”
“That,” Merope interrupted, adding as an aside to her guests, “is because
occasionally magic skips a generation. It’s rare, and oddly it seems to be more
common in children of pureblood couples, but it does happen. You may continue,
Severus.”
“‘Out of concern for the purity of blood of our most ancient families, other
young witches and wizards, who cannot claim descent from at least one magical
grandparent, are not permitted to attend the school unless they are in an
official betrothal to a witch or wizard who is of documented magical descent.’
It is straightforward, then,” Severus said.
Granger shook his head in disgust. “That is completely illogical,” he declared.
“Lord Malfoy wants to protect the ‘purity of blood’ of wizarding nobles, so he
does not allow young people like our daughter to enter this school—unlessthey
are betrothed to a witch or wizard! If he thinks a girl like my daughter is of
‘impure blood’—and I very much wish I could meet him sword-to-sword for
that—then he shouldn’t want her to marry a wizard at all. There’s no sense in
this law.”
Merope smiled grimly. “I don’t think that he meant it to make sense. Before the
Conqueror, the school admitted all young people who could do magic. I think he
wanted to leave the possibility in the law, to maintain some degree of faith
with the magical population of England, while creating a legal stipulation that
hardly anyone could meet. A Muggle-born of common birth probably would not know
any families whose children had magic. There were some old magical families who
refused to swear fealty to Lord Malfoy and lost their lands, but they are
scattered, and it’s their custom—if their children marry witches or wizards at
all—to let their children find their matches at Hogwarts.”
The Grangers nodded in understanding.
“Most wizarding nobles are pureblood and marry amongst themselves. Tom, in
fact, is the only one I can think of who is not….” She trailed off, suddenly
cognizant of the fact that Severus Snape was half-blood and his family had been
unfairly stripped of their noble title. She would restore it, then, and soon.
“In any case,” she concluded, “I think that in writing this law, Malfoy simply
did not consider the possibility of a Muggle-born of noble birth, who would
have the resources of a noble—orthat there might one day be eligible wizarding
families who did not share his views. He must have thought he had stripped all
of those of their titles.”
Granger shared another look with his wife before asking a final question. “Do
you believe that, perhaps, Malfoy will care less about this situation because
your son is half-blood? Since he claims to be concerned with keeping
‘pureblood’ magical families that way, perhaps he is not concerned with anyone
else?”
“I hope that is the case. What do you think, Severus? You have studied the law
for several years.”
Severus considered. “I think that you are correct: Malfoy cares more about
‘purity of blood’ in families that he already deems so, especially nobles. But
he might—probably will—be angry at the fact that you didexploit his own law,
and he does have the right to change it. I do not think he will… but you will
not be making a friend of him by doing this.”
“Armand Malfoy would not count anyone in this room as a friend,” Merope said.
“I am not worried about someone who will never approve of any of us. This
provides for the young people’s futures, and it should get Lady Hermione the
magical education that she deserves.”
===============================================================================
The Granger family had planned to stay at Parselhall for several days, so that
evening, they were shown to their quarters to prepare themselves for dinner.
Merope would have her talk with Tom in private before the meal, and Hermione’s
parents could do likewise with their daughter.
Hermione had been reluctant to set Morfin Gaunt’s wand aside in the library
even though it still had not taken to her. She had just had such fun practicing
magic. The whole day had been wonderful. Even if she didn’t get to go to the
school in Scotland—as lovely as it sounded—she surely would get to learn magic
in this castle.
And something else had occurred to her as the afternoon wore on, and she and
Tom were left in the library under the care of the house-elves. Such
interesting creatures, Hermione had thought upon seeing them. She rather wanted
to know more about them… but in good time. As soon as possible, she meant to go
to her parents and ask something of them.
She likedTom—Lord Thomas, she supposed, but he wanted to be called Tom. He had
started their acquaintance playing the know-it-all, but she perfectly
understood why someone who knew a great deal would want to talk about it. She
had been called a know-it-all herself by her cousins. His knowledge was very
helpful, and it had not taken long for his attitude to her to change and become
more familiar and friendly. She could tell how impressed he was that she had
natural talent for magic—and, if she were honest, she was proud of herself too.
She reallywanted to go to school with him in Scotland.
And perhaps there was a way! She had been so humiliated and upset at the
hearing that she had thought little of what that Lord Malfoy had said to her
father, but she remembered now. Maybe they could fulfill his terms. She was
almost thirteen years old, and she knew that her parents were starting to think
seriously about finding a match for her. Tom was extremely suitable, and a
wizard at that. And she liked him, and thought he was… handsome, she thought
with a blush… and she was pretty sure that he liked her.
At least, he saw her as a potential new friend.
That evening, Hermione knocked on her parents’ bedroom door in the Riddles’
castle with a question in mind and nervous flutters in her stomach. When they
admitted her and inquired as to what she needed, speech momentarily failed her.
Then she recovered her courage. She smiled at her parents. “I wanted to thank
you for bringing me for this visit, first,” she said in her most ladylike
tones. She supposed it was not usually necessary to be soformal with them in
private, but the occasion seemed to demand it. “I had a lovely afternoon with
Lord Thomas. I think we are going to be friends… and I….” She trailed off as
heat crept unwanted into her cheeks. Suddenly she could not keep up the façade
of formality. “Could you please try to set up a match with him? I haven’t heard
anything from you about anyone else… and it’s very suitable… and it might even
mean I was allowed to go to the school of magic in Scotland. And I like him,”
she ended in a near-whisper, her face flushed red.
Her parents exchanged a single look and burst into laughter. Hermione wanted to
melt into the floor in embarrassment.
“Oh, my dear, we were not laughing at you,” her mother quickly assured her,
getting up from her chair and giving Hermione a quick hug. “We were merely
laughing because… we have already done it.”
Hermione gaped at them. “Already?”
“His lady mother mentioned the idea to us after we left the library and those
creatures replaced us as chaperones. She had observed your… acquaintance… as
well. We were going to tell you before we have dinner with the family, and it
is going to be announced formally at the table.”
Hermione was still blushing hotly, but she could not stop smiling. “That’s
wonderful! I’m so glad. I like him, and we have a lot in common…. Do you think
I will be allowed to go to school?”
“We hope so. The law says you will be, so you will go unless this Lord Malfoy
changes it specifically to prevent you from going. And Lady Riddle does not
think he would do that.”
Hermione wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself in joy and
satisfaction.
===============================================================================
As she prepared herself to break the news to Tom, Merope became nervous. Tom
was a very strong-willed and independent young man, and he was not always easy
to read. It had certainly lookedto Merope that he was enjoying Hermione’s
company, but what if it had been merely for appearance’s sake? Tom certainly
knew how to act the gentleman.
The only way to know is to tell him, she thought. And I’ll have to tell him
anyway, because I could not possibly surprise him with something like that at
dinner.
While their guests were preparing, Merope steeled herself for the discussion.
She knocked on Tom’s bedroom door and entered when he responded.
His desk was piled high with books. Merope was tempted to look at them, to see
just what he was reading, but she had a more important matter at hand. She took
a seat in a chair with green velvet cushions and regarded him seriously.
“Tom,” she began, “I need to talk with you about something very important.”
He glanced at her. “I’m listening.”
She took a deep breath. “Our guests and I noticed today that you and Hermione
were enjoying yourselves in the library, practicing magic. She is quite
talented.”
“Yes,” he said briefly. “I was… impressed. I know that we’re descended from
Slytherin, but I rather wish she could go to school at Hogwarts. There are many
people there I know who, frankly, deserve to be there a lotless than someone
like her. They’re barely wizards and witches, or they barely try to learn
anything.”
“Yes… I do not doubt that,” Merope agreed. She leaned forward. “Well, as it
happens, Tom, we think she willbe allowed to go to Hogwarts now. You might
remember what Lord Malfoy said at their hearing, that she would be allowed to
go if she were spoken for by a wizard.”
Tom’s face suddenly turned stony. “Mother,” he began, his words cold, his tone
a warning.
Oh, no, this is bad, Merope thought, but she knew she had to finish it. “And to
be quite honest with you, Tom, now that you are the heir to a title, you will
have to marry someday. You have not seemed to have prospects at Hogwarts, and
you were getting on so well with Hermione… so her parents and I have written up
a betrothal contract for the two of you—”
Tom exploded. “Are you completely mad? I just met her!”
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me! You wouldn’t marry now, anyway. Both of
you would finish your magical education. And no, I am not ‘mad.’ This is hardly
unusual, Tom.”
He stood up and stormed aimlessly around the room for a moment, then turned and
glared at her. “It’s ‘unusual’ for me.”
“You are a noble heir now—the lastheir, the only heir. You have to marry. You
are the only one who can continue the line after me.”
Tom stared at her in fury. “Right. That’s one thing, but then as soon as we
become nobles—literally, within one week, you decide to choose my wife for me?”
“Wealth and power come with new responsibilities!” Merope exclaimed. “It’s
important to marry well—to have bonds of alliance, and to have a partner of
similar background. Even though we have lived a hard life, you have noble
blood, and a fine mind, and so does Hermione. Neither Muggle nor wizard nobles
would respect you if you married a peasant.”
He gazed at her scornfully. “You know, Mother, I seem to recall that you didn’t
let your father choose your husband, and that hewas a Muggle.”
Merope blanched. “My father—” She collected herself before she blurted out more
than she intended. “My family, as you know, held the sorts of views that Lord
Malfoy holds. I was disinherited because my husband had no magic. He was a
knight, though. It wasn’t unsuitable.”
“So your father didn’t have someone else in mind for you?” Tom said
skeptically.
“My family disapproved of everyone except pureblood wizards who shared their
opinions exactly,” she evaded, trying to put enough confidence into her words
that Tom would think it answered his question negatively without actually
having to lie to her son. “Do you have a sweetheart at school, Tom? Is that
it?”
“No,” he bit off sullenly.
“And I know you were enjoying your time with Hermione.”
“We got along well,” he admitted. “She’s very smart. We could be… friends.” The
word sounded unfamiliar to his own lips, but not unpleasant. He continued, “But
I just don’t like that you want to pick my wife for me. Perhaps Hermionegrew up
expecting that, but I did not.”
Merope sighed and rubbed her temples. That was a fair point, and even though
her mind protested that she had exceptional circumstances, she was feeling his
prior charge of hypocrisy. “All right, Tom,” she said. “I’ll make a bargain
with you.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“The agreement states that, barring urgent necessity, there would not be a
wedding until you and Hermione have completed your education. That’s likely at
least four years from now, perhaps five, if she requires five years. That is
several years for you to getaccustomed to the idea and to her… and it should
let her obtain the education that should be hers by birthright. If, at that
point, you still truly do not want to go through with it, I will break it off
for you.”
Tom considered, then nodded. “All right. It’s a deal.”
“You are not to tell her—or anyone else—about this deal,” Merope warned. “The
Grangers would consider the betrothal agreement a bad-faith contract if they
learned. Frankly, so would Lord Malfoy and the Wizards’ Council. And since I
ammaking this bargain with you, I expect youto make an effort to become friends
with her, and I hope that it will become more, though I know that cannot be
forced.”
Tom nodded stiffly. He had four to five years. That was plenty of time; he did
not have to worry about this now. He wasn’t going to be married off
immediately. “Regarding Malfoy,” he said. He met his mother’s eyes with his
own. “What if Malfoy changes the law in response to this gambit, so she isn’t
allowed into Hogwarts anyway? He can do that.”
Merope took a deep breath. “I think he won’t,” she said. “He has this
justification written in the law because he understands that, prior to the
Norman conquest, Hogwarts allowed all witches and wizards to attend. To avoid
unrest, he must not have wanted to write a law that completely defied three of
the school’s founders, so he left an opening… but he assumed that any Muggle-
born youth would be of common blood and would be isolated from commoner magical
families. I think he must not have ever considered that Muggle nobles could
have a magical child. But… even if I am wrong, and he does change his own law
in response to this… then Hermione will still have the protection and alliance
of our family, and she canbe tutored here… and everything else that I said
still holds true.” She glanced at him and noticed, with some relief, that some
of the anger had dissipated from his features. “Tom, you admitted yourself that
you enjoyed spending time with her today. I ask you, please, for however long
you remain annoyed, not to take your frustration out on her. Don’t think of it,
if that helps. Just think of her as a friend—as she was this afternoon.”
Tom considered for a moment before nodding.
“We are going to announce this at dinner, which is why I wanted to tell you in
advance. I expect it will be served in about half an hour. Please be washed and
ready.”
***** The Many Forms of Pride *****
Chapter Notes
     So far, so good with keeping to my schedule.
     Thank you for your support! In case you are worried about whether a
     story spanning 4-5 years will actually be finished at this pace of
     storytelling, know that the pace of this story is going to pick up
     very soon. I just need to describe certain events as they unfold.
The grand banquet hall had stone walls over thirty feet high and narrow-paned
windows. A vast banner bearing the crest of the Gaunt family hung on one wall.
Merope intended to design a new one for the new house she was founding, one
that reflected the Gaunt and the Muggle Riddle crests but incorporated new
elements too. The castle’s staff and field workers ate at the common tables,
with the family, their honored guests, and their comparatively few
vassals—Marvolo and Morfin had driven away many—at the high table. They had
eaten there most days since moving in, and naturally they had to eat there for
important occasions such as this one, but henceforth they would usually eat in
the much smaller private family dining room.
There was real hope among the common folk that a new era was upon them, and to
them, their new Lady Riddle’s choice to contract an alliance with a family
completely unallied (and unrelated) to the deceased Gaunts boded well. It still
seemed right and proper to them that the future consort of the heir could do
magic—they were accustomed to being ruled by witches and wizards—but neither
their new baroness, her heir, the heir’s betrothed, or herparents seemed to
exhibit the attitudes that had left Marvolo and Morfin with no sincere mourners
among the peasant folk. Merope had made her announcement to all her subjects,
to much applause from them and a stare of utter malevolence from Tom that,
fortunately, no one had seen. Tom’s thoughts were entirely different to those
of everyone else in the banquet hall.
What good is her bargain with me if she announces this in such a public way?
Tom fumed. Over the years, he had had more self-confidence than his mother, so
he had used this to get his way about a great many things: the freedom to
wander about the wizarding district of London, to read any books of magic that
he could understand, to save up his pocket allowance to buy a serpent familiar
eventually. He sighed inwardly at the thought of the small pile of Sickles and
Knuts in an earthenware jar. He had not saved the necessary amount, and now
that they had come into the title, his little bank—which had formerly seemed
like so much money—was laughable. He could buy many animal familiars now if he
liked; his years of saving had ultimately meant nothing. However, his mother
had let him do it, even though he had to talk her down from her opposition to
the idea of a snake in the house. Apparently she had bad memories of her
brother and father setting adders on people for amusement.
Tom had been good at getting his way for any matter other than luxury expenses
that his mother could not afford, but now, suddenly, his mother had revealed
that she had a bullying side of her own—and a manipulative one, to boot. How
else to explain what she had done, telling him that she would let him out of
the contract, and then making a public announcement—and creating the
expectation in all her subjects that the marriage would happen—that would make
breaking the contract humiliating in the extreme?
He stewed and seethed through dinner. He was seated next to his mother on one
side, who sat proudly with the emerald tiara of her regnancy on her head and
wearing a gown that he did not recognize, made of rich embroidered taupe linen.
Apparently she had finally found her old wardrobe sometime between her
conference with the Grangers and dinner. On his other side was Hermione, who
was pink in the face and smiling in a way that Tom found insufferable. Happy as
a lark in spring, he thought sourly as he shoveled down a spoonful of
vegetables. And the blushing of her cheeks—and her reluctance to meet his eye,
only to blush even redder when she did—made it clear that her happiness was not
only about presumably being permitted at last to attend Hogwarts. It infuriated
him.
This frizzy-haired noble brat immediately sinks her claws into me, as if I’m
property, he fumed. Though I suppose that is exactly how they see their
children. What was it Mother said, that I had to marry to carry on the line? As
if all I’m good for is siring offspring—or a means to get someone else into
Hogwarts.
He swallowed the last of his main course, which was thoroughly chewed in his
steaming anger. While Hermione’s face was still hidden by that cloud of hair,
he gave her a glare. He may have promised his mother not to take out his
irritation on Hermione, but she had promised him something too, and it seemed
very much to him that she had not meant it. Well—if Hermione kept her distance
from him, he would not be rude to her, but if she started to attach herself to
him as if they had chosen each other, then she would suffer the consequences.
===============================================================================
The Grangers needed to rest after their travel, so Tom did not have the chance
to see Hermione again that evening. He expected that he would continue to fume
in his bed late into the night, but to his surprise, he realized upon getting
under the covers that he would fall asleep quickly. The bed was not ideal; it
was one discovered in an otherwise empty room and temporarily moved into his
new bedroom until the grand oak bed he had requested was finished, but it was
good enough for now. He could not imagine why he was tired, but perhaps anger
had exhausted him. He was dreaming soon.
The following day, he awoke and immediately remembered the previous day’s
events. By now, his memories of the enjoyable moments with Hermione were
becoming corrupted by his anger at his mother. Even thinking of Hermione’s face
brought a renewed surge of fury with the entire situation, and at that
particular moment he was utterly certain that nothing would ever allay it.
Proximity to Hermione would only annoy him further, since it was obvious to him
that she believed she liked him, but distance from her would further rewrite
his happier memories.
So although it was not usually in Tom’s nature to openly pick a fight—he
preferred subtlety and cunning—he rather welcomed the interaction with Hermione
that their parents blatantly arranged mid-morning for them, by going into the
grand library once again and the adults pointedly secluding themselves.
Suppressing the visible signs of his anger, Tom gave Hermione an impassive,
utterly emotionless look and turned to the bookshelves before him. He perused
the titles with no intention of actually selecting a book.
Hermione was confused for a moment, but then she gave Tom a tentative smile and
attempted to move closer to him.
He grabbed a book at random and yanked it from the shelf. Holding it as though
it were a precious gold goblet, he carried it to the nearest chair and sat down
without a word to Hermione. To his exasperation—but, he had to admit, mean
anticipation—she followed him, affront and hurt spreading over her face.
Finally he met her eyes. He raised an eyebrow and said, with the haughtiest air
of annoyance that he could muster, “Do you want something?”
Hermione was taken aback. “I wanted to read with you. What’s the matter? Are
you unwell today?”
“I am perfectly well,” he declared icily. “I prefer to read in solitude. Find a
book of your own if you must.”
Her eyebrows narrowed. “You read with me yesterday. Are you sureyou feel well?”
“I am certain. If you want to read, I am not stopping you.”
Hermione gazed at the book he had opened in his lap. He was not looking at the
pages. She then noticed that the chair he had chosen to sit in did not have a
match. The closest chair for her was twelve feet away.
“If you are well, then I don’t understand why you’re being so impolite to me
and wanting to avoid me. We shouldspend time together, considering the
situation between us,” Hermione explained officiously.
Tom felt pettily satisfied that she had brought it up herself, in such a
pedantic tone, and with a personal accusation into the bargain. Perfect, just
the provocation I wanted,he thought. “That’s a long time from now,” he
objected, “and I didn’t ask my mum to pick a girl for me to marry.”
Hurt filled Hermione’s face. “You don’t like me?”
Irritation surged momentarily in him at what he first took to be an insincere
sympathy plea, but then he realized that she really was upset. His face grew
stormy as conflict entered his mind. “It’s not that. You’re a powerful witch,
and I… enjoyed your company yesterday,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to think
about getting married to anybody… and she chose for me.” He gazed at her with
narrowed eyes. “So did your parents. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“I always knew it was probably going to happen,” she said haughtily. “I was
born when my mother was thirty-one, and now she’s too old to have any other
children—so my cousin is going to inherit from my father. At some point… I
won’t be able to live in the castle unless it’s on his charity, so I had to
marry somebody.”
“That’s stupid,” Tom sneered. “There are plenty of witches who inherit. My mum,
for one.”
“Well, then I’m glad that I’m a witch, because I like the wizards’ and witches’
tradition better. But I will inherit. I will get my parents’ personal
property—but not the estate, family gold, or title. My cousin already had a
fiancée, and he is my first cousin through my father and my mother, so I
couldn’t marry him. I have to be provided for somehow.”
“You’re a witch. You can provide for yourself.”
“They would consider it wrong for a person raised noble to have to do that.”
“My mum was raised noble, and she did,” he retorted.
“She shouldn’t have had to,” Hermione said decisively. “Your lady mother’s
family was horrid to her. They never should have treated her as they did. She
didn’t make a bad match. They dispossessed her only because your father wasn’t
a wizard… and now she has the title, so ha! to them.”
“I still don’t see why that means your parents had to pick for you… or my mum
for me.”
“That Lord Malfoy wouldn’t have let me go to magic school unless I was pledged
to someone, and your mother wanted to help my family… and they wanted to help
her.” Hermione’s lower lip quivered. “Our parents are nobles. It’s just what
they do. Many families don’t care if their children are friends, or even know
each other, but my parents promised me that they would not send me to someone I
disliked….” She trailed off. “You said we were friends. I thought you liked
me.”
Tom scowled, well aware that she was trying to manipulate him into saying it.
“What if you meet a boy at Hogwarts that you like better than me?”
Hermione was shocked. “It would be wrong for me to consider other boys now!”
“That’s not what I asked. What if you did anyway?”
She stood up haughtily and glared at him. “I won’tlike any boy better than you,
because I am a lady, and ladies are honorable and keep their word.”
“It wasn’t yourword.”
“Yes it was. I went to them after we left the library and told them I wanted
this… and I would bet that your mother asked you and you said yes!”
Tom glared back. He really wanted to tell Hermione about his mother’s bargain
with him, but she would tell her parents, and that would get him in serious
trouble. “It was only because she pressured me,” he said cuttingly. “She said
if I didn’t, Lord Malfoy wouldn’t let you into Hogwarts.”
Hermione sniffled and looked down to try to hide it.
“She also said that I would need to marry someday because she had the estate
back and I was the only possible heir. And I guess since I am half-blood, no
pureblood witch girls would consider me, especially not the noble ones. You’re
lessthan half-blood, though, so it’s no wonder that you’re so happy at this
prospect.”
Hermione was on the verge of crying. “Why are you being so hateful?” she
exclaimed. She turned away as the tears fell from her eyes. “You liked me until
our parents made their agreement, so I think you still like me and you’re just
angry at your mother.” She wiped her eyes and whirled back around to face him.
“I’m going to tellyour mother about this, so what do you think of that,Tom?”
“I think you’re acting like a brat,” he sneered. “You keep saying that I like
you. I liked the girl who read a magic book eagerly in the library and wanted
to try spells with a wand. I don’t like whiny brats who tattle.”
Silent, irregular tears still coursed down Hermione’s face, to her clear
embarrassment. She was flushed red, and her eyes fluttered shut at his words.
Tom suddenly realized that her parents might be able to see this. Nervously he
looked in the direction of the Grangers and his mother, across the large
library. Indeed, they were gazing at him and Hermione. It was not clear to Tom
if they could tell that Hermione was crying, or if they had heard the
argument—surely not—but he did not want them to walk over. Hermione’s parents
would think ill of him for hurting their daughter’s feelings, and his mother
would be furious with him. Whatever else he might think of the situation before
him, he did not want others to see him as unfit or uncivilized. He had too much
pride.
Hermione’s words suddenly registered in his brain, and he realized the truth of
them: He wasjust angry at his mother and was using Hermione as the target for
it because she had been happy about the circumstances. Now that he was thinking
about it, he realized that he felt no pleasure in making her cry.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I did not actually mean that bit about ‘less than
half-blood.’”
Hermione wiped her face and nodded wordlessly. She would not look at him. That…
bothered him, though he could not say why.
“Hermione,” he finally said, “let’s go to a different part of the library,
where we both have seats.” He offered her his arm.
She took a deep, shaky breath. “All right.”
===============================================================================
Merope did not comment to Tom about what she was sure she had witnessed in the
library. The Grangers—fortunately—had not interpreted it rightly, and had
believed that Hermione was simply embarrassed, but Merope was quite sure that
Tom had said something to her to make her cry. However, a moment later he was
extending his arm to her to walk her somewhere else in the library, and then
they were taking their seats in a cozy little nook. Before long, they were
conversing—inaudibly to Merope, but obviously not in a hurtful way—presumably
about the content of their books. Whatever had happened between them, they had
patched it up. That was a good sign for the future, she decided. Logic and duty
were all very well, but she did not wish a miserable marriage on her only
child.
Perhaps Tom had already learned his lesson. He obviously did not like the
immediate consequences of harboring anger—not even any punishment that shemight
inflict, but just the shame of upsetting a girl whom, Merope was quite
convinced, he did respect and like in some way, and who was not even the real
source of his ire. Merope resolved to be patient. Eventually—and it might not
be very long—his anger at her would dissipate too.
===============================================================================
Dinner that evening was different. They ate in the banquet hall again, since
they had the Grangers as guests, but Tom felt more… tranquil, he supposed…
about being seated next to Hermione. Her appearance was back to normal too;
gone were the flushed cheeks and incessant smiles. That helped. Although he
knew that the choice of seating was deliberate and rather heavy-handed, part of
their parents’ apparent plot to make them spend as much time with each other as
possible during this visit, it somehow felt less obnoxious now that Hermione
was responding in a way that he could respect.
It had hurt his pride to apologize to her earlier in the library, but he did
not regret doing it. He wanted her to back off, to stop acting like an
infatuated young girl when they barely knew each other, but he had not actually
meant to insult her. It had slipped out, perhaps because he had heard such
things from his own schoolmates directed at himself for a year. Immediately
after they had come to that accord, and they had resumed reading books and
discussing magic together as they had the day before, he had remembered again
why he had enjoyed her company. It really was nice to be able to share this
interest with someone close in age who was clearly very talented. While he was
talking about scholarly matters with her, he could almost forget that their
parents had devised a legally binding contract that—unless his mother let him
off, or he did what she had done and ran away—would compel them to marry in a
few years.
Perhaps his mother was correct, and he would come to see Hermione that way by
then. It was possible, he supposed, when he thought about the matter
rationally. But that was beside the point. She should not have done such a
thing to him, noble or no. Tom knew that—as she had said—wealth and power
brought new responsibility, but in his view, that only encompassed matters like
ruling a village, planning defense strategies for the castle, or overseeing a
household. It did not include any “responsibility” to marry the person his
parent told him to. That still irritated him.
He tried to push the thought out of his head for now. It would do no good to
pick another fight with his mother, since he had already wrung a concession out
of her and he did not expect she would offer him more. Besides, even if she
did, the only concession she could make above the existing one would be to
repudiate the contract now, and such a shocking reversal—after that public
declaration last night—would undermine her when she was just starting as
baroness, as well as hurting Hermione deeply and preventing her from going to
Hogwarts. He was not overly worried about the Grangers themselves; a pair of
Muggles could do little in retaliation, but he realized he didn’t want to harm
Hermione—or his mother, or by extension himself. It certainly would do no good
to continue targeting his anger at Hermione, who—rightly, he thought, with not
a small degree of arrogance—was pleased to be engaged to him, and was a person
he respected and… liked, he supposed.
He glanced at her as she sipped her watered-down wine delicately. She met his
eye and gave him a shy, hesitant smile. He tilted his head slightly and
returned a half-smile.
===============================================================================
The following day, Merope herself was waiting in the hallway outside Tom’s
bedroom just after he got dressed. Inwardly he sighed. She wanted something
else, did she?
“Tom, please come with me,” she said in tones that were mild but still brooked
no argument. “There is something that you need to do—in my office.”
Wordlessly he followed her into the room that she had set up for
administration, ruling, and study. She closed the door behind him. He wondered
what this was about; why all the secrecy? A house-elf could have relayed a
message….
She gestured at a writing desk on which assorted shiny items gleamed in the
morning light. Tom walked to it and peered at them, his suspicions rapidly
growing as he drew near.
An assortment of rings lay on a piece of black velvet. There were several that,
in Tom’s opinion, hardly counted as jewelry. One, in fact, looked very much
like a piece of heavy wire bent into a circle and sealed together at the ends
by magic. Another was badly scratched bronze. There were a couple of plain
bands, one with a smooth cabochon of what looked like glass, and one that was
actually quite nice—silver with a patina, and an emerald encircled by two
snakes.
“These are the rings that I have found in the castle—other than the family
crest ring, of course.” She was wearing that one, Tom noticed. “You must select
one for Hermione. You should place it on her finger today when we seal the
contract. Don’t worry if it’s the wrong size; I’ll adjust it with magic—or you
can if you are confident.”
Tom’s irritation surged once again. He “must” select a ring? And put it on
Hermione’s finger himself? It was perfectly obvious to him that, protocol or
not, this was another way for his mother to bully him. So much for trying to
forget about it and thinking of Hermione only as a friend, as she had said when
she had first told him of the plan.
Scowling, he gazed at the rings. So she insisted that he pick it out himself
and put it on Hermione’s finger? Well, then, in that case she should not have
included the ugly, cheap, or damaged ones. He would pick one of thoseand
embarrass her. His gaze paused at the scratched and tarnished bronze ring, then
the one that looked like wire.
But if I do that, I’ll look like a savage boor, he realized. I might humiliate
my mother, but I would also humiliate myself. And if Hermione does attend
Hogwarts, everyone will see the ugly, cheap ring on her finger and ridicule me
for giving it to her.
He glanced at the silver-and-emerald serpent ring. It must be fairly recent,
since Parseltongue had entered the family line through Salazar Slytherin. That
would explain the better condition of it, too. He sighed. As much as he hated
to look compliant with all this, that was a ring that no one would be ashamed
of. With a resigned scowl, he picked it up and held it between his thumb and
index finger, gazing at his mother through narrowed eyes.
She nodded in approval—almost, he realized, as though she had planned this. He
wondered if she had created that wire ring herself. She flicked her wand and
summoned a box from the depths of a drawer somewhere.
“An excellent choice,” she said, taking it from him and placing it in the box.
“It belonged to your great-grandmother. Come, let’s present it to Hermione.”
She handed Tom the box and ushered him out of the office.
===============================================================================
The Ceremony of Betrothal was ultimately a private affair, involving the two
families and witnessed and recorded by Severus Snape. Tom was relieved that his
mother had not summoned the entire staff—or village—to bear witness. She and
Lord Granger affixed their signatures to the document, which detailed the terms
for reciprocal defense of each other’s property—though Tom expected that
thatwas rather one-sided, since the Grangers were Muggles—the amount of gold
for Hermione’s dowry, specific property terms, a deadline for a wedding that
was two months after they both completed their magical education, and language
giving the young couple the authority to designate the primary heir from their
future children as they saw fit. Tom nearly choked at that clause and the
picture it put into his head.
They were also going to have Hermione fostered at Parselhall for much of the
time that they were not at school—assuming that she was, in fact, allowed to go
to Hogwarts. There, she would get accustomed to the castle and the distinct
business of the barony of Hangleton.
Prior to the private ceremony, Merope had taken Tom aside to explain this to
him.
“I remember some details from my girlhood,” she had said, “but I have much to
learn about the art of ruling, and I think it best that you learn it with me.
Lady Hermione probably knows more than both of us about that subject, based on
something her father said to me… so it would be sensible for her to be here for
that reason too during the summers.”
Although the legally binding signature was her own, Merope had also determined
that, as heir to the title, Tom should sign the contract too. Nobles who were
witches or wizards kept information about their family affairs and the
administration of their holdings largely within their own circle, so they were
somewhat secluded from the doings of the Muggle nobility… but the Grangers were
not magical. The protections—and as prejudiced as they were, Malfoy’s Wizards’
Council didat least offer protection to the magical community from Muggle laws
that countered their own traditions—did not apply to them. There was the
possibility that, in the confusion of the ongoing Muggle war of succession,
some greedy Muggle might not consider the signature of a woman valid and would
try to force the issue with Lord Granger. That, after all, was part of the
rationale of Stephen’s supporters, that Matilda had no right to rule the
Muggles due to her sex. The idea of some absconding Muggle pervert getting his
hands on Hermione disgusted Tom.
He wondered for a moment if this was a magical contract… but when he brought
his quill to the parchment, he could not detect any magic at all. A good thing.
He would have been outragedat his mother if she had done thatto him. Trying to
keep his countenance and not betray his frustration at his mother
outmaneuvering him—and manipulating his pride and his sympathy for a person of
magic—Tom signed his name to the document. His mother and Lord Granger pressed
their family seals into wax drops at the bottom.
He then presented the silver ring to Hermione, holding his wand in his other
hand. He was perfectly capable of shrinking it to fit her delicate fingers, and
he did not want his mother to embarrass him further by doing that in his stead.
His great-grandmother must have worn this ring into her old age, when her
fingers would have grown arthritic and the joints knobby, because it seemed far
too large to fit a woman’s fingers otherwise. He had already shrunk it a bit,
in fact, so it would at least appearto fit—mostly—on Hermione’s ring finger.
She was smiling broadly once again as he slid the ring on her finger and
resized it, a white smile of genuine pleasure. In that moment, the thought
flitted through Tom’s mind that she was… rather pretty. Perhaps it was the
green gown she was wearing—he always liked green—but still, that smile….
He knew protocol, so he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles
lightly and quickly. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and then her smile
shifted slightly, with one corner of her mouth a bit higher than the other. It
was lopsided, but somehow this looked even more genuinely happy than the
previous one.
I hope she does go to Hogwarts, Tom thought.
===============================================================================
The Wizards’ Council.
Armand Malfoy and the other members of the Wizards’ Council were not especially
happy to see either the Grangers or the Riddles again, and to the credit of his
intelligence, he apparently deduced why they were there together before being
told, based on the sour look on his wrinkled face.
“My lord,” Merope said, her voice carrying a new confidence, “we come before
this Council to inform you that Lady Hermione Granger, whom you previously
declared a witch, has fulfilled the terms of both the Council and the law
regarding admission to Hogwarts School. Her family and I have entered an
agreement involving our children. As you may notice, Lady Hermione wears the
betrothal ring that my son selected for her. We request a reversal of the
Council’s previous decision concerning her acceptance at Hogwarts.”
Malfoy turned to his son Abraxas and to the other members of the Council, utter
fury written on his face. Abraxas stepped forward, seeing that his father was
too angry to respond.
“Lady Riddle, we will confer in private and inform you of our decision
forthwith.” With no further comment, the Council huddled in a circle and cast
spells making their discussion inaudible to the Council attendees.
The Riddles and the Grangers stood unafraid. The worst that could happen was
that the Council would arbitrarily change the law, and if that happened, it
would be unfortunate for Hermione—unfortunate that the young people could not
attend school together and have that experience in common—but Hermione could
still be educated in some manner at Parselhall.
Although they could not hear, they could observe. Armand Malfoy was
gesticulating wildly, a blood vessel throbbing visibly through the thin aged
skin of his neck. He was furious, and apparently advocating to change the law
despite the Grangers’ fulfillment of its requirement.
This is more than just the decrepitude of aging, Tom thought as he observed the
old wizard’s pinched face and withered skin. Dumbledore doesn’t look this bad
and he’s about the same age as Malfoy. It is meanness that did that to him.
Abraxas Malfoy, who was elderly in his own right but did not yet display the
kind of visage that his father did, bore a more reasonable and conciliatory
expression on his face. So did Arcturus Black. Rodolphus Lestrange, by far the
youngest member of the Council, looked displeased but resigned. Unless the old
man overruled all of them, it appeared that Hermione would go to Hogwarts.
The Council broke apart and returned to face their petitioners. Armand Malfoy
did not go to the podium to speak; he was still too visibly angry. Instead
Abraxas Malfoy came forward.
“It is the decision of a majority of the Council that your petition will be
granted,” he said curtly.
Hermione burst into that pretty white smile again.
“Do be aware,” he said in severe tones, “that her continued study at Hogwarts
School is contingent upon the continued existence of this betrothal agreement.
Should it be voluntarily renounced… or should young Riddle die—”
Tom could hardly believe his ears. Was that a threat? Instinctively he reached
for his wand, just to feel its reassuring presence, though he had no intention
of using it at this moment.
“–then Lady Hermione Granger will no longer be permitted to be tutored at the
school. Furthermore, if she fails to be declared a master by the instructors of
the school, she will not be permitted to bear instruments of magic in public
places unless she is a widow with one or more magical children that would need
to be controlled. But your petition isgranted, and as such, she will be
permitted to acquire her own wand and any other personal tools of the art that
she needs. And now, this session of the Council is concluded. You are
dismissed.” Abraxas turned away abruptly, followed by the rest of the Council.
***** The Winds of Change *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so much for all the reviews and new favs/follows! Here we
     have a long chapter with a lot of little bread crumbs dropped, so to
     speak. The story also begins to get a bit darker (though I should
     again warn that this is nowhere close to how intense it will get
     later).
See the end of the chapter for more notes
After the departure of the Grangers and Riddles, the Wizards’ Council members
gathered in a private room and discussed what had just happened. Armand Malfoy
was still beside himself with anger at—as he saw it—being taken advantage of.
“I cannot understand why you would not consent to changing the law,” he
groused. “You know that it was not intended to actually allow Mudbloods to go.”
“Nevertheless, the law is what it is,” Arcturus Black said. “We could change
it, but at what cost? You may not wish to see it, my lord, but our power is
fragile with this Muggle unrest. The Conqueror appointed you as his viceroy,
but he is dead, and several of his sons, and we have been just separate enough
from the Muggle nobility’s affairs—”
“And rightly so!” Malfoy exclaimed. “It was wise of us not to get caught up in
that!”
“Of course. We should have as little to do with them as possible, which is why
I hate that any Muggle nobles have produced a magical child. But because we
have had so much autonomy, the Muggle crown now has little interest in
protecting us—the members of this Council, I mean. The Grangers and Riddles
might have tried to appeal to one of the Muggle pretenders to overrule us if we
had changed the law. They might even have incited the common magical folk to
their side… the Mudbloods especially… and that would probably mean that the
Muggle war would involve us.”
Malfoy scowled, which was incredibly unpleasant on his face. “I still don’t
like it. Even if that is what the law says, it isn’t what we meant. They know
what we meant, and they’re defying us.”
“I agree with Lord Black that we had little choice,” Abraxas Malfoy said, “but
I think it means that we should have changed the law before. We’ll have to
change it after this girl completes her schooling.”
“Unless this Mudblood becomes a symbol for others of her kind to rally to!”
Armand exclaimed. “Even in that hive of rebellion, Godric’s Hollow, the
Mudbloods have generally accepted the idea that Hogwarts is not for them.”
“Some of them still marry into magical families,” Black pointed out, “at least,
once the young witches and wizards return from Hogwarts to the village. It’s
surprising, really, that they have not already exploited the law in that
village. I suppose the common folk don’t have the property or power to dangle
before their children to get them to accept arranged betrothals. And, as you
say, my lord, the direct rule of Godric’s Hollow by your grandson Lucius has
changed expectations there.”
“But I am still concerned about the effect this may have,” the elder Malfoy
complained. “And now, an old noble family is going to be dirtied even further
than it already was.”
“The son is half-blood,” Black mused. “There are no others in the family. It is
tragic that an ancient family is no longer pureblood, but it was not of our
making. Of course, there is the theoretical possibility that Lady Riddle might
have another child, but that is unlikely. What pureblood noble would touch a
thirty-one-year-old blood-traitor?”
“True,” grunted Rodolphus Lestrange. “I can’t think of any who’d want a witch
who’d fucked a filthy Muggle. That dirt probably never comes off.”
Black chose to ignore the younger man’s vulgarity. “Perhaps, then, we should
simply… give up the line of Gaunt. The family name is at an end, anyway. If the
boy marries the Mudblood, then who among wizards would consider their children
as matches? They would have to look to the Muggle nobles. Eventually, they
would become all Muggle. Perhaps we should let them suffer the just fate of
blood-traitors.”
Lestrange fell silent, evidently considering the idea. Abraxas Malfoy appeared
to contemplate it as well.
Then Armand Malfoy wheezed out his displeasure. “They could just as easily
change our customs by their bad example! The woman was from a fine old family,
but it did not prevent her from turning blood-traitor. Others might follow.
Then they wouldn’t have to turn to Muggles! We should eliminate the danger
now.”
“With all due respect, your lordship, I cannot support killing the young people
at school,” Black said. “The common families and the dispossessed are already
simmering. An act like that could be a catalyst for organized rebellion—and
with the Muggles at war over their throne, and making chaos of their own
accord, it would be hard for us to put it down.”
Malfoy scowled, but he could not deny Black’s point.
Abraxas spoke. “My grandson Draco is going to attend Hogwarts. He, with your
daughter”—he inclined his head to Lestrange—“could lead Slytherin House and
keep the influence of Riddle at a minimum. The Mudblood will, of course, be
Sorted somewhere else.”
They seemed to accept this. Although Armand Malfoy was still dissatisfied, he
trusted to the leadership abilities of his own great-grandson to take care of
the situation.
===============================================================================
A few weeks later.
Hermione was delighted to go to the shops in the wizarding quarter of London to
purchase her supplies. Merope and Tom knew what she would need, and Tom had up-
to-date knowledge of what subjects were taught at Hogwarts.
“Magic,” he explained authoritatively to Hermione as they strolled down Diagon
Alley with his mother, “is like any field of knowledge in that it is constantly
growing. The subjects taught at Hogwarts have changed since the four Founders.
Now we have Charms and Curses, Potions and Alchemy, Divination,
Transfiguration, Ancient Languages, Arithmancy, Herbalism, and Animal
Husbandry—of magicalanimals, of course.”
“That sounds very interesting,” Hermione agreed in heartfelt tones. “Which ones
are you learning?”
“All of them,” he said with a smirk.
“Of course,” she chuckled. “I mean to learn all of them too. I completely
understand. Which are your favorites, then?”
“Charms and Curses, Divination, Ancient Languages, and Arithmancy.”
Hermione twirled her new wand in her hands. “I wonder about the Alchemy part of
Potions and Alchemy… has anyone succeeded at the discipline’s ultimate goals,
then? The transmutation of base metals, or the creation of the Elixir of Life?”
“No,” Tom said. “And I hope no one does. While there was a time not too long
ago when it would have been quitenice to be able to create gold, my perspective
on that has changed recently. It loses its value if everyone can create it with
ease.” He smirked. “And the Philosopher’s Stone is only theoretical. Master
Slughorn, who teaches the subject, likes the idea of the Elixir of Life, but
Irather think that even if it’s possible and it just has not been discovered
yet, it would be a waste of time,” he said arrogantly. “There are two other
ways—”
“Tom, that’s quite enough,” Merope said sharply. “You should remember your new
status and mind what you talk about in public.” To Hermione, Merope said in a
very low voice, “One of them is the drinking of unicorn blood. Although it does
restore health, it places a terrible curse upon the life of one who does it,
which cannot ever be lifted. It is basically considered a supreme act of
diabolism, so people don’t speak of it.” She gave Tom a hard look. “Even those
who like to show off what they know.”
Hermione considered that. “What about the other thing he was speaking of? What
is it?”
“It’s an advanced ritual involving the soul. A great personal sacrifice, which
should never be made lightly or for improper reasons, but reversible. Still not
a topic to be discussed flippantly, such as to show off one’s knowledge,”
Merope said, continuing to glare at her son. “And I can assure you, Lady
Hermione, that these topics are nottypical of what you will learn at Hogwarts.
I did not learn of them until my final year there. Tom has been reading.”
“I certainly have,” he said, affronted. “And I wasn’t going to blab loudly,
Mother.”
Merope sighed and shook her head. Tom was a voracious reader, and she supposed
that she could not fault him for that. It appeared that Hermione had it in
common with him. That was good, she decided. She was in favor of anything that
would help the young people bond. Tom was being civil and gentlemanly to
Hermione. There was nothing to reproach in his behavior to her now, but it was
hard to tell if he truly viewed her as a friend. Merope wanted him to have what
she had not: a marriage between equals in stature and ability, built on truth
rather than lies, and supported by both families so that they would have
stability and prosperity. She wanted them to bond as much as they could before
school began, because she could not imagine them having that much shared time
at Hogwarts. Hermione would not be taught alongside Tom unless she advanced
veryquickly… although she might do just that, Merope conceded to herself.
Still, it was all but impossible to imagine someone of her heritage in
Slytherin House. They would surely be separated, so they needed to become
friends now.
As if reading Merope’s mind, Hermione asked a new question. “How do you get
Sorted into a House of Hogwarts?”
“They put a hat on your head, and it talks to you in a voice only you can hear
and tells you where you should go,” Tom said.
Hermione was startled. “So it’s one of the kinds of magical objects that can
think.”
“Yes.”
She considered. “Can you carry on a conversation with it through your
thoughts?”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “It wasn’t on my head long enough for me to do
that… it told me my House pretty much instantly, not that there was any doubt…
but I have heard of that, yes.”
“I see.” Hermione thought about that for the rest of their London trip.
===============================================================================
As the summer wound down, Tom and Merope settled into their new lives. The
Grangers remained guests at Parselhall for a while, but finally had to return
to their own home. They departed without Hermione, promising to send some of
her personal belongings by a servant until Merope assured them that it could be
done more easily on her part. Her two house-elves were perfect for the job.
After a grand dinner the night before, she saw them off, somewhat bewildered,
but overall pleased with the results of their long visit.
Merope was pleased too, and not just because she had found an eminently
appropriate match for her son over the course of that visit. She had picked
Lord Granger’s brain—and Lady Granger’s, too, although she knew less—about
matters relating to administration, ruling, and establishing herself as a
figure of authority to a fief of peasants who had been cowed by fear rather
than developing true respect. Her own life experience budgeting and managing a
household, however small, was not useless, and she did remember a lot of what
she read as a girl, but the Grangers’ knowledge was invaluable.
She could tell, too, that Lord Granger was correct about his daughter knowing a
lot about the subject herself. If Tom was being a know-it-all and eagerly
showing off his knowledge of magic, Hermione was starting to fall into the same
pattern when it came to political and administrative knowledge.
“It’s very important to keep your vassals happy,” Hermione had mentioned one
day after her parents had departed over a family breakfast, as Merope mentioned
Severus Snape. Hissituation was a matter that kept occurring to her and then
slipping her mind as something else distracted her, some new demand in her
highly demanding new life.
“I have certainly heard of lords who tyrannized their noble vassals,” Hermione
had continued, somewhat officiously—though Merope could tell that was
unintentional. “However, in nearly every instance, as soon as they realize that
their combined power is greater than that of their lord’s, they act to
undermine him or revolt outright. Not that I am suggesting yours would do that
to you,” she had added at once, looking somewhat embarrassed. “But there seem
to be very few loyal vassals remaining….” She had trailed off, obviously
worried that she had offended Merope.
But Merope had not been affronted. Hermione was speaking good sense. In fact,
her family’s vassals haddwindled alarmingly over the years of her exile,
whether because of being executed, sent away, stripped of their noble titles,
or because they themselves chose to depart. A knightly family named Pettigrew
had completely vanished, gone no one knew where. The Carrow family had been
reduced to poverty and had gone to beg favors at the Lestrange family’s court,
after—Severus had hinted—Lord Morfin had attempted to force Lady Alecto and
Lord Amycus to serve him in bed, at the same time, while also trying to make
them engage in activities between themselves for Morfin’s own titillation.
Merope did not doubt it for a second; her brother had been completely depraved.
She intended to bring the Carrows back in some capacity—they would be a useful
source of intelligence about the Lestranges, too, if their loyalty could be
restored—and to track down whoever was left of the Pettigrew clan.
There was no hope for a comparatively new knight who had no family name and had
gone by the Norse name of Fenrir. He had been infected with lycanthropy,
apparently as a sadistic punishment of Morfin’s for some probably imagined
“offense.” It was long suspected that the wilds near Hangleton harbored all
manner of dark creatures, including werewolves. Sir Fenrir had assumed the name
Greyback after being forcibly turned, rumor held, and had embraced his new
condition.
Severus Snape was now the only wizarding vassal that Merope had left—and he had
been reduced to being an informal advisor, when he ought to hold a title. She
held a private ceremony for him to swear the oath of fealty to her. He spoke
manfully, his voice deep and strong, as he took the oath.
When she addressed him as Lord, a hint of a smile appeared on his face—which
she did not fail to notice. It almost brought a matching smile to her own.
Despite raising him to a title, Merope still intended to learn about management
along the way from Severus. He had managed the estate—officially, following her
brother’s death, but she strongly believed that he had managed it in truth for
a long time before that. It would be a challenging line to walk between
maintaining her own authority, treating him with respect, simultaneously
respecting the knowledge he had to offer, and handling… whatever thisnew thing
was. Probably it was just the fact that she had not been admired by a man in
years, so she was now interpreting a smile as that even though it surely was
not. In any case, she could not let it grow, even though Severus now—by her own
doing—had a title. Tomwas her heir, and she could not do anything to jeopardize
that.
===============================================================================
By the end of the summer, Tom was settled into his new life well. In fact, he
mused to himself, it was almost as though he had never lived otherwise. He was
meant for this life, he thought. He had always appreciated grandeur and
splendor. He was born to bear the title of Lord.
There were certainly plenty of perks. His grand new bed was finished, and it
was what he had hoped it would be: dark finished oak with heavy green-and-grey
drapery, to match the colors of Salazar Slytherin and to reflect his proud
Celtic heritage. Every day now, he wore fine robes of rich fabrics and deep
colors. He had a tin tub of his very own that held so much more water than the
pitiful washtub that they had also used for laundry when they lived in London.
And, of course, he had all the books that he had missed for the first part of
the summer, when he first returned from Hogwarts. After being exposed to the
library at the school, he had feared he would truly dread summers—but no
longer. The Gaunt family library was as extensive as the Hogwarts one, and it
was several hundred years older.
He had even become rather complacent toward Hermione. She had entered his life
only a few days after he had taken up residence in the castle, so with the
passage of time—even a couple of months—she became associated heavily with that
in his mind. He was a young wizard nobleman; he lived in a grand castle with
amazing artifacts and amenities; he had a young witch fiancée. It was part of
the same package. He enjoyed her company, especially reading and practicing
magic with her. She would not go to Hogwarts ignorant and incompetent, not if
he had anything to say about it. It would reflect badly on him if she did, but
also, he hated the idea of her intelligence and talent not being utilized
fully. He liked spending time with her, and although he did not feel romantic
feelings for her, he found the annoyance about the situation slipping away as
the summer advanced. He didn’t like the idea of major parts of his life being
out of his control, but his mother had also brought him into wealth and power
without his personal consent, and that was certainly something he didn’t mind.
If he did have to marry, and it was obligatory for him to marry well, then
perhaps it was for the best that his mother had taken care of it, he told
himself. It wasn’t as if any witch at Hogwarts of comparable social status was
considering him, even though he was their superior in ability in every subject.
Perhaps his mother had just saved him a world of trouble. He didn’t have to
“court” Hermione. Really, he had always thought that “romantic courtship” was a
dangerous game in which people put themselves at risk of being hurt, deceived,
misunderstood, and materially harmed in the worst case, as his mother had been.
He didn’t have to play that degrading game to “win a witch’s hand”; he just had
to treat Hermione well, and that he could do. The future… actually being
married to her… well, he would think about that later.
Hermione had a room of her own now. The house-elves had brought many of her
personal possessions that she needed, or to which she had sentimental
attachment, and she had made herself at home. It was almost as if she hardly
missed her parents. Tom wondered at that; he knew that noble children were
often fostered at other nobles’ castles, but Hermione had not been until now.
Perhaps she, despite her affection for them, saw herself as separate from them
to some degree because she could do magic. Tom could understand that. She was
continually surprised in the most pleasant way whenever she learned about
something new that could be done with magic. He liked his fine new bath, but
her joy at having a continual supply of water at her command, at any
temperature she wished it, was amusing to him. She loved the library about as
much as he did. He was certainly proud that their castle was so impressive to
her.
===============================================================================
At last it was time for Hogwarts to begin instruction once again. It was a bit
odd to Merope that the school did not keep its young scholars there for most of
the year, but there were many children whose families needed them for their
small farms during growing season. Hogwarts was certainly egalitarian. There
was nothing like it in the Muggle world.
She sent the house-elves to bring Hermione’s parents to Parselhall to say
farewell to their daughter. It was amusing to watch the Grangers wobble
slightly, disoriented by Side-Along Apparition, but the scene of family
affection as they made their farewells almost brought tears to the corners of
her eyes as she thought of her own son. At least he was not going to move out
of the castle….
The elves bowed to Merope and promptly took hold of Tom and Hermione’s hands to
Apparate them to the quaint Scottish village of Hogsmeade, where the young
scholars would mingle until it was time for them to go into the castle.
===============================================================================
“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed at once as she saw the thatched roofs of the
village—sealed from the elements by magic—and the grand castle in the distance.
Young people were appearing in the street, sometimes with their parents or
other adults, sometimes with house-elves. She immediately noticed that the ones
who were escorted by elves were the best-dressed of the lot.
The nobles, she thought to herself. The idea that there would be so many people
like herself and Tom lifted her spirits. A smile formed on her face—and then it
faded. What if they are all like Lord Malfoy? she thought anxiously.
The house-elves bowed to Tom and Hermione and disappeared with two pops,
leaving them in the village. She turned to Tom questioningly. He had done this
before. He knew what to do, where to go…. She surreptitiously reached for his
left hand.
He looked startled as she tried to hold hands with him. “I’m not going to lose
you,” he said at once, snatching his hand away.
A group of very well-dressed girls had noticed Hermione. One of them, a
beautiful witch with curly black hair, sneered at her, her lovely features
becoming quickly distorted by the ugliness of her expression. She pointed
rudely at Hermione and said something to her friends, who all snickered in what
looked to Hermione to be a very nasty way.
Tom noticed. He glared fiercely at the pack of young witches, then turned to
Hermione. “That is ‘Lady’ Adelaide Lestrange,” he said, a sneer in his words at
the title he did not want to bestow. “She’s Rodolphus Lestrange’s daughter—the
youngest wizard on the Wizards’ Council—and she’s a right hag.”
“She disapproves of my… blood status?” Hermione asked, remembering the term.
Tom nodded. “Mine too. She also disapproves of me because her father is of
Norman stock, and I have none in my family whatsoever, even on my father’s
side. Their kind think we’re barbarians, although theyinvaded ourcountry.” He
glowered at the thought of it and gripped his wand tighter.
“I have some Norman heritage,” Hermione said quietly. “My paternal grandmother
and my maternal grandfather were.”
Tom raised his eyebrows at her. “I see. Well… that would make a difference if
Lestrange cared about it more than she does about magical ancestry. But she
doesn’t, so you’re better off avoiding her.”
“I’d rather stick to you,” Hermione agreed, cheerfulness filling her voice
again.
Tom felt a pang for her. The Sorting Hat was probably going to place her in
Ravenclaw, he would guess, and she would miss him—but it was for the best, he
told himself. He shuddered to think of what the Slytherins would do to a
“Mudblood” in their midst.
===============================================================================
Candles floated in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, and even though Hermione had
lived in a castle all her life—and had lived in a magic family’s castle for the
past couple of months—this was still awe-inspiring.
The Masters of Hogwarts were an interesting assortment, she thought. The
teacher of Potions and Alchemy, Horace Slughorn, was Tom’s Head of House. Albus
Dumbledore, the High Master, oversaw the school at large. Minerva McGonagall,
who was ferociously Scottish, taught Transfiguration. Hermione paid somewhat
less attention to the others, because these three seemed the most striking to
her, but she did note that they included a very short wizard, a strangely
garbed witch with an aura of affectation about her, and a somewhat grubby-
looking woman who, before Hermione had learned of this mysterious community of
people scattered throughout the British Isles, would have been her exact mental
picture of a “witch.” There were others, too. Hermione supposed she would get
to know them all in short order. But for now, she had to be “Sorted,” as it was
called.
A few people came before her. When it was her turn, the teacher named
McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head, and sure enough, it was as Tom
had warned her: The object began speaking. It seemed audible to her, but she
was also sure that no one else could hear. Well, it hardly mattered. She had
made up her mind what she was going to do. It was the only honorable thing she
coulddo, after all.
“You are one of a kind at this school, Lady Hermione,” the Hat spoke. “It took
great courage on your part to come… yes, much courage indeed.”
“Yes,” she agreed in thought, “I suppose so. But you know I should not go to
Gryffindor.”
“Not Gryffindor, eh? Are you sure? Ravenclaw, then? You are quite bright, you
know. Perhaps you would thrive best among those of ready wit.”
The Hat almost seemed ready to bellow out the word. Alarmed, Hermione
interjected. “Not Ravenclaw either!”
“No? You would do well there.”
“Perhaps, but it would be extremely improper for me to be in a common room with
other boys away from my fiancé.”
The Hat seemed to hesitate. “Your fiancé is in Slytherin, of course. Indeed, he
is a Slytherin, literally. You have some traits of the House in yourself—you
have traits of all of the Houses—but you would face difficulties in Slytherin.
You know not what you are about, Lady Hermione.”
“I know that it is full of young scholars who would despise me because my
parents are not magical, but Tom is there too. I need to be with him. And
perhaps by being there, I—we—can change their minds.”
“That is very idealistic of you.”
“Should I not be? Are you casting aside a fourth of your school?” she
challenged.
“My, my, how feisty you are. No, I see value in all the Houses. But it is my
job to Sort the new students where I deem best. You would be with your
Slytherin in Slytherin, yes… but you would truly need him, I fear.”
“I should be with him. I can’t be in a common room with other boys unless he is
there. And… I like him. I want to go through school with him… and I think that
I should set an example for anyone like me who comes after me, that they can
belong in any House of Hogwarts and excel.”
The Hat hesitated. “You are certainly ambitious,” it conceded. “Very well.
Ambition and cunning are not the most prominent character traits of yours yet,
but they will come in handy in your life, and we all have a choice about what
we want to cultivate… so if you are very sure… SLYTHERIN!”
It bellowed out the final word, then fell silent as McGonagall lifted the Hat
from her head. She gazed out at the Great Hall and noticed that, unlike the
Sortings before her, for hers it was deathly silent.
The students of her new House, except for Tom, were glaring at her as if they
wanted to murder her. Tom was regarding her with something very much like
panic.
She made her way to the table. No one moved to give her a spot, except for him.
When she reached him, his expression had shifted to one of utter exasperation.
Fortunately, the witch after her, a girl in fine robes named Daphne Greengrass,
was also Sorted into Slytherin, and she was more welcome there. That was a
positive distraction, and while they were politely applauding, Tom hissed at
Hermione in fury.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
She turned to him, smirking. “I convinced it, you mean.”
He gazed at her. “You have no idea what you just did.”
“I have an idea. I had plenty of reason to believe that no one would like me.
After all,” she said tartly, “Lord Malfoy did not let me into the school at
first.” She fingered the serpent ring on her finger.
He glared. “Watch what you say. His great-grandson is up there, and I have no
doubt he will be in this house. But—fine. It’s done now.”
They watched the rest of the Sorting. The boy of whom Tom had spoken, Draco
Malfoy, was indeed placed in Slytherin, to much cheering and smug satisfaction
on the parts of most of the students there. It was apparently good when the
direct descendant of the leader of the magical community was part of one’s
House.
Unless, of course, one was not pureblood.
Most of the students did not take long to Sort. Hermione’s own Sorting had been
one of the longest. But shortly after Malfoy, a boy with messy black hair took
his seat on the stool, the Hat covering his head, and he sat there for a long
time. The students in the hall began to murmur, as they did every time someone
took a long time. The boy’s name was Harold Potter, which meant nothing to
Hermione, but apparently many people liked to speculate about where a scholar
would go based on where his or her family members had gone.
“Slytherin!” the Sorting Hat called out. McGonagall lifted it off the boy’s
head, and once again Slytherin House was struck dumb. Weak claps sounded from
the table. Hermione added hers.
“Who is that?” Hermione whispered to Tom as the boy made his way there.
“I have no idea. He’s not from a noble family.”
That much was apparent. Although he wasn’t shabby, his robes were not nearly as
fine as hers, Tom’s, or—for that matter—most of the other Slytherins’. He
reached the table and looked around for a seat.
“May I?” he asked Hermione politely, gesturing at the empty space on the bench
next to her. She nodded, and he sat down.
The Sorting continued, with a couple more new scholars for Slytherin, but on
the whole, the House was stunned at what had happened.
“What has become of this House?” murmured Adelaide Lestrange, gazing down the
table with scorn at Hermione, Tom, and Potter.
Tom glared back. “I heard that, you know.”
Draco Malfoy spoke up. “How dare you address my cousin that way, churl.”
Hermione gripped her wand, but Tom had already drawn his under the table,
though Malfoy could not see it. “I am not a ‘churl,’” he said slowly.
“Apparently your grandfather and great-grandfather neglected to tell you of my
mother’s reinstatement to her title.”
Malfoy sneered. “Your mother may be a noble, but she is a blood-traitor, you’re
a half-blood, and that Mudblood there has no business in Hogwarts, let alone
Slytherin House.”
“Your great-grandfather’s own law permitted her to come,” Tom snarled. “And if
you say that again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
“You dare to threaten me?”
“I won’t tolerate you insulting her or my mother. And this is my House.
Slytherin was my great-great-great-grandfather, and I live in his wife’s
castle. And so does she.”
“The mighty have fallen indeed,” Adelaide put in. “And now, on top of having
dirty-blooded nobles in the House, we have half-blood commoners in our midst.”
She sneered at the new boy, Potter.
He ducked down, clearly not expecting Tom or Hermione to come to his defense.
“The Sorting Hat placed everyone at this table in this House,” Hermione
declared, “and there is not one person in the school who isn’t allowed to be
here.” She held up her left hand. “This is my betrothal ring. As Tom said, I am
fostered at his home. My parents rule a fief. I am really not so different to
the rest of you—”
Loud snickering spread across the table at that.
Tom gave her a hard look. He did not actually say “I told you so,” but Hermione
realized that he did not need to.
===============================================================================
The House was divided into a common room, a girls’ dormitory, and a boys’
dormitory. There were not that many students there, so everyone got to have a
small bedchamber to himself or herself—something that Hermione was grateful
for, after that dinner. She was worried that she would be attacked in her sleep
if she had to share a bedroom. But perhaps old Slytherin had decided that it
was undignified for the young aristocrats—the people he undoubtedly expected
would be most of the scholars of his House—to share rooms. Perhaps the school
simply had not grown enough that they had to double up. Whatever the reason,
Hermione was glad of it. She found that her items had been set up in her room
while she was being Sorted and having dinner, so she mustered her faltering
courage, ignored the voice in her head urging her to hide in her new room, and
headed to the Slytherin common room to find Tom.
He was nowhere in sight. Anxiously Hermione looked around the room for him, in
vain. There were many young witches—and wizards—whom she did not know, and
unfortunately, the only people whose names she could remember were Adelaide
Lestrange and Draco Malfoy. She did not want to socialize with either of them.
She had a feeling that their idea of socialization would entail magical
bullying or worse.
The witch who had been Sorted immediately after her then passed by, and
Hermione remembered that she was named Daphne Greengrass. She did not look
overtly hostile. But she had not been introduced to Hermione, and she did not
seem interested in making her acquaintance right now. Hermione sighed as she
sat on a chair, wondering why she had not listened to her own mind and gone to
bed.
The other half-blood boy—the one named Harold, she remembered—stopped walking
in front of her and wavered, gazing at the unoccupied chair next to her.
“You may have it,” she said politely. “No one was there when I entered the
room.”
He sat down. “This castle is a grand place,” he remarked, “though I suppose you
would know about fine places… erm….” He trailed off, realizing he did not
remember her name.
“I am Hermione Granger,” she said kindly. “And you are Harold… Potter?”
“People call me Harry. Pleased to meet you properly. It’s ‘Lady,’ too, isn’t
it?”
She nodded. “I suppose so. I don’t know if that is observed as much here…. My
father is the lord of Castle Grange.”
“Are they really Muggles?”
“They are really Muggles. I’m sure you’re thinking about Lord Armand Malfoy’s
law, but I was allowed to enter because of my betrothal to Tom—LordThomas
Riddle,” she clarified. “He has been here for a year already. He’s the wizard
who spoke up tonight.” She glanced at him. “What about your family?”
He chuckled. “Compared to that, they’re nothing special. My father has a shop
in Godric’s Hollow that my grandfather founded. Godric’s Hollow is a town that
has a large number of magical people.”
“Godric’s Hollow… is that like Godric Gryffindor?”
“Yes, he lived there. He used to be the lord there—his family, that is to say.
Now we’re ruled by Draco Malfoy’s father.” The tone of Harry’s voice indicated
that he was not pleased about that circumstance. “Four generations of Malfoys.
But I was interested in your parents because… well… my mother is like you. She
is Muggle-born. She didn’t go to this school,” he added as he saw Hermione’s
features shift in interest, “but she learned a great deal at home from the
families in the village who did.”
“I suppose your parents were not engaged until later, then.”
He smiled wryly. “They tell me—joking about it now, of course—that they didn’t
get on as children at all, so no. And… I mean no offense by this… but
villagers’ families don’t typically set up matches in advance. It wasn’t ideal
for her, of course… and the Founders, most of them, would have meant for her to
go. I think even old Slytherin would have seen it differently if he had known
someone like her. She’s great at potions—she invented this potion to fix my
vision that I take every fortnight. I can’t see well enough to read without
it.”
“What is going on here?”
Hermione and Harry whipped their heads around. Tom was standing behind the
chairs, glaring at Harry ferociously.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Hermione reassured him at once. “I was just
getting acquainted with Harry Potter. He wasn’t threatening me.”
“I wasn’t worried about him threatening you,” Tom growled. He eyed Harry. “Be
careful how you speak to her, Potter.” He almost spat the name. “And what you
speak of.”
Harry stared levelly at Tom. “I wouldn’t say anything disrespectful of your
engagement, Riddle. Or is it Lord Riddle?”
“You can call me Lord,” Tom replied with a smirk. “And I’m glad to hear this,
and although I think it’s good for LadyHermione to make friends here—especially
in this House—do make sure it stays ‘respectful.’”
Hermione stared at him in amazement, her eyebrows halfway up her forehead. He
gazed back at her, a strangely intense look—possessive without romance—in his
dark eyes, before he broke the gaze.
She stood up. “I should retire to my room, actually,” she said at once. Turning
to Harry, she gave him a weak smile. “I was pleased to make your acquaintance.
The three of us will have to eat meals together, I think.”
Tom muttered something inaudible under his breath, but he did not vocally
disagree. He offered her his arm and escorted her to the door of the girls’
bedchambers.
Chapter End Notes
     To those who have read my other long Tomione fic—yes, I am indeed
     making Arcturus Black a voice of “reason” (or moderation, at least)
     in this wretched bunch. Feels odd to me too!
     About that Diagon Alley conversation (since it probably raised some
     eyebrows): In common with my friend bainsidhe and a commenter on
     ffnet (thank you!), I think that what were later considered the Dark
     Arts were still acceptable in the mainstream, though regarded as more
     perilous than other magic. Also, consider that Flamel’s development
     of the Philosopher’s Stone was over two centuries later, and I
     suspect so were the Peverells and the Deathly Hallows. I can easily
     see drinking unicorn blood being considered the truly horrific thing
     to do, given that it provides only a “quick fix” in exchange for an
     unbreakable curse on oneself, whereas creating a Horcrux could be
     viewed as grim but sometimes necessary. In an era where the Anglo-
     Saxon remnant of the culture was only barely removed from the
     weregild as a fully legal practice, and wasn’t even removed from
     blood vengeance being socially acceptable, I can’t see too many moral
     feathers being ruffled over the idea. The more pious Muggles wouldn’t
     like it if they knew of it, but I can’t come up with a good reason
     why witches and wizards (in general) would consider it detestable,
     given the one alternative they had.
     Finally, I offer a heads-up warning for disturbing content in the
     next chapter.
***** Rite of Passage *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning: This chapter includes scenes of bullying and hazing, and
     this merits a chapter warning because they have been inspired
     directly by events in Stephen King’s Carrie.
     There is also some straight-up elitist classism in this chapter, and
     it will be in future chapters as well, sometimes from sympathetic and
     likable people. I’m not going to modernize that for this fic, and
     this is the one warning I’m giving for it.
     ETA: Again, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed,
     favorited, or subscribed to this story!
Hermione had had tutors before, but never in such fascinating subjects as the
magical disciplines. As it turned out—perhaps because of the policies that the
Wizards' Council had imposed on Hogwarts—pupils were apparently expected to
have some basic knowledge even before they came to the school. They were
expected to be able to clean themselves, which meant knowing water and heating
spells. They were expected to be able to levitate objects and reduce the weight
of heavy loads if need be, rather than struggling with immense stacks of large
books. She was immensely grateful for even the few weeks spent at Tom's family
castle practicing.
Instruction was unlike her previous tutoring at home in another way, too. As
the young lady of the castle, she had had private instruction in languages,
philosophy, history, music, and the like. Here, she was in a room with about
twenty or so other young people, only a few of whom she even knew, since three-
quarters were from other Houses. She did not have the tutor—or the Master, or
the Professor—to herself. It was somewhat difficult to adjust to.
Tom was not instructed in the same groups that she was, either. It was
unsurprising; he was certainly very talented and conscientious, and no doubt
had advanced quickly during his first year. Hermione hoped that she would too.
She observed some of her schoolmates during the first two days, including the
ones not in Slytherin—since it appeared that most of the other pupils did not
associate with Slytherins (or Slytherins did not associate with them; it was
not quite clear to Hermione what was actually going on).
The subjects that involved the most wand usage were Transfiguration, and Charms
and Curses. The instructor for the former was the proudly Scottish McGonagall,
who, it happened, could transform into a cat. Hermione had been the first of
the group to deduce that the gray tabby cat was her teacher, a second before
the animal stretched elegantly and shifted back into natural human form.
Perhaps it was the eyes. Hermione had read about this magic in some of the
books at the Riddles’ house, but to actually see it—
That would be incredibly useful, she thought longingly. I wonder what type of
animal I would become if I could do it. Well, all the more reason to work hard.
The other wandwork course was taught by an exceptionally short professor,
Flitwick, who was nonetheless frighteningly good at his subject. Hermione had
also seen a person like him before, a member of a performing minstrel troupe
that had entertained her household once while passing through. To witness such
a person as a powerful wizard, doing magic, was a new idea for Hermione… but
the ugly reactions of Draco Malfoy and two rather thuggish boys who hovered
near him made it rather easy to accept.
“I can hardly believe that this place is allowing a deformed dwarf to teach,”
Malfoy had sneered after the hour was up. “They’re fit to be court jesters,
nothing more.” The goons had chuckled sycophantically.
No, it had not been that hard at all to side with anyone else that Malfoy
thought “unfit” to be at Hogwarts.
But Hermione’s favorite class quickly became Potions and Alchemy. At this early
stage, there was little alchemy; it was almost all potions. The teacher,
Slughorn, showered praise on her almost as soon as he saw her first work—her
and Harry Potter, who had also produced an excellent potion. He must have
learned from his mother, she thought with some envy. Harry’s work in that one
class was better than hers—but hers was a strong second. That was the objective
truth, even though Slughorn didshow favoritism to young scholars from his own
House. It had not taken long for Hermione to observe that all the professors
did that, though. And really, she could hardly blame Slughorn for being
unimpressed with one of the houses that day, what with the smoldering,
stinking, caustic messes that issued forth from the cauldrons of a red-haired
Gryffindor boy and a second, awkward-looking boy from the lion house. That
necessitated the early conclusion of that subject, as the Potions Master had to
repair the damage to the stone tables.
As soon as the pupils were out of Slughorn’s earshot, Malfoy began to harass
the unfortunate Gryffindors.
“Another useless Weasley,” he drawled to the red-haired boy. “Why do you even
bother to come to Hogwarts? Your family chose years ago to renounce your
magical heritage.”
“Eat shit, Malfoy.”
Malfoy laughed. “That’s no way to speak to your betters! Uncouth, savage
English barbarian words.” He drew his wand to curse the other boy—Weasley—but
at that moment, McGonagall turned the corner to enter their part of the
hallway. Malfoy sheathed his wand again at once.
They had no instruction after Potions, so they were going to return to their
Houses to wash up and put on nicer robes for dinner. The professors, including
High Master Dumbledore, were very adamant about proper appearance and hygiene
for dinner. To the highborn students such as Hermione, it was only a
continuation of what they were used to, but to some it was probably the first
time they had experienced grand banquets. Hermione did not know any such people
in Slytherin, and she doubted that there were any… but it was apparent from the
first day at Hogwarts that some of the young people in other Houses had never
had rich food in their lives and did not know how to eat properly.
Hermione felt uncomfortable around these children. They were not serfs,since
their families could do magic, could obviously read, and valued education
enough to send their children here, but Hermione could not imagine having
anything in common with them other than magic itself. It was difficult enough
to form connections with highborn young witches and wizards who had come from
magical families, though she really thought she had more in common with them
than they wanted to accept. The only real difference theyhad was that her
parents could not do magic, so she had not been raised with any traditions
specific to those who could. Otherwise, their families appeared to hold very
similar customs. How could she find any commonality between herself and a dirt-
poor farmer’s child, someone who had grown up with a mother who made potions in
a big family cauldron and a father who repaired a thatched-roof cottage and
farm tools with spells? She would have no shared frame of reference—and really,
they would not even be suitable companions. Harry Potter might not be
aristocratic, but at least he was from an educated family. Indeed, the source
of their income was magical craft. The shop his father and grandfather had
built, he told her after Transfiguration on their first day, sold assorted
hand-crafted magical artifacts and unique potions. His own manner of speaking
was that of comparatively well-to-do townsfolk.
That did not make him acceptable to Tom, though. Tom had not refused Hermione’s
suggestion that the three of them should eat meals together, but he hardly
spoke to Harry the first full day except in an icy, unpleasant way. As Hermione
headed toward the Slytherin common room to get herself ready to eat, she hoped
that Tom would be in a better mood tonight.
===============================================================================
Hermione had several fine robes. She donned a particularly pretty leaf-green
one embroidered in gold and spring green, smiling as she combed her hair. She
had not seen much of Tom all day, so she looked forward to evenings. It was sad
to her that she did not get to see him as often as she would prefer, but… she
supposed that she was much better off than many young noble ladies. She
wouldget to see him and talk with him every day. And besides, she supposed as
she walked into the common room, we would probably get sick of each other if we
had all our instruction together plus evenings. When she had lived in his
castle over the summer, they had not spent every waking minute in each other’s
company. They would not do so after their marriage either, she realized. She
was just happy that she had a match; it was the milestone for a noble girl, and
it was now achieved, so she wanted to exult in that fact, especially since she
had picked the same person her parents had. And also… well… I am infatuated
with him personally, she thought with a flush of heat. It was an embarrassing
realization, but it was true.
He was waiting for her in the common room, his handsome face expressionless. He
did smile faintly as he extended his arm to her to escort her to the Great
Hall. They left the Slytherin common room and headed down the stone corridor,
which was lit faintly by magic-illuminated candles in recesses in the walls.
Faint chuckles echoed down the hall, coming from the general direction of the
kitchens. Hermione wondered who it was. She hoped that she and Tom did not
encounter an amorous couple who imagined, wrongly, that they had privacy. That
would be embarrassing.
In a moment, they came face to face with Adelaide Lestrange and several
Slytherin girls from her age cohort and that of Hermione. They were carrying
large filled bags of cloth and animal hide. A strong scent of fermentation came
from one. Lestrange’s eyes widened momentarily in shock at the sight of
Hermione and Tom. Then, as a group, the girls turned and fled toward the
Slytherin common room, continuing to giggle amongst themselves. For a moment
Tom looked as if he wanted to pursue them, to find out what was in the bags,
but he changed his mind.
“That smelled like drink to me. I bet they found a cask of ale in the
kitchens,” Hermione said at once. “Should we tell Professor Slughorn?”
Tom scoffed. “If that’s all it is, then absolutely not. There would be no
point. Let them get drunk and disgrace themselves, if it’s that. I assume you
locked your bedchamber door.”
“Of course,” she said. “Do you think they’re planning to play a prank?”
“Hermione, if they did anything to you, it would be more than a mere ‘prank.’
I’m worried that they’re going to ambush you and curse you one of these days.”
She thought about that for a moment. “Well, I am careful. And I try not to walk
the halls alone. You escort me to my first subject, and I walk with Harry to
the others….”
Tom’s face had grown pinched. “Of course,” he said tightly.
He did not say anything else for the rest of the walk until they were almost at
the Great Hall doors. Then he spoke again.
“I forgot to tell you, that’s a nice gown,” he remarked quietly. “Possibly my
favorite of all of the ones I’ve seen you wear.”
She beamed, deeply flattered. She realized that this was the first personal
compliment he had given her that was not about her talent, intellect, or skill
at magic. She appreciated those too, of course, but this one….
“I don’t favor gold as much as silver for myself,” he continued. “Slytherin
colors, you know. But it’s very… becoming… on you.”
He himself was garbed in much darker, cooler green with tiny touches of silver
in Celtic-style knotwork on the edges. It made his naturally pale tone seem
even lighter, but the effect was still good on him. “Thank you,” she said,
managing to avoid gushing, to her own relief. “You look well yourself.”
He nodded confidently. “Yes. We make an attractive pair.”
No expression of gratitude for the compliment. Well, she thought, he never did
show false modesty to me. At least he is honest with me… and he does see us as
a pair.
They entered the Great Hall and swept gracefully toward the Slytherin table,
where Harry Potter was currently standing. Dinner began on the hour, and the
pupils were to stand until the professors entered the room. Hermione glanced
around and noticed that Draco Malfoy clearly did not like this custom. His face
was sour and resentful; no doubt he viewed himself as the most important person
in the room. Hermione continued to observe and noted that the only younger
Slytherin girls present were Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode. The
rest of them must be in the common room—or someone’s bedchamber—with their
contraband from the kitchen.
The professors entered in a procession, walking up the middle to the head
table, where they sat. The students followed suit, and dinner began.
Hermione was seated between Tom and Harry, which she had thought would be a
pleasant arrangement. She smiled at Tom first, broadly and proudly. Somewhat to
her surprise, he returned it, though his smile was fainter and clearly tinged
with more possessiveness and pride. She wished that he would warm up to her
more than he had so far. She knew that she was not assured anything more than
“a good match,” but her own parents had had an arranged marriage, and Hermione
had never seen them expressing anything but warmth and kindness to each other
in private. That meant that even in a betrothal contracted for strategic
reasons, it would happen when the parties liked each other, and she had
thoughtthat Tom liked her….
Pushing this concerning line of thought out of her head, she turned to Harry
and gave him a friendly smile. Alarm passed over his face briefly. His gaze
shifted slightly to one side as he faced her, but he managed a brief smile.
Hermione followed his unsettled gaze to her other side and noticed that Tom was
glaring harshly at the other boy for some reason.
She raised an eyebrow at Tom. He scowled momentarily but turned to his food.
“Right, then.”
A new idea suddenly entered Hermione’s mind. There was really no reason for Tom
to have taken such a dislike to Harry—a fellow half-blood Slytherin, who had
appreciable magical talent, and who was being unfairly attacked by the snobs in
the house. They should have been able to form an alliance for mutual protection
and support, if nothing else. Hermione may not have been a “natural”
Slytherin—she would grant that the Sorting Hat was probably correct about
that—but it was obvious to her that all three of them, really, were better off
as a team. It was irrational for Tom to alienate Harry… unless the idea she
suddenly had was correct.
Could he be jealous of Harry? Hermione wondered as she began to eat. Surely he
realizes that there is no danger in a friendship between Harry and me. He does
not have a title, and he is not trying to woo me away from Tom in any case. He
knows and respects our situation. Tom should see that there is no threat.
===============================================================================
Hermione was still puzzling over Tom’s behavior at dinner as he escorted her
back into the common room. Dispassionately, he lifted her hand to his lips and
kissed her knuckles lightly, perfunctorily, before seeing her off at the door
leading to the girls’ chambers.
If he actually is jealous of Harry, Hermione thought as she headed down the
corridor, then why is he so cold to me? Is he angry because he thinks I prefer
Harry? That idea was baffling to her. Harry was a nice young wizard and she
could already tell that they would likely form a strong friendship, but that
was all it could ever be. Why would Tom think she would prefer someone who
could not offer her the sort of life she was born to, and make a choice that
would go directly against the contractualagreement of both of their families—an
agreement she herself had asked for independently, at that? It made no sense.
Then she remembered the very first discussion—argument, she thought with a
pang—that they had after their parents had told them of the plan. Tom had asked
her—yes, spitefully, but still sincerely—what she thought would happen if she
met another boy at Hogwarts that she liked better, in defiance of her family’s
honor and her own. He did not see it quite the same way that she did, clearly.
He apparently did not trust that she would have enough affection for him to
stay faithful, and that honor alone might not be enough in the face of that.
And yet… he had not liked it when she hadrather openly expressed her liking for
him, either. Should that not have been a reassurance to him, rather than
something to resent? It was all very puzzling, and she decided that she would
need to talk with him seriously about everything sooner rather than later.
Hermione was almost at the door of her own bedchamber when the first rotten
pear struck her in the back.
She whirled around, looking for the source, instinctively reaching for her
wand. Then an unripe apple—hard and painful—whacked her in the back of the
head.
“Ow!” she exclaimed, dropping her wand and rubbing the spot where the apple had
struck.
A curse shot through the dimly lit corridor, knocking Hermione down. A girl’s
unpleasant laughter filled the hall, which several other girls’ voices soon
joined.
“Mudblood,” a female voice crooned. It sounded rather like that of Adelaide
Lestrange.
At once, a pack of girls in hooded cloaks—their faces concealed in the
shadows—emerged from the other doorways of their bedrooms. They began tossing
rotten food at Hermione, interspersed occasionally with hexes and curses.
Someone dumped a bucket of filthy dishwater over her head, soiling her
beautiful robe, leaving a coating of grease and bits of sodden food in her
hair. Hermione cried out at the unpleasant sensation of cold, dirty, smelly
water. This, then, was what these horrible girls had been doing in the
kitchen—stealing food waste from the rubbish and biding their time until she
returned. Her fellow young ladies with magical ability, her housemates, the
people she was stuck with for however long she attended Hogwarts.
“What did I ever do to any of you?” she exclaimed, fumbling for her wand.
“You forgot your place, Mudblood,” Lestrange sneered. “That’s what.”
“I have a right to be here,” Hermione protested.
“Let’s take her ring,” one of the girls suggested to Lestrange, who was
apparently the leader.
The black-haired girl considered for a moment before shaking her head. “No.
We’re not common thieves, and it really belongs to Riddle’s mother, after all.
She’s a pureblood.”
“A blood-traitor, though.”
“Well, my father told me….” Lestrange trailed off, deciding against saying
whatever she had started to say. “No matter. We have more in the sacks, don’t
we, ladies? And from the butcher this time.”
Hermione let out a cry of dismay and scrambled on her knees into her room,
barely avoiding a length of bloodied animal gut. She slammed the door just
before Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode entered the hallway, so she
did not see the looks of shock and disgust on their faces.
===============================================================================
Although there was no one to see or hear her anymore, Hermione stifled her sobs
nonetheless as she cleaned herself and her fine gown. Tears trickled silently
down her cheeks at irregular intervals.
Couldn’t Tom have heard any of that? she thought miserably as she removed the
stains from the cloth. He didn’t try to intervene at all. Maybe he was so angry
about Harry, and my supposed attentions to Harry, that he didn’t care.
That idea sickened her. Surely there was some other explanation. Tom surely
would not stand by and letthese girls trip her, throw rubbish on her, curse
her….
Maybe they’re right. Maybe I should just go home. Maybe this school is no
longer a place for people like me. This House certainly does not seem to be a
place for me.
As soon as that idea entered her head, she banished it. No. That would mean
letting these bullying, vicious girls win. They had attacked her because they
didn’t like the idea of her in “their” space. If she ceded that space to them,
they would have defeated her.
Her robe was finally clean. She was deeply relieved that it wasn’t ruined;
without magic, it certainly would have been. She sighed and draped it over a
chair. It was a pity that she had not bothered to learn a drying charm yet.
That would be useful. Her gaze flitted to the books that she had purchased.
Perhaps there was a suitable spell listed in one of them….
===============================================================================
“She’s a Mudblood,” Yvette Rosier, one of Adelaide Lestrange’s co-conspirators,
sneered.
“I don’t care!” Daphne Greengrass snarled at Rosier as the Slytherin girls
retreated triumphantly to the common room. “It was a disgusting thing to do!
And especially for Adelaide—her father is on the Wizards’ Council!”
Tom and Harry glanced up at the group of girls. Their argument was not
especially loud, but it was just loud enough for those nearest the door—as the
two boys were—to hear it.
“Where is she anyway?” Daphne growled.
“In her chamber, I’m sure,” snapped Rosier.
“She oughtto apologize to Granger. It was uncouth, what you did. That was
something that a gang of feral orphans might do to one of their betters.”
“That Mudblood is not one of our betters.”
“No, but she is a witch and a young lady. You wouldn’t think of doing that to
any other noble girl at this school, for fear of what the girl’s family would
do to yours in retaliation.” Daphne glanced uneasily at Tom.
—Who was on his feet, glaring hard at the girls. “What happened?” he said, his
tone quiet but deadly.
“That lot”—Daphne shot a furious look at the other girls, minus
Bulstrode—“ambushed Lady Granger in the corridor and threw rotten food on her.
They hexed her, too, and drove her into her bedchamber covered in rubbish.”
Tom glared at the girls, then turned back to Daphne. “I see. Is she all right?”
“I don’t think they injured her. She locked herself in her room, I assume to
clean herself.”
Harry leapt to his feet. “And you are otherwise all right with this?” he
exclaimed.
Tom gave Harry a look of utter contempt. “Stay out of this. It does not concern
you.”
“She is my friend! I’d say it concerns me—”
Tom drew his wand on Harry. “I said stay outof it, peasant!”
“Peasant?” Harry said, his voice cold enough to match Tom’s. “That’s rich.
Howlong have you had your castle, again? And really, you want to make methe
enemy right now?”
“For the love of Morgana, shut up.” Tom was on the verge of cursing Harry into
silence when a shriek from the girls’ dormitories rent the air.
===============================================================================
After a quick perusal of her spellbooks, Hermione had finally been ready to
return to the Slytherin common room. There, she had vowed, she was going to
humiliate the people who had humiliated her. She had some good hexes up her
sleeve—not, she had thought darkly, the sleeve of the fine robe she had worn to
dinner; it was one of her favorites and the one that Tom had specially
complimented, so she was not going to give them the chance to ruin it
permanently. But she would march into that room with her wand drawn and take
her revenge in front of the entire House. Surely then she would gain some
respect.
She had opened the door to the girls’ dormitory corridor—and immediately, a
heavy splash of something cold and sludgy soaked her.
She glanced at her arm. Mud. Fury filled her mind. Someone had booby-trapped
her doorway with mud. She looked up, observing the burst leather sack that
dripped with slime from the banks of the lake, and taking note in a fraction of
a second of the otherbag….
It exploded in a burst of dark red, coating her in cold, sticky, foul, reeking
blood.
Hermione screamed, overcome.
How did they even get this much blood? she thought in horror, sinking to her
feet.What did they take from the kitchen? What kind of bloodis this? It’s
sticky and it smells so awful….
Hermione felt the filth encrust her hair, obliterating her efforts to clean
herself from the food—the rotten food, how mild that sounds now, she
thought—and she shuddered to think what she must look like. Tears formed in the
corners of her eyes and coursed down her face, accumulating mudand blood in
their tracks before spotting the stone floor of the castle, so dirtied as to be
unrecognizable as human tears….
Of course she could not show her face in the Slytherin common room now, she
thought miserably. She curled into a ball and started crying outright, not even
trying to conceal her sobs, all thoughts of revenge banished and crushed.
===============================================================================
The Slytherin girls dispersed as Hermione’s sobs echoed down the corridor into
the common room. Daphne and Millicent looked appalled—and so did Harry.
“Well?” he snarled at Tom. “What about now? They have clearly done something
else to her. Are you going to go back there and help her now?”
Tom sneered at the younger boy with disdain. “You idiot,” he said. “Boys can’t
go into the girls’ area.”
Harry’s face fell, and he reddened in embarrassment. “But—what if girls attack
another girl, like thesedid?”
“It’s not something a boy can sort out.” He turned to Daphne to ask her to help
Hermione, but the former was already on her way.
The girls who had been allied with Adelaide Lestrange attempted to scatter, but
Tom gave them a thin, eminently sinister smirk. “Oh, I don’t think so,” he
said. He turned to Yvette Rosier. “Well? What did she do? I have no doubt that
you know.”
The girl muttered something under her breath.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Mud and pig’s blood,” the girl mumbled.
Tom hissed, snakelike. “Mud and blood. How cleveryou must think you are,” he
snarled. His fingers twitched on his wand. “I would so love to curse every one
of you, you know.”
With that, to Harry Potter’s bewilderment, Tom stormed away, heading to the
outer door of the Slytherin common room. Harry followed Tom, confusion and
anger on Hermione’s behalf apparent in every feature of his face. Tom opened
the door to let himself and Harry out, slamming it behind them immediately.
===============================================================================
Daphne Greengrass filed down the corridor of the girls’ dormitories until she
reached the entrance to Hermione Granger’s room. The girl was sobbing in the
threshold of her room, covered in mud and blood, two burst bags dangling from
the ceiling. Adelaide Lestrange must have charmed them to break when Hermione
walked beneath them.
“Granger,” she said, hunching down, her wand remaining at the ready just in
case.
Hermione glanced up. “What are you going to do to me now?” Her tone was
defeated.
“Look, Granger—Lady Granger—I had nothing to do with this. I was at dinner, and
so was Millicent. Didn’t you see us?”
Hermione wiped her eyes, which was a useless effort, given her current
condition. “I suppose,” she mumbled. “How do I know that you reallyhad nothing
to do with it?”
Daphne smirked. “You know, I doubted that the Sorting Hat really wanted to
place you in Slytherin. You don’t act like a Slytherin. You told it to, because
Riddle is here, didn’t you?”
Hermione closed her eyes and sighed, but she managed a nod.
“I thought so. But… the fact that you didn’t believe me immediately means that
you’re becomingone of us.”
“Is that a compliment?” Hermione said, pulling strings of her befouled hair
away from her face futilely. “Did you have anything to do with it? If you did,
then… just do whatever you came to do. I don’t care anymore.”
Daphne scowled. “I really didn’t have anything to do with it, and no more did
Millicent. Believe me or not; it’s your choice. But I want you to know, I did
not know they were going to do anything like this, and I think it’s a low,
despicable thing to do to a noble-blooded witch.”
Hermione gazed at the other girl, afraid to believe. “Tom… LordRiddle,” she
corrected herself. “Why didn’t he come back here? Youmust have heard me scream;
didn’t he?” This was the most painful consideration, and she was not sure she
wanted to know the answer, but she could not stop herself from asking anyway.
“Boys can’t enter the girls’ living quarters,” Daphne said, visibly surprised
that Hermione did not know this. “But he heard; believe me.”
Her heart thumped. “He’s angry?”
“He’s furious.”
Relief flooded her. Tom hadn’t come to her because he was barred from doing so.
It wasn’t because he didn’t care or was angry at her for having a friend.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said, trying to get to her feet. “I was….”
She hesitated, embarrassed about what she had been thinking. Of course I won’t
give up! she thought. I have as much right to be here as anyone else who is
here!
Daphne glowered suddenly, getting to her own feet as well. “This does not mean
that I’m your friend,” she said. “I just think it’s disgusting and disgraceful
that they attacked you—and with pig’s blood, at that. The rotten food and the
mud were bad enough, but this is inexcusable.”
Hermione was not inclined to complain. In fact, she found Daphne’s disclaimer
far more reassuring of the girl’s honesty than a declaration of friendship and
loyalty would have been. Daphne’s problem with her housemates’ behavior was
that it was vile of them to attack a witch of noble blood. Hermione wondered if
Daphne would feel the same way about a similar attack on a witch who was not
noble… but even so, these qualifiers and conditions made Daphne’s appearance
there far more credible than it would have been if she had proclaimed sympathy
and friendship all of a sudden.
Hermione stood up. “I thank you nonetheless,” she said. “Now… I had better
clean myself. Again,” she added. “And after that….” She trailed off pointedly
as she entered the bedroom.
===============================================================================
“Why won’t you retaliate on them?” Harry demanded in the empty hallway outside
the Slytherin common room. “What kind of betrothed are you, not to defend your
girl?”
Tom rolled his eyes. He reallydid not have the time for this… but presumably
Greengrass was helping Hermione. He grabbed Harry by the shoulder and shoved
him against the wall. “What is wrong with you?” he snapped. “Are you really as
stupid as you’re acting?”
Harry stared back furiously. “What is thatsupposed to mean?”
“Never mind,” Tom said in exasperation, his teeth clenched. “Evidently you are.
Tell me, Potter, did the Sorting Hat even want you in Slytherin? I recall that
it took a long time with you. Where else did it consider putting you?
Gryffindor?”
“What difference does it make?” Harry said defensively.
Tom blew out his breath, rolling his eyes again. “All right, Potter, since you
really don’t understand, here is why I cannot retaliate against them. They are
young ladies.”
Harry looked blank. “So is she. You’re a young lord. And they didn’t act like
it.”
“I agree, but they are. And a few of them are, unfortunately and undeservedly,
higher-ranked than either Hermione or I. Adelaide Lestrange—who obviously set
up the mud and pig’s blood, while the rest of her pack were in the common
room—she is the daughter of a lord on the Wizards’ Council. She is also the
first cousin of a Malfoy. Every one of the girls involved in that attack is the
blood of Norman usurpers.”
“So is Hermione,” Harry said quietly, not quite meeting Tom’s eyes. “She told
me about her family history.”
Tom paused. Why did he keep forgetting that? “Her grandfather won the family
estate back from a Norman robber lord,” he said, “yes, by marrying the man’s
daughter, but it wasn’t the woman’s fault. My point is, I can’t hurt these
girls—openly, at least. It’s just not done for wizards to physically harm
noble-born young witches—or, really, even common-born witches—unless they are
actually defending themselvesin the moment. It’s not appropriate. But
Her—LadyHermione can retaliate on them openly, since she’s a girl herself… and
there are other things I can do to them, as long as they aren’t physical. Do
you understand, Potter?”
Harry considered for a moment before nodding.
===============================================================================
Hermione finally emerged from the bedroom and the girls’ dormitory corridor
late that evening. She was twitchy and nervous, having made sure this time that
there were no more magical traps set along her path. It made for a slow trek to
the common area, but at last she gingerly peeked her head around the doorway
that led to the girls’ area.
Tom was the only person still in the room that late. Her heart skipped a beat
at that sight. She had hoped he would be there, though she was not sure… but
here he was.
He rose from his chair, black robes falling down his form elegantly. “I heard
about what happened to you,” he said. “It was despicable.”
Was that it? Had he no more to say to her than that? Of course it was
despicable, she thought. Her face fell slightly as the dark thoughts from
earlier in the evening, about the possible significance of their relationship
in his mind, flooded her mind once more. Perhaps he really didn’t care anything
about the assault except for how it affected him and his family’s honor. He
might see an attack on her as an attack on himself and his family, by
extension. That might be all there was behind his present anger. Hermione might
have grown up in a household with parents who cared for each other, but she was
not quite so naïve as to believe that everycouple had that sort of
relationship. With most couples of her social status, marriage was merely an
alliance… so personal pride and honor would come before anything else….
“Yes,” she said, her words strangely brittle even to her own ears. “It was. But
I have cleaned myself, and Daphne Greengrass helped me.”
Tom glanced at her curiously. He had expected her to be angry, but instead, it
seemed that she was sad. Indeed, it was written in every line of her face. Why
would she be so morose?
“Hermione, are you truly all right?”
She snapped her head up. Her eyes were wide with surprise. Why? he wondered. He
briefly locked eyes with hers to attempt to read the surface emotions in her
mind… and… oh. She was surprised that he was showing personal concern for her.
That… hurt. He had not realized it until now, but he did not want her to
believe that he cared nothing about the humiliation and rejection that shehad
felt in the attack, that his only interest in the disgusting affair was the
connection to himself.
“Hermione, come here.” He spread his arms to her.
She hesitated for a moment, glancing around briefly to be sure that they were
alone and no one would see a moment that should be private, before pressing
herself against him. He promptly enclosed her with his arms. It was… nice… she
thought. He was warm and strong, and she had never been held by a man other
than her own father when she was a little girl. It was very different to be
held by Tom. A strange, unfamiliar tingle sparked down her back as he embraced
her.
For his part, Tom had never held a girl before, and he felt awkward about doing
so initially. He didn’t know how to comfort or reassure her, and in fact, he
had little familiarity with reassuring or comforting anyone. His mother had not
needed it; she had been the parent, and now she was a ruling noblewoman. He had
not had a sweetheart in his previous year at Hogwarts, or before. But Hermione
was looking to him for comfort after a horrific, humiliating event… and he
realized that he wanted to make her feel better.
He gave her a hug, eliciting a muffled cry of gratitude and pleasure from her.
Involuntarily a smile formed on his face at that.
She hugged him back, then drew away. The abject misery and dark resignation had
vanished from her face, replaced by relief and contentment. There was something
else too, something he approved of just as much: resolve.
“I fully intend to take revenge on them however I can,” she said, her voice
strong now.
Tom’s lips curled into a smile. “Good,” he said, his voice suddenly almost a
whisper. “I’m going to as well.”
Hermione’s heart thumped at the change in his voice. “You are? But I thought….”
“I didn’t say physically. I am a Slytherin,” he explained. “There are things I
can do. I happen to have known Adelaide Lestrange for a year, and I have seen
her in a situation that I don’t think her father or her fiancé in Aquitaine
would approve of.”
“Fiancé in Aquitaine…?”
“Yes, apparently no one in this ‘barbaric’ country is quite good enough for
her,” Tom snarled. “But I have a memory, and I know how to extract and bottle
them. I’ll take revenge on her that way—”
“Blackmail?” she asked in a small voice.
“Hermione, you Sorted yourself into Slytherin… and you’re a witch noble. You
might as well learn survival skills.”
She looked down for a moment, then looked up and met his eyes with hers. “Very
well. You can do that… but I still want to have public revenge on them with my
wand.”
Tom smirked. “And it is quite appropriate that you should.”
***** Best Served Cold *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so, so much for your interest in and support of this story!
     I love you guys.
     I realize I haven't broken my self-imposed schedule yet, but it's
     becoming difficult to get these chapters out by Friday night. I have
     a demanding full-time job, and the world is crazy and I think I live
     in one of the craziest parts of it. This story - and my other Tomione
     AU - are meant to be escapes from that, but I may need to set my
     update day on the weekend to unwind from the week better. If I do,
     don't worry; it'll still be updated weekly.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Alone in her bedchamber, Hermione pored over her magic books, looking for any
and all aggressive spells that she thought she might be able to master quickly.
She was unsure as to whether to humiliate Adelaide Lestrange and her pack in a
public setting—like the Slytherin common room, or the corridor for the girls’
chambers—or to harm them in other, more subtle, but perhaps also more damaging
ways.
Hermione was already outperforming them in all the subjects of magic that they
were learning. It seemed that this bothered some of them but not all; the
Slytherin noble girls were divided between those who seemed more interested in
being wealthy aristocrats and those who cared about being powerful sorceresses
in addition. It was hard to say which category Lestrange fit. Others, though… a
Confundus Charm was short-lasting, but there were also Memory Charms. The girls
who wanted to cultivate reputations of being supremely powerful pureblood
witches would be mortified if they suddenly forgot much of their knowledge.
Hermione had also read that Memory Charms, when cast powerfully enough, could
cause the mind to have difficulty retaining complicated knowledge permanently
at all, even information learned after the spell was cast upon them. The
victims of these most powerful and damaging Memory Charms had poor memories for
years.
Her conscience pricked at her for the thought of what she was contemplating…
but would they do it to her if it occurred to them? Yes, she answered that
thought. Without question. And I don’t have to cast a spell in that damaging
way, either. An ordinary Memory Charm is quite enough to cause the
embarrassment I want them to experience.
What about the other girls, the ones who had—much as they themselves might hate
to admit it—more “Muggle” ambitions revolving around nobility and wealth? Their
dreams depended on their reputations as “young ladies,” and it seemed that Tom
had some information that would harm Adelaide Lestrange in that regard… but
since they were witches, they too needed to be respected for their magical
ability—or perceived ability, since it was all too clear to Hermione that
pureblood nobles were automatically assumed to be better wizards and witches
than anyone else—if they wanted to achieve their goals of marrying well.
Public humiliation for them, then? Hermione thought about subjecting them to
the same sort of sneaky, degrading attack they had subjected her to, before
dismissing the idea. The House does respect magical power and aristocratic
bloodline, but I doubt my housemates would react quite the same way tome
humiliating these girls publicly as they would to one of their own doing so. I
am an outsider. They would probably close ranks against me even more than they
have. Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode, the two girls who had not
participated in the attack, might even become allies in time—as long as
Hermione did not “lower” herself publicly to the same kind of disgusting
assault that had so appalled them. No, as much as she hated the double
standard, Hermione had to admit that it did exist: These girls could, mostly,
get away with low behavior directed at her, but she could not.
Nobles duel, she suddenly thought. Muggles do, and I am sure that magical ones
do as well, just with their wands. I could challenge them to a duel. That is a
very traditional approach. An honorable duel… but I would have to win it,
without doubt. And they have known of magic all their lives.
Hermione returned to her spellbooks. It was more important than ever to learn
everything she could.
===============================================================================
Tom drew his wand away from his forehead, pulling a silvery thread of memory in
its wake. He held his wand over a flask he had conjured, then tapped his wand,
releasing the memory into the glass bottle, where it transformed to faintly
glowing smoke. He corked the flask.
This was rather advanced magic, he reflected, but he had made a point of
teaching it to himself once Slughorn had declared him a “natural Legilimens.”
Thatmuch was true enough; he had the ability to perceive people’s emotions
innately, and this assessment had sparked his interest in all forms of magic
pertaining to the mind. Memory storage was so vastly superior to anything the
Muggles had. The best theycould do was write down their thoughts. But memory
storage was almost like a form of immortality… in fact, it probably was where
the ancient Greek wizard Herpo had got his idea….
Tom pushed that thought away. He had not realized that his mother knew about
thattopic at all, and it had embarrassed him very deeply when she had scolded
him in Diagon Alley before Hermione. He had thought that he could simply make
vague allusions about the notion of the hypothetical Elixir of Life being
inferior to what wizards already could do, showing off for Hermione his
knowledge both of existing advanced magic and unrealized magical theory, while
his mother assumed he was making a show of empty arrogance.
His thoughts drifted. Herpo… the Greek sorcerer had also bred the first
basilisk. That was interesting for a different reason. There was a legend that
Slytherin, before his departure from Hogwarts, had left a secret chamber
somewhere in its depths, and that it housed a “great serpent” that only he, the
Parselmouth, could control.
Well, Tom was a Parselmouth and a descendant of Slytherin. If there wasa great
serpent, he could control it too. He really wanted to get hold of those family
history books in the castle library that his mother had not allowed him to
read. As soon as she had seen him reading one, as soon as he had been
foolishenough to ask her about their descent from Morgana le Fay and Mordred
the Dispossessed, the Wizard-King in Exile, she had put a hex on all genealogy
books in the library so that he could not touch them. “You aren’t yet old
enough to read about some of this,” she had said. That was rubbish. He was
plenty old enough. He wanted to know more, both about their royal (and purely
English) origins and about this alleged Chamber of Slytherin.
He forced his drifting thoughts to return to the present and to the flask of
memory before him. Thiswas what he could do right now. He could humiliate
Adelaide Lestrange, who had had it coming for over a year now for what she had
constantly said about himlast year—“Half-blood churl!”—but to whom he could do
nothing due to his social status and his maleness.
Until now.
He handled the flask with a smirk forming on his face, almost caressing it.
Yes, he could use this incredibly valuable memory against her now. He was her
social equal now; even if his mother was not a Countess like hers, they
werenobles now, and they owed Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange no fealty
whatsoever. She had sworn directly to that decrepit Armand Malfoy. And more to
the point, he was acting against Lestrange for what she had done to Hermione.
It was potentially more than mere humiliation; there was the distinct
possibility that her fiancé in Aquitaine would end the betrothal over this,
diminishing any future prospects for her. It was not certain, but it was
conceivable. Best case—for Tom—the foreigner would demand to have her brought
to Europe to be married immediately, so her education would end and Tom would
not have to deal with her anymore.
Yes, his betrothal to Hermione had given Tom a perfect excuse to do what he had
wanted to do for months… but he still seethed with anger when he thought of the
girls’ revolting assault on Hermione. Pig’s blood! It was both inherently
disgusting and designed to degrade and debase her. The mere thought angered him
on her behalf.
What do I really think of Hermione? he wondered. He wasn’t pleased about her
spending so much time with Potter, to be sure. Whenever she mentioned Potter’s
name, or he saw her walking down the halls and talking to the boy, something
inside him burned with heated fury—especially since she did not seem to
understand how much he disapproved of it. But at the same time, perhaps there
was a certain logic for all the Slytherin “outsiders”—as much as it outraged
him to think of himself in such a way—to band together. Maybe that was what it
was for her. And did he want her returning to her overheated “affections” for
him, as she had in those first couple of days? He was no fool. He knew
perfectly well that she could not have “felt” anything for him other than silly
infatuation. She had hardly even known him.
Now,though…. They had known each other for a couple of months, at least, and
perhaps he had grown a little possessive of her. He could concede that to
himself. It’s because everyone knows about our betrothal, he told himself.
Everyone knows, and it would look bad if too many people started to notice that
she spends more time with a shopkeeper’s son than with me.
By the time he turned in to go to bed, Tom had convinced himself that he
believed this explanation of it.
===============================================================================
The following day, after they had finished their instruction but before dinner,
Tom took Hermione aside to tell her about his plot. The Slytherin common room
would hardly do, so they found a deserted alcove in the castle on the first
floor.
“That’s a memory flask?” Hermione murmured as he withdrew it from the pouch he
kept inside his outer layer of robes.
He was aware that this was not a question demanding an affirmative answer. “The
memory could be rather damaging,” he remarked.
“What is it?” she asked. A bit of trepidation shadowed her face. “If—if you
think it’s fit to discuss—”
Tom smirked. “It’s not what I expect you think it is. She was thirteen when
this happened. That’s just old enough, yes, but….” He trailed off awkwardly at
the thought entering his mind; hewas thirteen too, and Hermione was that age in
a couple of weeks. “This memory is of her in the tavern in Hogsmeade,
thoroughly drunk, largely in the company of wizards. There was only one other
witch at the bar with her, and I happened to see her hobbling back to the
castle surrounded by the wizards.”
Hermione’s eyes widened and her face flushed. “Do you think they—I mean—” She
broke off, turning even redder at the thought that she would not voice in
words.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t have dreamed of taking advantage of a noble witch with
such a powerful father, and that nothing happened,” Tom said, “but that’s not
the point. It looked awful, both for a ‘young lady’ to be publicly intoxicated
after emerging from a lowbrow inn, and for her to stumble home in that state
surrounded by wizards of similar status who weren’t close relatives.”
Hermione nodded. “It does seem very careless of her. Did she see you at the
time?”
“I think she did, and I also think she was just lucid enough to remember it.”
“So this—you are going to send it to her father?”
“No,” he said, and his facial expression was positively malicious. “Her father
would destroy it and probably try to put a Memory Charm on anyone who witnessed
it. I’m going to send it to her betrothed in Aquitaine. He will either break it
off with her—which will be a disgrace—or he’ll demand that her family send her
to him to be married off immediately. Either we will be rid of her, then, or
her reputation will be ruined.” He raised his eyebrows at Hermione. “Have you
thought about what you intend to do?”
She smiled. “It’s a fascinating coincidence that you should mention Memory
Charms.”
Tom’s eyes gleamed with delight.
===============================================================================
For the next couple of days, Hermione bided her time carefully. She decided
that she should gain some practice casting Memory Charms… but the only way she
could see to do that was to practice on the offending girls themselves.
Probably some of them were merely tagalongs, she mused. They had participated,
of course, but they had not been the leaders or necessarily even the ones most
enthusiastic about it. Lady Parkinson was very much that sort, a useless
sycophant with barely an original thought in her own head, even a vicious
thought. On the other hand, she was definitely not one of the ones who were
interested in making a name for themselves as great witches. Of course,
Hermione thought, public embarrassment at appearing incompetent would work on
anyone. Perhaps I should attack all of them with Memory Charms and duel the
leaders in public in addition. Yes, that made sense. Hermione modified her
plans and considered her best opportunity to attack. Parkinson would be the
first victim, then.
Hermione could not yet conceal herself from sight. That was a very advanced
spell, and books warned that one did not always even have enough innate magical
power to do it until approximately age seventeen. But she could hide in the
shadows of the Slytherin girls’ corridor late at night, a long grey cloak
further sheltering her from the tired eyes of her housemates.
The Masters of Hogwarts taught nonverbal casting whenever a spell could be done
that way. It was seen as a sign of magical weakness to have to speak words.
Hermione was grateful for it, because she could cast the Obliviateupon the
unsuspecting girl without potentially betraying her presence audibly either.
Parkinson blinked and stopped in the threshold of her room for a second.
Hermione held her breath, and then the girl continued into her chamber, as if
nothing had happened.
===============================================================================
The next day in Potions, Hermione observed out of the corner of one eye as
Parkinson fumbled and fumed over her cauldron, apparently having forgotten key
attributes of several of her ingredients and, as a result, producing a mess.
Slughorn paused over the acrid fumes. “Lady Parkinson… what has happened? You
brewed the Calming Draught last week. This is not so different.”
“I am sorry,” she said, flushed and angry. “I seem to have forgotten much of
it.” She drew her wand to vanish the useless muck in her cauldron.
“Well, that happens to all of us,” he said genially. “But do be sure to
practice extra so that you remember it better.”
Millicent Bulstrode, who was near Parkinson, listened to the exchange and
chuckled nastily. Her own potion was not perfect, nor close to it, but quite
passable. Daphne Greengrass, her partner, smirked. They had no idea of the
intrigue, but Slytherin House and the wizarding nobility were both intensely
competitive and cutthroat, so any failing by a rival—and everyonewho wasn’t
very closely related by marriage or blood (and even some of those) was a rival,
even if they made common cause politically—was fodder for personal enjoyment.
Hermione lowered her head to hide the smirk she also bore so that Harry would
not see. It wasn’t that she distrusted his secrecy, but this might seem a bit
sneaky and dubious to him. In some ways, she thought darkly, the common folk
had more personal honor than the nobles, who might swear oaths of fealty and
alliance but sometimes had no particular qualms about poisoning and other
underhanded methods of taking out enemies. Her own parents did not—that she
knew of—but they had spoken of peers who they believed did. Hermione would not
be surprised to find that it was far more common among the magical aristocracy,
who had powerful methods. This, after all, was quite mild. Tom would
understand—approve—and he was the person she should confide her secrets to.
Satisfied with how well this had gone, Hermione went for three more of the
girls that evening, leaving only Adelaide Lestrange with an undamaged memory.
After considering her plans again, Hermione had refined them further. As the
clear leader, Adelaide would suffer in the public duel. She would also
apparently be the victim of Tom’s… blackmail, if he merely threatened her with
the memory, or material damage if he exposed it to the French fiancé. So far,
no one suspected anything over the fact that several Slytherin girls were
suddenly having difficulty in their magic. If Lestrange, who would be publicly
set down over the incident, started acting forgetful too, it might draw
unwanted attention to the other girls and expose what Hermione had done.
The following morning, Tom took her aside in the common room. “Meet me in the
Owlery just after dinner tonight,” he whispered. “I’m going to send it.”
Hermione tried not to be distracted by the feeling of him whispering in her
ear. She raised her eyebrows. “You won’t… speak of it first? How will she know
to attribute it rightly?”
He understood what she was asking, through her vague and seemingly benign
questions. He shook his head in the negative. “She’ll know it was me, but this
way she can’t prove it.” He gazed at her pointedly. “We’ll talk more then, and
you can tell me more. I have heard the most interesting things.”
His tone was admiring. Hermione flushed faintly at the praise, and it thrilled
her that they were starting to bond over a common cause, even if that cause was
a strategy for revenge.
===============================================================================
The Owlery sported an expansive view of the rolling Scottish countryside that
was especially magnificent in the fading light after sunset. Hermione could see
a couple of stars already. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as
she noticed the tall, dark-haired young wizard in one corner, tentatively
stroking the feathers of a large owl.
She approached him. He looked up, noticing her. “Hermione,” he said in
acknowledgment. He drew the memory flask out of the pouch on his belt and held
it before her, his eyes glittering and his mouth breaking into that calculating
smirk of his. “Here it is. As I mentioned earlier, I’m sending it to this lord
because I don’t think blackmail would be a good idea. She would, obviously,
know exactly who had threatened her, and she might tell her usurping Norman
father”—Tom winced for a brief moment as he realized, once again, that he had
forgotten Hermione’s part-Norman descent—“about my threat. He could harm my
mother… or either of us. Or possibly even your parents.”
Hermione gaped. In all of this scheming, she had not thought for one second
about the risk to her non-magical parents. “But… there is a defense clause in
our families’ contract, isn’t there?” she exclaimed.
He considered that. “Yes, there is… and I am sure that, if she hasn’t yet done
so, my mother will send some people to your parents’ castle to put up magical
protections to prevent that very kind of attack. Perhaps Lord Severus can do
it. They know that if they do anything to your parents, my mother will
retaliate, and since they’re Muggles, my mother might even bring it to the
Muggle aristocracy’s attention. I very much doubt that the Wizards’ Council
wants our people involved in the Muggle conflict,” he added, smiling darkly.
“But they—your parents, I mean—won’t be in extra danger right now anyway,
because if I send this directly to the Frenchman, no attribution to myself,
then Lestrange will certainly believeI did it in retaliation but will not be
able to prove it.”
Hermione frowned, taking all this in. It made sense.
“Now,” he continued, his smirk broadening, “what about you? I have heard the
most interesting complaints from your attackers and their male associates. It
seems that they have been having a great deal of trouble with their studies
lately.” His eyes were gleaming with approval.
“I used Memory Charms on them,” she admitted. “All of them except Lestrange.
Her, I intend to duel publicly.”
Tom nodded in approval. “A good front to conceal the Memory Charms.
And—Hermione, your magical ability is extraordinary. I hope you realize that.”
It was not false flattery. He meant it, and he was legitimately impressed.
Hermione smiled—but then she remembered that Tom had always been impressed with
her magical skill.
She decided to plunge forward and ask him about the issues that had dogged her
thoughts for the past week. “Tom, I thank you—sincerely—but may we talk about
some things, now that we are alone?”
Tom glanced at the owl. He believed he understood what sorts of “things” she
had in mind, and he realized it would be a complicated discussion if so. He
took a deep breath, slid the flask into the leather pouch that was bound to the
owl’s legs, and summoned a scurrying rat from the castle floor. The owl took
the squeaking rodent in its sharp talons and cast off in a majestic,
threatening black shadow.
He turned to her. “All right. What do you want to discuss?” He grimaced
inwardly about how cold that had come out.
Hermione did not flinch or draw away. She eyed him, not disapprovingly, but
also without any sign of the girlish adoration that she had shown him at the
beginning of their relationship. “I want to discuss us,” she said simply.
“Specifically, I wish you would tell me why you have been so cold toward me
here at Hogwarts.”
“I haven’t been cold toward you,” he said defensively. “I have treated you as I
should.”
“You have,” she insisted. “You escort me, yes—you do exactly as you should and
always act like the nobleman that you are—but you show no warmth and little
friendliness to me. We don’t even talk about magic here! At least we had that
at your mother’s castle. I just don’t understand. And Harry….”
Tom’s face had soured at the mention of that name. Hermione noticed. “Are you
jealousof him, Tom?” she charged.
“Of course I’m not. He’s a shopkeeper’s son. There’s nothing to be jealous of.”
“You’re jealous of the time I spend talking to him,” she said. “I remember what
you said to me when we had that first argument. You were worried that I would
meet another boy here. That’s what it is, isn’t it? Tom—you have no reason to
be! I know that you were raised differently than I was. I understand that. But
I wouldn’t betray you!”
Tom considered what to say. Her charges of jealousy of Potter over her
attentions were completely accurate, and he was not sure he even wanted to deny
that to her face. He would then have to concoct another explanation for his
attitude to Potter, and it would only further her fears that he did not care
anything for her. “My mother ran away from her family to marry for love,” he
finally said. “Or… desire, at least. I don’t know. But she gave up wealth and
power for fourteen years to do it, Hermione.”
“Had they picked out someone else for her?”
Tom hesitated. He had tried to get that information out of his mother, and she
had certainly impliedthat they had not, but she had not stated it outright. “I
don’t know,” he said. “But whether they had or not, she lost everything because
she met someone she liked better than the family riches. And I’ve heard of
nobles who betray their spouses all the time,” he added sourly. “Men and
women.” And it is atrocious to think of being cast off in favor of someone
else.
Hermione looked appalled. “I have heard of such things, too, of course, but I
am not thatkind of woman.”
“I wasn’t saying that you were,” he said at once. “I meant before your
marriage.”
“I don’t see it as that different,” she said stubbornly. “Honor is honor. I
wear your ring. And this is all beside the point, because I like you, Tom! But
you made it very clear to me that you didn’t want me to show you that, so I
stopped after the first couple of days at your mother’s castle. So I don’t
understand why you would choose to be jealous of Harry when you don’t show
warmth to me yourself and don’t seem to want me to show it to you. Does it
embarrass you?”
He wanted to glare at her, but only for a fraction of a second. Her questions
were perfectly logical, and he could see that when he looked at it objectively.
“It annoyed me when you showed ‘warmth’ to me at first because we had just met,
and I was angry with my mother over what she had done, and I knew that you
could not really carefor me that early since you barely knew me.”
She considered this, though it made her blush in shame that he was implying
that she had acted silly at that early stage. “Are you still angry with your
mother? You don’t act it. Even before we came to Hogwarts, you have acted as
though you had accepted this.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” he said defensively. “I had accepted it,
you might say… but I was still angry with her. Frankly, Hermione….” He
hesitated for a moment. What he was about to say would hurt her feelings. But
it was his honest opinion, which was what she wanted, right? He continued, “I
know why nobles play matchmaker with their children. They want to make
alliances for mutual protection. But your parents can do precious little to
defend my mother’s keep… and they bring little, if any, political benefit in
the wizardingpart of the aristocracy… so it seemed to me that our parents were
usingme in order to get you admitted to Hogwarts, and that was it.”
Hermione was staring at him, eyes wide. He plunged ruthlessly ahead. “I
couldn’t see what wegot out of it, or specifically, what I did, for a while at
first. Don’t cry, Hermione”—for those large eyes were welling with unshed
tears. “I said ‘at first.’ That changed after I got to know you better. You are
so superior to others at this school….”
She blinked away the tears and took a deep breath. “And that is why you
accepted it?”
“Mostly,” he said. There was a hint of truculence in his voice. “And… I got
used to my new status. It became a part of that, in a way.”
She gave him a nod. “That’s fitting,” she said, a bit of that know-it-all
officiousness returning to her voice. “It is a part of it, almost always.”
“But”—he turned aggressive again—“it’s marriage, Hermione. It’s not that our
parents are merely encouraging us to be friends. They wrote a contractfor
marriage. Do you actually comprehend what that means?”
Hermione glared stonily at him. “I grew up with two parents, Tom Riddle. Your
father died before you knew him, and your mother did not remarry. Maybe the
right question is, do youcomprehend what that means?”
Tom was startled and rather affronted for a moment, but rapidly those feelings
changed to pride in her. He liked it when she was strong and met him face-to-
face. “I have lived in the world too, Hermione,” he said. “But… I take your
point. You comprehend what it means. You were just raised as a noble, so this
has been normal to you for your whole life.”
She nodded. “I wish you would believe me when I say that I like you, and that I
value my word and honor and I would not cheat on our agreement… and that my
feelings for Harry Potter are purely amiable in any case. But even if you can’t
do that yet, I just want to be friends for now, Tom. Just friends. If you’re
worried about Harry, doesn’t it make sense to be friends with me anyway?”
Tom considered. He remained silent for a while, and Hermione spoke once more.
“My parents’ marriage was arranged by their parents. They—my
grandparents—wanted a really strong alliance, so there were actually
twomarriages, my aunt and uncle as well as my parents… but my parents are still
very kind and affectionate to each other. I know that they’re friends. That was
also something that I grew up observing.” She left off at that, but Tom knew
what was unspoken: “And I want that too.”
He nodded and extended a hand to her. The fact that she had mentioned her
parents as “friends” rather than an infatuated pair in a heated romance
comforted him… and her logic about Potter was sound. It impressed him; he had
truly not thought of it that way, that he was potentially harming his own
interests by letting Potter be the one to offer her the most attention. “I can
do that,” he said, feeling the warmth of her hand as she slipped it into his.
She smiled as the sky turned to midnight blue and more stars came out.
===============================================================================
The occupants of the Slytherin common room raised their collective eyebrows as
Tom entered the room holding hands with a girl. Any hint of intrigue was like
gold to a niffler to them. But as soon as they saw that the girl was Hermione,
and therefore that there was no potential scandal, interest faded—except in one
quarter. Adelaide Lestrange, surrounded by her pack of extremely unhappy-
looking girls, glared at the pair silently.
Harry Potter was seated by himself in a corner. Tom paused as he noticed the
younger boy. Then he turned to Hermione, gave her a nod, and released her hand,
heading toward Potter’s corner.
Hermione turned to Lestrange. Now was as good a time as any. She mustered her
courage.
“I’m calling you out, ‘Lady’ Adelaide,” she said, her words quiet—though loud
enough for others to hear—but steely.
Lestrange met her eyes. “You dare to call me out, Mudblood?”
“You led an unprovoked attack on me. You meant to shame me, by your choice of
‘materials’ to use against me, but you disgraced yourselfby your actions. It
was underhanded, disgusting, and more befitting of a lowborn bandit than a
lady.” Her words grew stronger still. “As is my right by our laws, I challenge
you to a magical duel.”
They had the attention of everyone in the Slytherin common room at this point.
Lestrange glanced around quickly, realized this, and realized that there was
nothing to be done but accept the challenge. She sneered at Hermione.
“Accepted. Do you feel up to it right now, Mudblood? Let’s get this over with,
so you can go back to your bedchamber and cry some more. Or maybe go back to
your Muggle parents where you belong.”
Hermione glared back. “I won’t be the one going anywhere.” She glanced at the
two boys in the corner, who were watching closely, and drew her wand. “I have
noobjection to dueling right now.”
One of Lestrange’s… friends, or whatever they were, Hermione supposed… tugged
at her sleeve in what she imagined was an unobtrusive manner. “Adelaide,” the
girl whispered, “are you sure you want to do this right now, in front of
everyone?”
“Be quiet, Rosier,” the girl commanded. She stood and drew her wand on
Hermione. “I suppose we must bow, even though you do not deserve it.”
She won’t attack me during our bow with the entirety of Slytherin, including
Tom, watching her, Hermione thought as she bowed to the girl, who did the same.
As soon as their heads bobbed back up, they were ready. “Reducto!” Lestrange
bawled.
Hermione blocked it nonverbally, which she noticed out the corner of her eye
earned her immediate respect from the Slytherins, just as Lestrange’s verbal
screeching of a spell lost her some of their respect—at least momentarily.
Unfortunately, the spell Hermione meant to use was one she could not yet cast
silently. “Confringo!” she exclaimed. A heated pressure wave exploded from her
wand, catching Lestrange. Although it was nowhere as strong as it would have
been if cast by a trained adult witch or wizard, it was still enough to impress
the young people in the room. Shock filled the older girl’s eyes as she
stumbled, small flames catching at her robes from the curse.
“You filthy Mudblood!” she raged, but the time spent shouting the insult cost
her dearly. Hermione sent a jinx at her almost completely nonverbally, only
whispering it under her breath. The girl tripped over her own legs.
Hermione smirked. Expelliarmus, she thought, expecting the duel to end—
—Lestrange blocked it, only just, but with her quick defense, the duel was not
yet over. She rose to her feet, still wobbly, and sent a silent Fire-eye Jinx
at Hermione. Shocked, she blocked it, but only barely. Furious, both with
herself for letting her guard down, and with this girl for using something like
that—that would have been horribly distracting if it had hit, and it might have
lost her the duel—Hermione mustered her magical energy and hurled a nonverbal
Stupefy at the girl. It struck.
Grimly satisfied and proud, Hermione cast the Expelliarmus once more.
Lestrange’s wand sailed into her hand. She pointed it over the prone girl,
contempt and triumph radiating from her face. Lestrange gazed back furiously,
but she knew what everyone else in the room knew. The Mudblood had beaten her
in a duel of honor.
The smirk on Tom’s face was broader than she had ever before seen it.
Chapter End Notes
     Dueling, blackmail/information exposure, and Memory Charms? Edgy, but
     everything that Hermione does here (or authorizes Tom to do) is
     something that she does in canon. No, she didn’t do it this young,
     but this is a darker, more ruthless era, and this Hermione has to
     toughen up really fast.
     The “Fire-eye Jinx” is the Conjunctivitis spell that Krum used on his
     dragon. I don’t think they would call it that medical-sounding name
     in the 1100s.
***** Toujours Pur *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you, thank you! There is not as much Hogwarts in this chapter,
     I’m afraid, but on the bright side, we’re stepping back to look at
     the broader picture. Every action has a reaction.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Castle l’Etrange.
Countess Bellatrix Lestrange rose from the throne-like chair in which she sat
and waved the letter she had just received before her vassal.
“Do you understand me?” she roared. “My daughter was just attacked at Hogwarts
by a Mudblood! They should not even be allowed!”
Amycus Carrow scowled. “I heard of it, my lady.”
“That filthy girl singed Adelaide’s robes!” Bellatrix exclaimed.
“But she knows how to undo that, doesn’t she?”
Bellatrix glared. “That is not the point! My daughter should not have to repair
her robes like a house-elf or a grubby village witch, and certainly not because
of a dirty Mudblood who should not even be at Hogwarts!”
Rodolphus, the lord of the castle, strode into the great hall where his wife
was. He eyed her. “I approved the Mudblood’s admission,” he said grudgingly,
“because of a marriage alliance play that yourformer liege lady, Carrow, made
for her son. You tell me now that the Mudblood has repaid the Council’s charity
by attacking our daughter?” He strode forward. “Give me that letter,” he
demanded.
Bellatrix glared at him for a fraction of a second but handed over the note.
Rodolphus read it, scowled, and rolled it up, not giving it back to her.
“According to her, it was a duel that observed the traditional rules. She was a
fool to take up the challenge. Accepting a Mudblood’s challenge is tantamount
to declaring them our equals. I have no sympathy.” Still holding the letter, he
strode out of the great hall.
Bellatrix looked as if she wanted to protest, but she would not berate her
husband in front of Carrow.
A few days later, a second owl arrived.
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
Although a Slytherin, Adelaide Lestrange had essentially no concept of secrecy
when it came to her emotions, even when it would have been in her interest to
keep her feelings about something to herself. The screech of dismay and outrage
reverberated down the Slytherin table at breakfast shortly after her owl
arrived and unceremoniously dropped a letter before her, as if it knew the
contents.
Tom’s face was curious but otherwise impassive. Next to him, Hermione attempted
to mimic him. She was pretty sure she knew what tidings that owl bore, at least
in essence. The details, of course, would come out later. On her other side,
Harry craned his neck to get a better view as Adelaide rose from her seat in
distress and her friends sat back, not offering a word of support.
Later that day, the truth was out: Lord Berengar, the wealthy pureblood
nobleman in Aquitaine who was more than twice Adelaide’s age but to whom she
had still been engaged, had ended the betrothal unceremoniously after receiving
certain information about her.
Hermione had to feign ignorance of the intrigue, and Harry wasignorant of it.
Daphne and Millicent were more than happy to enlighten their housemates during
Potions. “She drinks all the time,” Millicent said baldly, though her voice was
audible only to the three people nearest her. “I’ve already heard about her
stash of wine in her bedchamber.”
Hermione stared at Millicent. Thathad not been in the description Tom had given
her of his memory. “She has wine hidden in her room?” she repeated.
Daphne nodded. “Her friends—the ones who attacked you—visit her to have
parties. They’ve already had two late-night revels, supposedly, unless
Parkinson was making empty boasts… but yes, I’m sure that’s how she knew her
way around the kitchen. She’s either been stealing it or flattering the elves
into giving it to her for a year already.”
“Drunkenness runs in her mother’s family. Everyone knows about her mother the
Countess, and nobody wants to visit Castle l’Etrange because of her ladyship
having too much and going into a violent rage,” Millicent stated.
Daphne nodded gleefully as she powdered her scarab beetle. “And the rumor is
that there was an incident last year where Adelaide stumbled out of the tavern
at Hogsmeade—the low one, the Hog’s Head—barely able to walk, reeking of cheap
ale, surrounded by older wizards, mostly ones who finished last year. And that
thisis what Lord Berengar found out about.”
Harry looked startled. “If they did anything to her, wouldn’t it already have
been a scandal?” he asked.
“Well, yes, so they probably didn’t,” Daphne acknowledged. “But that’s not the
point. Ladies can’t risk their reputations… and who can blame Lord Berengar for
not wanting to marry someone who is in her cups half the time?” She smirked and
turned to her cauldron.
Hermione, who had known of this part and had been thinking about Tom’s owl for
several days, was contemplating other things. “So what is going to happen?” she
asked. “It seems that it might be difficult for her to get another betrothal if
people know about this.”
“Oh, I expect her parents will find something,” Daphne said with a shrug. “Her
father ison the Wizards’ Council. But her prospects are definitely dimmer now.”
She smirked again and lowered her voice to a whisper. “They’ll have to settle
for a second son, I’d bet. Poor Lady Adelaide.” Insincerity dripped from her
words. “But between us, I thought that Lord Berengar was too old for her. It’s
disgusting that some man who is almost thirty looks at a thirteen-year-old and
sees her as a wife. I know that a lot of people don’t agree, but that’s just
what I think. Maybe the bright side for her is that her father will find a
wizard close to her age.”
Hermione was aware that that kind of thing happened regularly, but she had not
personally known of any girl who had been married off to an adult man. The
thought revolted her too… even for an enemy who hated her and had set her up to
be covered in blood. She gave silent thanks that her parents had promised her a
few years ago that they would not send her to someone who disgusted her.
Tom… Hermione smiled at the thought of him. Since they had had their discussion
in the Owlery, he had been more considerate of her—and, notably, less
contemptuous of Harry. He had taken part in their small study sessions in the
common room, sharing his knowledge. Admittedly, he still had a rather superior
air when he talked about magic, especially magic that he knew and they did not
(or that he thought they did not), and especiallywhen he spoke directly to
Harry. But Tom had been like that about his knowledge from the first day she
had known him, and if Hermione was entirely honest with herself, she had that
quality too.
His public behavior was unchanged; he still had perfect, unimpeachable manners,
and did not act overly familiar with her in front of other people. He escorted
her to meals, joined her whenever she wanted to practice magic in the common
room and Harry Potter was present, and kissed her hand as he saw her off at the
door to the girls’ corridor at night. Nevertheless, Tom really was keeping to
his word about attempting to be friendlier with her when they were alone. They
were going to have the opportunity to visit the nearby village, Hogsmeade, this
weekend, and he was going to take her. She was looking forward to it.
Her thoughts returned to the classroom as her potion turned a brilliant,
sparkling shade of red, exactly as it should. The potion in Millicent and
Daphne’s cauldron was nothing to be ashamed of, but it did not sparkle. The
girls eyed their neighbors enviously. For that matter, Hermione envied Harry
his brilliant mother, who had taught him this subject, and a flash of anger
passed through her mind at the thought that such a person had not been allowed
to attend Hogwarts. It wasn’t right. She was glad of her match to Tom—but that
was because of her station in life and the fact that she liked him. Her
admission to Hogwarts should not have been contingent on it.
Well, perhaps that would change. Armand Malfoy would not live forever—he looked
half-dead already, she remembered scornfully—and perhaps with this disgrace to
his family, Rodolphus Lestrange’s influence would be diminished. And, too,
perhaps the excellent example shecould set in school would prompt the Wizards’
Council to evolve eventually.
===============================================================================
Castle l’Etrange.
The family sitting room was crowded with well-dressed, esteemed personages,
almost all male. Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange sat enthroned in the
grandest seats. Three generations of Malfoy men sat coldly in chairs,
accompanied by Narcissa, Lucius’s wife. Arcturus Black, his son Orion, his
daughter-in-law Walburga, and herbrother Cygnus—who so happened to be the
father of the host’s lady—occupied seats across from the Malfoys. Orion and
Walburga’s heir, Regulus, sat next to them. Across the room, magical blue-black
flames flickered in the great hearth, not providing a scintilla of real or
perceived warmth to the room. It was fitting, at least.
Rodolphus spoke. “I thank you, my lords and kinsfolk, for coming here tonight
in our time of trouble, to give counsel as friends.”
Armand Malfoy did not seem especially inclined to agree with Lestrange’s view
on that matter. He eyed the younger wizard without respect. “I understand that
your daughter’s disgrace was caused by her own reckless and unladylike conduct,
although I would agree that something must be done to keep the reputation of
your house from further decline.”
Lestrange’s eyes widened in anger, but only for a moment. One did not cross
Armand Malfoy, not even—or perhaps especially—one on the Wizards’ Council.
“You also told me that she was defeated in a duel by the Mudblood. Do you think
that the Mudblood sent the information to Lord Berengar?” Armand asked baldly.
“No, my lord,” Bellatrix spoke up. “She wrote to us that the event occurred
last year. That said, I dosuspect that the Mudblood’s betrothed, the half-blood
son of the blood-traitor Gaunt lady, was the one who sent the information.” She
scowled. “Lord Berengar said it was unassailable evidence—an actual bottled
memory. I am sure it came from Riddle.”
“Yes,” Lestrange agreed. “And frankly, something needs to be done. They are
getting above themselves.”
The eldest Malfoy leaned in, leering, his papery skin stretched thin. “I told
all of you that we should not admit the Mudblood. Instead of accepting her
place after your daughter and her little friends taught her that lesson, she
and Riddle chose to retaliate, and now it has cost your daughter a grand title.
The Berengars are the highest-ranked wizarding family in their country.”
“I am aware of what we have lost, my lord,” Bellatrix said through clenched
teeth. “But it is because of this that we must act.”
“I spoke in favor of killing the Mudblood and the half-blood,” Armand opined.
Arcturus Black spoke up. “And I opposed that then and still do, my lord, for
the same reasons. And now we have to consider the fact that these people are
good at taking meaningful, damaging revenge. The Mudblood is not isolated. They
may truly be fond of each other; they certainly confide and conspire, since
this duel and the memory scheme happened at the same time. Lady Riddle may have
even been involved in giving them ideas, for all we know. In addition… she has
raised that half-blood, Severus Snape, to a title.”
Bellatrix gave a snarl of disgust.
“I also think that we must consider other methods of neutralizing them,”
Abraxas Malfoy said. “The lady said that she was still able to conceive
children. If there are unattached purebloodnobles… or even half-blood bastards…
then we could try to pressure her into a marriage that would result in her son
being cut off if she had other children.”
“Castle Gaunt—or whatever she calls it now—is impermeable,” Arcturus objected.
“And that great wall surrounds the village and fields. They built it to be a
self-sustaining fortress, and it is. It’s protected by strong magic, too. That
castle has been there in some form for over six hundred years. We have nothing
to threaten her with otherthan the lives of her son and the girl.”
“That is true,” Abraxas agreed glumly.
“I would not be against that,” Bellatrix said spitefully. “Especially the
Mudblood. This is all her fault. My daughter studied alongside the half-blood
for a year with nothing like this happening. It’s distressing that such a one
would be in Slytherin House, but I suppose he isdescended from the Founder. The
Mudblood is the cause of all this. We should just kill her. And if you say that
her parents would go to one of the Muggle pretenders for justice, my answer
would be: Why not kill them too?”
“Because Lady Riddle is a blood-traitor and has a contract of alliance with
them,” Arcturus said, his patience fraying. “We cannot act against them yet! In
time, we’ll have a plan, preferably involving Lady Riddle, but we should not
act rashly and violently. Instead, we should come together now to reaffirm the
standing of our friend and kinsman’s family.” He turned to Lestrange with a
nod.
Abraxas glanced at his son, Lucius. “I told you my idea. Have you decided?”
Lucius nodded. “Yes. We’ll do that.” Pleased to finally have the attention of
the noble and venerable wizards in the room, Lucius smiled and explained to his
peers what they proposed.
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
 
My lady mother,
We are adapting to the resumption (or beginning) of our studies at Hogwarts
well. Lady Hermione has made a friend, and possibly has two more eventual
friendships developing. As you would expect from the abilities that she
demonstrated while she was with us, she is excelling at magic. I must take a
little credit to myself for that, because you will be pleased to know that I
study with her and practice spells when she wishes to.
But I regret to tell you that she will need both friends and powerful magic.
Recently, a group of Slytherin girls, led by Adelaide Lestrange, launched a
shameful attack on her in the corridor of the girls’ bedchambers. I will not
dwell too long on the particulars, but will say that they ambushed her with
rotten food and trash from the kitchen, and after driving her into her room,
Lestrange set up a magical trap in the threshold of her door that covered her
in mud and blood when she walked out. It was a disgusting, low thing to do, and
neither of us will ever forget it.
In a few days, though, she had her revenge, challenging Lestrange to a public
duel in the common room—and easily defeating her. I was proud to watch her. She
will be a great witch someday and I am glad she has the opportunity to study at
Hogwarts….
 
Merope read her latest owl post from Tom, a frown crossing her face. Tom had
told her about the attacks on Hermione and the following duel, in which
Hermione publicly challenged the Lestrange girl and defeated her, but his
wording was very guarded indeed. Something else had happened that he was not
telling her—or if not, then she was extremely disappointed in him. It was
understandable that Tom would not want to openly attack a group of pureblood
young ladies, especially one whose father was on the Wizards’ Council, but if
he really had not done anything to defend Hermione—if he had stood back
completely—then it was a very unpromising development for their betrothal, let
alone for his own honor.
Merope had thought that the young people would develop a friendship over their
shared intellectual interests in magic, as well as banding together against the
onslaught that would surely be facing both of them, especially since Hermione
had gotten herself sorted into Slytherin House. But Tom was very good at
concealing his emotions when those emotions were anything other than raw anger,
and Merope was not certainthat he genuinely liked Hermione as she believed he
ought. Hermione herself, too, fancied him, but in the absence of encouragement
or any attempt to form a friendship, that would not last. Merope hoped she was
not watching a disaster unfold. They just need more time, she thought. They are
very young yet. And he may have more feelings for her than he shows me. If that
was the case, then Merope hoped very much that Tom would show Hermione, at
least.
She wondered, too, if she had been in the right to make her bargain with Tom.
If he really was as cool to Hermione as her more pessimistic reading of the
letter implied, then he might have concluded that his best option was to go
along with the betrothal for their years at Hogwarts, to make all the proper
courtesies to her, but then after they were finished with their studies, to
declare that he did not want to marry her. Although she had not taken a formal
oath to him, it still seemed very much to her that she had sworn falsely to
someone, whether the Grangers or her son. The thought troubled her. If, a few
years from now, he did make that assertion, then what would she do?
I made the bargain with him in order to placate him, to cool his anger, and to
remove the element of compulsion that might get in the way of him becoming
friends with her, she realized. I did swear falsely to him. I did not make the
bargain intending to actually keep my word to him.
Another possibility intruded, which was in its own way even more unpleasant to
contemplate. Tom had quickly adapted to the lifestyle of a young lord. It was a
very common more that it was all right for noblemen to have mistresses or
worse, and that it hardly mattered whether they cared for their wives. As a
woman, Merope found that particular social custom of her class disgusting, and
sweet Hermione deserved better. Witches, who had powers of their own, deserved
better. No—she would not think that of her son without evidence. Tom had not
even been interested in girls.
She read the letter from him again, reconsidering it. Yes, it was guarded
language, but there was also real anger between the lines. Sometimes Tom
exploded in rage, but on other occasions he would simmer quietly. And he very
well might have done something that he did not want to commit to print. Thatwas
certainly like him.
“My lady!”
Merope looked up from her letter. Severus Snape was standing in the great hall,
looking agitated and concerned.
She rolled up the letter and gave him a welcoming smile. “Severus. What is the
matter?”
He sighed. “May I suggest that we sit? This is a… difficult subject.”
Merope raised her eyebrows. “Certainly,” she replied, sitting down at the high
seat.
Severus sat nearby. He ran his right hand through his black hair, looking
pained. “First, my lady, I must apologize to you for something I have kept from
you, and beg your forgiveness.”
Merope’s eyebrows went even higher. She instantly thought of the fiefdom’s
finances and the odd circumstances surrounding Morfin’s death. If Severus was
going to confess to hiding financial information from his profligate late lord,
or even taking part in Morfin’s death—perhaps by deliberately failing to heal
him adequately—then she was already prepared to forgive. A loyal vassal
shoulddistinguish between the good of the larger family (and holding) and the
personal whims of a bad lord. Any lord who never listened to wise advisors, in
Merope’s opinion, did not deserve power.
What he said was completely unexpected. “For several years—since the year after
your ladyship eloped with Sir Thomas, in fact—I have had a web of contacts
among your family’s rivals who occasionally provide pertinent information,
information that relates to plans or schemes involving… the Gaunt family,” he
finished, grimacing. “Or, as it is now, the Riddle family.”
Merope was astonished. “A spymaster?” she exclaimed.
“That is a very strong term, your ladyship. That said, I suppose you could say
that my associates are spies. They pass information. And I received some very
alarming information about a plot that concerns your son, Lady Hermione, and
you.”
Merope was paying full attention now. “This is very unexpected, I admit,” she
said, “and you realize that after this discussion, I must ask that you disclose
the names of these people to me. But for now, I just want to know who the
plotters are and what they are plotting.”
Severus looked unhappy at the first request, but he was not inclined to disobey
her. It made sense that she would want to know about this. He gathered his
thoughts before continuing.
“I don’t know if Lord Thomas has told you about the latest goings-on at
Hogwarts,” he began.
She nodded, holding up the rolled scroll. “He wrote to me about a disgusting
attack on Hermione by most of the young Slytherin girls. She dueled the leader,
though—Lestrange’s daughter, unfortunately—and defeated her.”
“That was all he said?”
She gave him a curious look. “Yes. I presume there was more, then?”
“There is more. Perhaps he didn’t want to write this in a letter that could be
intercepted... but the Wizards’ Council and their close relatives are quite
certain that he sent a bottled memory to the Lestrange daughter’s fiancé across
the water. A very compromising memory, apparently of the young lady publicly
drunk and in the company of older wizards in a shady inn. Evidently this
happened last year, so he could have seen it. In any case, the nobleman broke
off the betrothal over it.”
Merope gaped, trying not to smile. That was something Tom would do at his most
devious, and it certainly made sense for him not to admit to it in writing.
Perhaps he had told Hermione. Merope hoped so. It was good that he had indeed
taken his own vengeance on her lead tormentor, and the fact that it was not
open and public implied that it was at least partially out of anger on her
behalf rather than personal pride.
“Well,” she finally said, “he certainly did not tell me of this in the letter,
though I can understand why. He may have meant to tell me when he visits me
this winter. But that is very effective revenge. I presume the Wizards’ Council
families were not happy?” she added ironically.
Severus looked grim. “There was discussion, my source tells me, of murdering
the young people, but that Lords Arcturus Black and Abraxas Malfoy oppose it
strongly. They consider the revenge to be out of proportion to the offense—of
course, they don’t consider the attack on Lady Hermione an offense at all—but
it has made them all realize that any harm to your ladyship’s family will be
met with a counterattack. So their current strategy is to attempt to force you,
yourself, into a marriage with a wizard in the hope of Lord Thomas eventually
being cut out of the line of inheritance.”
Merope frowned. That was not entirely unexpected… after her initial hearing at
the Wizards’ Council, where Malfoy had asked her impertinent questions, she had
realized that it was something that had occurred to them…. “Did they name
anyone?” she asked.
Severus shook his head. “No, and it’s a very preliminary idea. My source tells
me that they don’t even know if they could, because this castle is so strong.
But it is something that they are apparently contemplating, should they deem it
necessary in the future, so I was obliged to inform you.”
She nodded, taking it all in. “I thank you for your continued loyalty.”
“It is an honor to serve you, my lady.”
Obsequiousness did not suit Severus Snape, Merope thought. She appreciated the
loyalty but did not demand the groveling. It reminded her far too much of the
degrading shows of obeisance that her father had demanded….
“And now, Severus… your contacts? I understand the sensitivity of their
positions,” she added.
“I would never question your discretion. Very well.” He lowered his voice and
gave his liege the source of the information, observing as her eyes widened in
surprise.
===============================================================================
Adelaide Lestrange’s fall from grace remained the talk of Slytherin House,
especially the younger pupils, for several days after the fateful owl arrived.
Even her own friends began to keep their distance from her in public, which
suggested to Hermione that they were not friends at all, but leeches. Then, on
the evening before the much-anticipated Hogsmeade visit, another owl from her
family arrived, separately from the morning flurry of letters.
So did an owl for her cousin, Draco Malfoy.
Adelaide read her letter and leaped up from her seat in the Slytherin common
room. “Ha!” she exulted, waving it in front of Hermione’s face, to the
bewilderment of the latter. “Look at this, Mudblood!”
Although the parchment was flapping in the air, Hermione managed to read the
pertinent bits. “Malfoy?” she exclaimed. On either side of her, Tom and Harry
glanced up sharply.
“That’s right!” the girl crowed. “You may have thought you ruined my prospects,
Mudblood, but I went from expecting to marry the greatest wizard in France—”
“Aquitaine, you mean,” Tom muttered.
“—to being engaged to the heir of the most powerful wizarding family in
England. It is a barbarous country compared to the homeland of my father’s
people,” she sneered pointedly, “but the Malfoys are civilized.”
After this description of England, Tom was angry enough to curse her. Hermione
tried to take in what she had heard and formulate a response. “Lestrange, your
betrothals are not my affair, and I did nothing to you to cost you your first
one.”
On the other side of the room, Draco Malfoy was glowering over his own letter.
Tom and Hermione noticed. That was… interesting.
“Oh, you may not have sent the memory yourself, but hedid,” she said, eyeing
Tom. “And he wouldn’t have done if not for his degrading alliance with you.”
Tom rose from his seat slowly, with the grace of a snake uncoiling. He cast
Adelaide a hollow, chilling smile. “Lestrange, you would be advised not to say
another word against her.” He took Hermione’s arm, pulling her gently out of
the chair and prompting her surprise—and a rush of pleasure at his touch. “You
have no proof of who informed your erstwhile betrothed about your vices. I saw
it, yes, but so did others,” he sneered. “You made it quite a public
spectacle.”
The girl’s joy dimmed, and her face darkened. “You dare—”
“Yes, I dare,” he hissed. “The only thing degrading is that your family has to
scramble a betrothal to your own cousin because you’re too well known as a
drunkfor anyone else to consider you.” He pulled Hermione close. “And I meant
it. You will leave her alone and not say another word against her. She bested
you in a fair duel. If it embarrasses you that a young lady who learned about
magic only a few months ago beat you, then it should, but that is your
problem.” He forked an eye at Draco, who was visibly unhappy at the news. “And
perhaps Malfoy’s.”
Lestrange looked as if she wanted to say more, but the look on Draco’s face
caught her attention first even though he tried to force his features into a
smile when she looked his way. She gave Tom and Hermione a final snarl before
heading toward her cousin.
Still holding Hermione’s arm, Tom ushered her into a more private corner. Harry
followed quickly.
“All right, Potter, I suppose you had better hear this too,” he muttered.
“Malfoy doesn’t look very happy,” Hermione observed. “I wonder why? They seemed
to be on friendly terms until….” She trailed off as she realized it.
“Until the first bit of news broke, yes,” Tom supplied. “He’s embarrassed about
her too. And who can blame him for being angry at being someone’s second
choice, the person they foisted her on because nobody else would probably take
her? But this is still potentially dangerous for us.”
“The families are already allied,” Harry said.
“Yes, but this just affirms it further. And it means that….” He hesitated
before taking the plunge. “You had best stick with us, Potter. You’re not
without talent. Since you accompany her during the day, I would like you to
watch out for any attempts to harm her when I am not there.”
“Of course,” Harry agreed. “Like a knightly guard.”
“Right,” Tom said, rolling his eyes while Harry was not looking. “Like that.”
“I know a member of the Black family,” Harry said eagerly, glad to have been
officially accepted. “Sirius Black. He lives in a separate room of my parents’
home—”
“I have heard of him,” Tom said, contempt seeping from his words. “He is not
considered part of the family anymore.”
Harry looked as if Tom had thrown cold water on him. “Well, I can still keep my
ears open.”
“As you like, but I would not expect anything useful to come of it. It’s more
important to gather allies from people who actually have some power.”
“You have been here a year,” Hermione pointed out. “Surely you must have some
idea of who is persuadable.”
Tom looked pained and defensive for a moment. “I have not had any friends
until… you,” he admitted. “But, yes, there are some who are more disaffected
with the Malfoy regime than others. I need to work on them. Now that I am a
noble, my views may actually carry weight with them, whereas they didn’t at all
last year.”
She nodded, still thrilling over his declaration of friendship. “Daphne and
Millicent are all right. Perhaps….”
“Yes, you should continue as you are with them. Don’t push yourself on them as
a close friend, though.”
“I had worked that out myself,” she said.
“Another thing that will be interesting to watch is how Malfoy’s views evolve…
or don’t,” Tom said, gazing surreptitiously at Draco. “The Hogsmeade outing is
tomorrow. They’ll have to go as a couple, of course. We should watch them.”
Privately Hermione agreed with this assessment, but she also hoped that Tom
would set aside some time for her during the outing. It would be nice to spend
some time together that did not revolve strictly around practicing magic,
studying, or scheming for revenge on their enemies.
Chapter End Notes
     That’s right. Without the guilt over being a Death Eater or causing
     the death of someone he loved, Snape not only doesn’t get bullied
     into doing penance in academic robes, he also is a spymaster with a
     network of his own.
***** The Free Town of Hogsmeade *****
Chapter Notes
     Once again: Thank you! And here, we have a chapter that is largely
     about character development and background exposition for storylines
     that will appear later. There’s also a small hint as to why Harry is
     in Slytherin House. Don’t worry, the plot will pick up at once, but I
     think a chapter like this was needed here. My tendency is to want to
     write “plot,” so I hope nobody minds too much that I have opted to
     develop Tom/Hermione more.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Tom had been to Hogsmeade before, during the previous year, and he had not been
especially interested in it after a visit or two. Although it was all-magical,
it was not, in his view, the grand exemplar of what the wizarding community
could do. Hogwarts itself was much closer to that, in his opinion. Hogsmeade
was, ultimately, a small village of a few score families, boasting of two
taverns, a textile weaver and tailor shop, a baker, a confectioner, and a
general store. These businesses might be necessary to support a town, but Tom
would rather spend his time in the Hogwarts library—and for much of the
preceding year, he had.
Things were different now.
Hermione would probably prefer the library herself, he supposed, but at the
same time, she had not been to the little town except on the very first day,
before the Sorting, and she had not had the chance to see it properly then.
There were particular things expected of him now, he supposed; he should take
her to see the place. Perhaps treat her to candy… maybe also something at the
Three Broomsticks. It is a tavern, but Hogwarts students visit. It isn’t
inappropriate if I am with her. The other one is where the villagers and older
students tend to go—and Adelaide Lestrange.
Tom definitely did not want to create any situation that would invite
comparisons between Hermione and her nemesis.
Waiting in the common room for her to appear, he mused again about Hermione. He
had been doing that a lot, it seemed. I am just trying to resolve in my own
mind what I think of her, he thought. For a while, he had seen her as something
of a status symbol: proof that he really was a young lord now. He had also
considered her as a mentor would consider a pupil, someone to teach, to impress
with his own knowledge, to mold in the shape he would like. And it was not that
he was suddenly againstwanting to influence her views, but Tom found that those
ideas of what Hermione was to him now seemed inadequate.
Maybe it was her dueling defeat of Lestrange and her resolve to be strong in
the face of hard politics. Tom would have expected the proper, dutiful,
idealistic Hermione he had met a couple of months ago to wilt and crumble
before the ugliness of Wizards’ Council politics and the conduct of the
members’ offspring. That she had instead taken revenge, both public and
private, and had approved wholeheartedly of his additional revenge had
surprised him. Suddenly, she was not just a trapping of nobility, nor just a
lump of clay to shape. She was a witch, powerful and intelligent and worthy of
respect. He had known that she was smart and powerful, but it was an
intellectual observation. Now, it was more visceral, more personal. He was
proud of her, not for his sake, but for hers.
Their relationship was different. He just was not sure what that relationship
was, yet—though maybe, just maybe, he really was beginning to see her as a
friend.
His musings were interrupted when she stepped through the threshold of the
girls’ corridor. He rose from his seat and greeted her, extending his arm to
her. As she took it, he could not keep the ghost of a smile off his face. She
really was looking very well today, and he was glad of the outing.
She noticed the smile. Her brown eyes lit up, and she beamed back at him,
clearly thrilled to the bone that he was smiling at her in a sincere way. Tom
was very good at reading people, and he understood. He knew why she was so
happy with the unexpected little smile, and the implications of that shamed
him. She did accuse me of being cold to her, he thought as they walked down the
hallway of the school. But enough of that. I would hold a wizard nobleman in
contempt if he had a great witch for a wife, and yet treated her in such a way
that she didn’t expect him to genuinely smile at her. I don’t want Hermione to
expect negligence and coldness from me, nor to be surprised when I offer her
sincere regard or admiration.
He thought briefly of how his mother would react if she knew of this change in
him. She would be delighted—and probably a bit triumphant, given that “bargain”
she had made with him that he now suspected was made in bad faith to manipulate
him. Mother said, “Make an effort to become friends with her,” Tom recalled.
But would I have noticed her if not for our situation? If she had been allowed
to come to Hogwarts on her own, would I have taken notice? Is this a real
regard I’m starting to form, or an adjustment to the inevitable?
His mind whispered that his conduct to Hermione so far had been the adjustment,
and this new appreciation of her was indeed real and would have formed anyway.
It hardly matters why this relationship began, he decided.If my mother sees it
as a triumph for us to become friends, so be it. She “wins,” but Hermione and I
win something more.
===============================================================================
The Three Broomsticks was crowded with young people from Hogwarts, but Tom and
Hermione managed to snag a small table for two in a corner that was… not quiet,
but less loud than the boisterous central area. As they waited for their food
and beverages to arrive, Hermione fingered the ring on her finger—the ring
hehad given her, Tom noted—and glanced surreptitiously out the nearest window.
“Hogsmeade is a very interesting place,” she said, “but I did not have the
chance to read too much about its history. It’s peculiar, though… is the High
Master of Hogwarts considered the lord?”
Tom shook his head. “There is no lord,” he said slowly. “Hogsmeade is a free
town. They have a mayor, but no lord. Of course, they certainly benefit from
the proximity of the castle for protection… and their economy,” he muttered.
“They must make a fortune on weekends.”
“But how do they feed themselves without fields?” she asked, astounded.
“There are fields. Hogwarts doesn’t buy its food—most of it—from Muggles,” he
said disdainfully. “This ridiculous Muggle war for their throne would make it a
risky proposition indeed for our people to depend on Muggles for our food.
There are farms outside the town that supply the kitchen of Hogwarts, and the
village gets a cut. Also, most of the people who don’t own shops have private
gardens, a goat, a cow, chickens, or something.”
“A free town,” she mused. “That’s very interesting to me. I suppose that since
they’re all witches and wizards, they could protect themselves to a great
degree even without the school.”
He nodded. “I think that situations like my mother’s, and the other noble
families with magic, must be remnants of the ancient times when people like us
were high priests of clans, with authority over the non-magical chieftains.
Well… that was how the Celts, my magical ancestors, did it, anyway,” he
clarified. “Who can say about these… newcomers.” He was proud of himself to
have remembered that Hermione’s heritage was half Norman and to have avoided
using a more negative term to describe the current leadership.
Hermione looked uncomfortable nonetheless, and changed the subject slightly.
“King Arthur was a great lord, though, and he had a wizard as his advisor
instead….”
Little did she know what she was about to unleash. “I have read just enough
about King Arthur in my mother’s library—before she put a hex on our family
genealogy books—that I have essentially no use for him. He tried to keep the
Wizard-King in Exile from the throne—” Tom broke off abruptly, trying to
control his temper about this subject. He reallywanted to read those books.
Hermione was staring at him. “Your genealogybooks? Are you descended from that
line too, in addition to Slytherin?”
“On my mother’s side,” he said proudly. “There were references to our descent
from Morgana le Fay and Mordred the Dispossessed. I would love to know more
about it. She won’t allow me to read it yet, though. She put a hex on the books
after she saw me reading one.”
Hermione gazed sympathetically at him. “In a few years, I’m sure she will
decide you are old enough. After all, you and I will obtain mastery of magic in
three or four years, I’m sure, and we will marry…. If we are old enough for
that, you are old enough to learn about ancient family history.” She paused. “I
have heard that Mordred was… the king’s natural son. He wouldn’t have been
eligible, even if he hadn’t done wicked things.”
“They claimhe did wicked things,” Tom muttered. “But… I suppose you’re right
about his birth. It’s a shame. I might have been king otherwise.” He smirked at
her.
“Don’t you mean ‘prince,’ since your mother is alive?” she said pointedly. “And
if you had, I wouldn’t exist, given who half of my ancestors were. Their
conquest would have failed. For that matter, youmight not exist as yourself. I
would bet that your father was descended from people who came to this country
after the ancients.”
Tom looked sour for a moment. “I guess so.”
At this point, the food arrived. Tom gazed at it: delicious shepherd’s pie, a
staple of Hogsmeade. He was accustomed to hearty food now, but before his
mother had come into her title, the food at Hogwarts and Hogsmeade had been
somewhat of a shock to him. He still had a lot of appreciation for it. He
picked up his spoon and began to eat.
Hermione smiled fondly at him. They had not had too many conversations that
weren’t about magical theory or practice. It was quite nice to discuss other
subjects, and it seemed to her to be a very good sign for the future. Even when
they had differences of opinion, he sincerely considered hers, she noted. That
was also good. Her own father had always shown respect to her mother, but
whenever they had a difference of view, his opinion became law. Perhaps it
would be different among witches and wizards. Witches, after all, had power of
their own, and wizards had to acknowledge that if they were at all honest with
themselves.
As they finished their lunch and their bowls emptied, something occurred to
Hermione. “I am thirteen tomorrow,” she said.
Tom set his spoon down. “I did not know that,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell
me?”
“I… we don’t observe it. I mean… non-magical people don’t make much fuss over
dates of birth.” She seemed somewhat embarrassed.
“Magical people do,” Tom said firmly.
“Muggles solemnly observe the anniversary of someone’s death.”
“Well, that’s completely grotesque,” he declared. “You are one of us now,
Hermione, so we’ll definitely observe that your birthday is tomorrow.”
===============================================================================
They paid for their meal and left the Three Broomsticks. Tom felt quite good
about the entire conversation, and he was glad that Hermione had idly mentioned
that her birthday was the following day. He would certainly buy something nice
for her at one of the shops. She could not start observing wizarding customs
quickly enough, really. Muggles were so ridiculous. Why observe the anniversary
of a death? Perhaps, he granted to himself, Muggleswould consider it a release
from a grim world, and it wasn’t as if they had a choice in the matter anyway.
But people with magic did. They could return as ghosts—or they could avoid it
entirely.
More to the point, what in the world was wrong with celebrating
birth—celebrating life? It was probably religious disapproval, he supposed. Tom
was vaguely aware that his mother’s family had followed an ancient, otherwise
extinct faith for a long time after it had died out in the rest of England,
converting only around the time that Slytherin married into the family and co-
founded Hogwarts. This was another thing he wanted to know more about,
something that was in the books she had banned him from reading. His mother’s
practice was still… idiosyncratic, he supposed. She kept a lot of magical
customs that he rather doubted the Muggles would approve of, including
observing the old holidays. As far as Tom could tell—not having read the
forbidden books to find out for sure—the only major difference between her
customs and that ancient religion was the number of deities she acknowledged.
In any case, it made eminent sense to him to observe someone’s birthday. He and
his mother had always done so, even when they were poor. He felt sorry for
Hermione, and he would buy her some candy, or something at the general store.
As Tom approached the store, someone caught a glimpse of them and called out.
Tom and Hermione halted, recognizing the voice at once.
Potter approached them, another boy standing near him. “Hermione. Riddle. A
good day for this, isn’t it?”
“Quite,” Tom said stiffly. He eyed the companion. “Who is your friend?”
“Oh, this is Neville,” said Potter. “He is in Gryffindor. He stood up for me
just now when the Weasleys were….” Potter trailed off, noticing Neville’s
awkwardness. “Do you know the Weasleys?” he asked, rallying himself as he
changed the subject slightly.
“I do, somewhat,” Tom said, his words frigid. “Not the newest one.”
Hermione shot Tom a private, querying look, wondering what his issue was with
the Weasleys. That tone of voice was the one he usually reserved for his
enemies. “I have not had the opportunity to make their acquaintance,” she said.
“What were they doing?”
“Well, you must understand that my father was a Gryffindor, and so was my
godfather Sirius Black, who lives with my family, and so a lot of people
expected that I would go there too. The Hat almost placed me there,” he added.
“I knew it,” muttered Tom.
“The Weasleys are a family of boys with red hair—”
“—and nothing to their name,” Tom sneered. “They used to be petty nobles, but
they wouldn’t swear to Malfoy—Armand Malfoy—and so they lost everything. I know
about it. Everyone eventually learns about it, because they’re so bloody proud
of it.”
“Riddle!” Harry gasped. “Hermione is here!”
Hermione chuckled. “I have heard it before, trust me.”
Tom had actually been embarrassed for a moment about accidentally swearing in
front of a lady, and annoyed with himself for making a gaffe in front of these
boys of lower status, but he continued quickly, to move on. “The Weasleys never
tried to improve themselves after that, either. Apparently, whenever one of
them wants to leave—to make something out of himself—they consider that
betraying the family honor.” Contempt poured from Tom’s words in waves.
“My family wouldn’t swear to Malfoy either,” the new boy, Neville, said
quietly.
Tom was brought up short for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “And how did
that work out for them?” he retorted.
Neville shrank back for a moment, but in the very next, Harry nudged him, while
eyeing Tom through narrowed eyes. Neville took a breath to rally himself. “They
actually have done well, if I may say so,” he said. “My great-grandfather
Longbottom—the one who renounced his knighthood—was married to a lady of the
Black family, so she had money to start with. Malfoy wanted to seize that too,
but the law prevented him. Shewas not the head of the family, the one who
refused to take the oath, so she could keep her money.”
“Well, all right, they weren’t completelystupid, but I still would have just
taken the oath and kept the property, whether I meant the words or not,” Tom
declared.
“Swear falsely?” Neville exclaimed. He had not been shocked at Tom’s use of the
word “bloody,” but he wasshocked at that.
Hermione knew Tom well enough by now that it did not exactly shock her to hear
it, but it did somewhat surprise her that he had acknowledgedit, even to boast
of his presumed cleverness and pragmatism. She gazed at him with raised
eyebrows. Harry, interestingly, had just enough cynicism—perhaps, Hermione
thought, from having lived in a village ruled by one of the Malfoys, or living
with his godfather, who had been exiled from his own family. Whatever the
reason, he did not seem to think it a terrible idea.
“People swear falsely all the time,” Tom said with a shrug. He had noticed
Potter’s jaded reaction too.
“My great-grandfather was not an oathbreaker,” Neville said stiffly. “My family
did all right over the years. They’ve kept order here in Hogsmeade, and my
father is set to be the next mayor after the current one steps down.”
Tom was brought up short by that, but he would not speak and reveal the degree
of his ignorance on the topic.
Hermione gave the boy an encouraging smile. “That sounds very different to the
Weasley family, then. What did they do to you, Harry?” she asked, politely
bringing the conversation back to its original topic.
“The twins and the newest one started to hex me for being in Slytherin,” he
muttered. “They said I’d betrayed my father.”
Tom glowered. “That sounds like Weasleys. So self-righteous in their self-
imposed poverty.”
“Neville stood up to them,” Harry said, with a grateful look to the other boy.
“They tried to hex him, too, but we teamed up and drove them off.”
“What did you use on them?” Tom asked greedily, his eyes flashing.
“Neville got them with a Stupefy, and I knew of a curse that makes slugs issue
from someone’s mouth,” Harry said, smirking.
Tom actually laughed at that. Hermione was disgusted for a brief moment at the
thought of slugs in the mouth, but it sounded as if these boys had deserved
it—and she was in favor of Harry having more friends than just herself. She
managed a chuckle as well.
===============================================================================
They bought candy—Tom paid for Hermione’s—and while she was temporarily
distracted with that, he slipped into the general store that was next door,
leaving Hermione in the company of the younger boys. He considered the items
for sale. Hermione would appreciate a book, certainly, but it also seemed less
creative than he was truly capable of.
He gazed at the items of jewelry. He’d always had an eye for luxury. There were
some nice pieces here… but it was not proper for a wizard to buy jewelry for an
unrelated witch unless they were engaged—
Oh. Well, then. Tom’s gaze fixed upon a necklace of silver and opals. That was
very pretty… expensive, yes, but it was within his new price range, and in any
case, Hermione had never received a gift for her birthday. It would do for all
thirteen of them.
He purchased the necklace and had the store owner wrap it in brown paper, which
the man did very deftly with a flick of his wand. Tom slipped the parcel inside
his robes and stepped away.
“I really need to go back to Hogwarts and study.”
Tom whipped around to see who was speaking. To his surprise, the voice belonged
to Draco Malfoy, who was standing next to Adelaide Lestrange and looking very
unhappy about it.
“We haven’t even been to the Three Broomsticks,” Lestrange complained.
Tom slunk into the shadows, easing toward the door of the shop.
“You know the last place you should be seen is a pub,” Malfoy grumbled.
“You are with me. And I saw the Mudblood coming out of it with Riddle.”
“She isn’t accused of being a drunk,” Malfoy snapped.
Lestrange raised her eyebrows at him, looking ready to curse him, but she
huffed in indignation. “We shouldn’t speak of it here.”
Tom slipped out of the store unseen and went back into the confectioner shop,
feeling smug about the complete lack of domestic bliss that he had just
witnessed.
“Oh, there you are!” Hermione exclaimed when she noticed him. “I was wondering
where you were.”
He took her hand. “I just stepped out for a moment.”
Harry gave him a skeptical look, but did not dispute the statement. When they
were finished with their sweets, Tom led the small group to the door and
stepped out.
Directly in front of him, Draco Malfoy and Adelaide Lestrange were in the
middle of a shouting row that they did not seem to mind the rest of the village
witnessing. Indeed, several townsfolk had clustered in a knot nearby, watching
in gleeful fascination.
“I have done nothing!” Lestrange shouted. “I cannot believe you credit the
rumors spread by that—that foreigner I used to be betrothed to! He was not even
here!”
Tom gaped in disbelief that she would speak of her former betrothed that way.
Clearly, her devotion to him was gone.
“I never said you did anything! But you wereseen stumbling out of the Hog’s
Head, and everyone in Slytherin knows about what you keep in your bedchamber—”
Lestrange hissed. “Well, they certainly do now—as well as part of Hogsmeade!”
She glared at the small group of villagers. “Enjoy this while you can,
peasants, because my father can come here and wipe your memories!”
The group of villagers dispersed at once. Lestrange then noticed Tom and his
companions. She snarled in rage. “Having fun, Riddle?”
Tom drew his wand. “I was having a wonderful outing with my betrothed… which is
clearly more than youcan say. Bad luck, Malfoy,” he said briskly to Draco.
“Then a couple of companions joined us for sweets. We were having a fine day
until we stepped innocently out of the store, minding our own business, and saw
this.”
“It is entirely your own fault!” she raged. “And the fault of your Mudblood.”
She sneered at Hermione. “How hilarious, a Mudblood with a title and fine
robes. You’re still as filthy as the dirt under my feet, no matter how they
dress you up.” Petty spite filled her words.
“It sounds as if you have had more drinks than you should already,” Hermione
said, her voice quiet and cold. She drew her own wand surreptitiously, the
movement hidden by her large sleeves. “Is that so, Lestrange?”
“It is none of your concern!”
Draco Malfoy was edging closer to her, their violent disagreement apparently
deferred in the face of enemies. Tom noticed and took Hermione’s elbow gently,
pulling her slightly behind him in case one of them attacked. “You’re right,
Lestrange—your problems should be none of our concern. I certainly did not want
to hear you brawling with Malfoy in front of the town, bringing your personal
troubles into the open like a vulgar peasant, and I am not going to get drawn
into a fight that is not my own. Now get out of the way, both of you.” He
gripped his wand openly, making sure they could see.
“How dare you,” Malfoy began.
Tom pointed the yew wand directly at Malfoy’s face. “How dare you, you mean.”
He sneered at Lestrange. “And how dare youforce your personal business into the
public square and then complain that people hear it! How dare you block other
people from attending to their ownbusiness. Get out of the way, Malfoy.” His
fingers twitched around his wand.
Malfoy seemed to consider challenging Tom, and Lestrange definitely wanted to,
but in the end he took her by the elbow and pulled her away, letting Tom’s
group pass.
===============================================================================
Later that evening, after a grand banquet in the Great Hall, Tom, Hermione, and
Harry trudged down to the Slytherin common room. Harry stepped inside the
threshold, briefly gazing at Hermione poignantly—slightly disappointed, but
also happy in a melancholy way at the same time. Hermione was looking the other
way and did not notice, but Tom did.
So I was right, he thought. Potter was interested in her, even if she wasn’t in
him. I wonder if I was right to designate him to be her guard… her “knight,” as
he put it. Really, that should have been the clue. But at least he has accepted
that she likes me, and he’s apparently happy that she has my regard. Even if he
was almost a Gryffindor, and apparently descended from Gryffindors, he’s not
foolish enough to antagonize me by trying to draw her away from me.
He and Hermione entered the common room after Harry. Tom considered giving her
the gift he had bought for her, but it was not actually her birthday yet. It
could wait till tomorrow.
===============================================================================
The following day, Tom awakened with the rising sun. That was unusual. He
generally slept in when left entirely to his own devices. It’s Hermione’s
birthday, he recalled at once, before he even got out of his bed. It’s her
birthday, and she’ll love what I bought her.
As he went through his morning routine, he wondered at what it meant that he
was so excited about that fact. Of course, he did expect her to gush over the
necklace, to compliment his taste and to shower gratitude on him… but it almost
seemed like another part of him was looking forward to observing her own
pleasure.
He would have to defer that enjoyment a bit longer, though. Since the Norman
invasion, the masters required the pupils to go to the school chapel, where a
fat friar presided. There were not any wizard priests, at least that Tom knew
of—certainly no trained wizards—but this wizard was trained, and was known to
have been a Hufflepuff. He wondered why this man had decided to enter a
religious vocation after being trained in magic at the school. Well… there were
certainly worse things than having a wizard voice in that particular
institution, and although Tom found the Sunday devotional ghastly dull, this
friar was at least a kindly fellow who spoke of mysticism and love and such
things, rather than judgment and brimstone. It could be worse, indeed.
When they finally headed into the Great Hall for breakfast, Tom was quite ready
to present the necklace to Hermione. He sat next to her, as usual, and enjoyed
a very good and hearty meal that almostdistracted him from the anticipation
that was building inside him.
The young people typically remained at the table for a while, talking amongst
themselves, especially when they did not have scheduled lessons. Tom listened
politely to Hermione’s chatter about the outing of the previous day, and when
she appeared to have said all that she had to say on that topic, he reached
into his belt pouch and drew out the wrapped box.
“This is for you,” he said solemnly, “for your thirteenth birthday.”
Hermione’s eyes widened as she took the package. “Well, thank you,” she said.
She pulled at the paper, quickly revealing the painted wooden box that held the
jewelry.
“There’s more inside.”
She lifted the metal latch and opened the box top. Her brown eyes popped wide
open, and her face flushed pink. “Oh my!” she exclaimed, picking up the
necklace and holding it so that the opals glittered in the morning light.
Tom smirked proudly as several of their housemates gathered near or dropped
their personal conversations to look. “Would you like to wear it now?” he
asked. “It would go well with this robe.” Hermione was dressed in light blue-
green with grey trim.
She nodded, embarrassed by the attention and humbled by the grand gift. “Thank
you so much. It’s beautiful.”
Tom took the necklace from her and fastened it around her neck. She
flinched—no, he realized, she shivered—as his fingertips lightly touched the
back of her neck. He pushed that thought right out of his head. “There,” he
said, moving his hands away. “It looks just as I thought it would.” It was the
polite thing to say, but it was also true. She didlook lovely… and he was proud
of the looks that other people were giving her, proud that she was his and
everyone knew that hewas the giver of this gift….
She smiled at him. “This was so unexpected! What day were you born, Tom? I’ll
have to remember it.”
“December 31. I will be at my mother’s castle then.”
She nodded. “Naturally. Perhaps, though, my family can visit yours. It would be
appropriate.”
“I’m sure something like that will happen.” He gave her a smirk. “So, I take it
that you like the necklace?”
She laughed happily.
Chapter End Notes
     This is potentially a major spoiler, but I want to clear up something
     instead of unintentionally setting expectations that this story will
     go in a direction that it will not. Hermione is a very honorable
     person, and she is not lying (even to herself) when she says she sees
     Harry as a friend. I’m not writing Arthur-Guinevere-Lancelot. The
     recurring mentions of Arthur and his cohort are for a completely
     different reason, which I’ve hinted at very slightly.
     I’m also not going to inject religious conflict into the story. I
     just don’t think I could quite get away with purposely not mentioning
     it at all like JKR, given the era of this story.
     Apparently in the year 1143, September 19 was a Sunday. I did look
     that up. Why JKR couldn’t be troubled to look at calendars to get
     things like the phases of the moon correct, or matching up dates with
     days of the week, baffles me.
     Yes, it’s that necklace. It hasn’t been cursed yet. :)
***** Things That Grow in Winter *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey guys, thanks as always! This is another character chapter, but
     it's a pretty important one for several reasons, as you shall see.
     You guys have raised several interesting questions, and I absolutely
     intend to answer them in time. Thank you so much for reading!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
For Tom and Hermione, the duel had been a turning point, and the visit to
Hogsmeade had been another. From that point onward, their relationship was
fundamentally different. The rest of the students—minus, perhaps, Harry—would
not be able to notice the difference, since they did not make a point of
displaying the vulnerability of personal emotion before others. It looked the
same when they walked to and from meals, when they visited the little town
again over the course of the fall season, when Tom bade Hermione good night.
But when they did not have others’ eyes upon them, it was different.
For Tom, it was the curious feeling that came from having an actual friend. He
had been socially isolated as a child living with his mother in London,
instinctively avoiding most of the other children because they were not like
him—they were non-magical, or they did not share his interests and therefore he
could not talk to them. Throughout his first year at the school, he had not had
a friend either; the Slytherins had scorned him because he was a commoner and a
half-blood.
That was changing. There were now some Slytherins—not all, and not the ones who
attached themselves to Lestrange or Malfoy, the Normanand Norman-toadying
cohort—but some, who respected him as one of their peers because of his
mother’s elevation. Still… they were not actually friends. At some point over
the course of autumn, Tom realized with disquiet that if he had not had
Hermione, he might think that this was what friendship was.
He refused just yet to consider that Potter could become a friend too. They got
on, but Potter was still a rival for Hermione, as far as Tom was concerned.
Even if she insisted that she held to her noble honor, and that she had no
romantic interest in Potter, Tom was quite certain that Potter did have some
for her. Tom was committed to his strategy of letting his own friendship with
Hermione develop so that she would not have to rely strictly on “honor” to stay
devoted to him, while also using Potter’s feelings for Hermione—even if they
finally did subside into friendship—to keep Hermione… well, safer, if not
wholly safe, when he himself could not stick with her. It was better to have
another person around in this place, and Potter seemed to take his “job” as
Hermione’s unofficial guard seriously.
Tom could tell that Hermione’s fancy for him continued unabated—perhaps even
increased, since she was finally getting some real encouragement that he
enjoyed her company. But her expression of it grew subtler. She became more
comfortable expressing disagreement with him when they talked, rather than
adopting his views as necessarilysuperior to her own, or becoming upset if they
differed.
But at the same time, she was rapidly adapting to her new world. The school
held a Hallowe’en feast, which was a holiday that Hermione had not observed
before. When Tom explained the ancient origins of it, her eyebrows went up, but
she did not hesitate to partake of the feast.
“I suppose it makes sense that a holiday about the proximity of the spirits of
the dead would persist in a community where we can see ghosts,” she had
remarked that evening as a female ghost dressed in elegant robes passed by.
Tom had nodded, pleased.
The budding friendship between them grew; the passage of time whittled away the
calendar year. Winter was coming, and before they knew it, it was time for the
students to be dismissed to observe Yule and Christmas with their families.
===============================================================================
Although she was fostered at Parselhall, Hermione would spend the holidays with
her own family. She would join them after Christmas, just in time for Tom’s
birthday. He looked forward to her coming. When his mother’s house-elf showed
up at Hogsmeade to bring him home, and she was not going with him, he felt an
odd pang. Even though it would only be a few days, he would… miss her. I have
gotten used to her being here, he began to think, but instantly interrupted his
own thought with another. No. I enjoy her company.
She gave him a parting glance that was full of anticipation and smiled
knowingly at him. Evidently it was on her mind too. His mother’s other house-
elf appeared next to Hermione; it would take her home, since that was much more
convenient for her family than to have to send some sort of Muggle carriage or
wagon for her. Tom frowned in dissatisfaction; it would not have been a problem
for Hermione to visit his castle—well, his mother’s castle—first, would it?
They could have had a feast, and she could have gone home to her parents at any
time. Why hadn’t they planned it that way?
The elf was reaching for Tom’s hand, eagerly and somewhat desperately trying to
fulfill the commands of its mistress. Tom sighed and allowed the elf to
Disapparate with him. They appeared on the steps of the main entrance and were
instantly granted admission.
Tom blinked as he looked around. It was his home, of course, but it was
different. His mother had decked the castle—well, probably ordered it
decked—with garlands, wreaths, and magically-lit candles. In the grand hall,
the great hearth was ready for a Yule log to be placed. The holiday was
tomorrow. A light dusting of snow coated the ground, visible through the
diamond-paned windows. Blades of dead grass, fallen leaves, and the occasional
twig popped through it. A delicious scent filled the indoor air.
Merope had been sitting in the throne-like chair at the center of the great
hall, awaiting his return. She rose, rich brown robes streaming behind her as
she greeted him. The elf bowed low to her and scurried away with his
possessions to store them in his room.
Tom observed that his mother was wearing the regnant’s emerald tiara again,
which she did only on special occasions. “Mother,” he said in acknowledgment as
she approached. He wondered what was going on. Maybe she had a feast planned to
celebrate his return. That would be nice.
“Welcome home,” she said warmly. She looked him head to toe and smiled. “You
look very well, Tom.”
“Thank you, Mother,” he said briskly. His gaze flitted to the top of her head
and then back to her face. “You do as well—and I have to ask, what is the
occasion?”
Merope smiled. “You’ll see,” she said.
Tom was not having any of that. “Is there a feast planned tonight, Mother?”
She merely looked at him. “Yes, that is part of it. You should rest, Tom. The
elf will bring you a bowl of wassail if you would like.”
“Oh, is that what smells so good?” Tom inhaled the air deeply. “It is. Well,”
he said, grinning, “I do intend to keep questioning you… but I can’t turn
thisdown.” He looked around. “That elf must still be in my bedchamber. I’ll be
in the library.”
“The library?” she said. “You just came from school.”
“Reading is how I rest.”
Merope shook her head in affectionate amusement, biting her lip to avoid
smiling too broadly. “Well, that is definitely you, Tom.”
He wondered for a moment if his mother would come with him, but she turned and
headed toward her study. The joys of administration, he thought grimly as he
walked toward the vast library of the castle.
Tom closed the tall doors behind him once inside. They were heavy and did not
open instantly, so he would have ample warning of an approaching visitor. His
mother couldApparate from room to room inside her own castle, but she did not
usually do it unless she had to go somewhere that was on the other side and a
much higher or lower level. That was not the case for her study.
He summoned the house-elf that was, presumably, either attending to some
general chore in the castle or setting out his possessions perfectly. The elf
appeared before him with a pop.
“My mother tells me that there is wassail freshly made,” he said.
“Yes, Lord Master Thomas, there is,” the elf said eagerly, glad to be of help.
“Would master like some?”
“I would. A large bowl, if you please.”
The elf disappeared, coming back in a moment with the steaming hot drink. It
left clouds of white vapor in the chilly air of the castle. Even with magical
fires, it was difficult to keep a castle this large warm anywhere except close
to flames. Tom sipped the bowl and smiled in pleasure. It really was good.
With the elf gone, Tom was all alone in the library, just as he wanted. He
carried the hot bowl to the corner of the library where the family history
books were and set it down on a reading table. He gazed at the bookcase that
held the books he wanted. The good ones were almost out of his reach… but he
was a wizard.
Tom drew his wand and summoned several titles. Serpent-Tongue: The Life and
Mysteries of Salazar Slytherin, A Comprehensive History of House Gaunt, The
Lords of the Fens, The Dispossessed Children of the Wizard-King, The Faithless
Advisor, and The Book of Morgana. He smirked broadly as the entire lot of them
shifted off the shelves and toward his outstretched hands.
Searing, screaming pain shot through Tom’s hands when the books reached him. He
yelped and dropped them in a pile on the library floor. Mother! he thought in
fury. What kind of a hex was that? This was completely unnecessary!
Once the pain in his hands subsided, Tom considered the books further. Perhaps
not all of them bore curses. He had only touched the one on the bottom of the
pile, the one about Slytherin. As disappointing as it was that he apparently
would not be able to touch it—it was where he expected he would learn about
Slytherin’s Chamber, if it existed—it was possible that he could handle the
other books. He pointed his wand at each of them in turn, testing them for
spells—as he realized in irritation that he should have done at the beginning.
He also attempted to open the covers by magic. To his dismay, the only book
that was not cursed with some sort of stinging or burning spell, or sealed
against him entirely, was The Faithless Advisor.
Sighing, Tom sent the rest of the books back to their shelf and picked up the
one that his mother had deemed fit for him to read. He was exasperated. He was
almost fourteen years old; when wouldhe be allowed to read about his own family
history? He scowled to himself as he sat down in the nearest chair.
Something occurred to him. He looked around the area of the library he was in,
then remembered his wand and summoned a sheet of paper and an inked quill.
Angrily, defiantly, he wrote down the names of the books that his mother had
blocked from him. Perhaps the library at Hogwarts would have some of them. If
he couldn’t read them here, then he would try to find them somewhere else. Then
he picked up The Faithless Advisor and opened its front cover grudgingly. Of
all the books that he had wanted to look at right now, this was the one that
was least interesting to him. Which is probably why Mother didn’t hex it, he
thought mutinously. Still, it was something. He began to read.
The purported author was Dunwen Mac Gant, a seventh-century witch who seemed to
have been something of a scholar. That must have been unusual for women in that
era, even more so than now, Tom thought. The book itself could not have been
more than about a hundred years old, though. He wondered who had translated the
original manuscript and how accurate it was. The book was a history of Merlin,
advisor to King Arthur, but it was written from a highly unflattering
viewpoint. Tom rather hoped that it did indeed reflect the original, even
removed as that would have been from the events in question by a century.
As he read the book, he realized with shock that the author was apparently one
of his own ancestors. The family spelled its name differently and had not
dropped the “Mac” at that date. That made Tom feel much better. The family
would not have kept a transcription that misrepresented the work of one of its
own. He read on, and as he did, he realized something.
Even though Mother did not ban this book to me, the material is shocking
anyway, he thought, his dark eyes wide as he read over a particular passage. I
knew some of this, vaguely, but the details are even more appalling than I
thought.
According to the book, Merlin was the ultimate villain behind the fall of
Arthur and Mordred, as well as the dispossession of Mordred’s secret
descendants. The wizard had enabled Uther Pendragon, an arrogant, vulgar,
entitled Muggle warlord, to rape Lady Igraine, a secret witch. That was the
original sin, as it were. Arthur—the offspring of that unlawful attack—was a
hapless non-magical buffoon, according to Lady Dunwen’s narrative, led around
by his advisor, but he was not the true source of the evil that later ensued.
As a younger man, he had distanced himself from his father’s conduct. He had
attempted to build bridges with the other children of Igraine and join the two
lines. Igraine’s daughter Morgana had thought this an excellent idea.
Tom’s stomach twisted at that little revelation—if revelation it really were.
He had always thought that Arthur and Morgana had not known they were half-
siblings. If Lady Dunwen’s history was correct, and they had… Tom did not know
quite what to think. He wanted to revolt against the idea that his ancestors
had knowingly committed incest, but if it had been unintentional, then why
would someone fabricate a lie that made them look worse? Let alone someone who
was a descendant…. No, Tom thought somewhat reluctantly, it must be true. That
was six hundred years ago, though, and we know better now. People must have
thought differently then. He continued reading, though with great trepidation
for what else he might learn.
That was the worst, though. The rest simply angered him, but it was nothing
new. Merlin had poisoned Arthur’s mind over time, Lady Dunwen asserted. He had
persuaded Arthur to cut off his son Mordred and attempt—to no avail—to have
children with the Muggle Lady Guinevere, because it was less likely that any
such children would have magic, and Merlin did not think that witches and
wizards should rule. He then played Arthur against his own kin, leading to the
death of everyone in the direct royal line except the secret daughter of
Mordred, who fled the week before the Battle of Camlann.
Tom finished the last of his wassail, which was now room temperature, and
closed the book. His heart was pounding in indignation. A faithless advisor,
indeed! he thought with contempt, as he put the book back on its shelf. Imagine
what we would have been if not for that villain! All witches and wizards, not
just the Gaunt family. And yet, so many of us revere him, because they believe
the lies that came later that vilified Morgana and her son.
He gazed greedily at the other books, the ones that were barred to him. If his
mother had let him read this, he could only imagine what juicy secrets might be
in the others….
He would have to wait, but someday, he would learn everything that those books
had to tell him. He vowed that to himself.
===============================================================================
Tom prepared himself for the feast that evening, taking a bath and donning a
nice robe in dark evergreen. He and his mother had observed Yule in their
little London house, but it had naturally been a small celebration. He wondered
what his mother would do for this occasion. The hearth in the great hall should
have a large log. He hoped that someone had procured one. He wondered what his
uncle’s old customs for the holiday had been.
When he descended the great stone staircase, the first thing he noticed was
that his mother was holding not a wand, but a gnarled staff of wood topped with
a pale green stone. Whose had that been? Obviously she had found it somewhere
in the castle, because staffs were obsolete. Did she mean to light the Yule log
with it? He then noticed that Snape was standing next to his mother, dressed
head to toe in black. The wizard moved to allow Tom to occupy the place of
honor. The villagers and field workers had gathered, many of them looking
extremely anxious.
Merope smiled at him briefly before making a quick motion toward the back of
the room. The doors opened slowly, revealing a house-elf standing next to
Hermione in the entrance to the castle. Tom broke into a smile. This was the
surprise that his mother had planned. And a good one it is, he thought as his
mother introduced her and she made her way forward to stand next to him.
He smirked at her briefly, enjoying her impressed but somewhat bewildered look.
She had never seen a Yule celebration before. Whether all Muggle lords had
stopped observing it, or just the ones who had adopted Norman customs, Tom did
not know, though he had a suspicion it was the latter. She was in for a treat,
anyway.
“My kin, my friends, my loyal subjects,” Merope began, the tiara of House Gaunt
shining atop her head in the candlelight, “I have summoned you here to mark the
lighting of the great Yule log, which we burn to keep light and heat for our
bodies and souls as we observe the coming of winter.” She gazed out at the
nervous faces. “I understand that my late lord brother observed this day in a
different way. Know that those times are, and will henceforth remain, in the
past. We do not torment loyal people, but respectfully burn the bounty of the
forest, to mark this day. It is an English tradition that we light this year’s
log with the last piece of the previous year’s, and to that end, when I assumed
this mantle, I brought the piece that my lord son and I burned last year. I
shall cast the flames with a staff of my ancestors. Lord Severus, if you will.”
Snape whisked something out of his robes: a small piece of charred wood. Tom’s
eyes widened in awareness; this was the remnant of the Yule log that he and his
mother had burned in their little house in London last year. Merope directed
the staff she was holding at it and uttered a spell—not in Latin or Greek, the
languages that Tom was most familiar with for spellcasting, but in beautiful
mellifluous Gaelic. Tom had never heard any spell in that language—the language
of my magical ancestors, he thought with a bit of indignation—and it touched
something deep in him to hear it spoken. The power was almost tangible.
The piece of wood caught fire with a rich orange flame. Merope carried it
ceremoniously toward the hearth and placed it upon the large log that now
occupied the space. The magical flame caught at once. Merope turned around and
faced her subjects, holding the staff, the pale green stone in the staff and
the tiara atop her head gleaming with the light of the flames. It caught Tom’s
imagination. In that moment she looked very much like his image of an ancient
witch, and he imagined how he might look doing the honors. His gaze shifted to
Hermione, whose unruly hair was tinted golden with the firelight. He smiled.
She would stand next to him, no doubt, and look the part just as well.
At the proper time, they dismissed to the dining hall, where a feast was
awaiting them. As they ate, Hermione whispered to Tom, “That was unlike
anything I have seen outside of Hogwarts. Magical customs are so interesting!”
“I’m not sure if this is a magical custom so much as a traditional custom.”
“Well, your mother obviously added some magical elements to it.”
“Yes. Of course… it is the traditionof this country that magic used to play a
greater role for everyone, even people without magic, than it does.” He
remembered the alternative history of Merlin and Arthur that he had read that
afternoon, and the outrage surfaced once more. “I hope it goes back to that. I
am afraid that the opposite is going to happen, though. The Malfoys seem very
content to let anti-magical customs take hold among the Muggles as long as they
get to keep their power over witches and wizards.”
Hermione looked uncomfortable at that subject. “Your mother was impressive,”
she said. “She looked so… magical… and I wonder sometimes if I could ever do
that.”
Tom smiled at her. “You’re thirteen,” he said. “And I’m almost fourteen. She
was, too, once. You can’t compare yourself to a lady her age. You are already
very impressive in your own right, and both of us will be extremely powerful
when we are adults.”
She seemed to accept this and returned to her dinner. Tom watched her eat,
thinking of many things. A peculiar new feeling formed inside him as he stole
glances at Hermione. He had a hunch he knew what it meant, but he was not
prepared to confront it, so he turned to his own dinner.
===============================================================================
Considerable snow fell overnight, and they awoke the following morning to a
blanket of white coating everything outside. It was a fitting introduction to
winter, and Tom was pleased. He smirked to himself at the thought of throwing
snowballs at Hermione.
He dressed and went downstairs to the family dining room, a small room where
the family usually had meals whenever there was no occasion for a grand banquet
for Mother to preside. The elves had cooked a nice breakfast, and Tom eagerly
began to eat once his mother and Hermione were there. Severus Snape, his
mother’s chief vassal, was also present. Tom took note of the fact that he was
eating meals in the family dining room now….
Merope greeted them, then turned to Snape. “Since we are among family… and
close friends… here, how is the search for the Pettigrew family?”
Snape grimaced. “Not going well, I am afraid. Carrow says that he doesn’t know
where the dowager went. The story is that the son is dead, but he isn’t sure of
that either.”
Merope frowned. “And the Lestranges are still not inclined to release the
Carrows?”
“They are not.”
“They should have done so as soon as they learned that I was alive. The Carrow
family is sworn to heirs of… the Gaunts,” she said with some distaste that Tom
noticed, “and although my late brother was a bad lord, and certainly harmed
them personally, what the Carrows did wasoathbreaking, from a strict
interpretation. My brother was alive when they left, even if they did not know
that I was.” She paused, considering what she herself had just said. “Are the
Lestranges afraid I would punish the Carrows for that? Because I wouldn’t.”
Snape shook his head. “I don’t think that is what it is,” he said slowly. “The
Lestranges are still angry with your family”—he glanced apologetically at Tom
and Hermione—“over the incident early in the fall with the daughter and Lady
Hermione, and they think that Lord Thomas exposed her conduct to her former
betrothed. I think Lestrange is keeping them sworn to him out of spite.”
Merope glowered at her food. “This is a serious offense,” she said, her words
hard. “I have only been a ruling lady for a few months, but I am already tired
of this high-handed and arbitrarily lawless behavior. It did not use to be this
way, I thought.”
Tom spoke up at once. “I don’t think it was either, Mother,” he said. “This is
the doing of the usurping lords.” He glanced at Hermione momentarily. “The
Muggle Norman king gave them considerable independence, and they have used it
to bully other magical people.”
“There is little, if anything, that we can do about the Muggle political
situation,” Merope said. “We have to consider our own problems… and Severus,
somehow we’ll have to determine whether the Pettigrew family are actually all
gone or not. I need wizarding vassals.”
“Why not raise other families to a title… my lady?” Hermione suggested. “I have
a friend at Hogwarts who lives in the town of Godric’s Hollow. He says that
there are many magical families who live there… and also in the village of
Hogsmeade.”
“Godric’s Hollow is ruled by Lucius Malfoy, the grandson of Armand,” Snape said
sourly. “They are his subjects. We can’t poach them.” His black eyes gleamed.
“Hogsmeade, though….”
“How did that happen, anyway?” Tom inquired. “Godric’s Hollow being ruled by a
Malfoy, I mean.”
Snape sat back. “That is a story. The town was founded by Godric Gryffindor—”
“Yes, my friend mentioned that,” Hermione said eagerly.
Snape peered at her through narrowed eyes. His glare was more intimidating than
any words would have been, and Hermione drew back, not inclined to interrupt
again.
“Gryffindor founded the town,” Snape continued repressively. “He was also the
lord there—the last English one. When the Normans came, he welcomed the magical
among them… and was repaid by being booted out of his own castle by the
Malfoys.”
“He should have known better,” Tom muttered.
Snape ignored this. “It was Armand Malfoy’s seat until he completed Malfoy
Manor in its present location. Then he installed a series of temporary lords
there until his son, Abraxas, was old enough to hold it. Once he started to
groom Abraxas for the lordship at Malfoy Manor, it passed to Lucius.”
“How oldis he?” Hermione exclaimed. “Armand Malfoy, I mean. He has to be a
hundred, at least.”
“He is close to High Master Dumbledore’s age,” Snape said. “I am sure that
Abraxas is ready to inherit. In any case, Lucius rules Godric’s Hollow, waiting
until the day that his father will inherit the true family seat and start to
prepare him for it. None of them, frankly, take much interest in the town. It
is a stepping-stone for them, a temporary holding for them to learn how to
rule. I think they also resent the residents—the magical ones, especially.”
“Interesting,” Tom mused. “One would think they would resent the Muggles more,
given what they believe about blood.”
“Muggles are powerless. There is no point in resenting Muggles. But most of the
magical families were knights and titled vassal lieges of Godric Gryffindor
when he ruled, and most of the Muggle families who have magical children are
also descended from that lineage. The magic, in their cases, just skipped a
generation or two. But they remember what they used to have—what the Malfoys
are keeping from them now. It is not a happy town.”
Hermione was thinking hard about what Snape had said. Harry had not told her
any of this. He had not wanted to discuss his hometown, and had always changed
the subject slightly to his own family and the family store whenever she
brought it up.
Harry’s parents are probably descended from vassals of Godric Gryffindor, she
thought. Harry likely should have a title, by rights. He had been done out of
his inheritance just as Tom had for so long.
Tom had arrived at the same conclusion. He glanced at Hermione with a hint of
alarm in his face. The idea of Potter with a title… that would raise his
position very much as a rival for Hermione, if that happened….
He took Hermione’s hand under the table, invisible to the adults, prompting her
surprise. He caressed her fingers. “The friend that she spoke of stood by her
after the ugly incident with Lady Adelaide Lestrange,” he said. “It is only
natural that we would want the best for our proven friends, and it is a
dreadful pity that Mother cannot swear them to her service here.” He pasted a
false smile on his face, hoping that its insincerity was not apparent to anyone
else.
===============================================================================
Tom enjoyed a happy day with Hermione, luring her out into the snow-covered
courtyard after he had spent time making a large pile of snowballs. He sent
them at her with a flick of his wand, watching and laughing as she tried vainly
to take cover.
“Should have cast a Shield Charm,” he called out as she sat down in a heap of
snow, covered in yet more of it.
She stayed there, burying her head between her knees as flakes continued to
drift down from the sky, dotting her frizzy hair. Tom became alarmed. Had he
hurt her feelings? He hadn’t meant to… it had been in fun…. He walked gingerly
to where she sat in the snowbank.
In a flash, Hermione grabbed his legs, tripping him. He collapsed in the snow,
getting soaked and cold immediately. She dumped an armful of snow
unceremoniously on top of his head, laughing uproariously. Tom realized at once
what had happened. She had tricked him into coming over, pretending to be
upset.
“I wouldn’t have been able to get youif I’d cast a spell,” she laughed. Her
eyes were shining. In spite of himself, Tom laughed too.
===============================================================================
Unfortunately, she had to return to her parents’ castle on the twenty-fourth to
prepare for their Christmas feast. She would stay there for about a week,
returning to Parselhall for Tom’s birthday on the thirty-first, the last day of
the year. She had promised him a gift.
His mother held a Christmas feast herself. Tom was pleased, even though he
missed Hermione. It just seemed natural now that she should sit next to him at
grand banquets. Come to think of it, she had been at every grand banquet he had
attended since his mother gained her title, including those at Hogwarts. To
Tom, there was a gap for this feast, an empty spot. He always talked to
Hermione at these dinners. He likedtalking to Hermione. It just… wasn’t right
that she wasn’t here.
She’ll be here again in a few days, he reminded himself as he polished off a
tender, juicy chunk of goose.
===============================================================================
December 31, 1143 dawned clear and cold. The snow was old now, but the
temperature had not risen above freezing since Yule, so the ground remained
white when Hermione appeared at the entrance to the castle that morning,
carrying a large parcel awkwardly.
“I am a bit worried about this,” she confessed as soon as she was welcomed
inside. “I cast spells to keep it warm, but it is socold, and I am not quite
sure….”
Merope picked up the parcel and carried it to the fire in the family parlor.
“If it is something that needs to be kept warm, perhaps Tom should open it
now,” she suggested. “We were going to have a special dinner tonight in the
family dining room, but it ishis birthday already.”
Hermione looked grateful and relieved. “That would be for the best.”
Tom had no qualms about not waiting until dinner. A gift was a gift, and Mother
was right—it washis birthday. He strode to the fireplace and began to fiddle
with the latch of the box before remembering his wand. He drew it from his
robes, flicked it at the box, and opened the metal latch.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. Inside the box was a coating of wood chips and dead grass
lining the bottom of the box—and coiled into one corner, half-buried under
grass, was a harmless brown grass snake. Tom extended his arm eagerly and
hissed a greeting to the snake in Parseltongue.
The snake lifted its head. Its tongue flicked out of its mouth, as if the
animal was contemplating this “speaker” and considering whether to offer its
loyalty. In a moment, it was decided: The snake slithered around Tom’s wrist,
hissing back in its own language.
Hermione watched, transfixed at the exchange that she could not understand.
Merope couldunderstand, and she knew that Tom was saying nothing untoward or
sinister, but this still brought back unpleasant memories.
Tom is nothing like Morfin or my father, she told herself sternly. He is my
son. He just happens to be able to speak to snakes, as I can myself. It was a
good gift for Hermione to give him. Tom has wanted a serpent familiar for a
long time, and he meant to buy himself one when we were poor, but since we
became rich, the idea of spending money lost its special significance. It no
longer had the same meaning—but a gift from her does have meaning.
“This is a female snake,” Tom remarked for Hermione’s benefit. “I think her
name should be….” He hesitated, thinking. He hissed to the snake queryingly,
then looked back at the women. “Well, she approves of my idea. Her name is
Dunlaith, the ‘brown lady.’”
The snake flicked its tongue out once more. Hermione beamed.
That afternoon, Tom and Hermione stayed huddled inside the library for warmth.
The little snake was curled next to a large lighted candle, which rested on a
stone and warmed it. Tom now had a new reason to keep warm, he thought. This
snake—Dunlaith—was special in a way that would have been hard to find in a
snake that he had purchased himself, now that he was rich. A wizard’s animal
familiar should not be a trinket purchased idly at a store with money to spare,
he thought, as he attempted—and failed—to read a book. The acquisition itself
should have meaning. An animal saved from near-death, or raised from a young
age, or purchased with the fruits of labor and patient saving—or given as a
meaningful gift by a person I… care for.
He gave up on the book and set it down on the table. Hermione was standing by a
window, not even attempting to read. She turned around as Tom approached. Her
face flushed pink, which Tom noticed. That had not happened in a while.
“Hermione,” he said, “that was a wonderful gift. Shewas a wonderful gift,” he
corrected himself. “She will be my familiar… and you gave her to me.”
Hermione smiled at him, her face somehow growing even redder.
“Where did you get her?” he asked.
“I found her in my family’s castle,” she said. “I’m sure she was trying to keep
warm. I was afraid that she was dead when I saw her, but when I realized that
she wasn’t, I resolved that I would save her life and then give her to you,
since you can speak to snakes. I wish I could.”
“You saved her life?”
“I made a potion,” Hermione said. “And then I summoned mice to feed her. She
perked up after the potion, though.”
Tom was extremely impressed with her. Warmth suffused his whole body at this
narrative. It was the same feeling he had experienced at Yule, and he knew what
it meant then but had told himself he would ignore it. That resolution had not
lasted very long… and really, why should he ignore it? They were engaged. And
although it had not seemed “real” at first—it had felt like what it was, a
political alliance—that wasn’t all that it was now. He did not suppose that it
was yet all that it couldbe someday, but he did like her, and they were
friends, and he was feeling new things for her now too that were a bit
different to friendship. He glanced at the snake, now cozy and warm next to a
magically lit candle that was providing it with extra warmth due to the spell.
He smiled and then turned back to Hermione.
“Hermione,” he said without prelude, “I think… I would like to kiss you.”
Her eyes flew wide open, and her face was as red as a beet. “Tom,” she said,
“is that—I mean—”
“Do you not want to?”
“It’s not that at all,” she breathed. “I just—I’ve never—”
“Of course you wouldn’t have,” he said. “I haven’t either, though.” He regarded
her, watching as relief spread over her face at that admission. “We’re old
enough… and why shouldn’t we?”
She smiled and leaned forward. Tom hesitated. He really had little idea of what
he was doing…. But neither does she, he thought with sudden relief. He cupped
her cheek and leaned in. Their lips touched. Her eyes fluttered shut.
They stayed like that, lips touching, closed and innocent, for a few moments
before separating. Hermione was flushed, but she was beaming like the sun. Tom
smiled back.
Chapter End Notes
     The "alternative history" of Arthur and Merlin that Tom read may be
     "true" in this AU, and it may not be. While revisionist history was
     an important part of Choosing Grey, I'm not going to be quite as
     clear in this AU about what is revisionist and what isn't.
     I apologize if there are any major inaccuracies regarding medieval
     Yule traditions.
     Also, I can’t think of any reason why Tom would have named a pet
     snake Nagini, a Hindi name, in this era, unfortunately.
***** Every Piece a Chess Player *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi again, friends, and thank you once more. :) I need to say
     something about a subject that several of you have raised in your
     reviews, especially on ffnet. There is indeed something beginning to
     develop between Merope and Severus. What this turns into, given the
     current ambiguous situation with Riddle Sr. and the sleazy plans of
     the Malfoy cohort for her to marry someone else, is not a question
     that I can answer just yet. Rest assured that it will be an issue for
     quite some time, though! And on that note, I had also better say
     something about the expected length of this story. I have not
     outlined it chapter-by-chapter, so I’m only guessing this based on my
     (complete, but not demarcated) outline—but I would estimate that
     there are 30-40 chapters remaining. Not total, remaining. In other
     words, this is going to be a long one, so buckle up!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Tom and Hermione exchanged a couple more kisses at Parselhall, but none that
were more intense than that first one. Somehow, without actually discussing it,
they simultaneously agreed not to jump off the brink too soon. Tom wondered at
that. He liked Hermione and had no reluctance anymore in admitting that to
himself. But he was not quite ready to do what he knew other boys sometimes
did—though not usually with their fiancées, granted. He was cautious, and
shewas cautious, and they had an unspoken mutual agreement not to risk what had
worked so far.
They also grew closer in the few days before they had to return to Hogwarts.
There was no reason not to sit very close when they were in the library, or
surreptitiously hold hands while exploring the castle. It was as if the
innocent kiss had dissipated some tension between them, making it more
comfortable now for them to engage in these everyday shows of affection. If
they wanted to kiss again, they could without anxiety, since they already had
done so; but there was no reason to fixate upon the idea, since it was not an
intimidating unknown anymore.
Although Merope did not comment to Tom about it, she had observed the subtle
changes in their behavior to each other. Before they had gone off to Hogwarts,
the sincere affection had been all on Hermione’s side. Tom had tolerated it,
but his own demeanor had been notably cool and emotionless in comparison. That
was not the case any longer, Merope noted with pleasure and satisfaction. It
was a great relief to her. She was glad to have done something good for a
deserving young witch, but she was also practical-minded. The only significant
material things that House Riddle would get out of the alliance were a partner
with whom the heir could have future children, and a sizable sum of dowry
money. The Grangers’ private militia would be useful in a crisis, yes, but only
if stationed behind the magic-protected walls of Parselhall to reinforce the
much scanter Riddle forces. A magical attack would cut through them like a
knife through butter otherwise. The practical benefits of the alliance were
nothing special, so if Tom had not come to like Hermione, it would have been
hard to justify cementing a marriage that would bring unhappiness to both of
them. Merope had not thought it would actually come to that, but she felt
relief that she was correct at the same time that she congratulated herself on
being correct.
On the whole, Tom was ready to return to Hogwarts by the time that day came. He
reached out for Hermione’s hand while the house-elf moved to Apparate them to
Hogsmeade. She grasped his slim, elegant fingers and smiled subtly at him.
Merope noticed that too as they disappeared. A smile of her own formed on her
face.
===============================================================================
Tom and Hermione noticed that evening that the relationship between Draco
Malfoy and Adelaide Lestrange had not warmed up. The unhappy couple still sat
apart from each other in the Slytherin common room, and they only spoke—and
then only perfunctorily—at the welcome feast that night. Tom felt more than a
little bit smug. If he could consolidate support for himself among the
dissatisfied, as he meant to begin doing over the next several months, Draco
Malfoy would likely be his primary political rival in Slytherin House. While
the rivalry was certainly unchanged, it was a source of petty satisfaction to
Tom that he liked Hermione, whereas Malfoy obviously could not tolerate his
cousin as a prospective wife.
Harry Potter sat near the pair, obviously in their confidence, but he too
seemed to have understood the subtle change in the relationship between Tom and
Hermione that had occurred. There was still a hint of melancholy to his
countenance, but with it, resignation. Tom almostfelt bad for him… but not
quite. Hermione is mine, he thought to himself, and Potter needs to accept
that. At least it appears that he is beginning to.
That night, Tom rose to see Hermione off to the girls’ corridor as he had done
many times in the previous calendar year. He lifted her hand to his lips… and
rather wished that he could kiss her good night on her cheek, or mouth. A pang
shot through him. But too many people were watching, and although there was
nothing personally compromising about the two of them exchanging a kiss, it was
a form of vulnerability that nobles were unwise to betray to their peers. He
gazed at her face with a grimace… but she understood. With a lopsided,
sympathetic smile, she squeezed his hand and headed to her bedchamber.
===============================================================================
The first Hogsmeade weekend of the new year was unseasonably warm, and more
students than normal wanted to visit the village as a result. Tom was looking
forward to it. He had been unable to find a private moment when he could talk
with Hermione and share affection, and although they would not have privacy in
the village either, there was still plenty of opportunity to steal away to the
woods—or even some place in the castle after they returned from town. There
would be far fewer people inside.
Hermione seemed to anticipate the outing as much as Tom, and for similar
reasons. She smiled as they exited the castle and the sunlight caught their
faces. Potter watched them leave, then waited at the Hogwarts entrance for his
new friend Neville to catch up from Gryffindor Tower. Contentedly Tom walked
with Hermione until they reached the Three Broomsticks, and then they went
inside.
“We would like an alcove somewhat removed from the noise,” Tom said in an
undertone to the innkeeper. “Something with a little privacy.”
The innkeeper glanced at Hermione. Her gaze flickered to the silver ring on
Hermione’s hand, and she looked knowingly at Tom. Tom sneered. Their
relationship was absolutely none of this witch’s business, and she should not
make any presumptions about her betters, he thought arrogantly. The innkeeper
led them to a secluded table in a side area off the large common room. They
ordered the food and beverages that they wanted, and once the witch was gone,
turned to Hermione with a real smile.
She spoke first, however. “I have heard that there is a room in the castle on
the seventh floor that no one can enter if someone else is using it.”
Tom had heard of this rumored room as well, in his previous year at school. “So
have I,” he said slowly, “but I don’t know if it is the best idea. If anyone
didsee us leaving, they might… well… get the wrong idea.”
In a fraction of a second, Hermione blushed deeply at the implication.
“I would want to find a spot that is private, but that does not take away
ourability to hear if someone is coming,” he continued, trying to avoid
smirking at her blush. He gazed at her thoughtfully. “We’ll find a spot that’s
just for us, I am sure.”
Their food and drinks and arrived, and they began to eat. Tom felt very
complacent indeed. As he gazed at Hermione, he realized he was readily able to
imagine a life with her by his side in the grand castle at Hangleton. They were
bright and magically powerful. They would rule well and create an impregnable
seat of political power to truly counter the Malfoys, since the first and most
obvious possibility, Godric’s Hollow, had failed to fill that role—or so Tom
saw it. It was a pleasant thought.
At the end of the meal, he offered Hermione his arm and escorted her out the
back door of the inn. It led to a trail of a street that had almost no human
traffic, which he knew would be the case. The closest feature was the grove of
trees bordering the village.
They walked surreptitiously into that grove and stood under a defoliated oak
tree. Hermione did not waste any time. She wrapped her arms around Tom’s waist
and hugged him tightly.
He suppressed a chuckle at the innocence of the gesture she had chosen to make.
It relieved him, too, in a way. He supposed that the time would come when they
wanted to engage in stronger affections, and until it did, they should not
force it. He embraced her and cuddled her bushy head against the side of his
neck. Yes… this was nice. He reflected that he had held her after that attack
in the first week of school, but this was different. He was not holding her to
comfort her after a horrible event, but because he wanted to return her
affections.
They remained in that embrace for a while, swaying almost imperceptibly, until
they broke apart and drew slightly away from each other.
“I wonder if we’re missed,” Hermione murmured.
“I doubt it unless your friend Potter is looking for us,” Tom replied, but
there was no malice in his words.
They linked arms again and exited the grove of trees, reaching the gravelly
back street again. With a sigh, Tom took a left turn to cut through the alley
between the Three Broomsticks and the next business in order to reach the main
street of Hogsmeade again.
Halfway down the alley, a cloaked figure jumped out, wand sweeping through the
air. The person sent a spell directly at Hermione.
Tom grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the way of the oncoming jet of red
light. He drew his wand and flung a Shield Charm in front of her while she
reached in her robes for her own wand. You need to be faster, Hermione, he
thought frantically as the hooded figure scoffed and cast a violent spell that
dissolved Tom’s shield. The wavy field of magic broke apart and dissipated
before their eyes.
The attacker cast another spell, this one verbal. It was aimed more at
Hermione. She ducked, and it hit a pile of rubbish in the alleyway. The garbage
erupted in flames. The voice was… a woman’s, Tom realized with surprise.
But he was furious now. He did not know exactly what the spell was, but
anything that would start a fire if it missed a living target was violent and
powerful. This looked very much like an assassination attempt now.
Hermione was ready at last. Fury filled her eyes as well, and she sent a return
curse at the attacker, a Reductor. The curse struck target, and the woman was
blasted backward into the main street of Hogsmeade.
Tom and Hermione rushed forward to confront the person, but before they made
it—before they could even see the person’s face—she twisted on the ground,
Disapparating.
The villagers and students who were milling about the street stared at Tom and
Hermione as they dashed out. “What happened?” someone called out.
“We were attacked in that alley!” Tom exclaimed. He turned to the questioner.
“Did you see that woman’s face? Did anyone?”
Several of the people stared blankly, but others shook their heads. “Her hood
never fell off,” a Ravenclaw pupil replied.
“Blast it,” Tom swore. He grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her close. “We
need to go back into the castle now.”
She did not disagree. In a rush, they hurried back inside. Along the way, they
passed a pair that Tom had not expected to see: Draco Malfoy and Adelaide
Lestrange.
===============================================================================
They had had to find a private alcove in the castle rather more quickly than
either had anticipated, and certainly not for the original purpose they had
talked about in the Three Broomsticks. But there was such a place in the
library, and no one was visiting that spot on a warm, almost springlike
Hogsmeade weekend.
“That was a woman,” Tom muttered. “That was an assassination attempt—I am
pretty sure that curse was potentially lethal if it had struck you in the wrong
place—and a witch did it.”
“Is that unusual?” Hermione asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Assassination attempts aren’t ‘usual’ anyway!
But… it wasn’t Adelaide Lestrange, since we passed her on the way in.” He
frowned. “I really thought it must have been until then.”
“Would she actually try to kill me? I know she hates me—hates both of us—but
murder?”
Tom sighed. “Maybe you’re right. But still… her family is brutal. Most magical
noble families are perfectly capable of murder, Hermione. My mother isn’t a
killer, but most would at least consider it.” I probably would too, if it came
to it, he thought, but he kept that to himself.
“But we sawher,” Hermione reminded him. “It was someone else.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “and we have to find out who. I think I should question both
Malfoy and Lestrange once they return… but since Lestrange is purportedlya
young lady, you may have to be the one to do that.”
“You’re very certain that she had something to do with it?”
“I am not certain, but we have to start somewhere.”
“Could we question them together?” she inquired. “Both of us corner both of
them?”
He nodded. “We could.”
===============================================================================
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
Abraxas Malfoy picked up the empty silver cup and carried it away from the
table that sat next to his father’s great chair. He brought out his wand and
cast a cleaning spell on the inside, then replaced it in the display cabinet in
the grand family parlor. No servant was permitted to serve the high lord his
personal tonic. Armand Malfoy sat still for a few moments, appearing almost
dead with his heavy-lidded eyes closed. Then he breathed deeply and opened his
eyes. He smiled at Abraxas, an expression that was almost a sinister leer even
though the old wizard did not intend precisely that.
“Are you feeling better, Father?” Abraxas asked.
Armand grinned. “I always feel better after that. Thank you, my son.”
“May we let Burke in?”
“Certainly.”
Abraxas left the room and returned shortly, accompanied by a grubby-looking
though relatively well-dressed wizard. Armand gazed at the guest impassively as
his son and Caractacus Burke took their seats.
“Do you care for refreshment?” Abraxas asked Burke.
The latter smacked and licked his lips, much to the disgust of the Malfoys.
“That would be good,” he said.
“Very well. I shall have an elf bring us some wine.” Abraxas snapped his
fingers, and a wide-eyed, beaten-down young house-elf appeared. A flash of
resentment appeared in the elf’s face momentarily, but he did his master’s
bidding and promptly returned with a very fine vintage of wine. The wizards
began to drink.
“You are looking very well,” Abraxas remarked to Burke, not entirely honestly.
“The manor house is providing a good income, I take it?”
Burke nodded. “I still get a cut of the profits of the shop, even though my old
apprentice Borgin runs it now. And the manor house has got a fine farm. I have
to make a tribute to Lord Arcturus, of course, but it’s very productive.”
Armand finally began to speak. “We have invited you here to offer you a
proposition. You have a manor but no title. I presume you would like one.”
Burke’s eyes widened. “Who wouldn’t?” he asked. “But I’m a vassal of Lord
Arcturus Black, my kinsman. He would need to raise me.”
“I suggest something else,” Armand said. “At the hearing for your petition for
your manor, there were two other cases that we heard: a Mudblood wanted to go
to Hogwarts, and the daughter of old Lord Gaunt wanted her family estate and
title. We denied the Mudblood and granted the witch… but since the Mudblood’s
family was noble, they went behind our backs and made an alliance with the
Gaunt lady.” Malfoy glowered. “My fellows on the Wizards’ Council decided to
let her into the school because of that. I was against it, but I was
overruled.”
“Father,” Abraxas said quietly.
Armand took a deep breath. “The lady’s son is a half-blood. I don’t like
letting half-bloods, blood-traitors, and Mudbloods exploit us. We have to keep
a tight grip on power, and letting them ‘win’ shows weakness. That village that
my grandson Lucius rules, for one, could be a seat of discontent. The solution
that we thought of is for the woman, Lady Riddle as she styles herself, to
marry a wizard so that she can have another heir, and the half-blood and his
Mudblood get cut off. You came to mind for that role.”
Burke stared at Malfoy in amazement. “My lord, I… I appreciate that you thought
of me… but what about her Muggle husband? Is he dead?”
The Malfoys looked uncomfortable. “We do not know. We should certainly find
out, as well as discover whether he formally ended the marriage, but he’s a
Muggle, so it would not be hard to remove him.”
Burke scowled. “Well, all that aside, you’re talking about a dirty blood-
traitor! And you’re awfully confident that she could have another heir. She’s
over thirty!”
“She says that she can still conceive. Your first marriage was unfruitful. This
would be an opportunity for you to sire the heir to an estate, a pureblood
heir.”
Burke shook his head briefly. “I wouldn’t be in charge of that estate, even as
her husband. If we were Muggles… but fortunately we’re not. It’s hers. I’d be
her consort, and that’s just not—I mean, that’s not a real title. It’s a title
with no power. As it is, I may not have a title, but I at least am master of my
own house… subject to Lord Arcturus, of course. And to marry a blood-traitor
who’s gone and slept with a Muggle, and wants her wizard son to sire children
on a Mudblood… it’s a disgrace. No disrespect intended to your lordship.”
Displeasure filled Lord Malfoy’s face. “It is disrespectful whether you
intended it or not!”
“Then I am deeply sorry, my lord, and I ask for your pardon… but I just cannot
marry someone like that. And I don’t think Lord Arcturus would approve.”
The two Malfoys exchanged a glance. “Lord Arcturus is more cautious, it is
true. He makes the correct observation that Lady Riddle’s castle is well-
protected. But if he should change his mind about this matter, you had best
obey your direct lord.”
Burke nodded. “I swore to him.” He paused for a moment before looking up at his
host and host’s son with eager eyes. “I can still be of use to your lordships,”
he said.
“And how is that?” Abraxas asked.
Burke leaned forward, grinning. “When I ran the shop, fourteen years ago the
woman, Lady Riddle—though she wasn’t a lady then—came to the door, her belly
heavy with child, and offered this item to sell to me. It was the locket of
Salazar Slytherin. I bought it for cheap, the best deal I ever made. Still got
it, too.”
Abraxas sneered. “That is very well for you, but what has that to do with
anything?”
“Well, nobody can open it unless they can speak Parseltongue.”
“And…?” Abraxas prodded. “Are you suggesting using it to pressure Lady Riddle
into something? Because I hate to break it to you, but she is very wealthy now.
She can buy it back at its proper price, no doubt.”
Burke grinned. “I’m sure she could, but what about that son of hers? Word has
it that he’s a proud one. He wouldn’t like it one bit if she bought it back at
a hundred times the price I got for it. Maybe heis the person to work on. Offer
him the locket in exchange for… whatever it is that your lordships want.
Severing the relationship with the Mudblood’s family, I assume?”
“Young Lord Riddle is not in a position to sever that relationship, and my
grandson reported this winter that he and the Mudblood appear to likeeach
other.”
“Well… they disgraced Lord Rodolphus’s daughter. Maybe if something like that
were done to her, they’d have little choice but to end it whether he liked her
or not. And if they do like each other, there might be compromising
information, if you take my meaning.”
The Malfoys exchanged another glance, this one openly disgusted. Armand Malfoy
rose from his chair. “Thank you for your visit, Burke,” he said coldly, “but we
completely disagree that manipulating the self-righteousness of a fourteen-
year-old half-blood is a strategy worthy of us. And unless you know something
we don’t, there is no information that could lead to the outcome you desire. If
they’ve consummated their betrothal, or even come close, they would marry
immediately if that were revealed. Do you not realize that?”
Burke hesitated. “Well, the locket, then—”
“The locket is irrelevant! The boy is surrounded by relics of his family now.
Why do you assume that that one would be so special to him?” Abraxas exclaimed.
“Who was Slytherin, after all? Just an English schoolmaster who fled his
country. And, truthfully, our problem with the Granger alliance is what it
symbolizes: defiance. Unless Lady Riddle marries a pureblood wizard and has
another child, the purity of their blood is already lost. What difference does
marriage to a Mudblood make in that scenario? What we want from them is
submission. We want our power reaffirmed. The sensible course is the one we
have proposed, and I hope that you will see reason in time.”
===============================================================================
Tom and Hermione lurked in the atrium the afternoon of the Hogsmeade visit,
pretending to read, but actually waiting for Draco and Adelaide to return.
Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and a third person—a somewhat goofy-looking
blonde girl—turned up, greeting Tom and Hermione. Potter introduced the girl as
Luna Lovegood. Tom vaguely recognized the surname, and he was pleased that
Potter had another female friend, even though he could not detect any
particular interest on the part of either of them. Perhaps it would happen with
time, though.
When the well-born pureblood couple—looking unhappy as always—did show up, Tom
took note of the almost two-foot distance between them as they walked together.
A smirk formed briefly on his face… but it quickly dissipated. He turned to
Hermione and nodded subtly at her. She gave him a knowing smirk, and they
quietly rose from their seats to follow Malfoy and Lestrange as they passed
through the corridor.
“Stop walking.”
Malfoy stopped abruptly, whirling around to see who had spoken. He faced Tom,
whose wand was directed at him. He made to reach for his pocket for his own.
Lestrange’s eyes widened at the sight of Hermione, grim-faced like she had
never seen before, and the latter’s wand pointed straight at her head.
“Do not draw on us,” Tom warned.
Malfoy seemed for a second as if he wanted to defy Tom’s order, but he quickly
thought better of it. Lestrange returned a sneer to Hermione. “What do you
want?” Malfoy snapped.
Tom moved forward until the tip of his wand was touching Malfoy’s robes. He met
Malfoy’s blue eyes with his own dark ones. “Lady Hermione was attacked in
Hogsmeade today,” he said. “While we were exploring a grove of trees, someone
lurked in an alleyway for us and attacked her with extremely violent spells as
we made our way back to Main Street. Do you know anything about it?”
Malfoy glared. “We had nothing to do with it! I sawyou on the way to the
village, Riddle. It wasn’t us.”
“We know it wasn’t you,” Hermione spoke up, glaring at Lestrange. “What he
asked you is if you knowanything about it.” Tom shot an admiring look at her.
Lestrange swallowed and glared at Hermione, then at Tom—who, Hermione noted,
focused suddenly on the girl’s eyes. “I have better things to do with my time
than think about you,” she spat.
“You are quite sure of that?” Tom pressed, his words hard. “You didn’t station
anyone there? Either of you?” His gaze remained focused on Lestrange.
“What do you take me for? I certainly have servants at my disposal,” she said
arrogantly, “but my family’s magical vassals would not be willing to lurk in
filthy alleys waiting for you to emerge from your tryst in a forest—”
Anger overtook Hermione, and she cast a hex at the girl. It struck home, and
Lestrange grunted as the Stinging Hex dissipated over her body. Tom gave
Hermione another admiring look.
“I don’t know anything about it,” Lestrange got out.
Tom stared hard at her for another moment before turning to Malfoy. “What about
you?” he snapped.
Malfoy quailed. “I didn’t know anything happened!” he exclaimed. “I swear I
didn’t!”
Tom quickly released him. “Very well. You must understand, though, why we felt
that we had to question you, given what Lady Adelaide did to her last fall.” He
lowered his wand, and Hermione followed his cue.
Malfoy quickly made to dart away, giving Hermione the odd mental picture of a
white-furred rodent or other small animal scurrying to safety. Lestrange looked
angry as she followed him, but she did not attempt to fight Tom or Hermione.
Tom quickly led Hermione back into the library to the same private spot they
had used earlier in the afternoon to discuss the event. He gave her an admiring
smile.
“That hex was impressive,” he said. “You actually beat me to it.”
“I was the one she insulted,” Hermione said, a smile of her own playing at the
corners of her mouth.
“True,” he said. “It was still impressive, though.” He smirked at her.
She colored faintly under his gaze, then met his eyes with hers again. “What do
you think, then?”
“They were telling the truth.” He said the words rapidly, emotionlessly, as if
to get them out of the way and not dwell on them.
Her brow furrowed. “How do you know?”
“Hermione, do you know what Legilimency is?”
Her eyes popped. “Yes,” she breathed. “I read about it when I was reading on my
own… you can doit?”
He nodded proudly. “I’ve been able to do it for several months. I don’t
consider myself a master, but I realized I had the ability, so I decided to
cultivate it. They were telling us the truth… but that means that this was
something someone else organized. And that is a problem.”
She considered what he was saying. “Do you think it’s someone on the Wizards’
Council?”
“I don’t think it’s official at all,” he said grimly. “I do wonder about
Adelaide’s mother… she has a reputation… but it could be someone else. My
mother has a former vassal family named Carrow, a brother and sister, that went
to the Lestranges before she assumed the title. If they transferred their
loyalties, the sister is another possibility. And then it could have been a
witch assassin that someone hired.” He scowled. “I wish we had apprehended
whoever it was, or someone on that street had seen her face.”
Hermione had no response to that.
“I wonder, now….” Tom trailed off, apparently changing his mind about whatever
he was going to say.
Hermione did not let it pass. “You wonder what?”
He winced but plunged forward anyway, since she had called him out. “I wonder
if maybe we should get married early, like this summer.”
Hermione gazed at him in shock. She felt her cheeks becoming flushed again, but
that was not going to influence her response to him. “What?” she exclaimed. “I
wouldn’t be able to go to school if we did!”
“That’s the point. I am not sure you’re safe here. You could still learn, just
under the tutelage of someone in my mother’s castle… perhaps Lord Severus.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Tom, I am perfectly capable of taking care
of myself. I wantto get a full magical education. Lord Severus doesn’t seem to
like me—”
“That’s just his way.”
“I don’t want to do that,” she said firmly. “I do want to marry you, but not
now, and not this summer. I am sure that Lord Severus is a very intelligent
wizard, but the greatest teachers of magic in Britain are here, at this school.
Our parents did not mean for us to marry until after our education was
finished. I am able to defend myself, as you saw this afternoon, and I’ll only
become better at that as I learn more magic.”
“That’s true,” he admitted. “I just want you to be safe.”
She leaned in. “I will be safe. I will be safer if I learn magic from the best
witches and wizards that this country has.”
“That’s true,” he repeated. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Besides, if we got married early, youwould still be able to come to school
here. I don’t want us to be separated, either.”
He smiled. “All right. You make good points… but we’ll have to be careful.”
“We’ll have to stick together.”
“That’s not a burden.”
Chapter End Notes
     Well, that escalated quickly.
***** Tensions On All Sides *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi everyone, and you know the drill by now—thanks, etc. (though I do
     mean it!)
     Nobody has said this or hinted at it, but I feel like I should say
     something about the pace of the story before any of you do start to
     voice impatience. One aspect of Choosing Grey that I might change if
     I rewrote that story (I’m not, but if I did) would be to develop
     their relationship further before plunging into the endgame of the
     political scheming and Tom’s triumphs through antiheroism (and
     Hermione’s transformation into an antihero too). It was a deliberate
     choice not to drag out that story with “filler” moments between Tom
     and Hermione, once it was established that they did have mutual
     attraction and some degree of trust. However, the origin of their
     relationship in this story is coercion rather than individual choice,
     and I think that means I have to show more of how their friendship
     and attraction develop.
      Additionally, the political plots themselves in this story are going
     to drag out much longer than the ones in Choosing Grey, so I think it
     makes for better storytelling to have a number of chapters that
     explicitly develop their relationship while the dirty medieval
     schemes are still cooking, rather than taking multi-year time jumps.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Despite her discussion with Tom, Hermione was still dissatisfied with the
situation regarding the attacker. Neither she nor Tom knew who was behind it,
and she did not like not knowing. She recalled her family’s first introduction
to the ruthless blood politics of the magical aristocracy. Even though her
family and Tom’s had found and exploited a loophole, it was pretty clear to her
that the lords of the Wizards’ Council couldn’t possibly be pleased with this.
And, too, there’s the fact that I did not meekly accept Adelaide Lestrange’s
shameful attack on me, she thought.
Hermione was aware that by standing up for her rights and dignity, she had made
herself—and Tom—a target for the blood supremacists on the Wizards’ Council.
They had significant power, whereas the Riddle-Granger alliance’s power
consisted largely of a magical fortress. That would be useful as a shield of
sorts; it severely limited the leverage that the Wizards’ Council had over Lady
Merope to force her to do something she did not want to do. But it was almost
all defensivepower. Hermione had not seen any indication that Lady Merope had a
force of wizards to wage an offensive against magical forces. Her late brother,
who Hermione had gleaned was a disgraceful excuse for a lord, had apparently
driven away almost all of their vassal families. The castle at Hangleton was a
safe fortress, but it could not help defend and protect Hermione—or Tom—when
they were not behind its magically reinforced walls.
This is a school, she thought. I have the right to be protected in my person
while I study here. I should go to Master Slughorn or High Master Dumbledore
with this. It’s not fostering, exactly, but our families have placed us in
their care, and they are obligated to honor that trust and protect us from
assassination while we are here.
Hermione knew by now that she could not trust in the honor of the likes of
Lestranges and Malfoys, but she respected Slughorn—her Head of House—and the
other professors. She had no reason to think that theyscorned these most basic
rules that governed civil society.
I’ll tell Slughorn, she resolved.
There was another matter to decide, and that was whether to get Tom involved.
This was not actually an attack on him, she thought. These people may not have
liked him, but they acknowledged his right to be at Hogwarts. He studied here
for a year before we met. This is about me. I was the person attacked, and none
of this began until my family asserted my rights. Besides, wizards see witches
very differently to how Muggle men see women. I need to assert myself as a
witch. I can tell Tom afterward, but I need to do this myself.
===============================================================================
Hermione cornered Slughorn after Potions that Monday, urging Harry, Daphne, and
Millicent to wait outside the room for her.
“Lady Hermione,” the stout wizard said, “what can I do for you?”
Hermione’s gaze darted toward the door. It was closed. She took a deep breath
and started to tell her story.
“At the last Hogsmeade visit, something happened,” she began. “Lord Thomas and
I had explored the edge of the forest a little—the patch behind the Three
Broomsticks—and we decided to cut through the alley to return to the main
street of the town.”
Slughorn nodded.
“Well… in that alley, a witch jumped out and attacked me. Not Tom—Lord Thomas,
that is—but me. She sent some spells at me, including one that started a fire
when it missed me. I sent a Reductor Curse back at her, and it hit, sending her
backward into the street… but her head was hooded, and no one saw who she was
before she Disapparated.”
Slughorn was gazing at Hermione with wide eyes and shock written in his face.
“What are you—that is to say, do you think it was a student?”
“I don’t know. If it was, she was an older student. But the fact of the matter
is this, Professor—it’s important for all pupils to be kept safe at Hogwarts.
Since I was attacked by someone unknown, and you are my Head of House, I
thought that you might start an investigation into the matter.”
Slughorn paled slightly. “My dear young lady, I… you are right to say that… but
I mean, it might be difficult if the perpetrator is, in fact….” He trailed off
awkwardly, apparently unwilling to complete his thought in words.
Hermione thought she understood what he was going to say anyway. She gave him a
hard gaze. “Professor, I understand the delicate political situation quite
well. I realize that the lords of the Wizards’ Council do not approve of my
attendance here, or quite probably my betrothal to the heir of an old wizarding
family either—”
Slughorn blanched at this blunt description, but Hermione continued undeterred.
“—but everything that our families have done is in accordance with the law,
whereas unprovoked assassination attempts are not.”
“That is very true,” Slughorn muttered. Beads of sweat were forming on his
brow.
“I am not asking any Master of Hogwarts to take a side in a private
disagreement,” she said, trying to sound more accommodating and reasonable.
“But that is precisely why it’s so important to make inquiries about this. You
would simply be investigating a threat to the safety of a student. Otherwise,
whoever did it—or ordered it—will view Hogwarts’ inaction as taking theirside.”
Slughorn took a deep breath and wrung his hands anxiously. “You are quite
right,” he said. “I cannot promise that I will uncover the responsible party,
but I will let High Master Dumbledore know this happened, and I will certainly
try to find out if anyone in Slytherin House knows anything about it.”
“I thank you,” Hermione said daintily.
He lowered his voice as he said to her, “If the inquiries do uncover who
arranged for it, I can’t necessarily act on that information, you understand.
If it should turn out to be someone high in the Wizards’ Council….”
Hermione hesitated for a moment, weighing whether or not to tell him something.
He was clearly not a very courageous man, she thought. He was intimidated by
the lords of the Council. But she thought his heart was nonetheless in the
right place and that he could be trusted with the information, so she decided
to give it to him. “Lord Thomas and I did ask Draco Malfoy and Adelaide
Lestrange if they knew anything about it. They did not.”
His eyes widened even more.
“But it’s possible that someone among the older students might know, or even
perhaps residents of Hogsmeade.”
Slughorn wiped his forehead. “I am… glad that you and Lord Thomas did that,
then, because it would have been awkward for a Master of Hogwarts to do so. But
you may have a point about others. I will see what I can find out.”
Hermione thanked him again and took her leave, feeling reasonably pleased with
the conversation. Nowshe could tell Tom… or, rather, as soon as she saw him
that evening.
===============================================================================
They located a small, unused room on the ground level of the castle. It was not
ideal long-term—far too close to widely traveled areas—but it would do for now.
After dinner, Tom listened with growing displeasure as Hermione narrated the
discussion with Slughorn. Finally she finished speaking and gazed at him, her
eyebrows raised.
He sighed in frustration and ran a hand over the top of his head. “Hermione,”
he said, “I wish you had told me in advance.”
Her face fell. “You don’t approve?”
“It’s just that things that affect you affect me too. I should have been
there.”
“It didn’t seem improper among wizards and witches,” she said.
“I don’t mean impropriety in terms of you speaking on behalf of yourself. I
mean that… I was therein Hogsmeade, Hermione. I defended you. We have this…
arrangement….”
“That witch attacked me, though,” she objected. “It was about me, and my
presence here. You attended this school for a year without anything like this
happening… at least that you ever told me about,” she added sullenly, giving
him a suspicious look.
He sighed again. “I was never attacked by an adult who obviously meant to kill
me, no.”
“There you have it, then. They—whoever on the Wizards’ Council ordered
this—weren’t offended by yourpresence here.” She paused, considering something
else. “Do you think that Slughorn isn’t to be trusted?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think he is in league with the Council, if that’s
what you mean. He just doesn’t seem like the type who would want to take any
stand.”
“I got that impression myself. I think I convinced him that it was about the
safety of a pupil who had been placed in his care, though.”
Tom scowled. “He probably won’t make a thorough investigation, though, for fear
of stepping on the wrong toes and uncovering something that he really does not
want to deal with. We may never know specifically who did that, or who ordered
it… and when you think about it, it hardly matters. We know the lords of the
Wizards’ Council and their families are adversaries. I’m sure they are
responsible. What more do we need to know?”
“I’d like to know,” she muttered, “for justice.”
He chuckled darkly. “Good luck with that. There has been little justice in the
wizarding community since Armand Malfoy stepped onto English soil. We used to
have a deliberative body of wizarding lords and ladies—all the great
families—but he dissolved that. My mother would have had a seat on it… and I
might have too,” he grumbled, “if the Gaunt family had more than one. But now
it’s just the Malfoys, the Lestranges, and their toadies the Blacks.”
They lapsed into silence. Hermione shot a quick glance at Tom while he wasn’t
looking at her, hoping to determine if he really was offended at the fact that
she had not told him in advance that she was going to talk to Slughorn. He did
not seem to be angry with her.
“I don’t think I was wrong to tell Slughorn,” she offered, “but I will consult
with you first from now on.”
He nodded silently. “We should know what is going on with each other.”
Another silence, this one comfortable, fell. Hermione thought about what she
had heard. The Malfoys… the Lestranges… and the Blacks.
“Does the Black family have anyone here at Hogwarts?” she asked.
He considered for a moment. “I see why you’re asking… but no, not anymore.
Malfoy’s mother was a Black, but in terms of someone who bears the name… no. Of
the present generation, there are only two sons. Sirius is the one who lives
with Potter’s family. He was disinherited. He doesn’t have a wife or children…
and his younger brother, the heir, Lord Regulus, does have a daughter, but she
finished her education last year.”
“Is she married now?”
“I don’t know. I remember that she wanted an apprenticeship, but it was very
shocking—that’s why I remember. That’s just not done for someone of her
status.”
“Naturally not,” Hermione agreed. “What was she like? Do you think she could
have been the assassin?”
Tom considered. “I really doubt it. She did not seem interested in her family’s
politics. She had a bit of a goofy streak, actually.” A hint of scorn filled
his words at that. “I doubt she was behind this… and as I said, it doesn’t
really matter. We know who our enemies are. You just need to focus on staying
safe.”
She nodded in agreement, smiling. They had had a disagreement—a minor one, yes,
but still a disagreement—and had discussed it civilly, with no insults
exchanged or tears shed. Indeed, they had come to a consensus from the talk. It
made her feel very warm towards him.
Tom seemed to be thinking the same thing. He leaned in, reaching out to her,
and cupped her cheek with one hand. Her eyes fluttered closed as he pulled her
to him and brought his lips to hers. A soft exclamation of joy escaped her
mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew in, deepening the kiss
rather more intensely than any they had shared so far.
When they separated, his eyes were wide with surprise at what had just
transpired. She smiled crookedly at him. It was a bit hard for her to believe
as well, but so it was.
“We should get back to the common room before we’re missed,” he said, the words
seemingly fracturing the air into pieces—or breaking a spell. Hermione nodded
her agreement, and they linked arms and headed down to the common room.
Once safely ensconced behind the password-protected doors of their bedchambers,
Tom took out a sheet of parchment and began to compose a letter to his mother.
===============================================================================
Canis Manor on the Thames.
Lord Regulus Black, grandson of Lord Arcturus of the Wizards’ Council and heir
of House Black, shook his head in disgust at the letter in his hands.
“Bad news, my lord?”
Regulus glanced in the direction of the sassy voice. His wife—and first
cousin—Lady Andromeda was gazing wryly at him from her consort’s seat. She knew
who tended to send owls that left Regulus disgruntled, and this was no
exception.
“My brother is a fool,” Regulus stated without preamble.
“What has he done this time?”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “His latest muddle-headed scheme is to raise Godric’s
Hollow against Lord Lucius by romping about the outskirts on the full moon with
that werewolf friend. Fortunately, he has not done it. Yet.”
At this moment, a figure with long white hair, a heavily lined face, and
sinister black eyes entered the great hall. Regulus started, his face paling
for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. He chuckled darkly.
“That’s uncanny, Dora, but you’d best be careful who you let see that
impression. I doubt the high lord would take well to mockery, however good.”
A smile appeared on the decrepit face. The person’s features transformed,
filling out and tightening up into youth and health. The hair changed color and
shortened.
Nymphadora Black smirked. “Lord Malfoy takes himself far too seriously.”
“Few would agree with that,” Andromeda spoke up. “It is amusing here, while we
are alone, but you should not stroll about like that.”
“Very well. What was this about Uncle Sirius and a werewolf?” Dora asked,
changing the subject.
Regulus shook his head. “His latest fool idea to incite an uprising in that
town. It appears that he thinks Potter will forbid it. I don’t know why he
bothers to write to me with such stuff… he can’t think I would offer my
sanction to such an act, especially one that has such a high risk of getting
him and this friend of his killed.” He scanned the letter again. “Oh, and there
is a bit, apparently passed on from Potter’s son, about an assassination
attempt on that girl that Grandfather allowed to come to Hogwarts.”
Andromeda gave Regulus a pointed look, followed by a quick glance at Dora. “We
will discuss this later.”
A knock sounded on the tall double doors, echoing down the hall. Dora rose to
admit the visitor, a portly wizard bearing a ledger—and a silver tray with
three goblets. He bowed to Regulus. “The monthly accounts, my lord,” the castle
steward said, emphasizing the word pointedly.
Regulus accepted the document and the goblet. “Thank you, Tonks. This contains
the information from…?”
Ted Tonks nodded. “It does, my lord.”
“And the translation?”
“Yes, my lord. I know how tiresome it can be to read the original.” He bowed
and presented the remaining goblets to Lady Andromeda and Lady Dora, his gaze
softening and lingering on them for a moment, especially the latter. Lady
Andromeda’s sharp, clever face softened for a moment as well, but instantly
returned to its prior expression of finely honed irony. Tonks bowed, took his
leave, and left his lord and ladies to their privacy.
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
At the same time that Lord Regulus Black was reading a letter from his
disgraced brother, Merope Riddle had a letter of her own from her son.
 
My lady mother,
I am sorry to tell you that things have not gone entirely smoothly since our
return to Hogwarts. This is not because of a problem between Lady Hermione and
me, but rather, external events set up by people who want to harm her.
This sounds very dramatic, I know, but it is nothing less than the truth.
During a visit to the village of Hogsmeade, a female magical attacker ambushed
us in an alley and used extremely violent curses against Lady Hermione.
Fortunately she defended herself against the would-be assassin—and I have no
doubt that assassination was the goal, given the sort of spells this witch
used—but whoever it was Disapparated before we could identify her or even see
her face. She wore a large and heavy hood, and the entire nature of the attack
indicates that it was planned well in advance rather than the raving of a
madwoman or a drunk. I need not put into writing, I assume, who the obvious
culprits would be.
Lady Hermione has informed Master Slughorn of the attack and has a promise from
him to make inquiries among the students to determine if they know anything. I
think this is an exercise in futility, myself. We know who is likely behind it,
and I have urged stronger protective measures to her. To be frank with you,
Mother, I urged her to consider marrying me early, by which I mean this summer,
so that she could finish her education safely inside the walls of Parselhall.
She was resolutely opposed to the idea of leaving Hogwarts early. She wants to
finish her education here before marrying. I am not telling you this because I
want you to force it upon her, but I’m still convinced that it is a good idea.
But I would be interested to know if you have any other ideas of how to protect
her. We are surrounded by enemies who are very powerful, and they have targeted
her. I mean to develop friendships with some of the less toadying young nobles
of Slytherin House, now that these at least respect me as one of them, but I
think it’s for the best that you should know about everything that is going on.
 
Merope glanced at Severus, who was standing by, affording her the privacy to
read her own letter. He raised his eyebrows at her.
She rolled up the parchment and sighed. “My son is quite a schemer.”
Severus waited for her to elaborate on that.
“He tells me that Lady Hermione was attacked in Hogsmeade and proposes several
suggestions about how to address it.”
“She was attacked?” Severus said, startled out of his usual coolly observant
demeanor. “I had no idea that something like that was coming….”
“No one blames you. Your sources cannot know about everything.”
Severus nodded. “What does he suggest? If you wish to tell me?”
“The main suggestion is that he and Lady Hermione could marry this summer
instead of in three or four years.”
Severus considered. “What are your thoughts about that?”
“It might not be the worst idea… but he said that she was against it, because
she wanted to complete her education at Hogwarts first.”
“What does your son suggest to protect himself?”
Merope scanned the letter again, frowning as she read. “He is concerned with
her. He doesn’t seem overly worried about himself.”
Severus’s dark eyes narrowed. “I am glad that he is so concerned about her,” he
said tightly.
“As am I, for obvious reasons.”
Severus nodded. “But I think he gravely underestimates the danger to himself.
He probably thinks that he won’t be targeted because he was not targeted last
year, but last year, he was a half-blood commoner. But although he is a half-
blood, he is now a young lord, and he is a key party to a contract that the
members of the Wizards’ Council loathe because they see it, rightly, as an act
of defiance against their values.”
Merope nodded. “I have no intention of pressuring Lady Hermione to give up her
education at Hogwarts. I ampleased that Tom cares so much about her, but you’re
right. I am not going to tellhim this, but I know very well that this family’s
dealings with the Wizards’ Council are likely not over. I have not forgotten
what you told me last year about the plot to pressure meto marry someone else.
Sadly for them, they cannot storm this castle.”
Severus hesitated. “And have you discovered the status of your marriage with
Riddle?”
She sighed. “I have not had the time to look into the matter. I would be
surprised, at this point, if he had not been granted a divorce for
‘abandonment,’ even though he was the one who abandoned me, but I can’t be
sure. I’ve still been setting this holding in order and trying to create
loyalty among the village folk.”
“And you’ve done very well with that.”
It was true. In sharp contrast with Marvolo and Morfin, Merope had treated her
Muggle subjects in Hangleton Village well, abolishing the practice of serfdom
in her own fief and allowing them to practice trades if they showed talent at
something. She also had brought in a Muggle arms instructor to identify and
train the most promising in skill at arms. There was simply no reason to waste
the skills of talented Muggles in field labor. The error that the previous
Gaunts had made was to assume that Muggles could have no skills, that they were
merely good for physical labor.
These changes did reduce the number of field hands to work the farms, but the
village itself was more resilient—and the peasants were loyal to their liege
out of gratitude and respect rather than resentful terror. Merope and Severus
had used spells to preserve the crops for longer, since it would take longer
for them to be tended and harvested.
All in all, the fief of Hangleton was much stronger than it had been before
Merope assumed the high seat—and she was not blind to that fact. Seeing the
account books, and personally witnessing the changes with her own eyes, had
instilled a growing confidence in her.
It was a confidence that she realized she would need to take on the
increasingly fraught political situation.
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
Tom read the reply letter from his mother, unsure what to think of it. She
expressed her deep approval for his concern and affection for Hermione, but
urged him not to become so assured that hewould be protected from attacks due
to having a wizarding parent. In Tom’s opinion, it came across as a subtle
scolding for putting himself above Hermione due to blood status.
How could Mother think that, he fumed, especially since she knows what I
suggested?
That was the other thing. She had told him, rather sharply, that he had “better
not expect me to back you in depriving Hermione of her Hogwarts education if
she herself does not wish this”—and that he should not try to make plans for
Hermione behind her back.
Mother, you can be such a hypocrite at times, Tom thought grouchily. She had
certainly made the biggest plan of all for Tom behind hisback, only informing
him of it after it was settled. He had not thought about it from this point of
view in a while, since he had come to like Hermione, but Mother could be so
high-handed sometimes with her secret plans and schemes. That was all very
well—Tom respected clever schemes—but she ought to tell him, especially when
they concerned him. Even her scheme of surprising him with Hermione’s presence
the first evening of his winter visit was something she had done behind his
back. She really did like her secrets; she wasn’t yet allowing him to read most
of the books about his own ancestors either. It made him wonder just what else
she might be withholding from him.
And besides, Hermione had gone to Professor Slughorn in secret and apparently
convinced the professor to question their classmates about the attack.
Hermione herself then entered the small room—the same one on the ground floor
where they had discussed her conversation with Slughorn—and noticed how
irritated he was currently looking.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, taking a seat beside him.
He put the letter aside and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Letter from
Mother.”
She leaned across him to try to catch a glimpse.
“There’s no need for that,” he chuckled, passing it to her.
Hermione laughed in return and began to read. When she finished, she set it
down and looked at him.
“She’s right,” she said in a low voice. “You arein danger from these people
too.”
He sighed. “That’s probably so, but I think I can take care of myself.”
“So can I!” Hermione exclaimed. “You’ve said yourself that I am magically
powerful, and not to boast, but I can see it for myself now that I am here and
can compare myself to others.”
“Good,” he said. “You shouldn’t be modest about that.”
“But Tom… the point of this is that you don’t need to—to lock me up in your
mother’s castle to protect me! She’s right about thattoo.”
“You wouldbe safer there,” he challenged.
She scowled at him. “Perhaps, but at what price?”
“You have seen the library there, many times—”
“I don’t just mean my education, Tom! Are you prepared to… I mean… if we
reallygot married, I might get with child!”
Tom flushed deep red.
“And that would be a realproblem for finishing my magical education, wouldn’t
it?” she continued ruthlessly, though she was also pink. “Right now I only have
to be careful for myself, and I have read about how resilient the bodies of
witches and wizards are after about age eleven or twelve. But I have also read
about what curses and potions can do to unborn babies, and in any case, I don’t
even want that yet! I have heard of it happening to other girls, who were
married very early, and it’s just sad to me. I don’t want to think about that
yet.”
“We could just have a ceremony and avoid—”
“No, Tom. It is not happening. Your mother is not going to force it, and my own
parents specifically wanted me to receive a magical education. I am happy that
you want so much to keep me safe—I really am—but you need to let go of this
idea. We can find other ways. As your mother wrote, you are in danger too,
whether you accept that or not.”
He sighed, glowering at his lap, not looking at her. She was right, and he knew
it, but he really did just want to protect her with whatever means he had at
his disposal.
She nudged closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. “You should start
cultivating the people in our House that you think would be potential allies.
For my part, I would have Harry, Neville, and maybe that girl Luna. She’s a bit
odd, and I have trouble talking with her seriously, but we do need more
friends.”
Tom was silent for a few more moments before speaking. “You’re right,” he said.
“I have talked about that, but it’s time for me to do it. My only concern is
that it may look like we’re raising an army. The Wizards’ Council may take it
as a threat. But,” he continued, “if we don’tshow visible strength, people like
that will just bully and push over and over again.”
Hermione nodded in agreement. “Yes, they will.”
Tom pulled Hermione into his lap. As she shifted in his arms, she turned to
face him, draping her arms around his neck. They exchanged a kiss, an innocent
one with lips closed at first, but before long, their affections deepened once
again.
After several minutes, they separated, but they stayed with their foreheads
resting against each other. The thought momentarily passed through Hermione’s
head that if their relationship continued to advance at a rapid pace, they
would soon have to be very careful of themselves. But for now, it was pleasant
and sweet, and their private moments of affection served only to bring them
closer. In the present uncertain environment, that was a very good thing.
Chapter End Notes
     I am indeed implying exactly what you think I am with Regulus’s
     household. What can I say? I did warn that this story was going to be
     dark… but perhaps I should have said that the Malfoys, Lestranges,
     and Tom Riddle are not the only sources of darkness and grimness in
     this kind of setting.
***** Alliances Open and Secret *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi everyone. Here is a new chapter, continuing the gradual trickle of
     information about Godric’s Hollow. Actually, this is more like a
     flood than a trickle, and I am not sure how it’ll go over (and
     there’s a really cheesy reference tossed in, which I couldn’t resist,
     and I am sorry)—so do let me know. They finally stop talking about
     acquiring allies and start to do it, as well… and on that note,
     please keep in mind that the section where Tom does this is written
     from his viewpoint, which means that his thoughts are rather
     venomously ethnocentric.
     And last but not least, I estimate that the story will earn one of
     its archive warnings (and you can guess which one) in a chapter or
     two. As I said, I will write that tastefully, given how young they
     are, but it’s pretty clearly approaching.
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
Lord Severus Snape now had a manor of his own within the confines of his
liege’s holding. It was the old Prince manor, the one that had belonged to his
wizarding family, but it had now been restored to a livable condition. Merope
was keeping him on as steward of her property—chancellor, she was now calling
the post, as that sounded a bit more impressive—but he could choose to live in
the manor rather than her castle now.
He had mixed feelings about that when the magical renovation was complete and
she had informed him of it with a smile on her face. He had been under the
impression that there was something between them… but then, he supposed,
perhaps that was exactly why he shouldmove into his own home. If he could live
there but chose to live in herhome instead, it sent a clear message—and that
was not a message that she seemed comfortable with at this point.
To tell the truth, he was not entirely comfortable with it either. If they
married, it would come with significant complications. His lady could not marry
him—or any wizard—unless she purposely avoided having additional children,
since she was so dedicated to ensuring her son’s prosperity.
Severus could not blame her for putting her child’s interests ahead of her own
emotional comfort, but he didn’t like the fact that Armand Malfoy and his
circle had even instituted such a law. It was almost Mugglein nature, he
thought, which was grotesquely ironic for the blood-obsessed Wizards’ Council.
Wizarding law in Britain and Ireland, set by the now-dissolved Wizengamot, had
not mandated primogeniture or male preference. Families could choose any child
as the heir, or even a cousin, if all the children were unsatisfactory.
Sometimes an eldest child wanted to pursue scholarship instead of ruling a
holding. Sometimes the child best suited to managing property was female.
Granted, the Wizards’ Council had not changed thoseinheritance laws, but taking
that power away from individual families and ranking children by a prescribed
formula, according to factors that were accidents of birth, was a very Muggle
legal conceit, in Severus’s opinion. Forcibly ranking their legal rights by
“purity of blood” felt very much to Severus like the first slide on that
slippery slope, if something did not happen to rein in the Malfoy-Lestrange-
Black hegemony.
The thwarted rebellion in Godric’s Hollow attempted to do that, he thought,
with a twinge of sadness. In his narrative of the history of Godric’s Hollow to
the young people over Christmas, he had purposely omitted a key event. Armand
Malfoy’s use of temporary stewards and regents had not ended with his placement
of Abraxas in the seat. Fifteen years ago, Armand had summoned Abraxas away
from Godric’s Hollow to Malfoy Manor, and fourteen years ago, several of the
wizards and witches in that village had attempted—in disguise—to stage a
rebellion against Raymond Crabbe, who was acting as regent for LuciusMalfoy for
a year. The villagers had seized the opportunity that a weak lord outside the
family afforded.
Severus had been part of that—and thatwas the detail he wanted hidden. His own
mother had not known that he had Apparated to the site of rebellion, eager to
do somethingto avenge the humiliation of his family at the hands of blood
supremacists. Marvolo Gaunt had been a loathsome lord who, although isolating
himself from regular communication with his peers (and eschewing marriage
alliances with most other families, much to Severus’s horror—and Merope’s),
definitely agreed with the views of the Malfoy family. Although Severus was
unable at the time to do anything about the Gaunts, he felt that he coulddo
something about the system that had enabled their conduct. Young and angry, he
had sneaked out and gone to the town that he’d heard about from his fellow
young Gaunt vassal, Peter Pettigrew, who was friends with some of the young
wizards of that town. He hadn’t even confided his plans to that fellow, though.
No one knew it was he behind that charmed mask—no one except for her. Meeting
such a talented Muggle-born witch who had never been allowed to go to
Hogwarts—again, due to the Malfoys—had hardened his resolve.
The small group of masked witches and wizards had stormed the castle, the one
that had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor, bearing magically lit torches and
sending destructive spells over the ramparts. But the flare-up of revolt was
put down as quickly as it had arisen, when the lord who emerged from the castle
was revealed not to be Crabbe, but Lucius Malfoy himself—the grandson of the
usurper. No one could ever figure out how the Malfoy elders had learned of the
plans in advance, whether there was treachery in the rebels’ ranks or someone
had just been loose-lipped (which was possible, given how Severus had learned
of the plans in the first place despite being nowhere near Godric’s Hollow),
but there Lord Lucius was. He had killed two of the leaders, the Prewett
brothers, and the rest of the rebels had scattered, their identities concealed
by masks.
The aftermath had been a shame and a disgrace upon many of the rebels’ honor,
he had heard, with people who had been involved in it telling the new lord that
their hated neighbors or family rivals had been there instead. Short of
questioning every magical person in the town under Veritaserum, there was no
way to determine exactly who had been part of it. In the end, Lord Lucius had
dispatched his favorite torturer, a squat witch named Umbridge, to make public
examples of one or two, with the rest forced to watch. She apparently knew a
curse that peeled a person’s skin away inside out starting with an open wound,
and no villager had dared to foment rebellion again after that horrific sight.
To this day, Severus wondered about Lily’s son, Harold. He had black hair just
like Severus, and the timing was uncertain….
He pushed that thought out of his head. It was just as likely that the boy
really was the son of James Potter. He had been engaged to Lily until a couple
of weeks before the rebellion, when they’d had an ugly fight. Severus was
reasonably certain that they had already consummated their engagement, too.
They were back together and married the month after the uprising, after he had
returned morosely to Hangleton. Potter also had black hair, and besides, the
husband of a married woman was legally the father of her children unless it
could be proved otherwise. In any case, all he had heard indicated that she was
happy, and Snape’s own heart had at last turned in a different direction over
the past year….
His thoughts returned to the present, and his gaze shifted to the letter he had
dug out of his desk to re-examine. He did not particularly like Merope’s son,
or his betrothed—an arrogant, know-it-all pair if ever there were—but they were
still young, and Severus reflected that hehad certainly been an arrogant youth.
They would learn the hard way, he supposed, that they did not know everything
and were not invulnerable. That would be painful for them, but it would do them
both good. It was his job to protect them from realharm, and he had just
remembered a piece of information that might aid in that goal. He left his
manor house and Apparated the relatively short distance to Castle Parselhall.
Lady Merope was pleased to see him, but the pleasure on her face melted away
quickly at the sight of his grim one.
“My lady,” he began without prelude, “I have reread one of my communications
from….” He gazed pointedly at her.
She nodded.
“It was the report from last fall of the meeting at Castle l’Etrange. I had
forgotten the fact that Lady Bellatrix Lestrange was very adamant about wanting
to kill the young people, even though no one except the high lord himself
seemed to support her.”
Merope considered this. “Do you think that the assassin in Hogsmeade who tried
to kill Lady Hermione was Lady Lestrange? They did think it was a witch….”
“She’s the most likely possibility, since the men in that room who spoke up
didn’t want to use violence,” Severus affirmed. “My source tells me, and this
is actually fairly common knowledge among the magical nobility, that she is… I
am not sure if ‘reckless’ is the correct word, exactly… but she has been known
to act alone if she is very determined on something.”
Merope nodded again, thoughtfully. “And she might act alone without even
telling her daughter. Tom tells me that the young lady is not subtle, so she
probably couldn’t be trusted with such knowledge. If the would-be assassin
wasLady Lestrange, I wonder if the high lord knew about this….”
Severus sighed. “So do I. Heis one who can definitely keep secrets.”
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
Tom’s growing affection for Hermione coincided with a deep, visceral, and
empathetic—rather than purely self-centered—determination to keep her safe from
the machinations of their enemies.
I still wish that she would consider marrying me early, he thought. Even if
they didn’t consummate the marriage that soon—and Tom still found that idea
intimidating—people would think that they had, and therefore that she might
have conceived… but do they verify that? he wondered. He genuinely did not know
if his mother would test that with a charm after they did marry. Sometimes
people were actually married—on paper—in childhood, and such marriages might
not be consummated for several years… but he and Hermione were considered just
old enough. They might be expected to. In fact, Tom thought, a swooping feeling
developing in his gut, if we told Mother that we weren’t going to for a while
yet, she might insist that Hermione continue to go to Hogwarts despite being
married. The only way to ensure that she would get to stay at Parselhall would
be to actually do the deed—and then she very well might get with child, just as
she said to me. Tom definitely was not prepared for thatto happen.
Well, Hermione was resolved against it anyway. This was nothing more than
speculation on a theory. Tom knew it was far better to consider what he coulddo
rather than pining for something that wouldn’t happen.
He took out a sheet of paper and began to make a list of names. With the
exception of Potter, everyone in Slytherin was the child of a lord, a knight,
or an untitled sibling to one. Most of the wizards, unfortunately, were from
families that had not just sworn fealty to Armand Malfoy—after all, his own
mother had too—but who actually agreed with the Wizards’ Council’s policies of
absolute Norman hegemony. Either they were predominantly of occupier heritage
themselves, or they had no pride. The Crabbe family, for example, acted as
though it really wanted to supplant the Black family as bootlicking English
toadies to the invader lords. Tom did not write down any of the names of these
families’ children. They were likely hopeless.
Still, they were not the only wizards in Slytherin House. Tom had observed
people carefully over the approximately year and a half he had been at
Hogwarts, and he had detected the subtleties in the conversations of some of
them that indicated they saw things a bit differently. Flint, Fawley, Nott,
Avery, and Wilkes were the names in this group. Their families had all held
seats on the old Wizengamot for many years before the Conquest—in the case of
Fawley, almost as long as his own family had been there—and now they were
virtually powerless.
Reluctantly Tom wrote down the names of Daphne Greengrass and Millicent
Bulstrode too, though he did not intend to “recruit” young ladies directly. He
was not sure what to do about them. They were friendly enough with Hermione,
but it was obvious to Tom that they still had not truly admitted her as one of
themselves. It would be presumptuous for Hermione to try to ally with them in
any acknowledged sense, given that. Perhaps she should just continue
associating with them as she was. Familiarity might encourage them to overlook
her blood status… unless the problem is her part-Norman background, Tom
thought. He winced. That might be an issue for his plans, as well. He did not
need charges of hypocrisy levelled at him.
When I cultivate these boys, I won’t mention it unless one of them does, he
thought. And if it comes up, I’ll just say that half of her antecedents are
English, and the intermarriages were political ploys to recover or keep their
property. Then, too, some of the boys may have a part-Norman relative or two
themselves by now. Not everyone will be like me, entirely Celtic and Anglo-
Saxon.
A thought nagged at him, but Tom shoved the idea right out of his head that his
eventual children with Hermione would not be, either.
===============================================================================
Despite the occasional threats to her life, Hermione was enjoying life at
Hogwarts very much now. By spring, the bullying from her housemates now
consisted only of the occasional verbal snipe, and she had friends to counter
it—as well as a relationship with Tom that was making her very happy.
She and Tom had rather frequent private moments here and there in the castle,
or in the copse of trees behind Hogsmeade, and as the moments accumulated, the
degree of intimacy increased too. Gone were the days in which they only touched
in the course of linking arms to attend meals together, or Tom perfunctorily
kissing her knuckles to see her off to bed. Now, they embraced and kissed at
almost every private opportunity. If they needed to discuss something private
that would take a while to resolve, she often leaned against him, with one of
his arms securely around her waist. Occasionally she would even sit in his lap,
though that often led to their becoming too distracted to actually hold their
discussion.
Tom was not faking any of this. He didn’t need to; their betrothal existed
whether they even saw each other or not, let alone engaged in affections. He
wanted to. His attitude toward her had changed dramatically in the months since
they had first met—and with this new reference for comparison, Hermione was now
able to see that she had been naïvely innocent about how he saw her in those
early days. It had been a fancy on her side and the very beginning of a
friendship for both of them, and she realized that, now that she had personal
awareness of what an affectionate relationship could be. Then, too, his idea
about early marriage was further evidence that his views of her had changed
dramatically. It was not a goodidea, in her opinion, but Tom would not have
suggested it nine months ago. He must have not just “accepted” the idea, but
warmedto it. His affectionate, if possessive, behavior to her supported that
contention.
Hermione wondered if her parents had had an affectionate engagement like this.
She had never seen them showing anything but respect and kindness to each
other, but then, they had been married for many years by the time she was even
born. She had notobserved them showing the kinds of affections to each other
that she and Tom were now engaged in… but perhaps they did in private. She
hoped so. Hermione had been so sure that she understood what marriage was, but
the months since Christmas had altered her views somewhat. Weremost noble
couples affectionate, or did they do only what they were obliged to do—those
public social courtesies, the kinds of things Tom had done so coolly at the
beginning, as well as the occasional “marital duty”? She did not know. Maybe,
she thought, it’s best for people to be introduced to each other as early as
possible, so they have plenty of time to get to know each other…. The image of
Draco Malfoy and Adelaide Lestrange then intruded upon her thoughts, shattering
that nice and neat idea. They were the same ages as she and Tom, and it didn’t
appear likely that they would everbecome a loving couple.
Hermione didn’t want to think that this was simply good fortune, but perhaps it
was. That was an uncomfortable thought. Now that she knew what she could have,
the idea of not having it was unpleasant.
I will have it, at least, she reassured herself. Tom and I are going to be very
happy. I can’t be responsible for everyone else’s happiness in life, and there
are many considerations that people must think about in addition to their own
happiness.
She thought about her new friends. Now that she was secure of Tom’s affections
for her, she felt freed to develop her other friendships without worrying about
whether Tom’s dark suggestion that day last year—“What if you meet a boy at
Hogwarts that you like better than me?”—would come true despite her best
intentions. Harry and his Gryffindor friend Neville were nice boys, and she
could now enjoy their moments of friendship without worry or guilt. Luna, too,
was nice, if rather odd. Her favorite area of magic was astrology, which was
the one for which Hermione just could not get past some innate skepticism.
Spells, potions, and magical flora and fauna were one thing. She could
immediately see that they were real and powerful. The supposed effects of
planetary, stellar, and lunar alignment were a different matter altogether, and
Hermione just could not see that these phenomena—if they existed—were either
quantifiable, or, especially, controllable. Luna, however, spoke of the
positioning of Mars and its effects on someone as if it were a matter of
indisputable fact.
It rather reminded Hermione of the Divination instructor, whom she definitely
did not like or respect. She was just waiting to catch that woman in an act of
fraud.
On the other hand, Luna was also interested in magical plants and animals,
which was something she shared with Harry’s friend Neville. Hermione wondered
if they would become a couple. Harry, also, seemed to have his eye on the
blonde witch, and interestingly, she seemed to take more to his gestures of
friendship than Neville’s awkward mentions of his favorite subject. Then again,
Hermione reminded herself, Tom and I shared interests, but we also had to
become friends in addition to that before things really changed between us.
Hermione hoped the boys’ friendship didn’t become strained in the future, and
she was just glad she was on the outside looking in.
Harry had, at last, opened up about something that he had not wanted to talk
about before: his hometown of Godric’s Hollow. One day in Potions, he brought
the subject up seemingly apropos of nothing.
“My godfather mentioned the oddest thing to me in his latest owl post,” he
said, keeping his voice low so that their schoolmates could not hear what he
was saying.
“Your godfather Sirius Black?”
Harry nodded, stirring the contents of his cauldron. “He told me that he had
heard from someone he had known from Hogwarts, someone named Snape. Isn’t that
Lady Riddle’s chief vassal?”
Hermione frowned. “Unless there is someone else with the same name, then yes.
What reason did he give for the contact?”
“He said that Snape was asking him if he had heard anything about an old friend
of his named Pettigrew, who was also supposed to be sworn to Lady Riddle but
has been missing for years.”
Hermione set down her stirring rod and gave Harry a querying look. “Was your
godfather supposed to pass this on?” she asked suspiciously. “It sounds
sensitive to me.”
Harry colored faintly. “He may not have been,” he admitted, “but I passed it on
to you, so you can inform them. But please… I don’t want anything to happen to
Sirius, if you do. I don’t think he would have told anyone but my parents and
me.”
She nodded. She was almost positive she had heard that name before…. Yes, she
realized, it was over Christmas, at the breakfast table. She resolved to let
Tom know that evening.
===============================================================================
Tom frowned thoughtfully after Hermione had explained to him what Harry had
told her. At Harry’s own request, he was standing by listening in case Tom had
any questions about the matter that Hermione might not be able to answer.
It turned out that he did. He turned to Harry and asked, rather aggressively,
“When my mother last mentioned this to Snape, he thought that Pettigrew was
dead. Why does he suddenly think differently?”
Hermione marveled at Tom’s memory. Now that she was reminded of it, she
recalled that Snape had mentioned that someone else had indeed believed that.
Harry was taken aback. “I have no idea,” he said coldly. “My godfather did not
share that bit with me. For all I know, Snape still does think that, but he’s
just checking all sources.”
“Do youknow anything about Pettigrew?”
Harry shook his head. “Nothing except that he, my godfather, and my father had
been friends at Hogwarts—and there was apparently a fourth fellow too, but
Sirius doesn’t want to talk about him.”
Tom locked eyes momentarily with Harry. Hermione realized what he was doing,
and she rather disapproved of his doing it to friends. He broke his gaze with
Harry, his handsome face twisting into a glare. “Is there something you’re not
telling us, Potter?” he asked, even more aggressively.
Harry’s green eyes widened. “What are you doing, Riddle?” he exclaimed. “Did
you just make me think of—”
Tom stared hard at Harry, who wilted.
“They’re Animagi,” he mumbled. “Sirius and my father.”
“And Pettigrew?”
“I don’t know! I’ve never met him. Father and Sirius mentioned him
occasionally, but I didn’t even know that he was sworn to your mother. They
always acted as if he wasn’t very good at magic. They said he lost a finger in
an explosion once, for which they nicknamed him ‘Peter Little-finger,’ but he
probably isn’t able to control his magic well enough if that’s true.”
“What about the story of his death? Do you know anything about that?”
Harry shook his head. “I thought he just disappeared.” He glared at Tom.
“Riddle, I am not your enemy. I passed on useful information to her because it
concerns your family.”
Tom sighed. His posture relaxed. “I don’t mean to make you feel like an enemy…
but forgive me if I don’t particularly trust someone who is supposed to be
loyal to my mother but, if he is alive, is avoiding his obligations. And if
your family knows about it—”
“They don’t, though.”
Hermione spoke up, eager to make peace between her friend and her fiancé. “We
don’t even know why he disappeared, if he is alive. It was certainly before
your mother became a baroness, Tom, so he may have thought the family was gone.
He may not know even now that she rules at Hangleton, if he is alive. Let’s not
judge without knowing all the facts.”
Tom sighed again, but he nodded. Stiffly he turned to Harry. “Thank you for
telling me.”
===============================================================================
One day in the middle of spring, Hermione noticed that Tom was talking
guardedly with a small group of Slytherin boys in the common room as she
entered from the girls’ bedchambers, her reading for the night complete. Her
eyebrows knit together. Were these the “allies” that he had repeatedly said he
would try to cultivate? She quickly scanned them. Fawley, Flint, Nott… she did
not know much about any of them, except that they did not seem to be part of
Draco Malfoy’s personal coterie, which usually consisted of Crabbe, Goyle, and
William Rosier.
Tom acknowledged Hermione’s entrance into the common room with a nod and a
faint smile. The other boys followed his gaze, saw that she was there, and
dispersed, leaving Tom to talk to her.
She approached him and raised her eyebrows at him queryingly, not needing to
say a word.
“It is what you think,” he said quietly. He gazed around the common room, but
the only person of Malfoy’s acquaintance who was there was Adelaide Lestrange,
who sat sullenly next to a window, hunched over a nondescript flask.
“I’m glad,” Hermione said in a low voice. “What have you discussed so far?”
He ushered her into a private, dark corner and took a small scroll of parchment
out of his belt pouch. He unrolled it and spread it out. “Pretty soon we’re
going to have a secret symbol. This is a draft design.”
Hermione examined the sketch. Celtic knotwork surrounded an Ouroboros, which
itself encircled a raven with a small crown on its head.
“The meaning of the decoration and the serpent is clear, but why the crowned
raven?”
“Morgana le Fay was a raven Animagus.”
“Oh,” Hermione said. She raised her eyebrows at him again. “Tom, what exactly
are you discussing with these boys?”
He hesitated. “Just solidarity against the Malfoys. These are boys whose
families, like ours—”
Hermione did not miss that, and her heart skipped a beat at it.
“—are against the unjust and lawless behavior of people on the Wizards’ Council
and their family members.”
“Well,” she said, considering, “just be careful. I don’t want Draco to find out
that any of your allies—or, especially, you—are doing this.”
“That’s why the symbol will be secret,” he said with a smirk.
She gazed at the design again. “Tom, I really think you should take the crown
off it. Morgana was not a queen, and it looks very presumptuous. If anyone in
Malfoy’s circle didsee that, they would interpret it as a direct challenge. It
might even be seen as a challenge for the Muggle throne, and with their ongoing
conflict, that could be dangerous for you.”
Tom scowled, but he did not voice disagreement. “All right,” he muttered. “You
do have a point with that.” He rolled the scroll up and put it back in his
pouch.
Hermione gave him a quick, knowing, private smile. “The alcove on the first
floor?” she said softly.
He smirked back at her. “If you like.”
With as much dignity as they could muster—which was actually quite a bit—they
linked arms and exited the common room.
They hurried up the flights of stairs and through the mostly empty corridors,
finally darting into the familiar little spot. Although they had more than one
place now for private moments, this was the first, and they still visited it.
Flickers of orange and pink light from the setting sun filtered through
diamond-paned windows. Tom embraced her, drawing her close, as they fell into a
comfortable cushioned chair. She wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed
him to plant kisses across her face.
“This is quite a change from last summer,” she observed playfully in a lull.
He gazed at her with dark eyes. “Did youimagine this either at that time,
Hermione?”
She laughed and shook her head. “I imagined us holding hands and exchanging
smiles. I thought about a ring like this one”—she offered her hand for him to
kiss—“and of us standing side by side in your mother’s castle. Something
changed in me over the course of this year. I mean… what I imagined, when I
thought about love, changed.” She blushed. “Of course, there’s apparently a lot
more still….”
“We’ll have plenty of time.”
“We certainly will.”
“I’m looking forward to the summer,” he confessed. “I generally like winter…
I’m not fond of heat… but now, my serpent familiar will be there, waiting for
me… and it will be warm enough to take her out of the castle onto the grounds.”
“Maybe you can bring her to Hogwarts in the fall. It was just too cold to risk
the journey after Christmas.”
“That’s definitely going to happen. You should get a familiar too, you know,”
he said, a hint of teasing in his voice.
“It will have to be the right one.”
“Naturally.”
She thought about it. “I’ll know, just like you knew.” She cupped the side of
his face with her hand and leaned in once more as they resumed their
affections.
When the sky was dark and twinkling, and they finally realized that they had
better return to the common room, Tom rose from the chair, feeling pleased and
contented. Hermione linked arms with him again, a smile on her face.
***** A Confluence of News *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you once more! Another semi-transitional chapter, I'm afraid,
     although this one is actually pretty foreboding in certain ways. But
     things are going to happen pretty soon now.
Hermione unrolled the small scroll once again to look at it, although she knew
what it said.
 
To Lady Hermione Granger,
Master Slughorn and I request your presence at a private meeting in my office
this evening to discuss the findings of our investigation. You may also bring
Lord Thomas with you. The door to my office has a password, which is “flaming
marchpane.”
High Master Albus Dumbledore
 
Tom gave the small piece of paper a cursory glance. “It really does seem as
though they have something to tell us,” he said, surprise in his words. “I
wouldn’t have thought it.”
“Slughorn probably wouldn’t have anything to tell us if he had conducted the
investigation all by himself,” Hermione said cynically. “This must be because
he involved High Master Dumbledore.”
Tom scowled—Hermione had noticed that he did not seem to like Dumbledore all
that well—but he did not dispute her point.
“What exactly is ‘flaming marchpane’?” Hermione asked him.
Tom smirked. “Exactly what it sounds like. Wizarding bakers use a charm to set
it on fire—for a short time, anyway—but because it’s a magical fire, the candy
won’t burn up. Sometimes they sculpt the marchpane into dragons and charm the
fire to come out of the dragon’s mouth. It’s entertaining for children.”
“You jest.”
“Not at all.”
He did seem completely sincere, and this was certainly not the weirdest thing
that Hermione had learned about since she came to Hogwarts, so she rolled up
the scroll, placed it in her pouch, and leaned into him. He relaxed and hugged
her.
In a little bit, they separated and rose to go to Dumbledore’s office. On the
third floor, they heard footsteps approaching. Tom instinctively moved in front
of Hermione, simultaneously pleasing and affronting her. It was gentlemanly of
him, but she coulddefend herself if this turned out be a threat….
Adelaide Lestrange came into view. At the sight of the couple before her, her
features twisted into a sneer. “Granger,” she said. “I see you hiding behind
Riddle.”
Hermione stepped forward and glared back at her foe. “I’m doing nothing of the
sort. Go about your business, Lestrange.”
“I just wanted to say, I’m very surprised. Your first year at Hogwarts is over
tomorrow, and you actually survived it,” the girl spat.
In a flash, Tom drew his wand. “What is thatsupposed to mean?” he growled.
The girl glared. “It’s just surprising that a Mudblood could see it through,”
she said peevishly. She met Tom’s eyes without fear. “And how very sweetit is,
Riddle, that you’re so protective of her. I suppose it makes sense, though.
She’s the only real chance you have of continuing your own tarnished line.”
Tom sneered in disgust. “Your insults are boring. Find a new line of attack—or
better yet, do as Hermione told you, and go about your own business.” He took a
step forward, pointing the tip of his wand at Lestrange’s neck threateningly.
She gave them a final sneer before turning away. Tom was ready to stride
forward, but Hermione watched her leave and did not turn around until
Lestrange’s footsteps were no longer audible. They continued their trek to
Dumbledore’s office.
“Flaming marchpane,” Hermione muttered when they reached his door. It swung
open, revealing the wizened, bearded visage of Albus Dumbledore and a nervous-
looking Horace Slughorn.
Tom closed the door behind them, pulled a chair for Hermione, and took his own
seat in front of Dumbledore’s desk. Slughorn sat down but continued to fidget.
Dumbledore examined Tom with serious eyes, then turned to Hermione, studying
her as well. It made her feel awkward, and she wondered if Dumbledore might be
a Legilimens just as Tom was—but, unlike Tom, a true master with years of
practice.
“Thank you for coming here tonight,” he began. He unrolled a scroll and gazed
down grimly at it. “Professor Slughorn and I have concluded our investigation
into the attack upon you, Lady Hermione, in Hogsmeade… but before we tell you
our findings, I must ask both of you to swear to tell no one of this
information other than your lady mother, Lord Thomas.”
“Not my own parents?” Hermione asked.
Dumbledore sighed. “I do not share the contempt for Muggles that so many hold…
but it’s simply a fact that Muggles are unable to protect themselves against
magical attempts to steal information from their minds.”
“Occlumency,” Tom mumbled to himself.
Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose. “Yes,” he said.
Tom considered the request. His mother would probably want to tell Snape, but
that was her business. In any case, he could do as Dumbledore asked. “All
right, then,” he said. “I swear.”
“And I swear,” Hermione added.
The professors exchanged a glance. “I accept your word,” Dumbledore said. “Now…
our findings. Neither Professor Slughorn nor I could find any studentwho knew
anything, but we did question other possible sources of information.”
Tom and Hermione waited.
“The people in Hogsmeade were not all honest with you,” Dumbledore said
bluntly. “Most of them didn’tsee the assassin’s face, because of where they
were when she tumbled onto the street, but two people did.”
Tom’s face darkened. “They didn’t speak up,” he said harshly. “We asked, and no
one said anything except for a pupil who claimed that her hood didn’t fall
off.”
“Her hood apparently didn’tfall off, but the two people that Professor Slughorn
and I found did catch a glimpse of her face.”
“Who were they?”
“Lord Thomas, they asked that I not reveal their identities. You must
understand that it would be dangerous for their names to become known if they
did identify Lady Bellatrix Lestrange as a would-be assassin.”
This information, dropped in the middle of this sentence, did what Dumbledore
meant it to do. Tom’s interest in the informants instantly disappeared.
“I knew it,” he snarled. “I knewit.”
“This is extremely dangerous information,” Professor Slughorn finally spoke up.
He was almost shaking with anxiety. “You understand that better than we do,
probably.”
“It is dangerous, but not entirely surprising,” Hermione said. She was
surprised at how hard and cynical her words were. “Who else would care so much
about harming me?”
The professors looked down, sadness in their faces.
“It’s a good question. Could anyone else have known?” Tom asked. “Anyone like,
for example, Lord Armand Malfoy?”
Slughorn closed his eyes and shuddered at Tom’s brashness. “We don’t know.”
“We encountered Adel—Lady Adelaide in the hallway,” Tom said. “She made a
comment that she was ‘surprised Hermione survived the year.’ She claimed that
it meant that she didn’t think Hermione would have been able to do the magic,
and I did look her in… I mean….” He broke off. “I just wonder.”
Dumbledore and Slughorn exchanged uneasy glances. “It could be what she said.
Alternatively, her mother might have told her what she attempted, only after
you—and later, I—questioned her about the attack,” Slughorn said.
Dumbledore was thinking of something else. “You ‘did look her in’—her eyes?
Lord Thomas, are you learning Legilimency?”
Caught out, Tom stared stonily at the professor. “Yes,” he said sullenly. “I
have a gift for it.”
“It’s true,” Slughorn said. “I told him that myself.”
Dumbledore considered this information for a moment. “Be careful,” he finally
said. “It is easy to reveal the ability if you go about it in a brazen way.
Your subject can tell at once that you are perusing their thoughts, if you
aren’t subtle. I could instruct you in the subject if you would like.”
“Thank you,” he said coolly. “I will consider that.”
It was perfectly clear to Hermione that Tom had already done all the
“considering” of the offer that he ever intended. “What do you think we should
do about Lady Adelaide, then, if she doesknow now that her mother tried to kill
me?”
The professors exchanged another glance. “I think you should do as you have
done this year,” Dumbledore said. “Protect each other. You might also consider
making friends in the other Houses—and, Lady Hermione, I’ve noticed that you
and Master Potter have done just that. And, too, please remember that no one
has any evidence that Lady Adelaide doesknow what her mother did. If you, Tom,
didread her thoughts in the hallway, and still didn’t find what you feared, she
may not know. Children do not deserve to be punished for their parents.”
“I wish everyone thought that,” Hermione said unhappily.
===============================================================================
“Why don’t you like Professor Dumbledore?” Hermione asked Tom when they were in
one of their private alcoves that evening.
Tom stared out the window. “Last year, he caught me reading certain things in
the library and scolded me for it.”
Hermione frowned. She did not think that a professor of magic should disapprove
of a pupil who wanted to read about the subject. “Reading what?”
Tom seemed unwilling to answer.
“Reading what, Tom?”
“Books that the school owns, that are in its own library, so he had no reason
to—” He broke off.
“Books about Legilimency?”
“No. You saw for yourself that he was willing to teach me. It was something
else. Old magic.” He turned away from the window and looked at her. “Hermione,
I’m worried about something. What if Bellatrix Lestrange knows Occlumency? She
could teach it to Adelaide.”
Hermione considered that. “Is there any evidence that she does? Have you heard
that?”
“No, but it’s always possible. And if it’s true, then there could be someone in
our own House, someone who sleeps just a few rooms away from you, who knows
that her murderous bitch of a mother tried to kill you and is covering up for
that. That means shecould be potentially a killer herself.”
She shook her head. “Tom, you make too many assumptions. You don’t know that
Lady Lestrange can even do Occlumency. If she can, you don’t know that she
would have taught her daughter. And you also don’t know that Adelaide is
capable of murder. Personally, I don’t think she is an Occlumens at all,
whether her mother is or not. Does anything—anything—about her seem subtle to
you? Do you think she would even be capable of keeping her mouthshut if she had
sensitive information, let alone training her mind?”
He scowled. “She will have all summer with her family—or the Malfoys, if they
are fostering her now.”
“Then we should certainly observe her closely when we come back in the fall,
but we would anyway. She is an adversary.”
Tom did not argue with that.
She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He instantly
enveloped her with his. “You should tell your mother about this, though.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I intend to. We’ll see her tomorrow, after
all.”
===============================================================================
One of Merope’s house-elves was waiting for them the following day in the main
street of Hogsmeade. Hermione was going to visit her parents, but not
immediately. She would spend most of the warm months fostered at Parselhall,
since it would be her home someday and she would be lady of it. Tom was glad.
He was really looking forward to having a mostly empty castle in which to spend
time with Hermione, not to mention verdant grounds. Summer in the country would
be very different to summer in a city like London. Tom had already gotten a
taste of it in the previous year, and this time, Hermione would be much more
than just a semi-friend whose presence he tolerated because it was the
gentlemanly thing to do. The broad tree-lined stream, for one, might be a great
place to bring his serpent Dunlaith. The animal might want to sun itself on the
rocks, and he and Hermione could bring books there….
The house-elf took hold of their hands and Apparated them, interrupting Tom’s
pleasant imaginings. But in the next moment, after the unpleasant dark
sensation, he was standing at the gate of his castle, just outside the
Apparition boundary surrounding the edifice, with Hermione and the elf next to
him.
They were presented to Merope at once. Tom noted the satisfied smile on his
mother’s face. She showed them to the family dining room, where another house-
elf brought buttered bread and ale.
“We have something important to tell you,” Tom said.
Merope nodded. “As do I… and Lord Severus. He will be here soon. He lives in
his own house, the Prince manor, now.”
Tom wondered about that but did not remark on it.
In a moment, Severus Snape showed up. He took his seat and nodded silently to
Merope.
“If you will, Tom, you and Hermione may give your news first,” she said.
Hermione spoke up before Tom could. “Thank you,” she said politely. “Last
night, High Master Dumbledore summoned us to his office, where he and Professor
Slughorn explained that they had concluded their investigation into the attack
on me. In short, someone didsee the face of the assassin, and it was Lady
Bellatrix Lestrange.” This news did not seem to surprise either Lady Merope or
Lord Severus, Hermione noted.
Tom was staring at her with wide but impressed eyes. “The professors wouldn’t
tell us who saw Lady Lestrange, but apparently they were residents of
Hogsmeade,” he added.
Merope nodded. “This is as we suspected, though it is good to have confirmation
of it.”
“We wondered about whether she could be an Occlumens,” Tom said.
Snape frowned, and Merope noticed this. “That I cannot answer… and I am not
sure if Lord Severus can, either, but for ourinformation, it is best if he
explains.”
The wizard cleared his throat. “I had independent reasons to believe that Lady
Lestrange was the assassin, but as your lady mother says, it’s good that we
have confirmation of that fact. I do not know if she can do Occlumency, but I
can attempt to find out.” He paused. “I am able to do it, and it may be best
for you to learn it, both of you….”
Hermione perked up. “I would be very interested in that. Tom is already
learning Legilimency….”
“Is he?” Merope said, giving him a significant look.
“He is,” Tom replied, his tone surly. “Professor Slughorn said I was gifted.”
“It’s not easy to become a master of both,” Snape said. “It’s very difficult to
close one’s mind while also being able to read other people.”
“Maybe, but I am sure I could do it. I have no difficulty keeping secrets.”
“I did not say you did, your lordship. But if you wish to learn Occlumency as
well as Lady Hermione, you may find that it’s not as natural for you as
Legilimency apparently is.”
Tom eyed Snape, who returned the look.
“There is something else,” Hermione spoke up, hoping to calm the situation. “A
friend of mine, Harry Potter, told me earlier in the year that your lordship
had written to his godfather, Sirius Black, to make inquiries about a wizard
named Peter Pettigrew.”
Snape was visibly startled, which Tom noticed with smug satisfaction. “I should
not have been surprised that Black would pass that information to others,” he
said harshly.
“It was a letter he sent by owl to Harry. He doesn’t think that Black told
anyone but him and his parents.”
Snape considered this, scowling deeply, before he spoke again. “It hardly
matters. It did not have to be a secret. Pettigrew—if he’s still alive—is a
wizard who is sworn to Lady Riddle, but he disappeared, with his mother, just
after the death of Lord Marvolo Gaunt and has not been heard from since. I
wrote to Sirius Black because Pettigrew was a friend of his in Hogwarts.”
“If Pettigrew still lives, I will insist that he come to this castle and
reaffirm his oath to this family,” Merope said tautly. “It is possible that he
doesn’t know any of the family remain, though.”
“When did my grandfather die?” Tom asked.
“About three years ago,” Merope said. “He was a very imperfect lord, with a
tyrannical streak, but my brother had that streak andwas incompetent. Most of
our vassals, except for Lord Severus, fled, vanished, or swore to other lords.”
Tom considered this silently. In the lull, Hermione spoke up with the other
juicy piece of information that she and Tom had learned from the spring
discussion with Harry. “Apparently, Sirius Black and Harry’s father are
Animagi,” she supplied.
This also shocked Snape. “He said that?”
Jerked out of his contemplation, Tom nodded eagerly. “I used Legilimency on
him,” he said pointedly, looking at his mother and Snape in turn. “He
acknowledged it, but he said he didn’t know if Pettigrew was too.”
“I will write to Black again and ask him,” Snape growled. “He did not see fit
to tell me that piece of information in his reply. Did young Potter happen to
say what the animal forms were?” He scowled again, obviously resenting asking
Tom and Hermione for information.
“Black’s form is a dog,” Tom said with a shrug. “That should be obvious.”
“Tom,” Merope began to say in a very sharp tone.
“I also saw it in his thoughts. Potter’s is a stag.”
Snape gave the young wizard another hard look. “It should be obvious, you say,
but independent confirmation is always better than assumptions… which canbe
faulty.” He turned to Merope. “I will tell Black that I not only know of his
ability, but also his form—and Potter’s. I wonder very much now if those two
are harboring Pettigrew in an animal form of his own….”
“Harry didn’t even know if Pettigrew was an Animagus,” Hermione said, eager to
defend her friend.
Snape’s face softened, inexplicably to Hermione. “That’s true. Lord Thomas did
say that… and that’s important. I cannot imagine that Potter would conceal that
information from his wife, and if she knew about it, I cannot imagine that she
would keep it from her son.”
“Why would he hide among the Potter family, in any case?” Hermione inquired.
“If he really is doing that, he would just about have to know that Lady Riddle
rules here, which would mean that he was deliberately avoiding his duties—and
that they were helping him.”
“That’s very true,” Snape said. “He probably isn’t. But,” he continued, “I know
that Black definitelydid not tell me everything, so I have to wonder just what
else he kept from me.”
Merope studied Snape shrewdly. “You were not friendly with them at Hogwarts,
were you?”
“I was not.” Snape closed up, clearly not wanting to elaborate further upon
that subject. “And then there was the uprising in Godric’s Hollow in 1130….”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Uprising?”
Snape almost regretted mentioning that, but he supposed that they would hear
about it sooner or later anyway. “A small group of wizards and witches
attempted to overthrow the lord that Abraxas Malfoy had placed there as a
regent for his son, but it turned out that someone had told the Malfoys in
advance and so Lord Lucius wasthere to quash it.”
“Potter’s parents and Black were part of that?” Tom asked.
Snape hesitated. “No one knows who was part of it. They were disguised, or else
Lord Lucius would have executed them all. But Black and Potter have certainly
seemed to hold mein contempt for, in their eyes, staying in service to a lord
whom they saw as an ally of the Malfoys.”
“Well, it failed anyway, so that’s a stupid thing for him to judge you for.
Typical Gryffindors. And Mothercertainly isn’t an ally to the Malfoys,” Tom
declared proudly.
Merope wanted to scold Tom for his obvious house bias, but she could not bring
herself to do so. It was not just his Hogwarts house, after all, but his
family.
===============================================================================
After this discussion, Tom went to his bedroom, where he found his serpent
familiar coiled in a sunlight-drenched chair waiting for him. The snake flicked
its tongue out of its mouth at the sight of its master.
Tom extended his arm, and Dunlaith curled around his wrist.
“Where is your mate, master?” the snake hissed.
Tom raised his eyebrows. “She is in the castle, in her own room. And don’t call
her that.”
The snake seemed truly confused. “Why not? Is she not anymore?”
“She never was—not yet. She is just my betrothed.”
“I do not know this word, master.”
“It means that she will be my wife—my mate—someday.”
Dunlaith considered this. “Humans are strange to me. My kind do not wait if we
want to mate. We do not postpone the opportunity to have offspring, because we
may not have it again. There are many predators.”
Tom had suddenly had quite enough of this conversation. “Well, my kind do wait.
Our lives are more complicated than yours, but also safer, so we can make long-
term plans. We have ‘predators’ too, but they are our own kind and we can fight
them.”
The serpent seemed to accept this explanation.
===============================================================================
Hermione decided the next day that she wanted to visit the castle grounds again
as she had done occasionally the previous summer, and Tom was more than happy
to go with her. With the snake curled around his left wrist, Tom escorted
Hermione to the unspoiled stream, his other arm wrapped tightly around her
waist.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees, creating speckles of gold on the
green grass. The water flowed almost musically. Tom bent over, allowing
Dunlaith to uncurl herself from Tom’s wrist. The snake slithered to a rock that
was exposed to full sunlight from a break in the foliage.
Tom unfolded the heavy cloth he had brought and laid it on the ground. He and
Hermione promptly sat down, putting almost no space between themselves.
Hermione leaned against him, feeling the warm sunlight on her face. “I like
being here,” she observed.
“‘Here’ meaning this exact site, or the property as a whole?” he asked.
She chuckled. “Both. It feels as if no harm could come to us here.”
Tom smiled with serene smugness. “My mother puts the safety of the family
first, it’s true. The walls surrounding the town have magical wards on them,
the walls around the castle have more, and the inner keep has the strongest
ones of all.”
“Yes, I know why it is so, rationally,” Hermione said, a half-smirk on her
face. “But I also meant that there’s an intangible aura of safety too.”
He did not reply to this, though he understood exactly what she meant. It
seemed sufficient to pull her closer and plant a kiss on the side of her face.
Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed him backward onto the
ground. His dark eyes flew wide open as she half-lay on him, but he did not
overthink it. He resumed kissing her, running a single hand into her hair and
thoroughly mussing it as she rested on him.
From its vantage point on the rock, the snake watched her master and mistress
coil together on the ground, as her own kind did.
After a few minutes of cuddling, the young couple broke apart. An unkempt lock
of bushy hair fell into Hermione’s face.
“Ugh,” she observed, flipping it back. “We can’t let ourselves be seen looking
like this. People would think we’ve been up to a lot more than we really have.”
She flushed faintly at that.
“Yourhair is certainly mussed,” Tom agreed. “I expect mine looks fine, though.”
Hermione drew her wand and touched its tip to the end of his nose. She raised
her eyebrows, but he could see the teasing in her eyes. Smirking, he smoothed
her hair for her, making sure the part was straight again.
They sat silently for a few more minutes, gazing at the stream as they
considered their own thoughts. Hermione stole occasional glimpses of Tom’s
handsome profile. Her thoughts turned to a subject that was now disturbingly
familiar to her. We were never guaranteed to like each other this much, she
thought. It really was good fortune. If my parents had not seen me doing
rudimentary magic when they did, and gone to the same hearing that Tom’s mother
did, I would have been sent to someone else. A chill that came from inside her
own body spread across her, temporarily overcoming the pleasant warmth of
summer that surrounded them.
It didn’t happen, she reminded herself. This is what is real. This is my
future.
He rose from the blanket, crawled over to the rock where Dunlaith sunned
herself, and extended his left wrist to the snake. He hissed a command to her
in Parseltongue, which Hermione could not understand but which sent another,
much more pleasant kind of chill across her body. The snake entwined around his
arm, and he turned back to Hermione as he got to his feet, offering his other
hand to her. They picked up the blanket and continued to explore the green
grounds.
They passed through the small village on the way back to the castle, earning
respectful bows from the peasant folk of Hangleton. Neither of them had any
particular business in town, but it was best for them to show interest and
occasionally appear before their people. That was what Merope had done, and she
had their undivided loyalty now, even if they were Muggles.
Still, Tom thought smugly, it is only right that Muggles should be subject to
the rule of witches and wizards. Too bad that this isn’t the case at the
highest levels. Two Muggle pretenders to the throne right now….
Distracted with his own thoughts, Tom did not immediately notice the small gray
blur that darted down the cobbled street, nor the larger brown one that
followed in close pursuit. Hermione did. She pulled free of Tom and drew her
wand, just as a dark orange cat caught a gray rat between its jaws.
The cat turned around, eyeing the people nearby, its gaze settling upon
Hermione’s face.
“Release that, kitty,” she coaxed the animal. The rat was squeaking and
twisting in the cat’s mouth.
The cat gazed at Hermione with eyes that seemed unusually intelligent. For a
moment, Hermione wondered if the cat might be an Animagus… but then it passed.
The rat twisted around in a way that was almost not ratlike and bit the cat on
the side of its neck… but Hermione did not have time to think too hard about
the rat’s behavior either. A screech escaped the cat’s mouth as it dropped its
prey, which immediately darted away.
“On second thought, let the cat kill that filthy thing,” Tom said. Entwined
around his wrist, his serpent hissed her agreement.
The cat hissed and made to resume its pursuit, but Hermione cast a stunning
spell at it. The animal froze in its tracks. Hermione approached it and picked
it up, making note of the wound in its neck that was bleeding slightly. The cat
continued to hiss in fury, its intelligent eyes fixed obsessively upon the rat
as the rat disappeared, heading for the outer walls.
“We’ll need to heal this,” Hermione said to Tom. He nodded in agreement as they
returned to the castle.
They carried the protesting cat into the room of the castle that was reserved
for potionmaking. It somewhat resembled the laboratory at Hogwarts where
Professor Slughorn presided, but without the telltale signs of student
activities. Here, there were no marks of melted cauldrons marring the tables,
no childish vandalism, and no locked cabinets of ingredients that a professor
had determined were too dangerous for pupils to use unsupervised. Tom went to
one cabinet in particular, opened its doors, and scanned the labeled flasks and
bottles until he found what he was looking for.
“Here we are,” he said briskly, returning with a flask. “A general anti-
infection medication, in case that foul rat had something.”
“There now, kitty,” Hermione said, petting the cat, which was now much calmer.
The blood from the wound had congealed, matting its long fur. She drew her wand
and cleaned this spot. Tom drew a tiny amount of potion with a syringe, which
he then pressed, squeezing a few drops onto the wound. The cat hissed for a
moment, but the pain apparently passed. It began to purr, and Hermione smiled,
casting a spell to completely heal the wound.
“You need a name, kitty,” she said as the cat scrambled to its feet and leapt
to the floor, though sticking by her.
The cat slipped under her trailing skirt and rubbed her ankles. It poked its
head out and gazed at her with those intelligent eyes.
“Hmm…” she mused.
The cat ambled out from under her robe, its bandy-legged walk provoking a
smile.
“You are Crookshanks,” she declared. The cat flicked its tail, turned around to
meet her eyes once more, and then let out a mew.
“I think he agrees,” she said to Tom.
“Well, I don’t speak cat,” Tom said.
“That is his name,” she said. She scooped up the cat, which did not protest at
all now.
===============================================================================
Merope was pleased to learn that Hermione had found an animal familiar of her
own now. “I am so happy for you,” she said, petting Crookshanks in the family
parlor that evening. “I never had one of my own.”
“You could still get one,” Tom said. “It’s not as if it’s too late.”
“It is something that must happen naturally,” she said mildly. She smiled at
the cat. “I have not noticed a rodent problem in the castle, but it sounds as
if Crookshanks would make absolutely certain of it.” She scratched him behind
his ears. “If they ever do turn up, I am sure he will take care of the
problem.”
“Certainly the one he was chasing through the street of town today,” Hermione
said with a chuckle.
The cat purred in agreement.
===============================================================================
That night, Tom was lying in his bed, reading a book from the family library.
Much to his dismay, he had not been able to find any of the books in the
Hogwarts library that his mother had blocked him from reading here. Surely they
were there somewhere. Salazar Slytherin was a founder of Hogwarts, and Merlin
and Morgana were legendary magical figures in this country—even if hardly
anyone knows the truth about them anymore, he thought sourly. The book he was
reading was a biography of the ancient Greek sorcerer, Herpo, who was—in Tom’s
opinion—wrongly slurred by the descriptor “the Foul” by the same kind of
wizards who now designated Merlin a hero and Morgana a villain.
The Romans had learned of Herpo’s magical breakthroughs and had spread the
knowledge to the Celts, his ancestors. Tom was especially interested in the
basilisk that Herpo had created by experimental breeding. The King of
Serpents…that seemed like a title that was not just fitting for a great
serpent, but also for its master….
The snake that Hermione gave me is my familiar, he reminded himself. If
Slytherin left behind a basilisk, it would be more of a weapon than a pet. This
is a creature that kills with its gaze, and there is not a word about
Parselmouths being immune to that.
Tom then thought about Herpo’s other great accomplishment, which might solve
that problem. No, he told himself. No. I can’t help but speculate on magical
theory and possibility, but certain kinds of magic should never be done
lightly. Tom was sure that he had heard someone—probably his mother—say
something like this before, but he could not place when.
A faint knock on the door interrupted Tom’s dark musings. Who could it be at
this time? he wondered, getting out of bed. He opened the door and found
himself facing Hermione.
She slipped inside and pushed the door closed.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
She nodded. “When I brought Crookshanks into my bedroom, he immediately nosed
out this hole in the wall that I had never noticed last summer. I’m not even
sure it was there.”
Tom then noticed that the aforementioned cat was rubbing silkily against
Hermione’s legs. He had slipped in the door with her when it was open.
“He wouldn’t get away from the spot, and hissed at me when I picked him up. It
just… felt creepy,” she said. “I can’t explain how, and it seems silly, but I
wanted to be here instead.”
Tom noticed that the cat was not interested in any of the walls in his room.
That was oddly comforting. Hermione’s narrative had unsettled him a bit, though
he was not about to admit it. As she had implied, it was not rational. “I’ll
tell my mother about it tomorrow,” he said. “There was probably a rat nest. We
should let your cat go over the entire castle.”
Crookshanks purred.
“But you… I mean… do you want me to show you to a guest bedroom?”
Hermione hesitated. “Actually… I thought that….” She gazed at his large bed.
His eyes popped open in utter disbelief. “Hermione.”
“Just to sleep here!” she exclaimed, her face coloring. “Just sleep. No one
would see. The elves don’t come in while we’re sleeping. Your mother doesn’t
walk the castle at night, and I know that Lord Severus does, but he has no
right to barge into our rooms—”
“He also lives in his own manor now.”
“That’s right,” she remembered. “Well, then. No one would see us. And what’s
the worst that could happen if your mother did?”
“She could make you do what you don’t want to do, and get married early,” he
said pointedly.
“I don’t think she would. I would take Veritaserum to prove that there would be
no reason for it, and a charm would reveal that I wasn’t with child.”
Tom stood, staring at her. She folded her arms.
“Fine,” he finally said. “I’m sure your cat would bite me, anyway.”
Hermione chuckled at this as she crossed the room. Moonlight filtered through
the wavy diamond-paned glass. She climbed gingerly onto his mattress. Tom
hesitated before joining her and pulling the covers up. He closed the drapes on
the bed that faced the door, leaving the ones facing the window partially open.
Hermione gazed at the book he had been reading and had dropped on his spare
pillow. “What’s this?”
“A biography of a great sorcerer.” He took it gently off the pillow and placed
it in the drawer of his night table. “Good night, Hermione.”
She looked for a moment as if she wanted to say more, but she changed her mind.
“Good night, Tom.”
Tom relaxed, but only for a moment. In the next moment, Hermione curled against
him. “Just” sleep? he thought. It would have been unthinkable a year ago, but
if Hermione did this more than one night, it could get very distracting. He
would have to tell Mother about the rat hole tomorrow and make sure it did get
patched up.
No one disturbed their rest that night.
***** Unbreakable Vow *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning: This is one of the chapters I warned about in the notes at
     the beginning of the story—not for violence, but for the other
     warning.
     I honestly think it would be anachronistic and inexplicable for Tom
     and Hermione to purposely avoid consummating if they wanted to—which
     they clearly do. They are 14 years old by the end of this chapter
     (and Tom is closer to 15), and in the twelfth century, that would be
     old enough to actually marry. Also, premarital sex for an engaged
     couple was not itself unusual. It was less common for arranged
     betrothals, of course, but people in those certainly weren’t always
     in love or attracted to each other. Hermione and Tom are, though, and
     Hermione would have no reason to fear that Tom would break it off. He
     couldn’t.
     However, since Hermione and Tom are 14, and we’re reading this in the
     21st century, I have not written this to be too explicit. I’d feel
     gross about doing so. It does warrant the archive warning, but I
     think I’ve kept it tasteful. Nevertheless, if this is not something
     you want to read, I’ve written it at the very end of this chapter, so
     you can stop reading there and not miss anything else. In addition,
     there are a lot of other things that happen in this chapter before
     that scene.
Crookshanks was shooting murderous feline glares at the latest hole he had
identified in the castle, this one located in Snape’s chancellor’s office,
which he retained in the castle because of his administrative duties. The cat
had already located one in Merope’s office, as well as the one that he had
discovered in Hermione’s bedroom. Snape was personally affronted at the fact
that vermin had penetrated his sanctum.
“I warded the walls in this room,” he snarled, “and yours,” he added to Merope.
“It should not have been able to gnaw through.” He drew his wand and, for the
third time, cast a spell to repair the wall.
Merope considered. “The castle is very old, and there may have been some
remnants of conflicting magic that undermined your wards.”
“I should have been able to detect such a thing!”
“It can be subtle,” Hermione interjected. “A magical analogue to mold that
slowly rots away a wall, or a drip of water that’s almost not noticeable.”
Snape glared at Hermione, irritated at what he saw as her know-it-all nature,
but not able to contradict her point.
Tom had stood aside, not offering any comments on the proceedings, just
studying Crookshanks. “This cat is very intelligent,” he remarked. Crookshanks
ambled over to him, slunk under his robe, and rubbed against his legs before
emerging again.
“Fortunately for us!” Snape exclaimed. Even when he was not actually snapping
at someone, his voice tended to have an edge to it.
Tom was used to Snape’s personality by now. He eyed the older wizard and turned
aside wordlessly.
===============================================================================
Godric’s Hollow.
Sirius Black descended from the ladder that led to his loft bedroom.
Occasionally he still missed the family castle, or really, any of the manors
that the family owned. The Potters’ house was much nicer than a typical non-
magical peasant’s cottage would be. It had three full-sized rooms—kitchen,
general-purpose living area, and master bedroom—and it even had a separate loft
room for Harry, which had been carved out of Sirius’s attic space as he outgrew
his cradle. Few Muggle cottages could boast of this much space, especially
since they could temporarily shrink whichever items they were not currently
using in the general-purpose room. For that matter, noMuggle cottages could
boast of the comfortable temperatures that could be maintained with two adult
wizards and a witch there to insulate the structure with magic. But it still
was not what Sirius had grown up with.
He made his way to the breakfast table where Lily was ladling porridge into
everyone’s bowl. Sirius mumbled thanks and slunk into his seat, late, but
fortunately these were his friends and did not stand on much ceremony. He began
to eat his food. An excellent cook, Lily. Probably it was the same talent that
made her so good with potions. Such a damnable shame that the Malfoy-Lestrange-
Black alliance and their toadies had kept her out of Hogwarts.
Lily suddenly got up to open the casement window overlooking the table. A draft
of wind rippled across the room as the family owl, Hedwig, soared in. She
dropped a scroll for Sirius before perching on the open window ledge.
Sirius scowled blackly at the wax seal on the scroll: a coiled serpent
surrounded by a ring of elder tree leaves, the new insignia of House
Gaunt—House Riddle, now. That meant it was from Snape, making some other
blasted inquiry on behalf of his liege, using her authority to cover his own
meddling. Already primed to be annoyed, Sirius popped the seal and unrolled the
scroll. In a few moments, he tossed it onto the table, his black eyebrows
narrowing.
“What’s the matter, Padfoot?” James Potter asked his friend.
“Snivellus,” Sirius managed to spit. “He knows about our forms.”
Lily frowned momentarily at the insulting nickname, but she quickly rearranged
her features to look normal. Harry suddenly hunched over, trying to make
himself look small.
James shrugged, not noticing the reactions of either member of his family.
“What of it? He isn’t our lord, nor is Lady Riddle. We were supposed to declare
our forms to Malfoy, but Snape isn’t working for Malfoy. What’s the harm?”
“Who knows who he’s really working for?” Sirius said darkly. “I half suspect he
corresponds with my brother. But this message is about Peter. He’s obsessed
with Peter and thinks he may have a form too and that I purposely concealed
that from him.” He ate the last spoonful of porridge and added, “I’d like to
know how he even found out about our animal forms.”
Harry finally spoke up. “It was my fault,” he said. “I told Hermione—”
“Lady Hermione,” Lily corrected him gently.
Harry smiled insincerely. His mother could not seem to accept the fact that his
friends at Hogwarts were very casual about their titles when it came to their
close friends. “Yes. And I’m sure that she and Riddle passed it on.”
Some of Sirius’s anger deflated at that. “Well, if that’s how it happened, then
very well… but he needs to stop thinking I know anything about Peter.
Heprobably saw Peter more recently than I did.”
“That’s true. He might. Peter disappeared, with his mother, after the death of
Lord Marvolo Gaunt,” James mused. “No one has heard from him since. I hope he
doeshave an Animagus form, because otherwise I’m afraid we have to assume he is
dead—probably at the hands of that appalling brother of Lady Riddle’s, as soon
as he came into the title….”
“But Snape should know about it if something like that happened,” Lily
objected.
“Yes, probably so,” James agreed. “So maybe they just fled after seeing what
Lord Morfin was like. Or maybe his old mother died privately, and hefled after
doing the rites for her. It’s possible he studied the Animagus transformation
privately after he saw us master it… I hope that happened… because otherwise I
do not think Peter is with us anymore.”
“Then I’ll tell Snape that,” Sirius snarled, pushing up his chair and rummaging
in his robes for his wand to summon a piece of paper for a reply letter.
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
“This is a useless correspondence,” Severus declared, setting down the letter
he had just received from Sirius Black. “He does not know if Pettigrew ever
learned to transform, but he says ‘it is possible’ given that he and Potter did
it when they were young. In other words,” he said, his recognizable savage
snarl entering his tone, “they were careless and boastful of what they were up
to. He claims that Lord Lucius doesn’t know about their forms, but how can he
notif they were as careless as he implies?”
“If he does know, why would he not have acted?” Merope challenged. “I am sure
that he suspects they were involved in the uprising years ago… and I would be
surprised if they weren’t. But even if he cannot prove that, he could prove
that they lied to him, their liege lord, about something. It would be an excuse
to be rid of them. I don’t agree, Severus—I think he is in the dark.”
Severus scowled.
“Black probably means that he and Potter were open with their own friends about
what they were doing, not everyone. Youdidn’t know about it, after all, so why
should Lord Lucius? You should not let your dislike of Black and Potter cloud
your reason,” she said gently.
“Perhaps not,” Severus said grudgingly, “but the correspondence ispointless.
You are right: I don’t like Black. And because he’s not able to provide any
useful information to me, I see no point in continuing to write to someone I do
not like. I have other sources.”
Merope nodded. “Any word from the prime source’s little informant?”
Severus shook his head. “Not since the initial suggestion that they are talking
to Caractacus Burke. If they have had any additional meetings since that one, I
have not been informed of it.”
“And he never found out what the subject of the meeting was?”
“I am afraid not. I told you my suspicions… there is little else that they
would have summoned an untitled manor-holder, a former shopkeeper, to their
grand castle for. He would be beneath them, pureblood or no.”
Merope sighed. “I hardly know whether to reveal what I fear about myself. I
cannot prove it, for one… it may not be true… but if it is, then in their eyes,
there would no longer be a reason to care about whether I live.”
Severus looked alarmed at this statement from her. “My lady… there is
nooccasion for talking about that. You had a difficult childbirth, it is true—”
“And severe injuries. I am sure that I would have died if I had not healed
myself.”
“But you didheal yourself. You have no reason to think that there was permanent
damage, and as you rightly say, voicing this fear as if it were fact would give
them every reason to try to harm you, your son, Lady Hermione, and to try to
seize this castle for themselves.”
Merope did not argue. She ran a delicate hand across the table in front of them
and sighed. They both remained silent for a minute until she spoke again.
“He is alive.”
Severus’s gaze shot up. Alarm filled his dark eyes. “You’re certain of that?”
She nodded. “I saw him through the window with my own eyes. He had a lovely
blonde Muggle lady next to him, so I made an additional investigation of the
local records….”
“Divorce or annulment?” Severus’s voice was anxious.
“Divorce,” she said. “As I suspected, he apparently claimed that I abandoned
him, which freed him to remarry. Lying, cowardly, prejudiced Muggle wretch….”
Her eyebrows narrowed in anger. “For Tom, of course, that is preferable… the
last thing he needs is something in Muggle records that would make his parents’
marriage invalid and therefore make him ‘illegitimate’… that would require
someone to secretly clean it up… but for me, of course, it presents a
difficulty if I wanted to remarry, since I swore a magical oath.”
“And a grave danger to Riddle if my suspicions about Burke are correct and the
Malfoys find out that he is still alive.”
They fell silent again, the weight of this information putting an intangible
but nonetheless vast distance between them.
“I do not want Tom to find out yet,” Merope said. “I mean to tell him in my own
time, but not now.”
Severus nodded. “Did they have any children?”
“I saw none. That does not mean there werenone, of course, and that is another
matter I must find out before I tell Tom about it.”
===============================================================================
After the night that they secretly slept in Tom’s bed, Hermione had not wanted
to talk about it with him, nor apparently he with her. Neither of them
mentioned the subject for several weeks, but it stuck in Hermione’s imagination
anyway. She found herself dreaming about how it might have gone if they had not
been so proper that night—if, instead of simply curling up together, they had
started to kiss and embrace as fervently as they did in private moments during
waking hours. She knew exactly how it might have ended up.
These thoughts brought heat to her cheeks, but the embarrassment at the idea
was diminishing. The heat was… a different sort now. It just did not seem that
there would be anything wrong with it if they did decide to take their
affections much farther than they yet had. Some noble lordlings engaged in
shameful forced trysts with servant women, or took advantage of the romantic
naïveté of peasant girls, never touching their actual fiancées until they were
married… but Tom was not one of those. He wanted her, and she wanted him. What
difference would it make if they acted on that desire a bit early? She would
not be a virgin on her wedding night, in that case… but he would not care about
it if he knew he was responsible for that.
She recalled his interest in early marriage and hesitated at this line of
thought. She would have to make absolutely certain that she would not become
pregnant… and she would need to extract a promise from him that he would not
tell his mother about it to pressure her into an official, public wedding
earlier than she wanted.
There was perhaps a way. Under old magical custom, consummating a betrothal
wasa valid method of marriage. It would not suffice for the complex legal
arrangement that involved property rights, dowry money, and required
solemnization by a religious officiant, but by the customs of the ancient
magical culture that Hermione knew Tom was so enamored of, it was marriage.
Maybe that would satisfy him.
—Ifshe decided to act. She still had qualms. She did not know how to prevent
pregnancy, but surely there was a spell or a potion that would do it. Magical
families did seem to be much smaller than Muggle families, based on her
observations at Hogwarts—even the common families, who were probably mostly
love matches and might be supposed to be more fecund than nobles who mostly
reproduced out of duty. There must be something.
===============================================================================
The end of summer approached, and with it, the two began to get ready to return
to Hogwarts. Unlike many pupils, they did not need to refresh themselves on the
subject matter, because they had spent much of the summer reading.
Tom had gone to the family library essentially every day that it rained—and
some when it did not. Hermione had gone there with him whenever he did. She had
developed a strong interest in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes lately, which was
pleasant, as Tom too had quite an interest in ancient history and the magical
languages of the old culture. It was another subject over which they had
bonded.
“I look forward to this coming year,” Tom observed one day toward the end of
August. “Apparently, there is a project combining several magical disciplines
that is open to certainstudents, the best ones of course, and it is a full-
fledged ritual.”
Hermione’s interest was piqued at once. “That sounds very advanced! Of course
you will get to do it, though.”
“I would not rule out the possibility that you will too,” he said seriously.
“You have a gift for Arithmancy.”
Hermione smiled proudly. “What does the ritual do?”
“It is performed on the eve of Beltane, and it takes advantage of the magic of
that date… I understand that when it’s done correctly, it results in a powerful
charm upon one specific magical endeavor that we pick, and the charm lasts all
summer.”
“Oh, so you could not use it for studies at Hogwarts, then,” she said slyly.
Tom shot an admiring gaze at her. “No… but I like the way you think.”
She smirked. “You would not need such help anyway.”
He smirked back, fully in agreement. She edged closer to him, and in the next
moment, he was embracing her, pulling her close, and nuzzling the side of her
neck. The smirk on her face turned into a smile as she eagerly returned his
affections.
They pulled apart, breathing heavily, and gazed at each other for a while. Then
Hermione spoke.
“Remember when I came to your bedchamber?” she asked.
He gazed evenly at her, fighting a smirk. “It is hardly something I would
forget.”
“Well,” she said boldly, “I may join you again tonight, after your mother is in
bed.” She winked.
Tom drew away from her and looked aside. The ghost of a smirk disappeared.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious and doubtful.
Perhaps he really was not comfortable with that night, and thatwas why he had
not discussed it. Perhaps he was put off by how forward she was with him now.
Perhaps—
“I assume it is not because your cat found another hole in the wall,” he said,
attempting levity but failing. Hermione rallied with a forced smile, but this
too failed as she shook her head. Tom sighed. “Hermione, this is risky.”
“What does it risk?” she challenged. “In our specific situation, what does it
risk? If we were discovered, it would either be by an elf—whom you could order
to silence—or by your mother, and shewould hardly separate us!”
“I have said what it risks. Have you changed your mind about that?”
“Your mother would listen to us if we said we hadn’t done anything.”
For another moment, Tom continued to look away, but then he turned to face
Hermione. “I agree—but I’m not entirely sure that we wouldavoid ‘doing
anything.’”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Have you been in my mind, Tom Riddle? I would
appreciate it if you asked—”
“I have done no such thing… but after that, I don’t believe I need to,” he
said, his smirk back on his handsome face.
She flushed faintly, but she held her gaze with his. “Nor, apparently, would I
need to read yourthoughts if I were a Legilimens. But this is good—it means
that we both are aware of these… desires… and that we shouldbe better able to
control ourselves.”
“Should,” he murmured, reaching idly for her waist to pull her close once more.
Hermione let his fingers caress the small of her back for a moment. “I have a
sound motive,” she said. “I do not know how to prevent pregnancy.”
“I have heard that there is a potion.”
“That is as I expected… but I don’t know how to make it, so I have every reason
to be careful. Please, Tom,” she said. “It will be harder once we are back at
Hogwarts. I want to enjoy every moment that we have this summer.”
He considered for a moment before nodding. “Tonight, then.”
===============================================================================
That night, when the stars were shining brightly and the sky was impenetrably
black, Tom heard the expected light knock on his bedroom door. Hermione pushed
it open just enough to slip through and closed it behind her. Tom noticed that
the cat was again with her. He looked down at the sharp-eyed animal circling
her legs and raised his eyebrows.
“He followed me,” she explained, not needing him to voice his question. “I was
not about to leave him behind if he wanted to accompany me here.”
“He might go to Mother, certainly,” Tom agreed. He lifted the covers for her as
she crossed the room.
She noticed that his snake familiar was coiled in the single patch of moonlight
that reached the bedside table. The reptile roused itself from sleep and
flicked its tongue at her, seemingly in greeting. Crookshanks leapt into a
chair and curled into a ball himself, apparently unconcerned about “protecting”
his mistress from Tom despite Tom’s joke to that effect the first time that
Hermione had joined him. He noticed the animals’ reactions and smirked as
Hermione got in bed beside him.
“It seems that our familiars have offered their approval to us,” he observed.
“They should,” she murmured. She paused, hesitating, before crawling on top of
him. Nervously, haltingly, she ran her hand down his side, through the robe
that he wore to bed. Since it was summer, it was notably thin. She was quite
sure that he was not wearing an additional layer—and neither was she.
He was startled for a moment, but he recovered quickly, placing his palms on
her back as she descended upon him to kiss him. His hands moved to her waist,
holding her in place.
“I am so glad that this has happened between us,” she whispered in between
kisses.
He suddenly noticed that her sleep robe had ridden up her legs to her thighs.
Without even thinking about it, he tightened his grip on her waist and flipped
her onto her back, then pressed her into the mattress aggressively. She gasped
and breathed heavily as he bent down to kiss her on the side of her neck.
“Liking you and wanting you does make this situation somuch easier,” he
growled, his eyes gleaming in the starlight with teasing.
A shadow momentarily passed over Hermione’s face at his words. “Hermione?” he
asked, noticing.
She met his gaze again. “Yes,” she said quietly. “It does.” She tried to rally
a smile but could not quite manage it.
Although Tom did not understand exactly what had made her so immediately sober,
the pause brought him back to earth. He realized, with surprise and some
disquiet, that he very likely would have gone against his expressed intentions
if she had not had this pensive moment. He eased off her and onto his side,
giving her a very chaste kiss, in sharp contrast with what they had been doing.
“Good night,” he murmured.
She seemed relieved to have pulled back from the brink as well. As she had done
the first time, she curled against him innocently and closed her eyes.
===============================================================================
At last the day came that they would return to Scotland. One of Merope’s elves
walked with them to the great hall of the castle. Merope herself smiled proudly
as they Disapparated from the castle. A year ago I would not have believed I
would have this thought, she thought, but I hope they can be a bit more
discreet at the school than they were here. She had seen them embracing and
kissing in various alcoves and corridors of the castle when they thought they
were alone. It was gratifying that they liked each other this much, certainly a
vast relief to Merope, and there was no harm in it when they were at home, but
at Hogwarts they ran the risk of being observed by their peers. It was perhaps
an odd social more that nobles should not appear vulnerable before other nobles
outside their closest family, but so it was.
Meanwhile, Tom and Hermione gazed around the familiar grounds of Hogsmeade as
they waited for the rest of the students to arrive. When everyone was finally
there, they began to enter the castle and took their places at the Slytherin
table, next to each other, with Harry Potter on Hermione’s other side. She
noticed that Daphne Greengrass was sitting next to Marcus Flint, one of the
Slytherin boys that Tom had begun to cultivate last year as a possible
political ally against Draco Malfoy. That was new. Perhaps they were betrothed
now? Hermione supposed that if that were the case, she would certainly hear
about it in the Slytherin common room after the Sorting and feast.
The Sorting itself held no surprises. Hermione clapped with the rest of the
House as Daphne’s very pretty younger sister, Astoria, joined them. She almost
missed another interaction, but Tom’s calculating, fixed gaze caught her
attention. She followed the line of his dark eyes and realized, with surprise,
that Draco Malfoy was giving Astoria admiring looks—and Adelaide Lestrange was
very displeased about this.
Malfoy winced suddenly, and Hermione realized that Lestrange must have cursed
or pinched him under the table. She smothered a smirk and returned to her meal
with Tom. That was interesting indeed, though she hoped that Malfoy did not do
anything untoward to Daphne’s sister that would harm the younger girl’s
reputation. The Malfoys already had too much power over other noble families.
At the end of the Sorting, a new Weasley, this one female, sat on the stool for
quite some time until the Hat finally declared her a Gryffindor. Hermione
wondered about the Weasley family, remembering what Tom and Harry had said
about them. On the other hand, if they would torment Harry for being Sorted
differently to his father and godfather, perhaps she should not bother trying
to get to know any of them… but then, this girl, Ginevra, apparently almost
wasn’ta Gryffindor….
Hermione pushed these thoughts out of her head. There would be plenty of time
during the year to determine if she wanted to make any new friends outside her
House.
===============================================================================
A few weeks later.
Hermione’s fourteenth birthday dawned cloudy, but she did not mind; the cool
temperatures brought about by the cloud cover were pleasant. She rose early and
went to the ground floor to see the sun; the underground location of the
Slytherin common room and bedchambers was something that she was still not used
to. She sat next to a window and silently thought, enjoying the solitude.
She had found her feelings about Tom—and Hogwarts—increasingly darkened with
reflections on what might have happened if things had gone differently, though
it was not quite that simple, she supposed. It was not that she enjoyed her
time with Tom or her education at Hogwarts any less for these new thoughts. In
fact, it was rather the opposite. But that did not change the fact that these
new, more mature thoughts reflected a certain loss of innocence.
If Tom had not supported me after Adelaide Lestrange attacked me a year ago, I
am not sure that I would have bothered taking revenge of my own, she thought. I
do not think I would have given up on Hogwarts, but I am quite sure that she
and her pack of followers would have continued to bully me all year, and it
would have gotten ever worse with time—as hard as that is to consider. She did
not want to consider the details of just how bad the bullying might have
become, given how brutally it had begun.
And without Tom’s support, not only would I have been subjected to continued
bullying, I would have become pessimistic about our relationship. I would have
assumed that I would never have real affection from him… and with Harry’s
friendship, I might have…. Hermione did not want to complete that thought. She
understood, at last, exactly why Tom had been darkly cynical that she might
find another young wizard that she liked better. She would not have been
tempted to act on any such feelings—despite what she fantasized about with Tom,
she wastoo acutely aware of her station to consider acting on similar fantasies
with anyone except her fiancé—but merely having forbidden feelings at all would
have made her miserable. And that, combined with the near-certain bullying….
It had not happened that way, she reminded herself. Her initial conviction that
Tom liked her had proved true, he had backed her up, and their combined
strength had dissuaded Adelaide or her minions from continuing any physical
attacks on her.
Lady Lestrange might not have attempted to kill me in Hogsmeade,she thought. It
did appear that the assassination attempt was provoked by Adelaide’s disgrace…
but it was also possible that the girl’s mother might have made an attempt on
Hermione’s life even if that had not happened. After all, she didobject to
someone of Hermione’s background attending Hogwarts.
These wizard blood politics are terrible, she thought. I must have magical
ancestry just like everyone else, even if I don’t know who the witch or wizard
was. And then there is the fact that the Wizards’ Council families and their
allies seem to consider people with Norman ancestry superior to those without….
Hermione remembered, with some disquiet, that Tom manifestly believed the
opposite. He was exceedingly proud of his heritage, which was natural for
anyone, but the venom that he spouted for the Normans—herancestors too, in
part—also approached extreme levels sometimes. He would use terms like
“usurpers,” “robber lords,” and “occupiers” casually, as synonyms for the
people of Normandy who now lived in England, almost daring anyone to challenge
him. He did appear to make an exception for her, at least. She hoped that he
would someday make exceptions for others.
The sun was now fully risen, so Hermione made her way to the Great Hall for
breakfast. She smiled at the sight of the early risers enjoying their meal. At
the Slytherin table, Tom was sitting on a bench, a wrapped box next to him. Her
smile broadened as she entered the grand room and approached him.
He did not wait, but held out the box to her wordlessly, his gaze seemingly
impassive—but Hermione knew better by now, and she could detect one of his
masks, especially one that he was using on her. She accepted the gift and
opened it. An assortment of confections filled the box, some with rare spices
that must have been purchased on the wizarding market, for she certainly had
not smelled some of these at her Muggle parents’ castle.
“Thank you, Tom,” she said, selecting one, not caring about the morning hour as
she popped it into her mouth.
“Happy birthday, Hermione. It has been a good year for us,” he murmured,
quietly enough that only she could hear.
Hermione agreed.
===============================================================================
In a few days, her reading finally paid off. One rainy morning, she at last
located the potion recipe that she was looking for in a book about witches’
traditional herbalism. The formula for “a Moon-Potion to Prevent Conception”
stared back at her from the pages. The ingredients were all at Hogwarts; she
was positive of that. She had been in Slughorn’s cabinet too often not to know
its contents. The potion could be made quickly, without having to sit for more
than two hours, and it would work for a month, as the book’s description
indicated.
This was a point of no return, she realized. If I make this potion, I will
probably go to Tom quickly. This is the only reason I have been giving myself
to avoid it so far. We are not set to marry for at least another three years,
possibly even four. If we take this leap, can we really keep it a secret for
that long? Because if we can’t—if anyone else finds out—then I will be finished
at Hogwarts.
Hermione gazed at the pages of the book. If someone did find out, it would not
mean the end of her magical education—but she would have to go to Parselhall to
finish her studies. And then, horribly, a memory surfaced in the back of her
mind, the memory of Abraxas Malfoy permitting her to enter Hogwarts and own a
wand.
“If she fails to be declared a master by the instructors of the school, she
will not be permitted to bear instruments of magic in public places….”
For a moment she felt sick. The risk wasn’t worth it, she thought
frantically—but then she remembered that she and Tom had been affectionate in
more innocent ways for the latter half of the previous year, and no one had
seen them. If necessary, they could hide in a room in an isolated part of the
castle and leave separately just to be sure. They certainlycould not go to
Tom’s bedroom, and he was magically barred from entering hers at the school.
Then, too, Hermione wondered if there was an actual policy against married
witches attending Hogwarts. If it existed, such a rule would be based on the
expectation of a couple’s marital rights—they would presumably have
accommodations separate from the main girls’ and boys’ bedchambers—and the
attendant risk of the young wives becoming pregnant and in greater danger from
other students’ magic. But if they were taking this potion, that risk would
disappear.
I don’t know if there is a policy like that, and I do not want to risk it, she
thought. If I make this, and he agrees—which he probably will—then we will just
have to be careful.
There was only one ingredient that Hermione would have to get from the school
cupboard, and it was not one that she would need a lot of. Slughorn would not
likely notice that any was missing. She considered buying it from the
apothecary’s shop in Hogsmeade, but this particular ingredient had few uses
aside from this potion, and the apothecary might talk. No. She would just get a
pinch from the school cabinet when she needed it, which should not be often,
based on the book. She could brew more than a month’s worth and preserve it for
up to half a year, with the right spells.
Taking a deep breath, she bookmarked the page, concealed the text among her
parcels of books, and headed for the Potions laboratory.
In a few hours, the potion was simmering in a little cauldron over the small
hearth in her bedchamber. It smelled vile and looked just as bad—sickly
green—but that was to be expected, she supposed. She poured the proper dose
into a goblet and directed the rest into a bottle with her wand, which she
corked.
She gazed at the foul-smelling liquid in the goblet. Its scent reminded her
very much of the taste of leaves, when she as a child had taken it into her
head to pick some from the oak trees and chew on them. Her parents had been
appalled and terrified that she would be poisoned, but she had not swallowed
enough juice to cause problems. Still, this was an unpleasant thought, but she
supposed that in a way, the potion waspoison.
Poison… that would prevent her from conceiving. Another thought entered her
mind. Her own mother had not been able to have a baby until she was thirty-one
years old. She had not had another one after that. As far as Hermione knew, her
parents had not suffered miscarriages after her birth, and they definitely had
not suffered stillbirths during her lifetime. They had just been questionably
fertile… and her Norman great-grandparents on her father’s side had experienced
the same problem. If this kind of thing ran in the family, then it almost
seemed immoral to take a potion like this. What if it caused long-term harm?
Hermione quickly opened the potions book to the page of interest and began to
read everything that it said.
“The Potion will work upon any fertile woman with or without Magic. Fear not
that its effects last longer than desired, for in the Witch, the Elixir of
Frigg shall counter it in the next month….”
Hermione knew that the “Elixir of Frigg” was now known by the bland, though
descriptive, name “Draught of Fertility.” This was a relief to read. She closed
the book, took a deep breath, and downed the horrible-tasting potion as quickly
as she could.
===============================================================================
That evening, Tom seemed to stare at her longer than usual at the dinner table.
Perhaps she was extra conscious of his gaze because of what she had on her
mind, but Hermione did wonder if the potion was somehow doing something to her
to make her particularly attractive to him. The book had not mentioned that,
and it made far more logical sense for that to be an effect of the Draught of
Fertility, but it was still possible. The main reason a witch would take this
potion would be because of pure desire.
She met his dark eyes and suppressed taking a gulp of air. If she had not known
better, she would wonder if he had given her a love potion. She didwonder if he
was reading her thoughts without her knowing—if his Legilimency skills had now
advanced to the point that she could not detect his presence. That might
explain the way he was looking at her better than some mysterious undocumented
effect of the potion she had taken.
When the meal was finally over, he linked arms with her and muttered something
about “going to study”—presumably for the benefit of Harry and anyone else
observing them. She barely thought about her footfalls as they left the Great
Hall, avoiding tripping purely by good fortune. They made their way up a few
flights of stairs and into one of the otherwise unused rooms, too small for
academic use, that they had identified in the spring. This small room held a
large chair that they had magically expanded so that they both could sit in it,
a table with a half-dozen candles, and a woven rug with Celtic patterns that
Tom liked quite a bit.
He locked the door behind them with sharp finality just as she sent a spell to
light the candles on the table. The room was windowless, so the candlelight
provided the only illumination. Tom turned to her, his dark green robe flowing
and gleaming just a bit in the flickering lights.
“I saw what you were thinking about,” he said without preamble.
Despite herself, despite the smile that formed on her face immediately, she
shook her head in mild exasperation. “I suspected that. Please ask me in the
future.”
His eyebrows narrowed and his lips curled upward on one side. “Are you quite
sure that’s what you want, Hermione?”
I like it when you know that I want you, she thought, but otherwise…. “Yes, I’m
sure. Trust me, Tom, I won’trefuse it in… the right circumstances.”
He drew close to her and placed one hand on her waist. “And are you sure about
this? I saw that you made that potion… but you know, I cannot take it back
after it’s done.”
She breathed deeply. “I am sure. Are yousure?” Sudden doubt filled her mind,
irrational doubt, but she voiced it nonetheless just to be certain. “Are you
certain you want me, and you aren’t just going along with this because I’m…
here?”
His eyes darkened. “I am not that sort of wizard. You have been ‘here’ for a
year, Hermione. And I would not have gone into this room with someone else,
even if you weren’t ‘here.’” He gazed at her for a moment more, then lunged
forward, seizing her lips.
They crumpled to the floor, where she backed against the large chair, her legs
splayed almost gracefully with him kneeling between her thighs. He cupped her
face with his palms and planted hard kisses against her mouth, each one more
intense than the last. The candles flickered on the table a few feet behind
him.
She heaved her breath as he drew away temporarily to catch his own. “I learned
something interesting over the course of the year,” she said.
“I’m sure you learned many interesting things… but what is this one?”
She chuckled. “You will like it.”
His eyes gleamed. “Tell me, then.”
She smirked teasingly. “Apparently, in the ancient magical culture of Britain
and Ireland, there was a custom that consummating an engagement was a form of
legally binding marriage.” She gazed pointedly at him.
“Is that so. You consented to it after all, then? Is that what you are telling
me?”
“Oh, this is notwhat you had in mind, Tom,” she teased. “You wanted to keep me
at your mother’s castle and not touch me.”
“You presume much,” he murmured, leaning in to give her another hard kiss.
“I’m right, though,” she gasped.
He drew away and regarded her. “Perhaps. Perhaps I would have regretted that by
now and wished that you were here, so I could have you.”
His words sent a jolt through her. “Yes,” she said. “We can have each other…
and it will be our little secret. No one else will know.”
“Our secret,” he repeated in a soft but intense voice. His eyes were gleaming
in the candlelight. His hands settled on her waist again, and in the next
moment, they had shifted as one, twisting away from the barrier that was the
chair and sprawling on the thick green rug. Tom reached for the bottom hem of
her robes, noticing idly that they were the pretty green-and-gold ones that he
had admired so much at the beginning of the previous year. They were already
pushed up to her knees, reminding him of that night they had shared at home. He
hesitated for a second, then pulled them the rest of the way up her legs,
somewhat fumblingly, and with a surprising measure of sudden vulnerability.
“It’s all right,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him as he awkwardly opened
the front of her robe. Those words seemed to give him the courage to continue.
He reached for the clasps of his own outer robe.
The candles on the table burned down slowly, as the young inhabitants of the
room cast their moving shadows in the dim warm glow.
***** Considerations of the Noble and Ignoble *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi everyone, thanks for reading and commenting on this story,
     especially to the frequent reviewers who have offered feedback for
     every, or almost every chapter—you know who you are, and you’re the
     best!
     The good news is that I’ve outlined the next three chapters (not
     counting this one) in detail, because they are very plot-oriented,
     and that should do something for the feeling that not much is
     happening. I’m not sure everyone will like what ends up happening
     over these chapters, but….
     I’ve increased the rating of the story to E because there is a fairly
     detailed intimate scene in this chapter, and they are very underage.
     I probably wouldn’t give this an E if they were adults, but they’re
     not.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Hermione stretched lazily and planted a languid kiss on Tom’s mouth as she
sprawled over his supine form. The stuffed mattress was really a transfigured
cushion. This was not as pleasant as, for instance, Tom’s bed at his mother’s
castle would have been, but it was an improvement over the rug—and they could
turn it back into a cushion when they left this room, just in case anyone else
ever went inside. Since the first occasion, they had enjoyed physical intimacy
several more times. It got better. Hermione had been extremely sore after the
first time, but that aftereffect was almost gone now. Tom had also found that
it got better with time; he was able to slow himself down just a bit now and
make it last longer. It was a learning experience for both of them right now,
but he was just glad that he was learning about it with Hermione rather than
with some other girl. He knew that with practice, they would someday be able to
set their bed on fire—literally, as well, if they wanted to. There was a spell
for flames that did not scorch or consume….
Tom pinned her against his body with a strong arm, feeling very contented
indeed as he reflected on their relationship. She was right, he thought,
cuddling her possessively. It’s better to have this as a private secret—for
now, at least—while we both continue here at Hogwarts. Tom honestly considered
her as much his wife now as if they had spoken vows before the fat friar of
Hogwarts himself, but no one elseknew about it. He liked that.
He was glad that she had brewed that potion. Someday they would have children,
but he did not want that responsibility right now. He enjoyed Hogwarts, and
that was part of the reason, but he was also hungry for other things and he
wanted some of these things accomplished before they brought vulnerable
children into the world. They were easy targets.
The Malfoy-Black-Lestrange rule needed to end, for one. It was offensive to Tom
on a personal level that a pair of foreign-born families—and one family of
blood-traitor toadies—ruled all of wizarding Britain. It was a disgrace that a
country with such an ancient magical culture should essentially be colonized.
Colonization was for the primitive and the weak, in his opinion. Tom supposed
that he would be satisfied with the return of the old Wizengamot as the
governing body—his mother was always very cagey about her political views, but
he strongly suspected this was what she would like to see—but lately, he had
come to develop greater ambitions than a mere restoration of the status quo of
eighty years ago. No, something had gone terribly wrong six hundredyears
earlier, and thatwas what Tom wanted fixed. None of this would have happened if
the magical line of Morgana and Mordred had ruled England.
Mordred was a bastard, and the offspring of an incestuous coupling, Tom
thought, but he was still of royal blood. Perhaps people would not care about
those things after all this time.
He also was determined to discover the truth about Salazar Slytherin’s reputed
chamber in Hogwarts and the great serpent that perhaps resided there.
Supposedly Slytherin had left behind his monster to “cleanse the school,” and
the common interpretation was that this meant “purge the school of Mudbloods,”
but Tom wondered if something had been lost over the years, once the man was no
longer there to speak for himself. Perhaps Slytherin had simply meant to
protect the school from any threat. Godric Gryffindor had welcomed foreign
invaders with open arms, and been removed from his own lordship and supplanted
by said invaders. If protecting the school from threats was what Slytherin
actually intended, he was wise, Tom thought—and he was increasingly able to
convince himself that this was indeed what Slytherin had intended.
He wondered if, perhaps, Slytherin had had Seer gifts and had foreseen the
Norman invasion. He had left Hogwarts only about a decade before the invaders
had come. This also made sense to Tom. It all fit, he thought, so even in the
absence of concrete evidence, he became more unalterably convinced of his
theory the more he thought about it.
And it meant that with his bloodline from both Morgana le Fay and Salazar
Slytherin, Tom was surely a “chosen one” of sorts to correct what had gone so
badly wrong.
Hermione squirmed in Tom’s arms, apparently wanting to sit up. He released her.
She moved to a sitting position and reached for her robes.
“You are beautiful when you’ve just been ravished,” he remarked, a smirk
tugging at his lips.
She gave him a level stare, intending to appear disapproving, but he could see
the laugh lines trying to make their appearances on her face as well.
“We should return to the common room,” she said, casting charms to clean
herself. He sighed but acknowledged the truth of what she said. They would be
missed if they stayed here much longer, and people would start to
speculate—rightly,he thought. It would be very inconvenient if the Malfoy-
supporting families or the Malfoys themselves got wind of their intimate
activities.
===============================================================================
The following day, Hermione dressed herself and went into the Slytherin common
room as usual, when she noticed to her surprise that Professor Slughorn was
there and Harry was standing next to him. Tom was seated nearby, shooting Harry
looks of dislike, but when Hermione appeared in the threshold, his face
softened.
“Ah, there you are, Lady Hermione,” Slughorn boomed. “I have something very
important to tell you about your studies.”
For a second, Hermione panicked. Had someone told the professor what she and
Tom were doing? Was she going to be made to go home? Then she realized that
Harry had no reason to be involved in any such decision, nor to hear it. It
would be a private discussion involving her, Tom, and probably their parents.
This was something else, then.
“I have decided that you and young Master Potter here should be moved into the
intermediate-level Potions and Alchemy class,” Slughorn declared, beaming. “The
talent between the two of you is astonishing.”
Hermione immediately glanced at Tom. He was jealous. She and Harry were
advancing in a subject after one year and a couple of months of study. Tom had
done that for Arithmancy and Charms and Curses, moving up after the
intermission for Yule and Christmas last year, but for the rest of his
subjects—including Potions—he had advanced to the intermediate level after two
years of study. There were two levels of “novitiate” or beginner schooling, one
for the very first year of Hogwarts and one that typically lasted four months
(for the brightest witches and wizards) to two years, until they advanced to
the intermediate level. In the previous year, she and Harry had been in that
first level, whereas Tom had been either in the second level or in the
intermediate class, depending on the subject.
Now she and Harry would be in the same Potions group with him, for however long
that lasted. Tom would certainly advance to the final level, the mastery class,
for all the magical subjects in his fourth year. Bright witches and wizards
usually did, while others remained at an intermediate level through four or
often even five years at Hogwarts. But through next spring, they would have
Potions and Alchemy together.
“Thank you, Professor,” she said at once, putting gratitude into her words. “I
cannot wait.”
“Lady Hermione, you will also advance to the intermediate level in Arithmancy
and Ancient Languages,” Slughorn continued. Tom smiled at this, as it meant
that she would be taught alongside him in three subjects, but his smile was
still tight with jealousy and resentment.
“And I have news for Lord Thomas as well,” he said, turning to Tom, who
promptly rose to his feet. “Your aptitude for wandwork is equally astonishing.
You are close to mastery as it is, so you shall advance to the mastery class in
Charms and Curses. This is the first time since the founding of Hogwarts that a
pupil in his third year of tutoring has been placed in the mastery class for
any subject.”
The jealousy had fled Tom’s face at this announcement. He bowed curtly to
Slughorn, delighted. “Thank you, Professor,” he said, echoing Hermione. Real
pleasure spread across his handsome features.
Slughorn turned to Hermione and Harry, the latter of whom was looking a little
put out now that he had only been advanced in one subject. “The first, but
probably not the last,” he said pointedly to Hermione and Harry.
Tom’s gaze tightened again. Slughorn noticed, and he said at once, “I would not
be surprised, Lord Thomas, if you advance in other subjects after Yule and
Christmas. The three of you are certainly hoarding a disproportionate amount of
magical talent! Not that there is anything wrong with that.” He winked at them
and ambled away through the door to the common room.
Hermione turned to Harry. “This means that we won’t have to be in Potions with
Adelaide Lestrange anymore, of course.” Adelaide had been among the stragglers
in Potions and Alchemy, those who did not go to the intermediate class even
after a full two years of education. This had meant that so far this autumn,
she and Harry had been in Slughorn’s classroom with her. It was not a pleasant
experience. Harry chuckled, and Tom cracked a smile as well.
The subject of their discussion then emerged from the doorway to the girls’
bedchambers, followed by the majority of her pack of followers.
“I do not want to see you either, you filthy Mudblood,” she snarled.
“Do you have nothingelse to say?” Tom scoffed, rolling his eyes skyward.
The girl drew her wand. “Not to the likes of any of you. Nothing else about you
matters. No matter how brilliant you all may be, no matter how much magical
talent you hoard, you are all dirty-blooded and unimportant. You will neverrule
wizarding Britain. Draco will, and I will be by his side. You will bend your
knees and swear fealty to us.” She stormed through the common room.
Tom was standing by, staring at her in seething outrage. “Just you wait,” he
muttered.
===============================================================================
In Potions that day, Hermione was unsurprised when Tom insisted that she and
Harry switch partners. He paired himself with her possessively, leaving Harry
to work with his own former Potions partner, Marcus Flint. Flint looked
somewhat put out about having to work with a common-born half-blood, but he
rallied himself well enough. Hermione hoped he would not give Harry a hard
time. She had learned over the past couple of months that he was indeed engaged
to Daphne Greengrass, and moreover, that both of them were pleased about it.
That was a relief to Hermione, who considered Daphne something approximating a
friend, and who had lately had her eyes opened to the importance of liking and
respecting one’s partner in life.
She turned to Tom, who was perusing the instructions in the Potions textbook
for Polyjuice Potion. It was quite advanced, but Hermione felt certain that she
could make it. She got up, walked over to Slughorn’s ingredients cabinet, and
reached into the earthenware jar that she knew contained boomslang skin. When
she returned to the table, Tom was staring at the ingredient, as if he
disapproved.
“That comes from a snake,” he said.
“Yes, but it was shed. The snake didn’t die,” Hermione said, adding the snake
skin to the cauldron.
He managed a tight smile. “I would feel like a cannibal to consume something
containing any part of a snake.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Why?” she inquired. “You speak the language of
snakes. You are not part snake yourself.”
He continued to bear that forced smile. “Of course not, but I feel kinship with
them. And in any case, I have no desire to change my outward identity by
drinking this potion, whenever it is ready. I am quite proud of my identity and
heritage.”
He was acting quite odd, which Hermione attributed to residual jealousy over
her own apparently superior Potions skills. She continued making the potion
until it had to be covered for the day. They would add more ingredients next
time.
Once immediately outside Slughorn’s laboratory, Tom grabbed Marcus Flint by the
elbow and stopped in the hall. Hermione paused, standing near him and waiting.
Harry paused as well. Tom gave her a smile.
“It is quite all right,” he said. “You need not wait for me.”
A couple of other young wizards, Rob Wilkes and Edgar Fawley, were approaching.
They joined Tom and Flint, immediately giving unwelcoming looks to Hermione and
especially Harry. In a moment, Cormac Avery and Theodore Nott joined them.
Tom’s smile was a bit too broad. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Are these
your friends, my lord?” she inquired.
Her startling formality took Tom aback. She had never called him that, as far
as he could remember; in public, she referred to him as “Lord Thomas” or just
“Thomas.” The message that she sent was that she disapproved of being kept out
of anything he was doing that involved alliances.
“They are, my lady,” he said, trying not to sound blatantly fake before the
other young wizards.
“Then should I not be a part of the conversation? And Potter, since he is
guarding me?” she asked sweetly.
Harry stood beside her, taking in the proceedings and gazing very suspiciously
at Tom and the other Slytherins. He did assume a guardian’s pose as he moved in
front of her to put himself between her and the Slytherin boys—including Tom.
Tom noticed, and his eyebrows subtly narrowed. “We should not speak of
sensitive matters in the halls of Hogwarts,” he said abruptly. He took
Hermione’s arm and gave her a pointed look as he steered her away from everyone
else. They walked apart from the group. The five pureblood boys followed,
leaving Harry standing in the hallway. He picked up his pace and trailed at the
end of the group, his gaze never leaving Hermione’s back.
===============================================================================
“I have a right to know about your political alliances and plans,” Hermione
said firmly that afternoon before dinner, when they were alone. “I am not a
Muggle noblewoman, concerned mainly with being the lady of a castle, having
children, and making matches for them. Whatever it is that you are talking
about with these boys, I deserve to know.”
Tom sighed. “You do,” he agreed, “and truly, Hermione, it isn’t that much—yet.
I have been trying to get leads on the facts about Slytherin’s chamber that
supposedly exists in the school. My mother has put hexes on all the books in
the family library that might contain that information, so I thought that
perhaps these boys from old families might know something about it.”
Hermione eyed him. “You have mentioned this occasionally to me,” she said. “I
don’t quite understand what you hope to achieve with it if it does exist,
though.”
Tom considered what to say. Although he had indeed told her of the legend of
the Chamber, he had never mentioned the rest of the legend. He was not sure
what she would think about it. But if it did exist, and he found it, then she
would find out anyway.
He summoned his courage. “It is not just a chamber,” he finally said. “The
legend also says that Slytherin left a beast in it that only he could control,
which would imply—”
“A great serpent,” Hermione finished, her eyes wide. Tom could almost see her
mind at work as she reached her next conclusion. “A basilisk? Tom! Basilisks
are fast, and their venom has only one antidote, and their very gaze is
instantly fatal! What are you thinking?”
“If I found the Chamber, I would enter it with my eyes closed and I would speak
commands in Parseltongue to subdue the snake,” he said. “I am the blood of
Slytherin. I could control it too. It would be all right.”
“Why would he have left such a thing in a school anyway?” she exclaimed.
“The legend says that he did it to protect the school from… Muggle-borns,” he
said reluctantly. Hermione’s face fell, and he continued hurriedly, “But what
is the source for that information? Families like the Malfoys. I think that
Slytherin must have been a Seer,” he explained. “He resigned from Hogwarts not
long before the Normans came. I think he saw what was coming and left it there
for his heir.”
Hermione was staring at Tom in dismay. “I have two grandparents, one on each
side of my family, who were of that race. Whether the truth lies in the legend
or your own theory, if this monster exists, I am still a target for it.”
“It is a beast. As a serpent, what would the blood status of human wizards be
to it? And the first basilisk was bred by Herpo in ancient Greece, so what
would it care about the blood of someone in England? It’s an animal. It would
have no political opinions of its own and would do what I told it to do.”
“And what exactly wouldyou tell it to do?” she challenged. “What would you use
this hypothetical lethal monster to do, Tom?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. I would not feed Draco Malfoy to it, if that’s
what you are worried about,” he said. “But if it exists, then it’s mine, and I
should have command of it.”
Hermione shook her head. “Tom, you need to be careful. You say that you can go
into this chamber and command this snake, but if it is real, you don’t know
that. What if it was Slytherin’s familiar and takes orders from no other
wizard, even his own blood?”
Tom had no reply to that.
“I do not think you should pursue this,” she said. She touched his chest
gently. “It could end in tragedy, and even if it doesn’t, you cannot actually
use this basilisk—if a basilisk there is—for anything good. A creature like
that is a weapon, and we are not at war.”
Yet, Tom thought darkly. But he did have to admit, even to himself, that she
was right for the time being. He could not use a basilisk at this time of his
life. Someday, though…. He placed one of his hands over the hand of hers that
rested on his chest, gripping it warmly and bringing a smile to her face. They
stood silently like that for a moment, until he lifted her hand to his lips and
kissed her knuckles gently.
“It’s time for dinner,” he said.
===============================================================================
That evening, Tom and Hermione met in the hallway, making sure not to be seen
leaving the Slytherin common room together, and escaped to their little private
room. Hermione closed the door behind them and Tom locked it with a spell as
Hermione almost immediately began to strip off her outer robe. It fell from her
shoulders in a ripple of heavy silk. She set it down carefully on the chair,
piling her other clothing on top of it as she and Tom both disrobed. They
transfigured the cushion into “their” mattress and quickly tumbled into each
other’s heated embrace upon it.
Hermione sprawled on her back, baring her body unabashedly to him. She saw no
reason to feel shame before him, after all. His eyes gleamed momentarily, and
in the next moment, he was atop her, kissing her exposed breasts as his nimble
fingers drifted down her body. She involuntarily closed her legs as he reached
her juncture, but he gave her a dark smirk and pulled them open again. He
planted a heavy kiss on the side of her neck, one that might leave a mark that
they would have to heal before they left this room, and then he straddled her
and pushed into her. There was no pain at all for her this time, she
observed—but she could not focus on that detail for too long.
They fell into the almost ritualistic pattern of motions. Their breaths grew
deep and rapid, and their skin became increasingly heated. Had it not been
autumn, or had they not been in such a vast castle that was difficult to keep
warm in cool times even for master witches and wizards, they would have grown
slick with sweat, but instead it evaporated at once, thickening the air
immediately around them. Hermione had her release first, digging her
fingernails into his back, prompting him to gasp out in surprise—but not
displeasure. Another thrust—and then he came for her. He breathed deeply and
relaxed on her, their mutual warmth keeping them comfortable despite their
nudity in the drafty castle.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, their breaths and heartbeats returning
to normal. After they had lapsed into lazy relaxation, Hermione hugged him
around the waist, the gesture somehow completely innocent despite the
circumstances. “Are you not glad after all that your mother chose me for you?”
she teased.
He smirked sideways. “I chose you. If I had not, we would be in our separate
chambers in the Slytherin dormitories, ice cold and wretched as most noble
couples.”
Hermione could not find any pleasure in the thought of other aristocratic
couples’ icy resigned discontent, so she focused on the rest of his comment.
“Would you have chosen me if, somehow, I had been allowed into Hogwarts as an
unattached Muggle-born witch and probably been sorted into a different House?
Would you have noticed me at all?”
He considered it. “I think I would have. You still would have been exceptional
at magic, and you would have been advanced in Potions, Arithmancy, and
Runes—since that is what happened. I would have noticed you.” He kissed the
side of her cheek and rose off her slowly. “I marked in my diary the date that
we consummated our betrothal. As far as I am concerned, and by ancient magical
custom, that is our marriage date.”
Hermione smiled as she reached for her robes. “We’ll have to have one that is
official for everyone else, of course.”
“Of course.” Tom pulled his robes on and tied his belt. He noticed the mark
that was starting to form on Hermione’s neck and drew his wand. “Here,” he
said. “I should heal that.”
She felt the rush of magic over her skin as the bruise faded.
Tom regarded her contemplatively for a moment, thinking of what they had just
been discussing. Ancient magical custom…. Something suddenly occurred to him,
something incredibly important, something that he hadto find out.
“Hermione,” he said excitedly, “I just realized—the ancient custom is that
consummating a betrothal counts as marriage.” He began speaking rapidly as his
thoughts whirled and one conclusion after another came to him. “I read last
year that, before Merlin got his claws into Arthur, he—Arthur—went to the other
children of Igraine and suggested uniting the lines. Morgana was a witch and
would have known the old customs. That means that if he and Morgana entered an
engagement, Mordred was legitimate.”
Hermione was staring at Tom with growing disconcert as he bubbled over with
this revelation. “Tom,” she said, trying to calm him, “that is very
interesting, to be sure, but—”
“I have to find out if they were,” he said almost to himself. “I haveto read
those books! Mother should not keep them from me. It’s wrong of her. I could
have a great destiny—”
“Tom,” Hermione said again, “that may be true about the ancient ritual, but
they were half-siblings. That fact annuls any ‘marriage’ that they may have
had.”
“People thought differently in the past,” he said arrogantly. “If they
considered it valid then, then the power of that conviction is what made it
valid. We are talking about a magical rite. Intent is everything in magic.”
Hermione stared at him, not liking the gleam in his eyes at all. “Tom, please
calm yourself. This is fascinating knowledge, but you would be in terrible
danger if you claimed to be an heir to a throne. The Malfoys would consider it
treason even to say it. You are not yet fifteen years old, Tom, and a pupil at
Hogwarts! We can’t think of such things now. We have to think about achieving
mastery of magic, and then we are going to have a public wedding, and start a
family, and someday you will be lord of Hangleton.”
“I want more than that,” he whispered. “You heard that bint Adelaide Lestrange
this morning. If nothing changes, we will be swearing an oath to Draco Malfoy
and her. I can’t bear that idea.”
She lowered her voice, though there was no one else to hear. “We can work to
restore the Wizengamot. That is a goal we can achieve, I think. But that’s
dangerous enough, and we should notspeak of these things in public.” A dark
suspicion crossed Hermione’s mind. “If you talk about ideas like this with your
friends, pleasebe careful.”
He considered her words carefully and nodded in agreement. What he was not
going to tell her was that he had no intention of settling for small things.
That night, once he was back in his own private bedchamber in Slytherin House,
he brought out the prototype of the seal he was going to make for his circle of
friends. The raven at the center of the Celtic knotwork and Ouroboros looked
bare and bald. Tom drew the crown atop its head once again.
===============================================================================
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
The grand table at Malfoy Manor was bedighted for Hallowe’en. The assembled
witches and wizards feasted on traditional foods and drank spiced cider, ale,
and wine, toasting each other increasingly boisterously as the night wore on.
Abraxas Malfoy supported his father, the high lord of all wizarding Britain,
for the latter had only had his secret tonic just before the feast and he still
had not recovered fully from the acute aftereffects.
Every adult member of the Malfoy, Lestrange, and Black families—sans the
disowned Sirius Black—was present at the head table. Regulus, Andromeda, and
Dora were visibly less pleased than the rest of the guests at the revelry and
growing intoxication of most of their companions, but they were attempting to
rally themselves. The high families had several guests. Amycus and Alecto
Carrow, sworn to the Lestrange family, also sat there, along with Caractacus
Burke. Helooked very pleased indeed.
Bellatrix Lestrange raised her goblet high in the air. “To my noble daughter
and the heir of House Malfoy, though they are absent from this banquet. May
their blood be ever pure!”
Lucius Malfoy smiled in approval.
“Lady Adelaide and Lord Draco!” several fellow revelers joined in, sloshing
wine and cider all over the table.
“To the death of the filthy in our midst!” bawled Bellatrix, raising her goblet
for a second toast. This one was joined by Burke, and rather eagerly, Regulus
and his family observed.
The bangs and thumps ceased as Armand Malfoy rose, his color at last restored,
and began to speak.
“My friends and subjects,” he said, “we have among us tonight a pair of very
special guests. Lord Amycus and Lady Alecto Carrow swore fealty to my kinsman
by marriage, Lord Lestrange, believing that the family they had formerly served
was extinct.” His thin lips spread into a smile, but the outlines of his teeth
were visible through his skin. “They now know that this is not true, that Lady
Merope Riddle lives. Her chief vassal, Severus Snape, sought to recall them to
Castle Gaunt—or Parselhall, as the lady calls it now, forsaking her own family
name.”
Bellatrix let out a hiss of disgust.
“Since that lady bore a half-blood son and betrothed him to a Mudblood,
exploiting a law while defying the spirit of a Wizards’ Council decision in the
most blatant of ways, the Carrows now choose freely to renew their vow of
fealty to the Lestrange family.”
The assembled guests burst into a roar of approval and glee, sans the three
youngest Blacks, though they too applauded, as they must.
“They do this with the full knowledge of the living Gaunt heirs and their
disgrace, and hereby renounce all oaths to that family, as it has dishonored
itself and is unworthy of loyalty—so long as the half-blood and Mudblood live,”
he added evilly.
The Carrows rose and bent their knees before Rodolphus Lestrange, repeating the
oath of fealty to him. Bellatrix smiled gleefully at the proceedings.
After this, the guests resumed their conversations. Caractacus Burke smirked
and drew an object out of his belt pouch to show to the wizard seated next to
him, who happened to be Regulus Black himself.
“This is the locket of Salazar Slytherin,” he said conspiratorially, dangling
it before Regulus. “I bought it off ‘Lady’ Riddle when she was heavy with
child.”
Regulus gazed coolly at the locket. “That is very interesting and undoubtedly
valuable,” he said.
Burke put it back into the pouch. “It is. I’m very proud of owning it. Did you
catch what his lordship said about ‘so long as the half-blood and Mudblood
live’?”
“Everyone did.”
Burke nodded and took a long draught of ale. “Their lordships would like me to
marry the blood-traitor witch, and I might get used to the idea in time… but I
would want some compensation for it.”
“You would be the consort of a lady ruling a valuable and ancient fief,”
Regulus said.
“Indeed—consort. That’s the problem, my lord. It just doesn’t seem right that
someone who never dishonored his blood, like me, should be subject to someone
like her. I’d want more before I agree to this, and so does my lord, Arcturus
Black. He also doesn’t think that the castle can be stormed, so the lady could
refuse an alliance anyway and there would be nothing that could be done about
it. Wizarding law doesn’t give nobles the power to force other nobles to marry
anyone.” He lowered his voice. “As for the half-blood and his Mudblood, I don’t
see the need to kill the boy, with all due respect to his high lordship. I hear
that the half-blood is very proud of being a descendant of Slytherin. I suppose
it’s all he has that he can find pride in. Let him teach at Hogwarts, since he
has such regard for a damned schoolmaster.”
Regulus considered what Burke was telling him, making mental note of it in his
memory.
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
“My friends,” Tom began, his tones formal and ceremonial, “I have invited you
here tonight to form an alliance, a secret order amongst ourselves. I have
chosen you five because you have shown respect and loyalty to the ancient
magical culture of our native land.”
Flint, Fawley, Avery, Wilkes, and Nott gazed back at Tom in a semicircle, their
eyes radiating agreement.
“I have created seals for all of us to carry in our belt pouches,” he said. He
held up his own. “They bear an example of the craft of our ancestors, a serpent
consuming itself to symbolize eternity—the eternal continuance of our
people—and a crowned raven, because as you know, I am the last descendant of
the Wizard-King in Exile.” He removed the rest of the seals and held them in
the palm of his hand. “These seals will grow heated when I have an important
message to send, such as a summons. The message will be imprinted in invisible
runes on the seal. When the seal is hot, you may press it into wax and instead
of the symbol—which is what will appear when I am not activating the charm—the
runic message will appear in the wax.” He passed out the seals to his
followers.
The boys turned the objects over in their hands, regarding them. Tom returned
to the middle of the semicircle and regarded each wizard in turn. “I see that I
have your loyalty in mind,” he said, projecting confidence—and, he noted,
visibly surprising Nott and Wilkes that he had become so good at Legilimency.
“I now ask for your loyalty in words. We are people of magic, and both thought
and word are power for us.”
Each boy knelt and swore an oath of loyalty to Tom. They rose, and he regarded
them with a faint smile. “Although it is Samhain, the six of us met as a group
for the first time on the first of May, earlier this year. It was informal, but
in recognition of that, you are now my Lords of Beltane.” He raised his wand.
“We stand on our ancient rights and will never kneel to the unworthy.”
Nott and Wilkes exchanged glances, apparently deciding something between
themselves nonverbally. Nott gulped and spoke up. “My lord, there is something
I wish to understand better.”
Tom regarded Nott tolerantly.
“Your betrothed… she is of invader descent, in part, as well as being a
Mudblood.”
Tom interrupted at once. “You will not speak of her by that word.”
“I beg your pardon, your lordship. But what of her? I mean… I understand that
your lady mother and her parents made the plans… we all have to honor our
families’ wishes, of course… but your lordship spends a lot of time with her. I
almost expected her to be here. Are yourreal heirs actually going to be….”
Tom was glaring stonily at the boy. “Do not ever suggest again that I would
betray her. She is part Norman, it is true, but she is also part English. The
wizarding ancestors from whom she inherited magic are undoubtedly in the
English lines, since the invaders destroyed the records of the English lords
they displaced, putting their own family histories in their stead.”
“Yes, my lord. Forgive me.”
“I forgive you. Do not let it happen again.”
After the meeting broke up, Tom considered Nott’s words. His Lords would need
to learn their place, and never speak of Hermione disrespectfully… but perhaps
there was a grain of wisdom in Nott’s remarks. He had been discreet about their
intimacies, but it was clearly apparent to his schoolmates that he truly liked
and was attracted to Hermione. That was unusual for noble lordlings, and they
had noticed. It would not do to flaunt his private emotions for her to
outsiders. That was a vulnerability. They could think that he had to marry a
witch who was not of pure wizarding or pure English stock because his mother
had arranged it. That was something they could understand. It was not a
betrayal of the cause. They did not need to know that he wantedto be with her.
Chapter End Notes
     They’re not the Knights of Walpurgis here. :D
     And if this chapter seems darkly foreboding as hell, it should.
***** Friends of the Founders *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi guys. I am sorry for the day's delay in posting this. I posted a
     mega-chapter to my other AU on Friday evening, which may be the last
     one for that story for a long time... and then I promptly woke up
     Saturday feeling like crap on a stick. Some sort of head cold. I
     honestly don't know if anything in this chapter is any good, but I
     wanted to get it up nonetheless. Thank you so much, as always, for
     your steady support of this fic!
Hermione snuggled closer to Tom as she sat next to him. They were in their
secret room, curled up together and fully dressed—although their robes were
still on them but loosely, after a satisfying romp on the transfigured
mattress.
We really ought to be back in the common room, Hermione thought, but I would
have been… hungry… without this. It was true; ever since they had become
intimate, it seemed that they needed to be intimate more and more. Hermione was
starting to worry that someone would catch on, but so far, no one seemed to
have noticed.
Except possibly Harry, she thought with some slight disquiet. He has given Tom
studying looks when we return to the common room from this and he is there. He
must realize that, at a minimum, we are affectionate in private. It’s fortunate
that he is a friend. Malfoy and Lestrange have not noticed, at least. That
would be bad.
She thought about what might happen if either of those two learned of her
activities with Tom. Malfoy, perhaps, might not care—at least, of his own
accord. He regarded Hermione with contempt, but he did not make a special point
of tormenting her. But for Adelaide Lestrange, it was much more than contempt;
it was loathing, and it was personal. She knew that Hermione had cost her her
first betrothal and hurt her reputation among Slytherins. She was not
especially happy with Malfoy, either, so she was having to content herself with
the vision of Tom and Hermione kneeling down before her. Hermione knew without
a doubt that if shefound out about Hermione’s intimacy with Tom, she would not
hesitate to destroy Hermione over it.
Hermione could see it clearly. Since it was not shocking that she was sleeping
with her fiancé, and since the “solution” would merely be early marriage,
Adelaide would say that any girl who did that might have done more. She might
make insinuations about Harry Potter or even his friend Neville. Adelaide was a
vindictive person—like her mother, apparently—and Hermione realized that she
needed to be quite careful.
She turned to Tom. “We should get ourselves in order and return to the common
room now,” she urged him gently. He sighed in dissatisfaction but did not argue
the point.
Once they were back in the common room, a cluster of five boys approached Tom.
They did not surround him, Hermione observed, but rather hovered near him. It
was almost as if they were… waiting for her to move away from him. She quickly
glanced at them. Flint, Fawley, Avery, Nott, and Wilkes—the same five whom she
saw around him increasingly frequently. His gaze darted between the boys and
Hermione, as if he were deciding in what direction to go.
She linked her arm with his and smiled at him. “I need to speak with you,” she
said. He looked for a moment as if he wanted to argue, because he saw right
through it—and he probably does, as a Legilimens, she thought—but he let her
lead him into a private nook by a window.
“Are you still meeting with those boys?” she asked quietly.
He met her eyes with his own in a defiant stare. “I am. I hope it’s not a
problem for you that I am making allies.”
His sharp tone of voice took her aback. “Of course not,” she said. “We agreed
that we should do it—but that’s the issue, Tom. We should do it. I have not
been to any of these meetings. If you are the leader, then why are you
excluding me?”
Tom hesitated. “It’s a group for wizards,” he said. “None of the boys have
brought in sisters or fiancées.”
Hermione stared at him. “Muggles would exclude women, but I didn’t think….”
“Hermione, you must have noticed that, even though witches can do all manner of
things in our world that they aren’t allowed to do in the Muggle world, there
are still some… traditions. You understood when I couldn’t magically attack
Lestrange. This is another one. The boys would question why I involved you in
an order for wizards.”
“Order?” she exclaimed. “This group is now an ‘order’? Tom, what do you
discuss? That is all I want to know, what goes on.”
“I can’t tell you here.”
She glanced around. Although she had not raised her voice that much, she wanted
to be certain that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation—and it did
not appear that anyone was. “Very well. You need to tell me the next time we’re
alone, though.”
===============================================================================
Hermione fretted into the night about Tom. All of a sudden, after they were so
close, it seemed that they were drifting apart again—or, rather, that Tom was
pulling away from her. It made her anxious. She would still “have” him, but
after the happy experiences with true closeness to him, she did not want to
lose that closeness either. If we had remained as we were at the beginning of
last autumn, I would not have known any different, she thought, trying to go to
sleep. I would have assumed it was simply how things were and that it was not
my part to be involved in any of his doings. –For a while, at least. Being
around witches in this sphere of society would have changed my views anyway.
But it did not happen that way—we did become close—and I can tell the
difference. He has been cagey and evasive about these interests of his, but he
has not been sharp with me about it.
What was he doing? What was he talking about with these boys? Hermione had a
bad feeling that she knew. Tom himself had said that Slytherin’s chamber was
part of the discussions, and Hermione had not forgotten Tom’s effusive reaction
to his epiphany about King Arthur’s son. She did not think he had any business
looking for a killer beast in the school. That was the immediate danger: that
this alleged chamber did exist, that it did contain a basilisk, and that Tom
found it and something unthinkable happened. Hermione shuddered in dread at the
idea that she would not even allow her mind to put into words.
The thought occurred to her that he might indeed survive the first encounter,
tame the creature, and then use it against his “enemies,” but she would not
entertain that notion either. Tom was not like that, she assured herself. Not
her Tom. He had strong feelings of loyalty, love, and—yes—hate, but he would
not actually do something like that.
And then there was the other heritage-related obsession that he had. If the
Chamber of Slytherin was potentially dangerous to his life immediately, then
talking about a restoration of a line from six centuries ago was dangerous to
his life in a longer term—the term to conduct a treason trial, perhaps, if the
wrong people found out that he was discussing such a thing. Surely he had
identified boys who were not allied with the Malfoys or the Wizards’ Council….
He is a Legilimens now, she thought, suddenly reassured. He would have checked
them first. He may not be a master Legilimens, but he’s certainly good enough
to detect the attempts of young wizards his own age to hide something crucial.
That made Hermione feel better about this. In time, this particular obsession
would surely diminish, as he developed a better idea of what was actually
possible political change. He has not been among the nobles that long even now,
she told herself with not a small degree of smugness. And for most of that
time, he has been at Hogwarts, or alone with me on the castle grounds, rather
than consulting with his mother or Lord Severus. He will learn more about it in
time.
Reassured at least on that matter, Hermione soon gained the sleep she sought.
===============================================================================
Hermione stepped into the Slytherin common room the next morning and found
herself in the middle of an icy dispute, cold and threatening, Slytherin-style.
Daphne Greengrass was glaring at Draco Malfoy as if she wanted to murder him.
She pointed her wand directly at his face, and the venom in her eyes was more
poisonous than Hermione had ever seen in the young witch. Malfoy was backed
against a wall, trembling faintly, but attempting to put on a show of defiance.
Adelaide Lestrange was ready to attack Daphne, and her pack of girls looked to
follow her in that action, but behind Daphne stood her new fiancé, Marcus
Flint, along with Edgar Fawley. Silently, Tom stood in a shadowy corner,
observing the proceedings with a keen eye.
“Do you think I didn’t see you?” Daphne hissed, her voice low and menacing. The
tip of her wand danced dangerously close to Malfoy’s eyes.
Malfoy swallowed. Hermione observed the lump bob in his throat. “I admit to
nothing, Greengrass—”
“That’s Lady Daphne to you!”
“Do you know who I am?” Malfoy sneered, mustering what passed for his courage.
“Do I know who you are?” she mocked. “Here are the facts, Malfoy—and no, I
shall not dignify youwith a title. We aren’t Muggles here. We don’t observe the
filthy Muggle droit de seigneur,whatever you Normans may want to do—”
Hermione blanched at that. That allegation was absolutely false, at least as it
related to the town her parents ruled—andthe Norman family whose daughter
became her paternal grandmother. However, Tom’s gaze sharpened and flitted to
Daphne with interest.
“I have never touched your sister,” Malfoy snarled.
“You want to,” Daphne growled, the menace seeping from her voice into the whole
room. “I’ve seen the way you stare at her. Let us make something crystal clear,
Malfoy—you will notbehave like a Muggle swine lordling here. Witches have
power.”
“How dare you?” Adelaide Lestrange cut in, outrage rumbling through her words.
She drew her wand and pointed it at Daphne’s furious face. “How dare you speak
to one of your betters in such a way! Swine? The only pig I see is a sow of a
girl who threatens her future lord!”
Daphne scoffed at the wand that was directed at her. “Have you no self-respect
at all? Or is this another Muggle noble custom that your kind have adopted?
Your betrothed is looking at other women, because he hates you—”
“Crucio!” the girl bawled.
Daphne crashed to the floor, her palms slapping against the stone surface as
she fell. She twitched once, and it did not appear that the torture curse would
hurt her for very long—but Hermione was already jumping into the fray.
Reducto! she cast silently at Adelaide. The element of surprise gave her the
advantage. The jet of light struck Adelaide and blasted her across the room,
ending her torture of Daphne and sending her careening into the wall. She hit
with a thud and a crack, slumping down to the floor with a groan.
Draco Malfoy stared at Hermione in outrage. He drew his wand, ready to curse
her, when Tom finally stepped forward. “Do not do it, Malfoy,” he warned. He
pointed his own wand between Malfoy’s eyes. “Your fiancée had that coming.”
“Your Mudblood had no right to attack her—”
“She has every right to defend her friend from a curse. As Lady Daphne said,
your family have notput it into law that high wizarding lords may do anything
they please, let alone high lords’ heirs and heiresses.”
Malfoy looked as if he wanted to challenge Tom, but he did not; evidently Tom
knew what he was talking about. He shot Hermione a glare of unadulterated hate
as he grudgingly helped Adelaide Lestrange up.
“You need to go to the Healer,” he said brusquely. She was looking pale and
faint. Hermione felt a momentary flash of guilt; had the impact fractured
Adelaide’s skull?
She was torturing Daphne, Hermione reminded herself. She went over to Daphne,
who was getting to her feet, and extended her a hand.
“Thank you,” the girl muttered.
“Excuse us for a moment,” Tom said to Daphne, pulling Hermione aside. She
wondered what he was doing, but she did not have to wonder long. As soon as
they were out of the hearing of the remaining Slytherins, he turned to her with
alarm and disapproval in his eyes. “Why did you do that?” he asked her quietly.
Hermione gazed at him in confusion. “You said it yourself: I was defending a
friend.”
“I said that to shut up Malfoy. This didn’t involve you, but now it does.
She’ll try to take revenge on you.”
“How does it not involve me, at least indirectly? She was attacking Daphne, who
is engaged to Flint, who is one of your little friends.”
Tom sighed and rubbed his temples. “Hermione, I really don’t think you should
have done that.”
“Well, I did,” she said curtly. “I’m not afraid of Adelaide Lestrange. I
defeated her once in a duel when I hardly knew any magic. I have advanced in my
studies faster than she has. I appreciate the fact that you are so protective
of me, but as Daphne herself was saying, witches have power.”
Tom lowered his voice. “The problem is that you are part Norman.”
“The problem? How is that a problem? Do I not have the right to object to bad
behavior on the part of Norman wizards?”
Tom looked flustered and frustrated. He could not seem to articulate what
troubled him. Hermione sighed and turned away. “Tom, not everyone with Norman
blood is villainous.”
“Can we agree that the Malfoys and Lestranges are?” he asked quietly.
“We can agree on that.” She tentatively offered her arm to him. He linked his
with hers and escorted her possessively across the common room. Daphne, Marcus
Flint, and Edgar Fawley joined them a few steps behind and followed them.
They had reached the door when a familiar voice called out, “What’s going on?
Did I miss something?”
Tom turned around and saw Harry Potter standing in the boys’ dormitory
threshold, staring at the two clusters of people—Adelaide’s friends, and the
small group around Hermione and Tom. Tom rolled his eyes. “Yes, you did,
Potter,” he said shortly. Without another word, he opened the door and exited
the room.
===============================================================================
The Slytherin table in the Great Hall was a war zone over which an uneasy truce
presided. The House had clearly split into two sides, each one staking out one
end of the table. A gap separated the two groups. On one end sat Malfoy,
Crabbe, Goyle, the Rosier son and daughter, Pansy Parkinson, and the older
students in their fourth year and up who were almost all supporting that side.
On the other side sat Tom, Hermione, Harry, Avery, Wilkes, Flint, Nott, Fawley,
Daphne Greengrass, Millicent Bulstrode, and Daphne’s sister Astoria.
Hermione felt nervous about the whole situation. It seemed very much to her
that, while Tom’s side—and hers—might have a clear advantage in magical talent,
the Malfoy-Lestrange side held all the political power. She still did not see
why Tom would regard Norman blood as a particular problem, but she did see his
point now about retaliation from Lestrange and Malfoy. What direction that
might take, she could not guess.
She and Tom had explained to Harry, in low voices, what had transpired in the
common room while he was getting dressed. He had sat on the bench over his
breakfast and considered for a moment.
“We should consider allying with like-minded people in other Houses,” he
finally said, his voice also low and conspiratorial. “Longbottom, Luna
Lovegood… and believe it or not, Riddle, even this new Weasley—”
Tom’s face had grown pinched at the mention of that name. “I am sure the new
Weasley is just like the others,” he said contemptuously.
“I really don’t think she is,” he objected. “Luna introduced me to her, and she
seems different—more ambitious than most of the others.”
Tom scoffed. “It would be hard for her not to be. I have heard that they live
in one room and sleep on straw.”
“They don’t sleep on straw,” he said, to Tom’s scornful gaze. “But the reason I
mention her is that we—and a couple of people from Hufflepuff—are thinking
about forming an alliance across all the Houses, and calling ourselves ‘Friends
of the Founders.’ Nev—Longbottom and I have been discussing it… our goal would
be for Hogwarts to regain its autonomy so that it could set its own policies
about admission and other things, rather than having to do what the Wizards’
Council tells it to do.”
“Good luck to you with that,” Tom said.
Hermione frowned. “Tom, do you think your friends are more likely to change
anything soon?”
“Actually, yes. My friends are all from noble families,” he said proudly.
“But that’s exactly why we should work together,” Harry urged. “Aristocratic
witches and wizards, along with… the rest.” He lowered his voice even further,
to be absolutely certain that no one on Malfoy’s end of the Slytherin table
could hear. “The uprising in Godric’s Hollow before I was born probably failed
because they had no noble support.”
For a moment, Tom considered what Harry was saying, but then his face changed.
“I’ll think about it, Potter,” he said. Hermione could tell he was not sincere.
She was interested in Harry’s new friends, however, and she asked him in
Herbalism that day if she could be present whenever they met together. Even if
Tom was not going to be part of that, she wanted at least to see what it was
before deciding.
Harry seemed uneasy about Hermione being there alone. “You don’t want to ask
him…?”
She gave him a level look. “I will ask him if I decide to meet with this group
regularly. I do not require his permission for making new acquaintances.”
Harry backed off at once. “Certainly. I meant no offense. I’ll just have Luna
escort you there. We were going to meet tonight—on the seventh floor.”
===============================================================================
Despite her present frustrations with Tom, Hermione was not inclined to punish
him by withholding affection from him. She cared about him, she was attracted
to him, and then too, suddenly revoking intimacy from him would likely just
alienate him. Besides, she thought, marriage—official marriage—to him was in
her future.
That evening, when they were alone in their private nook, she noticed something
new on the top clasp of his robes when she reached for it to remove them.
“What’s this?” she asked, interested, gently touching the smooth black enameled
medallion. It was inscribed with a green knot with three lobes and a circle,
outlined delicately in silver.
Tom self-consciously covered it with his right hand. “It’s a Celtic Triquetra,”
he said.
“Oh,” she remarked. “It’s very pretty. I have not seen this before on your
robe.”
“I just made it today,” he said with a broad smile.
Hermione gently pulled his hand away to study it further. “Don’t be ashamed.
This is good work.” She returned his smile as she opened his robe and slipped
it from his shoulders.
After they were finished, entwined together on the transfigured mattress,
Hermione felt that she could not be annoyed with him over anything. Judging
from the contented look on his face, she guessed that he felt that same way—not
that he had any reason to be annoyed with her over her defense of Daphne
Greengrass. Worried, perhaps, because Adelaide Lestrange wasa vindictive
person, but not annoyed.
He separated from her and began to put his robes back on. “I should go,” he
said. “I need to meet with my allies soon.”
With that, the pleasant serenity of the previous moment was shattered. Hermione
eyed him as she reached for her own robes. “You promised me that you would tell
me what you discuss with your ‘allies’ when we were alone. We are now.”
He sighed. “Hermione, I’ve said that we talk about the legend of Slytherin….”
“And the legend of Arthur?”
He scowled. “Arthur was a pawn, but yes.”
“And in what contextdo you discuss these things?” she asked, fastening her
robe. “Studies of magical history? Is it an academic group, Tom—or something
else?”
His scowl deepened. “Perhaps it’s both. I fully realize that I cannot ‘do
anything’ just yet, Hermione. It isimportant to have all the facts, to have a
good understanding, first….”
She felt slightly relieved. “So you are taking this slowly. That makes me feel
better. Just please, Tom, be careful. Make certain that you can trust these
wizards.”
“I looked into their thoughts and made them take a magical oath,” he boasted
smugly. “They are loyal. This needs to happen, Hermione. There have been
several noble families, it seems, that have opposed the Wizards’ Council, but
they haven’t been able to join forces. They needed a leader.”
“Be careful,” she repeated, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
They got to their feet and walked to the door. Before they left the room, he
turned to face her. “I am careful,” he said, a lopsided smirk-like smile on his
face, but tenderness in his dark eyes. “After this morning, you should take
your own advice, my dear.”
===============================================================================
Luna Lovegood brought Hermione to the seventh floor. Hermione felt self-
conscious and hoped that it was not blatantly obvious to the others what she
had just been doing an hour ago. It certainly wasn’t obvious to Luna, but then,
this girl was a bit odd, Hermione thought.
“We are going to meet in the Come-and-Go Room,” she said in her ethereal voice.
“Harry found it, but he says that his father and godfather told him about it.”
“That’s the room that appears when someone needs it?” Hermione asked.
Luna nodded firmly. “It must be very magical. The Founders must have all worked
on it. They were very talented witches and wizards.”
That seemed obvious to Hermione. She had no reply but a bland statement of
agreement. At last they reached the high floor. They passed down the corridor
until they reached the end, and then Luna mumbled something under her breath.
Hermione watched in interest as an outline of a door, and then the door itself,
appeared in the stone wall. Luna opened it and stepped inside with Hermione.
Harry was there, as was Neville Longbottom. A red-haired girl was also there.
There were also a boy and a girl who were wearing Hufflepuff regalia. They all
stood as she entered the room.
“Lady Hermione,” Harry said formally. Hermione smiled to herself; he usually
did not call her by her title, but obviously he wanted to make a positive
impression and show proper manners in front of these others. “You know Miss
Lovegood, of course, and Longbottom. I would also like to introduce Miss
Ginevra Weasley, Ernest Macmillan, and Miss Susan Bones. My friends, this is
Lady Hermione Granger.”
Hermione took a seat in one of the chairs that the room had apparently
conjured. Harry and Neville Longbottom were presiding, it would appear.
“I welcome all of you to the first meeting of the Friends of the Founders,”
Harry said, his voice somewhat nervous. “All the houses are represented, which
is as it should be.”
“Should it?” muttered the red-haired girl, Ginevra. Luna shot her a harsh look,
which took Hermione by surprise. She would not have guessed that the fairylike
girl had any acid in her.
“Yes, Miss Weasley, it should,” Longbottom said firmly. “They did not all
agree, but they would all be upset at what has happened to this school.
Whatever the school’s rules are, the High Master and professors should be the
people setting them.”
Harry continued. “Now, I am sure that we all know about the events in Godric’s
Hollow fourteen years ago. I am not calling for another,” he said at once when
a couple of faces grew alarmed. “But as you may know, Longbottom’s father is
going to be the next mayor of Hogsmeade Village, and, well, I will let him
explain.” With that awkward finish, Harry yielded the floor to Longbottom.
Longbottom was even more awkward than Harry, but he got his message across.
“Harry is right,” he said. “My parents have kept order in Hogsmeade and my
father is going to be the next mayor. Each generation of my family has refused
to swear to the Malfoys… and Lady Bellatrix Lestrange especially hates my
parents.”
Hermione’s full attention was on him. A suspicion had suddenly entered her
mind.
“Tell them why,” Harry urged.
Longbottom took a deep breath. “My great-grandfather Longbottom married one of
the Blacks. I’m sure all of you know how those three families—the Malfoys, the
Lestranges, and the Blacks, I mean—are interrelated now. Lady Lestrange was
certain that my family obtained family secrets of the Blacks through that
marriage, and you know she was born a Black… and so she cursed my parents to
try to learn what they were.”
“Cursed them?” Hermione asked softly, almost to herself, but Longbottom heard.
“Lady Hermione, have you wondered why I am an only child?” he asked darkly.
Hermione looked up, horrified. She had not. It had not crossed her mind. She
herself was, of course, and she had known that the reason in her case had been
her parents’ fertility difficulties.
“So… my father is going to align Hogsmeade Village even more closely with the
school,” Longbottom continued. “They already have food agreements, of course,
but my father is likely to swear openly to High Master Dumbledore as lord.”
“To the Wizards’ Council, that is a provocation,” Hermione observed. Longbottom
nodded. “High Master Dumbledore, then—he is with this? He is your ally too?”
Harry and Neville suddenly looked very cagey indeed. “We considered using his
name in the name of our group, but decided against it because he has not
publicly taken a side himself,” Harry said, “but yes.”
At the end of the meeting, they asked all the attendees to sign a list.
Hermione hesitated; for all her bluster about not requiring Tom’s permission,
she did not really like going behind his back and pledging loyalty to anyone.
“To what exactly are we signing?” she asked.
“That you won’t tell any of Malfoy’s friends about us,” Harry explained. He
gave her a meaningful look. “Riddle obviously isn’t Malfoy’s friend. I would
not ask you to keep this from him. It would be inappropriate.”
It was blatantly obvious to her that the parchment bore a hex, but she did dip
the quill in ink and affix her name to the document. The person behind her was
Ginevra Weasley, who was staring at her with deep suspicion.
Hermione attempted to be polite as Ginevra signed the document. “I have not had
the pleasure of meeting any of your family until now,” she said.
The red-haired witch peered at Hermione. “That should not surprise you, my
lady. My brothers don’t associate with Slytherins.”
Hermione was affronted but tried not to let it show. “Well, they are missing
out on knowing a quarter of the school, then. But obviously you do not share
that objection.”
Ginevra considered. “Potter isn’t so bad,” she admitted. “Luna is my friend,
and she likes him, so I decided to give him a chance. And you’re Muggle-born,
so I suppose you’re different too.”
This was not a ringing endorsement, but Hermione took it for what it was worth.
“Luna likeshim?” she repeated. Before her, Harry was flushing deep red.
“Right, then,” Harry said awkwardly.
“I don’t suppose that your fiancé is interested in meeting with us,” Ginevra
said to Hermione.
She considered that for a moment but shook her head. “Not now. I could try to
talk to him about it, of course.”
“He has friends of his own,” Ginevra said shrewdly. “I saw the division in
Slytherin House.”
At this point, Luna Lovegood joined them at the front of the room. Hermione
noticed that she instantly moved to Harry’s side. It was not possessive,
exactly—at least, not in the jealous way that she was accustomed to
experiencing from Tom—but rather matter-of-fact. She also remembered Ginevra’s
cynical question about the houses, obviously a swipe at Slytherin, and thereby
at Harry.
“We’re so glad you could be here,” Luna said sincerely, her eyes wide.
“I was happy to come,” Hermione replied. Something occurred to her, something
that she meant to ask Longbottom before she left. It probably needed to be done
in private. At the moment, the Hufflepuffs were clustering around Longbottom on
the other side of the room.
“I would like to have a word with him at the end,” she said in a low voice to
Harry. He nodded.
Once the room was finally cleared of everyone except Hermione, Harry, Neville,
and—waiting by the door to escort her back to the dungeons—Luna, she approached
Neville.
“Were your parents the ones who told Professor Dumbledore that Lady Lestrange
tried to assassinate me?” she asked him baldly.
He looked nervous, but rallied himself at once. “Yes,” he said quietly. “They
saw her face. You understand why they wanted to be anonymous.”
“Absolutely,” she assured him. “I am sorry for what she must have done to them.
I understand completely.”
“Please don’t tell anyone else—except Lord Riddle, I suppose,” he amended.
“I won’t.”
===============================================================================
Hermione did not see Tom or any of his friends in the common room that evening
after Luna brought her back. She hovered near Harry, reading silently—or
attempting to. Several of the othergroup of Slytherins, including Adelaide
Lestrange, recently released from the Healer’s ward, were giving her menacing
looks. She did not like it. Her fear level increased as the evening advanced,
ever so slowly. She wanted Tom and his friends to return. She and Harry were
badly outnumbered without them. Even the other Slytherin girls, the
Greengrasses and Millicent Bulstrode, had gone to their rooms. Hermione was
tempted to do so herself if not for the fact that she wanted to tell Tom about
what she had learned.
Finally—finally—the door creaked open, and Tom filed inside with his friends.
Hermione noticed at once that they were all wearing Celtic Triquetras near
their necklines. Tom’s was vivid green, outlined in silver, on a black
background while the rest of the boys wore more muted green on dark grey, but
it was definitely the same symbol. Adelaide Lestrange sneered at them as they
entered the common room.
Hermione rose from her seat and greeted him. “I need to tell you something,”
she said. “Privately.”
He glanced quickly at Lestrange before nodding and ushering her outside.
“Neville Longbottom’s parents were the ones who identified hermother that day,”
she said almost in a whisper. “Apparently Lady Lestrange had cursed them
violently years before, believing that they possessed Black family secrets.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “I have not thought much about who the informers might have
been, but it doesn’t entirely surprise me. I didn’t know she had done that to
them, though.”
“Yes, well, I met with several of their friends from other Houses of Hogwarts.
He thinks his father is going to swear fealty to High Master Dumbledore as his
actual lord once he becomes mayor of the village. That will be quite a
challenge to the Malfoys.”
Tom considered this. “Yes, it certainly will.” Hunger appeared in his eyes. “As
long as Potter doesn’t ask you to do anything… disloyal… I’d like you to
continue to go to these meetings and report back to me what happens, just like
this.”
Hermione felt as if he had thrown cold water over her head. “Disloyal?” she
exclaimed. “Tom! After all this, you don’t trust me?”
“I trust you!” he exclaimed at once, pulling her close. His voice sounded
sincere, she noted.
“But you don’t trust them,” she concluded.
He was silent for a moment. “I don’t know what their agenda really is. I can’t
believe it is only about Hogwarts, and what you have told me does not change my
mind.”
“Their agenda could be compatible with yours.”
“That’s why I would like you to find out what they are up to,” he said. He
glanced around the corridor quickly to make sure they were alone, then kissed
her on the cheek. “I trust you, Hermione. I trust Potter, more or less. I don’t
even knowthe rest of them, though.”
“You could come to their meetings—”
“No, I couldn’t,” he said at once. “I have allies of my own, and we own the
fact that we are not just interested in policies of Hogwarts. I don’t think
Potter’s friends are being honest. How could anyone not want power?” He kissed
her again. “It’s all right, Hermione.”
She really, really hoped that it was.
===============================================================================
The following day passed uneventfully. Adelaide Lestrange and her pack of girls
kept giving Hermione, Tom, and Harry sinister looks, but they did not do
anything overly threatening. Through the whole day, Hermione’s anxiety level
rose, as she wondered what they were waiting to do and when they would do it.
That evening, High Master Dumbledore himself stood before the dinner tables in
the Great Hall to make an announcement. His face was grim and unhappy as he
spoke.
“I have been ordered by the high wizarding lords of England, Scotland, and
Wales to inform you of new laws affecting our people,” he said, sadness in his
words.
Tom had been interested in his dinner, but with this comment, his full
attention transferred to Dumbledore. Apprehension filled his handsome face.
“First, the wearing of Celtic or Anglo-Saxon symbols is hereby prohibited
anywhere on school grounds, or public places, or in a position of authority as
a lord or lady of Wizarding Britain, for those of noble birth,” he said.
Tom’s eyes widened in shock—and then rage.
“Second, I am obliged to tell you that the high lords have instated—in their
words—‘firm laws establishing authority’ and that after New Year’s Day, all
commands and orders from a member of the Wizards’ Council carry the same force
as the text of the Codex of Wizarding Law. That is all.” Dumbledore rolled up
his scroll and took his seat grimly.
Hermione turned to Tom with horror. “They told! She told her parents—”
Tom was fingering the medallion on his robes. “It won’t stand,” he said, his
words dark and threatening.
***** Mounting Tensions *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi guys, thank you for the well-wishes last week! I am indeed feeling
     better. And with this chapter, we see some repercussions of the bomb
     dropped last chapter, as well as a major plot reveal. There is also
     another semi-explicit Tom/Hermione scene. Enjoy!
Tom Riddle strode into the Slytherin common room the next morning to wait for
Hermione, so that they could walk to the breakfast table together. He rather
hoped that Malfoy or Lestrange—or any of their friends—would be present, but
the common room was deserted.
In a moment, Hermione appeared at the threshold of the girls’ dormitory area.
She scanned the common room. Her eyes widened when she saw Tom standing smugly
in the center of the room.
“You mean to defy them outright?” she asked quietly, her eyes still wide as
plates, as they linked arms.
He smirked at her and began to walk toward the door with her. “Armand Malfoy’s
decree said ‘Celtic or Anglo-Saxon symbols,’” he said. He raised his other arm,
allowing the dark green silk with pewter-grey Celtic knotwork embroidery to
shimmer. “This is just a decoration. It does not symbolize anything.”
“They could just amend the decree,” she said as they exited the common room.
“Amend the decree to say what?” he said. “If they ban wearing anything
depicting Celtic art, I will just carry something with it that is not an
article of clothing. If they say that all forms of art and craft associated
with Celtic culture are banned, that would mean the destruction of a great many
books of magic, too, that happen to have Celtic knot borders, or Celtic-styled
decorative letters, illuminating the pages.”
“That is true, but three members of the Wizards’ Council—or all of them—did
decide to empower themselves that way.” She scowled. “At least before, any
change to the law required a majority of the Council, even if there are only
four wizards on it.”
Tom continued to smirk. “They have overreached, I think. This means that if
Black, for instance, wants something different to what the rest of the Council
wants—or any of them, for that matter—they will just unleash chaos among
themselves with competing decrees.”
Hermione frowned. “Are you sure? I thought it meant that Armand Malfoy alone
now has unchallenged power over the entire wizarding community of Britain.
Since any member of the Wizards’ Council can make law without the approval of
two others, legal authority in a conflict reverts to noble rank—and he has the
highest.”
Tom stopped cold in the hallway. He gazed at Hermione, surprise and disgust
spreading over his face. “You’re right,” he said abruptly. “I did not even
think of that, but you are right. He just made himself a king without a crown.”
Tom’s handsome face seethed at this revelation. “And what blood right does he
have to this country’s throne? None.”
Hermione instantly knew where Tom’s thoughts had led—his own descent from the
line of Arthur—and she acted to distract him from blurting something in the
hall that would be very dangerous if the wrong people overheard. “It’s possible
that he still overreached,” she said. “Lord Black and Lord Abraxas Malfoy—and I
think Lord Lestrange too—were not violently against my admission at Hogwarts.
They may disagree with Lord Malfoy over other matters, too. They obviously
approved this new law very quickly, and I doubt they thought much about how it
would restrict their own power.”
Tom gazed darkly ahead. “That is very… hopeful of you,” he said.
“Let’s see what comes of it,” she urged. They were before the grand doors to
the Great Hall, so he nodded silently and pushed them open.
As he ate breakfast, Tom pretended not to notice the impressed and fearful
looks that several people were giving him—a couple of his own Lords of Beltane,
Harry Potter, Professor Slughorn at the head table—but he was acutely aware of
the interest that his defiance garnered.
Finally Adelaide Lestrange spoke, her voice low and malicious.
“You are a criminal, Riddle.”
Tom set down his spoon and gazed evenly at her. “How so, my ‘lady’?” His
sarcasm on the final word was heavy.
“You know exactly how. Those robes are illegal.”
“No, they are not,” he said, smirking. “The Wizards’ Council banned symbols.
This embroidery is merely decorative.”
“Decorative?”
“Yes, decorative. Tell me, if you think it is a symbol, then what does it
symbolize?”
“It is symbolic of your primitive ancestors!” she snarled. “It symbolizes your
dead culture! You wear something created by people who were defeated by the
Romans, and then by several waves of barbarian tribes even before my family
came. They were ground into the dirt they ate!”
Tom leaned forward, his face white with anger. “My lady mother ordered these
robes sewn for me because they are opulent and the decoration is appealing. To
her, it symbolizes noble status.”
“I do not believe that. Your mother is of the same blood. They symbolize your
dead culture,” she repeated, apparently enamored of that phrase as an insult.
He pulled a book from his satchel and opened it to a page with similar
decorations adorning the pages. “Is that what it symbolizes on these pages?” he
hissed. “Is that what it symbolizes on tapestries in this school? What about
all the magical artifacts that have this sort of decoration? Are you going to
insist on destroying everything that contains something resembling Celtic art?”
Adelaide sneered back at him. “I see that you are just like your mother in that
you try to exploit the laws that your superiors created, defying the spirit
while adhering to the letter. Your filthy Mudblood should not be here either.
She should be with dirty Muggles where she belongs. I suppose it does make
sense for her to be given to you, since you also have impure blood, but she
does not belong here.”
“Violent usurpers are never ‘superiors,’” Tom said, his voice so low that only
Hermione and Adelaide could hear.
Adelaide’s race turned as red as a beet. “How dareyou?” she seethed. She drew
her wand at pointed it across the table at him. “You had better watch yourself
before you speak treason.”
“Wands away,” High Master Dumbledore announced, his voice amplified by magic.
He was staring directly at the Slytherin table. “No duels over meals.”
Adelaide gave Tom another hate-filled sneer before putting her wand up. Tom’s
gaze did not leave her face for the rest of breakfast.
===============================================================================
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
Abraxas Malfoy rubbed his forehead. “Elf,” he commanded.
The Malfoys’ principal house-elf, Dobby, appeared, looking worn down and
resentful to a more observant eye—but Abraxas did not notice the feelings or
opinions of those beneath him. “What can Dobby do for Master Abraxas?” the elf
croaked, a gleam of anger in his wide eyes.
“Bring me a bottle of wine,” Abraxas commanded, “and a goblet. A pair of
goblets,” he amended, “in case my lord father desires some too.”
Armand Malfoy was raging in anger. “What I desire is a tonic!”
“Father,” Abraxas soothed, “the source is not ready for harvest yet. The wine
will be good for you.” He turned to look at the elf, who was still present in
the room. “What are you still doing here? Get to it, elf!”
With a glare of loathing, Dobby disappeared. He returned in a minute with the
requested bottle of wine, a decanter, and two silver goblets with the Malfoy
coat of arms.
“This came from across the way,” Abraxas said to his father as Dobby poured the
wine for them. “Always a good way to remember the old country.”
The two wizards accepted their goblets without a word of thanks.
“It has been many years since you visited,” Armand Malfoy said, taking a sip.
“In fact….”
“Yes, I have not been there since my lady wife’s funeral,” he said. “Are you
feeling better now, Father?”
Armand took another sip, which dribbled down his chin like a trickle of blood.
Abraxas averted his eyes. “I am calmer,” Armand admitted, “but this just means
I can think more clearly. I want the head of the Riddle half-blood.”
Abraxas stared at his father in appalled astonishment. That did not, in his
opinion, qualify as a clear-minded response. “Father, that’s a terrible idea,
with all respect.”
“I can order it now, and who could contest me?”
“Father,” Abraxas said patiently, “ordering the execution of a fourteen-year-
old boy for wearing certain robes will result in a mass uprising. You must
realize that.”
Armand smiled malevolently. “We have authority. If they try to revolt, we will
put them down just as Lucius put down the peasants in Godric’s Hollow.”
“Father, I don’t think it will be that easy. You will recall, too, that Lucius
was only able to have two of the rebels executed. The rest escaped. If you
order Riddle’s execution, he and the Mudblood will just Disapparate to his
mother’s castle and stay safe behind those impregnable walls, probably offering
support and shelter to anyone who joins with them.”
“He violated the law.”
“Technically, my lord father, he did not. As Draco writes, he declared that the
embroidery on his robes does not symbolize anything specific, and asserts that
similar decorative art appears on a wide variety of books and artifacts that
are of great importance to wizarding people in this country.”
Armand glowered into his cup. “This is a pattern of defiance,” he finally said.
“The boy’s mother, and now the boy.”
“That is very true, but I think it would be a grave mistake to call for his
punishment.”
Armand considered further. “I need to do something to assert my authority.
Perhaps I should amend the law to state that no Mudbloods may ever attend
Hogwarts under any circumstances.”
“That would also incite an uprising, I fear. Apparently the Granger Mudblood is
very intelligent and has friends at Hogwarts who are tied to Godric’s Hollow.
Besides, if she were expelled from school, Lady Riddle would simply marry her
to her son at once. Whether we like it or not, she is part of the magical
aristocracy now.”
“What do you suggest, then?” Armand snarled.
Abraxas considered. “I suggest reducing their power through other means. We
need to put pressure on Caractacus Burke to marry Lady Riddle.”
Armand thought about that, nodding. “Yes. I could order him—”
Abraxas closed his eyes. He hated to think it, but he was growing increasingly
convinced that his father’s frequent doses of “tonic” were damaging his mind.
“Father, the idea is to create a true ally. He is currently loyal to Lord
Black, not specifically to us.”
“You think that Lord Black intends to usurp us?”
“No!” Abraxas exclaimed. “I mean that Burkeregards himself as a vassal of Lord
Black. He is related to the Black family, not us. He needs a reason to wantto
marry Lady Riddle. Right now, he sees it, correctly, as giving up being master
of his own house to be a powerless consort.”
Armand thought about it. “So I could institute a male primacy law. The
Muggleshave one such,” he said with a scowl, “but in this case, it would be to
achieve an objective for wizarding blood purity. Their children would be
pureblood.”
Abraxas nodded. “It would need to be a law that applied only to future
marriages, of course, since there are several fiefs that are held by witches
who are our allies.”
Armand agreed and took a final sip of his wine, draining the goblet. “Yes. That
is what I will do, then.”
“Do make sure that it isn’t written in a way that would make Lord Thomas the
Baron of Hangleton immediately, instead of his mother’s husband.”
“Yes,” Armand agreed. He turned to Dobby, who had not left the room. “Here,
elf,” he commanded. “Wash these.”
===============================================================================
Dobby the house-elf seethed in anger in the kitchens of Malfoy Manor. He hated
his masters, and every time he did what he was about to do, he had to punish
himself for it—but it would be worth it someday, he hoped.
He was also pleased that Lord Abraxas believed that the evil potion his father
drank was causing his mind to become addled. In truth, Dobby was slipping other
potions into Lord Malfoy’s cups at dinner, and if either of his masters ever
guessed that and demanded to know, he would have no choice but to confess the
truth. Such was the wicked magic of a house-elf’s enslavement. He would be
killed—but still, even death was better than this.
Still, if there was a chance that Dobby’s activities could result in change,
then he was willing to risk death. Taking a deep breath, he Disapparated to the
one place that both he and his friend Kreacher were allowed to visit, the house
of Lucius Malfoy—and Narcissa Black Malfoy.
Kreacher, the house-elf of Lord Regulus Black, was awaiting him in the basement
of Lord Lucius’s castle in Godric’s Hollow. The wizened old elf croaked his
greeting as the spry young Dobby appeared to give his report.
===============================================================================
Tom sat next to Hermione in the common room, reading with her. His snake
Dunlaith was coiled around one wrist, and Hermione’s cat Crookshanks purred
behind the book that she was holding upright to read. It was a pleasant,
domestic scene, Tom thought with satisfaction. He rather desired Hermione right
now, but they would need to wait until after dinner.
“Do you own any robes with knotwork?” he asked in a low voice, inaudible to
anyone else.
Hermione glanced at him. “No.”
“You should. You are half English, which means that you’re almost certainly
part Celt. I can order some made for you. They would be ready by Yule or
Christmas.”
“Tom,” she said quietly, “you really need to be careful.”
He sighed. “I am very careful. Have you seen any retaliation? I am sure that
Malfoy wrote to his disgusting family about it, but they have not amended their
law. I’m quite certain it is because they realize what kind of outrage there
would be among their subjectsif they tried to destroy everything containing
Celtic imagery.” He snarled the word “subjects” with distaste.
“They will not just give up, though. They know that if you continue to wear
Celtic designs openly, you will be considered the ‘victor.’ They must be
planning something else.”
Tom considered that. “They likely are,” he admitted, “but we don’t know what it
may be. In the meantime, you need to join me in this. And”—he leaned over,
whispering in her ear—“I want to see you wearing these designs.” His voice was
low and sultry.
Hermione flushed faintly. That was certainly a persuasive argument.
===============================================================================
After dinner, they escaped to their private room, both of them eager for each
other. Hermione slipped out of her robes quickly, but not quite quickly enough
for him. He reached for her waist, her underdress hanging loosely on her, and
divested her of the garment with a flourish. She clung to him, arms wrapping
around his shoulders, as he lowered her to the floor and began to plant kisses
up and down her torso.
“I want you,” he growled against the side of her neck.
Her eyelids fluttered closed at these words. A heated breath escaped her. “Then
take me,” she said.
She was very certain that he was going to, but instead he hesitated for a
moment. “There is something….”
“What is it?” At that moment she would do anything he asked if he would give
her the relief she sought.
He paused again. “I want you to call me ‘my lord.’”
Her brown eyes widened. “Tom—”
He pushed her against the mattress, peering down at her from an angle, no
longer touching her above the waist except for his palms on her shoulders.
“No.”
She was not sure what this meant—if his ambitions had given him the idea, or if
he simply enjoyed the title that he already had—but she did want him. Her core
ached for him. “My lord,” she murmured. “Please.”
His eyes gleamed, and that smirk that she knew so well appeared on his handsome
face. “Certainly.” In the next moment, he was inside her. Her eyelids closed
again in bliss.
They moved in the now-familiar dance, caressing each other’s body in time with
their movements, each touch heightened, gasping and quickly finding mutual
release with each other. Tom collapsed on top of her afterward, breathing
heavily as he kissed her mouth with leisurely abandon.
“I can hardly wait until we can do this every day and night without having to
hide,” he murmured. He reached for her left hand and fondled it, giving special
attention to her ring finger and the object on it.
“This is quite a change from the beginning of our relationship,” she teased.
He smirked. “I can acknowledge now that my mother guessed well. You would have
been my own choice too.” He kissed her again.
“Even though I don’t have wholly English blood?” she said, still teasingly.
Tom sat upright, the smile vanished from his face. He wrapped his arms around
his bent knees and gazed outward, away from her.
Hermione suddenly felt cold. “Tom?” she asked.
He turned toward her, and the smile was on his face again. “Even so,” he said.
“Your paternal grandfather waspurely English… and which relative was it on your
mother’s side?”
“My grandmother,” she said quietly.
He was gazing at her. “I know what happened with your father’s family—your
grandfather’s marriage to the Norman noblewoman to secure the family fief back
from the usurper lord—but what happened with your mother’s?”
“I have never told you?”
“I have never asked,” he admitted, somewhat embarrassed.
“Well,” she said, “it was not as interesting. My grandmother was the daughter
of a knight. When the Normans came, her father was ordered into the service of
the new lord. She ended up marrying a Norman knight in service to the same
lord. They were granted a manor house… and their twin daughters married my
father and my uncle.”
“So this side of your family aligned with the Normans,” he said.
Hermione was suddenly unnerved. “Tom, my great-grandfather on that side was
ordered. The lord at least saw the value of having knights in his service who
were from this country… and my noble Norman great-grandfather, on my father’s
side, let an Englishman marryhis daughter.”
Tom was silent for another moment before finally replying. “They survived,” he
said. “Both sides of your family did what was necessary to survive and to
either regain what was theirs or to advance themselves.”
“Yes,” she agreed. She moved closer to him, pulling her outer robe loosely over
her body. “They did what was necessary. So did your Gaunt ancestors… and I
would guess your Riddle ones too, since your father was a knight.” She rather
hoped he would take the point and stop trying to provoke trouble from the
Malfoys….
“Hermione,” he said, turning to face her once again, “there is something I need
to tell you.”
The moment of hope was gone. He looked terribly grave, and she braced herself.
“My friends… my allies… do not approve of you.”
She drew back. “Oh, do they not?” she retorted. “Then in that case, Tom, I
think you should explain to them that it is not their decision about what
becomes of us.”
“They understand that,” he said. “They either have, or expect arranged
betrothals of their own. They know about it. They do not blame me.”
“Blameyou?” she exclaimed. “As if being engaged to me is wrongdoing?”
“That is not what I mean!” he said at once. “I should not have said it that
way. I just mean… they know it isn’t my fault.”
Hermione rose to her feet and reached for the rest of her clothing. The feeling
of intimacy was entirely gone. “Tom,” she said icily, “I think that you should
say whatever it is that you are trying to say, and without words like ‘blame’
or ‘fault’ if that is possible.”
He scowled. “You knowwhat I mean. But very well—they understand about noble
betrothals, and they do not know that we’re affectionate out of free choice.
And this is why I cannot have you at the meetings with them.”
“So it is not just that it’s a ‘group for wizards,’” she said. She pulled her
robes back on. “It’s also not a group for half-Norman Mudbloods.”
“Don’t call yourself—”
She gazed at him through narrowed eyes. “That is how they see me, is it not?”
He moved across the small room to where she stood and enveloped her in his
arms. “Hermione,” he murmured, cradling her head against his neck, “it is not
how I see you. I am doing what is necessary—just as your family did, and mine.
It won’t change anything between us. We will keep our affections private now,
and after we have a public wedding too. No one has to know except us.”
“And your mother.”
“Well… after the public wedding,” he acknowledged. “I doubt we could hide it
from her after we were openly living in the castle as a married couple, it’s
true. But it doesn’t seem typical for nobles to know about private affection in
other nobles’ marriages at all.”
“That is true in my experience,” she admitted. Tentatively she wrapped her arms
around his waist. “But please don’t let these ‘allies’ change the fact that you
care for me. Please.”
He kissed her. “I won’t.”
They remained in their embrace for a while before finally separating. They
finished getting dressed and tidying themselves. Before they left the little
room, Tom gazed thoughtfully at the rug on the floor, dark blue with Celtic
patterns. Then he strode to it and flicked his wand, causing the rug to roll
up. He cleaned it and picked it up.
Hermione stared at him in surprise. “Tom, what are you doing?”
“No one else seems to use this room, but when we are not inside it, it isopen
to anyone in the school,” he said. “Someone might come in and decide to destroy
it.”
“You are just going to… steal… the rug from Hogwarts?”
“I am protecting it from being destroyed or defaced,” he said defensively,
foisting it over his shoulder. “It will be in my private bedchamber. It won’t
leave the castle.”
She considered for a moment before nodding.
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
Severus Snape stood on the balcony overlooking the inner courtyard. Next to him
stood his liege, Lady Riddle.
“You are quite certain of this?” she asked, not looking at him.
“The little source heard it personally.”
She sighed. “I will not marry Caractacus Burke, you realize. I certainly will
not surrender authority in my own castle and fief to him.”
“Of course not.” He wanted so badly to speak, but it was not the right time.
That he could tell.
She turned to face him, skirts swishing in the chilly air. “Because the grant
of divorce states that I abandoned Sir Thomas, I cannot remarry so long as he
is alive.”
Severus’s words were bitter with disappointment. “My lady, he is a Muggle. It
would be no trouble at all for the Malfoys to murder him.”
“I will go to his home and cast a ward of protection over it. It will prevent
them from even entering the grounds, or anyone magical except my own blood.”
Severus swallowed. “My lady, there is an alternative. We could modify the
Muggle records to show it as an annulment instead of a divorce, and then you
and I could—”
“I will not break an oath, risking grave magical consequences, and delegitimize
my son,” she said firmly. “I regret this, Severus—but please try to
understand.” She sighed again. “Muggles do not always live long. If he should
die a natural death any time soon, then we can have this discussion again. But
for now, this is what must happen.”
Severus did not like it, but he did understand. He nodded and left her to her
thoughts.
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
Winter intermission for Yule and Christmas was approaching rapidly, and with
the chill of the air came a chill throughout the school over the Wizards’
Council edict, especially in Slytherin House.
Tom’s Lords of Beltane now sat with him at meals. Hermione always sat on his
other side, and next to her sat Harry, but the “Lords” tended to treat both of
them as if they did not exist. Apparently, given the alternative of verbal
disdain that Tom had implied, that was preferable, but Hermione did not
especially like the fact that her fiancé’s allies so obviously disliked her.
Their disapproval was never more obvious than it was at the leaving feast the
night before the pupils were going to go to their homes for the two holidays.
Tom conversed with Fawley with an air of arrogance, and whenever she asked him
anything, he would turn to her with an air of tolerant coolness that made her
heart hurt every time even though she told herself that it was just an act.
Even if he does think he needs allies, she thought, sipping her spiced cider,
he should make them accept me! We are betrothed. According to his reckoning,
and his interest in the ancient ways, we are married. I have given myself to
him! I deserve more than this. Her face grew hot and tears threatened to fall
as she bent her head and shoveled food down her throat. Her bushy hair hid her
face, which relieved her.
Harry seemed to notice that she was distressed. He gave her a sympathetic
glance, to which she returned a shaky smile.
On the other side of the table, Draco Malfoy, Adelaide Lestrange, and their
friends glared at their adversaries across the tabletop and muttered amongst
themselves. As soon as she was able to feel confident about looking up,
Hermione stole a glance in their direction. Her eyes widened momentarily at the
sight of Malfoy staring at Astoria Greengrass.
I can hardly blame him, she thought, but this cannot end well. He is to marry
Lestrange, and Daphne obviously hates the idea of him looking at her younger
sister. Still, I wonder what she would think of it if the betrothal with
Lestrange were called off… it might be a chance to subvert the Malfoys….
Hermione returned to her food at once. It would not do any good to speculate
about things that were not in her power to change. Her thoughts turned instead
to the imminent holidays, and the chance to be with Tom in his own family
castle, away from these wizards whom he felt he had to impress by being cold to
her in public. The ghost of a smile formed on her face at that. Yes, tomorrow
would be a better day than today was.
===============================================================================
Merope’s house-elves were waiting for Tom and Hermione the next morning when
they carried the items that they were bringing home into the courtyard. Tom’s
snake was enclosed in a large jar, which was covered with cloth and warmed with
a spell to protect the snake from the cold temperatures of winter. Hermione
held Crookshanks herself, and the large fluffy cat was quite content in her
arms. The two elves stepped forward and reached for the young couple,
Disapparating them to the castle grounds.
Once she had greeted Merope and settled into her bedchamber, Hermione went to
the Gaunt library. She was not particularly surprised when she saw that Tom was
already there.
He smiled at her as she approached, and it warmed her to the core to see that
it was a genuine smile. It appeared that she was correct, and he would indeed
be openly kind to her when those boys were not present.
He drew her knuckles to his lips in greeting. “I have found something
marvelous,” he said.
She tried to see what he was reading. “Oh?”
He held up the book, titled The Book of Morgana. “I was not allowed to read
this before,” he said. “Mother had hexed it, but I guess she lifted the hex
from this one.”
Hermione suppressed a frown at the title of the book. “What have you
discovered?” she asked, trying to appear sincerely interested.
“Well, this purports to be a transcription of Morgana le Fay’s own… diary, I
suppose,” he said. “If that is true, then she was definitely married to Arthur
by the old ritual, and she also asserts that her son Mordred was not, as he was
commonly claimed to be in later sources, a deformed cripple.”
“Oh,” Hermione said. “That is certainly interesting about him… and the part
about the ritual confirms what you suspected, I suppose.”
He gave her a querying look. “Yes, it does. She says—again, if this really is
what she wrote—that ‘Queen’ Guinevere called Mordred that, because she was
angry that she could not bear Arthur any children, and because she considered
magic an abnormality—an abomination, in fact. So she lied about the nature of
Mordred’s ‘deformity’ and claimed it was because Arthur and Morgana were half-
siblings.” Tom scowled. “I wonder if that is why she slept with Lancelot,
because she wanted to have an heir and did not much care if it was a fraud. Too
bad for her.”
Hermione did not comment on that. “Of course, this is all Lady Morgana’s point
of view.”
“Yes… but she was a witch.”
Hermione also decided not to pick a fight with him over that assertion, but it
troubled her that Tom would automatically regard the word of a magical person
as more credible than that of a Muggle. “So this is what is marvelous?” she
asked. “The fact that Mordred was of sound body?”
“Well, I actually meant something else,” he said with a smirk. “She wrote that
she believed Merlin dabbled in black magic involving time.”
“Time?” Hermione repeated, her eyes as wide as saucers.
Tom nodded smugly. “If that’s true, then hewas the one whose brain was probably
addled. Even if it is not, he definitely enabled a Muggle warlord to rape a
witch, and he turned a father against his son because that son was a wizard. If
this claim is true, then he was a hypocrite, too, using dangerous magic
himself—and manipulating kings—but not wanting anyone else with magic to have
power. Merlin was the first great blood-traitor, and it is a disgrace that so
many of our people almost worship him.”
Hermione gently reached for the book. “Tom, I have read about the legend of
King Arthur too, and it does seem that Merlin helped Uther Pendragon realize
his vile desire… but the rest of it is Morgana’s own perspective.”
“I believe her perspective,” he said. His tone of voice indicated that the
subject was closed.
Hermione decided not to argue. In the absence of a definitive authority, it
wasa good idea to know of multiple perspectives, and it was just possible that
Morgana le Fay’s claims—if the book that Tom held was a faithful transcription
of her thoughts—had some validity to them as well as the histories that
Hermione already knew. She took Tom’s hand in her own and squeezed it.
===============================================================================
That evening, Hermione tiptoed into Tom’s bedroom, her heart thumping with
anticipation. The last time she had been here, they had merely slept in the
same bed. She knew that more was going to happen, and the idea was very
exciting to her—an early opportunity to enjoy her future marriage bed.
Tom seemed to be expecting her. His sleep robes were open and he was reading
that same book in bed. When she entered the room, he closed the tome and set it
aside.
“I thought you would want to do this,” he said as she boldly climbed on the
mattress.
She flashed him a grin. “It is not exactly a difficult thing to guess.”
He gripped her waist possessively and leaned close to her, his eyes intense and
dark. “I would have come to your room for you if you had not.”
His words sent a jolt down her spine. She pressed close to him, wrapping her
legs around his waist as her sleep robes rode up her thighs. He leaned in and
nipped her on the side of her neck as he pressed her into his mattress.
After they were finished, and their breathing had returned to normal, she
shifted and made to climb down from the bed.
“Stay,” he murmured.
She halted. He was asking this. He had been so nervous about this over the
summer, when all they had done was spend the night together, but now he wanted
her to sleep next to him after they would notbe able to claim that their
affections were innocent. Warmth and relief filled her. He did choose her. His
behavior before his “friends” was the political front that he had claimed it
was. With a smile on her face, she curled against him and soon fell asleep.
***** Oathbreaking *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi guys, thank you once again for your interest and support! I am
     especially grateful at the moment because this story is about to take
     a turn. I'm afraid that most (though not all) of the innocently sweet
     parts are behind us, and this chapter is rather dark. Be warned.
Merope drew away from Tom’s bedchamber door without knocking. She was almost
certain that Hermione was inside—for where else could the young lady be, if not
in her own room or the library?—but if her guess was correct, she did not
really want to disturb and embarrass them. She stepped back and gazed out a
small diamond-paned window. The morning light streamed through, providing a bit
of illumination to the stone hall.
During the summer, Merope had caught Tom and Hermione embracing, huddling close
in private discussions, and kissing when they believed themselves to be
unobserved. It would not shock her a bit if they had progressed beyond that at
Hogwarts. With a final gaze at the closed door, Merope walked down the hallway
to the nearest staircase and began to descend, thinking.
Even now, she did not regret her marriage—it had given Merope her son—but she
did feel wistful while thinking of the happy young couple upstairs. This is how
it should have been for me, she thought. A good, appropriate match to a nice
wizard, who was already my friend. Years to become close, and the approval of
both our families. Not a desperate elopement with a Muggle, with a great lie at
the core, to escape the threat of rape and incest.
She sighed to herself as she reached the next level down. At least I could give
Tom that, she comforted herself. At least I knew my son well enough, and—more
relevantly—cared about his contentment in life, that I could correctly identify
a witch he would like.
She had heard nothing from Severus about Tom and Hermione’s probable behavior,
nor from any of her noble correspondents, which meant that they were discreet
enough at Hogwarts that none of their schoolmates knew. That meant they
certainly could not be using his bedchamber in the Slytherin dormitories.
Probably they had found a private room in a little-used part of the castle. A
part of Merope wished that they had restrained themselves for a couple more
years, but she supposed that Tom wasonly a few days away from 15. Young people
had hot blood, and this was far better than if he had ignored Hermione (except
for public displays of propriety) and sought out girls of lower status. That
does not seem to be that common at Hogwarts among the young lordlings, at
least, she thought. Perhaps they don’t want to behave in such ways with other
witches, even common-born witches—and perhaps the girls are worldly enough to
know that such flings cannot end well for them personally. But Muggle village
girls at their homes….
Merope shook her head. If there was one thing she knew for certain about Tom,
it was that he would not touch a Muggle. His open contempt for almost all of
them was actually a bit disconcerting to her. No—it was more than contempt.
Shehad a certain degree of disdain for them. It was probably inevitable that a
witch or wizard would have that. But with Tom, it was almost hatred, at least
for those with Norman blood. She had seen such hatred before, although with her
brother and father, it was for all Muggles and even most wizards. Nevertheless,
she was pleased that Tom and Hermione were so happy together. If anyone else
but me could influence him, it’s Hermione, she comforted herself.
Merope walked down the hall and passed by the potions laboratory, which
suddenly made her stop cold. I hope that Hermione is taking the potion to
prevent pregnancy, she thought worriedly. If she is not, she won’t be able to
stay at Hogwarts, which means she won’t be declared a master of any branch of
magic… which means she won’t be allowed to carry a wand in public. This is
important. She resolved to get her message to Tom and Hermione in some way
while minimizing embarrassment to them.
===============================================================================
Tom stretched and blinked awake. His dark eyes quickly adjusted to the beam of
sunlight that streamed through his window. His gaze shifted as he became aware
of the soft warm body curled next to him. A contented smile formed on his face…
and then he put the two sensory inputs together. His heart thumped in sudden
anxiety.
“Wake up!” he exclaimed, nudging Hermione hard.
She jolted in bed and her eyes popped open. “Tom? I—oh no! It’s morning!” The
realization was instantaneous. She threw the heavy cover back, revealing a
sleep robe that was open all the way down and bunched around her waist. She
quickly fastened it, covering herself as she stumbled out of his bed.
“No, don’t dart out,” he said, the plan forming in his mind as he spoke. “I
should go first. I will go to the little dining room and wait for breakfast. If
Mother is there, I’ll keep her distracted. Then you can come down separately.”
Hermione halted, considering. Tom watched as the tension seemed to evaporate
from her body, her frantic desperation dissipating. She nodded slowly and
walked back to his bed, sitting down on the mattress again. She faced out the
window for a bit, the sunlight catching her hair and making it shine like
bronze and amber—a veritable goddess of magic to him. Almost involuntarily, he
reached for her waist.
She turned in his arms to face him. “Not so urgent?” she said softly, wrapping
her arms around his neck.
“It’s a bad idea,” he agreed, kissing her as he lowered her onto the mattress,
“but….”
She laughed.
===============================================================================
At the breakfast table, Merope did not act as if she suspected anything. She
merely gave Tom and Hermione mild smiles as the elves served them. The young
people themselves were self-conscious, though. Hermione was certain that Tom’s
mother could see behind her brown eyes and divine her secret. Tom was wondering
if they had waited too long before making their separate exits from his
bedchamber. As a result, Merope was the one who had the most to say during the
meal.
“Lord Severus is going to be at the castle today,” she said, grimness suddenly
filling her voice. “He is going to bear witness to a document I must sign.”
That got Tom’s attention. “Must sign?” he repeated. “Mother, I hope this has
nothing to do with the Malfoys or the Wizards’ Council’s new laws.”
“It does not,” she said. Her tone was darker than Tom had ever heard from her
lips, and he fixed his gaze on her in interest. “The Carrows have sworn fealty
again to the Lestrange family, this time with the full knowledge that you and I
are alive. They formally repudiated their oaths to this family on Hallowe’en
night. There are many witnesses. They are traitors and oathbreakers, and the
document I am going to sign today is an execution order.”
Hermione and Tom both set down their cups and stared at her. Her eyes, usually
confident and steely in a maternal way, were full of a much colder steel now.
Hermione understood that nobles had to take a firm hand sometimes, and death
wasthe punishment for treason—but Lady Merope had become a second mother to
her. It was difficult to consider a parental figure doing this because she had
never seen or heard of her own father ordering the execution of anyone… though
perhaps it was because they never had to deal with traitors, murderers, or
other criminals who should get death, she thought uncomfortably. Her father had
shown mercy to thieves from the local village, ordering sentences in the
dungeon in lieu of hanging, and that was basically the worst kind of crime that
ever occurred in his fief. It was a peaceful place. It did not seem likely to
Hermione that the Carrows would actually be executed any time soon; the
Lestranges would protect them, but this was still verydifferent to what she had
known as a young girl. Death sentences, oathbreaking, treason, attempted
assassination—the wizarding nobility were almost at war with each other, it
seemed to her.
Tom was impressed with his mother’s resolve. He had not known of the Carrows’
perfidy, but if they had repudiated their oaths and sworn to the Lestranges
while knowing full well that their rightful liege and her heir lived, then it
was the only logical thing to do. To ignore that act was to display weakness to
the foul Norman usurpers.
“I realize how this will be seen in the Wizards’ Council,” she continued, “but
they cannot punish me for enforcing the law of this country. Even if Rodolphus
Lestrange and the Malfoys choose to ignore it, oathbreaking is an act of
treason.”
Tom digested this. “You say nothing of Arcturus Black.”
“I….” Merope hesitated, studying Tom and Hermione, deciding something. “I have
reasons to think that he alone of the Wizards’ Council may have slightly
different views.”
“He did not seem quite as averse to Hermione’s attendance at Hogwarts,” Tom
agreed. He scowled. “Of course, he is of an actual English family. Maybe, even
though he has been a toady for years, he finally realizes that these vile
foreign invaders have taken power away from the rightful wizarding lords of
England.” Disgust seeped from his words.
Hermione gave him an uneasy look before speaking. “Lady Merope, you don’t think
that the Malfoys and Lestranges could simply declare the Carrows’ prior oaths
to you null and void?”
“They probably will,” she agreed, “but the oaths were made with the Carrows’
own magic. They were not Unbreakable Vows… but they will suffer the
consequences of their faithlessness.”
Tom looked up, interested. “How does that work?”
“Wizarding oathbreakers are cursed,” Merope said firmly. “It is not possible to
predict specifically how, unless a formal mechanism is used like the
Unbreakable Vow… the idea behind that is indeed to harness the magical power
that underlies all wizarding oaths… but if we swear something and then break
our word, our own magic will punish us in some way.”
Tom seemed surprised to learn this. “That’s interesting,” he murmured. “Is that
true for allcontracts, or just those that we imbue with magic?”
“The effect is much greater for magical contracts.” Merope gazed at him. “I
have to ask, Tom, where these questions tend?”
“You swore fealty to Armand Malfoy,” he said.
“I did,” she agreed, “but I am not breaking my oath. In fact, I think heis the
one who has done that, with this recent usurpation of power. I swore to him
under the Codex of Wizarding Law, but he has essentially declared that heis the
law now. I think even a noble can act in a lawless manner. That was the point
of the old Wizengamot: the Codex, which it devised over many generations, has
legitimacy because all of the lords and ladies could help shape it but also
agreed to be bound by it.”
Tom nodded firmly. “And this sentence that you will sign is a statement that we
still recognize that, and that this new order is not legitimate.”
They finished their breakfast in silence. Hermione considered what she had just
heard. Tom could not help but speak venom about the Normans, but she approved
of his last statement about the primacy of law under the old system. If he
concentrated on that,she would feel better about his political interests.
After the meal was over, the family removed to the castle library. Hermione was
surprised to see Merope following her and Tom. In fact, the lady seemed to want
to speak privately to her; she was slowing down her pace so that Tom could get
ahead of them.
Tom gave the ladies a quick look before darting off toward a specific section
of the family library. Merope guided Hermione to a window on the other side of
the room, out of his hearing.
Hermione was suddenly nervous. Her early-morning activities with Tom surged to
the forefront of her mind again.
“Hermione,” Lady Merope said in a quiet tone, “I wanted to ask you if my son
has mentioned his idea of early marriage to you again.”
Hermione was startled. She racked her brains to try to remember. “I cannot
think of any instances,” she finally said. “At least, not in a serious way. He
may have alluded to it as an idle reference to the time when he didwant it
seriously.”
Merope gazed at her face. “You understand what would happen if you did, right?”
Hermione very much wished at this moment that she could perform Legilimency.
Did Tom’s mother know? “I do,” she said slowly. “I would have to leave
Hogwarts, and I would not ever be a master.”
Merope nodded. “There is a potion to prevent conception, of course—but yes.”
She flushed deeply, almost certain now that Merope knew what was going on and
was sending her a message. She considered her words. “Yes, I know about it,”
she said. She met the older woman’s eyes. “In fact, I can make it.”
Merope looked satisfied. “Good.” She moved away, heading toward the library
doors.
Hermione stood there, thinking about the discussion. It seemed all too obvious
to her that Lady Merope did know exactly how intimate her engagement with Tom
had become, and had been relieved to hear Hermione’s implication that she was
taking the needed precautions. That was embarrassing… but Lady Merope seemed
not to have a problem with their intimacy in and of itself.
She took a deep breath and went to where Tom was reading. He needed to be told
too.
The title of the book that he was reading became clearer as Hermione drew
nearer. Verbum Magus, it read. Tom was perusing it intensely, his brow
furrowed. When he saw her coming, he closed it and placed it back on the shelf.
“I saw it already,” she said, an eyebrow raised.
“I wasn’t trying to hide it,” he said defensively. “I just saw you approaching
and wanted to give you my full attention.”
“What is it about?”
He looked for a fraction of a second as if he wanted to scowl, but he did not.
“Magical oaths and contracts,” he said. “What Mother said at the table
interested me.”
“Well,” Hermione said, a wry smile on her face, “I think you will find what she
just told me even more interesting.” She explained to him what Merope had just
discussed with her.
Tom was staring at Hermione, and color was creeping into his cheeks. It was a
rarity that he ever blushed, and she noticed.
“I suppose we should not be quite so… frequent… in our affections,” he said
reluctantly.
“I did not get the impression that she disapproved, necessarily,” she objected.
“She seemed to want to find out, without asking outright, if I was taking the
potion to prevent pregnancy. The last thing she said to me was ‘good.’”
Tom considered. “Very well,” he said. “I certainly don’t wantto keep away from
you.” He smirked.
She returned the smirk.
===============================================================================
That afternoon, Merope gathered the people of the Muggle village to the castle
courtyard. Severus Snape stood near her in a subordinate place, and Tom and
Hermione were on her other side. She held up the judgment that she had just
signed.
“Amycus Carrow and Alecto Carrow have forsaken their vows,” she called out in a
strong voice. “They have forsworn their duties and broken faith. They have also
pledged their faith to others with full knowledge that their rightful and
lawful liege lives.”
The townspeople jeered and roared disapproval.
“I hereby name them oathbreakers, criminals, and traitors,” she proclaimed,
“and sentence them to death!”
Another burst of noise came from the townsfolk, interspersed with applause.
Hermione reflected on how easy it was to whip up a mob against someone. Even if
the cause was just, it was a little unsettling.
“May death take them wherever they may be. Though they may attempt to evade
justice, sheltering under the arms of those who have accepted their unlawful
oaths, they will suffer the natural and unavoidable fate of those who forsake
their solemn vows.”
Tom suppressed a smirk. Yes, there would be consequences of some sort to the
Carrows. He had finished half of that book in the library, and that much was
very clear.
Merope paused, as if trying to make a final decision about something. The pause
went on longer than such a gap normally would, and Tom started to turn his head
toward her, when she spoke again. Her voice was a bit nervous. “Furthermore, I
name Lord Rodolphus and Lady Bellatrix Lestrange as enemies of this family,
household, village, and fief, for claiming to accept the traitors as liege man
and woman.”
Tom’s mouth fell open, but he instantly shut it. His eyes were wide with shock
as he turned to look at his mother. He noticed as he did that Hermione had also
turned sharply to look at her, and her eyes were so wide that the whites almost
fully encircled her irises.
“The barony of Hangleton hereby declares that a state of enmity exists so long
as Lord Lestrange harbors the oathbreakers. To speak, correspond, or otherwise
conduct any transactions with Lord or Lady Lestrange or a Lestrange vassal
without our leave is to name oneself a traitor in turn. Should he render the
Carrows unto us for justice, this state of enmity shall be dissolved. So let it
be.” She rolled up the scroll that she carried, and turned back toward the
castle, followed by the young people and Severus.
Once they were inside and had their privacy, Tom spoke up. “I did not realize
you were going to name the Lestrange family as our enemies,” he said, awe and
approval in his words.
She gave him a thin, resigned smile. “I had little choice. They accepted the
word of known traitors. They are just as culpable, and if I had not called them
out, they would have made note of it and assumed that I was too cowardly.”
“This is an escalation,” he remarked.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed, “but I did not choose this. They resented our
contract with Hermione’s family, and our appeal of their first decision
regarding her Hogwarts admission, far more than I realized at the time. And
then there is the fact that you and Hermione took vengeance on their daughter
for that vile attack last year… not that you shouldn’thave,” she said at once.
“You did right.”
“May we speak to her?” Tom asked, grinning. “And curse her if she tries
anything? I would not want to be a traitor, and I am sure that she will speak
to us.”
Merope managed a grin herself. “Yes, you and Hermione may.” The grin faded from
her face. “But… there is the possibility that the Carrows will tell the
Lestrange family false things about your deceased relatives. They may already
have,” she conceded, “but before, they were hiding from my brother—who wasa bad
lord and did wicked things. They may claim worse things occurred. It might be
that anything Lady Adelaide repeats from them will seem believable, since you
know that he was wicked. I must ask you not to believe the words of traitors,
repeated by an enemy. If you want to know something in particular, ask me.”
Tom nodded firmly. “Of course. I know that Adelaide Lestrange is a foul liar.”
“I considered mentioning her attack on Hermione as well today, and Lady
Bellatrix’s attempt on Hermione’s life, but I decided not to do so. The girl
mighthave acted alone, without her parents’ leave, and the only proof that Lady
Lestrange tried to murder Hermione is the word of… sources… who cannot be
exposed. But yes, this is an escalation.”
“We have to fight them, though.”
Merope sighed, the smile—grim though it was—vanishing from her face. “Yes, we
do. I hope that it does not become more than a battle of words and
declarations.”
Hermione glanced surreptitiously at Tom. His mother was not looking at him, but
it was very clear to Hermione that he did not agree.
===============================================================================
Despite that dark and foreboding beginning, the remainder of the holidays
passed peacefully and pleasantly. On Yule, Merope lit the new Yule log with the
remnant of the previous year’s, again bearing the ancient staff of the Gaunts.
Snow fell that night, appropriately, and Hermione escaped to Tom’s bedchamber
when the flakes started falling. There was just something about snow that made
her want to be close to him.
“You know,” he murmured softly in her ear afterward, “I think that you and I
need to start making preparations too.”
“Preparations for what?”
He hesitated. “I was thinking about what Mother said a couple of days ago. I
fear that this is notgoing to remain ‘a battle of words,’ and we need to take
precautions.”
“Tom, what exactly are you talking about?”
“The Chamber of Slytherin,” he said. “I believe there is a great weapon living
in the bowels of Hogwarts, and it rightfully belongs to this family. We will
probably need it, too.”
“Tom, this again?” she said. His eyebrows narrowed, and his grip on her became
tighter. “No, please, listen to me. If there really is a great snake there, and
it is a basilisk, it is a deadlycreature—even to you. How exactly are you going
to get it out of Hogwarts and to this castle, and wherewould you keep it if you
did?”
“I could put it to sleep and blindfold it,” he said. “And I could keep it in
the dungeons. We need all the weapons we can get, and we need allies, too.
Formal allies, bound by oaths on the part of the ruling lords, not just their
sons’ oaths to me. I would like all of my friends’ families to swear oaths of
alliance to my mother.”
“That would be seen as a declaration of war by the Wizards’ Council.”
“Maybe war is inevitable. Maybe it oughtto happen,” he added. “Armand Malfoy
has to die. You do realize that, right? After what he has done, the power he
has arrogated to himself?”
Hermione closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “But he is old. Perhaps he will
die a natural death—”
“I don’t think he will.”
Her eyes popped open again. “What is thatsupposed to mean?”
“There is something wrong with him. I will never forget how he looked at the
Wizards’ Council meeting. He looks half-dead already. I have a theory….”
“I did notice that, but what do you mean?”
“I have read things that would shock my mother,” Tom confessed. “She already
knows that I’m aware of these subjects, but I doubt she realizes how muchI know
about them. Malfoy has all the signs of a drinker of unicorn blood, according
to what I have read of it.”
Hermione considered this. Suddenly the snowflakes falling outside the castle
were not so cozy, but instead, were just cold and lethal. “I have heard a
little about that,” she said. “It is the slaughter of an innocent creature, a
creature representing purity, and it curses the person.”
“It curses the person for the rest of their life. Nothing can lift it. But… it
doesprovide health, even to one at the literal point of death.”
“Does it protect the drinker from curses?”
“No,” Tom said, a dark smile spreading over his face. The gleam of the magical
flames atop the castle watchtowers reflected on the blanket of snow, casting an
eerie glow into the room and making him look sinister. “It does not. So, yes,
he could die of unnaturalcauses. Unless….”
“Unless?”
Tom hesitated again. “Hermione, in all your reading, have you ever come across
the term ‘Horcrux’?”
“No.”
“I don’t want to discuss it in detail right now. I will give you a book about
it tomorrow in the library. But it involves the soul, and it is the method that
witches and wizards can use to evade death.”
“I think your mother briefly mentioned both of these things to me on my first
visit to Diagon Alley. You were showing off for me,” she said with a wry smirk,
“and she explained in greater detail. But she did not use the name.”
“I remember that,” he said. “In any case, I don’t thinkMalfoy has one, but I
cannot be sure. I did not know what the telltale sign was when we were at that
Wizards’ Council meeting. I have read more about it since I last saw him,
though.”
“What is this telltale sign?”
“Flashes of red in the pupil of the eye. So, yes, I think he could die, and he
needs to. And so does Lord Abraxas, in my opinion. In fact, the Wizards’
Council needs to be dissolved.”
“You want the Wizengamot reinstated?”
“I want the Wizengamot reinstated, and we need a wizard king. In the ancient
Celtic clans, the priest had more power than the chieftain, and it was real
power, official power, not merely the power of a wizard advisor whispering in
the king’s ear in private like Merlin,” he said, snarling. “We have been ceding
power for centuries, and since these Normans came, it has been even worse. If
it does not stop, we will have to hide the very fact that we are witches and
wizards. The Malfoys and Lestranges do not even care as long as they can keep
power in their own families.”
Hermione was uneasy, and a little frightened, if she were honest. “Tom, you
need to go to sleep,” she urged. “Getting angry and upset like this will not
solve anything.”
“You’re right,” he said abruptly. He pulled her close. “Hermione, my mother’s
actions a few days ago will have consequences. I do not know what, but there
will be some. Promise me, if things get very bad….” He trailed off.
“Then what?”
He was silent for a moment. “After what I read today about oaths, I do not want
to ask you to swear to anything specific,” he said. “Just promise me that you
will listen to my advice and consider it.”
“I can consider it,” she agreed. “I promise you that.”
He kissed her on the forehead. “Good night.”
Hermione wanted to question him further, but drowsiness was tugging at her
eyelids too.
===============================================================================
True to his word, Tom gave Hermione a book bound in black leather the next day
in the library. Merope was not there, or she might have raised objections.
Hermione opened it and eyed the table of contents, turning to the section in
question.
“It was invented by Herpo, the ancient Greek wizard who also bred the first
basilisk,” Tom said in a low voice. They were by the window, on the far side of
the library. He had steered her there in case his mother or Snape came in.
“That was why he did it, in fact, to protect himself from its gaze. The Greeks
had had the theory for a while, but he was the one who succeeded. From there
the knowledge spread to the Romans, and they brought it to the Celts.” He
paused, thinking. “Hermione, when you read that, please keep in mind that
someone could have a legitimate reason for doing it. And it is not the same as
slaughtering an innocent for its blood and incurring an unbreakable curse.”
“All right,” she said gingerly, beginning to read. Tom stood by uneasily,
watching her. Her eyes grew wide, and at one point she actually tilted her head
away from the pages, a look of shock on her face. Finally, she finished the
chapter. She turned to him, eyebrows high on her forehead.
“Is thiswhat High Master Dumbledore caught you reading?”
“No,” he said, scowling at that memory. “I was reading about ancient Celtic
magic.”
She closed the book. “Tom, are you thinking of doingthis?”
“No,” he said at once. He paused. “Well, only if it was a necessity to preserve
this family line.” He gave her a sardonic smirk. “I would ask Mother to let me
have one of the Carrows.”
Hermione put the book back on its shelf. “Please don’t joke about such things.”
He turned and gazed out the window for a moment, then faced her again. “Fair
enough. I won’t.”
===============================================================================
They observed Christmas and then Tom’s fifteenth birthday. Hermione gave him a
gift of a cushion that she had embroidered—with the coat of arms that his
mother had created for the wizarding Riddles, he noted with pleasure.
“I have a gift for you too. It can be a gift to mark the new year,” he said. He
set the cushion down and raised his wand, summoning something presumably from
his bedchamber.
Merope looked surprised as a package drifted into the room, where Tom was
waiting for it. He presented it to Hermione. She pulled away the rough
sackcloth that covered it. Beneath was a silken dark green robe. She lifted it
to see the entire article of clothing. It was almost a perfect duplicate of the
dark green robes he had, the ones with Celtic knot embroidery on the hems, up
the middle, and on the edges of the wide trumpet sleeves.
“We need to wear ours on the same days,” he explained. “A matched pair.”
Hermione hardly knew what to think. Tom seemed determined to incite the
Lestranges and Malfoys, and he wanted to pull her into his scheme as well. For
her part, she had never thought of herself specifically as part Celtic. She
knew that she almost certainly was, but she considered herself English. Even
her Norman antecedents had settled—or lived their entire lives—in thisland,
adopting many of the customs of thesepeople, making peace and even marrying
into the families of an English lord and a knight. But then, she reflected, she
did not have an unbroken line of witches and wizards whom she could trace back
to ancient times, as Tom did on his mother’s side.
She turned to Tom and managed a smile. “Thank you,” she said. “This is
beautiful.”
He smiled broadly.
===============================================================================
Tom asked that she wear her new robe on the day that they had to return to
Hogwarts. As she had expected as soon as he made the request, he appeared in
the common areas of the castle wearing his matched robe. He smirked and took
her arm with his. “I cannot waitto see the looks on Lestrange and Malfoy’s
faces,” he said. “And her family are now officially enemies.”
Hermione did not like how eager he was to have this fight. As the elves
Disapparated with them, she felt that many things were starting to twist and
whirl out of her control, and unlike this Apparition, she was heading for a
destination that she did not even know.
They landed in the Hogwarts courtyard, steadying themselves. The elves set down
their trunks, bowed, and Disapparated back to Hangleton. Tom turned to
Hermione, admiring her in the robes that he had wanted her to wear. He brought
her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles in the innocent, courtly way that he
so often did in public—and then he changed his mind. He dropped her hand,
wrapped his arm around her, and pulled her close.
Hermione could hardly believe that he was doing this in the open, but in the
brisk cold, his warmth and the heat of their breath when they were so close
made this irresistible. She cupped his face and leaned in as he bent his head
to meet her lips. Clouds of white vapor escaped their mouths and noses.
“Riddle!” exclaimed a male voice. Tom pulled away, gazed over her head, and
found himself meeting the disapproving gaze of one of his “Lords of Beltane.”
***** The Stain of Blood *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you again! And pre-emptive apologies for this chapter, but as I
     have said in comment replies, there's no story without conflict.
Tom released Hermione and gave Edgar Fawley a rakish smile. “Fawley,” he
acknowledged.
The young wizard seemed inclined to say something, but he changed his mind.
“It’s good to see you again,” he got out.
“Likewise,” Tom said. He quickly disengaged from Hermione. “I had a fine
holiday,” he said to Fawley, his tone knowing.
The boy gazed at Hermione, regarding her with undisguised disdain, and a
cruelly knowing smile spread over his face. “Ah. I see.”
Hermione looked from Fawley to Tom in shock. “Tom?” she asked, her voice quiet.
He gazed at her with a superior look on his handsome face and said nothing. One
corner of his mouth edged upward.
He did that to save face with Fawley, she told herself as other young scholars
began to appear in the courtyard. Tom moved away from her as a couple of other
boys from his group of friends arrived. Her heart seemed to twist in her chest.
He needs these allies, she thought over and over. His mother is almost alone
otherwise. She has no real allies other than my family. He needs to cultivate
these people. Showing affection publicly to me is not usual for nobles. He has
to look superior before them….
Hermione wandered in a circle around the courtyard, hardly paying attention to
what was happening around her, locked into her own thoughts as Tom talked with
his friends apart from her. The series of thoughts whirled around her head as
she tried to console herself.
“Lady Hermione!”
Hermione stopped cold and looked for the source. Harry had just appeared, and
beside him were Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. Hermione beamed, her
heart suddenly a little lighter. She glanced quickly in the direction of Tom,
but he was preoccupied with a discussion with his friends. Very well, then.
Hermione walked over to the group of herfriends.
“How was your visit with Lady Riddle?” Harry asked her.
She almost allowed her face to fall but caught herself. “It is always a
pleasure to see her,” she rallied. She considered briefly whether to tell her
friends about Merope’s decision to sentence the Carrows. It was not exactly
pleasant gossip, but at the same time, Merope certainly did not intend for the
order to be secret. She finally said, in a lowered voice, “Lady Merope took
action against a pair of vassals who had broken their oaths to her and sworn to
the Lestrange family.”
Harry, Neville, and Luna all looked surprised and interested. “What did she
do?” Harry asked in an equally quiet voice.
“She sentenced them to death before the entire village of Hangleton. Of course,
the Lestranges will protect them, but it isan official sentence. Oh—she named
the Lestranges enemies of her family for harboring them and accepting their
oaths, too.”
Harry’s green eyes widened. “Did she send out a crier to proclaim it? Mercy on
his soul if she did,” he muttered.
“Wizarding nobles use owls,” Neville said. His face colored. “I mean, my
parents told me that. They send an owl to the castle of the lord they named as
enemy, as well as to any of their own allies who aren’t vassals of theirs. It
drops a small scroll… from a distance if there is a danger… and flies away.”
“Well, then, I am certain that she would have done that,” Hermione agreed. “I
don’t think she has noble allies other than my parents and her own vassal Lord
Severus Snape, but I’m sure she would have sent the message to the Lestranges.
There’s little point in making the proclamation if no one outside the village
hears of it.”
Tom was still talking with his friends, who were giving Hermione and her own
friends blatantly scornful looks. Harry raised his eyebrows in their direction
but did not ask Hermione any personal questions. She was grateful; if he had
been so unmannerly as that, she would have had to lie.
===============================================================================
At the Slytherin table in the Great Hall that evening, Tom continued to be cool
to Hermione. He escorted her into the castle and sat next to her, as he had
always done, but he hardly spoke a word to her during the entire meal, talking
instead with his male friends in tones that she could barely make out. When he
deigned to look at her at all, his handsome face was full of arrogant disdain.
Should I make a point of talking with Harry? she wondered, picking at her food.
Tom became jealous last year when I did that, and I was not even trying to make
him feel that way. Or… would that make matters worse? He responded badly when
he was jealous before. He blamed Harry and took it out on him. That’s not what
I want.
I understand about making alliances, and I even understand about not showing
too much intimacy before outsiders… but there is no occasion for him to ignore
me like this, or look at me so arrogantly when he does pay attention to me.
Hermione stabbed her roast pork angrily with her knife and picked up a piece to
eat. She was not close to crying. She was furious. This is not going to
continue, she vowed to herself. If he really is the leader of those boys, then
he should assert his authority and order them to accept our relationship. He
doesn’t have to flaunt it in public, like he started to do in the courtyard,
but what he’s doing right now is unacceptable, and I am going to tell him that.
Down the table, Adelaide Lestrange and her circle of female associates—all of
the Slytherin girls except Hermione, the Greengrass sisters, and Millicent
Bulstrode—eyed the other half of the House. Hermione studied them as
unobtrusively as she could. There was something in Adelaide’s eyes that she had
rarely, if ever, seen before. Some of the girl’s insufferable arrogance was
gone, and in its place was a cold wariness. Yes, Merope must have sent word to
the Lestranges by owl.
High Master Dumbledore ascended to speak, and the conversations of the scholars
filling the hall subsided. He smiled sadly as he began to speak.
“Welcome back to all! I am glad to see all of you back in good health and
spirits, and I hope that all who visited family took good cheer from that time
with them.” He forced a broader smile on his face, but it reverted to the sad
one immediately. “Our families are supremely important, as we all know, and we
must remember them every day as we go about our studies here at Hogwarts.” His
gaze darted around the Great Hall, not settling on any one person. “It can be
hard for us to keep our most solemn oaths when we are presented with other
paths. But we are wizards and witches, and our word, more so than the word of
our Muggle neighbors—or subjects—carries great power.”
Tom was suddenly paying strict attention. Hermione noticed, with some
satisfaction, that he looked uncomfortable. As he well should, she thought
smugly. She wondered if Dumbledore knew somehow, despite not having locked his
gaze with her or Tom. It was possible that he had deduced something of the
truth if he had paid any attention to the Slytherin table. Tom was not exactly
making it subtle.
“But at the same time, let us not forget, in our loyalty and devotion, that we
are all witches and wizards, and we are all of this land. Many groups of people
have come over the centuries. The library, the tapestries and banners in this
castle, and the very architecture of the castle itself all reflect this fact.
This is a land of great magical power, and it is a terrible tragedy when our
magical power as a people is fractured. This has happened before—indeed, it is
part of the history of this school itself—and we still bear the scars.” He
paused, and a dark look came over his aged face, one that seemed to coincide
with a sudden chill in the air and a faint, almost imperceptible dimming of the
candlelight throughout the Hall. “We are living in a time of tumult. There is
political discord among us, and the Muggles are fighting a war for their
throne. Although Divination was not my first speciality, I did attain mastery
in this subject… and I fear that the stars are against unity for us as well.
Never forget, though, that you are human beings with free will and magical
power of your own to shape the world.”
On that dark note, Dumbledore stepped back and took his seat. For another
couple of seconds, no one spoke, and then the murmur of talk began anew, just
much quieter and more subdued than before.
“That was grim,” Harry muttered to Hermione.
She agreed. “He must have heard. And of course, the Wizards’ Council—by which I
mean Lord Malfoy,” she added cynically, “passed their dreadful laws earlier.”
Harry nodded. “My father and godfather told me that Dumbledore doesn’t care
much for Divination. He must be very worried since he mentioned the stars.”
“I don’t care much for Divination either,” she said, “because I think it’s
rubbish to look for signs in smoke, or to believe that someone’s fate is
written into their palm—what of someone who has lost a hand, then?—but Master
Dumbledore’s view of it makes more sense. There are large forces that can shape
the general direction of events, but we have power too. We’re not….” She
struggled to find a metaphor. “We’re not driftwood in a sea.”
Tom returned to his friends, and Hermione noticed with some dismay that his
face was set in hard lines.
===============================================================================
Hermione did not have an opportunity to confront Tom that evening; he spent the
rest of the night in a corner of the Slytherin common room, surrounded by his
friends, conversing in almost inaudible tones with them. She sat apart, reading
a book, Harry sitting next to her and silently offering his support. She felt
surrounded, between Tom’s friends and the Lestrange-Malfoy side staking out
their territories in the common room. Dumbledore’s words appeared to have
fallen on deaf ears.
Finally the young people in the common room began to disperse and go to their
dormitories to get some rest. Lestrange, Malfoy, and their associates departed
first. Tom’s friends left next, leaving him in the room with Hermione and
Harry. He sat by himself for a few moments after the last of his pack left.
Then he got up and walked gingerly to where Hermione sat. Her features hardened
as he approached.
“You may go now, Potter,” he said haughtily.
Beside her, Harry stiffened. “I choose not to, Riddle.”
Tom was taken aback. His black eyebrows narrowed on his forehead. “Perhaps I
didn’t make myself clear. I order you to go while I speak in private to her.”
Harry reached for his wand. Hermione quickly placed her hand on his wrist,
stopping him before he could draw on Tom. She noticed that Tom did not like it
one bit when she touched Harry, but she did not particularly care right now.
“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it in front of him,” she said,
gazing angrily at him. “He has already seen how you have treated me all
evening. I’m sure he doesn’t want to leave me alone with you after witnessing
that.”
Tom drew his wand, but he seemed unsure as to whether to point it at Harry or
Hermione. He clutched it in his hand, glaring at each of them. “I asked him to
protect you from enemies. He has no right to protect you from me.”
Outrage instantly flooded Hermione at that. Her wand was pointed directly
between his eyes before either Tom or Harry could react. “Oh, is that so?” she
snarled. “If I need to be protected from you, then he absolutely should be
here.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Tom said, flustered. “I misspoke. I would never harm
you. I just meant that he doesn’t need to be here while we talk privately.”
“He will be here.” Her wand remained pointed at Tom’s forehead.
He scowled. “Lower your wand, Hermione.” He reached for it himself and pulled
her hand down, glaring back at her. “You must understand what happened in the
courtyard. I… lost control. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. It’s not
appropriate in public.”
Harry gazed at Hermione in surprise. She remembered that he had not seen the
actual precipitating event for Tom’s cold treatment of her.
“It’s as I explained before: They—my friends—think it’s just a typical noble
betrothal. They understand that, but when Fawley saw us starting to kiss”—he
gazed defiantly at Harry as he spoke the words—“he thought that it meant it was
what I wanted too.”
Hermione drew back as if he had hit her. “What? Isn’t it?” she cried.
Tom grimaced, his eyes fluttering shut. “It is! I didn’t mean that. I just
meant that Fawley… he realizedit. That’s what I meant to say. He realized it. I
had to convince him otherwise.”
“So you lied to him.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Considering what you would have to say in order to convince him of this lie,
yes, it rather does bother me!” she exclaimed. “I heard what you said in the
courtyard, Tom. That ‘I had a fine holiday,’ and that little grin on your face.
You must have made me out to be some sort of….” She broke off, fuming.
Tom glared at Harry. “Potter, I want you out of here.”
Hermione shook her head. “Do you really imagine I won’t tell him what you say?”
Harry pulled away. “No,” he said at once. “He’s right. I don’t think I need to
be here. You should talk with him, and settle your differences, and I’m getting
in the way of that. Good night, Hermione.” With a parting look, he scurried
away, closing the door to the boys’ dormitories behind him.
Tom’s eyes were cold and dark. “So is that it? You tell Potter our private
business?”
“It is hardly ‘private business’ when you make a point of treating me with
contempt before all your little ‘friends,’ and apparently telling them that I
have thrown myself at you, or something like that.”
“What does it matter what they think? Why do you care if they believe lies? You
should feel smug that you know the truth about our relationship and they
don’t.”
“Not if they think I’m a hussy. That’s what you were convincing them of, isn’t
it, Tom? That I threw myself at you, and who were you to reject a girl who does
that? That’s another thing that they ‘understand’ about nobles, isn’t it?” she
said savagely.
“Hermione, I need them! Do you not understand, my mother has nooutside allies
except your family—and they’re half-Norman Muggles!”
“Are their families allied with your mother now?”
He looked down at his shoes. “My plan is that they will be eventually.”
“And just what exactly does it matter that my parents are half-Norman?” she
challenged. “How is that relevant, Tom? I understand that Muggles can’t offer
that much to a witch for defense, but why is their ancestry important? Please
tell me.”
“You know exactly why it is important.”
“I want you to say it. I want you to tell me, right now, what you discuss with
these boys. Explicitly.”
“I have told you, we talk about Slytherin, and—”
Hermione suddenly noticed the clasp on his outer robe. It was solid black, but
there was a faint wisp of magic just surrounding it. She reached out and
touched the article. While her fingers made contact, it flashed the symbol he
had worn in the fall, the Celtic Triquetra in green and silver.
She withdrew her hand, and the button reverted to its black enameled state. She
regarded Tom with an even gaze. “You talk about more than Slytherin,” she said.
“You’ve persuaded these boys that you are rightfully a prince, haven’t you?”
Tom was silent.
“That is why they have decided to follow you, after you spent your first year
at this school being derided and ignored by everyone in your House, including
them. Being raised to the nobility is not enough to turn them into followers.
That merely makes you a social equal—except for the fact that you’re half-
blood. They follow you, in spite of your half-blood status, because they see
you as royal, as the long-lost Celtic heir that they want to overthrow the
Malfoy rule.” Her voice cracked at the end.
“What of it?” he said in a low voice. “It’s true, you know.”
“I’ve said before how dangerous this is, but apparently that means nothing to
you,” she said, her voice wobbling. “So what place do I have in this? What of
our future? Will they continue to support you when you are married to me? Our
children won’t be ‘pure.’ What will your friends think of that, Tom?”
He breathed deeply. “I’m sure I can persuade them when the time comes.”
“I’m not sure of that at all, especially since you’ve tried to have it both
ways now.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You want to enjoy my affections as your fiancée, but you also want these boys
to think that you regard me as a Norman slut.”
“Hermione!” he sputtered, appalled.
She made no apologies. “Have you told them about everythingwe’ve done, Tom?”
she asked evenly. “How much do they know?”
“They don’t know about that,” he said at once. “It is none of their business.”
He reached for her arm. “On that subject, Hermione, I think we should go to the
little room. Otherwise we will go to our separate beds distressed and upset—”
She took a deep breath. She was cold and scared by what she was saying, but she
persisted, because it had to be said. “Tom, that is not going to happen again
until you tell these boys the truth about us, that you do care about me and
want to marry me—in fact, that you regard yourself as alreadymarried to me.”
He pulled away and stared at her. “What?”
“You heard what I said.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself protectively.
Her wide sleeves dangled down past her waist. “You can’t have this both ways,
Tom. I understand if you don’t want to show intense affection to me in public,
but I am not going to touch you if you insist upon sneering and smirking at me
while huddled with those boys.”
His eyebrows narrowed again. “Is that it, then, Hermione?” he snarled
defensively. “The precarious situation of my family matters so little to you?
All that you really care about is whether I fawn over you? I thought you were
raised noble,” he said sarcastically. “I thought youof all people would
understand why personal emotions aren’t as important as political alliances.”
“You do not have to treat me with such open disdain. It isn’t even normal for a
nobleman to act that way toward the woman he is betrothed to. What do these
boys think of that? They know what is proper. Do they also think that you’re
going to break the betrothal?”
“Of course they don’t!”
She gazed at him. “So they think it’s all right because I’m a half-Norman
Mudblood?”
“Hermione, I asked you before not to call yourself that—”
“No, Tom!” she exclaimed angrily. “Youstop treatingme as inferior before these
boys! You want a political alliance with them. Very well. But they have to
accept me as part of the alliance, period. And until you change your behavior
toward me before them, I meant what I said: I am not going to let you touch
me.” She turned on her heels and stalked toward the entrance to the girls’
dormitories.
Tom remained in the common room for a minute, looking stunned. As she closed
the door behind her, the shock in his face dissipated and changed to anger and
resentment.
===============================================================================
Hermione stewed in her bed. She was nervous about the ultimatum she had just
given Tom. He was a very proud person, and he might decide that he could do
without intimacy with her if it had to be strictly on her terms. But I cannot
let him think I accept being snickered at while he persuades those boys that he
is merely taking what I’m begging him to take,she thought mutinously. I will
not tolerate it. If he cannot treat me as a nobleman treats his lady, then I
will stand by my word on this.
She thought again of Harry and his friends. She did not want Tom to take out
his jealousy on them, but she did need other friends. She thought about
Dumbledore’s words that evening. The goals of Harry’s group, the Friends of the
Founders, seemed closest to what Dumbledore wished to happen. She would stick
by them, then. Their group was interesting to her anyway, and it needed to be
stronger as a force to counter the Wizards’ Council and Armand Malfoy.
===============================================================================
On the other side of the castle walls, Tom sulked. Hermione was being
completely unreasonable, he thought. She had to understand that he had acted as
he had that evening for a reason. Fawley had caught him in the act of kissing
her, and that required an explanation. The Lords of Beltane would not
understand or approve of a genuine emotional relationship with someone like
Hermione, and his grip on them was precarious enough already. She was
completely correct that they had adopted him as their leader only because of
his royal bloodline. Tom shifted on his mattress. Hermione was clever, and he
had not particularly liked it when she had called him out for that fact.
She asked a good question, he thought uncomfortably. What will they think of
our marriage? I am not sure they really think it will take place. She was also
a bit too close to being correct when she asked if they thought I would end the
betrothal. Some of them might think just that. I don’t know. They can’t expect
that I would marry her but have a mistress. Witches generally don’t consent to
living that way… if a woman expects to have magical children, of course she
would insist on them being legitimate… not that I would do that anyway. So they
must really think that I plan to break the contract.
Tom did not want to be forced to choose between Hermione and his friends. He
needed both. He wished that Fawley had never seen him kissing her—or that he
had kept his head and instantly Obliviated the boy of what he had seen.
However, he hadn’t, and it would be difficult now to excise those specific
memories from all of his friends without damaging anything else that they
remembered from the day. He also did not expect that he could maintain his hold
over them if they believed that he was sincerely in love with—as she put it—“a
half-Norman Mudblood.” The only answer, then, was to do just what he had done
that evening, and deceive them into thinking that he merely appreciated
Hermione physically. Why couldn’t she seethat?
A malicious voice in the back of Tom’s mind whispered to him that his mother
had made a verbal agreement to let him out of the contract if he asked. He
shoved the voice aside at once. He did want her; he was just angry and annoyed
with her right now. And Mother knows that we’ve consummated the relationship,
he remembered. She would not let us break it, knowing that. That thought gave
him some comfort. He turned on his side and closed his eyes. Hermione had the
right, currently, to deny him. Perhaps it was even for the best that she did
so, since he would otherwise have to account for their moments of affection and
intimacy to his friends. But someday they would marry officially, and he would
have undoubtedly worked out a plan by that time. With time, his friends would
grow more mature and come to accept their marriage, especially if he treated
the betrothal more typically and formally in the interim.
===============================================================================
The following morning, Hermione walked into the Slytherin common room gingerly,
almost afraid to meet Tom. He was standing there, talking with Professor
Slughorn, when she entered the room.
“Lady Hermione!” the professor exclaimed as she approached. He was beaming.
“Welcome and good morning to you! I was just telling your fiancé the good
news.”
“Oh?” she inquired. Tom was looking pleased indeed, though not exactly to see
her. He was not unhappythat she was there, but Slughorn’s news was what had
made him so happy.
“Indeed. It is as I predicted: He has been moved to the mastery classes in
Arithmancy, Ancient Languages, and Divination.”
“Oh,” Hermione said, her face falling. She had shared Arithmancy and Ancient
Languages with Tom in the previous term, when she had been moved to the
intermediate class. Now she would be alone in those subjects, without Harry or
any of their other friends there to support her.
Tom was happy, though. He gave Hermione a proud look. “It’s quite all right, my
dear,” he said loftily. “I’m sure you will join me next year.”
Hermione wanted to slap him. How darehe act so arrogant to her? Had their
conversation achieved nothing?
“I fully intend to,” she said, her voice low and almost threatening. Tom drew
back almost imperceptibly, surprised at her reaction.
Slughorn did not detect any of their subtle exchange. “Good, good,” he said
jovially. “And very fitting! I am sure that someday the two of you will have
the most brilliant magical children this country has seen.”
Tom smirked. Hermione again wanted to smack him. When Slughorn was gone, she
turned to him with irritation in her brown eyes.
“I had hoped that you would think about what we discussed and see things from
my perspective,” she said.
He gazed down at her from his greater height. “Your perspective is too
idealistic. I still don’t understand why you care what my allies think about
you, since you know that it’s false.”
“I care because I have to watch them—and you!—treat me poorly. It hardly
matters if it’s an act on your part. You should not do it for any reason, and
you should not tolerate it from them. I meant what I said, Tom,” she warned.
“If you cannot seem to control them, to make them accept our relationship, then
I am not going to continue as we have been.”
He breathed deeply. “I did think about it overnight, and I think that’s for the
best.”
She drew away, stunned. “What?”
“I think that we have been too physically close, and it has made it harder to
maintain a normal appearance when we’re in each other’s presence… and it may
have clouded our judgment in other respects too. We should take a step back
anyway.”
Hermione stared at him, her heart sinking into her gut. “You really don’t want
to….”
“I’m accepting your conditions, Hermione,” he said. “I need these alliances. My
mother needs these alliances. She certainly isn’t going to get the Carrows
back, nor that Pettigrew fellow, if he is even alive. We need strong allies,
and since they don’t approve of you, it’s better that I don’t have to act as I
did yesterday. We can go back to how we were at the beginning of your first
year: friends. It won’t change the future,” he added hurriedly as her face
crumpled. “It won’t change anything.”
“It changes everything,” she said, her voice icy and her words broken. “You are
choosing these friends over me, however you try to explain it. I have—you
knowwhat I’ve done! You know what we promised at that time, too.”
“And I will keep that promise! I wouldn’t touch anyone else, Hermione, if
that’s what you are worried about. I took that promise we made seriously, and I
think wizards should be held to that vow just as much as witches. I just need
these friends.”
“Why, Tom?” she exclaimed. Her face was heated and flushed. “What do you need
them for? Why can’t you just accept what you are already going to have? Your
mother’s castle is a fortress. You’re going to be lord of that someday. Why
isn’t that enough for you?”
“Malfoy and the Council—”
“All right, but why can’t you pursue an alliance with Harry’s group instead?”
“They want something other than what I want,” he said harshly.
“What they want is for Hogwarts to be independent of meddling from the Wizards’
Council.”
“How can that be all? What does it matter to anyone but Dumbledore how much
power the school has? Longbottom’s family used to be nobles. Potter’s parents
are apparently descended from vassals of Gryffindor. They want more than they
have said, but since they apparently won’t say what they do want, I don’t trust
them and I don’t want them as allies.”
“Tom—”
“Dumbledore repeated the order from Malfoy that banned Celtic symbols,” he said
harshly. “He did that, and before that, he must have seen me wearing them. He
knows what I stand for, and he is not with me. What I want is different to what
he wants, Hermione. My friends, on the other hand, do want the same thing.”
“And they have a problem with my blood.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Yes,” he spat, reluctant to admit it so baldly.
“That problem is not going to disappear, you know,” she said acidly. “They will
have to come to terms with it sooner or later.” She wrenched her arm free of
his. “Is it only their problem, Tom? Do you imagine I have missed your constant
stream of invective about ‘usurpers,’ ‘invaders,’ and ‘robber lords’? Why am I
the exception? Or amI? You were quick to blame my mother’s mother for marrying
a Norman knight.”
“Your mother’s mother probably had no choice in the matter,” he said. “Her
father probably set it up.”
“Like your mother set us up?”
“What is your point, Hermione?”
“My point is that you are being dishonest, and not just with your friends. If
you have such contempt for people with that blood, how can you make an
exception for me?”
He stared angrily at her. “Do you want me not to make an exception for you?
Maybe I shouldn’t,” he said cruelly. “Since you clearly care so little about
the well-being of this country, since you put your emotions ahead of political
necessity, since you favor a peace that comes at the expense of my people,
maybe I shouldn’t make an exception for you.”
She stepped back from him. “Go to the Great Hall, Tom,” she said. “I do not
require you to escort me there.”
He glared at her before turning away in a whirl of robes.
***** Magical Barriers *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you for the response to the previous chapter! I am afraid that
     their problems are not resolved in this one, and I feel I should warn
     that their drama and distance will be an ongoing subplot for a while
     yet. They each need to develop in different ways, and other plots
     need to get moving, before I can bring you the endgame and tie all
     the threads back together. Thanks again for sticking with this story!
Tom did not so much as incline his head to look at Hermione when she entered
the Great Hall. She did not particularly expect him to—she had not seen any
indication in her previous year and a half of knowing him that he would
instantly back down from a hard position he had taken—but it still offended
her. She was in the right on this, and she knew it. Alliances of friendship
were important, of course, but alliances of family should always take
precedence unless there was a very good reason against it. Betrayal by a family
member was essentially the only reason Hermione could think of for that, and
nothing she had done was even in the proximity of a betrayal. Perhaps a Muggle
noble could order his wife—or betrothed—to accept his friends irrespective of
how she was treated, and would consider defiance of that command a betrayal,
but Hermione had realized that the wizarding nobility regarded witches very
differently to how Muggle lords regarded women. The wizarding nobility’s value
for family was sincere and consistent, since female members of the family were
placed higher than a lord’s friends.
On the other hand, Hermione had also concluded that the consistency in their
value for family was directly linked with this focus on “purity of
blood”—magical blood, in the case of most of them, or in Tom’s case and perhaps
that of his friends, ethnic “purity.” That was the dark side… but Tom would
have to come to terms with it. And if he kept these friends, so would they.
Haughtily she sat down at the Slytherin table next to him, but she did not
allow any part of her body to touch him, and she paid no attention to him. He
ignored her as well. Hermione ordered her breakfast verbally and began to eat
once it appeared at her place.
In a few minutes, Harry emerged. He glanced from Hermione to Tom and vice
versa, silently assessing the situation. Then he took his seat next to her and
gave her a kind smile. To Hermione’s surprise, Tom did not glare at Harry. He
ignored both of them through the entire meal.
===============================================================================
In a way, Hermione was relieved that she did not have to interact with Tom in
most of her subjects now—at least for today. She did realize in the back of her
mind that she would miss him in those classes once they had made up, but she
expected to advance to the mastery classes next year just as he had. In the
meantime, she would not be distracted from her work by the chill that currently
lay between them.
In Potions and Alchemy, one of the classes that she did still share with Tom,
she was rather taken aback when he paired up with Marcus Flint. After she and
Harry had advanced to the intermediate level in this subject, Tom had insisted
on being partnered with her, leaving Harry to Flint.
Harry observed the proceedings as silently as he had done at breakfast. Without
a word, he took his place next to Hermione at the potions table. Hermione was
relieved; despite her angry proclamations in the argument with Tom, she did not
want to discuss the situation with Harry or anyone else. To do so would mean
explaining just what she had said in her ultimatum, which she absolutely did
not want to do—or it would mean lying about that. It was apparent that she and
Tom were having difficulties, in any case, and Harry did not ask for the
details.
While they worked on their potion, Harry asked her, in a low voice, “Would you
like to come to another meeting tomorrow evening?”
Hermione did not need clarification. She nodded swiftly. “I am very interested
in the group and would like to continue attending these meetings.”
He smiled. “It’s at the same place as before, then, and same time of day.”
“I will be there.”
===============================================================================
The pattern continued for the rest of that day and through the following one:
Tom hardly spoke to Hermione, and what little he did say were perfunctory
comments about the type of magic they were studying that day. Hermione decided
to let him stew in his own cauldron. He had been the one to say that they
should return to being friends. If he really meant that, then he knew what the
terms would be for her.
At last the time of the Friends of the Founders meeting arrived. Haughtily
Hermione exited the Slytherin common room. Tom was deep in conversation in a
dark corner with his friends, but when she stood up to leave, his head shot up
and his gaze instantly fixed on her. She ignored his glare as she opened the
door to meet Ginevra Weasley just outside. Harry had already gone to the
meeting. For the sake of preventing damage to Hermione’s reputation, they had
decided that they had better go to these meetings separately, and that Hermione
should be seen meeting a witch. No one else in the House except for Tom knew of
the group’s existence, so the rest of the Slytherins should think that she was
spending time with female friends.
Hermione just hoped that Tom would not complain to his friends about what she
was really doing. She did not trust those boys not to spread the most
defamatory interpretation possible, even if so doing would tarnish Tom by
association.
Along the way Ginevra had hardly a word to say. She seemed to be studying
Hermione in order to decide what to think of her. Hermione decided she should
do the same. At the previous meeting, Ginevra had been a bit of a mystery to
Hermione, wary and distrustful of Slytherins in general but apparently more
open-minded than her brothers. Come to think of it, Hermione thought, why
aren’t her brothers going to these meetings? Finally Hermione addressed Ginevra
with just that question.
The young witch frowned in contemplation. “Well, three of my brothers are not
at Hogwarts anymore,” she said. “My brothers Fred, George, and Ronald, who are
here, don’t seem very interested.” There was a certain degree of disdain in her
words as she spoke of them. “Fred and George are twins, and they are more
interested in opening a shop. I do not know whatRon—Ronald—wants to do,” she
said scornfully. “He follows them, mostly. But they all have little interest in
political matters.”
“But you do.”
She gave Hermione a sideways look. “I suppose this must be outside the
experience of a young lady such as yourself,” she began, a barely perceptible
sardonic note in her voice, “but my family have had a… peculiar view of family
honor, in my opinion.”
“How so?” Hermione asked, ignoring the faint jibe.
“Well, we lost our title when the Muggle Conqueror named Armand Malfoy his
viceroy for wizards and witches. My great-grandparents would not swear to him.
Since then, Weasleys have been farmers and have taken pride in this condition.
My father has this view. He thinks that ambitious people, or rather, people who
aren’t satisfied with what they have, are not fully trustworthy. However, I
would like to help change the situation and help my family.”
Hermione considered that, thinking of her fight with Tom in which she had
accused him of precisely that. However, it seemed to her that there was quite a
difference between wanting to regain a noble title that one’s family had held
merely a couple of generations ago, and wanting to become king when one’s
ancestors had not held a throne in six centuries—andwhen one already was heir
to a wealthy fief. Wanting to change the political situation to take some of
the power of the Wizards’ Council away, however, was a different matter, and
Hermione could not fault Tom for thatdesire. She wondered what the Weasley
family in general thought about that goal.
“What about your other brothers?” she asked Ginevra. “Do they want to improve
their lot or change the political situation?”
“I think a couple of them do. My eldest brother, William, is adventuring in
France. I don’t think it has anything to do with the Muggles of Normandy,” she
said at once. “He said he’s trying to track down some goblins who worked with
Gryffindor during his lifetime and”—she lowered her voice—“bring them back
here, for our side. Charlie is saving money to go to Wales, where there is a
lord who breeds dragons, Lord Rhygar. He intends to enter this wizard’s
service. And Percival was named a master last year and he is currently helping
my father on our farm. I think he wants to become a knight, but he is having
trouble getting a noble benefactor. He’s even considering Muggle lords now, but
he would probably have to take a side in the Muggle conflict if he did. I hope
he doesn’t do that, but I do respect him for his ambitions.”
Hermione recalled that Ginevra’s Sorting had taken a long time, and with this
information, she believed she could guess what other House the Hat had
considered for her. That was interesting indeed, considering how much suspicion
Ginevra seemed to have for Slytherins.
They reached the seventh floor and the corridor where the Come-and-Go Room lay.
The girls entered the room and sat next to Luna Lovegood. Harry and Neville
presided, and when everyone had arrived, they called the meeting to order.
“My friend Neville has an important announcement to make,” Harry declared, as
Neville stood by looking uncomfortable and awkward. “But before he does, I have
to remind everyone that we have taken an oath of silence regarding the
existence of this group—at least, telling anyone who is a Malfoy ally. I must
ask all of you to speak to no one of what Neville is going to say.” He
hesitated for a moment. “When this thing happens, it will not be secret—as you
will see—but we can’t risk letting anyone know in advance that it is going to
happen. The Wizards’ Council have been bold lately about issuing extreme orders
and they would try to prevent it… or punish good people for even talking about
it.”
There were murmurs of agreement and assent.
“Very well. Neville,” Harry said, gesturing to his friend to speak.
Next to Hermione, Ginevra perked up almost imperceptibly as Neville took
Harry’s place. The look on her face was a bit hard for Hermione to read—it was
not the obvious look of a fancy, but there was definitely respect there. That
was interesting. Luna Lovegood was just as interested in Harry as before, her
wide blue eyes never leaving his face, but the ferocity that Hermione had seen
in her face in the previous meeting was gone, replaced with the self-assured
complacency that she possessed. Perhaps the two witches had come to an
understanding, then.
Neville Longbottom cleared his throat and began to explain. “My father, the
mayor of Hogsmeade, is going to summon the farmholders and heads of guilds to
his house for a vote this spring about whether to acclaim Master Dumbledore as
lord and join Hogsmeade with Hogwarts.” He looked down at his shoes. “They
expect to win the vote, but as Harry said, if this got out early, Lord Malfoy
would try to stop it from happening and would probably seize the village.”
The young people present in the room digested this.
“I don’t understand how that works,” said Ernest Macmillan, the Hufflepuff boy.
“If Master Dumbledore isn’t a lord, how can it be legal to swear to him as
one?”
Neville looked troubled by the question. He did not seem to have an answer, and
neither did Harry. But Hermione did know the answer to that, and she spoke up
eagerly. “The precedent comes from the days of the Founders,” she explained in
the same tone of voice that she used for the professors. “They were all lords
and ladies. If you read the Codex of Wizarding Law, it actually declares that
the High Master of Hogwarts is lord of the castle—or lady, if it’s a witch. The
Malfoys ran Godric Gryffindor out of his personal estate, but he was Lord of
Hogwarts in addition to Lord of Godric’s Hollow, and they never abolished that
title. Since Armand Malfoy arrived, they haven’t used a noble title, but the
law does say that. I read about it in histories of Hogwarts.”
Harry and Neville looked relieved. “Thank you, Lady Hermione,” Harry said
politely, making sure to use her title before the group.
Hermione herself was still troubled by a couple of things, and she decided to
speak up now. “There is one thing that worries me, though,” she said haltingly.
“The Wizards’ Council issued an order recently that anything they say—which is
to say, anything Armand Malfoy says—carries the same weight as the Codex of
Law. What is to prevent them from stripping Dumbledore of authority to accept
anyone’s oath of fealty and seizing the village anyway?”
“Nothing,” Harry said glumly. “They can do that if they choose to. But
Neville’s parents hope that they won’t do it. Everything they intend to do is
legal and normal. Hogsmeade is not currently part of any lord’s fief, so they
have a right to swear to one… and since you just told us all that the High
Master of Hogwarts was never stripped of a title, it wouldn’t be against the
law for Dumbledore to accept someone’s oath. If they retaliated, it would look
really vindictive.”
After the meeting adjourned, Hermione turned to Ginevra. “Perhaps your brother
Percival should enter Dumbledore’s service after this happens.”
Ginevra did not look convinced. “I will mention it to him after the Longbottoms
have held their vote. He may be interested, perhaps.”
===============================================================================
Tom still did not deign to acknowledge Hermione that evening. Evidently he had
figured out where she had gone. Let him simmer, she fumed as she went to bed.
The Friends of the Founders are at least planning to make alliances—or their
family members are, anyway. What can he boast of with his little group? He
thinks the Friends have another agenda, but what can it be other than to
restore their own lost status? Ginevra all but told me that that’s what she
wants for her own family. There is nothing suspicious about that. She
remembered Ginevra’s possible interest in Neville Longbottom. Yes, she
definitely stood to benefit if the Longbottoms’ actions ended up raising their
status and she pursued the young man.
Am I thinking of this strictly as a noble-raised person would? Hermione
wondered. Ginevra was almost placed in Slytherin—I absolutely believe that—and
if the Hat was inclined to put her there of its own accord, she actually is
more Slytherin-like than I am. But does she have an agenda other than social
climbing? For Neville’s sake, I hope she does. Hermione was sure that the
awkward, shy young man would welcome the attentions of a determined witch, so
she hoped that Ginevra actually did like him. But this is none of my business,
she reminded herself. She was glad that Harry had not asked her about the
troubles in her betrothal to Tom, and she was not going to insert herself into
her friends’ personal affairs either.
===============================================================================
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
Armand and Abraxas Malfoy sat in their vast parlor as Arcturus Black was
admitted to the room. The fourth member of the Wizards’ Council, Rodolphus
Lestrange, was not present, by design—Abraxas’s design. He was certain that if
they had invited Lestrange, his wife Bellatrix would insist upon attending as
well. Lestrange imagined himself a strong husband in the classical and Germanic
mold, a patriarch who had little use for the female-accepting traditions of the
ancient Celtic culture of this country, but in truth Lady Bellatrix could get
her way quite readily on most matters. Even worse according to Abraxas’s
reckoning, she was a terrible influence on him. She would persuade him to her
strident, violent ideas especially well, Abraxas thought, since it was their
family that would be the topic of this meeting with Black—and that was
unacceptable in this case. It was already going to be a challenge for him and
Black to persuade Father to a moderate response to Lady Riddle’s provocation,
one that would not provoke an uprising. The two Lestranges together would
reinforce and exacerbate Father’s worst tendencies and outnumber the more
reasonable voices. Abraxas had therefore neglected to tell Lestrange of this
meeting. Inevitably they would have to do so, but better to present the outcome
as a fait accompli—and a gift of sorts.
Arcturus Black was seated. He regarded the two Malfoys with suspicion and
reserve.
Armand spoke first. “Welcome, kinsman. As you know, the blood-traitor Riddle
lady has named our ally and kin Lord Lestrange an enemy, because he accepted
the oath of the Carrows.”
Black nodded stiffly.
“This cannot stand unanswered, of course,” Malfoy continued. “It is true, of
course, that the Carrows broke their prior oaths to the Gaunt family, but due
to the law that we recently passed, I can pardon them, and I will do so.”
“My lord father has already signed a pardon to that effect,” Abraxas added.
Armand smirked. “Of course, I do not expect the blood-traitor to lift her
declaration against the Lestrange family. Therefore we have called you here to
discuss retaliation against her for this outrage.”
Black glared outward, then instantly rearranged his face. “Oh?” he said mildly.
“What do you have in mind, my lord?”
“I want to proclaim her in rebellion against the Wizards’ Council for naming a
family seated on it as her enemy,” Malfoy said baldly. “I cannot actually
accuse her of treason, since she is not sworn to Lestrange, but I can vouch for
Lestrange and name her a rebel. This justifies removing the half-blood and
Mudblood from Hogwarts, of course.”
This was exactly why Abraxas had not wanted the Lestranges present: They would
have seconded this view, and Father would have taken shelter under their
superior numbers. But Abraxas could see that Black thought as he did about this
idea.
“I have… concerns… about that, my lord, with all respect,” Black said
haltingly. “Even if you do pardon the Carrows, there will be sympathy for Lady
Riddle’s actions, because they didbreak their oaths. Lady Riddle’s brother may
have been a loathsome lord, but they continued to avoid their obligations to
the family even after she assumed the title.”
“She is a blood-traitor who bore a half-blood son and betrothed him to a
Mudblood. That is reason enough to break an oath to her.”
“Many people will not agree,” Black said cautiously. “And another thing, there
is a tradition in old English culture that nobles may name enemies among other
nobles as long as it is not treason against one’s own lord. There will be
sympathy for her, and if you make war on her for this, it risks expanding to
include more than just her.”
“You do know much about your English traditions,” Armand sneered. “What did
your people call it? Weregild?”
“That is invoked after a murder,” Black said, “but it is another of the same
kind of custom.”
“We should stamp out uncivilized customs like that,” Armand declared. “My
allies and I attempted to establish clear lines of authority in this country,
as opposed to that anarchic body that you used to have. I do not want to coddle
this, and I will not. My mind is made up. I am going to declare her a rebel,
expel the half-blood and Mudblood from Hogwarts for theiracts of defiance, and
try to seize the woman’s castle.” He folded his arms and stared out from Black
to his son and back again.
Abraxas’s face instantly became calm. “Very well, my lord father,” he said in
soothing tones. “Your word is law.”
“That it is.” He summoned Dobby the house-elf to bring them some wine.
Abraxas observed Arcturus Black’s face as they drank their wine. The man was
appalled at Lord Malfoy’s behavior, clearly. Would Black support him if he
acted against his own father? It was a risk….
Armand had a second goblet of wine. The other wizards observed as he grew
drowsy from the drink. Abraxas made up his mind. When his father rose from his
seat to get something off a shelf, he decided to act. With a quick glance at
Arcturus, he drew his wand and pointed it at his father’s back.
“Stupefy,” he whispered. Across the room, Armand collapsed onto a sofa. Abraxas
arose and went to where his father lay.
Black was gazing at Abraxas in surprise and respect as the latter wizard cast
the complex charm to implant a false memory into someone’s mind. Abraxas felt
ashamed of what he was doing, but clearly, it had to be done. His father was
not acting sensibly anymore. He felt guilty for his own part in giving him that
accursed potion that he regularly drank.
“What came over me?” Armand muttered as his son helped him back into his chair.
“You took a fall,” Abraxas explained. “It must have been the wine.”
“Do you think that elf—”
“No, Father, I am sure it is just that this is a strong vintage. I feel a bit
tipsy myself,” he lied.
“Ah,” said the elder Malfoy. “Well, I thank you for assisting me. Now, as we
were discussing, you think that Burke will consent to marrying the Riddle lady
with my new law in effect?”
Abraxas prayed that Black would go along. To his relief, Black instantly spoke
in agreement.
“I do,” he said, giving Abraxas a private but pointed look. “The law, as I
understand it, would transfer lordship of the estate to a wizard husband of
Lady Riddle. Burke’s principal objection to the marriage was that he would have
been a consort. If he was being sincere, then this should remove that
objection.”
“He also cited you,” Armand said. “He wanted to get your permission first. I am
to assume that you will give it?”
Arcturus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes,” he said. “I will.”
“We will have to check on the status of her marriage to that Muggle,” Abraxas
said. “Even if they divorced, she made her wedding vows as a witch, with
magical power behind a sworn oath, so she cannot remarry if hedivorced
her—unless she is willing to annul the vows, which she surely wouldn’t.”
“If he is still alive, it will be no trouble to kill him,” Armand said evilly.
“And if she refuses to marry Burke, then she will have to hide in that castle,
with her son and the Mudblood. That is an act of rebellion.”
Abraxas had modified his father’s memories in which he entertained this very
set of ideas. Clearly they had an appeal for him anyway. Abraxas hoped that it
would not come to that. Surely the woman would see that it was better for her
to consent to the marriage than to have to withdraw her son and Granger from
Hogwarts and hide behind the magically protected walls of her castle
indefinitely.
===============================================================================
Arcturus Black soon sent the Malfoys a letter stating that Caractacus Burke had
at last agreed to marry Merope Riddle under the terms of Lord Malfoy’s new law.
Abraxas was immensely relieved. This was how things should be, tense situations
calmed by traditional political plays rather than war.
A couple of days later, he received a second owl. Tom Riddle Sr. was alive, he
had divorced Lady Riddle, and he was remarried to a Muggle woman named Cecilia.
Abraxas hated to receive that news. He did not like the thought of widowing
someone, even a Muggle, merely as a means to an end. He himself had no feud
with this Muggle… but it was necessary, unfortunately. They had no children, at
least.
Abraxas presented his plan to Rodolphus Lestrange, who was pleased at the
“gifts” that the rest of the Wizards’ Council had presented him following their
informal meeting at Malfoy Manor. He also liked the idea of his nemesis being
under the thumb of a Wizards’ Council ally and was eager to participate in the
murder of the Muggle Riddle. Abraxas decided to let Lestrange do the honors.
The less blood on his own hands, the better. Burke himself wanted to tag along,
and Malfoy had no particular objection, he supposed.
Thus it was that one moonless night that winter, the trio of wizards sneaked
into the village where Riddle and his new wife lived. They had a manor house
befitting of a Muggle knight. Abraxas wondered why this Muggle was not fighting
for either of the Muggle pretenders to the throne, as a knight… but some of the
nobles were neutral. Evidently Riddle’s lord was among them. It was a pity; a
death in battle would be easy to arrange and seemed somehow less sordid than
this dirty business.
Riddle’s manor was on a hill inside the walls that surrounded his lord’s much
grander castle. From a distance, the wizards studied the entrance to the
smaller house. There were posted guards, but they would pose little trouble for
a company of well-armed Muggles, let alone people of magic. Of course, the
knight’s manor house was behind the walls of his lord’s castle. These guards
were meant to keep out peasants who worked for the lord. The wizards advanced
forward—
Lestrange was the most eager. He had bounded forward, wand drawn, ready to
kill, but some unseen force had thrown him back violently. He landed on his
back, cursing fluently in both French and English.
Burke and Malfoy exchanged wary glances. Aware of the expectations he had as
the social inferior of Malfoy, Burke edged forward to the spot where it seemed
Lestrange had been flung back. He put a hand forward and met an invisible but
solid barrier. It crackled against his skin with what could only be magic, not
that there was any doubt about that. He drew his wand and began to cast spells
into the air and at the ground, trying to diagnose what sort of shield kept
them from entering.
Finally he pulled back and turned grimly to Malfoy and Lestrange. “There is a
blood ward on this property,” he said.
Lestrange rubbed the small of his back. “That bitch put it up!”
Burke nodded. “She must have. No one else would care. She must have anticipated
that your lordships would try to pressure her into a marriage.”
“Shrewd bitch,” Lestrange repeated.
“What kind of blood ward is it?” Abraxas Malfoy asked Burke.
“It’s a strong one, that’s for certain. I think that she must have used her own
blood to anchor it. The only thing stronger than that is a sacrifice of one’s
life. This kind of ward will protect the inhabitants of this property from any
witch or wizard except her own kin. It protects not just the Riddle man, but
also the lord and anyone inside these walls.”
Lestrange considered that. “The Gaunts kept it in the family for a long time,
but occasionally they did intermarry. Whom are they related to?”
“No one close enough to get through, your lordship,” Burke said regretfully.
“Blood charms this strong will only allow the closest of kin entry. That
typically means a parent, sibling, or child.”
“You said ‘any witch or wizard.’ Does it let Muggles in? It must, if this
knight expects to conduct business or admit his own lord to the house,”
Lestrange said. A glint appeared in his eye. “Why don’t we find a Muggle and
put him under the Imperius Curse?”
Abraxas and Burke exchanged looks and tried to avoid showing their contempt for
Lestrange. “That will not work,” Abraxas said. “A titled Muggle like this one,
even a knight, would not allow people to enter his home carrying weapons. Their
guards take weapons and even tools away from visitors of lower status. The lord
could go inside bearing a sword, but we cannot get at him either, since he is
also behind the ward.”
Lestrange was downcast. “That’s a pity,” he grumbled. “I suppose we have to
hope that he goes to war or otherwise leaves this property.”
Abraxas thought about it. “We could… but I will see if I can think of anything
else.”
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
It had been two weeks since Hermione had fought with Tom, and he was still
barely speaking to her. He had returned to his perfunctory polite acts of
courtesy such as escorting her around the castle, but their intimacy had
vanished. Each night she second-guessed herself as she lay in bed, the weight
of the day’s events pressing against her mind.
I’m going to marry him anyway, she comforted herself, twisting the emerald ring
on her finger like a good-luck charm. We’re going to marry. He will surely make
amends with me long before our wedding, once he has reconciled himself to the
inevitable. I just hope that he won’t…. Hermione was unwilling to complete that
thought in words. The idea of Tom going to other girls for what she was no
longer giving him made her feel physically sick. He never did before me, she
thought. He did not even have an innocent sweetheart. He also said himself that
he would not touch anyone else—promised it, in fact—and he knows what the vows
of a wizard mean. He also knows that he can have me again if he will just take
a firm hand with those friends of his and tell them that they have to accept
me. Somewhat comforted by this, Hermione plumped her pillow and tried to go to
sleep.
Her dreams were turbulent and distressing. A great serpent slithered its way
down a dark corridor, taking what Hermione knew in her dream was an inexorable
path toward her. She tried to escape it, but finally, the nightmare reached the
inevitable conclusion that all dreams of being chased reached.
Right before the serpent found her, the dream shifted as her brain recoiled
from the terrible imagining. Now she was watching as a man she did not
recognize stared at a witch whose back was turned. Hermione knew the witch was
Merope, her own second mother, and she wanted to call out to warn her that the
man meant her harm, but her voice was muted. When Merope finally turned around,
the wizard had vanished into the ether of dreams.
The dream shifted again, presenting Hermione with an image of Adelaide
Lestrange. Strangely, Hermione did not feel the bitter anger toward this girl
in the dream that she did in real life. Adelaide was staring into space,
unaware of Hermione’s presence, and although Hermione did not know what was
wrong, in the dream she felt pity for her enemy in waking life.
She then slipped into deep sleep and remembered no more dreams. Time passed,
and the next thing she was aware of was the magical bell that she had set for
herself waking her up. She dressed, still brooding over the dreams. The serpent
dream was surely a reflection of the fear that Tom would find the alleged
basilisk of Slytherin, as well as general anxiety over her relationship with
him. She definitely knew that Merope had enemies. What the dream about Adelaide
meant, if anything, she could not begin to guess.
Divination is mostly rubbish, she told herself as she left her bedchamber.
Dreams do not always mean anything, and it’s impossible to sort out which ones
do and which ones don’t. She walked down the corridor and entered the Slytherin
common room.
Professor Slughorn was standing in the room, several students gathered around
him. Tom was among them.
“The ritual will take place on the first of May, of course,” he was explaining
to them. “As you undoubtedly know, it will result in a season-long charm of
good fortune—a blessing, our ancestors called it—upon the task that you choose
to charm, or bless, during the rite. Traditionally, due to the ancient
significance of Beltane, this is a romantic relationship,” Slughorn said, with
a wink at Tom and a couple of others.
Tom did not respond even with a smile. Hermione felt a pang.
“However,” Slughorn continued, “there is no requirement in the ritual that it
must be. If you are interested in taking part in this ritual, there will be
special tutoring in the advanced magic that it will entail.”
Tom smiled. “I am certainly interested, and I am honored to be selected for
this, Professor.”
Hermione stood in the shadowed threshold of the door leading to the girls’
dormitories. Slughorn did not notice her, and she was not sure that Tom did
either.
When Slughorn left the room, she took a deep breath and walked forward.
“Congratulations, my lord,” she said, her tones chilly even to her ears. “I
remember you told me that you wanted to do this.” She hoped that the reminder
of what their relationship ought to be would soften him to her again.
Tom gazed at her smugly. “Thank you, my lady. I believe it is time for
breakfast, though.” He offered her his arm without an iota of warmth, but she
took it anyway. She was not going to be intimate with him in any fashion until
he changed his attitude, but she still longed for his touches, even those that
meant little.
***** Beltane Blessings *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi guys, I apologize for the delay with this one. I struggled with
     this chapter, for various reasons, and I'm not sure that it does what
     I want it to do - but I've pored over it until I'm tired of it, so
     now I'm offering it up to you.
     Thank you as always for your support of this story!
Tom was frustrated about many things.
For one, it had been more than a month since Hermione had issued her ultimatum
and stormed off in anger, and since then, they had barely spoken. They
certainly had not been affectionate in any way. The old holiday of Imbolc had
come and gone this week. He had meant to tell Hermione about it and observe it
with her, as another traditional practice that was already almost forgotten and
that the current wave of invaders would surely love to stamp out for good… but
instead, he had lit a magical candle, to observe the gradual return of
daylight, alone. That seemed somehow ominous to him. He had not expected that
she would actually be this stubborn when she had made that statement. He had
been sure that she would miss him, feel bad, and come to him within a week at
most. Now, Tom was reluctantly having to consider the possibility that she
meant what she said and that she would not back down.
What does she expect to achieve? he thought grouchily. She knows she is going
to marry me anyway. My mother made me that promise about letting me out, but
I’m sure her parents did not. Tom wondered why he thought of that again. He did
not want to do it… and he remembered, once again, that his mother apparently
knew that they had consummated their engagement. She would not lethim end it
unless there was a very good reason.
Why am I thinking about this? Tom wondered again. He forced his thoughts to
center on Hermione. I just do not understand what she thinks she will
accomplish. If something does not change, then someday we’ll have to swear to a
Malfoy. The Council has already tried to seize even more power than they did
eighty years ago when they placed themselves where the Wizengamot used to sit.
They don’t even pretend to observe the centuries of wizarding law—laws that
this nation developed before they ever trampled French dirt into English soil.
Armand Malfoy has made himself an uncrowned king, and if someone does not stop
this, Hermione and I will live at the whim of a tyrant. I have to be that
person. I have the bloodline, and I have the ambition. Hermione seems to think
that the problems will disappear on their own. They won’t.
Tom’s thoughts shifted to the little group that Hermione occasionally met with,
the one with Potter’s friends from other Houses of Hogwarts. He scoffed to
himself. If Hermione—if Potter, for that matter—truly believed that their
entire goal was to help Hogwarts, then they were definitely practicing willful
self-delusion. It was obvious that there was more to it than that. The
Longbottoms were certainly trying to recover their own lost status, for which
Tom could not fault them. Potter’s parents were apparently descended from
vassals of Godric Gryffindor. But what theyhoped to achieve, Tom could not
decide. They were subjects of Lucius Malfoy, and an uprising in Godric’s Hollow
had already failed years ago.
Could they be planning to involve Hogsmeade and Hogwarts in a repeat attempt?
Tom wondered. That, at least, made some sense. With outside help, an uprising
might actually succeed in ousting Lord Lucius from Gryffindor’s castle. But for
how long? Tom thought. He will go to his father and grandfather, and they will
crack down. This is very different to Hogsmeade, a free town, swearing to
Dumbledore. They have the right to do that. An uprising in Godric’s Hollow
would be treason, and the Malfoys would lay siege to the town if it succeeded…
and clearly, they took over Gryffindor’s castle from the outside once already,
when they first came. I wonder about that… but it must not be that difficult to
do. The Potters must know this. What do theywant?What does that loafer Sirius
Black want?
Then, too, what was the Weasley girl doing? Was she merely out to attach
herself to one of the boys who stood to profit from it if their (possible) mad
schemes succeeded? Why were none of her brothers involved? Or are they? Tom
thought darkly. The older brothers might be involved from outside the school.
The younger brothers, the ones who were still at Hogwarts, were a useless lot,
in his opinion. The youngest boy seemed to be good for nothing except whinging,
and Tom had taken the twins’ measure in his first year of school. They at least
had ambitions of earning gold, but they did not care how. They would do
business with the Malfoy regime, Tom was convinced, if they thought that was
the pathway to wealth. There was no guiding principle, no care for how
wizarding society in England, Scotland, and Wales should be ordered. In
Hangleton Village, there were a couple of tradesmen—people that Tom’s own
mother had empowered to work a trade instead of working the fields—who always
tried to get the better of their liege lady on their taxes. The Weasley twins
were typical money-grubbing peasants of this sort, and Tom had little use for
them. If hehad still been without his title, it would have been different, but
that was because he had the royal bloodline, and therefore he would have been
merely taking what he should have had anyway.
Tom sighed. He really did not know what the supposed “Friends of the Founders”
were up to. There were a couple of obvious possibilities, but they really felt
tooobvious. Tom felt that there had to be something big that he was not seeing,
but he could not begin to guess what. He doubted he could find out by cornering
one of the Weasleys at Hogwarts and performing Legilimency; he did not expect
that the youngest ones knew such information.
He turned to thoughts of his own group of allies and friends. As much as he
hated to admit it, he did not have any accomplishments of his own either. He
built castles in the air with the boys, but he had not even secured alliances
with their families for his mother. Was the reason his betrothal to Hermione?
Tom really hoped it was not that. That sort of thing should not matter for
alliances of friendship and mutual defense unless the other family was an enemy
of someone, and Hermione’s family could not possibly be an enemy of any of his
friends’ families. They were Muggles. Wizard nobles probably would not consider
them their equals—and he could not really blame them for that—but they were not
enemies.
Perhaps the boys have not talked to their families, he thought. Perhaps they
need direction from me. I thought it was clear what I wanted, but they are
followers, so perhaps they just need to be told what to do in explicit terms.
That was what he would do, then. He would make his intentions clear. He would
assure them and their families that this was not a game, that it was serious
and real.
What about Hermione? Tom asked himself once more. Leave her be for now, or try
to persuade her to return to me? He thought about Hermione’s complaints. She
had not appreciated the implications he had made to Fawley, which he supposed
he could understand… he wished it had not been necessary to make them… but he
did believe it had been. And if his friends caught them in a compromising
situation again, he would need to imply the same sort of thing again. Better,
then, for things to remain as they were for now. It hardly mattered. They would
marry anyway someday. This was not a choice between Hermione and his friends.
If he deferred his pleasure for now, and focused on alliance-building, he would
have both—andhe could change the status of English wizards and witches.
===============================================================================
Hermione missed Tom’s company especially strongly when the first hints of
spring began to appear and people began to make day-long visits to Hogsmeade
instead of quick trips to avoid the cold and snow. He did not always go at all,
preferring instead to remain in the castle with his friends, and when he did
go, he and his group disappeared into the darkest corner of the tavern. It was
as if Hermione was not even there, and she felt angry and sick whenever she saw
him lead his besotted flock to a table. –A Round Table? she thought darkly.
That seemed to be what he wanted.
She wondered what else they discussed. The fabled Chamber of Slytherin, no
doubt—and whenever Hermione thought of that, she worried. Had Tom’s interests
not been so dangerous, she would have scoffed and ignored his secret meetings.
If he wanted to look for a hidden chamber in Hogwarts, let him! But there was
the complication that that chamber might contain a deadly magical beast.
Hermione would have considered it her responsibility to approach him and try to
urge him against the pursuit, but she reflected on the fact that when they
wereclose, she had done just that, and he had ignored her advice.
Hermione found that as winter changed into spring, she went to Hogsmeade less
and less. When she did go, it was either with Luna or Ginevra. They would meet
up with Harry and the rest of his group. There they discussed school and spoke
in hushed voices about other matters if Malfoy’s group was nowhere in sight.
Neville’s parents were going to hold the vote in their home as soon as spring
was in full bloom.
Hermione was worried about that too. Although it was legal and ordinary, Armand
Malfoy would likely do something in retaliation. What else can he do? she mused
one day. He has already usurped lawmaking power to himself alone. What’s next?
She was powerless to stop Tom from pursuing his dangerous interests and
powerless to prevent the Wizards’ Council from punishing the “Friends of the
Founders” or their families for what Hogsmeade would likely do soon. I am the
one person who has ties to both of Armand Malfoy’s groups of enemies, she
thought uneasily. Tom really has nothing to do with Harry anymore. I’m it, and
I was already a target for him because of my blood and the challenge that my
parents and Lady Merope raised to his first ruling about Hogwarts. I need to
protect myself better than I am. Other people cannot do it all for me. I need
to focus on my studies, and on achieving mastery of magic.
===============================================================================
To that end, Hermione started to spend more time in the library. It was not as
if she was avoiding the place—far from it—but she could always read more. She
sat in her bedchamber one afternoon in spring, a parchment before her. It was
going to become a schedule. Hermione frowned as she dipped her quill in ink. It
was interesting indeed how much time was available in the day if she did not
set aside private time for her relationship with Tom. The block of time in the
early evening, which she had often spent with him in the small room, was marked
“Library.” An hour and a half each day, then. That might possibly be
sufficient. Hermione could never be quite sure. She rolled up the parchment and
placed it in her satchel.
That evening, she left her room again and strode through the Slytherin common
room without fear. Draco Malfoy was there, with three boys nearby. Across the
room were Adelaide Lestrange and her circle of friends. Hermione ignored them,
merely making sure that no one cursed her or rose to follow her. She observed
as she passed through the room that Tom’s friends were there, but Tom himself
was not. Harry was not in the room, but she supposed that he was likely with
Neville—or perhaps Luna. She opened the door, exited the common room, and
closed it behind her.
As she walked quickly down the corridors, she kept her wand at the ready. No
one had followed her immediately, but if someone had observed that she was
alone and decided to follow her just after she had left, it would be easy to
catch her. However, she made it to the library undisturbed. Breathing a sigh of
relief, she pushed open the huge doors and entered the grand space.
Hermione had a study plan and quickly made her way to the section of the
library about transfiguration. She selected a large tome from the shelf and
carried it to a chair next to one of the tall stained-glass windows. Soon she
was absorbed in the book. She almost did not notice when a tall black-haired
wizard walked by.
Tom stopped cold as he saw who else was in the library mere feet away. He
glowered at her, clutching an armful of books close to his chest. She set down
her own book and glared back at him. What was he on about, anyway? She had as
much a right as he did to use the library.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She gaped at him. Her eyebrows narrowed. “How dare you ask me that?” she said.
“You do not own this library.”
He sneered. “No one else is here. Are you following me?”
“Absolutely not. For all I know, I was here first. I am studying, Tom. It’s
what I came here to do.” She gazed at the titles of the books he had. “Ancient
Inscriptions of Ogham andPyromancy. Pyromancy, Tom? Maybe I should ask what
youare doing here.”
“They are for the Beltane ritual,” he said, affronted. He clutched the books
closer. “Of course, you weren’t chosen for that, so I suppose you would not
know about the kinds of magic that we’ll perform.”
Hermione drew her wand fully and pointed it at his face. “Watch your words,
Tom. You weren’t chosen for it either when you were at my level last spring.
And I know what both kinds of magic are, I will have you know.”
“Good for you,” he said snidely. “Now, lower your wand and don’t ever point it
at me again.”
She rose from her chair and stormed toward him, her wand out. Although she
walked fast, his reflexes were just as quick. Before she reached him, he had
shifted the books to one arm and drawn his wand to point it at her. His gaze
was set and angry.
Hermione was unafraid. “Do nottell me what to do, Tom Riddle.”
He laughed. “The only reason you even think about challenging me is your
exposure to the magical community and the fact that we keep the ancient Celtic
custom of honoring witches. If you were still among Saxon Muggles and Norman
toadies, you would sit back meekly and do as you were told, because you would
not know any better.” The smirk vanished from his face. “Remember that,
Hermione. If the Wizards’ Council continues to rule, you will eventually be
reduced to the status of a Muggle woman.”
“You have already done that with your treatment of me. You owe me an apology
for that, but if you still prefer to dream fanciful dreams with your little
friends, then we have nothing further to say to each other right now.” She
glared at his books. “Read your books, Tom, and leave me to read mine.”
He sneered at her one last time before storming away. For a moment Hermione
thought about calling out to him, pleading for him to come back, but the urge
passed in the next moment and she did not. He was the one who ought to do that.
If he did not yet realize that, then she would not budge until he did.
===============================================================================
Longbottom Cottage, Hogsmeade.
Frank and Alice Longbottom sat in the matched pair of chairs on either side of
the fire that crackled in the main room of their home. Alice held a small
cauldron in her lap, empty. Frank’s mother sat in another chair next to him,
her visage silver-haired and stately. Around the room stood the residents of
the village who owned their own farms, as well as the chosen leaders of all the
trade guilds. With the exception of the witch who headed the weaver’s guild,
they were all male. They shifted in place, ill at ease with what they all
suspected was about to happen.
The Longbottoms rose. Frank began to speak.
“Friends, leaders of the village, my countrymen…. We have called you to our
residence to take a vote on a matter of the greatest importance. The rumors you
have heard are true: The village, our village, has negotiated a potential
allegiance to the High Master of Hogwarts.”
The villagers eyed each other speculatively.
“The terms of the allegiance are standard. Since the village already trades
with Hogwarts and sells food to the school, nothing will change except that we
will have to seek approval of the High Master before trading outside, and we
will be obliged to provide a token each year in gold or in kind. A very small
amount,” he assured them. “Merely a formality to secure the magical contract.
We will continue to receive our share of the crops that the school itself owns.
We will also have the formal, irrevocable protection of the Masters, and any
magical wards that they place over the school may also be imposed on the
village.
“This allegiance will not be official unless ‘yeas’ carry the vote. I must warn
you,” Frank said, “there are those in high places in this country who will not
look fondly upon this move. You may have suspected this already—yes, I see that
some of you have. Know that however his high lordship and the rest of the
Wizards’ Council would regard this oath, it is lawful and unexceptional for a
free town to choose to swear to a lord, and the Master of Hogwarts is a lord,
by the Codex of Wizarding Law.”
A farmholder spoke up. “What if Lord Malfoy strips Dumbledore of that title? I
hear he can do that now if he wants to, and no one even on the Council can say
him nay.”
“You are correct. If that happens, then we will have to choose whether to
accept it or rebel,” Frank said grimly. Several people in the group shared
uncomfortable looks with each other. “But we do not think that this will
happen. Even though Lord Malfoy cando such a thing, there are three other
members of the Wizards’ Council who we do not believe will be inclined to risk
magical uprisings around the country. They are all related to Malfoy by blood
or marriage, too, so they will be able to influence him.
“To avoid pressure, the vote will be private,” Frank explained. “You were all
given slips of parchment upon entering. Write your choice, ‘yea’ or ‘nay,’ as
to whether the village shall swear fealty to the High Master of Hogwarts, then
place your ballot in this cauldron.” He gestured to the cauldron that his wife
still held. “I will tally the votes before all of you and show the slips of
parchment to everyone.”
The farmholders and tradesmen took out quills of varying degrees of quality and
began to scratch their votes. One by one, they either manually dropped the
pieces into the cauldron or directed them there by magic. At last the final
person had voted. Frank Longbottom reached into the cauldron and began to tally
the votes one by one.
“Yea,” he said, holding up the slip of paper so that everyone could see it.
Alice flicked her wand, creating a shimmering number in the air to represent
the total for each side.
This continued throughout the counting until finally the last ballot was
tallied. The vote was closer than the Longbottoms had expected—perhaps the
ominous speech about the possible consequences had frightened some of them—but
in the end, the yeas carried the vote.
“So be it,” he said. “As the mayor and representative of Hogsmeade, I will take
the oath before his lordshipHigh Master Dumbledore.”
After the guests had dispersed, Frank turned to his wife and mother with a sad
look on his face. “I feel that I have lied to them.”
“You have not lied,” Alice said gently. “With luck, it will not come to blows
between wizards. Our English allies, the ‘robins,’ are busy, after all.”
“The Malfoys will not surrender power quietly, and there is always the
possibility that….” He hesitated. “That ‘the robins won’t bring back any food.’
And if they do, the concessions are going to be unpleasant, I’m afraid.”
She held herself resolutely and shared a glance with the elder Augusta
Longbottom. “Your mother and I are prepared to make them.”
He sighed again.
===============================================================================
“It’s done,” Neville announced in his quiet way at the next meeting of the
Friends of the Founders. “The village voted yea, and my father is going to
swear to Dumbledore privately this weekend. After that they will proclaim it.
And then….” He trailed off uneasily.
“And then we will all see what Armand Malfoy does,” Hermione said quietly.
The young people nodded solemnly.
Hermione’s conscience pricked at her. I should tell Tom about this before it
happens, she thought. Even though he will find out, just like everyone else, I
should tell him in advance so that he can prepare for it.
That evening, she steeled herself to address him in the Slytherin common room,
sadly reflecting on the fact that they were so far apart now that she was not
even comfortable talking to him. Perhaps this will be the beginning of a
reconciliation, she thought optimistically as she approached him. He was by
himself, for one, reading a book instead of conspiring in whispers with his
friends. As she walked up, he lifted his gaze from the book—Hermione could see
it was Pyromancy—and cast her a hostile glare.
“You need not look at me that way,” she snapped, instantly regretting such a
poor start to the conversation. She tried to continue in a more neutral tone,
lowering her voice as well so that no one else could hear. “I heard this
evening that Mayor Longbottom of Hogsmeade conducted a vote about whether to
swear fealty to Dumbledore, and it passed.”
Tom closed the book and rose from his seat. “Excuse me,” he said, reaching for
her arm. She jerked away, but he took her wrist anyway. “This discussion should
occur somewhere else.” He released her wrist and offered her his arm.
Hesitantly she took it. He escorted her out of the common room and into a dark,
stuffy part of the underground corridor. The stone floor was damp, and there
was almost no light except what came from other connecting corridors.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded as he lit the tip of his wand.
“So you have decided to join Potter and Longbottom’s group,” he said.
“You knowthat I went to the meetings!” she exclaimed. “You asked me to continue
attending, when we were still on good terms. What is your problem?”
“Perhaps I don’t want my betrothed swanning about the school with other
wizards.”
She glared furiously at him. “I walk to meetings with Luna Lovegood or Ginevra
Weasley, and don’t ‘swan about’ with any boy, but perhaps youshould start to
treat me like your betrothed again if this offends you so much!”
He continued to glare. “I also regard it as switching sides. Frankly, that’s
far more important,” he added cuttingly.
She ignored his barb with her response, though it still hurt. “They are not
your enemies. They’re not the Malfoys. They are opposed to the Wizards’ Council
too.”
“This provocation—this Hogsmeade vote—could interfere with my plans. You
mentioned it before, but I did not realize they intended to do it so soon. I am
not ready for things to start moving yet. I haven’t found the Chamber—”
“Curseyour Chamber!”
He continued as if she had not interrupted. “—and I don’t yet have my friends’
families in alliance with my mother. If the Longbottoms provoke the Wizards’
Council into an act of war, it will be between the two of them. I won’t stand a
chance to offer another option to my people.”
Hermione gaped at him. “Thatis what worries you?”
“It is a fair reading, I think. I hope that the Council doesn’t do anything. At
least it’s the school,” he said, trying to inject hope into his words. “Their
children attend this school too. It’s almost as impregnable as my mother’s
castle. But….” He trailed off.
Hermione was thinking of something else. “You said ‘my people.’ Why not ‘our’?”
He gazed evenly at her. “Are they your people, Hermione?”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean.”
Outraged and furious, she surged forward. “No, I am afraid I don’t, Tom. Are
you saying that ‘your people’ don’t include part-Normans, or that they don’t
include Muggle-borns?”
“I’m asking if you count yourself as part of ‘my people.’ You must know what I
mean when I say that.” He was smirking.
“That’s it, Tom,” she declared. “I am not playing games with you. If you want
to know my thoughts about something, you can ask me in a civilized manner, but
I will not have this. I wanted to warn you about the Hogsmeade vote so that you
couldadapt, but clearly, I should not have bothered. Good night.”
She turned on her heels and stormed back to the common room, leaving him
standing in the damp hallway. He could not see the tears in her eyes.
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall, Hangleton.
Severus Snape entered his lady’s private study, where she stood by the window,
staring grimly at the forest outside the castle. She turned as he came into the
room and forced a weak smile on her face.
“My lady, what troubles you?” he asked baldly.
She sighed. “My son’s letters to me are cold and perfunctory. I am afraid that
he and Lady Hermione are having difficulties. He has hardly mentioned her. I
hope she isn’t—”
Severus’s black eyes widened as he completed the sentence in his mind. “You
have reason to think there is a chance she might be?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling grimly. “But she knows how to make the potion. I
asked her… and it’s also possible that they have quarreled, and that’s why my
son’s letters are so chilly. In any case,” she collected herself, “you came
here to bring news.” The weak smile transformed into an encouraging one as she
sat down behind her desk. “You may sit as well.”
He took a seat and began to speak. “I do have news,” he said slowly.
“Hogsmeade’s new mayor, Frank Longbottom, held a vote with the important people
in the town. They decided to swear to Dumbledore—well, actually to the head of
Hogwarts, who remains a lord or lady in the law.”
Merope nodded. “It hardly changes anything, practically speaking, but the
meaningof it is clear.”
“Yes, and it has not been lost on the Wizards’ Council families. The little
sources reported that apparently all three of the younger members had to
magically restrain Lord Malfoy. He apparently became apoplectic when he heard
about it, and wanted to replace Dumbledore—accusing him of treason, I
believe—but they rightly persuaded him that nothing in this matter was
treasonous, and that the Council did not want to make war on Hogwarts if it
could be avoided—especially with the allegiance of Hogsmeade to the castle. The
school could easily withstand a siege, between the crop fields and the magical
wards, which it can now lawfully place around the town as well.”
Merope picked up a smooth round stone with a snake carved into its surface and
began to caress it as a worry-stone. “I wonder if the other members of the
Council will one day have to… remove Lord Malfoy.” Although the door was closed
and no one was present but the two of them, she still said it in a whisper.
Severus looked concerned. “This country is no stranger to parricide among the
nobles, to be sure. I wonder, though, if we would really be better off if that
did happen. Although the others are more ‘moderate,’ they are also smarter and
have all their wits yet.”
“They can do oppressive things and it will not seem as bad,” she agreed. “And
on that topic, what of the plot involving Caractacus Burke? Have you heard
anything about that?”
Severus scowled blackly. “Unfortunately, my lady, I have, and none of it is
good.” He took a deep breath. “Malfoy’s law is official, of course: For future
noble marriages, the wizard husband of a witch is the administrator and lord of
the castle, though inheritance remains in her family line. This was almost
certainly meant to persuade Burke, and it seems that it did. He consented, and
Lord Black gave his permission.”
Merope sighed and rubbed her eyes. “It will not happen, Severus.”
“Of course, my lady. I would not expect it to,” he agreed pointedly. He cleared
his throat and continued. “The little source also thinks that they attempted to
kill your former husband, Sir Thomas.”
She looked up at him, alarmed. “Attempted? They did not succeed, I hope?”
“They did not. Your ward was infallible. The source saw them leaving the castle
as a group—Burke himself had gone along—and then returning full of complaints.”
Merope managed a smile. “At least there is that.”
“Yes. But this does not mean that they won’t stop trying.”
“I suppose we are all waiting to see what will happen next.”
“Yes, we are.”
===============================================================================
The night of April 30, 1145.
Tom put on his dark green robes, the ones with Celtic designs decorating the
sleeves and hems. He attached the medallion that secretly bore the Triquetra,
visible only when he or one of his allies—which still included Hermione, he
thought—touched it. It was appropriate for this event. The state of mind of a
witch or wizard participating in this ritual was crucial, and these little
details all had a power to influence that.
Tom was still deciding what endeavor to charm. His conscience told him one
thing, and his rational mind another. It has been months since I even spoke
civilly to Hermione, let alone shared affections with her, he thought with some
discomfort. That latter had been more of a challenge than he had expected,
especially after a dream clearly inspired by his suppressed desire for her. And
yet, and yet—he did not particularly want to touch her as long as she was
acting so unreasonable. If he did, it would be a surrender. He truly did not
think he was in the wrong, and in fact, that rational part of his mind even
told him that their separation this spring had been good, because it meant that
his friends ignored her entirely instead of snickering at her and thereby
creating pressure for him to join in.
She is aligning herself with Potter and Longbottom, he thought with
irritation,and Morgana only knows what they are really up to—or their parents,
at any rate. The boys themselves probably have no idea what their families are
actually involved in. But neither do I.
Use the ritual to charm his relationship with Hermione—or to charm his
political ambitions? Tom missed her, but he was also annoyed with her, and as
he thought more about it, it seemed foolish to choose the heart over the mind.
If the political winds shifted—if hestarted to develop real power—then she
would return to him of her own accord, which was how he wanted it. He did not
know what the “Friends of the Founders” or their families were planning, but it
certainly did not have anything to do with replacing that Muggle pretender-king
Stephen, or his female cousin, with the line of Gaunt. The seed of ambition had
germinated, and Tom was not going to move it to withered soil now.
Tom took out the piece of parchment that he was going to use for the ritual and
inscribed on it his ambitions to claim the heritage of Slytherin and the
birthright of Mordred. Ogham, he thought, making sure to use the ancient system
of writing, and to write the sentence in Gaelic. That mattered too, he was
certain. The wishes of his classmates, written in the Latin alphabet in the
Norman-bastardized English that they spoke, surely would not resonate with the
Beltane fire as well as this did. He smiled in satisfaction, rolled up the
parchment, and left the Slytherin common room just before midnight to meet the
other participants in the forest.
Slughorn, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and several of the other masters stood aside
as their pupils approached. They were all dressed in various hues of green, of
which Tom approved. He moved as close as he could to the professors, giving
them eager smiles that achieved precisely the end he was hoping for. Slughorn
in particular beamed fondly at him and even had the temerity to offer him a
wink.
The fat romantic blowhard must think I am going to charm my engagement to
Hermione, he thought contemptuously. Poor Slughorn. I have much grander plans
than that. As Tom glanced at the other young witches and wizards who were
standing, talking in low voices to each other, waiting for the ritual to begin,
he felt a surge of contempt for them and whatever cheap, common dreams they
were hoping to make happen. They were probably going to ask for gold—or for a
particular romantic attachment, as Slughorn apparently hoped for him. Magic
itself would disapprove of being used for such purposes, he thought.
Dumbledore raised his wand high and sent a shower of gold sparks into the air.
The murmur of voices quieted, and everyone looked to him. “My friends… it is
now midnight. We are gathered here tonight to light the ancient fire of Beltane
and to charm our chosen endeavors, for this season, with growth and
fruitfulness, as is the power of this date. If you have not yet written your
endeavor on your parchment, please do so at this time.”
All of the pupils took out their parchments from waist purses, from folds
inside their sleeves, or—like Tom—merely held them out, having already held
them in hand.
“Good, then,” Dumbledore continued. “In that case, we will begin by lighting
the magical fire. You all know this spell by now. It is customary that a witch
begin the chant, and I am honored to let Professor McGonagall do so.” He raised
his wand, and the other professors—and then the pupils—followed. Dumbledore
turned to McGonagall with a nod.
The Scottish witch began to utter an incantation in Gaelic. Tom knew it was
going to happen, but still, actually hearing the perfect utterance of that
tongue sent a thrill through his body. He remembered his mother doing so at
Yule, and then forced his thoughts to remain in the present. That was
important.
Green and gold sparks issued forth from McGonagall’s wand, sprinkling the
ground. She turned to the other professors, her spell never stopping. They
joined the chant. The shower of sparks grew.
In a moment, Slughorn—who was next to Tom—turned to him and gave him a nod.
This was the cue. Tom began to speak, the ancient words sounding perfect to
him, right and proper and powerful. Sparks flew from his wand—and then one that
was more than a spark. It was the faintest flicker of fire, but it caught the
pile of kindling that the professors had laid out in a ritual circle. Tom
beamed proudly. That was a good sign, surely. Slughorn seemed to agree; he
smiled happily at Tom as the flames caught.
It was only the beginning. After that first flame, a perfect gold-and-orange
one that burned green at its heart, it seemed easier for everyone else to cast
the magical fire. In a minute, the circle was burning merrily, an inferno of
gold, orange, and green. Magical sparks flew into the sky. The chanting ceased.
Tom raised his wand again and drew a sign in the air in green flame, the
pentagram. “Magic,” he murmured in the old tongue. He drew a circle surrounding
it. “The eternal cycle.” He counted in the ancient tongue, naming the months,
beginning not with January, but with the start of the new year as the ancients
had reckoned it. With each month, he cast a separate symbol into the sky,
outlined in thin green flame.
His part over, Tom stepped back. Another student stepped forward, cast a charm
over the fire, and studied it intently. The flames roared, but the amount of
heat did not change. The pupil, a Ravenclaw, cast a second spell. The fire
subsided to its former state. “It is receptive,” the wizard said.
“The magic is ready,” McGonagall announced. “Young scholars, come forward and
offer your sacrifice to the flames.”
They had been instructed to bring a sacrifice to offer the fire, and they were
forbidden to bring animals, living or dead. It also had to be a true sacrifice,
which required more thought for witches and wizards. It had to be something
they could not create out of thin air with magic. Since wizards and witches
apparently could not create edible food directly with magic—it had been tried,
and no one had ever succeeded—that was the easiest, most obvious solution. The
professors had advised them to bring fruit, meat, or spices, preferably that
they had gathered or purchased themselves from Hogsmeade. Food taken from the
Hogwarts dining table would not be much of a personal sacrifice. Tom withdrew
an apple from his belt pouch, perfect and unblemished. He cast it into the fire
along with the rest of the classmates. The fire developed a sickly sweet smell,
and a plume of smoke escaped into the sky.
“Now, one by one, cast your parchments into the blaze. Be sure to focus on your
wishes intently, to the exclusion of all else if you can. Professor
Trelawney”—Tom glanced at the Divination mistress, surprised that he had not
recognized her until now—“will interpret the fire for you.”
Trelawney normally had an untrustworthy, grubby appearance, and her skills in
the classroom did not inspire confidence either. However, tonight she had taken
the trouble to look the part, and she did not seem batty at all right now.
Perhaps her act for the lecture room was to compensate for the fact that the
conditions for true Divination were poor. That was not the case at the moment.
Tom was first. Focusing intently on his ambition to benevolently rule witches
and wizards, to restore the rightful line to the throne, to claim his
birthright—allof his birthrights—he dropped his parchment into the magical
flames. The fire accepted it, crackling in a flurry of green sparks as it
consumed it. The flame surged, taking strange shapes. Tom studied them as well
as they could, though they were ephemeral. That long tongue of fire—was that a
serpent? And that surge of green color that rose through the gold flames,
reaching the crest, then vanishing into the air—the fire was a circle—was that
a crown?
“Magic favors your wish,” Trelawney intoned. Tom smirked broadly.
The flames suddenly escaped the circle, getting very close to Tom’s robes.
Trelawney’s already large eyes widened in alarm. “Great danger lies ahead.”
That did not require much interpretation, Tom thought—but as far as he was
concerned, that was an additional sign that his goals would bear fruit.
After its momentary surge, the fire seemed to draw back to its original circle.
The flames immediately before Tom flickered oddly. For the first time that
evening, red appeared in the fire, but only in front of him. It was the purest
red, as red as the apple he had tossed into the flames, not a hint of orange—a
color not usually seen in fire, he thought.
It was only a moment, and after it had passed, Tom wondered if he had really
seen it. He frowned. Trelawney had not noticed that. She was gazing up at the
flurry of sparks and smoke and declaring that she kept seeing serpents and
ravens. That made sense to Tom, validating what he wanted to be true, and he
paid little attention to it. Slughorn beamed and gave Tom a wink, apparently
convinced that this meant that he and Hermione would have a large family.
Trelawney’s voice subsided. For another moment, a single, small tongue of flame
in front of Tom flickered blood-red again, its hot heart lethal green. There
was no doubt this time. Tom stared at the green core of the flame, and for a
moment it seemed that a face stared back at him, a face drawn and anguished,
the eyes dark, deadly, and filled with a nameless rage. Whose face is that? Tom
thought—but in the next moment, it dissolved into the green heart of the fire.
His part in the ritual over, Tom stepped back to think about what he had just
seen and done as his schoolmates cast their own scrolls into the blaze.
Trelawney continued her interpretations, but there was nothing quite as showy
after that.
It will happen, he thought, studing the flames. Magic wants it to happen. I
always knew that it would have risks. I will meet them, and I will triumph.
***** Inner Sanctum *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi everyone, and thank you once again! This chapter is, in some ways,
     lighter and more positive than the preceding one, but in other ways
     it's kind of sad and ominous in its own right. A mixed bag, in other
     words. I hope it works. Thank you for continuing to support this
     story!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Castle Parselhall, Hangleton.
Hermione closed her book and rubbed her forehead as she stared out the windows
of the Riddle library. It was the day after she and Tom had left Hogwarts for
the summer, and he was continuing to ignore her. There was no particular
problem with that, she thought bitterly, if the apparent alternative was for
him to treat her badly, but this was going to be a long summer without his
company—unless she found something else to fill her time.
She had never questioned the custom of noble children being fostered at the
homes of other nobles, especially not in the situation where it was notrivals
essentially keeping hostages, but instead a young person spending time with
their future spouse. It had seemed perfectly natural and sensible to her, and
in previous summers, she had enjoyed every moment she could have with Tom. But
now, it was different.
In one sense, it was good that she did not have to worry anymore about sneakily
making that potion to prevent pregnancy. The risk with that had always been
that someone would notice certain ingredients missing, ingredients that had
little use other than that potion, or that she would actually be caught brewing
the potion itself and would have to explain herself to an adult. Tom had it
much easier, she thought sourly. But at the same time, the reasonthat she no
longer needed to do this was an unpleasant one.
How long will this continue? Hermione thought, continuing to stare out the
window at nothing specific. I would not have believed he would stay away from
me even as long as he has, let alone longer—and it sure looks as if it will be
longer. Next year will be my third year at Hogwarts. What if we never make
amends? What if this is how my life will be, living in this castle and ignored
by my own husband because he doesn’t care for me? That thought was deeply
depressing to her.
One thing at a time, Hermione, she chastised herself. There is plenty of time
to make amends with him. It will be at least two years before the wedding and
possibly three. A lot can happen between now and then. What matters for now is
finding something to do this summer.
She considered visiting her own friends, then rejected that notion. Lady Merope
absolutely would not send her to a villager’s cottage. Besides, even without
the complication of social class, the only friend who was even a possibility
was Luna. It was impossible that she could visit Harry or Neville, who had no
female relatives that she could justifiably say she was visiting, and Ginevra
Weasley apparently lived in a small cottage with a houseful of wizards. That
was also a situation that would be deemed inappropriate for Hermione.
Hermione thought for a moment about inviting Luna and Ginevra to Castle
Parselhall. Hmm. Although they were not nobles, and her parents might not
approve of her association with them at all, Lady Merope was her foster parent.
She seemed to have a different attitude, and might regard well-mannered,
educated, respectable witches as suitable companions whether they had titles or
not. To the wizarding aristocracy—other than exceptional snobs like Adelaide
Lestrange—it seemed that common-born witches and wizards were several notches
above common-born Muggles, a kind of nature’s nobility, or gentry at least.
With Lady Merope making the decision, it was possible that Hermione could
invite her female friends here.
My parents really have taken little interest in me since I went to school at
Hogwarts, Hermione thought suddenly. She had written letters occasionally to
them, but they seemed to regard their work rearing her as finished and related
to her as an adult daughter now. She supposed that in Muggle terms, she was,
even though witches and wizards held that she was not until she turned
seventeen or achieved mastery of magic, whichever came first. Was the distance
between her and her parents because she had magic and they did not, and they
considered her to be a part of that group of nobles now, or was it that they
had achieved their principal goal as noble parents and found a match for her?
Probably both, she thought sadly. She loved them, and she knew that they had
been very good to her, but after seeing the surprisingly close familial
relationships among people of magic, Hermione now realized that even the
kindest Muggle aristocrats were not very affectionate parents in comparison. It
must be the wizarding custom of viewing sons and daughters as “children” for
longer, she thought—but this line of thought only reinforced to Hermione how
alone she really was.
She would ask Lady Merope about inviting Luna and Ginevra, then. It was
probably best to give them an opportunity to visit their own families first,
but in a couple of weeks, she would inquire about it.
===============================================================================
Little did Hermione know that Tom was planning the same thing. Down the
hallway, he sat at his desk in his bedchamber, thinking. He did not want to
waste the power of the ritual that he had performed. He felt the thrill of
possibility, a window opening up to reveal an unexplored vista. The power of
the ritual was his to take—but he had to do it.
I need to formalize my friendships as alliances, he thought suddenly. He took
up a quill and dipped it in ink. These friendships are no good right now in
pragmatic terms. Hermione said once that we dreamt fanciful dreams. I hate to
admit it, but she was right. I need their families in alliance with my mother.
Tom had never invited friends to the castle. In previous summers, including the
summer before Hermione had started at Hogwarts—the very first few months that
Mother had owned it—he had been content to spend the days by himself or with
Hermione. But she was keeping to herself, and the more that she stayed away
from him, the more inclined he was to let her keep her distance. Then, too,
things were in motion beyond the walls of Hangleton. The Wizards’ Council was
always up to no good, and the families of the self-proclaimed “Friends of the
Founders” (Tom doubted very much that the Founder who was hisancestor was
included) were making provocations—and, Tom suspected, also doing or planning
somethingthat they did not want to tell their children. Other people were
making their moves, and Tom realized he needed to make his. It had been nice in
the past, but currently, each moment spent lazing next to the stream with
Hermione would be a moment wasted. Let her stew in her cauldron, then. I have
better things to do.
He rose from his chair and went to find his mother. She was in her office,
studying the accounts of the barony for spring. Her eyebrows went up as he
entered.
“I was hoping to invite some friends to visit,” he said obligingly, smiling at
her to try to persuade.
He need not have bothered. Merope returned the smile. “I am very glad that you
have additional friends,” she said. “Who are they?”
“Edgar Fawley, Marcus Flint, Rob Wilkes, Cormac Avery, and Theodore Nott.”
“Those are all noble families,” Merope said, frowning in thought.
Tom understood what she was getting at. “We have been friends for a while now,
but before you were raised to your title, they had little to do with me,” he
said. “I’m quite aware that they only began to see me as an equal, and a
potential friend, after that. But they do now.”
Merope sighed. “It is true… but as you say, at least they do now. I don’t think
those families are aligned with the Malfoys.”
“They are not.”
“Then if their parents don’t object, they may certainly come.”
Tom smirked broadly as he bowed to her, turned away, and left the room.
===============================================================================
Within a couple of days, young wizards started to arrive. Hermione watched from
a distance—a short distance physically, a vast one in her heart and mind—as
Tom’s friends, the very people who in her opinion had led him away from her,
began to turn up in Parselhall. It wasn’t fair, she thought, hiding away in the
library after Fawley arrived. This wasTom’s home, but it was also hers.
Shewould be lady of the castle someday. As lonely as it was now, it had at
least been a sanctuary from these boys, an inner sanctum for her to escape
to—until now.
In a sense, Hermione supposed that it still was. They were spending time
elsewhere in the castle, one of the many rooms in the vast place. The sheer
emptiness of this castle was always a sharp contrast with the bustling one in
which Hermione had grown up, but then again, a Muggle castle needed a household
of Muggle servants. Witches and wizards apparently needed only elves, a few
people from the village for work such as sewing, and magic spells. It was
lonely, but at least they were not bothering her. There was enough room that
they did not have to see each other at all except at dinner.
Hermione carried a heavy book to a corner of the library and attempted to read.
She wasgoing to invite Ginevra and Luna, but she knew that the castle must have
become much less appealing to them—if they had known—since Tom’s friends began
to arrive. Her second plan was to study and practice her magic. Feeling under
siege in her own home only reinforced that inclination to her.
A noisy rumble sounded at her feet—a dark orange blur appeared in her
peripheral vision—and in the next moment, her lap was full of fur. Crookshanks
walked proudly over the pages of the book, rubbing his head against Hermione.
She laughed in exasperation, gently shifted the book out from under his feet,
and closed it. The cat sat down contentedly in her lap, his goal achieved. He
continued to purr as Hermione scratched and petted him. A smile formed on her
face in spite of herself. At least Crookshanks would not abandon her….
The tall doors to the library creaked open. Crookshanks stopped purring; his
ears turned back in alert. His gaze followed the clatter of footsteps on the
stone floor. When Tom turned the corner of the nearest bookshelves and found
himself facing Hermione, the cat let out a growl of warning and leapt from her
lap to the ground.
Tom glared at the animal. He regarded Hermione with a silent stare before
sniffing faintly, as if annoyed that she was present. He turned to continue
walking.
He was by himself, she noticed. Although she knew it was a bad idea, she could
not resist. “Where are all your friends?” she said, snideness in her words.
He stopped cold, turned around, and glared at her. “That’s none of your
concern.”
Crookshanks growled and hissed. Before Tom could move, he leapt forward and
viciously attacked Tom’s ankles, exposed by the low shoes that he wore. The
cat’s long fluffy tail was visible outside Tom’s robes. He shrieked, dropped
the book he was carrying, and fell to the ground as Crookshanks darted away.
The cat crouched next to the left side of the chair that Hermione sat in,
growling and glowering at Tom as he clutched his bleeding ankles.
Tom finally got his wand out and healed the bites and scratches. He rose to his
feet again—Hermione noticed, with grim satisfaction, that his eyes had unshed
tears in them—and glared furiously at the cat.
“Don’t you dare hurt him!” she exclaimed. His wand was not pointed at
Crookshanks, but she was not going to give him the chance. She fumbled for her
own wand and held it threateningly.
“I would never hurt a witch’s familiar,” he said contemptuously. “But youshould
control that cat. Did you teach him to do that to me?”
“No, but I wish I had,” she snapped before she could stop herself.
Tom raised his wand to Hermione’s face, but he did not cast a spell. She kept
hers pointed back at him, not blinking as she locked eyes with him. She would
not blink. She would not—
Tom suddenly laughed. He lowered his wand. “You’re afraid of my friends?”
Her eyes popped wide open as she realized what had happened. “How dareyou,” she
said, outraged. “You have no rightto read my thoughts without permission.”
“I am a Legilimens and I will use my skill as I see fit. If you don’t like
that, then make me stop.” He smirked at her, picked up his book, and walked
away—picking up his pace, she noticed with satisfaction, after Crookshanks
hissed at him again.
Then his words hit her. All right, she thought. I will.
===============================================================================
Hermione knocked on the door of Lord Severus’s office in the castle, nervous
about this entire situation, but resolved upon it. The knob turned, and the
door swung open, revealing the dour-faced man. He gazed upon her with a sneer,
which generally would have cowed her, but she was used to it from Tom by now.
She met his gaze.
“Lord Severus, I would like to learn Occlumency,” she said without prelude. “I
understand that you know this skill…?” She hoped that she had remembered
correctly from previous conversations over the table. She was prettysure that
he knew this magic… he seemed to have implied to Tom before that he did….
His scowl somehow deepened, but he considered her words. “I know it, yes. What
does her ladyship think of this?”
“Lady Merope? I have not asked her,” Hermione admitted. For a moment worry
crossed her mind, but then it passed. Merope would not mind. Tomwould, but she
did not require Tom’s permission for this. The thought made her feel smug.
She followed Lord Severus as he walked briskly down the hallway to Merope’s
office. She was alone inside when she granted them admittance, and she seemed
surprised that Tom did not accompany them.
“My lady,” he said, “Lady Hermione wishes to learn Occlumency from me. Since
she is a young witch, and with the situation with your son—and your
guardianship of her—I wanted to make sure that this was acceptable.”
Merope regarded Hermione curiously. “I did not know that you were interested in
that type of magic,” she said. “Of course you may learn from him, but I didn’t
realize it was something that you wanted to do.”
Hermione quickly fished for an explanation. “I think I should learn how to
protect my mind, what with enemies all around and threats probably increasing,”
she said. “I don’t know who has Legilimency skills and who does not, and it’s
best to be prepared.”
Lord Severus did not seem to buy that explanation entirely, and Hermione was
not sure that Lady Merope did either, but it was at least part of the truth. It
wasn’t false in itself. Merope studied her for a moment before nodding her
head. “Of course. As I said, you may certainly practice with him. That said,”
she added, frowning thoughtfully, “it’s probably best to keep the door open and
to have the lessons in a relatively public, commonly used room. For
appearance’s sake.”
Lord Severus nodded curtly in agreement.
===============================================================================
The Occlumency lessons would take place in a small parlor near the entrance to
the great dining hall. The ground-level hall was just outside the room, and
when Severus strode in, he pointedly charmed the heavy wooden door to remain
fully open.
“Lady Hermione,” he said without prelude, his voice gruff, “I suspect that the
reasons you gave for wishing to know this skill are… incomplete.”
Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise and embarrassment.
“All I have to say is this: If you want to learn Occlumency in order to conceal
from Lord Thomas any act against him, whether you’ve committed it already or
merely plan to, then I willfind it out in the process of teaching you, and I
will cease the lessons immediately.” He put his hand up as she began to speak
in protest. “I am not saying this to involve myself in the private matters of
your betrothal, because trust me, I don’twant to. But I am sworn to the Riddle
family, and it is a violation of my oath to be complicit in actions against
them.”
“I have done nothing against him and I don’t plan to,” she burst out in
indignation. She hesitated for a brief moment about whether to tell him the
truth, but realized that he would probably see it anyway, as he had just said.
“What I told her ladyship was true, but the rest of the truth is merely that
Tom is a Legilimens himself and reads my thoughts without permission, and I
don’t like it. I’m not trying to hide any betrayal from him, nor would I betray
him. I just want privacy for my own mind, the same as he has, since most people
aren’t Legilimens.”
He studied her. “Fair enough.” He scowled. “In that case, we shall begin. I
assume that you have read something about this magic before, and that you know
the basics of it on a theoretical level. One hardly sees you without a book
nearby.”
“Yes, I know the basics.”
“Then you know that you must focus all of your force of will upon blocking me.
You must not think about the details of any memory that I encounter, because
that will only clear the way for my magic. Shut down your emotions. Force
yourself not to dwell upon your memories. Detach and think about blocking me.”
He raised his wand. “Legilimens!”
Hermione’s mind reeled as she felt an alien presence. It was much more
aggressive and coarse than Tom’s Legilimency—but Tom never used the spell
verbally. Apparently Severus did not have a natural talent for it. Nonetheless,
she felt memories being forcibly dragged out of her mind without her control.
The library at Hogwarts.
“Lower your wand and don’t ever point it at me again.”
Hot fury flooded her mind. She rose from her chair and stormed toward him. He
moved his books to one arm and pointed his wand at her face, glaring furiously.
“Do not tell me what to do, Tom Riddle.”
No, Hermione thought in the present time, that’s quite enough. That’s none of
your business. Out! She tried to remember what she was supposed to do. Don’t
dwell on the emotions and don’t think about what happened. She forced herself
to remember where she actually was. The memory faded, and the parlor came into
focus again. Snape was glaring at her, his wand pointed at her face, but his
eyes were also slightly widened in surprise and alarm.
He lowered his wand. “Finite. An acceptable first attempt,” he said grudgingly.
He forked an eye at her. “What was that?”
She glared back. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”
“You fought with him.”
“Obviously so, but our private quarrels are our own concern. All couples fight
from time to time.”
Severus glared at her. “Mind that it does not become more than a mere quarrel.”
“It won’t. I told you that already.”
A scowl reappeared on his face. “You are a promising pupil of Occlumency. Are
you ready for another attempt?”
“Yes—”
“Legilimens!”
Hermione was stunned at how quick he had been; he had given her no time to
prepare—but that’s how it would always be, she thought as he began to pore
through her thoughts again. A memory slouched out of the recesses of her mind.
She and Tom were locked in a tight embrace—
Out! she thought furiously. Embarrassment flooded her, and against her better
judgment, she began to focus on the embarrassment and on the particulars that
had caused it. The memory came into better focus. She was still clothed, at
least, but Tom was tugging on her robes. Stay out! she thought. She remembered
the method again. Detach. Don’t think about the memory. I am in the small
parlor at Parselhall, and it is summertime. This is an Occlumency lesson. It is
summertime, and I’m going to ask Lady Merope if I can invite Luna and Ginevra….
As she focused on something, anything, other than the memory itself, its
presence faded and the current surroundings returned to prominence.
Snape lowered his wand. “Finite.” He regarded her with sympathy. “That’s enough
for this lesson, Lady Hermione.”
She agreed completely.
That evening, after an extremely awkward dinner with Lord Severus, Tom, and
Tom’s friends in close proximity, Hermione shut herself away in her bedchamber
with a large book about Occlumency. She had read about the subject before, just
as she had told Lord Severus, but she was determined that he was not going to
see even as much as he had seen today in the first lesson. Her memories with
Tom were obviously the most emotionally charged, the most likely to leak and be
seen, but they were also the most private—the most intimate, and in many cases,
the most precious. She was determined to protect them.
===============================================================================
Two weeks later.
Tom proudly welcomed Lord and Lady Fawley to the castle, his mother watching
with sharp eyes. They were going to bring their son back home, but before they
did, they had very important business with the baroness.
In a short time, Lady Merope had ushered them into a private sitting room. She
took her seat, and as they followed, she ordered a house-elf to bring
refreshments.
“I am honored to negotiate with another whose family had an original seat on
the Wizengamot,” Merope said, her words stately and cool but not insincere.
Lord Fawley smiled, holding his wife’s hand. “And likewise for me, my lady. It
is a pity—no, a crime—that these interlopers presumed to disband it and
establish themselves in its place. We would have welcomed them to the table,”
he said, shaking his head. “They would have been admitted and given family
seats… we did it for the Saxons, for the Vikings when they came… but that was
not enough for the likes of Lord Armand Malfoy.”
“Lord Malfoy has behaved in an unfriendly way to my family,” Merope said. “He
has instituted a new law that takes power away from witches who are the
rightful heirs to titles, if they choose to marry.”
“Indeed, I have heard of it. A shocking break from ancient tradition… though
the ancient traditions have been eroded with time, of course.”
“And Malfoy has also pardoned a pair of oathbreakers who used to serve my
family and then swore to the Lestranges.”
Fawley raised his eyebrows. “That is a very personal affront.”
“It is,” she said tightly. “I have named the family of Rodolphus Lestrange as
enemies for accepting the unlawful oaths, but Malfoy’s pardons are personal
affronts indeed. The troubles really began, of course, when I appealed the
Wizards’ Council’s initial decision to deny Lady Hermione Granger admission to
Hogwarts. Although the contract with the young lady and my son has no effect on
Lord Malfoy or the others in the Council whatsoever, they seemed to regard it
as a defiance of the spirit of their law. They have never forgiven it,” she
ended wryly.
Lord and Lady Fawley exchanged glances, considering her words and what they
thought of it. Finally he spoke. “Of course,” he said hesitantly, “we would not
presume to interject ourselves in how you conduct your family affairs….”
“I should hope not,” she said coolly.
“Certainly not,” he said, his voice stronger. “And it is an appropriate match,
considering he’s half-blood. They wrote the law, and you obeyed it. They should
not have acted the way they did. They are entirely out of control, and my son
tells me that your family fears what the future may hold from them.”
“It is so,” she admitted. “Currently I am safe, and this castle is very ancient
and has powerful wards, which I have reinforced of late… but—and I will speak
plainly—my late lord father and brother were irresponsible and wicked to our
longtime vassals. They undeservedly stripped some of them of their titles,
exiled others—and I still have not found one in particular, or even learned if
he is yet alive—and drove others to defect, including the pair of oathbreakers.
As a result, I am left with few allies other than Lord Severus Snape, who is
the greatest friend to this family. I also, of course, have an alliance with
Lady Hermione’s parents, but as you know, they are not magical. I would
certainly welcome an alliance of friendship with your ancient and noble
family,” she concluded, making sure to sound as formal and stately as she
could.
Lord Fawley nodded. “And it is an honor to make it. So many of the old noble
families went over to the other side. The Blacks… it’s a disgrace, if I may say
so.” He considered. “We are not, of course, making war on the Wizards’
Council.”
“No,” she agreed. “This is a defensive agreement, a statement to them that we
do not stand alone.”
Tom almost preened with pride at these words. It was a shame that Hermione had
chosen to secrete herself away in her room, reading something, instead of
listening to this. She would have nothing to say now. No more fanciful dreams;
this alliance was real. The Fawleys would be but the first allies to join, if
he had anything to say about it.
===============================================================================
As it happened, Hermione did know why the Fawleys had come. She had overheard
Tom chatting with the boy about the alliance. Her heart almost shattered when
she heard Fawley say that his parents were interested in it. This is going to
reinforce Tom’s idea that he was justified in treating me ill, she had thought
miserably. This is all that he really cares about now, getting people on his
side for the future war that he intends to wage—or provoke. I wonder if his
mother knows what he really intends by it. She was actually quite sure that
Lady Merope knew no such thing, and she considered telling her the truth, but
she decided against that. Lady Merope needed allies for her own sake, whatever
Tom might have in mind, and shewould be the one negotiating any alliances, not
Tom. There was nothing to be gained by tattling on him to his mother, and she
might very well respond by rejecting allies that she sorely needed.
That did not make the situation easy for Hermione to take. She had little doubt
that Tom had chosen to use the school’s Beltane ritual to bless his ambitions,
rather than their relationship, and that this was the result of the
incomparable power of old magic. At least the effect will taper off by the end
of summer, she comforted herself. It is not a permanent charm. He’s using its
power right now, while it is at its peak. I can get through this. Maybe he’ll
be more amenable to my perspective after he can’t say any longer that he needs
to be cruel to me in order to keep his informal allies with him. There will be
formal alliances after this.
In the meantime, she was determined to become a master of magic as early as she
could. She spent a lot of time in the library, but when she did go
elsewhere—including outside—she usually had books with her and her loyal
Crookshanks at her heels. She wasgoing to be selected for that ritual next
year, at the same age that he was. Whether she would use it for their
relationship, she would decide later. An angry part of her thought that perhaps
she should use it for a similar purpose to the one he had chosen. Another part
wanted to use the old magic to influence him. She would decide when the time
came.
The Occlumency lessons continued through the summer. After an initial period in
which her ability to deflect Severus’s magic did not improve—it did not
decrease, but her speed at blocking him did not increase either—she had a
sudden breakthrough. One minute, Severus was scowling, glowering at her, as she
fought to keep him from seeing the memory of her crying in the corridors after
Adelaide Lestrange’s mud-and-blood attack—and in the next moment, she had not
just erected an unassailable mental shield, but had also somehow reversed the
direction of his spell.
In that moment, which lasted no longer than the time it took to gasp for
breath, she saw Severus sitting at his desk, sighing. His thoughts were
consumed with Lady Merope.
“Out!” he roared, suddenly blocking her. He ended the spell and breathed
heavily, glaring at her. “You will not speak of this,” he demanded.
“Certainly not,” she said, her eyes wide and her voice low.
“I think you have mastered Occlumency now. You have improved all season. I
recommend practicing whenever possible. You know the technique. It is better
when someone is attempting to read your thoughts, but you can practice the
state of mind at any time. Do it.”
Hermione recognized that as a dismissal. She nodded, bowed, and scurried out of
the room at once.
===============================================================================
There was still almost a full month before Hermione and Tom were to return to
Hogwarts. Hermione remembered her initial resolution to invite her friends. Now
that she had achieved something concrete, she decided that the time had come to
do that. Confidently she strode to Lady Merope’s office to explain her idea and
ask permission.
The older woman considered Hermione’s words and smiled when she was finished
speaking. “Of course you may invite your friends from Hogwarts,” she said. “I
have heard of the Weasleys. They used to have a title. The Lovegoods are an
interesting family… they are poor relations of Rowena Ravenclaw herself, not in
the direct line, but related… I would be honored to have both of the young
witches here and I hope their parents allow it.”
Wouldn’t Tom be surprised! Smugly imagining the look on his face when
herfriends turned up, she went to the courtyard to send the owls.
The replies arrived in a day. Luna’s letter bubbled over with enthusiasm,
declaring her own residence in a single tower and her interest in “a real
castle.” Ginevra’s letter was more circumspect, but she seemed relieved to be
away from the cramped cottage full of wizards. Hermione also detected some
tension between Ginevra and her mother, and she wondered for a moment if
thatmight be the real reason why the Gryffindor witch was choosing to visit…
but what mattered was that she was visiting.
Hermione showed the letters to Lady Merope, and together they began to make
plans to accommodate the girls. Hermione wanted them to have the rooms next to
hers, so that they could easily spend the night together if they chose.
It was not that she deliberately kept the news from Tom, but Tom was always
busy plotting with the friends of his who remained at the castle—Avery and
Nott, she thought—and shecertainly was not going to interrupt their
discussions. In fact, she wanted to keep her distance from him for as long as
that charm remained in effect. So it happened that the day they arrived, Tom
was ensconced in a side room with his friends.
She had been anticipating the girls’ arrival, so when they appeared hand-in-
hand with an elf in the castle entrance, she rose grandly from where she was
waiting and welcomed them. The sounds of Apparition startled Tom. As Hermione
was offering her greetings and linking arms with them, he burst from the room.
His dark eyes were wide with surprise at the sight.
“Oh, good afternoon, Lord Thomas,” Luna said cheerfully.
“Good afternoon,” he finally sputtered. He gazed at Hermione, eyebrows
narrowing, but she merely smiled at him as she escorted her friends to the
small family dining room for refreshments.
Chapter End Notes
     Whatever are the Wizards' Council up to? We shall find out soon.
***** Treason Games *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi guys, apologies once again for the slight delay on this one. I was
     busy this weekend. Thank you so much for your continued interest in
     the story! Things are picking up, and they are about to turn dark, as
     you will see.
     I feel that I should post a warning for one section of this chapter,
     a scene at the Lestranges’ castle, due to pretty extreme misogyny,
     disregard of (mentioned, not described) rape, and general ugliness.
     As you have probably noted, I haven’t warned everything in this story
     that is ugly, so I think this scene is worse than usual in that
     regard.
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
“It won’t stand,” Armand Malfoy declared, setting down his goblet on the table.
“I won’t have it, my son.”
Abraxas scowled into his own goblet. His father was out of control. He had no
idea why anymore, either. He had gone to the family library and taken down the
large tome that spoke of sacrificial magic in all its forms to try to find out
what he could. It had plenty of information. It spoke of the incomparable power
of human sacrifice to seal unbreakable charms of protection, to split the soul
for earthly immortality, perhaps even—according to the ancient Celts—to open
doors to the other side of the great Veil separating the living from the dead.
The book also spoke of the power of sacrifice of non-human innocents. The
potion that his father was taking was not supposed to rot his brains. It was
meant to be a curefor physical ills. Whatever was happening was due to
something else, and Abraxas was at a loss as to what.
“Father,” Abraxas said patiently, “I beg you not to strip the High Master
position of its noble title.”
“I don’t mean to do that. We will need to install one of our own someday, after
all—perhaps Carrow. I will sign an order that the High Master of Hogwarts
cannot accept the oaths of anyone, since the title is not hereditary. That’s
how it is, is it not, my son? Oaths pass through blood inheritance.”
That was not so at all. One could swear an oath of loyalty to an organization,
an order, an institution, and it held regardless of who led. Why was his father
declaring otherwise?
“Of course, if it should become so, then I can revoke that order.” Malfoy
sipped from his goblet. “But I am tired of all these little rebellions. They
irritate me.”
You are going to have this entire accursed country in open revolt against you
if you respond to everything that “irritates” you, Abraxas thought, glaring at
his father as he guzzled again from his cup. These people are grasping at what
little power they think they can. Perhaps it will even satisfy them if you
leave them be. But if you take that away from them, they will retaliate. Why
can’t you see that?
In a little while, after they rose from the private family table, Abraxas
reluctantly drew his wand and pointed it at his father’s back as he approached
the door to the little room. This was the fourth Memory Charm he had cast. He
hoped that this wasn’t making the problem with his father’s mind worse, because
it had to be done.
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
It was not easy for Tom to catch Hermione alone. For a couple of days, he
didn’t see her without her two friends present. Finally, though, he caught her
walking a pathway along the grounds by herself, and he seized the moment.
She noticed his approach and sighed inwardly. It was probably just as well that
they have it out, but she would have preferred some time to prepare for the
confrontation.
He reached her. “Hermione. I had no idea that your friends were coming.”
She stopped walking and stared haughtily at him. “Your mother did, obviously.
It is hardly my fault that you chose to hide away with your own friends and
ignore what I was doing.”
“I never said it was your fault.”
“That is the implication.”
He glared. “No, Hermione, it isn’t the implication. I just didn’t know they
were coming. We don’t talk anymore….”
“And that is my fault?”
“Again, I didn’t say that. It’s not about blame. It’s just… a shame that we
don’t….”
She gazed evenly at his handsome face. “You know what has to happen, Tom. Now
that you are securing alliances with your friends’ families for your mother,
are you finally going to apologize for treating me ill and swear never to do it
again?”
For a beautiful moment, he appeared as if he wanted to. Then his face changed,
hardening with a mask of pride. “I have notsecured alliances with all of them,”
he said, “and in any case, you owe me an apology too.”
Anger flared up in her. “Oh, do I? For what, exactly?”
“For involving yourself with this ‘Friends of the Founders’ group. I’ve already
said that their agenda is something other than mine—my family’s—and you are
part of my family. These witches are probably going to spy on us. One of them
is a Weasley.”
She fingered her wand, not pointing it at him, but still glad it was there.
“They are not spies. They are my friends. The only thing on their ‘agenda’ that
they have done is to swear Hogsmeade to Hogwarts—and the parentsof one of them
did that. They aren’t doing anything against you, Tom. They are acting against
the Wizards’ Council—you know, our common enemy?”
“They’re up to something else.”
“You have no evidence of that, merely suspicion. And if that’s what you
believe—if you think my friends are spies—why don’t you go before them and read
their minds? See for yourself.”
“I don’t mean that they would be deliberately coming here to spy, but if they
overheard… certain things… then they would surely find that very interesting
and report back to their families.”
“‘Certain things’ such as your intention to seek a hidden chamber, Tom? Or—a
crown? ‘Things’ like that? Perhaps you should be more careful of your
discussions, if that’s what you are worried about, or even better, stop talking
about such things.”
“Hermione, whose sideare you on?” he snarled, his voice dark and angry. He
reached for her shoulders. She did not attempt to move away—she was sure she
knew what was about to happen, and she wanted it to, wanted him to get a good
hard shock for once. He met her eyes with his and looked deeply into them.
There was a brief moment of invasion as she felt his mental presence—but in the
very next moment, the very next thought,she slammed him out of her mind. He
drew back as if a wave had crashed, gaping at her in astonishment. With almost
involuntary reflexes, he put a hand to his forehead as if the violence of her
Occlumency shield had given him a headache. Then he tried again.
The second time was more subtle and expert. She faced him calmly, gazing back
into his dark eyes, seemingly allowing his mental presence entry—but not
really. The seeking tendril of his thought darted about the surface memories in
her mind, the superficial thoughts, but whenever she felt him trying to get to
something deeper, she closed the door.
Finally he drew back and gazed at her, his face sour and deeply resentful. “You
have been studying Occlumency with Lord Severus.” It was almost an accusation.
“I have indeed,” she said smugly.
“You—alone in a room with Lord Severus—”
“Your mother approved it, the door was always left open, and….” Hermione
hesitated, deciding not to reveal the interest in Lady Merope that she had seen
in Snape’s mind. She had promised, and it was not her secret. “He was always a
perfect gentleman to me… at least in that regard,” she muttered, well aware
that no one who knew the dour, sarcastic wizard would believe that description
of his overall personality. “I never felt that he had the slightest interest in
me in that respect. I merely learned Occlumency from him with your mother’s
permission, as if he were a professor at Hogwarts.”
“You want to block me,” he said, disbelieving. “You don’t want me to be able to
know what you’re thinking. You really have joined these ‘Friends,’ haven’t
you?” he accused. “You have sided against me—betraying me—”
Hermione was incensed. In a flash, she had the tip of her wand an inch away
from his nose. “That’s enough, Tom Riddle. That is a very serious word, and you
shouldn’t toss it about recklessly. I became an Occlumens because you need to
learn to ask instead of merely taking what you want from me—from my mind. I am
a witch, and you are going to treat me with respect if I have to use my magic
to make you.”
He glared. “The people who haven’t treated you with respect are the Wizards’
Council, the filthy Normans, and the Saxon Muggles. My people have always
honored witches.”
“Then perhaps you should start to be more like them, should you not?” she said
cuttingly. “You could start with honoring the privacy of my mind. If you want
to know something, and you will treat me well again, then you can ask, and I’ll
tell you. I might even let you see for yourself, since you like that—if you
ask.”
Tom ignored this. “The Friends of the Founders—if you haven’t switched sides,
then they are using you for some purpose.”
She laughed. “Tom, I doubt that your secret meetings with your friends, your
discussions of crowns and chambers, are even a gleam in their eyes. If anyone
outside your little circle even knew about it, you would be in deep trouble.
Youaren’t the one they are fighting.”
“After my mother secures formal alliances with all my friends, that might
change.”
“If it does, if the Friends of the Founders ever act against your family, I
will stop associating with them, simple as that. I honor our contract, Tom. But
the fact is that they haven’t done so, so I am not ‘betraying’ you. We are
bound by the Codex of Wizarding Law, Tom, and under ourlaw, witches are not
required to obey every little order that their husbands give—and you are not
even my husband.” She put up her hand when he opened his mouth to argue. “Not
in the eyes of the law, Tom. But if that’s how you see our relationship, then
what does it say that you treat me as you do? I will be happy to reconcile when
you’re ready to do what you know, in your conscience, that you ought to do.”
With that, she turned on her heels and continued on her path, leaving Tom
standing in the grass staring after her. For a moment, he looked as though he
wanted to follow her, but that moment passed. His eyebrows narrowed, he huffed
in derision, and he stalked back to the castle.
===============================================================================
By the time the end of summer came, Hermione was more than ready to return to
Hogwarts. Ginevra and Luna had only been able to stay for about a fortnight,
and after that, she had been lonely again. Her confrontation with Tom had
accomplished precisely nothing that she could tell. He had continued to avoid
her, interacting with her strictly when it was proper to do so, and without a
hint of warmth when he did. Over the course of the summer, she had also
observed as more and more nobles came to swear defensive pacts with Lady
Merope. She kept a tally, and at the end of the summer, the only family of his
friends who had not allied with Merope was the Wilkes family. It was only a
matter of time, she supposed.
At last the day came for them to go back to Scotland. Hermione clutched the
house-elf’s thin hand as it Apparated her there. I am going to focus on my
studies, she told herself as she stood in the courtyard of the school. I will
achieve mastery of magic—perhaps even earlier than Tom does. I have been here
for two years, and I want to become a master after a mere two more. Tom has had
three. This spiteful competitiveness comforted her, in a sad kind of way; it
gave her a goal to work for. Tom wouldrespect her, one way or another.
“Hermione!”
She recognized that ethereal voice. A smile formed on her face as she walked
over to where Luna stood, leaving Tom standing by himself as he waited for his
friends to arrive.
===============================================================================
Castle l’Etrange.
Lord Rodolphus and Lady Bellatrix Lestrange did not have a happy marriage.
Lestrange’s ailing father, who had died at a very young age for a wizard, had
been determined to see an heir of the family born before his death, and he had
made the arrangement with the Black family, the “token” English family that the
Malfoys and Lestranges had decided to seat on the Wizards’ Council. Rabastan,
the younger son, seemed to have some sort of “problem” that the family did not
like to talk about; the old—well, not so old—man had been very insistent that
Rodolphus must sire the heir. So the marriage had taken place, but Rodolphus
had never cared for her. He had done his duty, and relatively soon, Adelaide
was born, but after that they had rarely been intimate—and then it had ceased
altogether because he took his pleasure elsewhere.
Some noblewomen would tolerate mistresses because they knew that they wore the
ring and they would be the mother of the heir. However, Bellatrix had objected
to her husband’s regular trysts. It was not because she was jealous of the
women—she hardly cared about her husband’s affections—but rather, because
Rodolphus had turned to Muggles. He had been unable to find any witches who
would destroy their reputations and future marital prospects by agreeing to be
a married man’s mistress. That was not surprising; young witches’ assumed
capacity to bear future magical children made them extremely valuable, and even
the poorest of the poor could find a wizard husband if they wanted a family.
They did not have to settle for disgracing themselves. Bellatrix’s objection to
the behavior was that it was dirty for a wizard to mate with a Muggle woman.
She recalled the one time that an outraged Muggle mother had demanded audience
with her, asserting that her daughter had been raped—but that was a joke.
Witches could be raped. Muggles were inferior creatures that were there to be
used as witches and wizards saw fit—even if Bellatrix disagreed with
Rodolphus’s use of them. How she had screamed, under Bellatrix’s Cruciatus
Curse…. Torture was enjoyable, a nice substitute now that Bellatrix did not
want to touch her husband after he had sullied himself with Muggles….
At least Rodolphus had avoided siring any half-blood bastards on the Muggles,
Bellatrix consoled herself. He had forced them all to take the potion, which
worked on Muggles as well as witches. In fact, it worked better,since Muggles
could not use the inner magic of their force of will to undermine the potion’s
effects. And she herself had a lovely daughter, who was more a Black than a
Lestrange. Her dear Adelaide looked more and more like her with each passing
day, and she had robust health. The Black blood would increase in the next
generation, since Draco Malfoy was her first cousin through Bellatrix’s sister.
Meanwhile, Rodolphus was approaching the age at which his father had taken ill.
Before long, Bellatrix hoped, the blood-traitor would manifest the hereditary
weakness of his family, and then, under cover of his illness, she could end the
deterioration early. Yes, in Bellatrix’s opinion, the future was bright.
But there were some problems in the present that had to be resolved first,
political problems, and Bellatrix was entirely in agreement with Rodolphus on
politics. The blood-traitor Lady Riddle was a thorn in everyone’s side—really,
that entire family was. She herself had attempted, a year and a half ago, to
assassinate the Mudblood that Lady Riddle had brought into the magical
nobility, to avenge the harm to her beloved daughter’s reputation. It had not
succeeded. Then Lord Malfoy had apparently declared that Lady Riddle should
marry Caractacus Burke, only to discover that the blood-traitor had protected
the dirty Muggle to whom she had been married with a shield that only her own
blood could pass through. Rodolphus himself had been involved in the murder
attempt, and the whispers were that the Wizards’ Council were working on a plan
to deal with that shield in some way….
But the worst offense of all was when Lady Riddle had declared the
Lestranges—naming Bellatrix by name!—as her enemies, because they had accepted
the oaths of the Carrows. That act was what the forced marriage to Burke was
supposed to punish, but since they had been unable to kill Sir Thomas, there
had been nopunishment for it. That was wrong. It was an affront to the proper
order of things. She and Rodolphus were at least in agreement about that.
A loud thud sounded, and Bellatrix looked up from where she sat in her parlor.
Rodolphus was finally here. His robes were unkempt. Probably fresh from a
Muggle wench’s cunt, she thought with disgust—but it didn’t matter. They had
important things to discuss. She reached for the pitcher of wine that sat on
the side table and poured herself a goblet.
He sat down, smoothing his robes, and peered at her. “How are you, my lady?” he
said stiffly.
She sipped her wine. “Very well. I have been waiting for you.”
“I have been occupied. But since I am here now, let us begin.” He stretched his
bony arms in front of him. “I have returned to the manor of that Muggle Riddle
since the first night, with Burke along to inspect the blood shield further. It
is definitely the second-strongest possible, which can only be cast with her
own lifeblood to anchor it. Burke has confirmed, too—he suspected, but he has
now confirmed—that the shield can be penetrated only by the witch herself or
one who shares half that blood—in other words, a parent, a full sibling, or a
child.”
“Her parents and brother are dead!” Bellatrix exclaimed.
“They are indeed.” Rodolphus let that sentence hang in the air, the unspoken
implication weighing heavily. “I have discussed a plan with Abraxas and
Arcturus… though Arcturus is reluctant.” He gazed at her, his dislike for her
apparent in his eyes as he spoke of her relative. “And that brings me to the
next point.”
“Your suspicion that Arcturus is plotting against Lord Malfoy,” she said
reluctantly, the words sour on her tongue. He had mentioned that idea to her
before. She did not believe it; she was sure that he merely resented the
influence of someone from her family on the Head of the Council.
Rodolphus smiled evilly. “You don’t like to hear of treason in your family, I
see. Well, in that case, I have good news for you, my lady.”
A suspicion suddenly dawned in Bellatrix’s mind. “You don’t say that—”
“Lord Armand Malfoy is a great man and a great wizard,” Rodolphus said, true
admiration in his voice. “I believe that, in the worst case, he will someday
have a great statue of himself in this country, to mark how he led the wizards
here to civilize this land. In the best case… well,” he said, smiling to
himself. “However, there are those who resent his long life. Those who have
ambitions. Those who… would like very much to be ‘Lord Malfoy.’”
Bellatrix’s eyes widened. “Abraxas,” she breathed.
Rodolphus nodded. “I had the great honor of speaking with his high lordship
alone, and sadly, his memories are… muddled somewhat at times.
Coincidentally—or, rather, notso coincidentally, I believe, these are times
when he apparently decided to choose a weak course of action against our
enemies. He believes that Abraxas has persuaded him to these decisions,
sometimes with Arcturus’s presence, sometimes not.” He glared outward into the
room. “I should have seen it. He liveswith Abraxas, who is getting old in his
own right. Meanwhile, Lord Lucius rules Godric’s Hollow, while Abraxas has to
wait on an old man instead of ruling the family estate, as he undoubtedly
thinks he should at his age. If my suspicion is right, Abraxas also has to
supply something that will prolong his lordship’s life even more. It is obvious
what is going on.”
Bellatrix’s eyes were glittering. “And my noble cousin…?”
“Arcturus is probably trying to stick to his own affairs and play both sides as
well as he can, not wanting to get in the middle of a family fight. I do think
that the inconsistent behavior from his high lordship is due to his own son’s
actions.”
She breathed deeply. “If you can prove that Abraxas is a traitor, then it will
be a great thing for this family. His high lordship will make you his most
trusted advisor….”
“He should, yes.”
She grinned. “Then get to it, my lord.”
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
Hermione sighed sadly as she ate her dinner. This was her fifteenth birthday,
and although she had not had observations of it before she entered the
wizarding community, she had still become accustomed to it for the past two
years. This year, without an affectionate word, Tom had left her a perfunctory
gift of a book—a fine thing, certainly, but she rather doubted that he had
chosen Witch-Magic of the Celts because he thought this was a topic of special
interest to her. He was trying to make a point.
If you really do respect me, she thought sullenly, then you yourself have to
show that. You can’t simply give me a book about how people with your blood
respected witches and expect me to find that good enough.
At the end of the meal, she arose from her seat and prepared to return to her
common room. As she filed out of the Great Hall, she felt a tap on her arm. She
turned around to greet Ginevra and Luna.
“We have a meeting,” Ginevra said quietly. “And I think there is something
special planned.”
Hermione’s heart lifted, as her friend appeared to be implying that the group
had done something to mark her birthday. A smile bloomed on her face. “Of
course,” she said. “The meeting is right now?”
Ginevra nodded. Hermione smiled again and linked arms with her friends, as they
began to make their way up the many flights of stairs to the seventh floor.
When they entered the Come-and-Go Room, Hermione’s eyes lit up at the sight.
There was a plate of spiced sweets and several pitchers of cider. She gazed
around the room at the others—her friends, she thought warmly. Ginevra, Luna,
and Harry, of course, but also Neville, Susan Bones, Ernest Macmillan, and—who
was that?
Ginevra noticed. Taking Hermione’s arm, she whisked her over to the new boy.
“Ron,” she said, her voice tense. “This is Lady Hermione Granger. Lady
Hermione, this is my brother Ronald.”
The red-haired boy had an unpleasant, blatantly jealous and resentful sneer on
his face at the sight of Hermione’s costly robes. It only heightened when his
sister introduced Hermione by her noble title. “Delighted to meet you,” the
wizard finally spat insincerely, extending his hand briefly for her to shake.
He withdrew it quickly and peered at her, his gaze darting from the emerald
ring on her finger upward to her face. “Are we soon going to be joined by your
noble betrothed?”
Hermione stared at him, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. Just what was his
problem, anyway? “I highly doubt it,” she said coldly. “But if we were, I hope
that would not be a problem. Ha—Potter and I are, after all, in the same House
with him, and the three of us have associated. He is certainly not a friend of
the Malfoys, either.”
“His mother swore the oath of fealty to Armand Malfoy.”
Ginevra was glaring at her brother. “We welcome anyone who wants to be an
ally,” she said pointedly. “I myself learned to accept Slytherins if they are
on our side. You can too, Ronald.”
He sneered back. “They have to prove themselves first—prove that they care
about something more than fine robes and titles.” He glared at the brocade on
Hermione’s robes, though the look was obviously tinged with bitter jealousy.
“I beg your pardon,” Hermione said hotly. “I do not have to prove anything to
you. I have been attending these meetings for some time, whereas this is your
first.” She gazed levelly at him. “Now, if you please, I think we all should
enjoy those sweets. It is my birthday, after all.”
“Yes, let’s certainly celebrate the birthday of a noble girl,” Ronald sneered
under his breath as she headed toward the front of the room—but she heard
anyway. She just ignored it.
She took a plate from the stack that the room had apparently generated for them
and helped herself to food. As she went back to take a seat, she noticed that
the red-haired wizard had greedily piled his plate high with sweets. Shaking
her head, she began to eat her birthday candies.
Finally Harry and Neville ascended to the podium and called the meeting to
order. “First of all,” Harry said, “let us all wish Lady Hermione a happy
fifteenth birthday.”
Hermione smiled at him as the small group applauded. He met her eyes and smiled
back awkwardly. As she met his green eyes with hers, a strange—no, she realized
with alarm, a veryfamiliar warmth and coziness formed in her. It’s only because
he did a kind thing for me, she told herself. That’s all it is. She fingered
the ring on her hand as if it were a talisman, forcing herself to think of Tom
and the intimate moments they had shared in the past. To her relief, that flood
of memories overwhelmed the unsettling thought that she had just had.
“I would also like to welcome our new member, Ronald Weasley, Ginevra’s
brother,” Harry said, his words and smile forced. “I am told that the Weasley
family is taking some important steps to improve our position, and anyone from
the family is welcome here.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow at that. What did he mean? Was it only what Ginevra
had told her already, that her brother William was seeking an alliance with
goblins? Or was there something else afoot?
“In the meantime, we called the meeting tonight to make an important
announcement about our own goals and… intentions. As you all know, Neville’s
parents have sworn fealty to Dumbledore. We don’t yet know what the Wizards’
Council will do in response to this. It is a perfectly legal and normal act,
but Lord Malfoy is a vindictive person who does not like any challenge to his
power. In short, we think that we should practice defensive magic and pool our
knowledge for our own good.”
There were rumblings of concern at this. “Are you suggesting… practice to fight
against the Wizards’ Council?” Macmillan said, rather alarmed. Hermione rather
wondered the same.
“We would only do that if we’re attacked first,” Harry assured him at once.
“Only if Malfoy breaks his word first. I’m not advocating treason. There are
serious repercussions to a wizard or witch breaking an oath. I’m only
suggesting that we should be prepared to defendourselves.”
In a bit, the members of the small group partnered to practice defensive spells
with each other. Reluctantly Ginevra turned to her brother, Harry with Neville,
and Ernest with Susan, leaving Hermione to partner with Luna. She felt a bit
guilty about this; Luna was such a small, fairylike, innocent witch—
Hermione almost didn’t react in time to the stunning spell that came her way.
Startled out of her patronizing attitude, she turned to Luna and began to duel.
===============================================================================
Castle l’Etrange.
The cloaked and hooded wizard huddled in the corner, trembling before the other
wizard who stood before him.
“I don’t want to be an oathbreaker,” the man whimpered. “I don’t want to swear
falsely. The consequences to my family could be terrible.”
“You must choose between loyalty to a blood-traitor or loyalty to your rightful
lord,” the other wizard said in a cold voice. “We all face difficulties in
life. The repercussions will pass eventually.”
The hooded man whimpered again. “My son, my lord. I can’t ask that of my son.
He’s barely out of boyhood.”
“I care not what you tell your son,” Rodolphus Lestrange said, waves of
contempt rolling off his tongue. “Don’t tell him the full truth, if you like.
Make him an unwitting tool, if you’re so damned worried about broken oaths.”
“I just don’t want my son to betray a friend. It’s… wrong.”
“Your son’s ‘friend’ is hardly worth any loyalty… but it doesn’t matter. I want
it done by whatever means. There is treason afoot. The damned Longbottoms,
forming an alliance with Dumbledore, along with those fucking traitors in
Godric’s Hollow… the blood-traitor Lady Riddle, seeking out alliances with all
the nativenoble families… that son of hers, going about blatantly defying Lord
Malfoy… I believe the treason even reaches into the core of the Malfoy family
itself.”
The hooded wizard gasped.
“Yes,” Lestrange said, leaning in. “I believe that Lord Abraxas is manipulating
his own father into doing his bidding. It is possible that Lord Black is part
of it. Istand with his high lordship. Do you?”
The wizard twisted the cloth of his wide sleeves in his hands. “Of course,” he
finally said.
“Then prove it. Swear the oath, pass the information to your son, and get that
spell brought down that we can move forward.”
The hooded wizard swallowed hard as he nodded.
***** Calm Before the Storm *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi guys, thank you once again!
     I hate to do this, but I feel at this point that I need to. I am not
     sure if the story’s recent dark turn—and the separation of Tom and
     Hermione—has driven off readers altogether, or if people are still
     reading but don’t particularly like this stage of the story and just
     keep silent about that fact for fear of offending me. But whatever
     the reason, unlike the earlier parts of this fic, lately there just
     hasn’t been that much feedback about specifics. I hate to be that
     person begging for reviews—I really do—and this isn’t about my vanity
     or the review count. I just don’t know what the feedback drop-off
     means—like, if I should tweak less critical details to make the story
     more palatable at the moment (I don’t mean a course adjustment with
     the plot itself). I realize that this phase of the story isn’t
     pleasant, and honestly, it’s not supposed to be, but if you think I’m
     overplaying the darkness, please let me know. I do welcome civil,
     constructive criticism. (I promise, I will only chew out people for
     one thing: arrogantly and judgmentally asserting that the text
     depicts something that it objectively doesn’t, and then using their
     incorrect reading to bash me/the story.)
Tom lay on his bed at Hogwarts brooding. His ritual on the first of May had
certainly borne fruit; all of his Lords of Beltane—even more appropriate, he
thought—had convinced their families to swear pacts with his mother except for
Wilkes. The alliance with that family was probably inevitable, too. In that
regard, he had made very significant progress toward one of his goals.
However, everything else seemed to be stagnant. He had made no progress toward
finding the Chamber of Slytherin in the school. He had not been able to read
any additional books in his family library, nor had his friends. When they were
visiting him over the summer, he had told them to try to read the books that
his mother had hexed against him, but it turned out that the hexes were not
specific to him. He also had not been able to find the forbidden titles in the
Hogwarts library. Tom wondered about that. He had certainly seen books about
eyebrow-raising magic in the school library; why would information about
English history be banned? The fact that the school was in Scotland was surely
irrelevant; Tom had seen plenty of books about other periods of history. Who
had kept these books out of the Hogwarts library, and for what purpose?
Is it that they are about the history of a family that is related to Slytherin?
Tom wondered. And after Slytherin departed the school, the remaining Founders
eliminated those references? Some of them are about Slytherin himself, too. Or
is it that some of them talk about the legend of Arthur in a way that’s highly
unflattering to Merlin? Were the books about that ever in the school at all? He
had no answers. One thing for certain, though, was that in Tom’s view, the
leaders of the school were not his friends or allies if they would keep those
titles out of the library. They could not possibly have an agenda that
overlapped with his, in that case. Perhaps Hermione was right and it was not an
affront to him that Mayor Longbottom swore Hogsmeade to the school, but it also
was not a development that he should cheer. It was quite probable that the High
Masters of the school had had their own agenda ever since Slytherin left—and
where had he gone? What had become of him? Had he left at all, Tom wondered
darkly, or had he been murdered? It seemed unlikely, but in the absence of the
truth, he would have to wonder. Tom wanted to know just what everyone was
hiding from him, especially his mother. He would not even have to look to the
school for these books if his mother had allowed him to read them at home.
He was also increasingly annoyed with Hermione. She was being very stubborn,
and Tom felt that what had been a principled stand, albeit one that he
disagreed with for pragmatic reasons—“you may not touch me until you
apologize”—had become something more hostile and personal. He still smarted at
her reaction to his questioning that summer about his surprise at her friends’
arrival. She had instantly assumed that he was blaming her, when that had not
been his intent at all. He really had just wanted to talk with her again, but
not if she was going to issue ultimatums and presume he was some sort of enemy.
Does she? he thought. She also seemed to be actively against his ambitions now,
instead of merely thinking them dangerous or objecting to the way that he
treated her in order to gain allies for them. He did not forget that she had
told him in that same conversation to stop talking about the Chamber of
Slytherin and his descent from Mordred. That sounded very much as if she
opposedhis goals in their own right, a change that occurred when she spent more
and more time with Potter and Longbottom’s group. Tom resented it. What did she
think would happen after their wedding? Did she really imagine that he would
approve of her going to clandestine meetings for purposes that did not help the
family—herfamily, at that point? Perhaps he could not legally stop her from it,
but why would she want to do that instead of supporting him? Even leaving aside
the domestic discord that it would create, if he achieved all his ambitions,
then she would be a queen someday, and witches would be revered equally to
wizards as they had been in the ancient clans.
Tom could not think of a satisfactory answer. To his mind, Hermione was acting
very much like an opponent. Two years ago, she had been so dutiful, so
instinctively loyal to her betrothed—even if she had barely known him then—that
she would deliberately get herself placed in his Hogwarts House despite it
being not a great fit. Hewas the one who hadn’t liked the restrictions on his
freedom. Tom reflected on the irony that their roles were reversed, and
Hermione was now pushing him away and consorting with other people without his
presence or approval, including young wizards—a decision that would have been
all but unthinkable two years earlier. She can block me from Legilimency, too,
he thought with disquiet. What if she was doing this, despite the expected
wedding, even despite their previous intimacy, because she was considering
plans of her own—plans that no longer included him?
===============================================================================
The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole.
“Oh, Percy!” Molly Weasley exclaimed, throwing her arms around her favorite
son. “I’m so proud of you!”
Percy Weasley—Sir Percival—awkwardly hugged his mother in return, patting her
back. “Thank you, Mother.”
“This changes everything!” she exclaimed.
He smiled thinly. “I am the newest knight,” he said slowly. “I don’t want to
make too much of the position.”
“That may be, but you are also a wizard—I would wager the only knight with
magic,” she declared. “That matters. I am sure that he will take notice of you
very quickly and you will rise past the Muggle knights in no time.”
Percy smiled again. “I hope so.”
“Whom to tell, whom to tell,” she said to herself, gazing around the room
thoughtfully. “The Longbottoms, certainly.”
“Yes,” Percy said. “What is the code they use for us? ‘Robins’?”
“It is, and you have brought back such valuable nourishment for our cause,” she
declared. “Now we just need Bill to return….”
“I hope he can come back with more than goblins.”
“So do we all, my dear.” Molly Weasley turned her head sharply at the sound of
scurrying. “Another one?” she said, scowling at the sight of a rat’s tail
disappearing into a hole in the wall. “One would think that the owl would catch
it.”
“Mother, Errol is too old to catch much of anything. I intend to buy another
owl, though, when I leave.”
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
Hermione rose from the table, her robes falling in smooth, silken lines down
her form. She was going to another Friends of the Founders meeting, and Ginevra
had told her that this one would feature some important news about her own
family. She wondered what it might be. One brother was trying to negotiate with
goblins abroad, one was interested in Welsh dragons…. Preoccupied with her own
thoughts and speculations, Hermione did not even notice Tom’s approach.
Walking quickly, he reached her and took her arm firmly. She whirled around to
face the person who had accosted her and found herself staring into a pair of
dark, familiar, and very angry eyes.
“What is the meaning of this?” she asked him.
“Are you going to another meeting with Potter?” he snarled.
She recoiled in a rush of sudden anger. “I am,” she snapped, yanking her arm
away from him. “What of it?”
“I asked you this once, and I will ask you again now: Whose side are you on?”
His voice was low and dangerous, almost inaudible even to her.
“I am on the side of people who treat me as I deserve,” she said, matching his
tone, glaring at him. “People who don’t grab me in the Great Hall as if I am an
enemy.”
“You aren’t an enemy,” he said slowly, his voice still very quiet. “You’re just
refusing to see certain things, and so is Potter. Their families are up to
something—”
“If you really believe that, then why don’t you come to a meeting yourself and
try to deduce what you think it is?”
Tom considered that. “Perhaps I will.” He thought for another moment. “Yes.
I’ll do just that.” He offered her his arm, this time in a gentlemanly manner.
Reluctantly she took it.
Hermione made her way to the seventh floor. It felt odd to make this walk with
Tom, but she was both relieved and righteously satisfied that it was finally
happening. He would surely see for himself that the Friends—herfriends—were not
up to anything untoward. Perhaps this would be the beginning of a
reconciliation between them, and maybe even an alliance between her friends and
his….
They reached the Come-and-Go Room. Hermione gazed at the expanse of wall,
thinking of the group. In a moment, the outline appeared, then the door itself.
She took the handle and opened it, revealing the meeting room and all of her
familiar associates. There was Harry, surprise evident on his face at the sight
of Tom. Longbottom was next to him on one side and Luna Lovegood on the other.
There were Macmillan and Susan Bones. Ginevra was nearby, with her brother
Ronald—and a blonde witch that Hermione did not know clinging to his arm.
“Riddle—that is, Lord Thomas,” Harry corrected himself at once, coming to the
door. “Welcome. I am so glad you joined us this evening.” He gave Hermione a
smile of real pleasure, apparently convinced that they had resolved their
differences.
“Just a minute,” said Ron Weasley, petulance in his voice. “If Lavender and I
had to sign that parchment, so does he. He should not get an exception because
he’s noble.”
“Sign a parchment?” Tom repeated, his gaze shifting at once to Hermione.
“Yes,” Harry said, as Neville Longbottom brought it. “Everyone has to sign it
if they attend our meetings. It says—”
Tom’s eyes had already fixed upon one signature in particular. “Hermione signed
this?” he sputtered.
Her heart sank. “It was ages ago!” she exclaimed. “It only means that we won’t
tell Malfoy allies about the group—”
Tom jerked his arm away from her and stared at her in outrage. “You signed a
loyalty oath?” He gazed at the offending parchment. “That bears a hex! You took
a magically binding loyalty oath to these people—” He stared at each member of
the group in turn, disgust blossoming on his face, culminating with a glare at
her that broke her heart all over again. Then he turned to Harry. “No, Potter.
I won’t sign it.” He sneered at Hermione as if she were something dirty, then
turned in a furious swirl of robes and marched away, his footfalls sounding in
the hallway.
No one dared speak. Hermione felt like crying, but she was not sure if it was
from sadness or anger—or both at once. Well aware that the others were avoiding
looking at her, she made her way across the room to a chair and sat down.
A catty snicker broke the silence. Hermione turned around to face the blonde
girl—Lavender, Ronald Weasley had said was her name—who had uttered it. Ron
took her arm and smirked.
“Erm… good evening to everyone,” Harry said, ascending to the front of the
room. He exchanged a quick, sympathetic glance with Hermione. “We have a new
member tonight, Lavender Brown. A special welcome to her.” He cleared his
throat. “And now, Ginevra Weasley has a report to give the group about her
older brothers.”
Ginevra rose. “Brother,” she corrected with a smile. “Just one of them—so far.”
She took her place behind the podium and gazed out. “My brother
Percy—Percival—has been knighted by His Majesty the King. He is spending some
time with our family, but shortly, after Yule and Christmas, he is going to
leave to begin his service.”
There was a smattering of congratulations. “What lord is he going to serve?”
Ernest Macmillan asked.
Ginevra looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry—they told me, and Ron, by owl. I don’t
actually know that part. They, my parents, also said that the news must not go
any farther than this group, which is sworn to secrecy, of course. They are
concerned that the family could be targeted if it were widely known.”
“Is he going to war?”
Ginevra grimaced. “I don’t know. He may be.”
“But what purpose does it serve for wizards to fight Muggles’ wars?” Macmillan
exclaimed. “I apologize, Miss Weasley, and you too, Ronald—no doubt this is a
great thing for your brother.”
“I don’t know if it has anything to do with our group,” she said, flustered.
“But it does raise the profile of my family, and anything that helps our
families must be good.”
“That’s true,” he said, mollified. “Well—Godspeed to him. At least he can
protect himself against the Muggles’ weapons with magic.”
As she took her seat again, Hermione thought about what she had just heard. She
could not pinpoint how, but that report had unsettled her in some intangible
way. What if Tom was right? she thought uncomfortably. That sure sounds as if
the older Weasleys are hiding something. Sir Percival must be doing something
that could get him harmed by the Malfoys—but what? She reflected on the fact
that Tom had thrown his tantrum about the innocuous “loyalty oath,” which only
referred to keeping information from Malfoy’s supporters. What would he have
made of this? She rather wished he had heard it now.
As in the previous meeting, they had a period of magic practice. Hermione
enjoyed this part. It helped her with her own goal of achieving mastery at the
end of her fourth year at Hogwarts, the same time that Tom was expecting to be
acclaimed a master—though it would be five years for him. She felt that she was
getting better at dueling, under Harry’s tutelage. He seemed to have a natural
knack for it.
After that, the young people mingled. Hermione quickly attached herself to
Luna, who approached her sympathetically. Luna was peculiar, but she often said
exactly the right thing, and this was no exception.
“I’m very sorry about Lord Thomas,” she said. “He should be kinder to you.”
“I agree,” Hermione said unhappily.
“It’s a shame that he was not here for Ginevra’s report,” Luna continued. “I
think it is all very suspicious, don’t you? Not Ginevra herself, but her
parents’ secrecy.”
“Watch what you say about my family,” snarled a male voice. Hermione and Luna
turned to face Ron Weasley, who was hand-in-hand with Lavender.
“Oh, hello, Ronald,” Luna said. “I only meant that it was odd that they didn’t
tell her. Do you know what it means, then?”
“It means just what she said,” he replied. “Lord Malfoy would target my family.
He grants titles to wizards and witches, right? He was the viceroy for all
things related to the magical population. So if they went above him, to the
Muggle king himself, he would not like that.”
“Perhaps not,” she agreed, “but he too is subject to the Muggle king. There is
nothing wrong with what your brother did. And besides, could they truly keep it
a secret from him for the rest of your brother’s life?”
Emboldened, Hermione spoke up in support of Luna. “She makes a good point. How
couldyour brother and your parents keep it a secret indefinitely? There must be
more planned.”
“So what if there is?” he said defensively. “We are all enemies of Malfoy,
here… aren’t we?”
Hermione stepped forward, her eyebrows narrowed. “Do not ever insinuate that I
would be an ally of Armand Malfoy. On the day I first met him, he humiliated me
by making me perform wandless magic on command and then denying me admission to
this school. He tried to keep me out of Hogwarts even after I was betrothed to
Tom. Members of families allied with him have insulted me, attacked me, tried
to killme—you don’t know anything about what Armand Malfoy and his supporters
have done against me.” She clutched her wand threateningly.
Ron was silenced for a moment, but then he recovered. “Yes, I know about your
‘betrothal,’ of course.” He patted Lavender’s arm. “Riddle has mocked my family
for renouncing their title when Malfoy first came to the country, but the
advantage of that is that we don’t have to marry people who don’t like us for
political reasons.” Lavender beamed soppily at him as they sauntered away
together.
Hermione raised her wand. Furiously, unhappily, she cast a charm to summon
several robins into existence—not real robins, but magical similes. They were
good enough. With another swish of her wand and a silent curse, she sent the
birds speeding at Ron and Lavender, their sharp beaks out. As the smug young
couple fought off the little monsters, Hermione stifled a sob and fled the
room.
Weasley couldn’t be right, could he?
===============================================================================
Tom was furious. He paced back and forth in the bedroom, reflecting on what he
had just learned. Hermione had sworn a loyalty oath! She had sworn a vow of
secrecy about the Friends of the Founders—supposedly one that pertained only to
Malfoy allies, but if that were really true, then why had she never told him
about this little detail? What had happened at these meetings that she had
never revealed to him? What had happened at this very one after he had left?
Tom had struggled for some time with Hermione’s part-Norman ancestry, but
eventually he had decided that people could not help their birth, that she was
part-English as well, and that the realproblem was with Norman lords who stole
the seats of the rightful English nobles and then proceeded to oppress the
English people. Hermione’s parents did not fit that description. He had managed
to make a certain degree of peace with his own conflict about the matter—but
now he was wondering if she was disloyal to him because she was part-Norman. He
did not like to consider the possibility, and he was not remotely convinced
that it was true, but the idea had wormed itself into his brain at last.
Mother knows that we have been intimate, he thought. I hope this theory is
wrong. I hope that Hermione’s allegiance to this group has nothing to do with
her ancestry, because an allegiance based on that will be very hard to change.
God knows I know about that. But if it’s right, then I can’t possibly marry
her. I will have to avail myself of Mother’s promise to me… but would she still
grant it, since she knows about us? Tom felt ill at the thought. For the first
time ever, he wished for a brief moment that he had never touched her.
It may not be true, he reminded himself. I should not assume it is. He realized
that he needed, somehow, to find out… but how? Hermione could block his
Legilimency. If he asked her, she would be deeply affronted. She certainly
wouldn’t admit it. How could he find out?
If I can somehow find out what this group is doing, then that might answer it
for me, he thought. Maybe if I could corner one of the others for Legilimency…
or eavesdrop….
Tom sighed and ran his hands through his black hair. He would have to do that.
It was distasteful, in a way, but in his view, it was unavoidable. He smoothed
his hair and walked over to his desk, where the notes and bottled memories from
his own private meetings lay concealed in a drawer. He opened it and took them
out.
The Wilkes family still has not sworn a pact with my mother, he thought.
Perhaps I should look elsewhere for disloyalty. A push first, though. He rose
from the chair and went to the common room to find Rob Wilkes.
He met the wizard halfway down the corridor for the boys’ dormitories. Wilkes
was excited, waving a letter that he had apparently received by owl.
“Riddle! I have great news,” he exclaimed.
Tom paused in the hallway. “And what is that, Wilkes? Quietly, please.”
“Or silently,” Wilkes said, grinning as he passed the letter to Tom for him to
read.
Tom accepted it and began to scan it quickly. His face lit up as he read the
scrawls of Wilkes’s father, Raymond. What an incredible coincidence! he
thought. This ambition really is charmed, even after summer has ended. He
recalled the beautiful image of the crown-like shape ascending the Beltane
flames. He returned the letter to Wilkes and smirked. “This is great news
indeed,” he said. “I’m very glad that your father has seen reason.”
“The alliances are complete,” Wilkes observed.
“They are,” Tom agreed, “and they are going to change everything.” He touched
the medallion on his robes, changing it from a solid black face to the Celtic
Triquetra. A frown passed over his face at that. He drew his wand, pointed it
at the object, and—his brow furrowed in concentration—murmured a lengthy spell.
The tip of his wand showered emerald green sparks upon the medallion, and the
design on it changed to the firstsymbol Tom had created for his group: Celtic
knotwork surrounding the Ouroboros, encircling a raven bearing a crown.
===============================================================================
Hermione was miserable. Part of her mind assured her that Ron Weasley was
merely being childish and cruel because he had taken a dislike to her—a dislike
that seemed to be based in envy—but then she remembered that fit that Tom had
thrown upon seeing the list of signatures. He has already suggested before that
he thinks I am disloyal to him, she thought. This might just confirm it in his
mind.
Then, too, there was the possibility that Tom was correct about the Friends’
families. What wasGinevra’s brother doing as a new knight, and why had her
family not told her such basic details as whom he would be serving and where?
Was it really just as Ron had said, that Armand Malfoy would be offended that a
wizard had obtained a title directly from the king? It was certainly not
illegal… the Conqueror and his first successors may have delegated that royal
power to Malfoy when it came to wizards, but that did not mean that the king
could not do it himself for wizards anymore if he saw fit.
Could Ginevra’s brother have deceived him about the fact that his family would
not swear to Malfoy? Hermione wondered. That would certainly explain wanting to
keep it quiet. If Malfoy found out about this knighthood and told the king
about that bit of family history, it might lead to big trouble for the
Weasleys—but only if he cares about Malfoy. He may not… but that does not mean
that a king who is at war would take the trouble to protect the commoner family
of a single knight if Malfoy threatened them. Perhaps they do want to protect
their family from Malfoy rather than from the Crown… but as Luna pointed out,
that cannot last indefinitely. Whichever it is—protect themselves from the
king, or from Malfoy—there must be some long-term plan to get rid of Malfoy,
since he was the one their forefathers refused to swear to. Hermione sighed.
Tom was correct, then. The Friends had another agenda.
But based on what she currently knew and deduced, Tom was notcorrect that the
agenda was opposed to him. He wanted Malfoy gone too. There was no reason that
Hermione knew of for why they should not be allies, and it would make Lady
Merope’s position much more powerful if they were.
Was it time for her to swallow her own pride and make amends with Tom? She
considered it for a brief moment before deciding against it. She had done
nothing to him. He had treated her in a very inappropriate way for any witch,
but especially for the woman he was supposed to marry. He had continued for
several months to make suspicious, distrustful accusations to her, questioning
her loyalty to him and his mother. He had not apologized for any of it, and she
was not entirely convinced that he believed even now that he should. If she
went to him without holding to her word, he would take that as confirmation
that he had done nothing wrong. In the Muggle world, the world she had grown up
in, Hermione realized that she might have done it anyway and accepted it as her
place as a woman. But her horizons were broader, and she was a witch among
other witches and wizards. She knew differently now.
She rose from her chair and left her bedchamber, passing through the Slytherin
common room without speaking to anyone. She made her way upstairs to the Great
Hall, sure that there would be a few people seated at the tables despite the
fact that it was not mealtime. She was correct. There was Harry, and Luna was
next to him.
Hermione made sure that they did not seem to be in a personal, private
conversation before taking her seat next to them. Luna gazed at her. “Hello,
Hermione. You look sad.”
“I’m all right, Luna,” she said.
“It’s because Lord Thomas said those things,” she said astutely. “He was very
wrong to act that way. He should not say things like that to you at all, but it
was especially wrong of him to do it in front of other people.”
What could she even say to that? It was all too true.
“Yes, Luna,” Harry said, giving Hermione a pained look. “That may be, but I’m
sure this isn’t making Hermione feel better.”
“No, it’s exactly what I needed to hear,” Hermione said at once. “I was
questioning things in my own mind before I came here, because”—she lowered her
voice to nearly a whisper—“it seems that he was right that some of our
associates’ families are up to more than they say they are.”
Harry looked uncomfortable and a little bit irritated at that. “Luna and I were
just talking about that,” he said, “and I wonder if my parents and godfather
are part of it. Their letters lately have been very… cagey. I cannot explain
exactly how, and I doubt you would notice unless you had corresponded with them
a lot before and knew them very well, as I do. There’s just something different
about their recent correspondence. I also wonder about Neville’s parents. If it
has to do with”—he spoke in a hush—“removing Malfoy, then they almost have to
be part of it. No one family can do that by themselves. I wonder what Sir
Percival is really doing.”
“So do I,” Hermione muttered. “I wish I could find out.”
“It won’t be long before we visit our families for the winter holidays,” Harry
said. “I can see what I can find out from mine.”
“And I from my father,” Luna added. She gazed at Hermione. “You are fostered
with Lord Thomas’s mother, aren’t you?”
Hermione nodded.
“You can send me owls if you become lonely,” she stated. “He should be kind to
you again, like Harry is kind to me, but if he isn’t ready to do that yet, then
please don’t let him keep you unhappy.”
Hermione still did not quite understand Luna, and her blunt manner of saying
exactly what she thought was still a bit jarring, but at times like this, she
was very glad that Luna did.
===============================================================================
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
Lord Armand Malfoy smiled arrogantly as he surveyed the small family dining
room. His son Abraxas and his loyal ally Rodolphus Lestrange were there,
enjoying his fine wine, as they discussed what to do next. Lestrange had come
with good news: The plan for the Riddle situation was in motion. Hopefully, one
problem would be resolved relatively soon.
However, despite the good tidings that he brought, Lestrange looked displeased
about something. Malfoy could not work out what it might be, even as he studied
his fellow nobleman’s face. Lestrange appeared wary and suspicious about
something. Malfoy glanced at the goblet before him. It held only wine, but
perhaps Lestrange had figured out what “potion” he drank and disapproved of it.
He would not have thought Lestrange capable of either thing, though. The fellow
was not that bright, for one, and he certainly was in no position to get on a
moral pedestal. Malfoy knew full well that Rodolphus took his pleasure from
half the Muggle wenches in his fief’s village, which was a disgusting thing for
a pureblood wizard to do—but in a way, who could blame the man for looking
outside his marriage for that? Lady Bellatrix might be half Rosier, with good
blood from civilized people on that side, but the other half of her family was
from this barbarous country where wizards still let witches defy them. Perhaps
their magic was sometimes equal in power to that of a wizard, but it was more
volatile and prone to emotional outbursts. Lady Bellatrix was proof enough of
that.
Well, if Lestrange disapproved of his potion, he had best keep it to himself,
Malfoy resolved. He was the high lord of the wizards and witches of all lands
that the Muggle king—or his client monarch in Scotland—ruled. His word was law
now. Really, there was little point in even having a Wizards’ Council anymore.
It was a relic of that primitive, rambunctious institution that they had called
the Wizengamot. The time was drawing near when he should just dissolve this
Council and place the magical people of this land under the authority of a
single lord.
He decided to propose just that. “I have been thinking,” he began, his sharp
gaze darting from Abraxas to Lestrange. “When your grandfather first came to
this country with me”—he nodded to Lestrange—“along with the others, we decided
upon certain things in order to placate the natives. Their Wizengamot would be
replaced with a Wizards’ Council, they would be allowed to keep their titles if
they swore to me, their school could admit Mudbloods if they were pledged to
wizards or witches of known magical blood… but eighty years have passed, and
most of my generation has died, as well as some of the one after mine.” He
smiled at Abraxas in a way that was almost a leer. “They have had time to get
accustomed to the new order, and most of them have grown up knowing nothing
else.”
“That is all true, my lord,” Lestrange said deferentially.
“Well, I think the time has now come to consider dissolving the Wizards’
Council. We have already made the biggest move to do so, of course, with the
law granting lawmaking power to each of us—in other words, to me. I realize
that this would be a loss to your family, Lestrange, but I would offer you some
compensation for it.”
Abraxas had listened to this speech with growing indignation. His father might
be right that most of the witches and wizards currently alive knew nothing
else, but they did know about their country’s magical traditions. Tradition was
extremely important to magical people. They also knew the reason for the
Wizards’ Council. Abraxas did not believe for a second that his father could
dissolve the Council without objections from the populace, even though he
personally would someday benefit from it if it happened. Unless Father has
other plans for me, he thought bitterly. What was that ugly look about when
Father had spoken of most of his—Abraxas’s—generation having died? Did Father
really intend to extend his own life indefinitely, even if it meant seeing his
own offspring die of old age first? And what would Lestrange—and Arcturus
Black, once he learned of it—think of having the little power they held taken
away?
Lestrange did not seem at all upset by the proposal, much to Abraxas’s
surprise. “I would support you in that, as in all things, my lord,” he
simpered. Abraxas was disgusted; Armand smirked.
“The compensation that I have in mind is for you to ascend to being my loyal
advisor,” Malfoy said. “As for Lord Black… frankly, he has been trying for a
while to thwart me. I have only now realized it. He balked at granting
Caractacus Burke permission to wed the blood-traitor Lady Riddle. I am sure
that it has to do with the fact that he is of native blood. I will not punish
him, but he will not be granted compensation.” Smugly Malfoy drained his
goblet. “I do not know how I had failed to notice it until recently. It’s as if
there has been a fog about my mind that suddenly lifted. I wonder if he was
cursing me… or perhaps one of the elves.”
Lestrange’s eyes were glittering, and he was hanging on every word. His sharp
gaze darted from father to son. Abraxas suddenly felt veryuneasy. Lestrange
cannot be trusted,he realized in a flash.
This plan to dissolve the Wizards’ Council could not stand, though. If
Lestrange—damn him!—really did support Father “in all things,” then he would
support him after a change of heart. If not, then… Abraxas would have to dirty
his hands. It was unpleasant, but sometimes unpleasant things were necessary.
Lestrange did come from a family that was short-lived in the male line. He
himself was approaching the age at which his father had begun to decline. There
were things that could be done.
When he and Lestrange finished their goblets of wine, Lestrange rose to leave
and bowed to Lord Malfoy and Abraxas. He passed through the doors. Abraxas did
not act until he could no longer see Lestrange’s long shadow.
“Obliviate,” he whispered, pointing his wand at his father’s back.
The silhouette of Lestrange suddenly reemerged from the shadows, outlined by
the candlelight of the stone hall. He leered at Abraxas, whose blood ran cold
at the sight.
“I thought so,” Lestrange said, smugness and anticipation suffusing his voice,
somehow turning the three syllables into the toll of a bell the morning of an
execution.
***** Winter Is Dark and Full of Terrors *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi everyone, thank you so much for all the thoughts on the previous
     chapter regarding the direction of the story. No one really had
     anything to say about specific developments in the intricate main
     plot, and no one said that the darkness of the main plot was the off-
     putting aspect. I really, truly thought that the decline was due to
     this, so I’m surprised! But I’m just going to keep on with what I am
     doing in that regard.
     On the other hand, there’s a relatively consistent theme in many of
     your comments (on both fanfic sites this is posted on) that the Tom/
     Hermione parts are downright unpleasant to read now. I’ve been
     pondering that. This separation was planned from the beginning, and
     by definition it can’t be nice reading, but if it really is at the
     point of turning readers off, then I may try to limit their
     interactions and hostile inner monologues about each other until
     they’re back together. The main reason I’ve had these fights between
     them is to show that they still think about each other a lot—that
     they matter to each other. But would it be preferable that they do
     their own things for now, basically ignoring each other, rather than
     clashing or feuding when they come in contact? Again, a plot retool
     is not up for consideration; the activities I mean for them to do
     individually will still take place. What might shift is how they
     interact for this phase.
     And now… heh. This is an unfortunate chapter to post the above for,
     because this is far and away the darkest one of the entire story so
     far, and it is virtually all plot and little Tom/Herm interaction.
     Sorry, guys. They will get back together; I promise that.
     Warnings: Character death and reference to off-screen rape involving
     a supporting character.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Abraxas pointed his wand straight at Lestrange’s face. His hand trembled for a
moment as he tried quickly to think of what to say. Feigning ignorance would
only get Lestrange to tell Father what had just happened—and what, apparently,
Lestrange had deduced had been happening for a while. In a flash, he realized
that the thing to do was to send Father unconscious and take care of
Lestrange—but the moment of hesitation had cost him the chance.
Lestrange strode forward into the candlelight, his face angular and hideous in
the flickers. He swished his wand through the air, disarming Abraxas. Abraxas
scrambled for his wand, but Lestrange cast a spell to bind him.
“What is the meaning of this, Lestrange?” Armand said, his eyebrows narrowing.
He drew his wand and pointed it at the younger wizard.
Lestrange stood unafraid. “My lord, your son has been performing Memory Charms
on you and doing I know not what else,” he sneered. “Very likely poisoning
you.”
“That’s a lie!” Abraxas finally gasped.
“It is not. I caught you in the act, traitor.”
“I have never poisoned Father—unless you mean the accursed potion he insists
upon taking.”
“Wait,” Armand said, glaring at Abraxas. “You swore to me that you would not
reveal the potion to anyone else. It was an Unbreakable Vow.”
“I have not said what potion it is, Father,” Abraxas sneered. “As you will
observe, I am still alive.”
“He doesn’t need to say what potion it is,” snarled Lestrange. He pointed his
wand at Abraxas’s face. “My lord, he has defied your will on numerous
occasions, I believe, when you desired to punish the blood-traitors and rebels
among our people more harshly than this coward wished. He also wanted to defy
your will to disband the Wizards’ Council just now. Have you not noticed
changes in your memory of late, my lord? Especially over the past two years,
since the Mudblood and blood-traitor Lady Riddle came before us?”
Armand considered this thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, I have.” He shot
a suspicious look at Abraxas. “I seem to remember wanting to punish the half-
blood for wearing those foul barbaric knots on his robes in defiance of my
order… and declaring the entire family rebels for their offense against the
Lestranges.”
Rodolphus Lestrange gaped. “And he erased that from your memory?”
“I think he must have,” Armand agreed.
Abraxas spoke up. “I certainly did, because it was a terrible idea! It was an
insult to your family, Rodolphus. I do not deny that. But she is not sworn to
you, so it was not unlawful. She did not even require a reason, though she did
have one.”
“Are you defending her?” Armand exploded. Some of his wine made a reappearance.
“It is the law—”
“We are the law! I am the law!” Armand rose and pointed a finger at his son.
“Black was with you for that meeting. The two of you have been conspiring
against me! Lestrange is correct!”
“Arcturus has done nothing to you! He has never raised his wand against you,”
Abraxas exclaimed at once. He realized that his own life was probably forfeit,
but Black could not die too. There would be no other voice of reason on the
Wizards’ Council.
“And you admitted that you have,” Armand said darkly.
Abraxas swallowed. “It was for your own good, Father. You have not been
yourself lately. Some of your ideas would lead to war amongst our people, I am
afraid. I have attempted to find out what is happening, but I cannot.”
“How dare you question your father’s sanity,” Lestrange growled. “You only say
that because you want to allow rebellion to breed and he does not.”
“To the contrary, I want to preventrebellion. He wanted to expel the Mudblood
and half-blood from Hogwarts. They would only take cover behind the walls of
that castle if that happened. Can you not see that?” he exclaimed. He turned to
Lestrange. “Besides, I remember that youalso talked Father out of stripping
Dumbledore of his title for accepting the Longbottoms’ oath.”
“I merely talked him out of it,” Lestrange said. “I did not cursehim. You think
that there should be no consequences for that village or the school.”
“They have done nothing illegal.”
“It is an act of provocation!” exclaimed Armand. “I will not strip the High
Master of his title, but I shallvoid the oath. He may not accept oaths from
others. That is sensible, is it not? Why have I not thought of this before… or
have I?” he realized, his voice dark as he glared at Abraxas.
“You probably have, my lord,” simpered Lestrange.
“A wizard has raised his wand against me,” Armand said. His face was cold and
dark. His robes were white—a curious choice, Abraxas reflected wildly—but in
the candlelight, he looked very much like an evil spirit. “This cannot go
unpunished.”
Lestrange broke into a grin. Abraxas’s blood ran cold, even though he had
thought he had accepted his own death. “Father—no! I am your son, your ally!
Lestrange does not have your interests at heart—”
“Why should he believe anything a traitorclaims about his interests? Whodamaged
his mind? Not I.”
“I didn’t either! It was already happening. You have not been yourself,
Father!” he gasped. “I have tried to help you. I wish I knew what was happening
to you. It is not the potion.”
“If you think he was failing, then why did you not give him more of his
potion?”
“Very true,” Armand agreed gravely. “You believed I was declining, but you
raised your wand against me. I cannot allow treason to exist, even in my own
family. You looked to your own advantage instead of that of your lord.
Lestrange is not even related closely to me, but he has been more loyal by
far.”
Lestrange smirked.
“Lestrange is a hypocrite!” Abraxas exclaimed. He could not move his arms, but
he cast the most malevolent glare he could manage at the younger man. “He
thought that a commoner like Burke was the only wizard fit to marry Lady
Riddle, because she had had relations with a Muggle—but do you know what
hedoes?”
“You fool,” Lestrange said disdainfully. “Everyone knows that because women are
entered and claimed, they are defiled in the act. Men—wizards—are not.”
“Enough of this vulgarity,” Armand said. He turned to Lestrange. “My loyal
liege man, you know what you must do.” He turned aside.
Hope left Abraxas in that moment, but he was not going to die pleading for
mercy from the likes of Rodolphus Lestrange. “If he orders you to wait on him,
you will get what you deserve,” he said spitefully. “I believe from personal
experience that a curse also falls on one who slaughters a unicorn, not just
one who, like Father, drinks its blood.”
Rodolphus swished his wand through the air at once, but he was too late. As
soon as the words left Abraxas’s mouth, he collapsed to the ground, felled by
the breach of his own Unbreakable Vow. He was dead before Lestrange’s throat-
slitting curse struck him.
Lestrange swore violently. In his rage, he kicked the corpse on the floor.
“Bastard!” he spat.
“Do not speak thus of him,” Armand said in warning. “That, at least, he was
not.”
Lestrange instantly became penitent. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I spoke in
anger.”
Armand sighed. “It is a pity, in a way… but perhaps Lucius will be more loyal
to the family. He already has a manor, after all. I believe that Abraxas must
have coveted what is mine.”
“I agree, my lord.”
“He attributed his own demise to a curse, but here I stand,” Armand said. He
gazed at Lestrange. “Do not fear his dying words. I believe it is merely a
superstition.”
Lestrange swallowed. “Then, my lord, you do expect me to….”
“Oh, not you. You have a household of your own. I think… Carrow. Yes. Carrow is
your vassal. Send him to me after you return to your castle tonight.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“As much as I hate displaying the perfidy of those in my own family, it must be
known that I tolerate no treason even from my own son. This must look like an
execution. See to it that the body bears that appearance, Lestrange. After
that, we will discuss new, proper laws.” In a swish of white robes, he left the
chamber, leaving Lestrange to mutilate the body.
===============================================================================
Canis Manor on the Thames.
Regulus Black accepted the bundle of papers from Ted Tonks, his steward. He
untied the string binding the stack together and cast a spell to banish the
bulk of the papers, which he knew had been created by a magic spell. This left
a single magic-protected document. He read it carefully, his forehead furrowing
in concern.
“Thank you, Tonks. You may take your leave. Kreacher!”
In the next instant, the wizened house-elf appeared. “Master?” he croaked.
“I have word from our source that Lestrange has persuaded Lord Malfoy to
execute his own son. Malfoy is also dissolving the Wizards’ Council. Go at once
to Grandfather’s manor and tell him about this. Advise him to establish strong
magical defenses on his fief, and especially on his castle. My parents live
there too! They have no time to spare, if Malfoy and Lestrange mean to attack
my family.”
“Yes, Master.” The elf’s face was drawn in alarm as he obeyed his master’s
command.
Regulus scowled to himself as he considered his next decision. He really did
not want to write this letter… but his brother did live in a village that was
ruled by Lucius Malfoy. He dipped his quill in ink and began to write.
===============================================================================
The Potter Cottage, Godric’s Hollow.
James Potter glowered at the letter that Sirius had just passed to him. “What
is hismotive?” he growled in suspicion.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sirius carped. “I haven’t trusted him ever
since he sent that scathing reply to me a couple of years ago when I suggested
that Moony and I strike fear into Malfoy.”
“In fairness to him, that wasa terrible idea,” James muttered under his breath.
“But he has still chosen to remain in good standing with your parents and
grandfather.”
“Exactly,” Sirius agreed. “I am pretty sure that he also writes to Snivellus.
About thisletter, I would think that he was baiting us to write back something
that would look treasonous, which he could then pass on to the Malfoys… but….”
“But he is also worried about your parents and grandfather,” James finished.
Lily Potter stepped up, giving both wizards exasperated looks. “It does not
seem that complicated to me. Lord Regulus is warning you because he sincerely
does not want you to come to harm despite your disagreements.”
The wizards blinked, as if that had not occurred to them. James opened his
mouth as if to argue, but he shut it at once. Sirius sighed and shook his head
rapidly, in a rather canine manner, but not to contradict her. “I suppose that
may be,” Sirius admitted grudgingly.
“It is not our responsibility to protect him, though,” said James. “I think we
should write to the Weasleys, in fact. One of their sons has been knighted
recently, by the king himself, and another is supposed to return from the
Continent soon with the goblins. Armand Malfoy has only weakened himself by
placing his faith in Lestrange. It will be easier for us now.”
Lily scowled. “I do not like this. There must be a better way.”
“Oh, it will be fine, my dear,” James said, getting up and giving her a peck on
the cheek. She barely moved, though he did not notice. “We can rule ourselves
as we see fit.”
“You had better.”
===============================================================================
Castle Draconis (formerly Castle Leo), Godric’s Hollow.
The scene on the tapestry behind Lord Lucius Malfoy moved. This part of the
castle, the Great Hall, was outfitted with heavy textiles that told many proud
stories, including the story of the Malfoy family and the conquest of this
land. On this particular tapestry, a snake slithered around the neck of a lion,
choking it.
Lucius frowned as he read the letter. His lady wife Narcissa sat next to him,
reading the same document on the table before them.
At last they finished. Lucius heaved a sigh and met Narcissa’s eyes with his
own. “I will not believe that my father was a traitor to the family. This is
Lestrange’s doing. How will we tell Draco about this?”
“I do not know. Your grandfather… and Lestrange.”
“Lestrange,” Lucius said, distaste in his words. “Between us, my dear, I would
like to remove him. He is a bad lord, and he should have known better than to
accept the oaths of the Carrows. It has caused nothing but trouble. My father
is dead because of this, his name tainted, and that upstart is trying to
supplant him. To supplant us.”
“And the way he treats my sister is atrocious,” Narcissa said tightly.
Lucius did not comment on this; he sincerely disliked Bellatrix, and the
dislike was mutual, but it would not do to say it right now.
“If the Carrows had presumed to offer themselves to me, I would have given them
to Umbridge,” Lucius continued.
Narcissa smirked at that image, but it did not last for long. “We must tell
Draco somehow,” she said, “and we must make sure to warn him, subtly, to be
wary of Lestrange. It will be difficult, since he is engaged to Lady Adelaide.”
“And that is the key to understanding Lestrange’s motive, I think.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “He has no sons of his own—legitimate, pureblood ones, at
least. He has already had your honored father killed, Lucius—and I fear that he
will target my family next.” She looked down, worried. “I will write to them.
But we should also consider ourselves potential targets of his—prime targets,
in fact. If your grandfather is ‘slipping,’ and we are out of Lestrange’s way
like your poor father now is, then he is the obvious regent after his daughter
is married to Draco.”
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
Merope and Severus exchanged worried glances. “That vile old man executed his
own son,” she said, her voice awed at the horror of it. It was the sort of
thing she would have expected of her own late, unlamented family.
“And disbanded the Wizards’ Council altogether,” Severus said grimly. He had
not expected this. His sources had been telling him that Lord Malfoy was the
one who seemed most likely to be killed at the hands of the rest of the
Council. That outcome would have calmed the political situation just a bit. The
ugly plot to assassinate Sir Thomas Riddle and force Merope to marry Caractacus
Burke would still be lurking in the background, but Arcturus Black and Abraxas
Malfoy were comparatively reasonable wizards who played by the rules that he
and Lady Merope understood and could navigate. This was a setback.
“I fear for Tom,” she confessed. “He is already living in a state of simmering
fury about the Malfoys and the Norman occupation. He has not told me, but it is
obvious every time I see him. I worry that he will do something that gets
him—and poor Hermione—in serious trouble, and we will have to shelter both of
them in this castle before they finish their magical education.”
Severus considered telling her about the memories he had encountered in
Hermione’s mind when he had taught her Occlumency, but he decided against it.
If he told her that the young couple were seriously at odds, it would be
outside her power to change that, and it would only worry her more.
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
High Master Albus Dumbledore stood aside helplessly as Scabior, a vassal of
Rodolphus Lestrange, tacked up proclamation after proclamation on the walls of
the school. Numerous pupils had gathered, mostly to gape in horror, but not
all. Tom was standing by, in the shadows, surrounded by his friends, and his
face was paling in rage. Adelaide Lestrange was admiring the wizard every time
he reached up the walls to attach a parchment and turning to smirk at her
horrified classmates after one went up.
                                        
           AN ACT TO PROHIBIT BARBARIC SPEECH AMONG PEOPLE OF MAGIC
It is the sense of His High Lordship Armand Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire, Lord of
    Witches and Wizards, that the tongue of Gaelic is unpleasant in sound,
    dangerous as a language of magical spells, and encourages the spirit of
rebellion, drunkenness, and barbarism when spoken. It is proclaimed by His High
   Lordship that the speaking of this uncouth tongue is hereby prohibited in
England, Scotland, Wales, and any domain henceforth under the authority of the
          High Lord, and shall be considered an act of petty treason.
                                        
          AN ACT TO PROHIBIT HEATHEN PRACTICES AMONG PEOPLE OF MAGIC
   It is the sense of His High Lordship that the observance of chief days of
traditionally heathen celebration is contrary to a well-ordered magical society
 and encourages rebellion, drunkenness, and barbarism. It is proclaimed by His
 High Lordship that the observance of Samhain, Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane,
 Litha, Lughnasadh, or Mabon is hereby prohibited in England, Scotland, Wales,
and any domain henceforth under the authority of the High Lord. Celebration of
         any of these days shall be considered an act of high treason.
 
“That’s that, then,” Wilkes muttered under his breath, so that Scabior could
not hear him. “We are officially outlaws.”
Tom moved his hand to touch the clasp of his robe, but thought better of it.
“For now. This will not endure. In the long term, it only helps our cause. This
is the heritage of our people. They may have forgotten that, but they will
remember now—and we will be there to lead them. Iwill lead them.”
Somewhat removed from Tom, Hermione was reading the proclamations with shock
and disappointment. This meant that the school would not hold the Beltane
ritual this year. It meant that she would not have the opportunity to do it,
even though Tom had.
Unless I convince the Friends of the Founders to defy Malfoy and do it
ourselves, she thought wildly. But it’s such a risk, and Malfoy just executed
his own son. What kind of person does that unless there is very good reason?
Tom must be right about him; he probably does drink unicorn blood. They are
loathsome—Malfoy, Lestrange, and all their vassals—and I want them to fall. She
clenched her wand in her hand angrily. Her friends would surely make that
happen, and she would be part of it.
Scabior put up another proclamation.
 
                           ACTS CONCERNING MUDBLOODS
It is the sense of His High Lordship Armand Malfoy that Mudbloods are a threat
 to the continued existence of a magical population. To limit the danger, the
                       following are hereby proclaimed:
   i. No additional Mudbloods may be admitted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
      and Wizardry after the date of this Proclamation, irrespective of
      betrothal status. Defiance of this rule by the lords and ladies of the
      school shall be considered an act of high treason.
  ii. Mudbloods who are related to an acknowledged magical family by marriage
      are henceforth prohibited from bearing wands, cauldrons, enchanted
      magical artifacts, or other items of magic in public places. Defiance of
      this rule shall be considered an act of petty treason.
 iii. Mudblood women who are married to wizards may not leave their hair
      unbound in the manner of married witches with blood status. They must
      cover their hair and take a veil, as is the Muggle custom. Defiance of
      this rule shall be considered an infraction to be punished with flogging
      and snapping of the offender’s wand.
  iv. Any association with Mudbloods who have no current or contracted future
      marital connection to a wizarding family is henceforth prohibited.
      Defiance of this rule shall be considered an infraction to be punished
      with a fine set by and paid to one’s lord, and after three such
      infractions, imprisonment.
 
Hermione’s rage intensified. So Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange imagined
that shewould tolerate being treated as a Muggle woman? She stole a glance at
Tom, who was glaring at the parchments on the wall with loathing—allof them.
Good. They might be at odds, but at least he cared about this as well as the
despicable “proclamations” that affected only himself.
Holding her head high, making sure that her bushy hair bounced with every step,
she stalked out of the hallway past Adelaide Lestrange’s smirking face. She
heard footsteps and smiled as she saw that Luna, Harry, and Neville were
approaching.
“I think we should have a meeting tonight to practice magic,” Harry muttered.
“I completely agree.” She glanced back, making sure that Adelaide Lestrange and
her allies were not in earshot. “Should we consider making a Beltane fire of
our own?”
Harry considered it. “I don’t know how… but maybe we should. We’ll have to get
the books about it before they are destroyed, though.”
“I don’t believe that Dumbledore would allow books to be destroyed,” Hermione
said confidently. “He could just hide them in the Come-and-Go Room, could he
not?”
Luna, Harry, and Neville stopped momentarily and exchanged grins.
===============================================================================
Draco Malfoy brooded alone. His loyal trio of Crabbe, Goyle, and William Rosier
were nowhere in sight, which was exactly as he wanted it. At the moment, he was
not sure whom he should trust, so it was safest to keep his own counsel.
His grandfather was dead. His Grandfather Malfoy was dead—and his great-
grandfather had done the deed! It was horrible. Draco felt that this was just
like the kinds of primitive practices that he had always been told were being
stamped out by people like his family—these weregilds, blood feuds, and the
like. Their family had come to this country to bring civilization to the
wizards and witches, who had conducted themselves in a state barely removed
from barbarism—or so he had always been taught.
Draco was beginning to question many things.
He was related either to a traitor or to a kinslayer, and he suspected it was
the latter. If his grandfather had been a traitor, if he had conspired to kill
the high lord, then it was logical to execute him. However, during the summer,
Draco had overheard his parents talking quietly between themselves about how
they were worried about Great-Grandfather Armand’s state of mind, based on what
Grandfather Malfoy had written to Father. They had also muttered about
Lestrange. Apparently the man made a practice of betraying his wife, Draco’s
aunt by blood, for Muggle villagers. That was another thing they whispered
about, and it was disgusting.
Draco hoped that his parents would eventually break faith with Lestrange and
release him from his betrothal to Adelaide. He would not have minded allying
with her against Riddle, his chief rival in Slytherin House and a great thorn
in his side, but he did not want to marry her. For one, it was unpleasant to
think of being married to his first cousin. He had known her as family too
well, for too long, to want to sleep with her—ever. For another, she was
horribly disagreeable to be around. She drank, and she picked fights. Draco did
not care that she hated Riddle and Riddle’s Mudblood, but he really did not see
the point anymore in harassing them. What did he care if a half-blood married a
Mudblood? Impure shouldmate with impure. He was also wary enough of their
magical skill that he saw no point in provoking them as often as Adelaide liked
to. It never ended well for her when she did; whichever of them she was
bothering always cursed her, but she never seemed to learn. Perhaps that was
why Riddle, Granger, and even Draco himself had surpassed her in their
studies….
But the most important factor to Draco was that he had someone else that he
didwant to marry, and there was no valid reason why he should not. Astoria
Greengrass was a pureblood witch from a noble family. Her sister was a bitch,
and seemed to be allied with Riddle—no surprise there, since she was betrothed
to Flint, one of the Slytherin noble lordlings who inexplicably shadowed that
half-blood—but one could not pick one’s family. Draco of all people knew that.
If he could, he would have chosen his late grandfather and cast off his
kinslaying great-grandfather.
The only possible explanation Draco could think of for why his family—or the
Lestranges, who seemed verymuch inclined to try to displace his family—might
consider Astoria an unsuitable match was that she was not of Norman ancestry.
But what difference did that make? He himself had never known anything but
England and Scotland. His mother had been a Black, an English family. Marrying
into the English was good enough for Father; why was it not good enough for
him? Astoria was noble, and she was pureblood, and whenever he could meet with
her secretly away from Adelaide and Daphne, he would talk and flirt with her.
It had never progressed beyond flirting; Draco was not going to do anything
that might risk her prospects… but he really, really wanted her “prospects” to
no longer be an issue for her.
Grandfather Malfoy would have supported me, he thought unhappily. If he had
survived, he would have understood. My family would not have forced me to stay
betrothed to a Lestrange. Lord Lestrange may think he was loyal to my great-
grandfather, but he betrayed my grandfather in the vilest of ways, and I will
not forget that. I promise that, Grandfather.
===============================================================================
Shortly after the loathsome Malfoy proclamations went up, the school dismissed
for… well, for Christmasbreak, Tom thought sourly as he prepared to Disapparate
to his mother’s castle. Not Christmas andYule anymore. Tom rather hoped that
his mother would observe the holiday anyway. If she did not, then he would.
Hermione was nearby, standing with her own friends, Crookshanks meowing in a
magically sealed crate. Tom knew how to Apparate now; he had learned over the
fall, so there was no need for Merope to send house-elves anymore. She wished
that holding hands with Tom meant more than it currently did, but since the
contact was merely perfunctory now, she looked forward to learning to Apparate
on her own… that was something taught in a mastery class…. Perhaps next year,
then. Tom was in his fourth year now, after all.
He had barely spoken to her after Malfoy had issued his hideous orders. That
hurt. The orders targeted both of them, and they should be united in solidarity
against such evil. Tom should not accept his future wife having to present
herself as a Muggle in public, concealing her hair, veiling her head, and
carrying no magical implements. But after that slimy Lestrange vassal, Scabber
or whatever his name was, had put up the documents, Tom had huddled and
conspired only with his own friends, as usual. In fact, he was doing just that
right now.
She caught his eye, and he scowled but broke away from his group. As he walked
over to where she stood, she gave Luna a gentle smile. “See you next year,” she
said. “Do let me know what you learn from your father about the Friends.”
“I certainly will,” Luna agreed. “And remember what I said a while ago: If he
ignores you, write to me or Ginny.”
“Ginny?” Hermione repeated, smiling. She had not known that Ginevra Weasley
went by that nickname as well as her given name. Perhaps she was more formal
with someone of noble birth… but that bothered Hermione in some indescribable
way. Her friends should not feel that there were barriers between them. There
are too many barriers among our people already, she thought unhappily.
Tom reached Hermione and wordlessly held out his hand for her. She took a deep
breath and took it. His palm was icy in the wintry air. He turned away and
Disapparated in a whirl.
They reappeared in the achingly familiar courtyard of Parselhall. Tom pulled
his hand away and offered Hermione his arm to escort her into the castle,
wordlessly, his air as chilly as the air surrounding them. Stifling a lump in
her throat, she took his arm and walked in, attempting to hold her head high.
Lady Merope greeted them somberly, with Lord Severus Snape standing nearby.
“Good cheer to both of you,” she said, the tone of her voice not matching her
words. “The elves will see to your belongings.”
“Mother,” Tom said, releasing Hermione’s arm without a second look at her and
striding forward to meet his mother. “I suppose you must have heard about
Armand Malfoy’s disgusting proclamations.”
Merope’s gaze darkened, as did Snape’s. “I have,” she said in hard tones. “I
have already made accommodations for the holiday.”
Tom’s face lit up. “What do you mean?”
“It will be a small, private celebration,” she admitted. “The villagers won’t
be present. I have not told them about Malfoy’s laws in the first place, but I
also considered swearing all of them to secrecy, or simply prohibiting them
from writing to anyone outside the fief. I do not think there are any who have
relatives on the outside in the first place… but I think it is best simply to
observe the holiday privately, with only witches and wizards present.”
Tom frowned. “We have magic. It should not be hard to swear Muggles to secrecy,
even a full village of them. We should not cede any ground to Malfoy, whether
he knows about it or not.”
Merope smiled indulgently. “If you think that, Tom, then youare certainly
welcome to make all of them take individual oaths not to speak of the
ceremony.”
Tom scowled but did not contest the point.
“And Hermione,” Merope said, turning to her, “I wanted you to know that you may
wear your hair as any witch does while you are behind the walls of thiscastle…
and carry any magical object that you see fit. In this castle, we respect and
honor witches.”
Hermione knew that Merope meant well, and that she could not possibly know that
Tom had used that exact sort of argument to defend his own inexcusable conduct
to her, but it still pained her to hear it. In the interest of courtesy, she
managed a smile in spite of herself, purposely avoiding looking at the smirk
that she knew must grace Tom’s face.
===============================================================================
Castle l’Etrange.
Adelaide Lestrange picked at her food. Her family was enjoying one of their
many winter feasts—notYule, definitely not, despite that it was the winter
solstice; they were simply feasting, as nobles did as they saw fit—but Adelaide
had little appetite right now.
Draco was not even here. He and his parents were at their own castle in
Godric’s Hollow, supposedly because they wanted to have a “private dinner,” but
Adelaide—in common with her father—wondered if it might be more. Mother was
with them, apparently invited by her sister. She seemed largely sympathetic to
Aunt Narcissa, though she had never liked Uncle Lucius. Adelaide worried that
Draco’s ill-treatment of her—and she had to admit that it wasill-treatment—was
no longer a secret to her family, and that they were angry about it. If that
were the case, Father would blame her. Mother might not, but Father would. He
had blamed her when the filthy half-blood Riddle had sent that memory to Lord
Berengar in Aquitaine two years ago. He alwaysblamed her.
Father blames me because I am not a wizard, she thought sourly. He wanted a
son, and he blames me because I am not one—but he apparently never tried to
have another child with Mother, as if that is my fault.
And to make matters worse, Draco was disloyal to her. Adelaide was surethat he
was seeing that barbarian slut Astoria Greengrass—what a ridiculous name!—but
she had not been able to catch them together to prove it. It was just awful,
though.
All of Adelaide’s problems had come about from the admission of that Mudblood
to Hogwarts, she thought, stabbing a chunk of meat crudely with a knife. If
that had not happened, it would not even have mattered that the half-blood
Riddle was raised to the nobility. No one would have contracted an alliance
with him. He would have gone through school as he had during their first year,
the target of well-deserved taunts. But with a witch of his very ownat his
side, he had the opportunity to make herproblems his own, and as a Mudblood,
she certainly had problems. It was just unfair that such people could harm
their betters. She was certain that the reason Draco disliked her was that foul
lie they had spread about her and that group of wizards in the Hogsmeade
tavern. Granted, she could not prove that they had ever spread that rumor
specifically, but they must have.
Here, now, Father was barely even paying attention. He was ensconced with the
Carrows, explaining something to them that made Amycus Carrow blanch. Good.
They used to serve the Gaunt family; they deserved discomfort. And Adelaide was
quite certain that Father had been drinking. What hypocrites they all were to
chastise herfor drinking. Mother understood, at least. It was a pity that she
was not here. Defiantly Adelaide summoned the nearest bottle of wine and
refilled her goblet.
“That’s a good vintage,” said a male voice next to Adelaide. She turned sharply
to face Scabior. A grin appeared on her face.
“Yes,” she said, taking a bold sip. She set the goblet down on the tabletop.
“It is.”
“I always approve of a witch who appreciates good wine,” drawled the wizard.
Adelaide smirked. “That is good to hear. Many don’t.”
“They are… mistaken.” He raised his own goblet and clinked it with hers. They
exchanged sips.
Adelaide was acutely aware of the way that his gaze never left
her—specifically, never left an area of her body that was definitely nother
face—but at the moment, she did not much care. This was harmless. A vassal of
her father certainly would know not to take risks with the lord’s daughter.
“When I put up those posters for Lord Malfoy, I noticed something,” Scabior
continued, keeping his eyes fixed upon her. “A pair of enemies of yours were so
outraged, I thought they might magically combust on the spot.”
Adelaide laughed. “Riddle and Granger! Yes, I noticed too. It was a beautiful
sight. I think it’s a very good thing that Lord Malfoy ordered Granger to
control that ugly hair of hers.”
“Yourhair is very lovely, though.”
She froze in alarm. That, somehow, did not seem appropriate from this wizard,
in this situation.
He noticed and quickly recovered. “You know that before our forebears came, the
natives left their hair uncombed and wore crude garments of animal skins,”
Scabior lied. “Even the witches and wizards.”
Adelaide laughed again. “I doubt that, but I’m sure they were very
uncivilized.”
The banter continued, and Adelaide drank until she felt that she could barely
stand up. She got to her feet and wobbled at once. Scabior instantly took her
arm to steady her. At the high table, Lord Lestrange glanced up blearily, his
own gaze affected by heavy drink.
“My lord, with your permission, I will escort her safely,” Scabior said.
Lestrange nodded, then returned to his cups.
When the wizard first took Adelaide’s arm, the gesture was everything she had
come to expect as a young lady from vassals. He walked through the dining hall
to the great doors, opened them with a flick of his wand, and closed them
behind them.
Adelaide’s bedchamber was on the next level of the castle in a wing reserved
for private use of the family. He began to walk her down the corridor in the
general direction of this wing, but then he turned a corner unexpectedly. The
hall was deserted; a lone candle stood in a recess.
“Where are you going?” she exclaimed.
He pushed open a door to what she realized must be his own quarters in the
castle. Adelaide tried to wrench free. “This is not appropriate,” she
protested.
He pulled her through the doors and closed them with a sound that seemed to
ring through the entire castle. “From what I hear, my lady, you like the
inappropriate. A lady getting drunk at the table? And I heard about why your
first betrothal ended.”
“That was a lie!”
“When was the last time that a wizard actually admired you?” Scabior said,
leering. “It has been a while, has it not? Well, Iadmire you.”
“No,” she protested, but he did not heed her words.
Chapter End Notes
     One more thing about this one, before anyone yells at me. I am not
     trying to imply that Adelaide deserved to be victimized because she’s
     a horrible person. I don’t believe that. And there will be more to
     come of this, don’t worry.
***** No Good Deed *****
Chapter Notes
     Once again thank you so much! Regarding Tom and Hermione, I don't
     want to post outright spoilers, but I will say this: I will not bait-
     and-switch readers on the primary ship. That includes unmentioned/
     untagged "surprise" ships. I have outlined quite a few chapters, and
     I know when they will get back together. I don't want to say when,
     but it will occur, and it won't be at the end of the story.
     Warning: This chapter is probably going to be disturbing for several
     reasons. I don't know exactly what I should say I am warning for,
     other than more period-typical misogyny, but that's not all that will
     likely be disturbing.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Hermione clutched her book as she read in the Riddle library. She was trying to
ignore the fact that across the room, Tom sat in a chair, a broad smile on his
handsome face that was as disturbing to her as it was happy. Whatever he was
reading, whatever he had found in the book, it had made him very pleased, but
it did not look benign. She was intensely curious, but the book was flat on his
lap.
The library doors were open. Hermione heard footsteps approaching, two pairs of
them. Tom’s gaze darted up from his book toward the doors in time with
Hermione’s. They listened intently as Severus and Merope talked in elevated
voices outside.
“This is vindictive, plain and simple,” Severus growled. “Malfoy and Lestrange
have singled you out. It is punitive, slapped on this fief because we are their
political enemies.”
“I know that!” Merope exclaimed. “The question is, what can we do about it?
Malfoy is going to send his ‘assessors’ to the grounds this summer, when
everything is green and healthy, to get the best possible value estimate. This
tax raise is outrageous, Severus. But what do you think we can do?”
Tom’s dark eyebrows narrowed in anger at what he had just overheard.
“The objective,” Severus said thoughtfully, “seems to be to give Malfoy a
pretext to seize the castle as collateral. That, or compel you to impoverish
the entire village yourself to pay the bill—but that would only work for this
year’s bill, of course. In fact,” he thought, “I think they expect you to do
just that. It’s what they would do—take every last coin from their villages—but
needless to say, it would leave you vulnerable.”
“They would have to return to being field servants again, all of them, even the
ones who have been practicing skilled trades for two and a half years,” she
snarled. “I’m not going to do that—and as you rightly say, that would only
generate enough money for this year. You’re right; the ultimate plan is to
seize the castle for payment.”
There was a lull, in which Hermione stole another glance at Tom. He was livid.
“They are in the library,” Severus said in a low voice.
Merope paused. “Very well. They have already heard this much. Let’s bring them
into the discussion.”
Hermione and Tom rose from their seats as Merope and Severus entered the
library. “I’m sorry,” Hermione said at once. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but
the doors were open—”
“It isn’t your fault,” Merope reassured her, closing the doors behind her and
Severus. “And you and Tom should know what is going on, in any case.”
Severus scowled, but it seemed more reflexive than directed. “All right. Now,
as we were discussing, what can we doabout this?” He turned to the young
people. “I am sure you heard all of that. Armand Malfoy—or, I rather suspect,
Rodolphus Lestrange, since he is the ‘Lord Advisor’—has slapped the lady
baroness with a punitive tax, purportedly for ‘restitution to the High
Wizarding Lord for years of… undervaluing the accounts.’” He winced, as if he
knew something about that. Merope gave him a curious glance.
“Who would his ‘assessor’ be?” Tom asked. “Is it someone who could be easily
fooled with magic?”
“It will probably be a vassal. I would not be surprised if he sent one of the
Carrows, who know the fief verywell. What kind of magic could you mean? They
are going to examine the entire village, the fields, the grove, and the castle
grounds. What vast spell do you have in mind, my lord?” His words were tinged
with sarcasm.
Tom glowered. “The ancient Celts had a trove of earth and seasonal magic. There
is an old ritual that they used to curse the fields and forests of their
enemies—”
“Tom,” Merope said in a tone of warning, her eyes wide in shock. “I know of
what you speak, and I cannot believe you would suggest it.”
In spite of the fact that the spell sounded bad and that she did not really
want to return to normal terms with Tom without a big apology from him,
Hermione could not but seek more knowledge. “I don’t know anything about this
ritual. What does it do? How does it work?”
Tom raised his eyebrows at her inquiringly. He paused for a fraction of a
second, but hisinclination to discuss what he knew won out. “It blackens and
blights a tract of land. They would use it in war. It can be reversed with
another ritual—”
“Hermione, what my son is avoiding saying is that both rituals are fueled by
human sacrifice,” Merope said, eyeing him darkly. “And not ‘just’ one victim
for each, given the size of the area that it would have to affect. This is
powerful magic.”
“I wasn’t suggesting killing our own villagers!” Tom exclaimed. “But there are
plenty of vile Norman Muggles, like the Muggle king’s soldiers.”
Merope gaped at her son as if she had never quite seen him before. “Hold your
tongue, Tom,” she snapped. “I forbid any further mention of this.” She breathed
deeply. “If anyone has a productivesuggestion to evade this tax, please speak
up.”
Hermione tried to clear her head of her own shock at the ideas that Tom was
contemplating. “What about charms to disguisethe land? Not to actuallykill the
plant life, but… to make it lookunhealthy.”
“A glamour charm?” Merope asked. She considered. “Yes, that might work.”
“The Carrows are not very skilled in magic,” Severus supplied.
Merope nodded. “So if one of them is the ‘assessor,’ it might trick them. It
would require all of us to walk the grounds to set it up, but it might work.”
She smiled grimly. “And if it doesn’t, we will have to ‘secure’ the assessor
and prepare the castle for a magical siege.”
===============================================================================
Hermione lay on her bed in the castle that evening, staring at the ceiling,
Crookshanks curled up next to her side. She was not sure what to think of Tom’s
grim suggestion earlier that day. On one hand, it was disturbing that he
apparently considered sacrifice-fueled rituals an acceptable solution. But did
he really? Tom had always had a tendency to show off what he knew, and perhaps
it was just the eagerness of a magical scholar who focused on theory.
She acknowledged to herself that in any other circumstance, she probably would
not have thought a “but” at all. The ritual would have been shocking, and that
would have been that. But for that brief moment, we had some of our old rapport
back, even if it was so that he could talk about murderous ancient magic….
She turned, upsetting Crookshanks’s rest. The cat stretched and jumped off the
bed, to Hermione’s chagrin. She reached an arm toward the fluffy animal, trying
to coax him back, but he leapt into the chair in the room instead. Sighing,
Hermione lay back down. Tom still owed her an apology for his behavior. She
could not let him think otherwise.
===============================================================================
A few rooms away, Tom turned repeatedly on his bed, restless and unsettled. He
supposed he should have held his peace, and when the time came, simply
performed the ritual himself. Now, if he did that, his mother would instantly
know what had happened. It was frustrating to acknowledge his own mistakes, but
so it was. Tom really did not see anything wrong with capturing a few of the
Muggle king’s soldiers and using their lives as fuel. There was a kind of
poetic justice, in fact, since many of these particular Muggles supported this
pretender because they agreed with him and his noble backers that his female
cousin should not rule due to her gender. Tom did not want a Muggle queen any
more than he wanted a Muggle king; hewanted to rule, but somehow that reasoning
made it worse. To use the lives of woman-hating Normans in a Celtic ritual to
protect the property of an English witch seemed perfect to Tom… but it seemed
that it was not to be.
He wondered about something else related to the discussion. Why would Malfoy
and Lestrange try a scheme to seize the castle outright, when Tom knew very
well that the typical practice was to try to force an obdurate opponent into a
marriage to one of their allies. Obviously he did not want his mother to have
to deal with that, but it was strange to him that their enemies were thinking
of seizing the castle through an immense, punitive tax increase instead. Mother
is a widow, he thought. Why would they not try that with her? Is there
something I am not being told?
The darkness gave him no answers, so he sighed to himself and tried to get to
sleep.
===============================================================================
The rest of the intermission passed uneventfully. Tom did not make any
overtures to her to make amends for his past conduct, and after the unpleasant
confrontation with his mother, he kept to himself most of the time. Hermione
was glad when it was finally time to return to Hogwarts.
The first evening that they were back, she stayed in the Slytherin common room,
Harry Potter sitting next to her but not inappropriately close, as she read. In
another corner, Tom and his friends huddled. Hermione wondered for a moment
where their adversaries might be.
She did not have to wonder long, at least for one of them. The door swung open,
and Adelaide Lestrange stumbled in. Her gaze darted sharply and suspiciously
from one side of the room to the other, taking in her enemies. She cast
Hermione a glare of deep dislike, but what struck Hermione was that the girl’s
face seemed to entirely lack the self-assured arrogance that had marked her for
the past two and a half years. Instead, beneath the personal dislike for
Hermione, she looked hunted and defeated.
She was also intoxicated on something, Hermione noted. Strong drink? That was
most likely it….
“What are youlooking at?” Adelaide snapped.
Hermione realized that she had been staring and sneered back. “It’s hard not to
look when someone stumbles into the common room drunk.”
Adelaide let out a hiss. “I am not drunk, Mudblood.”
Hermione was about to snort in derision, but then she caught sight of the burns
on Adelaide’s wand arm. They were in exactly the place one usually had them
when a cauldron fire flickered up around the edges while one was stirring the
contents. Had she made a potion that had caused this? And what potion? With a
sigh, Hermione realized that she was not going to get an answer. She huffed and
returned to her book. It was not herproblem, in any case.
The next morning, Hermione received news that positively elated her: She would
be in the mastery classes for Potions, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes. Harry was
also going to be in the mastery class for Potions. Tom was already in the
mastery classes for all of his subjects, but even he had not been advanced to
threemastery classes all at once in the middle of histhird year. He had
advanced in just one at this time a year ago, Charms and Curses. Hermione
smiled smugly when Professor Slughorn gave her the news, ignoring Tom’s
expression of intense jealousy.
===============================================================================
Adelaide Lestrange’s odd behavior continued for several weeks. She was finally
in some of the intermediate classes, which meant that she did share those
subjects with Hermione still, giving Hermione more opportunity to observe her.
She retained the clear undertone of simmering misery. What had happened to her
over the winter holidays? Something must have.
About a month after they had returned to school, Hermione was returning from a
late visit to the library when she passed by a room with the door open a crack.
Inside, someone was sniffling and cursing—not magical spells, but swearwords.
It was a witch’s voice, and the girl seemed miserable. Hermione drew her wand
in case the person inside reacted badly, then pushed the door open.
Clouds of smoke and vile fumes assaulted her nostrils immediately. A potion had
gone badly wrong. Hermione coughed, cast a spell to clear the smoke, and
focused on the crying person. It was Adelaide. Hermione’s adversary sat hunched
over a cauldron that was the source of the fumes, her face red and streaked
with tears, her black hair damp and frizzy.
“What are you doing?” Hermione exclaimed. “What is that meant to be?”
The girl looked up with loathing. “Get out, and attend to your own business for
once, Mudblood!”
Hermione ignored this and approached the cauldron. Something about the smell
was familiar to her… the potion was ruined, of course, and these fumes were
tinged with the smoke of burning, but there was something about the aroma that
triggered a memory….
“I said leave!”
Hermione pointed her wand at Adelaide’s neck. “This was supposed to be a
stronger version of the potion that prevents conception,” she realized. She
gazed at Adelaide’s face and suddenly was sure she understood.
Adelaide glared back with unmitigated loathing. “Get out.”
“Are you with child?” Hermione said baldly. “Is that what you have been so
upset about ever since we returned to school?”
The other girl did not answer. A tear trickled down her cheek.
Despite the history between them, despite the two and a half years of slurs and
insults, despite the attack in the corridor in Hermione’s very first week at
the school, compassion suddenly overwhelmed her. A memory flashed through her
brain, a dream she had about a year ago in which Adelaide stared into space
miserably and she felt sympathy for her enemy.
Divination is often rubbish, Hermione thought in that same flash, but that
dream was prophetic.
“Is it Malfoy’s?” she asked Adelaide gently.
Adelaide glared at her with contempt as another tear fell from her eye. “You
fool. I would marryDraco if it were.”
Hermione chastised herself for asking that. Of course it was obviously not.
“Can you not marry the father, then?” she said.
Adelaide ignored this question, casting her face down. “That’s probably what he
wanted,” she muttered almost under her breath. “Filthy bastard. That was
probably his scheme.”
“Were you forced?” Hermione exclaimed in horror. She moved to the cauldron,
took out her wand, and cleaned it. “Lestrange… Adelaide. You were, weren’t
you?”
Adelaide did not reply, but the silence spoke volumes.
For a moment Hermione hesitated. Was it really a good idea to let her adversary
know that she had this knowledge? But that instinct of self-defense was
instantly overpowered by the sympathy that Hermione felt, especially if someone
had raped Adelaide—evidently someone with a title, probably one of her father’s
own vassals, if she thought he believed he could leverage this into a marriage
to the lord’s daughter.
“I know how to make it,” Hermione said. “I know how to make that potion. If you
have enough ingredients left over, I could do it.” She had never made this
version of it, the far stronger version that terminated an existing pregnancy
rather than preventing it, but the formula had the same procedure and
ingredients, just in different proportions.
Adelaide appeared resistant for a moment about accepting Hermione’s offer, but
then she sighed deeply, her breath shuddering as she did. She gave a small nod,
not looking Hermione in the eye. She pointed at a parcel, which Hermione found
contained the ingredients. A book with the formula rested next to the cauldron.
Hermione began to make the potion, consulting the book as a reference as she
added the ingredients. Soon steam began to rise from the cauldron, still foul-
smelling, but not because of combustion of the ingredients this time. Even the
milder form of this potion smelled bad, and this was a far more intense one.
Finally it was ready and stinking. Hermione turned to her old adversary, who
was staring at it with deadened eyes. “Will it make me unable to conceive in
the future?” she asked, still not looking at Hermione, her voice toneless and
miserable.
“It shouldn’t,” Hermione said. “It happened about a month ago, did it not? It
won’t be traumatic to your body, I wouldn’t think.”
“Traumatic?” Adelaide repeated.
“After you take it, you should remove your undergarments and…” She gazed around
the room to see what objects were in it. “Use that bucket.”
“Bucket?” Adelaide exclaimed, looking queasy.
“Well, what do you think it does?” Hermione said, a bit annoyed. “Didn’t you
read that part?”
Adelaide shuddered, almost seeming for a moment to resist, but then she took a
deep breath. “It has to be done,” she said. She moved over the potion. “If you
made a poison instead, you will regret it.”
Hermione glared. “I wouldn’t poison you. Don’t assume everyone is like your
parents.”
“Don’t speak of my parents.” Adelaide filled a goblet with the potion, winced,
closed her eyes, and downed it. She shuddered again as she swallowed it.
“You need to take more.”
“I know.” Adelaide refilled the goblet, gulped it down, and gagged. But she did
not regurgitate it; she shivered as she refilled the goblet for the third and
final time. This time she sipped it, draining it slowly. When the third dose
was finally gone, she trembled from head to toe.
“Look away… Granger.” She headed to the corner of the room where the bucket
rested on the floor.
Hermione averted her eyes as Adelaide apparently removed her underclothes. She
could not help but notice that she had not called her “Mudblood” this time….
“Do you need me to stay?” Hermione asked.
“No. I—” Whatever she was going to say was lost as she lurched in pain,
clutching her lower abdomen. She barely managed to hitch her skirts up in time
to position the bucket. Hermione averted her eyes from the three drops of blood
left on the stone floor in her wake… but it meant that the potion was working
as it should. Hermione regretted leaving even her enemy to something like this
by herself, but if it was what Adelaide wanted….
Silently she slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her as she did so
that no one else would overhear.
===============================================================================
In a couple of hours, Adelaide appeared in the Slytherin common room looking
very sick but also relieved. She refused to meet Hermione’s eyes, which did not
entirely surprise Hermione. She passed through the common room and into the
girls’ dormitory corridor, evidently to go to bed at once.
The incident deeply disturbed Hermione as she thought about it that night. She
wondered with a kind of morbid curiosity what had happened over the holidays.
Had Adelaide been tipsy—or more—and that was how someone thought he could get a
marriage out of raping the lord’s daughter? Hermione thought, again, about
Tom’s past comments about the Malfoy and Lestrange faction’s disdain for
witches. Perhaps he was right, she thought. They hadmade that new law requiring
married Muggle-born witches to present themselves according to the restrictive
Muggle rules for women, and before that, they had changed existing wizarding
law to give authority to husbands of ruling witches if they married in the
future. Perhaps the rapist had very good reason to believe that Lord Lestrange
would ignore his despicable act, and not even consider it rape, if Adelaide had
been drinking….
Hermione thought of that dream of a year ago once again. She wondered, as she
finally felt sleep creeping at the edges of her thoughts, if this event meant
that Adelaide would rethink her own allegiances. Adelaide didowe her now, with
a magical debt. It was certainly not as powerful as a wizard’s debt incurred
from one saving the life of another, but it was the same category. Perhaps this
would mark the beginning of a new alliance that cut across all the boundaries
among magical people that Hermione had rued recently.
===============================================================================
Two days later.
When Hermione sat down at the Slytherin table for the midday meal, she knew
something was wrong. Everyone in the Malfoy-Lestrange group was looking at her
and sniggering. Even Harry looked askance at her, and Tom was shooting glares
of outrage in her direction.
She sighed and steeled herself, turning to Harry. “All right,” she said in a
low voice. “What is this about?”
Harry winced, not really wanting to explain. He did not need to. Yvette Rosier,
one of Lestrange’s friends, burst out gleefully.
“Who was it, Mudblood?”
Hermione gazed up. “Who was what? What are you talking about?” This was already
starting to severely irritate her.
“Don’t act stupid,” the girl taunted. “You were caught making that potion. You
know the one. Everyone does. Was it Potter?” She leered at him.
A horrible, and utterly infuriating, idea entered Hermione’s mind at this vague
yet telling statement. Would Adelaide really have— The mere thought of it, that
Adelaide would have repaid Hermione’s favor with a stab in the back, sent a
flood of toxic rage through her veins. She shot a glance at Adelaide, who was
gazing at her plate, deliberately not making eye contact with anyone, a smug
little smirk on her face. That confirmed it for Hermione.
“I was making it for someone else!” she exclaimed. She caught Tom’s eye and
deliberately took down her Occlumency shield, inviting him to see the truth for
himself. He gazed at her for a moment, and some of the rage on his face melted
away—but only some. So be it, then. She would have it out with him—again—later,
she resolved.
Rosier and the other girls merely laughed at Hermione’s words. “Who, then?” the
girl trilled. “Who would be so desperate as to ask a Mudbloodto make a potion
for her?”
“Your friend!” Hermione roared, her finger pointing directly at Adelaide
Lestrange as if casting a malediction upon her. “Shehad me do it!”
This only provoked an uproarious burst of disbelieving laughter. “What a
pathetic lie!” Rosier chortled. She smirked at Hermione. “Own up to it,
Mudblood.”
“It’s true!”
Her assertions were met only with more laughter. Hopelessly she gazed again at
Tom, who was staring back at her in frustration. Her resolve hardened.
Apparently, both Tom and Harry had, to varying degrees, entertained the false
rumor as possibly true. She would have it out with bothof them—and then
Lestrange herself, who would feel the brunt of her fury. She had not just
defaulted on a wizarding debt, but had compounded it. She would pay. Clearly
being kind gets me nothing but a stab in the back, she thought, trying to blink
away tears of fury as she ate.
===============================================================================
Hermione herded Tom and Harry into an empty room that afternoon and locked the
door. She gazed at each of them impatiently. “Well?” she said. “I was telling
the truth. You both know it. Why did you ever think otherwise?”
“I thought perhaps it was—you and him,” Harry protested. “That you had…
resolved your differences over the holidays—”
“How dare you speak of our private affairs, Potter?” Tom snarled.
“I will handle this, Riddle,” Hermione retorted. She turned to Harry with a
hard look. “Is that so?”
“Hermione, I know you! You have been my friend for two and a half years. I know
you wouldn’t… and I also know that it would be really important to you to
finish your schooling here… so it made a kind of sense. I didn’t believe it was
necessarily true, but if it were… I was sure that would have been what
happened.”
She huffed, but at least Harry had not believed anything about her that was
dishonorable. “You should not have believed or even half-believed anything my
enemies said about me, but if that’s what you thought, I suppose I can forgive
it.” She managed a thin smile, then turned to Tom in renewed fury. “And you.”
Her voice was low and dark.
He bristled at her tone, but she continued relentlessly. “You are a Legilimens.
You must have looked into Harry’s eyes and seen that hewas innocent. I know you
have been jealous of him before, groundlessly I might add, but since you were,
I suppose you might have thought you needed to know about him. But after you
did, how could you have entertained such a vile idea about me?” Her voice
broke. “At least Harry didn’t question my honor! Whereas my ‘betrothed’ would
not even defendme against a loathsome lie—”
“That’s not true,” he spat.
“He did curse Malfoy for saying it and called it a lie,” Harry said hurriedly.
“It happened before you came to the table.”
Some of Hermione’s anger and sense of betrayal cooled, but only some of it. She
eyed Tom. “You still glared at me. Why are you still angry?”
He breathed deeply. “Why did you help her?” he snapped. “Why did you help that
Norm—that bitch? It was her problem if she couldn’t make the potion herself.”
“She had been raped,” Hermione said. “She thought that the wizard who did it
would have tried to force her to marry him. It was disgusting. Tom, if you
really would allow that to happen to a witch, even a witch that you hate, when
you had the power to stop it, then all of your fine talk is meaningless.”
Tom was startled into silence. He struggled to find the right words. “You could
have sworn her to silence,” he said. “You could have done anything that didn’t
leave you so vulnerable.”
“Believe me, I have learned quitea lesson about vulnerability from this,” she
said evenly. She swished her wand through the air, pointing it at Tom’s face
and then at Harry’s, not casting anything, before allowing her arm to fall to
her side. She sighed.
“I will curse anyone I hear saying it,” Harry said.
“So will I,” Tom growled in the next moment.
Hermione did not smile. “That’s all very well, but I have learned my lesson.” I
have learned more than one lesson, she thought. Enemies repay favors with
knives in the back, friends entertain rumors even if the source is
untrustworthy, and it’s possible that Tom and I will never again have what we
used to—if even that was real and I was not just deluding myself. “I know what
I have to do.” She walked to the door, opened it, and cast one last look at the
young wizards. “And I’m doing it myself.” Clearly, she thought, I cannot count
on anyone else.
That night, Hermione stood by the window in the Owlery, an uncharacteristically
grim look on her face as she corked the glass flask she had conjured. It
swirled with the white mist of a memory. She pricked her finger, pressed a drop
of blood to the parchment to seal the Charm of Veracity, and rolled it up,
addressing it to Lady Bellatrix Lestrange before sending it by owl.
===============================================================================
Castle l’Etrange.
Bellatrix Lestrange frowned deeply as she replaced the memory. This and the
letter had come from a Mudblood, but they weretrue. This was a conflict for
her. A part of her did not want to act on the word of such a one, even if it
bore a Veracity Charm and an unaltered memory. But the rest of her was outraged
at the story that it told. How dareone of their vassals do such a thing to her
precious daughter! And it was also wrong for her daughter to be put in the
position of having to accept the help of a Mudblood.
Bellatrix knew at once that she could not tell her husband about this.
Rodolphus would not care that their vassal had raped Adelaide, under these
circumstances. Indeed, he would not even consider it rape if Adelaide had been
tipsy at the Yule—the winter solstice party, Bellatrix corrected herself in
thought. According to the Mudblood’s memory, Adelaide had muttered that the
wizard thought he would get to marry her. Rodolphus probably wouldforce it if
he knew that she had been deflowered and had been pregnant, even if it meant
breaking off the vastly preferable betrothal with Draco Malfoy. That was
unacceptable to Bellatrix. It could not happen. She would not allow it to
happen….
But simply murdering the rapist herself would not do, she thought. Well—it
wouldhave to be done, but she would have to cover her tracks and make him think
someone else had done it. If she told Rodolphus that he had been a traitor, he
still would not be satisfied. He had not “permitted” her to execute criminals
without his formal approval, and he would demand evidence. Bellatrix would have
to set up someone else, then.
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
Hermione at last cornered Adelaide Lestrange in a room—the very room where the
potion-induced abortion had occurred, she thought with dark pleasure. She was
not sure what she thought of this feeling of satisfied darkness. When she
really focused on it, she felt as if something inside her, something beautiful
and irreplaceable, had died—had been killed by the same metaphorical knife that
stabbed her in the back—and this darkness had filled the hole. But it was a
heated darkness, a red darkness of ruthless anger, not a cold and emotionless
sort. It would have to do for now, then. Simmering in it, letting it fill her,
she confronted Adelaide, who was obviously uncomfortable, wincing at the
memories that the room invoked.
“You backstabbing liar,” Hermione seethed, pointing her wand at Adelaide, whose
own wand lay across the room where Hermione had caused it to fly with a
disarming spell. “Why did you do it?” Without waiting for an answer, she cast a
punching hex at her enemy.
Adelaide doubled over, wincing and swearing. She lifted her head to spit on the
floor before Hermione. “I don’t answer to you, Mudblood,” she got out.
“You had better. You owed me, and instead you compounded it by spreading a lie
about me. Why? You didn’t even have to ‘save face,’” she snarled. “No one saw
you. You had no reason to do it except spite.” She glared down at the girl, who
was still hunched. “That’s it, isn’t it? You couldn’t stand to accept help from
a ‘Mudblood.’ You could not stand to owe me anything.”
“I… don’towe you anything,” Adelaide snapped, clutching her abdomen.
“That will certainly be true in a bit,” Hermione agreed. “I’m taking my payment
this way.” She cast another curse at the girl, this one causing her to fall to
her knees with a cry. “I have already sent my memoryto your mother,” she said
as she left the room. Adelaide looked up at her with horror in her eyes. “What
comes of it is out of myhands now.”
Hermione turned away coldly, opened the door, and pulled it closed behind her,
making sure to lock it magically. Adelaide could get out eventually, but
Hermione was not about to risk having a vindictive enemy sneaking up behind
her. She stalked into the Slytherin common room, through the door to the girls’
dormitories, and into her own bedchamber, where she closed the door and warded
it heavily.
As she gazed at herself in the mirror, the energy-sustaining hot darkness
seemed to flee her body, leaving her feeling truly empty now. Seemingly of
their own accord, tears formed in her eyes and flowed down her cheeks before
she could stop them.
===============================================================================
Castle l’Etrange.
Scabior dangled from the stone walls, his wrists chained just high enough that
he could not touch the floor with his feet. He had long stopped straining
against the pain. His wand lay at his feet, snapped into several fragments, and
his mostly naked body bore the signs of magical torture—the bleeding cuts, the
bruises, the burns.
“You may be a pureblood,” Bellatrix hissed, prowling around him like a predator
about to make its kill. “But you are a lowone, unworthy of touching my noble
daughter even with your hand.”
Standing along the wall, Narcissa Black Malfoy gazed upon the proceedings, her
gaze hard. She had not wanted to participate in the actual torture—she found it
distasteful, albeit sometimes necessary—and she was not about to tell her
sister some of her thoughts. It was a crime that this scum had raped Bella’s
daughter, but in Narcissa’s opinion, it didmean that Draco should not marry the
girl. It was a pity, but so it was. Of course, she could not tell Lucius that.
Lucius thought that she was simply visiting Bella right now. Somehow, she would
have to find another pretext for breaking off the betrothal without mortally
offending her own sister.
Scabior glared back at Bellatrix. “You are a coward,” he managed to get out. “A
coward. Why not let your husband take his ‘justice’?”
“My husbandhas a false idea of justice,” Bellatrix said. “And you know what he
would have done. That is why you did it in the first place, scum.”
He sneered back wordlessly.
“You do not deserve a painless death,” she said, turning her wand around in her
hands contemplatively, gazing up at him with a malevolent smirk on her face.
“And I have plans for your corpse.” She drew out the moment as long as she
could wait, making sure that he flinched in dread before raising her wand to
point directly at his neck. Then she slashed it through the air.
A stream of blood erupted from the gaping gash, bright red and stinking of iron
and copper. Bellatrix stepped backward almost elegantly, avoiding the spatter.
She watched in sadistic delight as he bled out his life, choking on his own
blood as his skin quickly paled. At last, his body went entirely limp.
Bellatrix smiled and cast another curse, this one to release him from the
chains. The body crumpled to the bloodstained stone floor with a thud.
Bellatrix stalked over to a corner and took out a long, heavy bag. She turned
to her sister.
“Let us do this, then.”
Narcissa nodded, took a deep breath, and swished her wand through the air.
Together the sisters magically slid the body into the heavy cloth bag. Narcissa
cast a spell to lighten its apparent weight so that they could Apparate easily.
With each of them holding one end of it, they linked their other hands together
and Disapparated to Godric’s Hollow.
Bellatrix dusted herself off and took in her surroundings. A short distance
away, the village slept. The imposing castle that used to belong to Gryffindor
and now was owned by Lucius overlooked the town, but they were too far away,
and their black cloaks blended in with the darkness of night. No one saw them
as they dumped the mutilated body in the middle of the field and covered it
haphazardly with dead leaves and snow. When someone found it and reported it to
Lucius, it would look exactly as though the villagers had perpetrated the
killing.
Chapter End Notes
     Adelaide in this chapter is something like Mayella Ewell in To Kill a
     Mockingbird. She was victimized, but in her own bigotry, she also
     betrays someone who tried to help her.
     I wanted this arc to occur to further toughen up Hermione, to show
     how misogynistic this regime is, and for a reason related to
     Adelaide's development that will show up much later. In this story,
     the Norman wizarding families have adopted a lot more of the Muggle-
     based patriarchy culture than the English wizarding
     families—especially those like the Gaunts/Riddles that adhere to very
     old customs.
     That said, we still haven't heard the last of this incident. After
     the next chapter, it may be a while before it comes up again, though.
***** A Wound Ripped Open Again *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you as always for reading and reviewing!
     Enough people have expressed concern over this possibility in their
     reviews that I'm going to go ahead and spoil it: However bad it gets,
     neither of them will cheat on the other. I have read (and written, in
     one case) this for other pairings, but for Tomione it is profoundly
     unpleasant for me to consider, probably because of the nature of the
     'ship. Hermione has to tolerate Tom's "quirks," so she should not
     have to put up with that; and Tom—even this Tom—is so fragile, in a
     way, when it comes to love, that he shouldn't have to suffer a
     betrayal of it. Since this is not something I have any intention of
     doing with this pairing, in this story or others, and since people
     are worried about it, I don't mind spoiling that. (I'm not going to
     spoil the answers to questions that do dance around future plot
     developments, even if the guesses aren't quite right. ;) )
     Warning: Semi-graphic torture of a sympathetic character, and also a
     pretty bad fight between Tom and Hermione in this chapter. No
     physical violence (at least, I don't think what happens counts, in
     these circumstances), but a lot of petty spite, and Tom uses some
     ugly language with Hermione. These kids are quite intelligent and
     both of them would have some bones to pick with the other. However,
     they're still not mature enough to talk about what they need to talk
     about to truly reconcile: Tom is nowhere close to swallowing his
     pride and admitting he treated her wrong, and Hermione doesn't really
     want to consider that any of his plans may someday need to be put
     into action or that they would someday need to work together again.
Godric’s Hollow.
Lucius Malfoy, lord of Godric’s Hollow, sat imperiously at the high seat as he
considered what to do. A wizard’s body had been found on the outskirts of the
town, half-buried in snow and debris, mutilated in a way that suggested
torture. Generally, Lucius would care little about such matters; these
villagers were mere commoners, and he still resented having been unable to
identify the leaders of the failed rebellion sixteen years ago. If they wanted
to kill each other in their petty disputes and brawls, let them! But in this
case, the murdered man had been identified as a wizard of noble birth. His body
bore the seal of House Scabior, a vassal of his kinsman by marriage, Rodolphus
Lestrange. Lucius did not know all of the Lestrange vassals by sight, least of
all if they had been dead for a while and found mutilated, but Narcissa
confirmed the wizard’s identity. She was close to her sister and had recently
visited Castle l’Etrange.
This… was a problem, Lucius thought in dismay. Scabior had not, apparently,
been robbed. His coin was still on him, along with the family ring and other
valuables, including his fine clothes. That and the strong signs of torture
indicated to Lucius that the killer had murdered him not for such a low and
common reason as to steal his baubles, but for far more personal reasons of
some sort. It also implied that the killer was a wealthy person who cared
nothing about the coin or valuables that Scabior carried. That could be very
dangerous.
Why would he even be here?Lucius thought. It’s contrary to law and custom for
one lord to send his vassals into another lord’s lands on the sly, without
making a proper introduction to the ruling lord. This does not make sense. It
would be no trouble for a wizard to travel magically. Just because the body was
found here does not mean that the murderer was from this town. Either this
killing has nothing to do with the villagers, or Lestrange sent him in secret,
for some nefarious reason of his own. That could be. Narcissa and I certainly
expected that we would land on his enemies list after he had my lord father
killed. But why would the villagers kill Scabior, in that case? And why leave
the coin? The valuables, perhaps, might be identifiable as his, and the family
ring certainly would be, but why not take the money?
Could Lestrange himself have killed Scabior and set up this situation to cause
unrest in my town if I punished the villagers indiscriminately? Or to see if I
would react at all? If he did, Scabior must have fallen from grace already.
Lestrange would not kill a loyal vassal of his.
Lucius rubbed his eyes in irritation. He would have to tell Lestrange about
this, no question about that. He dreaded what would come of it. Sighing to
himself, he rose to go to his private office to compose a letter.
Barely half an hour later, his house-elves were hurriedly announcing the
arrival of Lord Lestrange himself, who was demanding audience with the lord and
lady.
Lucius took in his brother-in-law’s beet-red face as he and Narcissa sat in
their stately seats in the grand hall. The man was apoplectic. Lestrange can be
deceptive if he wishes, but he cannot make himself look this angry, Lucius
thought. If he did send Scabior to Godric’s Hollow, he was not expecting him to
be murdered—and he certainly didn’t do it himself. That conclusion did not help
much, though; Lucius had not considered that possibility very likely in the
first place.
“I demand restitution!” Lestrange bawled, spittle flying from his mouth before
Lucius and Narcissa, much to their disgust. “This is an outrage! These lowborn
barbarian peasants must be punished for it!”
Narcissa and Lucius exchanged quick looks. “Your lordship, we will certainly
punish the guilty,” Lucius said, “but we must ascertain guilt first.”
“They did it! They obviously did it!”
“With all due respect, sir, it is not obvious,” Lucius disagreed. “A wizard or
witch could have killed your vassal somewhere else and brought the body here by
magic.”
Narcissa shifted in her seat a bit at this, but neither her husband nor
Lestrange noticed.
“I insistthat they be questioned!” Lestrange exclaimed. “Your lord
grandfather—I’ve told him too, and he agrees!”
“You told his high lordship?” Lucius exchanged another look with his wife. It
was inevitable that Lord Malfoy would find out eventually, but it was offensive
and troubling to Lucius that Lestrange was getting to him so quickly.
“Certainly! I’m surprised that you have not.” Lestrange eyed Lucius
suspiciously.
Affronted, Lucius huffed, “Narcissa and I have been busy notifying youand
taking care of the body.” It was not quite true; the elves were tasked with
that menial job, but what wastrue was that Lestrange was being unreasonable to
think it suspicious that they had not notified Armand Malfoy immediately. It
was little to him. This was not one of his vassals.
Lestrange’s face turned sour and spiteful. “Very well—but I demand justice for
this. I want every one of those villagers to be tortured until they talk.”
Lucius’s temper rose further still. “Lord Lestrange, I assure you that I will
uphold the law—but no one but his high lordship himself will instruct me in my
own castle about how to administer justice.”
Lestrange’s eyes popped. He was about to spout another burst of outrage, but
Lucius continued. “The villagers revolted sixteen years ago. I will not risk a
repeat of it by torturing those who were innocent in this. I willhave every
person of magic questioned, and if that uncovers the guilty, they will suffer
the full penalty of the law.”
Lestrange seethed but could not think of an argument to this.
“My lord,” Narcissa spoke up, “I am by no means suggesting that your vassal was
responsible for his own murder… but supposing that my lord husband’s
questioning finds that villagers from Godric’s Hollow killed him, what was he
doing here in the first place? We had no word that he was in my husband’s
lands. What business had he here, if you know?” She managed an even look on her
face, feeling proud for covering for herself and Bella so well.
“I don’tknow,” Lestrange spat. “What of it? Can a wizard not go where he
pleases?”
“If a nobleman enters another lord’s lands, it is customary for him to announce
his presence,” Lucius said. Rather than sneaking about at night like a thief,
he thought. “You definitely did not send him on business, then?”
“I did not. Lord Lucius, it hardly matters. The fact is, my man was killed in
your lands, and I insist that the murderer pay the price for it.”
===============================================================================
True to his word, Lucius had his chief enforcers, MacNair and Dolores of
Umbridge, summon every adult witch and wizard to the castle to be questioned
under truth potion. They were feared in the village, Umbridge because of her
proficiency at vicious torture curses, MacNair because of his knives and swords
that he had magically enhanced on purpose to deliver a prolonged, miserable
death. No one dared question either of them when they turned up at the
villagers’ houses.
Lucius did not expect the questioning to uncover the killer. If a villager or
villagers had killed Scabior, it made no sense that they would not have taken
his money—and what possible reason would any of them have had for killing him,
anyway, let alone brutally torturing him?
As Sirius Black was brought before them, his handsome face bitter with anger,
Narcissa handed Lucius a goblet of potion, carefully keeping her own features
as scornful as she truly felt for this black sheep, this traitor to his own
kin—herkin. What a disgrace it was that he chose to live with the Potters
instead of taking his place as the heir of the Black family. Narcissa was
almost certain, too, that Sirius had been intimately involved in the rebellion
in 1130.
“Should we question them about that, too, now that we are putting them under
the influence of this potion?” she had asked Lucius.
He had considered it seriously before finally deciding against it. In other
circumstances he would have; this was the very thing that he had been unable to
do at the time of the rebellion because he did not have enough of the potion
available, but he already felt under siege by Rodolphus Lestrange worming his
way into his grandfather’s counsels, arranging for the death of his father, and
pushing Lord Arcturus out of the picture. The last thing Lucius needed right
now was for his own village to revolt, which they would certainly do if he
executed the leaders of a rebellion that had occurred sixteen years ago—and if
he executed everyonewho was involved in it, he would have little magical
manpower left. He might not have known who the traitors were behind their
masks, but he had seen their numbers. If it came to a siege, or even a war,
Lucius needed more than a town of Muggles behind him. Perhaps the wretches
would even become more loyal to him if he showed magnanimity in not pursuing
the matter further and not torturing them over the death of Lestrange’s vassal.
Sirius Black drank the potion reluctantly. His face settled, the anger
dissipating from it, as Lucius asked him the same question he had asked
everyone before him—to no avail. Sirius Black knew nothing of the murder.
After Lucius and Narcissa had finally summoned all of the magical residents of
the town, Lucius’s suspicion—and, though he did not know it, his wife’s
knowledge—that it would not uncover the killer had been borne out.
===============================================================================
Lestrange was still deeply angry about the murder, but he could not question
the evidence of truth potion. “It must have been those Riddles,” he sniped the
day after Lucius had finished the questioning.
Next to him, Armand Malfoy nodded gravely. “I saw the body. It was tortured,
and I think that it was ritualtorture.”
Bellatrix’s eyes gleamed in relief and excitement at this.
“With all due respect, my lord grandfather, it looked like ordinary torture to
me,” Lucius said. “There did not appear to be any purpose or order to the
markings.”
“Ah, but you have not seen what I have,” Armand said. He leaned forward in his
chair. Narcissa and Lucius noted, with some disgust, that Lestrange was staring
at the man as though he worshiped him. “My grandson, when I first sailed to
this country, I accepted the oaths of many barbarian lords. One of them was the
son of Salazar Slytherin, who chose to take his mother’s surname of Gaunt after
his father left this country.”
“The great-grandfather of the present Lady Riddle, then,” Narcissa mused.
“Yes. I accepted his oath, and even chose to permit one rather… peculiar…
practice of the Gaunt family, because it did promote magical blood purity—very
much so. I speak of the fact that the man was married to his own sister, and
that the family apparently arranged such matches every few generations for just
that purpose.”
Lucius and Narcissa suppressed their disgust. They had known of the marriage
between Slytherin’s son and daughter, though they had not known that the
practice of sibling incest went back further than that. Perhaps, Narcissa
thought, Lady Riddle had debased herself with her elopement with a Muggle to
avoid another such unnatural union. She was still a blood-traitor, but Narcissa
could not much blame her for wanting to escape such a fate.
“But a custom of the Gaunts that I could not permit was the practice of pagan
rites, including ritual human sacrifice,” Armand Malfoy continued. “Now, I care
little about religious worship as such—but I do care about practices that would
have attracted the attention of the Muggle king, and invited Muggle
interference with my rule of this country’s magical population… and I also care
about stamping out the foul barbaric rituals of an uncivilized ancient culture.
I ordered Gaunt never to practice such magic. He swore that he did not, that
indeed, the family had not done it since the founding of Hogwarts, but they
used to, so the lore must exist in their family library.”
“Have you seen a description of such a ritual, then?” Lucius pressed.
“Something that resembles the markings on Scabior’s body?”
For a moment Armand looked caught out, but then the mask of pride suffused his
face once more. “I am quite certain that the markings are the result of a
Celtic sacrifice ritual,” he said, “and we know that the half-blood has defied
one of my laws, the one about Celtic and Anglo-Saxon symbols. Furthermore,
Lestrange tells me that Scabior was the vassal who went to Hogwarts to post my
recentlaws on the walls there. Riddle would have seen it. I think that either
his mother, the half-blood Severus Snape, or Riddle himself did it.”
“My lord,he is a pupil at Hogwarts,” Lucius exclaimed. “How would he have left
the school and captured one of your vassals—an adult wizard? And why would he
have then brought the body to Godric’s Hollow?”
“Indeed,” Narcissa agreed. “Draco has told us that Riddle, the Granger girl,
and young Potter are a trio. Why would he do something that would cause
problems for a friend’s family?”
“Perhaps he sees Potter as a rival for the girl,” Lestrange said shrewdly. “But
if it wasn’t Riddle himself, it must have been the mother or Snape.”
“We do not know that these markings have anything to do with Celtic sacrificial
rituals,” Lucius protested.
“Well, I believe your lord grandfather,” Lestrange said pointedly, his gaze
drilling a figurative hole in Lucius’s. “He knows more about such things than
we do.”
A part of Lucius wanted to continue his objection. As far as he was concerned,
their present problems ultimately stemmed from his grandfather’s determination
to bully and antagonize the Riddle family. Lucius was ready to let it alone,
let the blood-traitors have their fief and the disgraceful marriage to a
Mudblood. He had come to agree with his wife’s family, especially Lord
Arcturus—and he definitely did not agree that the torture marks on Scabior
looked like anything in particular. His grandfather might believe it, but he
saw exactly what he wanted to see. Lestrange was harder to read; it might be
sycophancy, or it might be something else. Lucius was growing increasingly
convinced that this murder was some sort of conspiracy, and not at all what it
appeared to be, but he could not figure out what it was just yet. Lestrange had
truly been angry—and surprised—to learn of Scabior’s death. If not for that,
Lucius would have been certain that Lestrange had arranged for all of this in
order to pin it on the Riddles. Someone else was involved, but Lucius had no
idea who—and that unknown frightened him. What were they dealing with?
“I do not know about ritual sacrificial markings,” Bellatrix said, “but it is
certainly true that the Riddles have a motive.” She shared a meaningful look
with her sister. This wasn’t their intention, but if they could get the Riddles
blamed for it, it would be a good thing. Bellatrix was surprised when Narcissa
did not look as enthusiastic about that prospect.
“I have difficulty believing that the Lady Riddle would have done it… word is
that she likes to keep her robes clean of blood,” Lucius objected. Bellatrix
shot him a hostile glare, and they both eyed each other with dislike.
Lestrange snorted. “Not too clean if she let a Muggle into her bed and has her
son marry a Mudblood!”
Bellatrix laughed maliciously at that. “A fair point.”
“I have heard it too, though,” Lestrange said more seriously, “and that would
include dispatching Severus Snape to do it for her. If any of them did it, it
would have been the young wizard, pupil at Hogwarts or no.”
Bellatrix’s dark eyes were glittering with glee.
“If it please your high lordship”—he glanced respectfully at Armand Malfoy—“I
think someone should be sent to Hogwarts to interrogate the half-blood. It must
be on your orders, though—no one else has the authority to overrule the High
Master in his castle.”
“With pleasure,” said Armand maliciously.
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
Tom got himself ready for the day in his bedchamber, his thoughts swirling—as
they often did lately—in inescapable vortices of frustration. The more he
thought about—well—everything, the more frustrated he became. He was no closer
to finding the Chamber of Slytherin and claiming his birthright. His friends
had deceived him, he thought grouchily. They had led him to believe that they
had knowledge of school history that they had acquired growing up as wizard
noble lordlings, but it was not true. The real information just hadto be in his
home library—books that his mother had hexed. He was pretty sure that he knew
most of what there was to know about his other great ancestors, since his
mother had removed the hexes from the main books about Morgana and Arthur and
their fellows, but if he wanted to ever stake his claim, he would need more
than words to back it up. More, even, than magic. He would need the great
weapon of Slytherin. That he had decided. It was a pity that he could not speak
Draconic, the language of dragons, but so it was. Since he could not have a
dragon, a basilisk was just about the most fearsome magical beast otherwise,
and only Parselmouths could control it. He would not usethe basilisk against…
well… many people—Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange excepted—but who would
stand in the way of a wizard with such a creature by his side?
He was also irritated about Hermione. What had she been thinking? Tom supposed
he could understand why she would want to make the potion for Adelaide, but why
not swear the girl to secrecy? Why not use memory magic on her? And then she
had apparently sent the information to Lady Lestrange! More was going to come
of this, Tom had no doubt about it. But more than that, he was irritated
because it appeared that Hermione would forgive thatbitch before she would
forgive him—and what had he done, really, in comparison? Adelaide Lestrange had
harassed her for two and a half years. She had led many Slytherin girls in the
shameful attack during Hermione’s first week. Tom’s mother had declared her
family enemies of the Riddles! They had neverbeen friends—and yet, because she
was female, Hermione was willing to do something kind for her, and attempt to
heal the wounds, as soon as she saw Adelaide in a hard situation. What about my
troubles? Tom thought resentfully. What about being kind to me? It’s almost as
if Hermione’s problem is with me alone.
He knew from Legilimency that she had not dallied with Potter or other wizards
in their estrangement. There was that, at least—that noble honor that Hermione
had so insisted upon when she was younger and their betrothal had just begun.
Tom understood it now, at last. It was true that the idea of touching other
witches held no appeal, but he also had quite a bit of pride. He was better
than to feel that sort of weakness, let alone succumb to it. But that did not
mean that he was not deeply annoyed with Hermione over the past year.
She seems determined to finish her schooling at the same time I do, he thought.
That’s the summer after this one. The competitive jealousy, which he had felt
when Hermione had advanced to three mastery classes this year, earlier than he
had, had mostly vanished. He knew he could have advanced that quickly as well
if he had been a swot like Hermione and focused on little except studies as she
did. It was his choiceto research “extracurricular” subjects as well. Does she
not realize that if she does, she has little more than a year to make amends
with me before we marry—and then she’ll have to let me touch her. We’ll have to
live as husband and wife. Does she not even think about that? A year might seem
like a long time for some things, but after their fight over a year ago, Tom
had not expected for one second that they would still be estranged now.
Hermione’s stubbornness had surprised him. If she could hold out for a year and
a quarter already, why not two and a half?
Perhaps it is improving now, he thought, pulling on his outer robe—the dark
green one with Celtic designs on the edges. Hermione had been almost civil with
him when she had asked about protecting his mother’s castle from Malfoy’s tax
assessors. And when she had confronted him and Potter over the ugly rumor, it
could have easily escalated—but it didn’t. Perhaps things were about to change
for the better. And I do have formal alliances—or my mother does—with my
friends’ families now, he thought. Alliances that my friends’ parents made
knowing perfectly well about Hermione. Maybe I should assure her that it won’t
happen again, since there’s no reason for it to happen anymore. We need to be
united again, so that she doesn’t do ill-considered things like her dealings
with Adelaide and Lady Lestrange.
Tom finished his morning routine and headed down the boys’ corridor toward the
Slytherin common room. He pushed open the door.
“And there he is right now!” crowed an unfamiliar male voice.
Tom immediately identified the speaker. A scruffy wizard dressed in fine robes
that did not fit him very well was speaking with Master Slughorn, who bore an
expression of mixed outrage and helplessness.
“My lord Carrow, this is all very irregular,” Slughorn protested. “Lord Thomas
is my pupil, and High Master Dumbledore presides here. How can you make such a
demand?”
Carrow? Tom thought, anger suddenly flaring up inside him. He drew his wand and
pointed it at the stranger. “Carrow, is it?” he said roughly. He sneered. “How
dare you put yourself in my presence, traitor. My mother has you and your
sister under a death sentence.”
Slughorn winced. “Tom, don’t.”
Amycus Carrow’s eyes glinted malevolently. “His high lordship Malfoy pardoned
me,” he said. He turned to Slughorn. “And this brat has already said it, old
man. I will add that to the list of offenses. Furthermore, as I have said, and
this scroll proves”—he waved a scroll in Slughorn’s face—“it was his high
lordship who sent me here, not Lord Lestrange. Dumbledore mustallow this, and
so must you.”
Slughorn looked helplessly at Tom. “I’m sorry, T—Lord Thomas.”
“What is going on?” Tom said darkly. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You are suspected to have a hand in the murder and torture of Lord Scabior,
who was in service to Lord Lestrange.”
“What?!” Tom exclaimed hotly. “How dareyou—” Instantly a suspicion filled his
mind, one that vanquished all of his good feeling toward Hermione.
Carrow smiled. “Don’t worry—yet. I am here only to question you.”
“Do it, then, filth. Question me. Right here.” He glared at Carrow. “I will
even take truth serum. I’ll tell you everythingI know about Lestrange’s
vassals.”
“Oh, no,” Carrow said. “Not here. You must surrender your wand to Slughorn, and
you will come with me to a private location in the castle for it.” He unrolled
the scroll. “That’s authorized too.”
Slughorn extended his hand shakily. “Please, Tom, just cooperate,” he urged.
“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that business, and it’s better just to
prove it—”
Tom gaped at his professor in disbelief. “I cannot believe you trust these
people,” he said. “When did they ever need proof of anything? They do as they
please, especially now.”
Slughorn’s eyes were frightened and defeated. “Tom, please, let me have your
wand. I will stand guard outside the room, how about that?”
Tom was tempted, greatly tempted, just to strike Carrow dead as he stood. He
knew how. It would be easy. There were multiple curses that would do it, some
quicker than others, some more painful than others. It was such a temptation…
but it would also be an act of war, and he was not ready to take that step yet.
If I just had Slytherin’s basilisk—but he did not.
Warily, shooting his professor a look of disappointment, he passed his wand to
Slughorn. Then he turned to Carrow. “All right, filth. Let’s get this over
with.”
Carrow smirked and led Tom and Slughorn out of the Slytherin common room, into
one of the dungeon rooms that were currently unused. He threw open the door and
gestured for Tom to go in. Haughtily he stepped across the threshold, fury
simmering in every cell of his body. He rather hoped that he would be able to
channel that anger into wandless magic. Wouldn’t thatsurprise this traitorous
scum?
Carrow closed the door behind them with a clang, leaving Slughorn on the
outside. He turned to Tom with a malevolent smirk on his ugly face as he drew
his wand.
“Incidentally, whelp, I also notice that you continue to wear those robes,”
Carrow said.
Tom did not respond to that. “Get to the point.”
Carrow scowled. “Very well. Here are the facts. Lord Scabior’s body was found
mutilated on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow. Lord Lucius Malfoy questioned
every single witch and wizard in the village under truth potion, but none of
them had anything to do with the killing or even knew about it.” He glared at
Tom. “His high lordship concluded, with the concurrence of my own lord
Lestrange”—he smirked pointedly at Tom when he said this—“that the markings on
his body were ritualistic. It’s well known that your foul family practiced
ancient barbarian rites into the time of the Founders, and your own apparel
proves that youare fascinated with such things.”
“Malfoy is wrong,” Tom said, trying hard to control his words and not utter an
insult. “I had nothing to do with it. You said you were going to question me,
Carrow. Get on with it, and see how wrong you are.”
Carrow flicked his wand, and sudden, intense pain shot through Tom’s body. He
crumpled, almost falling to the stone floor, but managed to right himself.
“Scabior was the one who posted the new rules in this school,” Carrow snarled,
advancing on Tom. “That offended you, didn’t it, whelp?” He slashed his wand
again, sending a renewed surge of pain that felt to Tom like a knife plunging
into his spine.
Tom gritted his teeth and crumpled again, trying mightily to avoid giving
Carrow the pleasure of seeing him cry out in pain. “It did offend me,” he spat,
“but I didn’t kill the bastard over it.”
Rrrrrrip! Tom gasped as the edges of his wide sleeves tore away from the rest
of the robe, leaving the beautiful embroidery in a frayed pile on the floor.
But he could not concentrate too long on that, for in the very next second,
Carrow sent another torture curse at him, causing him to double over. He closed
his eyes, letting his anger suffuse him as the waves of pain poured over his
body, hoping that his own magic would explode out of him wandlessly.
Yet another sharp pain hit him, this one across his face. He felt a hot trickle
of fluid immediately. Several drops of blood struck the stone floor.
“You know why my sister and I left your family?” Carrow hissed. “Your uncle was
a swine and your mother was a whore! The Lestranges and Malfoys are right that
your kindare uncivilized.”
Tom gazed up at Carrow, his own blood dripping from the slash across his
forehead, the hot anger of hate filling him up. “Go fuck yourself, traitor.”
Another cutting curse hit him, opening gashes on his arms. His blood streamed
down his skin, dripping from his fingers. Could Slughorn not hearany of this?
“What did you do, whelp?” Carrow snarled.
Tom wobbled to his feet and faced the wizard, loathing in his eyes. “You want
to know what happened, who I think is the killer? Here’s what happened! Some
vassal of Lestrange rapedhis daughter—and since Scabior is dead, I’ll guess he
was the one. Lady Hermione learned about it and wrote to Lady Lestrange.
Sheprobably was the killer!”
“How dare you, you forked-tongued liar!”
Tom blinked as blood continued to drip down his face. He steadied himself and
then noticed something. A corked vessel protruded from the purse that Carrow
had around his belt. “Is that truth serum?” he snarled. He stepped forward.
“Give it to me. I’ll prove what I say.”
Carrow considered for a moment, seemingly wanting to torture Tom some more, but
then he pulled the flask out of his purse. “Very well. I’ll give it to you now,
and Iwill have proof that you are a murderer and a liar. Defaming my lord’s
daughter, his lady wife, and his dead vassal—you will be in such trouble, half-
blood!” He uncorked it and shoved the rim of the flask against Tom’s mouth.
Tom sneered and yanked it away, downing it in one gulp. He sat down on the
stone floor as the effects of the potion took hold, leaving him feeling empty
and emotionless. At least the pain lessened. Carrow smiled darkly and, at last,
began his questioning.
In a little bit, the smile had fled permanently from Carrow’s face. He was
deeply troubled by what he was hearing. This cannot go any further, he thought,
getting to his feet at last. His lordship cannot know about this. He will
surely execute his wife if he learns—unless she kills him to defend herself—and
either way, the Black family will turn against everyone who supported the
Lestranges or his high lordship Malfoy. I have to keep this secret and simply
report back that the boy actually was innocent. Innocent of this, at least.
Leaving Tom crumpled on the floor in a pool of his own blood, he went to the
door, opened it, and sneered at Slughorn. “I am finished here,” he said. “I’ll
let you clean up.”
“Clean up?” Slughorn said sharply. “What did you do—” He peeked in the door.
“Oh, no!” He scurried into the cell-like room as Carrow made his escape.
===============================================================================
As Potions Master, Professor Slughorn always kept antidotes with him. Tom was
immensely grateful for it. Although Carrow had not poisoned him, Slughorn also
had a potion that would ease the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. He handed Tom
back his wand, and together they healed the cuts on Tom’s forehead and arms,
cleaned up the blood, and repaired the torn sleeves. Tom felt a grim
satisfaction as the threads joined back together, leaving the knotwork designs
as good as new.
“Thank you, Professor,” he said, getting to his feet.
“Tom,” Slughorn said, “I am so very sorry—I wish I could have prevented that—”
“I do not blame you.”
The words were icy, but Slughorn assumed that it was only because of the ordeal
that Tom had just suffered. He nodded. “Tom, you should return to the common
room. There are no classes today, of course. You should spend some time with
your lady.”
Yes, I should, Tom thought, though he was quite certain that he did not have
the same thing in mind that his teacher did. None of this would have happened
if Hermione had not been so reckless, and he was going to have some words with
her.
When Hermione emerged from the girls’ bedchamber in a few minutes, Tom
instantly rose from his seat to approach her.
“Tom, what’s the matter?” she asked. He looked awfully pale to her.
He smiled, but it was not a sincere smile or a happy one. He offered her his
arm. “We had better have this discussion in private.”
“Discussion? Discuss what?” she demanded.
He lowered his voice. “Your antics had consequences,” he said, his tone severe
and angry. “We need to have a little talk.” Without waiting for her to accept
his arm, he grabbed her and ushered her out of the Slytherin common room and
into another small room on the dungeon level—notthe one in which he had just
been tortured, though.
“Tom!” Hermione exclaimed when he closed the door and bolted it. “What are you
doing? What happened?”
He turned to her, his eyebrows narrowed in anger, his wand out. “What happened,
you ask. Here’s what happened! Because of your letter to Bellatrix Lestrange,
their vassal Scabior is dead—”
Hermione sniffed. “I assume you’re implying that she killed him for what he did
to Adelaide? He was the rapist? Why should I care, then? Good riddance.”
“I agree, but do you really imagine that she told her husband the truth?” Tom
said, his eyes hard and angry. “You may be an idealist, but I hope even
youaren’t that naïve.”
She glared at him for the insult. “What are you implying?”
He pushed up the sleeve of his left arm. “Carrow, the traitor, came to this
school this morning with an order from Armand Malfoyto ‘interrogate’ me over
it! He claimed that Malfoy had decided the torture marks looked like Celtic
ritual markings.” He pointed at the healing wound. “He tortured me!”
Hermione blanched. “Tom, I never meant that to happen! I just told Lady
Lestrange what had happened. I would neverdo something on purpose to hurt you!”
“Well, that’s what happened,” Tom sneered as his sleeve covered his arm again.
“If Carrow had not been ordered to also question me under truth serum, I’m sure
I would have been carried off to be executed—for a murder I hadn’t committed!”
He stared at her. “I know you didn’t mean it to happen, but the fact is that it
wouldn’thave happened if you had not made Adelaide Lestrange’s business your
own and theninvolved her mother in it!”
Hermione drew her wand and pointed it back at him, noting that he held his in
hand. “This is not my fault,” she said, “and I will not accept blame for it.
The fault lies with Carrow, Armand Malfoy, and the Lestranges—and Scabior
himself, of course. Notwith me.”
“You shouldn’t have done it alone,” he insisted. “You should have worked with
me. I was tortured because of this. I could have been put to death, Hermione!”
he exclaimed, noting how her eyes grew wide and fearful when he said that. “Oh,
and another thing that the filth said to me was that the rapist’s body was
found outside Godric’s Hollow, and that Lucius Malfoy questioned all of the
villagers about it. Even your precious Potter’s family.”
She grimaced again. “I never meant for these things to happen, and I cannot
believe you still think that I fancy Harry. Though at least he has been a
friend to me,” she added, “which is more than I can say for youthe past year.”
Tom felt a white heat surge up in him. He stepped forward, closing most of the
distance between Hermione and himself. His breath was heaving as he gazed into
her brown eyes. “I know you haven’t touched him,” he said, his voice low and
dark. “You are mine, and don’t you ever forget that.” He stared at her face,
anger suddenly warring with intense desire and lust. It had been a long time
since he had even kissed her….
She stared back, gazing at his dark eyes. His face was equally handsome when he
was angry as when he was happy—and seeing his chest heave, feeling the heat of
his breath close by, brought out feelings that she had tried her best to
suppress while they were estranged. I swore I wouldn’t let him touch me again
until he apologized, she thought—
They closed the distance at the same time, lips slamming against each other. As
if moving of their own accord, Hermione’s hands found his cheeks and threaded
into his black hair. He growled and wrapped his arms tightly around her back as
he forced her lips open and began to plunder her mouth, trying to pour the
unfulfilled desires of a year and three months of deprivation into this one
kiss, trying to prove his words to her.
Hermione allowed him to do this even as her thoughts warred with each other. It
was just so good to share intimacy with him again, any sort of physical
intimacy—even as he was so obviously claiming her, what with the way he was
plundering every corner of her mouth that he could reach, his teeth nipping
against her lips—
He thinks he can do anything he wants with me, she thought. That thought
brought another surge of anger to her, but it did not overpower the desire she
felt. Instead, it mixed with it. Instinctively she lunged and bit his lower
lip—hard. He jerked, his eyes popped open, and to her own dark satisfaction,
she tasted iron and copper as he pulled away. He gaped at her and licked his
own blood from his mouth.
“You dare—” he began to say, but he seemed to change his mind. A wolfish grin
spread across his face. “You are bold, Hermione.”
She stared back evenly, not taking the bait this time. “I swore that I would
not let you touch me until you apologized to me for your past behavior.”
Tom felt as if she had thrown ice water over him. All thoughts of lust and
desire fled his mind, and he stared at her in disbelief. “You did that to push
me away?” he exclaimed. “You meantto hurt me?”
Hermione decided not to answer that. She did not know herself exactly what she
thought about what had just happened, either the kiss or her sudden urge to
bite his lip. Hadshe wanted to hurt him, to cause him pain and draw blood, to
punish him for the kiss? He hadn’t forced it… she had met him halfway…. Pushing
it out of her mind, she met his gaze with her own. “I am not going to let you
distract me that way, Tom.”
He stared at her, feeling almost as though she had slapped him in the face—or
cursed him. “So that’s it, then?” he said harshly, ice filling his marrow to
replace the heat that had just been there. “You did mean to hurt me. All right.
That brings me to my otherpoint,” he said. His eyebrows narrowed again. “Why
were you more eager to make amends with Adelaide Lestrange than with me?” His
voice became menacing, as the memories of the torture this morning came to the
forefront of his thoughts again. “You saw her sobbing over a cauldron with a
story to tell—”
“A truestory.”
“—and even though she has bothered you for two and a half years, even though
she set up a sack of pig’s blood to fall on you in your first week at Hogwarts,
even though her bitch of a mother tried to murderyou and my mother named the
entire family enemies for harboring traitors, you still were far more willing
to be kind to herthan to me!” he finished in outrage. “What is it, Hermione?
Why were you more willing to forgive thatcunt—”
“Tom Riddle!”
He ignored her exclamation of outrage. It was a good old English word, and he
was not going to be shamed for using it because robber lords might consider it
vulgar. “—than me? What did I do to you that is so much worse than what she has
done over the years? Is it that she’s a witch—or that she’s half-Norman too?”
He did not know what made him say that last; it was not something he had
considered in his musings before Carrow hurt him, but evidently it was lurking
in the recesses of his mind anyway and the torture had brought it out.
Hermione gaped at Tom in astonishment and then fury. “How dare you!” Without
her conscious intent, sparks fell from the tip of her wand. “How dareyou! If I
had seen you in the room where Carrow tortured you, I would have come to you
and helped you. That’s all it was, Tom—helping someone who was suffering! I
didn’t forgive her for anything. I admit I hopedthat she would feel a sense of
obligation and stop her behavior, but I knew it wasn’t going to make us best
friends.”
“‘Helping someone who was suffering’ was all it was, you say?” he mocked. “And
it would have been the same for me if you had seen me this morning? That’s all
I am to you now, someone that you can treat as a victim to ‘help’ with your
superior beneficence?” He gave her a sneer of disgust. “Patronizing Norman
occupiers are little better than tyrannical ones.”
Hermione snarled. “If you want to know why I haven’t forgiven you yet, it’s
because you obviously do not believe, even now, that you did anything wrong!”
She pointed her wand threateningly at his face. “I do not grant that you
‘needed’ to demean me in front of your little friends, but since you thinkyou
needed to, what about now, Tom? Your mother has formal defensive alliances with
all of them, and whatever your ‘Lords of Beltane’ might think, their parents
know full well that we are under contract! They made the alliances anyway. So
what’s your excuse now?”
Tom had thought that very thing himself this morning, and if the morning had
gone differently, he might have been more reasonable on the topic. But he was
angry now—furious over the fact that he had been tortured by a traitor to his
family, that someone had dared raise a hand to deface the craft of his
ancestors that he proudly wore, that Hermione would hurt him and then presume
to patronize him after he had just suffered torture. Hermione, who ought to be
as loyal and devoted to him as his mother. He was furious, and he was also
frightened. If Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange had been just a little
more lawless and tyrannical, he really wouldhave been taken out of the school
to be put to death for a “crime” he hadn’t committed. They had been getting
worse and worse with time; it was very possible that someday they would indeed
cross that line. A sharp terror suffused him at the thought. He couldn’t let it
happen! By whatevermeans necessary, he couldn’t let that happen. He had so much
to accomplish—
“My friends’ parents don’t know the full truth,” he said, the words tumbling
off his bruised lips almost without his conscious control.
“What do you mean?” she exclaimed.
He smirked in malicious pleasure. “On the very first day of our betrothal, my
mother made a bargain with me,” he said recklessly. “Do you know what it was,
Hermione? Of course you don’t. It’s been a secret. My mother promised me, as a
witch, that if I didn’t wantto marry you when the time came, she would break it
off.”
“What?” Hermione breathed.
“It’s true,” he said cruelly. “She promised me that, and she told me that she
wouldn’t even tell your parents about it.”
“You’re lying,” she protested, her eyes wide with horror. “You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not.” He raised his hand, holding his wand. “I swear on my magic.” The tip
of his wand flared bright white for a moment.
Hermione gasped at the confirmation. “You may have said it, but you don’t mean
it,” she said. “It was just the first day—I remember—you can’t still mean it—”
He smirked back wordlessly.
That smirk sent Hermione into a storm of rage. So he thought he could mention
things that had happened on the day that they had met, as if nothing since then
had meant anything to him? She wasn’t fooled. He had just called her “his.” She
was not going to let him get to her this way, and in fact, shewould be the one
to shock him now. Angrily she snarled at him, “So that’s how it is? Perhaps I
might just accept that, if this is how you are always going to treat me! Why
should I marry someone who threatens me with things he doesn’t intend to follow
through with, just to be cruel and exert power?”
“You presume much,” he shot back without thinking.
Tears instantly formed in her wide eyes, but she would not let them fall. She
gaped at him one last time before fleeing the room, leaving him alone to his
turbulent—and regretful—thoughts.
***** Consequences and Counterattacks *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so, so much for all of your support! I apologize (in a
     "sorry not sorry" way, haha) for the scene involving the Black
     family. You'll probably see why when you read it.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
His High Lordship Armand Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire and Lord of Wizards and
Witches in England, Scotland, and Wales.
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England
 
Your Esteemed Lordship,
Today I received a report of a most distressing nature, which it behooves me to
bring to your attention, as it concerns the treatment of pupils in my care and
the implicit pacts I have with their parents to protect them while they are on
castle grounds. This morning, I was prevented from upholding my part in one
such contract.
Lord Amycus Carrow, claiming the authority of your lordship and that of Lord
Rodolphus Lestrange, demanded entry to the castle to conduct a “questioning” of
one of my scholars concerning the death of Lord Scabior. He presented no
evidence that the young wizard in question, Lord Thomas Riddle, had been
involved in the apparent murder, but invoked your lordship’s name to gain
access. He further demanded that Lord Thomas surrender his wand and submit to
this “questioning” alone and unaccompanied by a Master of Hogwarts even as an
observer. At this point, Lord Carrow proceeded to torture Lord Thomas,
subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse and to several cutting curses that can
cause permanent scars if not healed swiftly and expertly. Only after inflicting
needless pain upon Lord Thomas did Lord Carrow actually question him under
Veritaserum—at which point he learned that Lord Thomas was indeed innocent in
the apparent murder.
Master Horace Slughorn attests to the fact that the order, which bears your
name, did not grant permission to torture a pupil of Hogwarts or remove him
from the professors. I therefore implore you to punish Lord Carrow for
exceeding the authority that your lordship’s name granted him, and I formally
request pecuniary restitution of fifty gold pieces from Carrow’s property for
the torture of an innocent young wizard, to be remitted to Lady Merope Riddle,
Baroness of Hangleton.
Sincerely,
High Master Albus Dumbledore, Lord of Hogwarts
 
Albus Dumbledore smiled grimly at that signature. It was a provocation to send
it, but this was entirely unacceptable. He did not even particularly likeTom
Riddle personally, nor his mother, but the principle of this was what mattered.
These people could not get the idea that they could torture innocent Hogwarts
students—or worse—with impunity. He sealed the letter and sent it on its way,
wondering what the response would be, if any.
===============================================================================
Elsewhere in the castle, Tom contined to fume. He could not believeHermione! He
had just been tortured, and her reaction was to proclaim that it certainly was
not herfault—and then to patronize him with her reassurances that she would
have “helped” him. Tom supposed, for a moment, that he hadcome to Hermione to
place partial blame on her, so her defensiveness was at least understandable in
that regard… but he was right about this, damn it. She should have been more
careful. Charging forward like a Gryffindor and then using halfhearted
Slytherin tactics after the inevitable consequences unfolded just was not
sufficient. If she wanted to act like a Slytherin while keeping her Gryffindor
idealism intact, she should have modified Adelaide Lestrange’s memory to make
her think she had made her own bloody potion. This was obvious, Tom groused to
himself. By making herself vulnerable, and then playing at political intrigue
with her little note to Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione had set in motion a chain
of events that, so far, had led to his torture, the interrogation of every
witch and wizard in Godric’s Hollow—and he was not convinced that it was over
yet.
He did not want to admit it, but she had hurt him when she had compared his
torture to Adelaide’s situation and said, oh-so-reassuringly, that she would
have helped him too. Was that all that he was to her now? She had eagerly
participated in the fiery kiss that had spontaneously happened… but then she
had recoiled and pushed him away with a skin-breaking bite. Maybe… Tom hated to
think it, but maybe she actually didn’t feel anything for him except lust.
She spends her time with Potter’s group, who are absolutely up to something—or,
at least, their families are. She plays at intrigue and creates
disasters—including one, now, that could have cost me my life. Her interactions
with me now consist of fighting. What if she was not lying with her parting
words? She was shocked when I told her of my bargain with Mother, but she
recovered really fast.Tom fretted over his thoughts.
She’s part-Norman. She was raised in the Muggle culture. I have been very, very
proud of my ancestry, wizarding and ethnic, and perhaps she has decided to take
personal offense. She certainly was affronted before, when we were on good
terms, over occasional statements I made, even though I never meant them to
include her. As a witch, she has been exposed to a culture in which women can
be strong and much more independent than Muggle women… but one thing we do have
in common with the Muggles is our instinctive loyalty to family. She could be
very loyal to hers and feel empowered to take that position in front of me
because she knows that witches can. Tom was not wholly convinced; Hermione
never spoke much of her family, and her parents rarely saw her except for very
brief visits during the summer and winter. It seemed that once they had a
betrothal agreement for her, they lost a lot of interest in her—or saw her as
an adult. Tom thought that Hermione’s attendance at Hogwarts was probably also
a factor for them. In any case, why would she feel so much loyalty to people
like that instead of to… well,he thought grudgingly, perhaps not me, right now,
but to Mother? Mother has been very good to her. Still, the ties of blood ran
deep.
Tom regretted how the discussion had ended. He had not actually meant what he
said, and he was not sure that she did either… but those thoughts were clearly
circulating in their minds or they wouldn’t have come out. Perhaps it was
inevitable, if that really was how Hermione felt. What did it mean for the
future? She must finish Hogwarts, he thought at once. She has to do that. I
won’t break the contract and get her tossed out of school. Afterward…. Tom
sighed deeply. Afterward, we’ll see. The contract says that the deadline for a
public wedding is two months after we have both completed our education. She
will probably finish at the same time I do, next summer. There is still time…
but if we’re still on poor terms, I will have to think about whether I want to
invoke my mother’s promise.
Hermione acts like she has no interest in my political goals, but I can’t
believe that her ancestry has much to do with that. She has not even expressed
a preference about the Muggle pretenders, which she would if she were a Norman
partisan in politics. I think that she doesn’t really believe, even now, that
it is likely to get violent. She’s probably telling herself that to avoid the
unpleasant reality… or she does know what the Friends of the Founders’ families
are up to and supports it, though I hope not. I think it’s the first, and in
that case, she must still expect that her life will be what her parents
probably taught her for twelve years that it would be: marrying a noble, being
lady of the castle, having children with him, doing the things that her own
mother did. Her parents have been neutral in the Muggle war, but if a wizarding
war erupts, we’ll be at the center of it… and if she does become my family,
officially, then she has to scheme with me. There’s really no choice. He paused
his rapid thoughts. Scheme with me, or… choose to lead that drab life. But I
wanted my future wife to be more than just the mother of my heirs. Hermione is
brilliant and powerful and strong. I wanted her to be a partner in all my
schemes, not an ornament for the castle. I thought she would want that too… but
what if she feels so little for me that she’s resigned to the other?
He reflected on the fact that Hermione was not a maiden anymore. That might be
a problem for—suddenly Tom’s mind revolted, unable to even complete the
thought. No. The idea of someone else with her was something he could not even
contemplate. But what to do? He considered, for a brief moment, the arrangement
that his mother had with Severus Snape. He was her personal advisor and chief
vassal, and Tom had wondered before about romantic interest between them, but
they had never pursued it, to his relief. Perhaps that was what he should offer
Hermione in the future… but she’ll have to be fully on my side politically, he
thought—and he still wanted to have more than that. He wanted what they used to
have. But did she still want it?
Tom’s mood soured. This problem did not seem to have a solution—at least, not
one that he could control. Best to put it out of his mind for now, then. He had
additional things to worry about, like the renewed urgency of finding the
Chamber of Slytherin over the next year and three months. Nobody would dare
torture him if he had a basilisk at his side.
===============================================================================
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
Armand Malfoy sat on his great throneline chair, smiling serenely as Rodolphus
Lestrange approached with his goblet. Two elves accompanied Lestrange, looking
properly servile as they carried wine and sweetmeats to the high lord.
Lestrange tried to avoid looking at the potion inside the dark goblet—silver,
white, and mother-of-pearl shining sinisterly in the light—as he approached
Malfoy. He wished he could have the confidence that his high lord did that
handling this was harmless. The substance itself looked wrong, somehow. Armand
Malfoy was a great man, Lestrange thought, a hero of their race and people, and
it was an honor to serve him, but….
“My lord,” he said in a low voice as he reached the high seat. Armand Malfoy
extended a frail hand and took the goblet. He drank deeply as the elves set
down the food and wine and made themselves scarce, lingering by the doorway in
case the lords needed anything.
Malfoy finished the ghastly white potion and set down the empty goblet. He
gestured for Lestrange to sit on the second chair and help himself to food and
wine. Relieved, Lestrange assented.
“I have heard the most interesting news,” Malfoy stated.
“Oh, my lord?”
Malfoy smiled grandly, an evil gleam in his eye. “Yes. First, Dumbledore
presumed to write to me, demanding restitution to Lady Riddle from Carrow’s
estate.” He laughed.
Lestrange chuckled dutifully.
“Of course, I sent the coin at once.”
Lestrange stopped laughing and stared at Malfoy for a moment. “My lord?”
“Certainly,” Malfoy stated. “Carrow has already displeased me, of course, which
is why you are here and not he. It is not as if Dumbledore asked for mygold to
go to the woman. And apparently the half-blood wretch wasinnocent, as
surprising as that was. I thought you would find it amusing, though.”
“I do indeed, my lord,” Lestrange said.
“More importantly, I received a letter stating that the late Morfin Gaunt died
under highly suspicious circumstances and that there is ample reason to believe
that the half-blood Severus Snape poisoned him.”
Lestrange started. “My lord, are you quite sure of that? Gaunt died of a
digestive ailment incurred after a large meal, I thought….”
“Such things can carry off wizards, but it is rare,” Malfoy said. “And a
‘digestive ailment’ could easily be poison. It’s well known that Snape is a
master of potions.”
“This sounds highly speculative to me, with all due respect, your lordship. Who
sent this letter?”
Malfoy leaned in, grinning. “It is someone who has provided useful intelligence
in the past to my family. A spy by the code name of Wormtail.”
“What is his real name?”
“I do not know, but his record speaks for itself. The Malfoys trust him. He
claims to have witnessed Snape making a poison just days before Morfin Gaunt’s
sudden death.”
“Witnessed?” Lestrange breathed.
“So he says. I have tried to find out which of the old Gaunt vassals were still
in service at the time Lord Morfin died, but as you know, theyhave those
records now. I have only hearsay to go on… but I think this source is either a
vassal who was a rival of Snape’s, or perhaps a servant who was summarily
dismissed after Lady Riddle assumed the title.”
“So you think, because of this information, that Snape….”
“Since Carrow found that young Lord Thomas was innocent, I think it must have
been Snape who killed Scabior. He may even have acted alone, without Lady
Riddle’s knowledge. He certainly did in murdering his lord three years ago.”
The corners of his mouth tugged upward maliciously. “I think we should reveal
this and accuse him of treason.”
For a second, Lestrange wanted to shout his gleeful agreement. Then reason took
over. “I must respectfully disagree, my lord,” he said in regret. “If we did,
they would deny it. If there is nothing implicating Lady Riddle herself, it
would go nowhere. A letter sent by an anonymous source—a letter with no
Veracity Charm upon it—wouldn’t be reliable in many people’s eyes.”
Malfoy glowered. “My word is law now. They should believe what I say.”
“Perhaps so, my lord,” Lestrange said reflexively, “but even if they do, let’s
be honest, my lord, Morfin Gaunt was loathed. There are few who would care if
Snape didmurder him. Perhaps it’s better to keep it in reserve as blackmail.”
Malfoy looked as if he wanted to argue more, but he changed his mind and nodded
curtly. As Lestrange sipped the rest of his wine, he wondered if this was the
sort of thing that had driven Abraxas Malfoy to act against his own father. It
does not make it right, he thought. Malfoy is an aged wizard. He should have an
advisor… one who does not abuse his position as Abraxas did. I am that person
now.
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
Merope was furious. When Tom had first written to her about what had befallen
him at Hogwarts—and what he realized, as she also did, couldhave happened if
Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange had been a bit more lawless—she had
immediately sent an angry letter to Malfoy. As far as Merope was concerned,
this crossed a line. Bellatrix Lestrange’s assassination attempt on Hermione a
couple of years ago had also crossed a line, but unlike that, Carrow had
tortured Tom openly and with the full knowledge of his lord. They were getting
much bolder.
And nowthe evil old man had sent her a purse of gold—from Carrow’s estate, he
said, in a letter that was grotesquely insincere in its apology. As if shedding
her son’s blood could be paid off with fifty Galleons! It was an insult. He
even had the cheek to say that Albus Dumbledore had suggested this remedy. What
of the outrageous “tax assessment” that he wanted to conduct this summer in
preparation to rob her of her land and castle?
As she attempted to calm herself, Severus was standing before her with quite a
report to give from his sources’ information, and all of the report had to do
with the continuing consequences of Scabior’s murder. This was important, she
told herself. She needed to hear this. There would be time enough to fume about
Malfoy’s latest insult.
Merope sipped a goblet of wine and took several deep breaths to compose
herself, then turned to Severus. “I am ready to hear it,” she said, attempting
to sound calm.
Severus looked down at the parchment he held in hand. His brow furrowed in a
wince, but only for a moment. He took a deep breath of his own before
beginning.
“The source for this is… highly-placed,” he began hesitantly.
Merope gave him a wry smile. “It’s a house-elf for the Malfoys, isn’t it?”
Severus was startled. He gaped at her. “My lady, how—”
“Severus, some of the information you have given me over the past three years
could only have been overheard by someone who was physically there. You told me
about the Blacks… but they were not always present. You also have said ‘little
sources’ on several occasions.”
Severus heaved his breath. “Well, my lady, you are very astute. Of course….”
“I certainly would not tell that to anyone, even my son. Such a source is
extremely vulnerable, given the nature of elves’ binding to their masters.
Malfoy could simply order the elf to come to him, and he could notescape. I
understand the sensitivity.”
“Naturally so,” Severus said hurriedly. “Well… my source tells me that this is
going to be public soon enough, so we merely have to keep silent until that
time. Essentially… there have been some major changes in the households of our
adversaries. Our declared enemies, in the case of the Lestranges.”
Merope’s eyebrows went up. “Oh? In what respect?”
“The Lestranges are going to be divided, for one,” he said. “Lord Lestrange is
going to attend Armand Malfoy. It’s an, er, imported custom for nobles to wait
on higher-ranked nobles or royalty.”
Merope scoffed and smirked lightly. “Yes. I thought that Carrow had that
wretched job… was he dismissed?”
“From that task, yes. He went to Malfoy to tell him that he did not want to do
the tax assessment of this property this summer—yes, he wasthe one chosen to do
it—”
“Typical,” Merope said with contempt. “Every opportunity they have to insult
this family, they take it.” She glared at the gold coins that Malfoy had sent
with the post.
“So it seems,” he agreed. “But Carrow’s interaction with your son must have
frightened him, I assume because he found your son to be innocent. According to
my source, he expressed fear to Malfoy that he would be killed on the spot if
he showed up.”
“If it were up to Tom, I have no doubt that he would be.” A shadow came over
her face for a moment. “Will the assessment take place, then?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know. It depends on whether he can find someone else to do
it.”
She nodded. “Please continue.”
“Malfoy did not like what he perceived as Carrow’s cowardice, and his
punishment was to dismiss him from his household, summon Lestrange to take his
place, and send Carrow to wait on Lady Lestrange and her daughter.”
Merope chuckled. “So he took Lestrange away from his own castle! Lady Lestrange
rules in his name now, then?”
“Evidently so.”
“Given what my son wrote to me about the realreason Scabior was murdered,
that’s interesting indeed. I wonder what they are going to do now that they
have apparently run out of suspects?”
Severus winced, and Merope noticed. “What is it, Severus? Have they accused
me?”
He shook his head quickly. “No, they think I was the killer. And they….” He
trailed off, wincing, closing his eyes momentarily.
“Severus, I insist that you tell me what is troubling you.”
He sighed, closing his eyes again. “As you command, my lady.” He took a deep
breath. “The implications of this intelligence are very disturbing, but I fear
you will not like what I’m about to tell you. I will suffer any punishment you
decide to mete out.”
Merope suddenly wished she had not asked. “Go ahead, then,” she said nervously.
“There was a spy who… witnessed me making a potion just before the death of
your brother, Lord Morfin,” Severus said, looking away.
Merope’s eyes widened as she took in the implication. “Severus….”
“It implies exactly what you think it does, my lady,” he said stoically. Seized
by a sudden impulse, he got up from his chair and knelt before her. “I did it
because your late brother was destroying the fief. His conduct had already
driven off most of the family vassals, and he was ordering me to spy on you in
London with the goal of forcibly bringing you here—for him.”
“Severus—”
“It was a loathsome, evil command, and I could not obey it. My oath was to your
family, and his conduct was harming it. You still lived, and I decided that it
would be far better if you….”
“Severus,” she said again, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I understand. I
really do. I admit, if I had learned this three years ago, I would have been
highly suspicious of you as a vassal, but you have proven your loyalty to me
and my family—to Tom and Hermione—repeatedly since then. As for my late
brother, I do not doubt for a second that he had such foul designs. Do you know
why I eloped with Sir Thomas in the first place?”
He demurred. “I never considered it my business….”
“You must have suspected,” she pressed. “But, yes, I did it to avoid that fate.
My father had that very plan… so eloping was my only chance. I believe you, and
I forgive you.”
He raised his eyes to meet hers, almost afraid to look, but there was no anger
or betrayal in them. “Thank you… Merope,” he finally said.
She smiled. “Now, get off the floor and take your seat again. As you said, the
fact that anyone was a witness to that is very disturbing. Did your source say
who it was? I presume it was not Carrow himself.”
“No, it was some spy with the code name of Wormtail. Even Armand Malfoy
apparently did not know who that was, though, just that he had helped them
before and that was why they trusted him.” He sighed. “That was three years
ago, though. The castle is utterly secure now.”
“That’s true,” she agreed. “Thank you for telling me all this, Severus. Is
there anything else I should know before I write to Malfoy?”
“No, my lady, that was the whole report. Is your letter going to be about that
bag of gold, then?”
She shook her head as she smoothed out a sheet of paper. “It is an insult, but
I will not call it such. I can smile just as falsely as any of them,” she said
grimly. “Obviously I cannot make reference to anything that has not been made
public yet, but I don’t have to. I am going to inform him that the offenses
against this family are far greater than a mere fifty Galleons could cover, and
that in consideration of that, I will consider any ‘back tax’ I supposedly owe
to have been taken out of the payment before he sent it. They have been
targeting my family, and I have had enough.”
===============================================================================
Castle Black in the North, two months later.
Regulus and Andromeda Black listened intently as Regulus’s parents and paternal
grandfather spoke. The grim, dark, cold fortress was very unlike Regulus’s
home, Canis Manor, in the south of England. It was chilly here even in late
spring, so much so that Arcturus, Orion, and Walburga wore fur-lined robes.
Regulus and Andromeda donned even heavier ones, unused as they were to this.
The tall two-story windows in the grand hall of the castle seemed to make it
even colder. Through those windows, in the distance a great magically charmed
wall loomed over the landscape, protecting the castle and lands from the
sinister forest that reputedly harbored giants and werewolves.
“Regulus,” Lord Arcturus began, his fur collar making him look majestic. Behind
his high seat, a banner fluttered in the cool draft, bearing the crest of the
Black family. To Regulus and Andromeda’s eyes, even the dogs on it looked more
ferocious and wolfish than the ones that adorned the crest in their home, in
keeping with everything else here. “I have summoned you and your lady here to
warn you.”
“Warn us?” he repeated.
Arcturus nodded grimly. “I collaborated with Abraxas Malfoy to attemptto keep
his high lordship from doing destructive things. As you know, that attempt
failed, and Abraxas is dead. I fear that I may be next. Lestrange wanted to
remove all competition for his high lordship’s ear… and if he suspected
Abraxas, I am sure he suspects me.”
“You are safe here, Father,” Orion assured him at once.
Arcturus raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps so—for now, at least. I just wanted to
tell all of you, though, to be prepared and to know about this. If I die soon,
it almost certainly will not be of natural causes.”
“Father! You aren’t about to die!”
“I hope not,” he agreed, “but if I do, I wanted to warn you now so that you
won’t be fooled. Lestrange cannot be trusted, and I am not sure that his high
lordship can either.”
“What about Bellatrix and Narcissa?” Andromeda spoke up. She had never much
liked her older sister, and had not gotten along that well with her younger,
but they wereher sisters.
“I think that Lestrange is at odds with Bellatrix,” Arcturus said. “Whether
that means you can trust her, I do not know… and as for Narcissa, thus far, I
think she canbe trusted. She and Lucius think they are next, frankly. They
think Lestrange is going to do to Lucius what he did to Abraxas. Their view is
that Lestrange ultimately means harm to Lord Malfoy himself, and that once he
has removed everyone else, hewill seize power by acting as regent for Lady
Adelaide and Lord Draco, who would then be ‘Lord Malfoy.’”
Regulus considered this. It did not square with what he was hearing from his
elf source in Malfoy Manor. The conversations that Kreacher repeated to him
from the Malfoys’ elf were indicative of utter sycophancy and hero-worship on
Lestrange’s part. “What do you think about that, Grandfather?” he asked.
Arcturus sighed, his fur mantle sagging slightly as he did. “I do not know,” he
admitted. “It makes sense, but Lestrange always showed immense respect to Lord
Malfoy. For my part, though, I fear that something even worse may be afoot.”
The eyes of all four younger Blacks turned toward his face.
“So far, we have all kept out of the Muggle war, and it seems to be winding
down at last—though who can say? We have thought that before, when in fact it
was just a shift in fortunes from one pretender to the other,” he said. “They
always seem to regroup. What I fear, though, is that Malfoy and Lestrange have
made an alliance with one of them. Which one, I do not know.”
“What makes you think that?” Lady Walburga asked.
“There are reports of magic in a battle,” he said. “I cannot find out which
side the apparent wizard was fighting for, but the reports are that someone
used a visible curse. Needless to say, this is deeply disturbing. William the
Conqueror came over and established his reign without wizard assistance. In
fact, he did not want to think too much about the fact that there were witches
and wizards in the world, and that is why he deferred all matters concerning
magic to Armand Malfoy and then left well enough alone. He owedMalfoy nothing,
though. But if the ultimate winner of the Muggle war owes the throne to
Lestrange and Malfoy, then they could get him—or her, if there is an alliance
and it’s with Empress Matilda—to punish Lestrange’s enemies, and we would have
no recourse. As it is now, we do have the option of appealing to the Muggle
monarch if we are dissatisfied with Lord Malfoy’s decisions, even though no one
has ever done so, for obvious reasons.”
Walburga muffled a snicker. In her opinion, those “obvious reasons” were that
it was disgraceful for a pureblood wizard noble to beg a Muggle for favors,
even if that Muggle wore a crown. In truth, the wizarding nobility had deemed
it inadvisable to invite Muggle interference in their business.
“What do you think should be done about this?” Andromeda asked.
“I don’t know what canbe done about it,” he confessed. “I will try to get the
truth about this report of magic, for one… find out if it really was, and if
so, whom the wizard was fighting for, and whether it was an independent recruit
or a formal alliance. I would say that perhaps it was a Mudblood who went for a
soldier, but that seems too optimistic. How could such a one even know how to
cast a spell? Unfortunately I do think it was a trained wizard, which indicates
that someone who knowshe is a wizard has taken a side… but I will see what else
I can discover. In the meantime, remember what I said. Beware of Lestrange,
beware of Lord Malfoy, and stick together. We are all Blacks by both marriage
and blood. Our heraldic animal is the dog, a loyal and intelligent creature
that thrives in a pack. When a pack stays together, it survives.”
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
Tom was reading a manuscript in the library, Hermione noticed as she entered
the grand room. He lifted his gaze for a moment to sneer at her and then
returned to his reading.
There was not a hint of affection in that look, and an unwanted, humiliating
lump formed in Hermione’s throat at the sight of it. She suddenly realized that
she could not remain in the library. Attempting to hold her head high and match
his indifference, she found the book she was searching for, took it from its
shelf, and stalked out of the room back to the dungeons.
As soon as she entered her bedroom, she collapsed on her bed, the book
forgotten. Tears refused to form, though her face grew hot and the lump in her
throat seemed to harden.
He doesn’t even like me anymore. He blames me for his torture still.
Hermione blinked away tears and conjured herself a goblet of cold water, which
she drank immediately. It soothed the sudden lump in her throat.
It had been a couple of weeks since her huge fight with Tom, and the pain had
only barely subsided. She wished she had not made that statement at the very
end—but at the same time, what else was she to do? Tom had been needlessly
cruel, and she was tired of allowing him to hurt her with his cruel words. She
also wished she had been a bit more compassionate to him over the torture that
he had suffered just before the argument. In retrospect, she realized that her
reaction had probably made things worse… but, again, what was she to do when he
came to her full of blame for her? When she had written to Bellatrix Lestrange,
the idea that it might hurt him was not even in her mind. She had never meant
for such a thing to happen. Perhaps she couldhave been a bit more careful—she
had certainly realized thatafter Adelaide spitefully spread the rumor around
that she was making a potion to induce miscarriage—but when Tom came to her
with anger and blame in his words, her natural instinct was to defend herself
even if he hadsuffered.
What is my life going to be like? she thought miserably. She did not thinkthat
Tom really meant what he had implied, that he would ask his mother to break the
contract between their families… but what if he did? What was her legal status
as a witch? Would her parents still have the authority to negotiate a new
betrothal for her—to someone she didn’t even know, almost certainly someone who
could not do magic and probably would not understand about it? The idea was
sickening… and as she reflected on the anti-“Mudblood” laws that Armand Malfoy
and Rodolphus Lestrange had enacted, she realized that her parents certainly
would have such authority. The only nobles in the magical community who had
ever stood up for her were the Riddles and Severus Snape… and, she supposed,
the masters at Hogwarts, but after she was declared a master herself, they
could not shield her from anything.
I will tell Lady Merope that we have consummated our relationship if Tom dares
try it, Hermione resolved. She must already suspect, based on what she asked me
while we were still intimate, but I will tell her outright. I will also tell
her that he considered me married to him by the ancient magical rite, that I
have never betrayed him, and that if he wants out of the contract, it’s for no
reason other than spite.
And he may not have thought of this, but his mother, at least, must realize
what Malfoy would do if we broke the betrothal immediately after I finished
school. He would think we swore falsely from the start. He would consider us
all oathbreakers and would retaliate against us. Lady Merope probably told Tom
that she would end it if he wanted because otherwise he might never have
softened to me. She has to know what the consequences would be if she actually
did. I won’t let him do this to me.
Hermione sighed. She continued to clutch the pillow, well aware that she had
just reasoned that a loveless political marriage would be acceptable as long as
it was with Tom—but not choosing to dwell on the details.
===============================================================================
One month later.
It was summer again, and Tom and Hermione had been one day at Parselhall. Tom
was still keeping to himself except during meals and occasions when they both
happened to be in the same room. This was such a time, as the Riddles,
Hermione, and Severus Snape awaited a guest in the great hall. Snape and Lady
Merope seemed to know the identity of this person, but Tom and Hermione were to
be surprised.
The person, whoever it was, was notone of Tom’s friends. Hermione knew that
they were coming at some point, but Tom would know if this person was one of
them. She had overheard him asking his mother for permission to invite them
again. It seemed that Wilkes was going to come toward the end of summer. The
young wizard supposedly had something critically important that he wanted to
tell Tom. Hermione rather dreaded it, because she was sure that she knew what
it was about. Tom’s ambition of claiming the crown of England for himself,
based on six-century-old lineage, and presumably using Slytherin’s monster to
force his will, was what Tom discussed with his friends, she was sure.
Malfoy and Lestrange are out of control, she thought, and they do need to be
replaced, but Tom could have taken this ambition in a much more productive
direction. He could stand up for reinstating the full Wizengamot, or replacing
Malfoy with Lady Merope, or any number of possibilities. As it is, Tom would be
injecting himself into the Muggle war with his current goal, and he would have
to have Slytherin’s basilisk to stand a chance of achieving his ambition. What
Muggle would support his claim on its own merits? That line hasn’t ruled any
part of this country in centuries. And even with a basilisk, what are his
chances, truly?
Hermione did not like to think about that. Something did need to change—Malfoy
did need to go, and Lestrange with him—but what Tom wanted to do seemed so
dangerous. Hermione just wanted to have the sort of life she had thought she
would as an almost-thirteen-year-old, when she had first met him. She could
have that if Lady Merope replaced Malfoy. That was what Hermione wanted to
happen. But no one else seemed to want it, including Lady Merope herself. In
fact, Lady Merope seemed strained as she attempted to maintain her own personal
status quo.
Hermione glanced at the others. Tom was attempting to make himself look bored,
but he was not succeeding. Lady Merope presided in the high seat, attempting to
make herself look serene, but also not succeeding. She was nervous and eager in
turns—and Severus Snape was anxious indeed. Hermione wondered who the guest was
that Snape would be nervous about meeting him… or her.
On the other side of the doors to the great hall, a distinctive pop of
Apparition sounded. The house-elves were waiting for the guest to appear. In a
minute, the doors creaked open, and the elves eagerly led a wizard robed in
black across the grand room toward the high seat. Hermione examined the man as
he approached. He was moderately handsome, about the age of Severus—or perhaps
a few years younger—and with very dark hair. She was quite sure that she had
never seen him before, and she did not recognize his resemblance in anyone she
did know.
“Lord Regulus Black of Canis Manor, heir to the Noble and Ancient House of
Black,” declared one of the elves.
Hermione’s eyes widened. She noticed that Tom’s did as well, but only for a
moment. His eyebrows instantly narrowed in suspicion as Black reached them and
bowed.
The four rose and welcomed him. “My lord,” Merope said feelingly. “You are most
welcome.”
Black smiled, but it did not last. “Thank you, my lady Riddle. You are
gracious.”
“Let us discuss this in a private sitting room,” Merope said. She descended
from the seat, Tom, Hermione, and Snape following. She led the way to a small
parlor that Hermione was quite familiar with, opening the door to let them all
enter.
Once they were seated and the door sealed tightly—Snape cast several spells,
Hermione noted with interest—Merope spoke again.
“My lord Regulus, you do our house honor by coming. It is courageous of you to
do this at such a time.”
“Thank you,” he said again, “but it is at times like this when I think it’s
most crucial to make a stand, my lady.”
Tom gazed curiously at the wizard. So did Hermione. Was Regulus about to swear
an alliance on behalf of his family? That wasimportant….
“As you know, my lord grandfather Arcturus no longer has a seat on the Wizards’
Council… because the Wizards’ Council no longer exists,” he said dryly. “This
fact changes a lot of things. But before I continue, I must ask that the young
people swear not to reveal what they are about to hear to anyone outside this
room, if you please, your ladyship?” He seemed uncertain at the end, asking
permission—which made sense, as Tom was her son and Hermione her ward.
Merope looked startled for a moment, but she nodded her consent. “As long as it
is not the Unbreakable Vow. That’s not to say that I discount the risks you
take, Lord Regulus, but Tom is my only heir, and Hermione is to marry him. I’m
sure you understand…?”
“I do. All oaths have consequences to one’s magic or one’s well-being if
broken, after all….” He trailed off awkwardly.
“And frankly, it is not in their interest to tell others about you,” Snape put
in. He turned to Tom and Hermione with eyebrows raised.
Merope spoke up. “If either of you do not wish to hear this, you may leave, of
course.”
Hermione shook her head, followed swiftly by Tom. “I wish to hear,” she said.
She raised her hand, holding her wand. “And I swear I will speak of what I am
about to hear to no one except those in this room.” The tip of her wand flared
briefly.
“I swear this as well,” Tom chimed in, holding his wand aloft as it gleamed.
Regulus nodded. “I accept your oaths.” He twined his fingers together and
stretched his arms in front of him. “Very well. First of all… I have been
telling information to Severus. For a long time, this included privileged
information from the Wizards’ Council itself and its members.”
Tom did not seem wholly surprised by this, Hermione noted.
“Even though my grandfather is no longer on the Council, and Rodolphus
Lestrange appears to have Lord Malfoy’s ear exclusively, I mean to continue in
this role,” Regulus continued. “But… I am also here to offer my wand if it…
should come to blows, as I fear it will. Malfoy has been very aggressive
against your family, as you of course know far better than I. And my
grandfather, frankly, believes that Lestrange will have him killed at some
point, now that he has manipulated Lord Malfoy into killing his own son. I hope
my grandfather is wrong, but he is a wise man—yes, Lord Thomas, he is, even if
you disagree with some of his views”—Hermione noticed that Tom was scowling
scornfully at this—“and I fear that he may be correct. I do not yet know what
my parents think of your family, so I am making this offer only on behalf of my
own family, and it must be secret for the time being. If I need to make it
public, that will release you from your oaths of silence.”
Merope spoke up. “I understand the danger in which you have placed yourself,
Lord Regulus,” she said, “and your gesture does not go unfelt. It is a great
honor to have the support of anyone from the House of Black, an ancient English
wizarding family.”
“The time is swiftly coming for all witches and wizards who value our way of
life to support each other,” Regulus said. “When my lady wife and I visited my
grandfather in the North recently, he offered a very disturbing theory.”
“And what might that be?”
“He thinks that Malfoy and Lestrange might have made a formal alliance with one
of the Muggle pretenders to the throne. Apparently he heard that magic had been
sighted in one of the Muggle skirmishes. I need not say,” he said dryly as
everyone in the room, including Hermione, gasped, “that this possibility, if
true, poses a grave risk to us.”
“I did not know this,” Snape admitted. “You said nothing of it.”
Regulus gave him a dark smile. “I decided it was better to say in person, so
that everyone could hear it directly from me.”
“That is terrible,” Tom declared, as all heads turned in his direction. His
face was stormy, his eyebrows narrowed in anger at the very idea. “The Muggle
pretender Stephen has offered the church everything it wants, and anyone who
thinks theywould not try to poke their fingers into wizarding business is
fooling himself.”
“Tom,” Merope said gently, “mind your tone, please.”
“He’s right, though, my lady,” Regulus said, his voice grim. “It’s one thing to
live a virtuous life and honor one’s God, but there are those who regard magic
itself as evil… and of course, the only way that witches such as your ladyship
can retain your position is if Muggle power over our culture is kept to a
minimum.” He considered. “I was thinking more along the lines of the winner of
the Muggle crown being beholden to Malfoy and Lestrange, and therefore aiding
their bloody vengeance against all their enemies, but your son is right as
well.”
“He is a profligate spender, a blight on the national treasury, and his noble
supporters back him in part because his cousin is a woman,” Snape added. “They
have no reason to object to anything that Malfoy and Lestrange would get him to
do, if there really is an alliance and it’s with him.”
“And the Muggle ‘Empress’ Matilda is little better, if she’s the one they are
backing,” Tom sneered, on a roll now, his words heated. “She’s a foreigner with
foreign ties and foreign ways. We don’t need any more of that in this country.”
“Tom,” Merope began, her tone sharp.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said at once, but to Hermione’s ears it sounded
insincere. He turned to Regulus. “I apologize, my lord.”
Regulus nodded. Then—to Hermione’s shock—he turned to her. “What do youthink,
Lady Hermione? Your parents are Muggle nobles. Do they have a preference?”
Hermione was startled. “No, Lord Regulus, they have always been neutral in the
conflict, preferring to maintain what they have rather than risk backing the
wrong person. They have wanted to keep the peace, always, valuing that above
other considerations.”
Regulus nodded again. “That’s good to hear. Always better for there to be no
complications.” He smiled darkly. “That said, Lady Merope, I am afraid that
your son is correct. Both of these Muggle pretenders are… compromised… and Lord
Thomas, I would like to remind you that the Empress has also made offers to the
church to solicit their support. It’s just for the best if wizards stay out of
a Muggle conflict entirely, and it troubles me deeply that it may be too late
for that.”
“What can we do, in your view?” Merope asked.
He sighed. “My grandfather is trying to get to the bottom of the rumor about
magic in a Muggle battle. It may be that we’re worrying about nothing, and I
hope that is the case. But if we are not, then we will have to consider
intervening as well to… eliminate… those who are most deeply involved.”
So it may come to war after all, Hermione thought unhappily. She spared a
glance at Tom, whose dark eyes were gleaming with a disturbing light.
Chapter End Notes
     In this AU, wizards and witches are in a state of semi-Seclusion
     already, because of the reasons detailed in Regulus’s discussion. The
     Muggle civil war of 1139-1147 (called “the Anarchy” in newer
     histories) is relevant to the plot—and that’s all I’m comfortable
     saying right now—but I’m not going to have retellings of real-world
     battles or political events from the war. I’m not a historian and I’m
     sure I’d screw it up. Although the Muggle situation does have some
     linkage to wizarding problems, the wizarding community has its own
     conflicts, and they are what this story is about.
***** Revelations of the Past *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi everyone! I'm posting this chapter a bit early because of the
     holidays; I am afraid we are not returning to a regular Friday
     schedule for this story. I also apologize for the cliffhangers, but
     only a little bit. ;) Thank you so much for all that you do to
     support this fic! It keeps me motivated to work on it.
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
Rodolphus Lestrange glared furiously at the wizard who cowered before him.
Although he was still a fairly young man, his face was covered in dark pockets
and scars.
“It’s because I took a false oath,” he whimpered. “My own magic is revolting
against me for it.”
Lestrange sneered disdainfully. “If it were that simple, oathbreakers could be
readily identified by sight. It looks very much to me as if you are in need of
a health potion.”
The other wizard shook his head. “It’s a curse. I know it is. Please, Lord
Lestrange, I cannot let this happen to my son. He is about to speak, but I yet
have time to change my mind.”
“Your son will be unaffected as long as you have not told him about our
agreement.” Lestrange rose from his chair. “Your part in this is crucial. You
have picked the winning side, but I will only reward loyalty, not cowardice. We
have been thwarted, and now I believe that Severus Snape has murdered one of my
most loyal vassals. He’s beyond the reach of justice as long as Merope Riddle
rules the barony of Hangleton. I insist that you go through with this, Wilkes.”
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
After Regulus Black’s visit, Hermione very much wanted to write to her friends
about the development, but she had sworn a magical oath not to speak of it. If
they learned, it would have to be through Regulus’s brother, Sirius, who lived
with Harry’s parents. That seemed unlikely; Sirius was not treated as one of
the family anymore. However, there was nothing that Hermione could do about
it—other than break her word. It was frustrating, but she had to keep this
secret. Regulus’s life might depend on it. His usefulness as a source of
information certainly did.
Fortunately for her, she did have communications from Luna and Ginevra—Ginny,
she thought with a smile at the nickname—about other, highly interesting
subjects. Within a month of her arrival, Luna sent her a barn owl bearing a
letter. The owl remained perched on the diamond-paned window of Hermione’s
room. Crookshanks stared back at it in a territorial way, as if to say, “This
is my space, and any prey here belong to me.”
“Sorry, owl, but there are no rodents in this castle,” she muttered as she
popped the seal on the letter—a seal bearing the imprint of an eagle, since
Luna’s family were distantly related to Rowena Ravenclaw. A few years ago, she
would have felt a fool for talking to an animal in a serious manner, but
magical creatures and letter-carrying owls were different. The barn owl
understood, spread its wings, and soared through the open casement down to the
ground to find prey as Hermione read her letter.
 
Dear Hermione,
This has been an interesting summer. For one, I have been away from Lovegood
Tower quite a lot. Harry invited me to Godric’s Hollow to meet his parents and
godfather, and naturally I accepted. They offered for Harry to share his
godfather’s room and me to have his bed, but I did not want to inconvenience
them. I have been returning home at night, with the Apparition assistance of
Harry’s mother. She never went to Hogwarts, but then you know that. It’s a pity
and a great wrong. She learned how to Apparate from Harry’s father and
godfather. I can’t wait to learn how to do it myself, either next year or the
one after that.
 
Hermione felt an inexplicable pang at the idea of Harry’s inviting Luna to meet
his family. Since they did not live in the same village, that was a serious
step, even for a witch and wizard who could travel magically. This is nothing
to me, she told herself. Harry might have fancied me at the very beginning, but
he knew better than to seriously consider someone who had a title and was
promised to another boy, especially after Tom and I became so close. A hard
lump formed in her throat at those memories.Harry has some Gryffindor qualities
in him and might have considered a romantic “rescue” if Tom and I had never had
those moments, if we visibly cared nothing about each other, but we did. I can
hardly blame Harry for turning his eyes to a witch who was actually available,
and I am glad that he is happy and does not have to think about the stress and
troubles of playing the romantic hero in an unhappy noble betrothal. Finding
some odd, twisted comfort in this morose thinking, she continued reading the
letter.
 
Harry’s godfather Sirius is meeting a witch, though! Her name is Marlene Valant
and they say—Harry’s father and godfather, that is—that she was at Hogwarts
with them. She used to be McKinnon, from Hogsmeade in Scotland, but she married
a Muggle. She is a widow now, though, after her husband fell in service to the
Empress Matilda a year ago, and she hates hearing of the Muggle conflict as a
result. After he died, she moved to Godric’s Hollow. She has a one-year-old
daughter. Harry’s father seems oddly ambivalent about the relationship. I don’t
know why. She is very nice and Sirius seems happy. One would think he would
want Sirius to have a household of his own.
Sirius also spends time with a friend of his and Harry’s father’s who lives in
an isolated cabin in the forest. This wizard is a werewolf, so naturally he
does not reside in the village itself, but I have met him. The full moon comes
only once every lunar cycle, after all, and he is safe at all other times.
Harry’s father—and mother, to an extent—correspond frequently with the
Weasleys, the Longbottoms, as well as with High Master Dumbledore occasionally,
I think. I don’t know, but I have seen the seal of Hogwarts on one of their
letters. They never talk about anything from those letters, though. Of late,
even Sirius and his werewolf friend have seemed a bit put out about it, almost
as if the Potters, Weasleys, Longbottoms, and Dumbledore are keeping them in
the dark on purpose. I have written to Ginny, who tells me that the older
members of her family are definitely keeping something secret from her, her
brother Ronald, and the twins. It is all very suspicious and I think it must
relate to… well, I won’t say, but you_know. Harry agrees with me. Unfortunately
we have made no progress toward discovering what our families may be doing. It
was dreadful to hear that Lord Thomas was tortured at Hogwarts and it does seem
as though war is inevitable someday, so I think our elders should tell us what
they are up to. We’re not children anymore.
Yours,
Luna L.
 
Hermione considered the rest of this letter. It was quite interesting that the
letters were flying so fast among the Friends of the Founders, and it was even
more curious that they were not telling their children what was being
discussed. Could it be that they did not quite trust their children’s
discretion—or did they fear truth serum if any of Malfoy or Lestrange’s people
decided to “question” pupils at Hogwarts about their parents’ doings? Given
what had happened to Tom, perhaps it was not an unreasonable fear… but then,
what werethe parents’ doings? Hermione understood why they might want to keep
their children unaware, but that did not provide any resolution as to what they
were planning.
As for Sirius Black’s relationship, Hermione thought little about it. James
Potter had lived with his best friend for years. Sirius had gotten himself
disowned by his family for his associations. Of course Potter was jealous of
any other claim on his friend, especially one that might take him out of the
Potter household permanently. Luna and Harry were just used to seeing
suspicious behavior, so they probably saw it where it did not truly exist.
Hermione composed a reply to Luna, folded it once the ink had dried, and left
it under a pile of books. She would send it once she had considered it
further—and once Luna’s owl returned from its feast. There were no vermin in
the castle; Severus and Merope’s wards—and, in the summer and early winter, the
prowlings of Crookshanks—had made quite sure of that after the appearance of
rat damage a couple of years ago. The owl would have to fend for itself here.
Hermione left her room and headed down to the ground floor, passing Tom on the
stone stairs as she did. He met her eyes briefly but said nothing. He was
clutching a letter of his own, she noticed—but it was nothing to her. Let him
have his secret correspondence with his friends! She knew a couple of them were
coming to visit later, anyway. If he told tales about her to them, it was
nothing she had not experienced before, she thought unhappily. That, after all,
was how their separation had begun in the first place. He could complain about
her all he liked. She was notgoing to let him put her aside. If she had to live
the life of a noble in an unhappy match, then by God, so would the person
responsible for it.
===============================================================================
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
“Arcturus Black was a part of it, I’ve no doubt,” Rodolphus Lestrange said to
Armand Malfoy as they munched on food halfheartedly in a side parlor.
Malfoy nodded. “It is possible he was even the instigator. It is a great pity
that Abraxas got embroiled in treason, but Black was probably the one who
started it.”
Lestrange was less convinced of that. In his view, Abraxas Malfoy was more
likely to have been the originator, since his father’s death would have meant
that hewould have become the high lord of all wizards in Britain. But it was
also possible that he and Black egged each other on. Lestrange himself had not
always wanted to take measures as extreme as Lord Malfoy did, but from the very
beginning, Black and Abraxas Malfoy had been a team of negativity—a pair of
doubters, casting cold water upon every suggestion that would have shown
strength over the blood-traitors that troubled them. “If we do this, there will
be revolt.” “Our power is limited.” “The castle is impregnable.” Doubt after
doubt after doubt, Lestrange thought—and what had it gotten them? The Riddle-
Granger match looked very much as if it really would take place in a year or
two, depending on how quickly the Mudblood completed her education—and her
example would be an instigation for others. He and Lord Malfoy had created the
new law banning any additional Mudbloods from Hogwarts after her, but it seemed
like it might be too little, too late. There would be a fight over it unless
they took care of the problem quickly.
Black would not even support having Lady Riddle marry Caractacus Burke anymore,
Lestrange thought. Hisintentions for the marriage, and Lord Malfoy’s, were
quite different to Black’s and Abraxas’s, which had centered on putting a
pureblood ally in charge of a magical fortress and potentially having an infant
Burke who was pureblood and would therefore cut off the young half-blood rebel
from inheriting. Lestrange and Lord Malfoy now wanted the match to take place
so that Burke could kill Lord Thomas and Lady Hermione. That would remove the
threat permanently. They would not live in righteous indignation at having been
deprived, which would be a motive for them to gather enemies of the regime
under their banner. After the Scabior incident, Lestrange wanted them dead.
Once Lady Riddle produced a healthy infant with Burke, the plan was for her to
die too. Lestrange was finished with half-measures—but he was very sure that
Black would not support this. Every time the subject of killing Riddle and
Granger had arisen, he had shouted it down as a horrible idea. Lestrange also
suspected that he had moral qualms about it, which just disgusted him; but the
fact that the Riddle lady had only consolidated her power—making defense
alliances with noble families, getting Severus Snape firmly on her side,
accumulating wealth—had definitively proven Black wrong as to the strategy,
Lestrange thought. Well—one of those alliances is a trap, and it won’t be long
now.
He returned his gaze to his lord. “That may be, your lordship,” he said.
“Either way, they certainly conspired together. Just before Abraxas died, do
you remember what he said? He was quite eager to protect Black. Of course they
were both involved.” He sighed. “But what to do? Castle Black is as much of a
magical fortress now as Castle Gaunt.” Lestrange refused to use the name
“Parselhall.” “And I’m certain that they would not admit even your high
lordship as a guest without searching you.”
Malfoy leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “You are right, Rodolphus, but I have
had another idea. You see, the Blacks seem to trust Lucius and Narcissa. I know
this because Lucius idly mentioned that Narcissa’s aunt Walburga corresponded
with her, mentioning that Narcissa’s father Cygnus would be moving out of his
manor to Castle Draconis in Godric’s Hollow soon.”
“Cygnus’s wife is a Rosier,” Lestrange said. “She can obviously be trusted,
being of civilized stock, but what about him?”
“It says something that he is choosing to live with Lucius rather than
Arcturus, does it not?”
Lestrange was confused, as he tried to wrap his mind around the tangle of
loyalties. “Your lordship said that the Blacks trust Lucius and Narcissa.
Should they not?”
Malfoy gazed past Lestrange wordlessly. “Lucius and Narcissa are deciding on
their loyalties, I think,” he finally said. “I hope they choose correctly. And
this brings me to my plan. With Cygnus in residence at Lucius’s castle,
Arcturus Black will be even more inclined to trust them. I think that they
would be willing to visit Lucius for a feast, and there is the opening.”
Lestrange was still confused. “I don’t understand, my lord,” he said
respectfully. “Do you think that Black will visit Lucius if you are already
known to be there? Because….” He trailed off.
Malfoy laughed evilly. “Oh, Rodolphus, that is not what I mean. You wouldn’t
know, of course… but there is a secret entrance into the castle. It dates from
before we Malfoys owned it, when it belonged to Gryffindor. I learned of it and
used it to lead the surprise attack that resulted in his removal from the
castle. The fool did not have any ward over it, relying strictly on secrecy…
pity for him that he was betrayed.” Malfoy smirked. “There is a blood ward over
this entrance now, of course, but as I am the one who cast it, it will allow
any of Malfoy blood into the castle. I do not think Lucius knows about it.”
Lestrange’s eyes were wide as he took this in. “How did you learn of this, my
lord? Did Gryffindor speak of it after he swore the oath to you?”
“No,” Malfoy replied, “he did not.” The tone of his voice indicated that the
subject was closed. “Here is my plan, Rodolphus. It is the custom of the family
to hold a leaving feast before Draco returns to Hogwarts. Your lady wife and
daughter may be present; unfortunately I cannot spare you—”
“I am ever at your service,” Lestrange said. “And they wouldn’t trust me,
anyway.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” Malfoy agreed mercilessly. “On the day of the feast,
before the guests arrive, I will sneak into the castle and dust the bed that
will be Arcturus Black’s with poison. He will die in his sleep on the first
night.”
Lestrange considered this. “A fine idea, my lord. Will it be identifiable as
poison after they discover that he is dead? Or does it not matter to you?”
“Lucius does not know of the secret entrance, so I do not care. Let the Blacks
think that Lucius poisoned him. Let Lucius and Narcissa wonder if there is
treachery afoot in their own household. Anything to break the bond between the
families, and bind Lucius firmly to our side, is something you should
support—and sowing chaos and mistrust would do it.”
Lestrange smirked, agreeing wholeheartedly.
“Now, you have mentioned a plan to take care of the Riddle problem,” Malfoy
continued. “How goes it?”
“It should bear fruit soon, my lord.”
“Good.”
===============================================================================
Castle Draconis, Godric’s Hollow.
It was the end of summer, and Draco, the pride of his parents, the future Lord
Malfoy of Britain, was to return to Hogwarts soon. This grand feast was being
held in his honor, he told himself as he surveyed the head table where his
extended family sat. There were his parents, his Black grandparents, his aunts
Bellatrix and Andromeda, his uncle Regulus, and Regulus’s grandfather, Lord
Black. Adelaide was there too, though she looked none too happy to be there.
She had been worse than usual since Christmas, Draco thought as he ate. He did
not know why, what had occurred around Christmas to make her so wretchedly
unpleasant—unless Granger’s assertion was actually true, which Draco could not
quite rule out—but it was extremely hard on his nerves and had solidified his
resolution of not marrying her. And who would gainsay it? He was the only
possible Malfoy heir, unless his mother had another child—which surely she was
too old to do now. She was almost forty! If he renounced his cousin and
proposed to Astoria Greengrass, as he fully intended to do someday, he was
quite sure he would have his way. He just had to tolerate Adelaide for a little
while longer. Once he had finished Hogwarts and was declared a master of magic,
he would do as he saw fit.
Uncle Regulus looked very nervous, Draco thought. He wondered why. Aunt
Andromeda leaned in and whispered something in Regulus’s ear. She had
apparently noticed Draco’s look, because as soon as she sat upright again,
Regulus arranged his features into a look of forced calmness. Draco then shot a
glance at Lord Black, who was eating little and seemed somehow ill… or perhaps
tired. Why had he come if he was ill? It was true that as the patriarch of
House Black, he always had attended this feast, but no one would have thought
the worse of him if he stayed at home due to illness. But then, Draco thought,
he didn’t look ill when he first arrived. It was only after he rested here for
a bit. I hope he doesn’t spread a disease to all of us.
Aunt Bellatrix refilled her wine goblet for the second time. Draco looked down,
scowling. She was a great witch, but her drinking habit often made her
unpleasant to be around. Of course, a lot of the Blacks drank heavily… Draco
hated to think it; that was his mother’s family, but so it was.
His father stood up to raise a toast to him—“the bright and glorious future of
House Malfoy in this kingdom!”—and the guests joined in. Draco smirked to
himself in pleasure.
===============================================================================
That evening, Draco was disturbed from his sleep by the sounds of voices.
Annoyance filled his mind as he awoke. There was a bit of light filtering
through the glass, but not much; it was likely early dawn, and Draco was
accustomed to sleeping in. Grumbling under his breath, he pulled a day robe on
over his sleep robe and left his bedchamber, only to meet his Aunt Andromeda in
the hallway. She cast him a darkly suspicious glance. Affronted, Draco sneered
back at her.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, not attempting to be very polite.
She eyed him. “It’s best if we all meet together to discuss it,” she snapped.
“Come with me.”
Draco’s annoyance grew as he followed her downstairs into a parlor. He took a
seat next to his parents, who were glaring across the parlor at their
relatives. Draco did not know what had happened, but his instinct was to take
his parents’ side in it. He scanned the room. His parents, his two aunts,
Adelaide, Uncle Regulus, his Black grandparents… where was Lord Black?
He did not have to wait in suspense for long. His father spoke, giving a deeply
suspicious look across the room. “My friends and family,” he began in grave
tones, “I regret to inform you that his lordship, Arcturus Black, passed in his
sleep last night.”
Regulus and Andromeda seemed to withdraw into themselves protectively. “He was
well when we all arrived yesterday,” Regulus spoke up. “He only started to take
ill after he arrived.”
“What, exactly, are you implying?” Bellatrix sneered.
Regulus eyed her. “I think the implications are clear, sister. No one in this
castle is unaware of what happened to our host’s honored father.”
“You speak very boldly,” Bellatrix snapped. She went for her wand. “Are you
suggesting that Lord Lucius murderedyour grandfather?”
Regulus did not reply, but merely gazed impassively at her. As he did, he
wondered about Narcissa. What might sheknow? According to information that he
had received from Snape, Regulus was very likely gazing into the eyes of a
killer who, rather than acknowledging and defending what was a perfectly
defensible deed, instead was pleased to let her enemies take the blame for her
own act. Had she had an accomplice in killing Scabior? WasNarcissa to be
trusted? She was a Black by birth, but she had married a Malfoy… but, at the
same time, a Malfoy who had believed himself to be a target of Rodolphus
Lestrange’s scheming. Who could be trusted? Regulus shifted his gaze and locked
eyes with his uncle Cygnus, who looked genuinely stunned at the turn of
events—stunned and angry.
“The sheets on his bed were found to be dusted with poison,” Cygnus said
tightly. “Explain that, if you can, Lucius.”
Regulus and Andromeda gasped. As the shock subsided, their eyebrows narrowed in
fury. Regulus reached for his wand.
“I had no idea!” Lucius exclaimed. His eyes were wide, either in surprise or a
very good mimicry of it. “I would never poison a guest, least of all family!”
Cygnus gazed from his middle daughter to his eldest and youngest, studying
their faces, trying to come to a decision. He winced, closing his eyes tightly
for a moment. Druella, his wife, scowled, seemingly taking the side of her
favorite child Bellatrix, but she had been raised according to Norman customs
and did not contradict her husband in public.
Regulus and Andromeda exchanged a quick look. Although their marriage had been
contracted for politics, and it had never kindled into romantic love, they had
become friends and allies, and a kind of understanding had arisen between them
about certain matters. They were, after all, both Blacks, but they also were
independent thinkers. They understood each other… very well indeed.
In the next moment, they rose from their seats. Uneasily, Cygnus followed, his
decision apparently made. Druella glowered but rose reluctantly. “Someone in
this room betrayed and murdered my grandfather,” Regulus said severely. He eyed
Bellatrix, then turned to Lucius and Narcissa. “He anticipated that this might
happen after the death of his good friend Abraxas Malfoy. Given the close ties
of kinship that we all have, this is worse than a mere disgrace. My wife and
father-in-law and I will leave now, and we shall not return until we can be
certain that we are not walking into a den of treacherous kinslayers.”
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
“This is grim news,” Severus said, spreading the letter from Regulus in front
of Merope, Tom, and Hermione on the table. “Lord Arcturus Black is dead at
Lucius Malfoy’s castle in Godric’s Hollow—killed by poison-dusted bed sheets.”
“They got him,” Tom muttered. “Malfoy and Lestrange. Does it mean that Lucius
Malfoy has taken their side now?”
“Not necessarily. It could have been Lucius, but also present were Lady
Lestrange, Lord Cygnus Black, and his wife Lady Druella. She was a Rosier,
so….”
“So she’s another treacherous Norman,” Tom said venomously.
“I would not have put it exactly that way,” Severus muttered. He eyed Tom. “Her
family is certainly allied with the Lestranges and Armand Malfoy, though.”
“Why would Lord Cygnus betray one of his own family? Or, for that matter, Lady
Lestrange? She is at odds with her own husband and probably killed his vassal.”
Tom considered something. “Have you told that to Lord Regulus?”
“I have,” he said, “and that is why he is not sure about what side she is truly
on. As for Lord Cygnus, he’s an odd one. He has lived as a comparative hermit,
in a manor on the eastern shore.”
“The story has always been that it’s because he is from the cadet branch of the
family, since he is the son of Arcturus’s late cousin Pollux, and he was just
pleased to negotiate a marriage for his middle daughter with her cousin
Regulus, the heir. But envy can be a powerful motivator to betray one’s kin,”
Merope said. “I am not accusing him, of course, but it could be.”
“That just makes Regulus’s father ‘Lord Black’ now, though,” Tom objected, “not
Cygnus.”
“Spite is powerful, even if one doesn’t get anything out of it,” Hermione
muttered sadly. Tom shot her a curious look, but she did not elaborate further.
“No one is claiming credit for the poisoning,” Severus said. “That means that
either it was an independent act, and not at the behest of Lord Malfoy and
Rodolphus Lestrange, who would pardon it if it had been—or that no one present
at that feast actually did it. Though how that could be, they don’t know. They
are going to examine the castle thoroughly for weaknesses. In the meantime,
Lucius and Narcissa suspect they have been betrayed—or at least, they give the
strong impression of it—and Regulus and Andromeda don’t trust any of the others
now. Cygnus was going to live with the Malfoys, but he changed his mind,
supposedly—but he won’t move into Castle Black or Regulus’s home Canis Manor
either.”
“So even if Malfoy didn’t use any of the guests to do this, he and Lestrange
managed to foment division,” Tom said.
Severus nodded.
“Do you think…” Hermione hesitated. “What about one of Lord Lucius’s house-
elves? Could Lord Malfoy have ordered them to do it?”
“Only if Lucius has any that belong to the Malfoy family as a whole, rather
than his own household. But it’s a good idea,” Severus said, somewhat
grudgingly, “and I will mention it to Regulus.”
This seemed to mark the end of that unpleasant topic, for there was a pause,
and then Merope spoke up with a different subject. “I understand that your
friend Rob Wilkes is coming today, Tom,” she said.
Tom nodded, his dark eyes eager. “I look forward to his visit.”
Hermione cast her eyes down at her plate in irritation. Every day that Tom
spent time with one of these boys was a day that she felt obliged to avoid him.
It really did seem that her future would not be that of the beloved equal and
co-conspirator that she had thought it would be during her first Hogwarts year
and half of her second, but rather, the sadly more typical fixture in a castle
who had no part in her husband’s doings. It was a wretched idea.
===============================================================================
When Rob Wilkes arrived at the castle, Hermione greeted him properly, but then
turned aside with her nose in the air, sauntering off with Crookshanks at her
feet toward the library. Tom shook his head and headed out the doors toward the
grounds, his friend hurrying to keep up with him.
“I heard that you had important news for me,” Tom said in a low voice as soon
as they were alone.
Wilkes nodded, glancing around. “Yes, Tom—my lord—I mean, your highness.”
Tom smirked. “What is it, then?”
He took a deep breath. “It’s two things. The first one has to do with
Caractacus Burke, the former shopkeeper.”
“The one who was given a Black family manor at the same time my mother was
confirmed in her title? That one?”
“The very one.” Wilkes’s eyes gleamed. “I heard this from my father. Burke had
dealings with your lady mother before you were born, and he….”
Tom stopped cold. “Did that foul lowborn English blood-traitor hurt my mother?”
he asked, his voice low and deadly.
“Not to Father’s knowledge, but he did cheat her. She had an item… something
that supposedly had belonged to Slytherin himself, something that opened only
by Parseltongue and supposedly contained a map to… you know,” he said
pointedly.
Tom’s eyes widened. “A map to Slytherin’s secret chamber? And Burke stole it?”
“He took advantage of your mother’s desperation to give her a very low amount
of money for it,” Wilkes said.
Tom gripped his wand. “That filthy bastard—how darehe—and now he cowers behind
the Blacks. We shouldn’t have anything to do with them!”
“I’m sorry, your highness? What do you mean?”
Tom realized his mistake and tried to recover. “There are some who think the
Blacks aren’t as much our enemies as the Malfoys and the other filthy Normans,”
he said. “If they have been sheltering Burke, a mere shopkeeper squatting in a
manor house, after something like that, then it just shows that they are out
for themselves alone. An artifact of Slytherin! It belongs to myfamily. My
mother and I are the only people alive who have that blood, and some utter
nobody holds onto it, an item he cannot even open! What sort of thing is it?”
he asked, his tone more reasonable.
“My father says it’s either a jewel box or a locket of some sort.”
“As soon as I can,” Tom resolved, “I am going to go to that house and confront
him over it. How dare he cheat my mother and then keep what belongs to us! And
it contains a map to the Chamber….”
“That’s what my father heard,” Wilkes said hurriedly. “It may not be right.”
“Slytherin kept the information somewhere,” Tom declared. “It is as good a
possibility as any. As soon as I can, I’m going to pay Burke a little visit.”
After this effusive reaction, Wilkes was reluctant to tell the rest of his news
to Tom, for fear of what kind of explosion it might produce. But his father had
assured him that he had wanted to find out all that he could about the Riddle
family after swearing an alliance with Tom’s mother—the more they knew, the
more they could help their new allies, the wizard had assured his son—and this
next was an interesting, and outrageous, bit of information indeed.
“There is something else I have to tell you,” he said hesitantly. “It has to do
with your father.”
Tom stopped cold. “My father? My Muggle father? What about him?” He eyed his
friend. “You knew I was a half-blood. I hope this isn’t suddenly a problem.”
His tone made it clear that it had better not be a problem.
“Oh no, it’s nothing to do with that… sire,” he said. “It’s just… I’m sorry to
tell you that your lady mother lied to you when she said that he died.”
Tom gripped his wand, unsure whether to be angry that his friend had called his
mother a liar or inclined to believe what he said. “What?”
“I don’t know if your lady mother realizes this, but your father is actually
still alive. He got married again, to a Muggle woman, and lives in a barony not
too far away.”
“So he… abandoned my mother? He abandoned me?”
Wilkes looked down. “My lord, he’s a Muggle. What did you expect?”
Tom’s breath was heaving in fury. “Clearly, I should have looked to the past to
know what to expect. King Arthur betrayed his wizard son, my ancestor, and
turned to a Muggle woman, after all. That is what I should have expected. I
just amended my plans, Wilkes. Burke can wait.  My fatherand I need to have a
little talk.”
***** The Fallen Son *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you, thank you! Here's a very important chapter, for two main
     reasons.
     Warning: This chapter contains a depiction of domestic violence as
     well as some other possibly disturbing content.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Hermione took up her quill and sighed heavily. Tom was still off somewhere with
Wilkes, and as much as she valued her correspondence with Luna, it did not
offer the sort of advice that she really craved right now. Luna—and, for that
matter, Ginny—had not been raised as she had. They had never experienced the
specific variety of problem that she currently was. They… she sighed again… had
the freedom to choose as they pleased for their spouse, if they even wanted to
marry at all.
Hermione could not even ask Merope for advice, because although she hadbeen
raised noble, Hermione was not sure if she had been betrothed to anyone—though
whether she had or not, she had taken matters into her own hands. And, more
pertinently, Merope was the mother of the person about whom Hermione wanted
advice. It would not do at all. However, there wassomeone else that Hermione
could write, and she was surprised at herself for not thinking of it before.
I have not lived with them in three years, she thought as she began to compose
her letter, and perhaps it is that. But my mother experienced this. My
grandfather offered my father and uncle for her and her sister, and my other
grandfather agreed to it because it was such a good match. My mother knows. I
don’t know if she ever argued with my father, but she must know about some of
this. She was raised as a knight’s daughter—and she experienced this type of
arrangement. I’ll ask her what to do.
Hermione began to compose her letter, explaining that she and Tom had
quarreled, that he had not hit her or otherwise harmed her physically, but that
they were gravely at odds now—and she asked what she should do about it. She
decided not to mention what the arguments had been about. As much as she wished
she could tell her mother alone, she did not expect that her mother would keep
certain kinds of information from her father. If her parents knew that she and
Tom had slept together, her father would probably insist on a wedding
immediately at swordpoint—and if they knew that Tom had argued with her the
second time because he had been tortured over a murder that was related to the
rape of a classmate, they would likely be horrified and take her out of
Hogwarts. Either option would result in the end of her formal magical
education. She regretted it, because since she was not going to lie about the
causes of their dispute, she could not easily convey the severity of it. She
just hoped that her mother did not think that it was some trivial dispute
between young lovers. She wanted to know what her mother thought she ought to
do to persuade Tom to be more reasonable and considerate of her.
===============================================================================
Elsewhere in the castle, Merope was reading a letter that she had just received
from Armand Malfoy. Her eyes grew ever wider as she examined it.
 
Your ladyship,
I apologize once again for the suffering of your son at the wand of my right-
hand man’s vassal. Lord Carrow had been attending me in my castle, but I think
the position must have given him airs and made him believe he could act as he
pleased. I cannot otherwise account for his conduct to your son.
 
“Sure you can’t,” Merope muttered under her breath. Had Malfoy even written
this, she wondered? Her previous encounters with him had shown him to be an
impulsive, aggressive, questionably rational old wizard, certainly not one who
could paint a false smile on his withered face. She half-believed that
Lestrange had composed this letter… but then, he was not much better. With both
Abraxas Malfoy and Arcturus Black dead, and Lucius Malfoy apparently not
trusting anyone, including his own grandfather, who could have been the person
behind this oily composition? Perhaps they are better at unctuous deceit when
they can hide behind handwriting, she thought as she continued to read.
 
He has been relieved of his duties to me and returned to serve the Lestrange
family as a result of his disobedience. However, I understand why this
punishment—and the fifty Galleons—may not assuage your wrath. I have pardoned
Lord and Lady Carrow for repudiating their oaths to the Gaunt family, because
of the circumstances, so do not expect that I will order the Lestranges to
surrender either of them. Nonetheless, Lord Lestrange and I have considered
your proposition of voiding the outstanding debt of Hangleton, and I have
concluded that this is an offer I can make to you. Although I do have evidence
that Hangleton cheated on its taxes while your late brother Lord Morfin Gaunt
ruled as baron, this occurred before your ascension to the high seat. However,
in this and coming years, I do expect full remittance of tribute owed to the
Lord of Wizards and Witches.
 
Merope glowered. “Evidence?” she spat. “Probably something that the Carrows
told him.” She pushed the letter across the table and thought about what she
had just read. Something is up, she thought. I do believe either Malfoy wrote
this himself or Lestrange for him, now that I have read all of it, but they
obviously have something planned—and whatever it is, it is bad. They would not
let that much gold go. It must be this scheme of forced marriage to Caractacus
Burke that Severus has mentioned before. They must think they have a way of
killing Sir Thomas. Even changing the official records to show an annulment
won’t release me from my vows as a witch… it would delegitimize Tom… but I
would still be bound by my own words, since Sir Thomas was the one who broke
faith, not I. They must believe they have a plan to kill my former husband.
Severus Snape had been in the room the entire time. When Merope pushed the
letter at him, he picked it up gingerly and scanned it. As he finished it, he
heaved a sigh.
“The barony didowe a lot of money in taxes,” he muttered in a subdued voice. He
gazed at her with sad eyes. “I have another confession: Your late brother
turned over all the accounting tasks to me, and I concealed the true income
from him, because he was such a profligate. I believed he would run through it
all and put the fief in debt to God only knows who otherwise. I am sorry for
the repercussions. I never anticipated this.”
Merope smiled weakly. “You have no reason to apologize. To be honest, Severus,
I suspected this at the very beginning of our acquaintance, when you showed me
the accounts and the gold. It was good of you to protect the wealth of the fief
from him, since I know you did not steal. This would not have been an issue if
not for a spy—Carrow, most likely, the traitor—and Malfoy’s determination to
harm this family.” She sighed deeply. “They have something else planned, of
course, and I assume it relates to the Burke scheme.” She stretched her hands
out across the table and did not look at him. “Severus… if it turns out that
they have a plan to draw out Sir Thomas to his death, there is something to
consider….”
Severus looked pained for a fraction of a second, but attempted in the next to
force the expression off his face. He knew what she was about to allude to, and
his heart should have leapt for joy at the idea, but not like this. Not as a
counter-move in a political game of lords. You are a nobleman now, he told
himself. This is often part of it. At least she does care.
“I will always do my duty to you and your family, my lady,” he said stiffly.
She glanced at him. “Duty, Severus?” she said, her voice low. She rose from her
seat. “If that is how you see it, very well.” Before he could explain—if he had
even been capable, which, at the moment, he was not, in his embarrassment—she
left the room in a swish of robes.
===============================================================================
Tom was trying to discover where his father currently lived—and to do so
without his mother’s knowing about it. The older documents from before they
became nobles were still in the castle, though Tom hoped they were not in his
mother’s bedchamber or her private office. Those rooms would probably be
locked, even against him.
Askingher where he had lived was out of the question. It was too likely to
rouse her suspicion, as he had always taken more interest by far in the Gaunt
side—the magical side—than in his father’s family. Finally, four days after
Wilkes arrived, the very day he was to return to his home, Tom asked him if he
knew anything more.
“I don’t know if it’s right, highness,” the boy mumbled, “but my father
mentioned that he lived in a village of the baron, the Muggle lord, just to the
north of Hangleton. Which one, I don’t know. It’s a large holding.”
Tom considered that. “If he is a knight, he will be easy enough to locate amid
streets full of peasants… unless he is fighting for one of the Muggle
pretenders. Is he?”
“Not to my father’s knowledge.”
Tom nodded. “Good.” He clenched his wand. “I have some questions to ask him
tomorrow.”
But the current day was not yet finished, and in addition to the expected event
of Wilkes’s departure, another event not expected by anyone was to happen early
that evening.
===============================================================================
Tom and Merope were seeing Wilkes off, with Hermione standing by stoically, ice
in her generally warm eyes, when the Muggle captain of the guard for the barony
knocked at the great doors of the castle hall. Displeasure showing in his
distinctive face, Severus Snape descended from the platform to attend to the
call.
“What is this, Nigel?” he said sharply to the man once on the other side of the
doors.
“My lord, we have apprehended a wizard trying to gain entrance to the castle,”
Nigel said. “The device that her ladyship the baroness gave us was of infinite
use. He claims he is a former liege lord of the baroness, seeking to take the
oath again, but that’s not for me to know. I thought you should check it out
first.”
Severus’s eyebrows flew up his forehead in surprise. Who could it be? Amycus
Carrow would not dare… was this some new scheme of Malfoy or Lestrange? He
gazed at the guard captain. “You did right,” he said brusquely. “Lead me to
this wizard.”
“We’ve kept him in the guard house,” Nigel said conversationally. “He can’t
wriggle out of that binding that the baroness gave us. I’m just glad it doesn’t
work on us ordinary mortals who have no magic.”
Earlier that year, Merope had given the more important Muggles in her village
some leather straps that were charmed to detect magic and wrap around the arms
and legs of any wizard or witch on whom they were thrown. Since she was so
short-handed with respect to magical vassals, she and Severus had decided that
it was necessary to hand a bit of magic to the Muggles—a verysmall and highly
ordered bit, since they could not control anything magical.
Severus was rarely conversationally inclined even in the best of times, but he
certainly did not feel the inclination to chat with this man before seeing who
had been detained. He huffed, silencing the captain—who was intimidated both by
magic and by titled aristocrats—for the remainder of the walk to the guard
house.
Once they reached it, the man moved to unlock the door, but Severus flicked his
wand, wide black robe-sleeves draping from his wrists and waving slightly in
the air. The heavy door swung open. There in a hard chair, his arms and legs
bound tightly by the leather, was a pudgy wizard with beady little eyes and
sandy brown hair. One of his hands was missing its little finger. He was
certainly not dressed well, and he smelled unclean, as if he had spent a great
deal of time in the wild, but Severus recognized him.
“Peter Pettigrew!”
The wizard gazed back, his eyes darting from one spot to another in the room
before settling nervously on Severus’s face. “Severus Snape!” he exclaimed, his
voice sounding wheezy but enthusiastic.
Severus glared. “There are ways of disguising oneself by magic. I will not
admit you to Lady Riddle’s presence until I examine you thoroughly to ensure
that you are not an impostor.”
Pettigrew swallowed. “Severus, my lord, I have come here to swear the oath—”
“And if you truly are Pettigrew, you will be allowed to do just that. But I
have been told that you attempted to get into the castle, which is not a great
start.”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” he whined. “I just forgot about protocol. You
must understand, Severus, I have been living rough for five years, after my
mother’s death—”
“Do not speak of it to me. If you are sincere, you can tell Lady Riddle and me
at the same time. Nigel,” he said to the captain, “I will return shortly with
potions to test this man’s claims. Thank you for your good work.”
Severus returned to the guard house shortly with a vial of Veritaserum in one
hand and a bottle of enchanted water in another, purportedly from an ancient
sea cave that figured in several Celtic wizarding legends, which would wash
away physical disguises. With his signature scowl adorning his face, he strode
to the wizard and doused him with the water.
Pettigrew coughed and shivered, but his appearance remained the same. A thin
smile of satisfaction appeared on Severus’s face. He supposed he shouldn’t, but
he enjoyed this. This wizard had vanished, abandoning his duties, while
he—Severus—had stayed on, putting up with numerous indignities, for the sake of
the decentmembers of the family. He had been stripped of his title and reduced
to being a castle employee because of his blood status. He had been sent on
increasingly outrageous errands to procure expensive items. He had, finally,
been ordered to go to London to bring back Merope, Morfin’s own sister,so that
he could force her to be his “wife.” He had risked a traitor’s death to kill
Morfin and clear the way for Merope. What had Pettigrew done? Apparently he had
hidden in the wilderness for a while, but how much hardship was that, really,
to a wizard? Severus had not the least problem making the wretch suffer a bit.
He forced open Pettigrew’s mouth and poured the Veritaserum down his throat.
Pettigrew’s face grew slack and expressionless. Severus gestured for the Muggle
captain of the guard to leave.
“Why did you abandon your vassalage?” Severus asked Pettigrew once they were
alone.
“Lord Morfin killed my mother,” Pettigrew said. “He ordered her into his bed,
and when she refused, he set a nest of adders on her. She did not even have a
witch’s funeral. Her body was dumped in a midden.”
Even knowing how vile Morfin Gaunt had been, Severus was appalled, and his ill
feeling toward Pettigrew softened a bit at this. “Did you think your own life
was in danger?”
“I was sure it was. The Carrows had fled already, and it seemed the wise thing
to do.”
Severus considered what to ask next. Suddenly a question occurred to him.
Glaring at the wizard, he asked in harsh tones, “When did you learn that Lady
Riddle was alive?”
“Three years ago.”
Severus’s black eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed. “And why did you not
return then?”
“She was born a Gaunt. I did not know what kind of baroness she was.”
Severus considered that. It was still cowardly, but he supposed that it made
sense, given the appalling history that Pettigrew had narrated. And—he realized
with a pang—he was far from clean himself. Who was he to pass judgment on this
man’s cowardice? To Pettigrew, it had been self-preservation.
Something else occurred to Severus, something that he had tried to discover
from Sirius Black but had been unable to do so. “Are you an Animagus?” he
pressed.
“Yes.”
That did not surprise Severus as much as he thought. He supposed he had always
known it, on some level. “What is your form?”
“A garden rat. It is how I survived in hiding for so long.”
“You lived as a rat for five years?”
“Mostly so. I did stay near wizarding areas, though.”
The potion was going to wear off in a moment; Severus had very little of it and
had not wanted to waste such an expensive solution. He had one last question
before he could no longer be sure that Pettigrew was talking under Veritaserum.
“You stayed near wizarding areas, so you could have heard news and gossip. Do
you know of the current political situation regarding my lady, Lord Armand
Malfoy, and Rodolphus Lestrange?”
“Yes, I know about it.” He blinked, and the dullness in his eyes sharpened as
the potion’s effect disappeared. For a moment he looked nervous, but in the
next, it passed.
“Very well,” Severus said, rising. “I will have suitable clothing procured for
you before your presentation to Lady Riddle. I understand that you acted on
fear, but you did avoid your duties even while knowing that she lived and ruled
here. You must realize that her ladyship may place you on probation, in a
sense. You will need to prove your loyalty to her.”
“I am ready to do that,” Pettigrew replied.
===============================================================================
That night, Severus brought Pettigrew before Merope to tell his story and take
the oath. He was dressed in ill-fitting brown velvet, but it was still better
cloth than the rags he had worn when he was discovered. Merope sat on the high
seat, her face serene and solemn, as she accepted his oath of fealty. Hermione
stood nearby, observing the wizard’s jittery behavior. When Severus had first
brought him into the grand hall, Crookshanks had darted away from her side to
try to attack him. Given what Pettigrew had explained to her and Lady Merope
about the horrible fate of his mother, Hermione was shocked and deeply
embarrassed that this would be part of his reintroduction to the castle, and
had confined the cat to her room after that incident. It was understandable
that her cat would hunt rats—that, after all, was how she had first found
him—but Pettigrew was human, even if Crookshanks apparently could detect his
Animagus form even when he was not transformed. At least, she assumed that was
why he was acting this way. She would have to train him not to do that again.
Tom was nowhere to be found, and Merope was deeply displeased. “He did not have
to be here, in a legal sense,” she said after the ceremony, “but it was proper
for him to. His friend is already gone. Where could he have gotten to?”
Hermione certainly did not know, and she was wickedly pleased that Tom’s mother
was irritated with him. Tom was likely somewhere in the castle, or on the
grounds, his nose buried in a book about Salazar Slytherin or Morgana le Fay or
the Gaunt family. Hermione would very much enjoy seeing his mother upbraid him
for rudeness caused by his obsessions. Those very fixations had all but
destroyed herrelationship with him, and she wanted him to get his comeuppance
for it.
===============================================================================
Tom was not, in fact, in the barony at all. He had changed his plans after
learning that Peter Pettigrew had appeared. Dealing with that situation would
surely occupy all of them, and they would not note his absence at such a time.
He prowled through the villages of the fief, a hooded black cloak concealing
his face and fine clothing from the villagers. This was a large barony, which
surprised Tom—would such a wealthy Muggle as this place’s lord not want to
increase his wealth by supporting a pretender to the throne, rather than
remaining neutral?—but then he remembered that Muggles could not influence the
course of a war by any but the crudest means, so it would be a gamble. The
baron probably assumed he was better off protecting what he had, rather than
risk losing all of it—and possibly his life as well—by backing the loser.
Hermione’s father had made the same calculation, Tom recalled.
He grew exasperated. He needed to find his blasted father, and this task had
proved much more difficult than he had anticipated. He did not want to talk to
poor Muggles, but perhaps it was necessary. Surely some of them—the better-
educated tradesmen, most likely, rather than the ignorant provincial
peasants—would know where to find a knight. He scanned the street, settling
upon a Muggle dwelling that stood a little apart from the others and seemed a
bit nicer than the rest. It also a bore a sign with no lettering—illiterate
Muggles, Tom thought with scorn—but a picture of a robe and a shoe on it. If
this was the house of the village tailor and cobbler, perhaps this skilled
Muggle had even offered his services to Tom’s father….
In a minute, Tom had exactly the information that he desired. Sir Thomas Riddle
and his second wife, Lady Cecilia, lived atop a hill inside the walls
surrounding the baron’s castle. Tom craned his head to see it. It was a fine
house, to be sure, and a deep resentment simmered inside Tom as he began to
approach it. It was not that he wished he lived as a subject of a Muggle baron…
but after all, he would not have lived as one indefinitely. If he had grown up
with his father, he would have lived like that only until his uncle had died,
and then his… parents…would have come to Parselhall and his mother would have
assumed her title, just as she had done. That would not have changed, but other
things would have.
As he walked, he remembered the winter of his eighth year, when Mother had been
unable to afford meat and the two of them had grown tired from weakness of the
blood.
He remembered the tiny flat in London that they had lived in, a loft above the
potioneer shop where his mother had worked. She had put up animal skins over
the windows, obscuring the view, because they could not afford glass and the
potionmaker would not pay for it.
He remembered the first year he went to Hogwarts, the year before they came
into their property and title, the year before he met Hermione. “Filthy half-
blood! Blood-traitor whore of a mother! Peasant!” The jeers of his Norman-
blooded classmates, the spawn of invaders, rapists, and robbers, bounced
through his mind as he ascended that hill.
He remembered a particularly awful scene from his first Hogwarts year, which he
had never told Hermione—or even his mother. Someone—he had never found out who,
but it had to have been one of the older pupils—had cursed him to tumble down
one of the stone staircases of the castle. He had spent that night in the sick
room as the healer repaired his broken ribs and ankles. Professor Slughorn had
been furious—heat least had seen Tom’s prodigious magical talent and had taken
him under his wing—but it had not mattered. Everyone in Slytherin had denied
being part of the attack, and Dumbledore had not permitted Slughorn to question
them under Veritaserum. Dumbledore never liked me, Tom seethed.
He was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin and Morgana le Fay! Even if this low,
disgraceful, cheating Muggle was his father, his magical lineage was
impeccable. Morethan impeccable. He clutched his wand in growing fury.
The grand house was near. Tom stood before it in the shadows, largely concealed
by his cloak, the dark night seeming almost to embrace him, as he gathered his
thoughts and attempted to cool his temper. He would give his father a chance to
explain himself first. Perhaps the male Gaunts had come after him… and perhaps
he did not know that Mother still lived.
There was a faint crackle in the air as Tom passed onto the grounds of the
knight’s manor, but it was brief, and Tom did not think much of it. He drew his
wand surreptitiously and cast sleep spells on the guards that feebly protected
the entrance to the manor. Smirking, he cast another spell to cause the double
doors to swing open, and—with another deep breath—entered his father’s home.
He put two more guards to sleep, these stationed in the halls, before he
located the family parlor where a fire blazed and the Muggle Riddles sat.
Pushing the door open, he stood in the threshold, wand in hand, alert and
ready. Sure enough, a fire crackled away in the great hearth. The heads of a
boar and a stag were mounted on the walls on either side of the outward-
projecting flue, and on the other side of the room fluttered the banners of Sir
Thomas and, Tom guessed, his Muggle lord.
Sir Thomas Riddle was a man in his early forties. Tom realized, with shock,
that the man looked stunningly like himself, just at an older age. Silver
strands mixed with his black hair, and lines creased his face. Next to him sat
a much younger blonde woman, who Tom noticed with a surge of dismay was very
obviously with child.
“You!” Sir Thomas exclaimed, leaping to his feet. He reached for his dagger.
Lady Cecilia gasped and shrank back.
Tom flicked his wand, and the hand holding the weapon began to move inexorably
toward Sir Thomas’s own neck. The Muggle gasped and tried to force movement in
the opposite direction, but he could not fight the magic of a wizard. Tom
smirked as the lethally sharp point of the dagger drew ever nearer to Sir
Thomas’s carotid artery. Finally, the blade reached skin. Tom instantly stopped
the spell, leaving the dagger edge against Sir Thomas’s neck but—barely—not
drawing blood. The man gulped.
“You may drop that weapon,” Tom said coldly. “If you attempt to do anything
else with it, I’ll finish what I started.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the knight released his grip on the dagger. It
clattered to the floor. Tom smirked again.
“It seems that you know who I am,” he began in deliberately casual tones,
entering the room at a leisurely pace like a snake circling slowly around its
prey before striking. “I have the right to strike you dead here and now for
attempting to kill me, you know.”
“No you don’t! You entered my house, you little….” Sir Thomas thought better of
his words before completing that sentence. He swallowed again, resentfully.
“Thomas, is it?”
“LordThomas,” Tom corrected. “My mother—your truewife,” he added with a
contemptuous sneer to Lady Cecilia, “was reinstated in her rightful title three
years ago.” He gazed at his father again. “You could have shared in our riches,
but it’s far too late for that now, of course.”
“Your mother was never my true wife, and youare no legitimate son of mine.”
Spite filled the man’s words.
Tom pointed his wand at Sir Thomas’s nose again. “So claimed King Arthur after
he was with the harlot Guinevere, I’m sure. It was false when he said it, and
it is false for you to say it.”
“What in God’s name are you talking about that story for?”
“His true wifeand legitimateson are my ancestors,” Tom snarled, advancing. He
pressed the tip of his wand against his father’s forehead. “You married my
mother. There are records of it. You are a filthy liar.”
Sir Thomas sneered back. “Your mother married me under false pretenses. She
never told me that she was unnatural. She never said she was one of
thoseGaunts.”
“Unnatural?” Tom breathed, fury spiking through his system. He flicked his
wand, and the man doubled over in pain. “We are as natural as the air you
breathe! We have always been here, and we used to rule your kind! Perhaps
someday we shall again,” he added. He glared. “My mother was not obliged to
tell you about her family or her ability. It was a real marriage.”
“She lied to me.”
“And why might that be?” Tom mocked. “Perhaps because you held her in contempt
for her inborn ability—you, a pathetic Muggle, of all the presumption? She told
you her name. It’s hardly her fault if you were too stupid to guess that she
might have been one of the Gaunts from Hangleton.”
“Her family—yourfamily—was depraved!” he roared. “They would have fed me to a
snake! Everyone knows about how they hiss like snakes, and where it came
from—fucking snakes for centuries, no doubt, when they weren’t in bed with
their own mothers and fathers!”
Tom’s blood boiled. “How dare you, you ignorant lout of a Muggle! You don’t
know what you are talking about. I guess this is the kind of rot that your
kindthink up. This is what you really think of us!” He cursed Sir Thomas again,
making him reel.
Lady Cecilia cried out in despair. “Please stop!”
“Stay out of it,” he said coldly. “I have no quarrel with you, and you would be
wise to keep it that way.”
She shrank back in terror. Her husband glanced at her. “Don’t provoke him
further.”
“Yes, sir,” she said meekly, looking down at her large belly.
Tom scoffed in disgust. “How pathetic. That’s probably why you divorced my
mother. As a witch, she knew that she did not have to do as you told her!” He
paused for a moment. “And, by the way, if you think the marriage was invalid,
whydidyou get a civil divorce instead of an annulment?”
“The priest wouldn’t do it!” he exclaimed, hatred in his eyes. “Some rubbish
about how your mother had sworn her vows ‘as a witch’ and so he couldn’t
invalidate that.”
“What priest? There are no wizard priests,” Tom snapped, but suddenly he was
not so sure.
“I just bet there are,” said Sir Thomas resentfully. “You people have probably
infiltrated everything. This one was named… Father Alfred Black, I think. Or
Alphard.”
Tom was thunderstruck. If this priest was a wizarding Black, he was a member of
the family that Tom had never heard of. Lord Regulus’s brother Sirius had been
disowned. Had someone else, too? Tom had never known a wizard or witch who
openly followed the old religions of the Celts or the Vikings… they had all
converted to Christianity centuries ago, including his own family… well, a
century and a half ago, he thought… and for all of Tom’s interest in Celtic
ritual magic, he did not believe he was actuallyinvoking their deities. His
conviction was that the ancient druids had been practicing their own magic all
along and that the Muggles had attributed it to their gods. But casually
observing the important Christian holidays, and changing from believing in
multiple deities to believing in one, was a very different matter to actually
becoming a priest in the church. The Fat Friar of Hufflepuff was the only
wizard who he thought had any part of it.
Tom quickly made a mental note to look into this, but he had more business with
his father first. “So anyone that you think might be magical, you see no reason
to believe or respect—even a priest. You hate magic thatmuch, and that is why
you abandoned my mother and me to poverty and near-starvation for thirteen
years!”
Sir Thomas was unmoved. “Your serpent-spawn whore of a mother deceived me,
bastard.” The way he said the word made it perfectly clear that he meant it by
its literal definition rather than as a generic insult. “Both of you got what
you deserved—except for the fact that she didn’tstarve before you could be
born!”
At that, Tom snapped. With a snarl, he swished his wand through the air,
opening a wound on Sir Thomas’s forehead from which blood immediately streamed.
The man cried out and tried to put his fingers to it to staunch the flow, but
in the next moment, Tom immobilized him with another spell. He leaned forward
and locked his gaze with his father’s, forcing his way into the man’s mind and
memories.
“You are one of those Gaunts?” he cried in disbelief. “The serpent-talkers? The
heathens? The torturers, the ones who practice sorcery?”
Merope clutched her burgeoning belly. “I ran away from them! I know what they
are, and that is why I escaped!”
“You used me to escape?”
“I care about you!”
He strode forward, glaring hatefully at her and the stick of wood in her hand.
He reached for it as if to snap it. She jerked her hand away, keeping the wand
from him, her eyes wide with terror. “Please don’t! I need this. I never used
magic against you, Thomas—I love you!”
His hand bore a gauntlet of metal, a piece of his knightly suit of armor and
mail.
His hand was sheathed in metal.
His hand was sheathed in metal, with sharp edges around each joint of each of
his fingers, and he reached out and struck her across the face.
She recoiled, dropping her wand as she reached instinctively for the cheek from
which blood now streamed.
He struck her again across the other cheek. “Get out of my sight, sorceress!”
He gazed at the wand and picked it up.
“Don’t do that—” she began to say, but the object sparked in his hands, heating
the metal dangerously. He let out an unmasculine shriek and dropped it like a
hot coal. With a kick of his booted foot, he sent it toward the far wall and
advanced on her. “Get out of my sight and never return! You put my life at
risk! Your mad family—” He gazed at her belly. “Get out before I do worse,
sorceress.”
Tom had seen quite enough. He jerked his mental presence out of Sir Thomas’s
mind and gazed at him with hatred etched in every line of his young face.
“You struck her,” he said. “You struck her across the face, with armor over
your hands, and you threatened to kill me before I was born.” He clutched his
wand and shot another disdainful look at Lady Cecilia. “Does she know what you
are?” He gazed into her eyes. “Did you hear what your ‘husband’ did to another
woman? Does he do it to you too, I wonder?”
She would not look at either of them. “I know my duty as a wife.”
Tom snorted derisively. “How contemptible. How can you hold yourself in such
low regard, Muggle? This man is not your superior. Iam, of course, but it’s
because I can do magic.” He rose from his knees and freed Sir Thomas. “As for
you, I challenge you for myself and my mother. I call you out for your lies and
insults about her, your attacks on her, and your betrayal and abandonment of
your family.” He flicked his wand and summoned Sir Thomas’s dagger from across
the room. With a dark smile on his face, he passed it to the man, who sat on
the chair, barely moving, even though he was no longer confined by magic. “Get
up and duel me, Father.”
Sir Thomas glared hatefully at Tom. “As if I stand a chance.”
“That’s hardly my problem.” Tom was enjoying himself. “Bow to me, Father. I
will observe the niceties, since we’re both titled.” He smiled again. “I’ll
even spare this woman. I can’t say I like the idea of having a Muggle half-
sibling, but unlike you, I do not harm women who have done nothing to me.” He
felt proud of himself for that. It seemed so magnanimous.
Sir Thomas rose, wobbling on his feet and clutching the dagger, aware that his
death was likely at hand. Father and son bowed, Tom keeping one eye trained on
the man in case he tried anything treacherous—
—Which he did. While Tom’s head was bowed, Sir Thomas lunged for the back of
his neck. Tom flicked his wand, sending him reeling backward, dagger flailing
around in the air.
Tom stood upright and faced Sir Thomas with contempt in his eyes. “Some knight
you are,” he said coldly. “You can’t even fight honorably.”
“You don’t deserve an honorable duel from me,” hissed Sir Thomas. “Your kind
have never done anything honorably.”
Without another word, Tom flicked his wand. The dagger once again was attached
to Sir Thomas’s hand, and the arm itself began to move toward the man’s neck.
“Aren’t you going to do it painlessly?” he exclaimed.
Tom paused the spell. “I could,” he said, “but you made my mother suffer. Why
should I show mercy to you?” He resumed the spell, slowing it down, so the
man’s torment of watching that gleaming dagger edge approach his neck was even
greater. Beads of sweat poured down his face.
Lady Cecilia got up. “Please don’t do this!” she cried. “Please, I beg you!”
Tom turned aside and flung her away, toward the cushioned chair, with another
spell. “He is going to die,” he said. “You had better accept that. If you don’t
want to watch it, then get out of this room.”
“Thomas—” she exclaimed to her husband.
“Cecilia, go!”
With despair in her pretty face, she fled. Tom considered for a moment before
freezing her in place in the hall so she could not escape the house and alert
anyone. Then he returned to his father. The dagger was again pressed against
his neck, and this time, a bead of blood had appeared.
“I want you to know something,” he said through clenched teeth. “I have the
legal right to kill you for abandoning us, and for what you said about my
mother—and didto her—but before I do, I want you to know, my mother is a witch
and a lady, and you were never anything but a dispossessed Muggle. Yes, I know
that your family used to rule this fief,” he added maliciously. “The filthy
Normans took it away from you. You could have been living in our castle in
great honor and wealth if you hadn’t decided to be an oathbreaker.”
Sir Thomas glared back defiantly. In the next moment, Tom swished his wand
again. The dagger cut deep, sending a gush of bright red blood through the air,
nearly spattering Tom. With a sneer on his face, he drew back as the man bled
out his life. He turned and stalked out of the room. Before he left the manor,
he made sure to modify Lady Cecilia’s memories. Let her think that the guards
betrayed him. He felt that he had shown all the mercy he cared to for one
night. He couldhave used the Cruciatus Curse, after all….
Tom emerged again into the dark night, feeling strangely cold despite the fact
that it was summer. His thoughts were oddly disjointed, almost as if someone
else had just done that—had just committed that killing.
It was a duel, he told himself. Even if he never stood a chance against me, I
did observe the rules of dueling. Not all duels are between equals. It was not
murder. It wasn’t. And he deserved it even if it was.
He shook his head, trying to reorder his thoughts. This was odd indeed. He
supposed that taking a life was momentous, no matter the circumstances, and
that was why he felt this sense of vague disconnection in his own thoughts. I
just avenged my mother, he thought. She lied to me, all these years, and I will
have some words with her about that as well, but he hurt her and abandoned us,
and I have avenged her.
I’ve avenged my ancestor too. Arthur disowned his son—his only son, his
legitimate son—because that son was a wizard. He abandoned the Lady Morgana and
went to a Muggle woman. I have avenged Mordred as well. I have reversed the
original evil, in a way… this is important… this is significant, even
prophetic, I think. This is another sign that I will achieve what I seek.
An unwelcome thought intruded. After that disgusting sight, Tom was almost
ashamed of being named for that Muggle. Why had his mother done it? He had hit
her. What had she been thinking? She did name me that, and I will respect her
wishes… but when I get my crown at last, my royal name will not be Thomas. I
will be crowned as Mordred II Serpent-Tongue. Smiling smugly to himself, he
turned to Apparate home.
Chapter End Notes
     Happy New Year, and happy birthday to one brat with a very high
     opinion of himself and a taste for self-aggrandizing fantastic
     dreams.
     The chapter title has a double meaning. The first meaning is obvious.
     If you know what the second meaning references (and I've put a really
     brief additional hint in the chapter, for those who might recognize
     it), then \m/!
***** Liar To Liar *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so much as always! The previous chapter was pivotal, and so
     is this one. In fact, from this point forward, virtually every
     chapter is going to have either pivotal actions, reveals, or
     character moments (or some combination). Buckle up tightly.
Shortly after Pettigrew had taken the oath, been escorted into a room in the
guest wing until his family home could be made ready for him, and Merope had
expressed her irritation with Tom’s absence, yet another guest had come to the
castle, further distracting everyone from Tom’s whereabouts. Regulus Black was
there, his face ghastly and drawn.
“We had best have this discussion in a completely private room,” Severus said
in a hush as he ushered the cloaked, hooded wizard into a dark corridor. Merope
took the lead and brought them into her office, which she locked and silenced.
Severus considered for a moment before casting a diagnostic spell at each of
the four walls. He breathed a sigh of relief when nothing untoward happened.
Merope raised her eyebrows questioningly at him.
“I know that Pettigrew took the oath,” he said, “but you’ll forgive me if I
don’t entirely trust him. I certainly don’t want him to know that Regulus is
here.”
“The doors to the guest wing are locked,” Merope said. “He won’t be going
anywhere else in this castle.” She turned to Regulus. “I do have a bottle of
red wine in this room, my lord, if you would like some. Forgive me, but you
look unwell.”
Regulus nodded. “Thank you, I think I will.” As she summoned the bottle of
wine—and Severus stepped in to decant and serve it—Regulus took a deep breath,
as if to calm his nerves, and began to speak.
“My house-elf Kreacher came to me, distraught, telling me that our source in
Malfoy Manor was worried sick about something,” he said without preamble.
Severus passed him the glass of wine, then poured additional ones for Merope
and himself. Regulus sipped it and sighed deeply. “The Malfoy elf had overheard
Lestrange talking to Malfoy about your son, your husband, and Caractacus Burke.
Another wizard was there, pleading for his life, swearing that he had ‘done his
part,’ that he had even used his own family for their purposes, and now he
wanted his reward—and then Malfoy murderedhim, stating that this was the
‘reward.’ They celebrated after that.” Regulus took another sip and gazed at
Merope. “My lady… pardon me for asking, but does your son know that your Muggle
husband is alive?”
Merope was startled. “I admit I have kept the information from him,” she said.
“We parted on very bad terms. I did not want to tell Tom as a young child that
his own father abandoned him. He is not a child now, of course, but the right
time for the truth never came.”
Regulus sighed deeply. “That makes sense, but I fear that your son has been
betrayed—that somehow, Lestrange and Malfoy have passed the information to him.
Where is he right now?”
Merope’s eyes widened. “I don’t know,” she breathed. “We were unable to find
him for an important event earlier this evening….” Something else occurred to
her. “He had a friend as a guest who just left this afternoon. The Wilkes lad.
Do you think that it was his father—the one that Malfoy murdered?”
“I don’t know,” he said frankly, “but apparently it was the father of someone
your son knows. I would be prepared for the likelihood, Lady Merope, and
consider counter-measures at once. Based on what my elf’s friend heard, they
mean to act quickly… and I fear that they no longer intend to let any of you
live if they get their way with this Burke marriage.” He paused briefly to
catch his breath. “I have come here to propose an additional form of alliance
between us. My family is under threat too since Malfoy murdered my grandfather.
My parents are safe, and my wife’s father Cygnus has left Lucius Malfoy’s home
and returned to his own, which is just as secure… but Bellatrix cannot be
trusted, and we are still unsure about Lucius and Narcissa. Lestrange and
Malfoy have done what they meant to do, and divided the pack.” He scowled
grimly.
“The pack?” Merope repeated.
“My family’s symbol is the dog,” he explained briefly. “As for my alliance
proposal… my mother is still somewhat resistant. Blood purity is… veryimportant
to her. My father is close to being persuaded, though.”
Merope thought she understood. She gazed evenly at Regulus, her eyebrows
narrowing. “My lord Regulus, I… thank you for the compliment… but you cannot
expect that I would throw off Hermione. She has been fostered at this castle
for three years. She may not officially be family yet, but I see her as such.
And my son loves her.” She glanced quickly at Severus, who would not meet her
eyes after that statement.
Regulus looked confused for a moment, but then he realized what she meant. “Oh,
no—you misunderstand—I was not offering Dora for your son, Lady Merope. I was
alluding to the future children your son and Lady Hermione will have.”
She furrowed her brow in thought. “I still don’t follow, then,” she said. “Your
daughter would be too old by the time any grandchildren of mine were old enough
to marry. Do you mean to have another child, then?” That surprised her;
Andromeda Black was forty-two.
He glanced around, trying to decide something. Finally he sighed again. “What I
am about to say must not leave this room—ever. It relates to my family.”
“You have my word,” Severus said at once.
“And mine,” Merope added.
He took another deep breath. “Dora is not my daughter by blood. I cannot sire
children, Lady Riddle. I tried—I care for my wife, but….” He broke off. “Dora
is still, of course, a Black through her.”
Merope looked disapproving. “I don’t mean to criticize you for your private
family business, but… am I understanding you correctly that you made your wife
have a child by another man so that you could claim an ‘heir’?”
“That’s not the case at all,” he said sharply. He leaned in. “Lady Riddle, do
you know why I first decided to work against the Wizards’ Council?” He did not
wait for a reply. “When I was younger, I had a… lover, I suppose you would say…
and Armand Malfoy found out about it and had him killed.”
Merope and Severus both gaped.
“My grandfather set up my marriage at once. It was part of a bargain he made
with Malfoy to protect me. I care for her and see her as a dear friend. We
understand each other well, so she knew the truth. She knew I could not
be—attracted to her. And then I discovered that I couldn’t even give her a
child. What right did I have to keep her from all domestic forms of happiness?
She was planning to elope, to face disinheritance, before the family scrambled
our wedding together. The wizard, her lover, is Dora’s father by blood and in
my service. My only requirement was that they keep that secret from her as long
as I am alive. So—no, I am not speaking of a child of mine at all, Lady
Merope.”
Merope tried to process what she had just heard. It was sad to her, desperately
sad in so many ways… but she understood Regulus’s reasoning, and she was just
glad that they had managed to make the best of an otherwise awful situation.
“Are you speaking of a future child of Dora?” she asked.
He looked cagey at that. “Either her, or… my estranged brother. He is seeing a
witch at last. Though I understand that his friend Potter does not approve.” He
cracked a wry smile.
Severus’s face turned sour. “Your brother does not need Potter’s permission.”
Merope shook her head slightly, not wanting to go down that rabbit hole. She
knew all about Severus’s dislike of James Potter and his friends, and she
suspected that was why he distrusted Pettigrew. “I… will certainly consider
what you have said,” she said haltingly. “And I am sensible of the honor you
bestow. But you must accept that Tom and Hermione will finish Hogwarts before
they get married, for one—”
“Certainly,” he agreed.
“And for another… well, I am not sure that I should make such an arrangement
myself.”
He frowned. “You are the head of the family.”
“My son would insist on being part of any discussion involving his future
children,” she said. She decided not to tell him that Tom and Hermione were
estranged right now.
Regulus looked impatient. “Well, my lady, involve him if you feel that you
must, but it is a sensible plan, so if you like the idea yourself, I hope you
will impress the sense of it upon him. And if he hasdone something dreadful
tonight, the urgency of cementing an alliance of the strongest kind is all the
greater. My father is very nearly persuaded, especially if he can keep Dora as
the family heiress.”
Merope recognized that the discussion was at an end. “Thank you again,” she
said. “I will consider your offer… and find my prodigal son,” she added with a
weak laugh. “Let’s hope that he is just reading.” She rose, followed by Severus
and Regulus, and together they left the room.
===============================================================================
Tom was furious again by the time he reached the gate. He had thought about
what his father had said about the Gaunts, Mother’s family. He had heard from
other sources, including Mother herself, that his uncle Morfin and grandfather
were not good lords and had had some cruel practices… but his father had also
been cruel. Why had his mother named him after two cruel men? Mother had
issues, he thought sourly, the summer wind whipping his robes in the night.
But as important as his name was, even more important than that was the fact
that Mother had run away from her family—and he still did not know precisely
why. Sir Thomas might have thought she had run because of their magical
practices, but Tom did not believe it. She was a witch herself. Why had she
really done it? The thought crossed his mind briefly that this was the very
reasoning his father had used for disbelieving her… but he was an ignorant,
magic-hating Muggle, whereas I’m merely being logical, he assured himself.
The great doors to the castle creaked open, and a group of three people stepped
out. Tom slunk into the shadows so he would not be seen and peered out from
behind a tree. There was Mother, there was Snape, and the third person wore a
dark cloak and hood shadowing his face. It was hopeless to try to identify the
stranger, and in the next moment, he Apparated anyway. Merope and Snape went
back into the castle.
Tom waited a bit longer, during which time his burgeoning anger at her
continued to expand. She probably ran away from a set-up match of her own, he
seethed. I have long wondered about that, and I would bet almost anything that
it’s true. She is probably a hypocrite and is definitely a liar, and I’m going
to confront her. As this thought filled his mind, he stepped out of the shadows
and entered his home.
He noticed his mother talking in low voices with Snape. Scowling at that, he
stepped up, the heat of his own righteous anger powering him.
“We need to have a talk, Mother. Right now.”
Her eyes widened in… what was that, Tom thought? Affront? He hadmade that
demand rather brazenly.
No, he realized—it was fear.
She took a deep breath, gave Snape an apologetic glance, and turned to Tom.
“Very well, Tom,” she said, her tone resigned. It was almost as if… she knew
what she was about to hear, Tom thought.
But she can’t know, can she? How could she know? he thought as he walked with
her into a small parlor. She closed the door behind them and locked it
magically, then turned to him, her expression wary.
Tom decided just to go ahead with it. If she had guessed, so be it; if not, she
would find out at once. “I don’t know if you noticed this, but I have
been—away—this evening,” he began.
“Yes, I noticed,” Merope said sharply. “I suppose you are about to explain
where you have been?”
At that tone of voice from her, Tom’s irritation flared up. “Yes, I certainly
am,” he snapped back. He smirked at her. “And I am not the only one who has
some explaining to do, Mother. I learned something very interesting indeed,
namely, that my father—my Muggle father—was not dead, as you falsely claimed to
me for years. I paid him a little visit.”
Merope looked pale. “You met your father?” She was sure she knew what was
coming next, but she hoped she was wrong—
Tom glared. “I met him, and I dueled him, and he is dead now.”
“Tom!” Despair, disappointment, and fear filled that cry, that one word, but he
paid no heed to her anguish.
“He deserved it, and I was within my rights after what he said—after what he
didto us.”
“That’s dishonorable, Tom. It wouldn’t have been a fair duel—he was a Muggle—”
“That’s just too damned bad,” Tom spat. “Sometimes duelists aren’t equally
skilled. I was more honorable than he was! He tried to stab me while we were
bowing to each other! I left his Muggle wife alive, at least, but I had
everyright to duel him and kill him. He abandoned us, he called you a ‘serpent-
spawn whore,’ and he struck you wearing armor!”
She flinched at that memory and involuntarily put her left hand to her cheek,
dropping it to her side at once as she realized. “How do you know about that?”
she cried. “Did you read his memories?”
Tom smirked. “Of course. I saw that, and that was all I neededto see. I was
fully justified under the law, Mother.”
Merope attempted to gain command of herself. “Legal or not, you are a kinslayer
now.”
Tom stopped in his tracks. Slowly he turned around to face her. “You have no
moral authority to give me that name—or anyname,” he said, drawing his wand on
his mother.
“Don’t you dare point your wand at me,” she said sharply.
Tom ignored this. “You are a liar, and I am done with your airs of moral
superiority and noble generosity. I am done with your attempts to control my
life. I have bigger plans than to sit on a chair in this castle.”
Merope snapped. “Oh, is that so?” she snarled. An orange spark shot from her
wand tip; he jumped out of the way in shock. “This is not good enough for you
now? Would you have preferred to continue living in the flat in London? I did
this, I got this estate back, for you,you ungrateful brat!”
“And you expected me to be happy with your setting the course of my life, I
suppose. Why? Youweren’t happy! You wanted—not more,of course,” he sneered,
“but certainly something differentto what your father wanted for you. You
wanted the freedom to elope with a Muggle, even if it meant losing your
birthright, but you don’t want me to have that same freedom to order my own
life. Well, I am done.”
Merope attempted to ignore the torrent of attacks. “Are you talking about
Hermione?”
Tom sneered in derision. “I’m talking about a lot more than just Hermione.”
“Then what do you mean?” Her words were hard. “What do you think you want to do
that I am preventing you from doing? Do tell me.”
“We should be fighting Armand Malfoy more!” he burst out. “We are the
descendants of Slytherin, and of Morgana—we may not be pureCeltic, but we’re
closer to pure than any other wizard nobles. That was the best time in our
country’s history for magic! We should be leading this fight, not a bunch of
villagers in Hogsmeade and Godric’s Hollow with God only knows what secret
agenda. You seem to think—Hermioneseems to think—that ignoring the problems
will make them disappear.”
Merope stared hard at him. “I have not been ‘ignoring the problems,’” she said.
“I have alliances with five noble families—and, yes, you helped through your
friendships with their sons—though I have something to tell you about one of
them in just a moment! I have also done work behind your back to protect this
castle—”
He stormed about aimlessly, pale with rage. “All defensive! Why not challenge
them?”
“A strong defense isa challenge. It says ‘I know you mean me harm, and I’m
prepared, and I can withstand your worst.’ You are a Slytherin, Tom—in your
House and in your family. You should understand that.” She glared at him. “As
for what I have been doing, you do not have a clue, or else you would not have
done this! Let me tell you something. Armand Malfoy has been trying to have him
murdered. I put up a shield over his home, protecting him from anyone not of my
blood. You, of course, got through… and I would guess that one of your friends
told you that he was alive. Guess what, Tom? I just learned, while you were
gone, that Lestrange was forcing the father of one of your friends—one of my
sworn allies—to manipulate his son into telling you that, so that you would go,
get through my blood ward, and kill him in anger. Youjust did Malfoy’s work for
him!”
Tom scoffed. “Why would Malfoy care about the life or death of one stupid
Muggle?”
“Malfoy and Lestrange want to force me to marry Caractacus Burke so that he can
take over this castle and turn us all out—or kill us. They couldn’t do it so
long as your father was alive, because I had taken vows with a magical oath.”
“What?” he exclaimed, the blood suddenly draining from his face. He had not
anticipated anything like that.
“It’s true,” she said grimly.
Tom was stunned. He paled a bit as he gazed at his mother. “Malfoy wants to
force you to marry Burke? That filthy shopkeeper who cheated you?”
“Did your friend tell you about that too?” she asked him rhetorically.
“So that’s what they have been planning—oh, no, I didn’t….” He trailed off,
upset and momentarily regretful, but this changed at once. “But maybe I
wouldn’t have if you had not lied to me for years. You said he was dead.”
“I meant to tell you eventually.”
“Well, he isdead now,” Tom said cuttingly. The shock of what he had just
learned had passed. Why should he have let Malfoy and Lestrange prevent justice
from being done? “Whatever Malfoy thinks he can do is a separate issue. I had
everyright to kill him. He deserted us. He went back to his little manor, so
secure in the belief that you wouldn’t survive and Lord Gaunt would never know
what happened. He left his wife and child to dieand went back to his manor to
live in comfort! It isn’t as large as this castle, but it would have been a
decent place to live—and he denied that to us because we’re magical! You can’t
possibly mourn him.”
Merope sighed. “I have not cared for him since you first did magic as a two-
year-old. That was what finally made me let go, seeing that you were a wizard
and realizing that my true place was with our people.”
“Why did you name me after him?” he burst out.
“I did not want to give you—or myself—the name of Gaunt. I am glad that I left
him in the end, but try to understand that his treatment of me was far better
than anything I had experienced from my family. I had you because of that
choice, and that alone makes it worth it. He did not raise a hand to me until
he learned that I was a witch.”
“He never should have at all. And—the name—I’m namedfor him.”
“I agree he should not have… but Tom, it is ourname now. When I hear the name
‘Thomas Riddle,’ I don’t think of him; I think of you.” She sighed again. “He
feared my family. The Gaunts were really loathed.” She stared at him. “I
understand why you did what you did. He was a coward. I didn’t see that at the
time. I was desperate and he was a way to escape.”
“Escape what?”
Merope blanched.
“Escape what, Mother?” Tom demanded, his face set. “An arranged marriage of
your own? That’s it, wasn’t it? I knew you were a hypocrite.”
Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “Do not call me that—you do not know—”
Tom continued, disdainfully and arrogantly ignoring her sudden distress. “I
don’t believe your decision to get the estate back had anything to do with me.
It’s about your ownregrets. I guess you set me up with Hermione because he left
you, and you must think you would have been better off with whoever your father
wanted you to marry instead.”
Merope actually looked ill at this statement.
Tom noticed. “Who was it?” he demanded. “There must have been someone. There
always is for noble spawn.”
She looked down at the floor, feeling queasy. Running away with Sir Thomas
really had seemed like the right thing to do—or at least, much less wrong than
the alternative….
“My own brother, Morfin Gaunt,” she said in a low tone.
Tom’s wand hand dropped of its own accord. His face contorted with revulsion.
“What?” he sputtered.
“It’s true. The Gaunts practiced sibling incest every few generations, to ‘keep
the bloodline pure.’ Slytherin’s son and daughter were another pair,” she added
pointedly.
Tom looked close to being sick, as if he were revolted by his own body now, by
the flesh that bore that heritage. “How—that’s—how would that even have been
legal?”
“Under the king’s law, it wouldn’t have been. But my family always concealed
the truth from Muggles outside our own fief, and tyrannized the ones they
ruled, and Malfoy’s Council explicitly permitted it for wizards because of
blood purity. My ‘wedding’ would have been in six months.”
Tom was appalled. “That is disgusting,” he declared. “I… see now why you ran
away.”
She looked away from him, her lip curling at the memories. “Until then, I had
avoided thinking about my father’s depraved plans. But my brother was
jealouswhen I took a fancy to your father. He called me vile names and made an
obscene reference to my father’s plans, and it was only then that I realized
the horror of what my life would be. I resolved to get away however I could.”
Tom remained speechless, taking this in.
“I went outside the grounds whenever I could, sneaking into the barony to the
north because there were so many villages—so much to see, even if they were all
Muggles. Those prosperous little villages, full of tradesmen rather than field-
bound serfs, ended up being my model for reforming Hangleton once I took power,
in fact,” she added. “I fancied your father, but I didn’t really know him until
we ran away. I realize now that he was a means of escape from that unnatural
wickedness. If my father’s plans had been more typical of noblemen, then I
don’t expect I would have eloped, unless my intended had been loathsome to me.”
She raised her gaze to him. “Do you still think I am a hypocrite?”
He winced, unable to meet her eyes. “I… no, I don’t. I….” He trailed off
uncomfortably.
She sighed. “Tom, we will take care of this. I wish you had not done this; I
will not deny it, but I will not let it ruin us. I absolutely won’t marry
Burke. I should have told you the truth… and I will start doing so more often…
but youhad better start sharing more with me as well.”
Tom eyed her sullenly. “What do you mean by that?”
“I want you to tell me what is this problem that you and Hermione will not
resolve.”
Anger suddenly flared back up inside him. “That’s not your concern, Mother.”
“Is it not? The masters of Hogwarts tell me that they expect she will finish
her tutelage next summer, the same time you do. You have less than one yearto
resolve your differences before the wedding. After that….” She trailed off. Now
might not be the best time to tell him explicitly about the Black family’s
offer. “After that, you’ll need to start thinking about children and—your
future as a family. You are running out of time, Tom.”
“You assume that I still wantto marry her,” he said spitefully, the words
tripping off his tongue before he knew it.
“You don’t have a choice.” She had just about had enough of her son’s
petulance, especially considering what he had just done this evening—and what
Merope knew she would have to do to counter Malfoy and Lestrange now. He had
certainly circumscribed theirchoices with his rash act. But as soon as she said
this, she knew that was exactly the wrong thing to say.
Tom stood still as her words rippled through his mind. A volcanic anger surged
in him at this challenge.
“Oh yes I do,” he snarled. He pointed his wand at her again, defiantly. “If
nothing else, I have the same choice you had. Shall I make it? It’s Hermione’s
fault, ultimately, that I was tortured—and she didn’t even care! I told her
about the bargain that you made with me, and she said herself that she might
agree to end it!”
In truth, he did not want to end it. Hermione was intelligent and powerful, and
he knew that he was still attracted to her… but at the same time, they were not
on good terms after several things over the last year and a half—and he did not
want to swallow his pride before her in order to reconcile. Nor did he want to
swallow his pride before his mother.
Merope was horrified. She had known they were estranged, but she had no idea it
was that bad. “It is not Hermione’s fault that Carrow tortured you, and if you
accused her, I don’t blame her for reacting that way,” she said, attempting to
convince herself that what her son had related were just the spiteful words of
two young people—that neither of them had meantit.
“I don’t want her to be sent away from Hogwarts,” he added quickly, his voice
less angry and more uncertain, as the magnitude and possible implications of
what he was saying filtered through his mind. “She is a talented witch and
deserves a proper education. So things can continue as they are until she has
finished.”
Merope studied him for several moments. She could not decide if he really did
mean what he seemed to be implying—and calmly, now—or if the sudden change in
his demeanor was because he was suddenly frightened of his own words.
“Tom, is there another girl?” she finally asked.
“No, and there never has been,” he said sullenly.
“Then what started it, Tom? What caused this fight? This happened long before
you were tortured.”
The wall went up once more. “I already said that this is none of your concern,
Mother.”
Merope finally snapped. “All right, you won’t tell me. So be it, Tom. If you
did,then I would try to help, but have it your own way. Since you will not give
me any details, all I have to say is this: Whatever the cause, you bear at
least part of the blame yourself—and you must know that. At a minimum, you owe
her an apology for blaming her for something caused by enemies of this
family—and you likely owe her an apology for more than that. Embarrassment at
what you know you ought to do isn’t a good enough reason to break the
betrothal.”
“You promisedme that if I didn’t want it, you wouldn’t make me go through with
it,” he accused.
“If, near the wedding date, you have a goodreason not to want to marry
Hermione, then I won’t make you go through with it,” Merope shot back. “But
angry pride is not a good reason.”
“You didn’t put any conditions on it when you made the promise,” he said
petulantly. “You knew that I hadn’t been brought up noble, and you made it for
that reason.”
“You have lived as one now. You’ve had three yearsto get accustomed to the
idea, and I know you and Hermione used to be very close. It’s not as if you had
never met and were expected to marry in a month! I also know that the only
reason you don’t talk to her now is your own pride, not that you actually
dislike her.” She glared at him. “Do you think that she will remain single? If
we jilt her, her parents will want to match her with some Muggle noble she has
never even met—does that bother you?” she added, watching Tom’s face curdle.
“You should consider what it means if it does.”
“It’s just that no witch should marry a Muggle,” he muttered. “Look what came
of it with you.”
Merope gazed at him through narrowed, skeptical eyes before continuing
relentlessly. “Considering what her age will be, she probably won’t have a long
betrothal. She will marry a stranger, and likely an oldstranger at that, since
most young noblemen would already be pledged by the time they are her age.
Probably some childless widower looking to breed….”
Tom’s face was twisting in revulsion, but that was exactly what Merope had
meant to provoke with her crude choice of words. She took a deep breath. “Tom,
you’re the last heir of the family. You willhave to marry. Hermione cares for
you, even now. I’ve seen it. She has an air of sadness about her and I think
it’s because she believes you don’t care about her.”
Tom did not reply. Her logic was cold and brutal, but he could not argue with
it. It wasn’t fair of his mother to manipulate him like this, he thought. She
could present the face of a demure lady, an easy mark. He knew the story—the
truestory now—of his birth and the days leading to it. When everything had been
taken away from her, his mother probably had been depressed, fragile, and
vulnerable. But when she was healthy of mind, she was a lot more manipulative
than she wanted anyone to think. She was a true Slytherin, like him.
“I might indulge you if you had a valid reason. But that is not the case, and I
will not indulge your misplaced pride. Enough of it, Tom. You have a
responsibility to her. If you don’t want her to marry someone else, you have to
fulfill the agreement we made—which youconsented to, both by your signature and
by your behavior with her. Oh yes, I know,” she added as he flushed deep pink.
“I am sure you were discreet at Hogwarts… but this means you consented to the
betrothal, and it’s clear that you see her as ‘yours’ still, as you hate the
idea of her marrying someone else. So,” she finished pointedly, “the wedding
will go forward, but you’ll both be happier if you patch it up first.”
He finally spoke up. “Mother, you assume a great deal. I have a feeling that
soon, there will be bigger concerns for all of us.”
Merope looked grave. “I hope you—we—are both mistaken. But if we’re not, then
that is all the more reason to cement ties and gather our family close.”
“Hermione isn’t really family,” he said spitefully.
Merope gave her son a level stare. “So if Malfoy harmed her, you wouldn’t care?
Oh, I see,” she said as Tom blanched in horror. “You don’t like that idea at
all, do you? Well, then.”
With that, she turned on her heels and stalked out, but not before giving Tom a
final, pointed stare.
===============================================================================
The first person Merope saw was Hermione. She had been on her way to find
Severus, because she had sudden urgent business with him, but Hermione needed
to know this too. She approached the younger witch in the corridor of the
castle, halting in her tracks as they met.
“Hermione,” Merope said, catching her breath, “Tom has returned.”
Hermione’s face was expressionless, which made Merope’s heart sink. Oh, no—how
bad wasthis estrangement? She wished Tom had opened up to her….
“I might as well tell you,” Merope continued. “Brace yourself for something
shocking, though.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “What has happened?” she breathed. “Is he all right?”
“He is,” she said bitterly. “His Muggle father isn’t, though.” She sighed. “I
had concealed from him, for his own good, the fact that his father had
abandoned us before he was born, and the right time to tell him the truth never
seemed to come. He found out himself, I believe from the friend who left today,
and went out to confront his father. It turned into a duel—”
“Oh no!” Hermione exclaimed. She had instantly guessed what had happened next.
“Yes,” Merope confirmed. “My former husband behaved dishonorably, and Tom
killed him in the duel.”
“He killed his own father,” Hermione repeated in a whisper, almost to herself.
She gazed at Merope with wide, wounded eyes, though she was unwilling to say
anything negative of Merope’s own son to her face.
Despair continued to fill Merope’s mind as she realized how much this hurt and
disappointed Hermione. “Hermione, please, talk to him—tomorrow, though,” she
added. “We have all had too long of a day, and it would do more harm than good
now. For tonight, take some wine and try to sleep, and please don’t think of
him as a murderer,” she pleaded, trying to mend the breach between the two.
“His father struck me just before I left him… he abandoned his family… he
insulted me… and he tried to duel Tom dishonorably. Of course… this is going to
change some things about this household and family, I should warn you now. I’ll
have more to talk about tomorrow on that topic… and I am not saying that you
should try to pretend that it has not happened… but please, talk to him
tomorrow.”
Hermione was overwhelmed. Tom had taken a human life, and one who could not
truly have defended himself against a wizard… she had known, she supposed, that
he was capable of it, but now he had actually done it. Things would never be
the same….
They haven’t been the same in almost two years, she thought sadly as she headed
toward her bedchamber. She would have a house-elf bring her the wine, which she
would certainly need.
She reached her bedroom and entered it, closing the door sharply behind her.
Crookshanks was waiting; he jumped on the bed as she flopped down and curled
against her side.
I wish I had waited to send my letter to my mother, she thought, petting
Crookshanks. This would have been something I could tell her. Even though Tom
is a wizard, she would understand about duels of honor. I wish I had waited. I
wonder what she will have to say when she writes back to me.
Tears formed in the corners of Hermione’s brown eyes, tears of unhappiness and
stress. She let them trickle down the sides of her head and fall into the riot
of hair that covered much of her pillow.
The Tom she had loved at age thirteen was gone. The innocence of those early
days—and it wasinnocent, she thought, even after they had consummated—would
never return. If they did reconcile emotionally, it would always be darkened by
everything that happened since then. And I am sure there is more to come, she
thought.
===============================================================================
Based on what Regulus had told them, there was no time to spare. Malfoy and
Lestrange already knew that the trap had been set, and evidently Merope had
lost one of her allies as well as being made newly vulnerable. When she asked
Severus to see her privately, Severus knew what she was going to discuss with
him. It had been a day straight from hell, but it stillwas not yet over, and
Severus was not even sure that they could wait till the cold light of day next
morning to make their move.
Merope closed the door behind them once they were in her office, sat down, and
gazed across the desk at him. “Severus,” she began, “I am sure you know what I
have called you here to talk about.”
“I think I do,” he said.
She pulled out a document from one of the cabinets and spread it out. “This is
the contract between my family and the Grangers. I can use it as a model,
though of course, some details would be different, since we are adults.”
Severus felt a spark of irritation. After the years of unspoken attraction,
thiswas how she was going to do it? By making assumptions and taking him for
granted? It would literallybe nothing but a business transaction?
He swallowed his annoyance as best he could. “My lady—”
“Please, call me by my name when we are alone.”
That request placated him a little bit. “Merope,” he said, the address feeling
strange, and yet natural, on his tongue. “You do me great honor. As I said
before when you hinted at this topic, I will always do my duty to protect your
family.”
She stared at him for a moment before her gaze fluttered down to the document.
She swallowed. “Yes,” she said quietly. “You always have, after all.” She
looked up at him once more, a forced smile on her face. “I regret to say that I
doubt I can bear another child, though.”
“You don’t know that,” he urged. “It’s not as if you have attempted to since
Tom was born!” It was extremely bold, but she laughed, making his spirits rise
a bit more. “But if your guess is right, it’s just as well, considering
Malfoy’s blood-purity law for heirs.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Severus, do you really think that Armand
Malfoy is going to be ruling the witches and wizards of Britain for much
longer?”
He was silent. He had not wanted to acknowledge the ultimate goal behind all of
the subversion that he and Merope had engaged in; it was such a dangerous
thing, but he could not ignore the fact any longer that Malfoy and Lestrange
had to go.
“After the meeting with Regulus tonight, I rather suspect that Orion Black
wants Malfoy’s position,” she said. “If so, he’ll have to settle with Lucius
Malfoy… but in any case, Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange are not going to
last long, I think. And if I’m wrong, then it doesn’t much matter if I am
fertile, does it?” she finished darkly.
“Orion Black doesn’t deserve to be the high lord,” Severus snarled. “What has
hedone? If anything, youshould take a leadership mantle against Malfoy.”
“I don’t want to discuss this,” she said abruptly. “At least, not tonight. This
has been a long and terrible day, Severus.” She pushed the contract forward.
“We need to settle this as soon as we can. We need more than a verbal agreement
to marry. We need a formal, magically sworn contract to thwart Malfoy. To that
end, we need to negotiate.” She took a deep breath and faced him. “You have
always handled accounts for this castle, because you’re so skilled at it. I
realize that, because of your faithful service, you have the right to ask for
other things too.”
Severus swallowed his bile. Back to the business transaction it was, then.
Perhaps it would change, and she would be able to acknowledge her feelings,
once she had adjusted to the new reality her destructive son had created for
them. “I have no desire to take over your family estate… Merope. I do not care
what Malfoy’s law says. We can conduct our private business as we like. You
remain the final authority.” He sighed and rubbed his dark eyes, then took the
contract and placed it in front of him on the table. “Let me make a contract
for us based on this document.”
She nodded. “Yes. Having a binding contract is the most important thing.”
===============================================================================
The time was past midnight when Merope finally sent an owl to Armand Malfoy
notifying him of the magically sworn marriage contract that she and Severus had
signed that evening. Hermione was in bed—well, in her bedchamber, at least,
Merope thought, sipping another glass of wine. Severus had gone to his old
bedroom in the castle as well after finishing the contract. He seemed vaguely
put out, which did not make a lot of sense to Merope, unless this was not
something he actually wanted but was doing out of duty. She fingered the rim of
her glass as she entered the library. She had thought that he had feelings for
her….
At least we can work together, she thought, crossing the room toward the tall
windows to gaze out at the grounds. She remembered what Regulus Black had said
of his own marriage. We’ll be friends, at least. And it may be that he is
simply overwhelmed by everything tonight. There is still time. I should not
make assumptions.
Comforted, she turned around—and found herself face-to-face with Tom, who was
clutching a book to his chest.
“You just sent a letter to someone,” he said. His tone was accusing.
Her eyebrows narrowed. “I sent a letter to Armand Malfoy, in fact,” she said
evenly, “notifying him of the contract for a future marriage that Severus and I
signed tonight.”
Tom sputtered, almost dropping the book. Merope glanced quickly at the title,
which she noticed, with some alarm, was Blood-Rituals of the Morrighan, Goddess
of War. He caught her looking and pulled it close to his chest again, gazing
out defiantly at her. “You and Snape?” he repeated furiously.
“You had better start to treat him with more respect,” she snapped, “because
even though we agreed that I will remain ruler of this castle, he will be your
stepfather. I will not hear of any objections from you, Tom Riddle,” she added.
“You have done quite enough today already.”
Tom glared at her in outrage, huffed, and stormed out of the library, clutching
the book of Celtic blood magic as tightly as he could.
***** A Bitter Secret *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I think this chapter
     contains some unexpected twists... but don't worry, the new arc
     introduced in it is going to have what I hope is a satisfying payoff
     in a few chapters. The next several will be pretty hectic, in fact.
     Major things are finally happening, so thank you for sticking with
     this long and winding story as we ease into "Act III" of the
     narrative.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Tom stayed up late into the night, trying hard not to think about his mother’s
decision or the appalling argument he’d had with her. He was not about to tell
her, but her words about Hermione had troubled him. He did not want to lose
her, especially not to some old pervert Muggle who—in his mother’s harsh
words—was looking to “breed,” and he realized that this very likely would be
what her parents did if he and Mother reneged on their contract. Why wouldn’t
they? It wasn’t as if they had taken an active interest in her personal
welfare. They had hardly seen Hermione since she first started her magical
education. Typical Muggle nobles who don’t care much about their daughters, Tom
thought with contempt. Of course they would do that to her.
And yet, he truly did not think that he should scale back his ambitions, the
original source of their dispute. His mother was working against Malfoy—that he
would grant—but her plans and strategies were all reactive, formulated in
response to something Malfoy or Lestrange had done—or that she thought they
would do. As far as Tom knew, his mother had no plan for a world without Norman
wizards running it. If Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange are killed, and no
alternative is already put forward, then Lucius Malfoy will just replace his
grandfather, Tom thought.
Tom did not entirely trust Regulus Black either, who was, after all, a Black,
even if he had been passing information to Snape. The Black family had
positioned itself very well indeed in the beginning of the Norman occupation,
with the head of the family seated on the Wizards’ Council. Now that the
Council was dissolved, and Lestrange had manipulated Armand Malfoy into
murdering Lord Arcturus, it made perfect sense to Tom that they would want not
just revenge, but to replacethe Malfoys. Tom did not see that as a positive
outcome either. The family had been blood-traitors to their English heritage,
with their toadying to the invaders.
I will not allow my family to be pawns in someone else’s war, he thought.This
conflict began because of us, not the Blacks and certainly not the Weasleys,
Potters, or Longbottoms. We’re the ones who challenged the status quo; we
should lead. But Mother won’t do it, so it is up to me.
Tom turned to the stack of books that he had accumulated in his bedchamber. The
urgency of establishing his own claim was greater than ever. He knew now that
he could not simply declare himself to be a descendant of Mordred the
Dispossessed and expect any witch or wizard in power to respect that. Even for
people who could expect to live for over a century, six hundred years was a
long time, and so much had happened since then. The basilisk of Slytherin would
be useful in battle, but upon reflection, Tom no longer believed that using the
threat of horrible death to support his cause was a good idea. It would sound
too much like the things that had created the Gaunts’ bad reputation. He had
reread the books about the Gaunts’ version of Arthurian history—at some point,
his mother had removed the hexes on all of those books, even though the ones
about the family history for the next six hundred years were still hexed—and he
thought he knew what he had to do.
Magical artifacts were incredibly important, he thought, pacing around his
room. The sword Excalibur recognized Arthur’s bloodline. The Holy Grail may or
may not have been a real artifact, but it was important to them too. Then, too,
my people as a whole have long recognized the Thirteen Hallows of Britain….
Based on one of the books,The Dispossessed Children of the Wizard-King, the
Gaunt family had a connection to some sort of highly significant magical
artifact from long ago. The writer—the historian, Tom thought—was Hywel Gant,
an eighth-century lord from the family itself, so it seemed highly credible to
Tom. The family had several scholars, he reflected. Lord Hywel… and Lady Dunwen
Mac Gant from the seventh century, to start with. He thought about what his
mother had told him that night. They might indeed have practiced incest, and
some of them might indeed have been mad—apparently, his own uncle and
grandfather were among those—but others were geniuses.
It was not clear what the magical object might be, or how old it was, but it
seemed to be associated with a sea cave on the southwestern coast. The cave
itself was rumored to have magical properties. According to Lord Hywel, the
cave was where Princess Ceridwyn, the secret daughter of Mordred, apprentice of
her grandmother Lady Morgana, and ancestor of all the Gaunts, had hidden after
the disaster of the Battle of Camlann. She had supposedly placed the artifact
there. Later, Lord Hywel had written, a legend had sprung up around it, with
several variations but the same general theme.
The legend was that the artifact would reveal itself only to the one who would
restore the old line. The details varied: Some versions held that Princess
Ceridwyn had been a Seer herself and had prophesied this; others said she had
received a prophecy to this effect from someone else who was, perhaps her
father or grandmother—or even that her mysterious mother, whose identity was
now lost to time, was the Seer. Most tellings, according to Hywel, stated that
the discoverer of the object would be the new lord of English wizards.
If I can get this object,Tom thought, then perhaps that will be proof enough of
my right to rule. He thought he knew where the sea cave was, based on that book
and an atlas of magical sites. It would be difficult to get it after school
started again, and in any case, did he reallywant to be here right now? Snape
had never liked him, he thought grouchily. He was not sure he could stand the
smug looks that Snape would have now—and he certainly was not going to admit
this to his mother, but he was irritated that the Malfoys had manipulated
Wilkes’s father. Best to have something productiveto do, a real goal to seek,
for the next few days.
Tom stopped pacing and began to pack for a journey. He would get a little sleep
tonight, but he did not intend to be there when Mother woke up in the morning.
His serpent familiar, Dunlaith—the very one Hermione had given him, he thought
with a pang—curled around his wrist. He decided to allow it. He would not be
bringing her with him either; it would not be safe for a small snake to be
around sea caves, so he supposed he might as well let his familiar stay near
him for now.
===============================================================================
The wind whipped around Tom’s robes as he Apparated. On one side, the brightest
stars twinkled in a sea of deep blues, and an array of cliffs tumbled lethally
to a rocky coast and crashing waves. On the other side, grassy rolling hills
gave way to a red dawn that was taking shape. This was approximately the place,
but Tom did not have any guidance from his books about exactly where this sea
cave was supposed to be. There could be any number of sea caves in those
cliffs. They might even be magically concealed—in fact, the crucial one almost
certainly would be. Tom would have to rely on his innate ability to detect
traces of magic.
With a sigh, he turned to face the dark side of the sky and walked to the edge
of one of the cliffs. It was a long way to the bottom. Salty white seafoam
poured over the rocks as waves crashed. Tom shivered. Whatever else he did, he
would certainly have to anchor himself magically to the cliffside as he
explored the area.
===============================================================================
“Lord Thomas is not here,” the house-elf said to Merope. “He left a letter for
your ladyship on his desk.” The elf held out a sealed note to Merope.
Merope exchanged a glance with Severus that was both annoyed and concerned.
“Very well,” she said, accepting the letter. “I will see what he has to say for
himself. I hope he hasn’t done anything else foolish.” She opened the note and
read it.
 
To Mother, Lady Hermione, and Lord Severus.
I am going to be away for the next two days. Know that I am not going to do
anything like the recent incident, and in fact, I don’t expect my travels to
take me near people at all. I am researching an important piece of magical
history. If I do not return by the third day, a description and map of the
place I am going will appear on my writing desk. Mother, do not try to make
this map appear early. If you do, it won’t work and may destroy the spell. I
want to be alone for this period of time.
 
Merope scowled. “I don’t know what he thinks he is going to find, but this
appears very much to me as though he’s ashamed of himself and doesn’t want to
face us.” She handed it to Severus.
He scanned it quickly. “Perhaps so. Maybe he shouldhave some time alone to
think about things, though,” he said. “Are you sure you have no idea what he
might be looking for?”
She considered, grimacing as a very unpleasant idea occurred to her. “I’m
sure—unless it is the Chamber of Slytherin.”
Severus’s eyes widened. “That is said to be in Hogwarts.”
“I know. And what is said to be insideit… well, I hope that’s not what he is
doing.”
“He can’t get into the school when it’s closed,” Severus reassured her. “Only
the High Master can. If that’s what he’s looking for, he may come back sooner
than he thinks.” He returned the note to Merope.
They went into the family dining room, where Hermione was standing and waiting
for them. The family owl had already delivered the post, and she was obviously
eager to take her seat and open the letter that the creature had dropped at her
place setting. Merope smiled indulgently as they entered.
“Good morning,” she said to Hermione, sitting down. Severus and Hermione
herself followed. Merope smiled at the house-elf who brought breakfast to them.
“Are we not going to wait for Tom?” Hermione spoke up.
Merope sighed. “Tom is not here,” she said.
Startled, Hermione dropped her knife. “Is he all right?” she exclaimed. “Where
is he?”
“I don’t know. He left a note saying that he was going to be away for two days
to ‘research’ something. What I suspect is that he just wants some time to
himself. He is a sixteen-year-old boy who has just done something hugely
consequential—and I think it must have bothered him more than he wanted to
admit. He is very proud, as you know. I think it’s best to grant him this.”
Hermione looked crestfallen for a moment, but then her face hardened. “Very
well,” she said. “There is something I need to tell you about, though.” She
looked down at her plate. “Something he has mentioned to me before—something I
don’t like at all.”
“Has he mentioned Slytherin’s secret chamber to you?”
Hermione gaped at Merope for a moment, but in the next moment, she realized
that of course Tom’s mother was wise to some of his interests. “He has,” she
admitted, “and I worry that that’s what this is.”
“If it is, he cannot get into it. The school is closed, and only Albus
Dumbledore can unlock the gates. I really think he just wants to get away from
all of us for the time being, Hermione,” she said reassuringly. “He has a lot
to think about, and he knows it. For boys that age, it is often easier to think
about uncomfortable truths alone.”
Hermione seemed to accept this, reassured by Merope’s assertion that Tom could
not get into Hogwarts.
Pointedly Severus glanced sideways at Merope. She met his eyes and nodded
briefly. “I also need to inform you… Lord Severus and I have decided to marry.”
Hermione gasped, then quickly closed her mouth. “I—am surprised,” she managed.
“Pleased, of course, but this is so unexpected!”
“Yes—to all of us, I think,” Merope said, glancing wryly at him. He did not
return the smile. She wondered at that, then turned back to Hermione. “But it
is true. We think we will marry some time in October.”
“Well, congratulations!” Hermione said, smiling. “Does Tom know?”
“He does. I saw him in the library late and told him.”
Suddenly Hermione found it a lot more believable that Tom really did just want
to get away from the castle for a little bit. That news could nothave gone over
well with him, but if her sudden suspicion was right, Lady Merope and Lord
Severus had decided to do this as a direct result of Tom’s killing of his
father. Probably there was some sort of vile scheme that Armand Malfoy had in
mind, a forced marriage to someone loyal to him, and this was a way to thwart
it. It was a good thing that Lady Merope and Lord Severus liked each other,
Hermione thought.
She glanced at the letter next to her plate, which bore her mother’s name and
the Granger family seal, as she quickly ate her breakfast.
Merope seemed to understand what was going through her head. “You are excused,
my dear,” she said. “Of course you want to read your mother’s letter. Severus
and I have to discuss some things anyway.”
Gratefully Hermione rose from the table, letter in hand, and made her exit.
===============================================================================
Hermione tossed her letter aside with wretched disappointment—and dare she
think it, disgust. Her mother had meant well, but the advice that Lady Granger
had given was useless.
 
My dear daughter,
I regret to hear of the difficulties that you have had with your betrothed.
However, remember that we women are called to bear this burden and to support
and comfort our husbands. This is the strength of our sex. I implore you to
take comfort and courage in this fact, to forgive Lord Thomas of any offenses
against you, to ask him to forgive your own offenses, and to do what you know
is your duty to him. You have always been a very compassionate and dutiful
young lady, and I have no doubt that you can do this. I have shared your letter
with your lord father and he agrees with me.
 
Your devoted mother.
 
Hermione flung herself on her bed in irritation. She really wanted to set fire
to that letter… but she was sure she would regret it if she did, not because of
the content, but because it wasfrom her mother and she had so little
correspondence from her family already. Do I even know them anymore? she asked
herself in despair. A chill spread over her body at the realization that,
perhaps, she no longer did. The world of the magical aristocracy—no, she
thought, of witches and wizards altogether—was very different to that of
Muggles like them. There were different values and ways of thinking. Hermione
had always believed that her family was more open-minded than most Muggles of
their class, and likely they were, but witches and wizards were still a world
apart. Three years ago, Hermione did not doubt that she would have agreed
completely with her mother’s words, and taken all of the burden of making
amends upon herself… but she was different now, and she knew that the lion’s
share of this fight was nother fault. She also knew that what Tom needed was
not to be coddled and reinforced in the very pattern of behavior that had
caused the problem.
I cannot depend on others to tell me what I should do, she thought. I have to
figure this one out myself… or, perhaps—her mind resisted the thought for a
moment, but only a moment—I have to accept once and for all that I cannot fix
Tom’s problems for him. There is no magic spell for this. He has to make the
change himself.
How long would it take, though? In a year, they would be married—unless, of
course, he asked his mother to break the contract and she agreed. Hermione
hoped he still felt enough for her that he wouldn’t do that, at least. As long
as he still felt something, they had a chance.
She heaved a sigh. It was better to put this out of her mind. She would return
to Hogwarts soon, anyway, and she resolved to focus on her studies and her
friends. She wondered what news Harry, Neville, and Luna might have to
report—and Ginny, too, if she had learned anything. They would get to the
bottom of what the adult Friends of the Founders were really doing, Hermione
decided. The logical solution was for the Friends to join forces with Lady
Merope, her allies, and Lord Regulus Black, she decided. Were they not all
united in opposing Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange? Surely whatever
differences the groups might have could be put aside in service of that goal.
Hermione hoped that would happen over the course of the year.
===============================================================================
The discussion Merope had had with Severus had not gone very smoothly. She had
realized that her manner the previous evening had been abrupt and the
proceedings themselves businesslike and cold, but Severus had been sochilly
this morning about the entire subject that she wondered if perhaps it was best
to let him resolve his own anger first before talking about emotional issues
related to the prospective marriage.
“I understand it was very sudden,” she had said as they parted after breakfast,
“and I do apologize for that… but please remember that we were under serious
threat last night, based on Lord Regulus’s report.”
Severus had smiled thinly. “Of course, my lady.” Merope had wanted to correct
him and tell him to use her name, but she doubted that correction was what he
wanted to hear right at the moment. She let him pass. He left Parselhall and
headed in the direction of the Prince family manor on the grounds.
Standing in the grand hall, Merope sighed as he left and the great doors
clanged shut. This was an inauspicious beginning, and all her hopes for the
future did not allay that ugly fact about the present. Merope wondered if she
had any right anymore to criticize Tom for his dispute with Hermione. Perhaps
it was best just to do things as many other noble families did, and focus on
marriages for political alliances and family continuance alone. Perhaps
involving emotional or romantic considerations at all, even in combination with
those more worldly concerns, was asking for trouble.
And perhaps I am being too cynical, she thought, cracking a smile. Severus will
come around, I’ve no doubt of it. I just need to give him more time.
She turned to head to her own quarters when she noticed a pudgy, short wizard
in brown velvet standing nearby. His eyes were pleading for her attention. “My
lady!” wheezed Peter Pettigrew.
Merope still was not sure exactly what to make of Pettigrew’s presence at such
a time. Perhaps it was entirely coincidental… but she did wonder what,
precisely, he had been doing for all these years. She did not blame him for
leaving, after what her brother had done to his poor mother… but he had still
avoided his duties while knowing that she presided. He would certainly have to
prove his loyalty to her.
“Yes, Pettigrew?” she said loftily.
His eyes darted around the grand hall. “Forgive me for nosing into your
personal business, your ladyship,” he muttered, “but there is something that
Lord Severus is not telling you. Something important.”
Suspicion instantly flared up inside her at this statement—but at Pettigrew
rather than Snape. “Oh, indeed? And just how, pray, do you know of—whatever
this is?”
Pettigrew winced and wrung his hands. Merope attempted not to focus on the
disfiguring injury on one hand, the missing finger. “I have known him for
years, my lady,” he said. “We served here together. I knew him from boyhood.
And… there is something that he did, years ago, that I don’t know if he has
ever admitted to you. Well, several things, all related.”
Merope scowled. “We shall have this conversation privately, Pettigrew,” she
said, exiting the grand hall and leading the way to a sitting room. Pettigrew
hurried behind her trailing skirts. A grin formed on his face.
===============================================================================
Tom reached the base of the cliffs. Sea spray had already soaked him to the
bone, or so it felt. He certainly would have tumbled to his death if he had not
sealed the grip of his hands and feet with magic. His heart was thumping hard
and fast as he jumped off and landed on his feet at the surface. He gazed
outward. The sky, at least, was bright now. Waves continued to crash against
the rocky shore. In the distance, the horizon became absolutely flat, the deep
dark blue of the sea extending seemingly to infinity. Where would you land if
you just kept going?Tom idly wondered, but only for a moment.
He turned around and gazed at the expanse of rock that now stretched scores of
feet into the air, the cliffs down which he had just climbed. Tom still had no
idea where the sea cave might be. Worst case, he would have to walk the
coastline until his magic sense told him.
No, he corrected himself grimly, worst case is that there are several magical
spots along these cliffs.
He sighed and turned south. He hoped that was the right direction. If not, he
would have to backtrack after a long and unproductive journey.
===============================================================================
Pettigrew fidgeted before Merope, who gazed down at him expressionlessly. “I
suppose I had better give you the story from the beginning,” he finally said.
“I suppose so,” she agreed.
He winced, then attempted to gather his courage to speak to her. “I suppose the
worst mistake I made was to become friends with Black and Potter at Hogwarts,
instead of Snape.”
Merope raised her eyebrows. “Black? Sirius Black, the family outcast?”
“The very one,” Pettigrew affirmed. “But I couldn’t help it, Lady Merope! I was
put in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin like Severus—and yourself, when you went
later.”
Merope nodded. She was four years younger than Severus and had shared only one
year at Hogwarts with him.
“When Black ran away from his family, he went to live with Potter’s family in
Godric’s Hollow. What I didn’t know was that the two of them got up to no good
during Christmas and summertime. There is a werewolf living in the woods near
Godric’s Hollow—”
Merope gasped in surprise. “A werewolf? Is it Fenrir, my former vassal? I heard
that he was deliberately infected with lycanthropy as punishment from my father
or brother.”
Pettigrew shook his head. “No, your ladyship, but they think that he was
turnedby your family’s former vassal. This fellow… well, he became friends with
Black and Potter. That was why they became Animagi: They wanted to prowl in the
forest safely with him.”
“And yourself?” she said harshly.
Pettigrew winced again and looked down at his lap. “With all due respect, my
lady, they never knew that I became one. I wasn’t invited along—and after all,
I was sworn to your family. I had to be here when I wasn’t at Hogwarts. But I
learned the skill by watching them. I suppose I was just envious. Didn’t want
them to do something I couldn’t do.”
“Envious… and resentful?” she pressed. “I understand, Pettigrew. It must have
been frustrating to watch your friends from school behave so, while you had
duties to a lord that you quite justly disliked. But what has this to do with
Lord Severus?”
“Well, they made a special point of tormenting Lord Severus, I am sorry to say.
I think it was because he was a Slytherin… or sworn to your family. There is
still a lot of enmity.”
“I do know that,” she said slowly. “He has mentioned it before.”
“And yet it wasn’t enough to prevent him from going to Godric’s Hollow in 1130
when the town revolted against the Malfoys,” Pettigrew said in a flourish,
furtively eyeing her for her reaction to that.
Merope blinked. “He participated in the rebellion against Lucius Malfoy?”
Pettigrew nodded eagerly. “He did indeed. So did I, in fact, your ladyship. I
learned about it from Black and Potter. We were all there, masked.”
“Well!” she exclaimed. “I did not know this… he has certainly talked about the
uprising before, and I admit it occurredto me that he might have known more
about it than he let on, but I could never think of a satisfactory explanation
for why he would conceal that from me. We are no friends of the Malfoy family,
whereas my son and Lady Hermione arefriends with the Potter lad.” She decided
not to tell Pettigrew about the alliance with Sirius Black’s brother and
possibly the two brothers’ parents.
Pettigrew’s beady eyes gleamed. “I think I may know the reason for that, my
lady Merope. And it so happens that it relates to that very Potter lad.”
===============================================================================
Tom cast a healing spell to help his aching feet and turned around. The rocky
coastline had given way to a sandy shore. The sea cave that he was looking for
was in the other direction.
First, though, he would take a break and eat. He had brought some bread,
cheese, and apples, and he could always summon fresh water into being. Choosing
a rock that appeared to be blasted with less salt spray than the others, Tom
sat down and took out his food.
There must be a magic spell he could cast to help him, he thought in
irritation. It wasn’t as though he expected the Cave of Ceridwyn to be marked
with a raven or a crown! Someone else would have found it by now if that were
the case. But there had to be some way of magically identifying it to the
“chosen one” of the ancient artifact.
Unless I am not that person. The treacherous thought flitted through Tom’s
brain for a moment. He vanquished it at once. He was meant to find this cave.
He knew it.
===============================================================================
Merope gazed back at Pettigrew, who was now meeting her eyes rather
boldly—hungrily, she thought. It was a little unsettling.
“Lower your gaze,” she snapped. She had never ordered a vassal to do that, but
this strange crawling feeling had never come over her before.
Pettigrew glanced at his lap again. “I apologize, your ladyship. I was going to
tell you, there is something that happened while Severus was at Godric’s
Hollow, participating in the rebellion. There is a witch… a Muggle-born witch…
who is now married to Potter. Lily is her name. They were engaged at the time
of the rebellion… he had known her from childhood, and after he had finished at
Hogwarts, he returned home and I guess that was when they fell in love. Anyway,
Severus….” He trailed off theatrically.
A bad feeling came over Merope. “Severus… what?”
Pettigrew sighed heavily. “I’m sorry to tell you, he seduced her during the
rebellion. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but it definitely happened.
And if you look at the birthday of young Harry Potter, it’s questionable.”
Merope stared at the fidgety little man before her. She felt queasy, though she
could not say if it was because of what Pettigrew had just told her or because
of her peculiar unease about the man himself. The entire situation had a
certain degree of unreality about it, almost as if someone else were occupying
her body and she was just an observer from outside it. “Are you telling me that
you think Severus might be the true father of Harry Potter?” she repeated.
Pettigrew nodded importantly. “Lily and James were married a month after the
rebellion, so it’s hard to be certain, but it’s a possibility.”
“He never spoke a word,” she said, her voice very low, talking almost to
herself. “Does he knowthis?”
“I don’t see how he couldn’t. He’s a clever wizard, my lady. And the boy does
have black hair.” He did not mention the fact that James Potter also did.
Merope rose from her seat, shaking a little. “This woman,” she said, trying to
organize her thoughts and speech. “This Lily. What were they… that is to say,
do you think he is still… fond of her?”
“That I don’t know, my lady. I do know that he carried a torch for her for many
years after, though, right up to the time that my mother was murdered and I ran
away.”
Merope’s heart sank. All of a sudden, Severus’s strange behavior to her had a
very different explanation, and one that would be much harder to overcome than
annoyance over the transactional nature of the proceedings last night. She took
a deep breath and turned to Pettigrew, rising from her seat. He quickly
followed suit. “I thank you for telling me this,” she said haltingly. “You have
shown loyalty by doing so. Lord Severus has talked about the Godric’s Hollow
rebellion, but he never mentioned that he took part in it, and he certainly
said nothing about seducing a betrothed woman and possibly fathering a child.”
Pettigrew bowed low. “I merely serve you, my lady.”
“Nonetheless,” she said, taking another deep breath, “he deserves the chance to
explain himself. I will think about this and bring it up with him later today,
when he comes to the castle for dinner.”
===============================================================================
The sun was beginning to set as Tom stood outside a great mouth of a cave. His
magic sense was prickling, which told him that there was somethingmagical in
this area. Whether it was the ancient artifact, he could not be sure, but this
place had known magic. This was the best lead he had so far.
The only problem was that Tom could see the back of the cave. It was a shelter
from the elements, but it was not much more than that. Still, he thought, it’s
possible that there is a deeper cave behind this one. Perhaps the magic I sense
here is a ward to hide an inner cave. Pleased with this idea, Tom began to
explore the periphery of this shallow cave along every side. He kept his wand
out and his mind focused on the input from his magic sense, rather than his
ordinary physical senses, so that he would not miss anything. The tide was
coming in, but Tom could leave if it started to threaten him.
As he had expected, there were no markings along the walls. Whatever witch or
wizard—or intelligent magical creature—had used this cave in the past, they had
not left a physical indicator of it. However, that did not mean there weren’t
signs for a person attuned to magic to read. As Tom examined the walls on all
three closed sides of the cave, he reached a spot where the amount of magic
that he was detecting increased. It was almost imperceptible, but it was
definitely there. His heart rate picked up and a grin formed on his face as he
followed the lead. It led upward at a diagonal to the left, culminating in a
spot that, to Tom, almost pulsed with magic.
This is important, he thought, running his hand and wand across that spot on
the rock wall. This is an opening to something, a ward. But how to use it?
The thump, thump of the spell pounded through Tom’s magic sense. Thump-thump,
thump-thump….
Pulsing with magic… pulsing….
In a flash of inspiration, Tom knew what he had to do. He supposed he should
have known; his ancestors had done this all the time. He opened his left palm
and cast a hex, slicing his skin open. Wincing, he pressed the wound against
the throbbing magical blood ward. The rock wall slid away as if commanded,
leaving a gaping black chasm. The fading daylight filtered inside, revealing a
continued bank of solid ground, then what appeared to be rippling water—and
somethingglowing balefully in the center, green and cold. The artifact, Tom
thought excitedly. He healed his hand and cast a spell to illuminate the tip of
his wand, then entered the inner cave.
===============================================================================
Severus was not happy about this discussion. “I never claimed that I was not
part of the Godric’s Hollow rebellion!” he exclaimed. Merope sat across the
table, regarding him with a cool expression on her face. She had invited
Pettigrew to dine with them privately in the small family dining room that
evening, and he was clearly enjoying himself.
Hermione was horrified. She wished she had not been included in this… but, she
supposed, she wasold enough for such a discussion; she would be sixteen in a
month. It would also be unseemly for Merope to exclude herfrom an adult
conversation, singling her out as a “child,” after having such a long adult
talk with Tom the night before. Still, this was painful to witness on more than
one level.
“Lady Merope,” she pleaded. “Harry is one of my best friends at Hogwarts. He
looks nothing like Lord Severus! I have never seen any of his family, but I’m
sure that he really is a Potter.”
“That may be, and legally he is certainly the son of James Potter, since his
parents were married,” she said, eyeing Snape darkly. “Although I certainly
have personal reasons to object to parents who abandon their children, young
Harry did have two parents to raise him, so that is not the issue.” She gazed
hard at Snape’s black eyes. “When were you intending to tell me that you were
in the rebellion? And wereyou intending to tell me that you had a brief romance
there—if that’s the proper term for such a thing?” she added.
“I would have told you any time you asked,” he said. “The uprising was so many
years ago, though… it just never seemed important.”
That was a mistake. “Not important?” Merope said, the pitch of her voice rising
sharply. “To the contrary, Severus, I think all of this is extremelyimportant.”
“What I want to know is why henever said he was part of it, either,” Severus
snarled, glaring darkly at Peter Pettigrew. He turned on the smaller man. “You
told me about it! You are the only reason I even found out—and you said that
night that you ‘had duties at the castle’! Now you claim you were there—and I
suppose you must have been, since you know about me and Lily!”
“Severus,” Merope began sharply.
“Were you lurking in a hole in the wall as a filthy rat all along?” he snapped.
“Is that how you know?”
“Severus, that’s quite enough,” she said. “Pettigrew has not beenhere for the
past three years.”
“And I have some questions about that, too.”
“You questioned him under truth serum already. He has told me the truth
immediately, on the first full day of his service to me,” she added pointedly.
“I repeat my question to you: When were you planning to tell me about your part
in this uprising and your relationship with this woman?”
“The ‘relationship’ was over within a week! And again, my lady Merope, I would
have told you I was part of the rebellion any time you asked.”
“That is simply not true. You said once that ‘no one knew’ who was part of it,
because they were all masked,” she said, her words harsh as she remembered. “It
was two years ago, the summer after Hermione’s first year at Hogwarts.” She
thought about it. “You even mentioned the fact that Black and Potter held you
in contempt for serving my family, who were allies of Malfoy.”
Severus grimaced. “I never liedto you, my lady.”
“I think that you have been involved in intrigue a bit too long, Severus,” she
said coldly. “How many secrets from your past have come out lately? I won’t
repeat them all, but you have kept them from me for quite some time, and you
only revealed them because outside circumstances forced it. The accounts… my
brother… and now this. I have to ask, what do I still not know? What else lurks
in your past? It’s clear that you do not trust me, or you would have told me
these things of your own accord long ago. You mustn’t keep secrets from me if
we are to… work together.”
“With all due respect, my lady, this sounds very similar to what you told me
your son said to youlast night,” he burst out. As soon as he did—as soon as he
saw her eyes fly wide open in surprise—he knew that it was a bad idea, but it
was too late now.
“I suggest you think long about what you would like our future together to be
like, Lord Severus,” she said crisply, rising from her seat.
“Merope!” The name burst from his lips almost involuntarily as she left the
room.
Hermione wanted to get out of the room as quickly as she could. This was awful,
and she wished she had not witnessed it. It reminded her in a horrible way of
her own troubles with Tom. How could she face either of them now, after this?
She wished, in a way, that she was still a child, so that she would be shielded
from things like this. She rose from her seat quickly and gave Severus a look
as sympathetic as she could muster, but the resentment in his face hurried her
out the door.
Severus turned to Pettigrew. “You vile wretch,” he hissed. “What is your game?
You come here—you turn up after yearsof being missing—and the first thing you
do is put a wedge between us?” He rose from his seat and stalked across the
room to where Pettigrew sat, towering menacingly over the wizard. “What is your
game, rat?” He lowered his voice. “Were you the one who told Malfoy that I had
poisoned Morfin Gaunt?”
“Of course I wasn’t!” Pettigrew exclaimed. “How could you even think that?”
“Easily,” he said through clenched teeth. “There are damned few people who were
in a position to know. There was supposedly an eyewitness! That’s what we heard
from….” He broke off at once, glaring.
“It wasn’t me!” Pettigrew whined. “The Carrows work for Lestrange now, don’t
they? It was obviously one of them! How can you think it was me?”
Severus glared furiously at the fidgety little man before him. “It may have
been the Carrows,” he acknowledged. “They are proven traitors, after all. But
that doesn’t mean I trust you. Do you imagine that her ladyship will pick
youinstead of me, because of this? Is thatyour scheme?”
Merope reappeared in the doorway. She glared at him. “Leave him, Severus. He is
merely the messenger in this.”
Severus wanted to continue, but he was not about to disobey her. With a glare
of pure hatred at Pettigrew, he stormed out of the room.
===============================================================================
Tom stood at the side of the basin. He had managed to find a magically
concealed boat and navigate the lake, which was ghastly cold, but he was at a
dead end now. He was not about to drink the glowing green potion before him.
Anything that looked like that had to be a poison. He had already tried to
vanish it, to reduce the amount of it, to scoop it up and cast it away, to
transform it into something, anythingelse. It was resistant to everything he
had tried.
And yet Tom was certain that this bowl held the mysterious artifact that he had
read about. There was something at the bottom; he just knew it. His instinct
told him so… but he was not going to drink that potion. That was a trap, he was
quite certain. The chosen one just had to figure out how to get through it—the
right spell, the right answer to the puzzle, whatever it might be. There was
always some challenge of that kind in legends of a hero’s journey. He had not
hit upon the right answer yet, was all.
Maybe I can take some of the potion with me to analyze at home, he thought
suddenly. Once I know what it is, I can devise a way to defeat it. He conjured
a potions flask and scooped up a small amount of the sinisterly glowing potion,
noting with interest that it seemed to turn transparently green and stopped
reflecting once it was inside the flask. He placed the glass object in his pack
and turned aside regretfully. At least there was no magic in this cave that
would seal it against a repeat visit. He could come back again later, and he
would. He would be prepared next time, too.
===============================================================================
Hermione paced around her room anxiously. She was deeply troubled by the fight
between Severus and Merope. She had observed them for three years, ever since
she came here to be fostered. It was obvious to her that they liked each other.
They should not let something like this come between them! There was enough
misery in other people’s relationships already, she thought morosely, her
thoughts shifting to Tom. She hoped he was all right.
Tom can take care of himself, she reassured herself. He will be fine. Maybe he
will even be willing to talk to me when he returns. In the meantime, I wish
there was something I could do to help Lord Severus and Lady Merope.
She sat down at her desk and tried to think. She had promised to Severus that
she would not tell anyone about those memories of attraction to Merope that she
had seen during the Occlumency lessons last summer. There would be consequences
for breaking a magical promise… but perhaps this was an occasion when she
should do it anyway.
Chapter End Notes
     The comment of Snape's that Merope alludes to occurred in chapter 14.
     (I had to look up the precise location of it myself; I'm not that
     good. ;-) ) This story is far and away the longest I've ever written,
     and I think it still has about 100,000 words to go!
***** A Witch's Charm *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so much! I apologize for the length of, well, virtually
     every chapter that I post now, but a lot is happening and I don't
     want to make you guys wait even longer for the Merope/Snape wedding
     or the Tom/Hermione reconciliation, which would happen if I broke up
     the chapters into shorter ones.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The following day, Severus locked himself in his manor house to—well, to brood,
but also to try to work out some things about Peter Pettigrew that were
troubling him. So much was happening at once, and it was complicating his
analysis, which was normally very much on target for any situation. This was
harder to puzzle out. What was coincidental and what wasn’t? What were the
facts?
Well, it was a fact that Rodolphus Lestrange had bullied the father of one of
Tom’s friends into tricking his son to tell Tom about Sir Thomas Riddle. This
was very likely Wilkes, since his visit had occurred right before Tom had
stormed away to confront his father. And based on what Regulus Black said, the
boy’s father is dead as well, killed by the people he was serving, Severus
thought. That plot was obviously a way to release Merope from her magically-
sworn wedding vows. They had thwarted it, had they not? Or was Pettigrew’s
arrival part of a scheme to tear apart the couple?
Although Severus was generally inclined to be wary, he just could not reach
that conclusion based on the available evidence. Pettigrew had turned up the
day that Tom had gone to confront his father, which was suspicious, but he had
told Merope about Godric’s Hollow and Lily the day after. He could not have
sent an owl to anyone in that space of time asking what to do in response to
their quick betrothal, because he was locked in the guest wing of the castle,
and Merope’s strong wards on the castle prevented anyone from sending owls
except people she had approved. For Pettigrew’s arrival to have been part of a
grand Malfoy-Lestrange scheme to keep Merope single, they would have had to
have known about the possibility of a match between Severus and Merope well in
advance and sent him there with instructions to drive them apart. It didn’t
seem plausible at all. But, most importantly, Pettigrew himself would have had
to have been serving Malfoy and Lestrange as a loyal agent.
It wasn’t impossible, Severus thought, but he could not come up with a logical
reason for whyPettigrew would do such a thing. He hated the dead Gaunts—fine.
But why go to the Malfoys? He had never said anything in Severus’s presence
suggesting agreement with the Malfoy family’s extreme blood-purist and pro-
Norman views. Furthermore, at Hogwarts, he had been friends with the likes of
James Potter and Sirius Black, who were unhappy subjects of a Malfoy. What
would Pettigrew’s motive have been to turn against them? Severus could not come
up with one, and in the absence of that, he had to shelve that idea.
Could he be operating as a lone wolf, gathering information for any “patron”
who seemed interested, but not truly be on anyone’s side except his own? That
seemed more plausible to Severus. Despite Pettigrew’s denial, Severus was still
half convinced that Pettigrew had told Malfoy and Lestrange about his poisoning
of Morfin Gaunt. For some people, coin would be motive enough to spill
interesting information.
Let’s see, Severus thought. How would the sequence go? Pettigrew left the Gaunt
family’s service five years ago, after they murdered his mother. That is a
fact. However, he still could have had access to the castle, because Morfin
Gaunt was a fool who was incapable of warding it effectively, and since I’m not
a member of the family, I couldn’t do it unless he let me. In theory, Pettigrew
could have returned as a rat and seen me making the poison three years ago. He
didn’t care about Gaunt, certainly—but because he had palled about with Potter
and Black, he had sucked on the venom they spread about me and had no loyalty
to me either. But if he told Malfoy, it was not immediate. He would have held
the information until pretty recently. Yes—this fits. It does not require him
to be truly loyal to Malfoy, just opportunistic. This could be true. And self-
centered opportunism explains perfectly well why he would tell Merope about
what happened in Godric’s Hollow.
The suspicious timing of Pettigrew’s arrival was tougher. Severus really did
not want to resort to coincidence as the explanation, but the alternative
before him was indeed that Pettigrew had been ordered to come as an agent for
someone. Could it be someone else? Severus thought. Someone other than Armand
Malfoy? If he is an opportunist, it could be. What about the Longbottoms and
others associated with Dumbledore? The Longbottoms’ oath to Dumbledore provoked
Malfoy to declare that the High Master of Hogwarts may not accept the oath of
fealty from anyone other than the other masters. They have some other endgame…
but would that group gain anything by dividing Merope from me? Or dividing the
Potters, for that matter? They are also part of that general alliance. Is Lily
a problem somehow?
Severus dismissed this thinking; there simply was not enough evidence to
initiate a serious theory. Could it be coincidence after all? Could it really
be as simple as that—that Pettigrew heard of Merope’s decent and honorable
rule, decided to give his old home another chance, and is simply trying to rise
in her esteem by whatever means necessary? That seemed plausible too.
Severus rose from his seat, his forehead furrowing in thought. Whatever the
truth might be, Pettigrew really should not be allowed unfettered access to the
castle yet. It irritated him to no end that the rat was ingratiating himself to
Merope based on his “honesty” after three years of avoiding his duties. An
opportunistic information-gatherer would have all kinds of stories to tell
about anyone he had observed, and as a rat, Pettigrew would have been in the
position to observe virtually anyone who had not warded their dwelling against
him. With a treasure trove of facts about various people, some of which would
be blackmail material, he could pass himself off as “loyal” to anyone he wanted
while playing people against each other and serving himself alone. Thatmade
sense to Severus—and although it was not as dangerous as having an outright
agent for the enemy living in the castle, it still was not a situation that
should continue unchecked.
Merope’s weakness is her lack of sworn magical vassals,Severus thought. Other
than Pettigrew, I’m it. She has allies now—though apparently one of them was a
traitor and is dead now—but they are not here, on the grounds. It’s so bad that
we had to give carefully bespelled objects to the Muggle village leaders for
defensive purposes. She won’t like it if I advise her to turn him off the
grounds, but there must be something that can be done.
He sat back down to think more.
===============================================================================
Tom Apparated outside the main gates of the castle. The potion that he had
gathered rested safely inside the stoppered flask. He would analyze it and then
determine his course of action based on the results. Whatever was at the bottom
of that basin would be his.
“You are back early,” Merope said coolly to him once he presented himself to
her.
He gazed at her with an expressionless visage and offered a curt nod. “I
reached the end of what I could do with the resources I had.”
“And what does thatmean?” she asked. “Did you attempt to get into Hogwarts to
find the Chamber of Slytherin?”
Tom was momentarily startled. He eyed his mother. “Hermione told you about
that, did she?”
Merope was not inclined to betray Hermione’s confidence, especially since she
had thought of it independently herself. “Hermione didn’t have to,” she said
sharply. “I know that you are interested in family legends. Was that what you
were doing?”
For a moment, Tom was tempted to lie and tell her yes. It was a decent cover
story. However, he realized at once that she would scold him about it. “No, it
wasn’t,” he said. “I didn’t go north. I was interested in our ancestors who
lived in the southwest of England and in Wales.”
Merope studied him for a moment before deciding that he was telling her the
truth. “Very well, then. I hope you also thought about what I told you.”
And she scolds me anyway, Tom thought with a surge of frustration. Suddenly he
just wanted her to let him go about his business, without further questioning
or comment. “I didn’t spare it one second, actually,” he shot back defiantly.
Merope’s eyes popped wide, and her nostrils flared. “That’s it. I am sick of
your lip these days, Tom. Go to your room,” she snapped.
Smirking to himself once he was out of her line of sight, Tom headed upstairs.
That was exactly what he had wanted her to say, but he would stop in the
castle’s potions laboratory first.
===============================================================================
The castle had a Pensieve in the library, a beautiful bowl of copper that had
turned green with age. The sides were chased with Celtic knotwork and
sculptings of creatures both fantastic and mundane. There were curiously few
snakes, Hermione observed, before remembering that Parseltongue had entered the
Gaunt line only in the past hundred and fifty years. This bowl was much older
than that. Hermione stood beside it, waiting for Merope’s arrival. She had
asked the older witch to meet her in the library, before this object, because
of something that she wanted to show Merope. That was all that she would say.
The doors to the library creaked open, and Merope entered quietly. She closed
the doors behind her and walked over to the spot where Hermione stood over the
Pensieve. Frustration was written in every line of her face, Hermione noticed
with some dismay, but as she approached, she attempted to put on a smile.
“This Pensieve is beautiful,” Hermione remarked in a low voice, attempting to
be diplomatic and pleasant. She was suddenly very concerned that Merope, with
the annoyance that she already felt, would regard this as a grossly
inappropriate imposition.
The smile blossomed on Merope’s face. “Thank you,” she said. “It is, isn’t it?”
She paused, feeling vaguely nostalgic. “When I first decided to claim my title
and return to this castle, I had forgotten about the beauty and scholarship
inside its walls. Well—not forgotten, exactly, but other, less pleasant
memories had taken over.”
“I didn’t mean—” Hermione began to say.
“No, don’t worry,” Merope reassured her. “I’m merely musing aloud.” She raised
her eyebrows at Hermione. “Did you happen to overhear what I said about my
family when I… argued with Tom the night before last?”
Hermione shook her head. “You don’t have to repeat it to me if it’s that
unpleasant.” She gazed over the copper bowl anxiously.
Merope understood. “Of course, you wanted to show me something! I won’t dwell
on it now, but you have obviously heard over the past three years that some
members of my family were wicked people. They did not appreciate these
books”—she gestured around the library—“or these ancient magical artifacts. But
the complete history of the Gaunts is more subtle. There were the wicked and
the mad… and then there were the brilliant and visionary. The family history is
complicated… and even some of those brilliant and visionary ones did things we
consider wrong now.” A thoughtful frown appeared on her face. “Most people are
complicated, I suppose.”
“Yes,” Hermione said eagerly, taking out her wand and pointing it at her
temple. “They are… and that is exactly why I was going to let you see this one
memory in particular.” She hesitated. “It happened to me when I was learning
Occlumency from Lord Severus last summer. I realize that what I’m showing you
may seem meddlesome, and I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t….” She trailed off,
breaking her gaze with Merope. “After what happened between Tom and me, I just
can’t….”
Merope thought she understood. She waited as Hermione withdrew the silver
thread of memory and placed it in the basin. Hermione stepped back and looked
down, her face visibly flushed. Feeling compassion for the young witch, though
not expecting to see anything as significant as Hermione obviously believed it
to be, Merope stepped forward and leaned over the basin.
The memory swirled into an image of the room in the castle in which Hermione’s
Occlumency lessons had taken place. From Hermione’s perspective, Merope watched
as Severus scowled at Hermione, not in anger, but in concentration. Hermione
was reliving that ugly event from her first week at Hogwarts, the one in which
the Lestrange girl attacked her, and she was trying her best to prevent Severus
from seeing it. At a point in the memory, the fuzzy images of Lestrange and
Hogwarts dissolved away, leaving Severus in clear profile, gazing into
Hermione’s light brown eyes with his dark ones. Then—Merope almost jerked out
of the Pensieve at this shift—it was as though Hermione was the one performing
Legilimency. Her field of vision seemed to shoot through Severus’s pupils,
leaving her memory-self—and Merope beside her in the Pensieve—observing
Severus’s thoughts.
Hermione’s memory-self gazed upon an image of Severus sitting at his desk. He
was thinking hard about something—and Merope gasped as Hermione delved deeper
into Severus’s thoughts in this moment. He was focused on… on her, Merope
realized. He wanted to please her, to make her happy, to make her trust him… to
make her carefor him.
To make her love him.
The greatest day of his life was the day she had restored the title that had
been so cruelly stripped away by her family. That was the day that he knew he
might have a real chance with her. Then, later, Hermione’s memory-self—and,
now, Merope—experienced the unhappiness he felt when Merope refused to consider
annulling her marriage vows to Sir Thomas due to the unknown personal
repercussions of breaking a vow and the fact that it would harm Tom. Severus
had understood, though.
All this time, Merope realized, he had understood, and had been patient with
the political considerations that kept interfering with the relationship that
he wanted to initiate with her.
Merope drew away from the Pensieve, her eyes wide with surprise. She breathed
deeply, gazing into the swirling silver, trying to reorder her thoughts. This…
changed things. Finally she looked in Hermione’s direction, noticing with
regret that Hermione was cringing and wincing.
“Thank you for showing me this,” Merope said, trying to comfort Hermione. “I
did not know… Severus is very good at concealing his emotions….”
“Whatever he may have felt for Harry Potter’s mother sixteen years ago, I don’t
think he cares about her now,” Hermione whispered, unable to meet Merope’s
eyes. “There was nothing about her in that.”
“No,” Merope agreed, overwhelmed. “There wasn’t.”
“He should have told you the truth about Godric’s Hollow,” she said quietly,
“but please, I hope you can forgive him. I can’t stand seeing….” She broke off
again, tears in her eyes.
Merope moved to Hermione and enveloped her in her arms. Although Hermione was
almost sixteen years old, Merope still wanted to comfort her as a daughter.
“I’m very sorry about what you are going through with Tom,” she said. “I wish I
could help you as you just helped me.”
Hermione twitched in Merope’s arms.
“I want you to tell me something,” Merope said, “and I don’t want you to think
about this in terms of what you perceive as your duty. I certainly don’t want
you to concern yourself with what you believe Tom would want you to do, and I
don’t want you to fear offending me, either. I want you to answer this only for
yourself and what youwould like. Tom has informed me that he told you about a
bargain I made with him the day the two of you met.”
“He did.”
“Next summer… do you want to go through with the wedding? Or would you rather
break it off at that point, after you have finished your education?” Merope
thought quickly. “You may change your mind, of course. I just want to know what
you think right now.” There was another reason, but she would wait until
Hermione answered—and whatshe answered—before talking about it.
Hermione considered. She was not sure of her future if she did end the
engagement. Would her parents scramble something for her quickly, a marriage to
a stranger? They might, and what could she do about it? She certainly would not
have any protection as a witch under Malfoy’s laws, and who knew what
additional laws he might enact over the next year? If she defied her parents
and chose to live as an independent, single witch, she likely would not be
allowed to carry a wand at all. Even now, if she did marry Tom, she would not
be allowed to have one in public after she had left Hogwarts. That was one of
Malfoy’s new rules. Without that marriage, her future would be bleak indeed…
but it was not just that practical consideration that troubled her.
If she ended her engagement to Tom, there would be virtually no chance that
they would reconcile in the future. She was unhappy, certainly—but it was not
because she was with Tom. It was because she wasn’t“with” him to the extent
that she would prefer, the extent that they had once been close. She wanted
that back, and it was at least possible that she could have it in a future that
included him. She had not wanted to let him touch her until he had apologized
for his bad conduct… but it was different for a married couple. A married
couple, especially a noble couple, could be intimate strictly in order to have
a child, whereas Hermione had done so out of desire and closeness to him—and
had even taken the potion to preventconception. She could allow it again once
she was officiallymarried, to start a new family… and who knew? Perhaps once
Tom was out of Hogwarts, and had to devote his time to more serious matters
than fantasizing about crowns and looking for ancient chambers, he would
appreciate her again. And if he did not… then at least she would have children
someday, and she would be in the same household as Merope, who was now more of
a mother to her than her own mother.
She looked up at Merope. “I want to do it,” she said firmly. “I want to have
the wedding.”
Merope studied her for a moment before nodding. A grim smile formed on her face
as she released Hermione. “I’ll be honest with you now that you have said that,
Hermione. That was what I hoped you would say. And, since you have, here is my
promise to you. As long as you feel this way, and if nothing else changes, I
won’t cut you off. It would be terribly unfair to you and I won’t do it. This
takes precedence over what I told Tom three years ago, because as I explained
to him the night before last, there is no good reason to terminate the
contract. If this remains your wish, then I will make sure it happens. This, I
swear to you.”
She cupped Hermione’s cheek and smiled sadly at her before departing. Hermione
stood silently, watching her leave, pleased that she would reconcile with
Severus—and grimly relieved about her own future.
===============================================================================
Severus was surprised when Merope showed up at the door to his manor house, but
he could hardly deny his liege admittance. He showed her to the sitting room
and flicked his wand to summon some of his wine bottles. She did not look
angry, he observed as he cast the charm to uncork a bottle and pour the wine
into goblets for them. That was promising.
Merope accepted her goblet and sipped the wine, her features showing approval
as she tasted it. “Severus,” she began, setting it down on a table. “I came
here to… well, to apologize for my reaction to the information that Pettigrew
gave.”
Severus faced her. “You don’t owe me an apology,” he said stoically. “You were
right that I should have told you the truth about my part in Godric’s Hollow. I
don’t know when would have been a good time to tell you about the Potters,
because it didn’t seem that it would serve any purpose… the lad is considered
James’s son, after all, and for all anyone knows, he really is. But I shouldn’t
have deceived you about my own participation in the uprising.”
Merope nodded. “I admit much of my anger was about the secrecy… and you were
also right that I have kept too many secrets from my own son. We’re all
Slytherins, clearly,” she said with a dark laugh, “and we’re paying the price
for keeping our secrets. But… we can make something good and even beautiful out
of this present situation, and that’s what I want to happen.”
Severus managed a smile. Merope was pleased, and she considered how to
continue. She did not want to betray Hermione’s confidence, and she did not
think that she needed to. Severus had feelings for her—very strong ones. She
just needed to reassure him that she returned those feelings herself.
“I want to make that happen as well,” he said quietly. “What do you mean,
though, when you say that ‘much’ of your anger was about my secrecy? Was there
something else?”
She sighed. This was going to be difficult, and nothing in Hermione’s memory
had addressed it. “I suppose that ‘anger’ might not be the most apt word to use
for it. The bit that concerns me is… this Lily was engaged to be married. Did
you know that? Pettigrew described it as a ‘seduction’—is that true? And, I
suppose, if it is true… then how can you reassure me? I realize it was sixteen
years ago. Was it just youth?”
Severus glared at his own lap, then breathed deeply to cool the surge of anger
that had arisen in him. He raised his gaze to her face. “Pettigrew
misrepresented it,” he said bluntly. “I didn’t think you would appreciate any
details of how it happened… but since you asked, I will tell you. Lily said
that she and Potter had had a terrible fight and that the betrothal was off.”
He noticed that Merope’s eyes widened in surprise at this information, but it
encouraged him. “I won’t repeat what she said about him, but suffice it to say
that it was completely in keeping with my own wretched experiences with the
lout at Hogwarts. I felt sorry for any witch who had been ill-used by James
Potter, and… yes… I was young and idealistic. I believed that the rebellion
might actually succeed and that Lily and I could have a chance in the future.
When Lucius Malfoy had it so brutally put down, I made sure that Lily would be
safe and then fled back to Parselhall. We both agreed that the relationship
could not continue, because otherwise I would have to account for how I met
her, since she didn’t go to Hogwarts. It would be far too dangerous. A month
later, Pettigrew mentioned that Potter had married her.” He glanced down again,
unable to look Merope in the eye for this next confession. “I… have reason to
think that she had already consummated her engagement with Potter when I met
her, so it’s quite likely that they were intimate again before their wedding. I
genuinely don’t know who is the blood father of Harry Potter.”
Merope tried not to think about just how Severus must have figured out that
Lily had not been a virgin. She considered the rest of what she had just
learned. “Do you think that Lily returned to James Potter because she was with
child?”
“If she did, it couldn’t have been because of me. Not that soon. The wedding
itself occurred a month after the rebellion, so they had been making plans
during that month. If she decided to marry him because she was pregnant, then
it happened before I met her. But I think they really did reconcile after the
rebellion. She never tried to correspond with me afterward.”
Merope thought about this. “She told you that the engagement was off,” she
murmured. “I wonder why Pettigrew implied otherwise? I suppose he might not
have known.”
“That is just exactly what I hoped you would mention,” he said, his tone
suddenly much more aggressive. “My lady Merope, I will be honest with you: I do
not trust Pettigrew and I don’t think he should have free rein in the castle.”
Merope drew back. “Severus, I think you are allowing your dislike of Potter and
Sirius Black to influence you against Pettigrew.”
“It doesn’t help,” he admitted, “but I have other questions about him.”
She folded her hands on her lap and gazed at him. “And they are?”
“Well, for one, where has he beenfor five years? Or—granting him the first
two—where has he been for the three that you have ruled here? He knew that you
were here. He admitted it under Veritaserum. He claimed he was wary of you
because you were a Gaunt, but that doesn’t explain what he wasdoing. I wish I’d
asked him when he had that potion in him.”
“Well, you did not, and now he has taken the oath to me. I can’t risk
alienating him by letting you question him under serum whenever you like,
Severus. You must understand that. Do you have actual cause to suspect him of
anything?”
Severus explained his theory that Pettigrew was an indiscriminate information-
gatherer and opportunist. Merope regarded him patiently as he talked. When he
was finished, she thought about what he had said.
“There may be something in that,” she said thoughtfully. “A wizard who feels
betrayed by his lord, and rightly so, and who feels that he has nowhere to go.
I can see it, I suppose. However, he did return to this fief. He certainly
attempted to buy my loyalty with his information, even if he exaggerated and
misled about some details. I am resolved to give him a chance, Severus—though I
will limit him to only certain areas of the castle. I’ve set the Muggle
tradesmen to work on his old manor today. It should be ready soon, and he can
live there.”
Severus was not satisfied, but he realized that the discussion of Pettigrew was
at an end for now. Better not to press his luck—or digress from the more
important subject at hand. They would have more opportunities to talk about
this later.
“Now,” Merope said, much more warmth in her words, “shall we talk about our own
‘business’ once more?”
“I would be delighted,” he replied, his voice deeper than usual, to his own
surprise.
“Well,” she said, “first, I am sorry for the way I handled it the night before
last. It was cold and abrupt and I took you for granted. I shouldn’t have. I…
am not sure I could have offered a heartfelt confession of love at that point—I
mean, it’s not because I don’t—that is to say—” She broke off, feeling her face
flush. That was certainly an unfamiliar sensation. “It had been a long and
difficult day. I had to see young Wilkes off, Pettigrew had arrived, Regulus
Black had arrived, I had received frightening news of my former husband’s
death, and my son and I had just had a terrible fight over that. That’s all
that it was. It wasn’t because I—” She broke off again, feeling the heat rise
once more. What is this? she thought in embarrassment and exasperation. I
haven’t had this happen since I eloped with Sir Thomas. I am too old for this—
Severus was watching her in surprise—and growing amusement—at this fragmented
explanation and the accompanying change in the color of her face. “So you
dodeem yourself capable of a ‘heartfelt confession of love’ at a better moment,
my lady?”
She stared at him indignantly, but a smile played at the corners of her lips.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, grinning. “Merope, of course.”
At last, a laugh escaped her lips. It was not very musical; her voice had never
been the most melodic, but to Severus, it was the sweetest sound in the world.
He decided to be bold. Rising from his chair, he crossed the short distance
between them, took her hands in his, and gently pulled her from her seat. Her
smile was lopsided and her cheeks were as pink as he had ever seen them. A
girlish laugh slipped from her throat as he embraced her and quickly planted a
kiss on the side of her cheek.
===============================================================================
Tom scowled in frustration as he cast the spell to clean a cauldron. Yet
another solvent had failed with the green potion. Tom had no more idea of what
it was now than he had when he first saw it, even though he had tested twenty
diagnostic potions or general-purpose antidotes on it, a drop or two of the
green potion at a time. A bloodied rag lay on the table, because some of the
diagnostic potions were rather obscure and required a measure of human blood.
It had been useless.
He gazed at the flask, which now contained only a few drops of it. He supposed
he could return to the cave to scoop up more, but that seemed like a failure of
sorts. The cave might even seal against him if he returned for any purpose
other than to claim the hidden artifact. I am going to return to Hogwarts soon
enough, he thought, storing the flask on a shelf in his room. I can ask
Slughorn about it. He may have some insight. The thought crossed Tom’s mind
that Snape might also know what the green potion was, or at least, how to
determine what it was, but he was not going to tell this to Snape.
Thinking about Snape irritated him now. Apparently the new vassal, Pettigrew,
had told Mother some compromising information of some sort about Snape while he
was away, but they had quickly patched up their differences. It was incredibly
frustrating that Tom would have to deal with this wizard, who clearly did not
like him very much, as his stepfather in a couple of months. Nothing is going
right for me, Tom thought. Wilkes is played for a fool by his own father… and I
really hate the idea of being manipulated myself by Malfoy and Lestrange. My
father deserved what he got, but I still hate it. Someday they will pay for
everything they have done. But right now, I have been used for their ends,
Mother has lost an alliance… and nothing else is going right either. I couldn’t
get to the artifact that must be in that basin, and I still don’t know what to
do. I am no closer to finding Slytherin’s chamber, because Mother won’t remove
her hexes from the books about later family history. Hermione continues to be
stubborn, if she even cares anything about me at all. I don’t know what
Potter’s associates are involved in. And Mother is going to marry bloody Snape.
Tom’s serpent familiar seemed to sense his irritation and slithered around his
wrist. He glanced down at the creature and managed a faint smile. A reminder of
his heritage always helped, at least a little bit.
===============================================================================
The new year at Hogwarts began soon, much to Tom’s relief. His mother and Snape
discussed wedding plans daily, and he could hardly stand it anymore. He didn’t
like the idea of Snape with his mother—sleepingwith his mother—but there was
more to it than that. The two of them sat at the family dinner table, or the
family parlor, or anywhere in the castle, really, making eyes at each other
like…. Well, like Hermione and I used to, Tom thought irritably. However, the
subtle displays of affection that he witnessed did not inspire him to change
his own behavior. If anything, they had the opposite effect. The last thing
that Tom wanted to do was to allow the sight of Severus Snape eyeballing his
mother to influence what hedid. He just wanted to get back to Hogwarts to take
the remnant of his green potion to Slughorn, to meet with his friends again,
and to seek out the Chamber of Slytherin.
Wilkes had written to him to tell him about his father’s shocking death. Tom
had written back, his words cold as ice, explaining the circumstances of that
death. Wilkes’s reply had been properly horrified and embarrassed—as well it
should, Tom thought. He decided not to punish Wilkes for the deception; Wilkes
had not known what he was doing, after all. His father had been the traitor and
oathbreaker, and he had paid the ultimate price for it. Knowing that one’s
father had died for treachery was a punishment worse than anything Tom could
mete out. Wilkes was technically the title-holder now, but since he was not of
wizarding age, his mother would act for him. She had already assured Merope of
her allegiance, and she did not seem to have been involved in her late
husband’s dealings with Lestrange.
Yes, Tom thought confidently as he Apparated with Hermione into the street of
Hogsmeade, I have plans for this year.
Next to him, Hermione was resolving to herself that she too would accomplish
some important things. She would learn to Apparate, and she would do it
quickly. She would get bettermarks than Tom in as many fields of magic as she
could. And she would consult with Luna, Harry, and her other friends as often
as possible to find out what was going on with their families.
===============================================================================
The very first evening after the pupils of Hogwarts had classes with the
masters, something happened to further Hermione’s last resolution. She was
coming down from the Astronomy tower, her star chart in hand. She had been the
final student to leave the class, but that was only because she wanted to be
absolutely certain that she got everything correct. When she reached the base
of the tower, she was startled out of her own thoughts by the sound of a witch
and a wizard having a heated argument. To her even greater surprise, she
recognized the voices as those of High Master Dumbledore and Professor
McGonagall.
“I don’t care, Albus—I don’t like it!”
Hermione hid herself away in the shadows behind the arched entrance to the
tower.
“Now, Minerva,” Dumbledore said in a soothing voice, “you surely understand
that they must saycertain things to get what they desire—what we must have, if
this plan is to succeed. It does not mean that they intend to follow through.”
“You presume much, Albus.” McGonagall’s voice was laced with anger. “You have
blinded yourself to certain inconvenient truths about our so-called allies. I
think they dobelieve what they are saying.”
“That is a very serious accusation, Minerva.” His tone was suddenly no longer
soothing.
“But a valid one. Have you failed to see how every one of the boys currently
here behaves? I assure you, I haven’t. Of allthe people to negotiate on our
behalf—”
“I cannot imagine what your objection is. He is a gentle, mild wizard.”
“Sheisn’t, and in a matter like this one, he would do exactly as she asked him
to! That’s all he has ever done, and sheis genuinely the worst witch possible
for this role!”
“This discussion isn’t appropriate for the halls of Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said
sharply. “In fact, as far as I’m concerned, it is at an end. I trust the
assignments I have made.” He turned and walked briskly in the direction of his
own office. Hermione held her breath as McGonagall walked in the other
direction, which took her right past the Astronomy tower entrance—but the older
witch did not detect Hermione’s presence.
She waited several minutes to be certain that the hallways were clear before
hurrying to the Slytherin common room, thinking hard and fast about what she
had just heard.
===============================================================================
“I really don’t know what that could mean,” Harry murmured under his breath
that evening after Hermione told him what she had overheard. Tom was not
present in the common room at all, so they did not have to worry about his
eavesdropping. “It certainly soundsas if Professor McGonagall is very unhappy
with the parents of someone here….”
“Multiple ‘someones,’” Hermione added, “and wizards all.” An idea occurred to
her. “Do you think she means the Weasleys? She would be Head of House for all
of them, and it does seem that the twins and that Ronald boy are ill-behaved.
Ronald is certainly rude, and slothful, and the twins seem to be in trouble all
the time for pranks and attacks. But she would have been referring to their
parents. Do you know anything about their parents, Harry? Would they fit the
descriptions she and Master Dumbledore gave—the father ‘gentle and mild,’ and
the mother apparently the opposite?”
Harry shook his head. “I really don’t know, Hermione, and obviously we cannot
ask Ginevra about it.”
Hermione chuckled darkly. “I suppose not… unless she expresses irritation with
her mother of her own accord.”
“My father gets owls from the Weasleys a lot,” Harry mused, “but I’ve never met
the parents personally.”
That seemed strange to Hermione. “Your father gets owls from them—the parents,
you mean? Or some of the older brothers?”
“The letters I have seen are from the parents and the son Percival—SirPercival
now.”
Hermione frowned. “Do they not write to your mother?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never seen one for her. Why?”
Hermione was not about to tell Harry about the dramatics that she had
experienced that summer. What good would it do? He looked nothing like Severus
Snape except for his hair color, and there was no spell to prove paternity, so
best not to sow doubts that could never be permanently erased or confirmed.
“Luna sent me a note over the summer about her visit with you, and she
mentioned that your mother corresponded with the Weasleys, Longbottoms, and
Dumbledore—but she implied it was much less than your father.”
“Oh, well, my mother doescorrespond with Dumbledore and with Neville’s mother.
But I don’t think Mistress Weasley and my mother like each other, to be
honest.” He sighed. “My father is buried in his letters these days. It’s harder
than ever to learn anything from him about what is going on or what he may be
involved in. I’m sorry. I wish I could be of more help.”
“It isn’t your fault!” she exclaimed. “I know you are doing your best, and it
is obviously much more important to you than to me. It’s yourfamily, after
all.”
He managed a weak smile. “I think I may have better luck in the long term with
Sirius. Sirius and my father have been friends since long before I was born, of
course… but….” He trailed off.
“They are having difficulties?”
He nodded. “It has to do with a courtship that Sirius began.”
“Luna mentioned that too!” Hermione said, remembering.
“The witch is a widow with a young daughter. She knew them from Hogwarts, my
father and Sirius. I think she and Sirius are going to get married soon,
actually. My father has never approved of it.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
“No. I wish I did.”
===============================================================================
While Hermione and Harry were exchanging information and theories in the
Slytherin common room that evening, Tom was in the Potions laboratory with
Professor Slughorn. It was a blow to his pride, but he had to turn over the
flask of green potion to the potions master for analysis. Slughorn was
absolutely delighted at what he was rapidly discovering—and Tom was
increasingly sour, though his professor did not notice.
“But this is wonderful, Tom!” Slughorn exclaimed, holding up a solid gold spoon
that was overflowing with a foaming, sizzling fluid. “This potion is
alchemical!”
Tom glared venomously at the spoon. “Alchemical?” he said, barely holding in
his spite. “How so… Professor? What does it do?”
Slughorn gazed across the table, where a collection of spoons in gold and
silver rested, all of them filled with compounds of various beautiful colors.
“This is… well,” he said, pausing to gather his thoughts and tamp down his
excitement. “My diagnostics indicate that this potion will induce a reflection
of one’s darkest moments in life.”
How horrible, Tom thought. Why is the man so excited about that? “And with all
due respect… Professor… what is the alchemical part? That doesn’t sound very
appealing to me.”
“Oh, Tom,” Slughorn said indulgently, shaking his head at the folly of youth.
“The purpose of alchemy—the true purpose—is not merely to transmute base
metals, or even to unlock the secret of earthly immortality.”
“Wizards have already done that anyway,” Tom said at once, failing utterly to
keep the bitterness out of his words.
Slughorn turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Tom! Let’s… stay on topic.”
Tom noted his professor’s distaste for the subject at which he had hinted.
Somehow that only made his annoyance at what he was learning increase.
“The ultimate purpose of alchemy is to purify the self—to cleanse the soul. No
one has achieved that level of personal enlightenment, which is thought to be
necessary to even have a chance at creating the Philosopher’s Stone. However,
there have been those who have taken some steps along that path, and whoever
created this potion must have been one of them! The point of reflecting on
one’s darkest moments—one’s worst deeds—is to face the wrong one has done and
to feel remorse for it. That is what consuming this potion will do in a large
enough amount. The few drops you provided me tonight won’t induce that sort of
reckoning, but I would bet they would have brought forward some dark memories.
You say that this potion came from a family heirloom?”
“Not an heirloom, precisely,” Tom hedged. “It’s a magical artifact that belongs
to my mother’s family, though.”
“Do you think you could bring it here—after Christmas, perhaps?”
Tom shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can move it from its
place.”
“Well, that’s a pity. It would be very interesting to examine.” He considered
further. “In a case like this, there would probably be an additional potion to
be taken afterward. This is strong, and drinking the necessary amount would
probably render a person very weak. I would guess that there is a potion, or a
spell at least, that restores some physical vigor.”
Unless there was something special about the water in the cave, Tom did not
know what that could be. He forced the scowl off his face and managed a smile
for his professor. “Well,” he said, “this is very interesting indeed! Thank you
for doing this analysis, Professor.”
“Thank youfor bringing it! It has been a pleasure and a treat to see something
like this.”
Not for me, Tom thought as he gathered up his supplies and prepared to leave
the laboratory. In his opinion, the entire exercise was a disappointment. He
was right about that potion from the very first, he thought: It waspoison.
Slughorn might call it alchemical, but in Tom’s view, anything that produced
the effect Slughorn described was a poison and certainly not something he
intended to drink.
As he entered the hall and began the short walk to the Slytherin common room,
he reflected that the interaction had not been entirely pointless. At least he
did know what the potion did now. That was something, and it was a starting
place for him to devise a way to defeat it.
Chapter End Notes
     The Snape/Merope wedding should occur in the next chapter (this
     reassurance is mainly meant for you, bainsidhe).
     I'm doing something a little different with the green potion. I don't
     see what is so bad about reliving one's darkest moments, especially
     in the case of someone who needs to reflect on how he (or she) hurt
     others and to feel guilty and remorseful for it. The problem with the
     cave in canon was the presence of Inferi in the water (the only water
     one can drink after quaffing that potion, which heavily implies that
     they are magically linked), which Voldemort placed there himself at
     some point. Also, Voldemort didn't make the potion do what it does.
     It already had that property, or else why would he have ordered
     Kreacher to drink it for him before he placed the locket inside? The
     basin also refills itself over time, implying a magical purpose for
     it that is entirely independent of what canon Voldemort used it for.
     I think it's now very clear what purpose the potion itself will serve
     in this story. Whether there is an object in the basin, and what it
     might be if there is, we shall see!
***** Mischief Managed *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so, so much! The key event in this chapter should hopefully
     be a nice treat in an otherwise dark stretch of the story. There is a
     section of this chapter that is NSFW.
     Warnings: This chapter contains some highly misogynistic commentary
     from characters that some readers may like and find sympathetic in
     canon. For me, the people who say this stuff in this chapter are
     among my least favorite, but I realize not everyone shares my likes
     and dislikes among all the canon characters.
The wedding of Merope Gaunt Riddle and Severus Snape was set for the end of
October, the weekend before Hallowe’en. Tom and Hermione received permission to
go to Parselhall for the event—though Tom would have preferred a denial. It
would have been an excuse not to go to a wedding that he very much did not want
to witness and wished he could block out of his thoughts altogether. However,
for a childless bachelor, Albus Dumbledore was surprisingly sentimental about
family.
When Tom was forced to think about the impending marriage, his mind quickly
shifted to peripheral matters. One issue that puzzled him was the fact that
Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange had not done anything in retaliation for
a piece of news that must have been equally unwelcome to them as it was to
Tom—albeit for very different reasons.
What are they up to? Tom wondered. They must be up to something. They would not
ignore something like this. He did not know, and it worried him.
Observing Draco Malfoy’s behavior did not shed any light on the question. Draco
seemed warier than usual, Tom noted, keeping to himself more than before and
even being chilly with his “pack” of Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and William
Rosier. Tom recalled that Regulus Black had been uncertain of the loyalties of
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Draco’s parents. Perhaps the suspicion and distrust
were reciprocal and it included their son as well. However, Draco’s guarded
behavior this autumn did not help Tom determine what might be brewing in Malfoy
Manor at the behest of his great-grandfather and uncle Lestrange.
On the other hand,Tom thought with a spark of disgruntlement, perhaps Draco is
being guarded and wary for much more mundane reasons. There was that night that
I was coming back from the library and I overheard him speaking with Astoria
Greengrass in hushed voices. They are carrying on; I’m certain of it, and that
will make trouble for everyone. I would not care if it were any other
witch—well, no, that’s not true, he corrected his own thoughts as he remembered
Hermione. Any witch but one. Well, two, because it would create problems if it
were Daphne just as it will with her sister. The Greengrass family has an
alliance with the Flint family, who are our allies. Otherwise I would not care,
and would even support anything that promotes division among the Norman
families, but there will be repercussions from this if it continues, and this
could easily be what Draco is so nervous about. Tom scowled to himself at this
thought. He didn’t like any of this, and the fact that he did not know what
Malfoy and Lestrange were planning as retaliation for the unwelcome news from
Parselhall alarmed him most of all.
===============================================================================
Tom had the answer to his unspoken question the very next day. A vassal of
Lestrange or Malfoy whom he had never seen before—a large blond wizard whose
name, he learned, was Rowle—was busy attaching a decree to the walls of
Hogwarts. A crowd of pupils gathered around it, and Tom noted with some
interest that every single face was filled with outrage. Of course, he did
notnotice anyone there who was a son or daughter of Armand Malfoy’s allies….
                                        
                AN ACT TO ENCOURAGE FAMILIAL AND SOCIETAL ORDER
By order of His High Lordship Armand Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire, Lord of Witches
  and Wizards, it is hereby proclaimed that the use of the Imperius Curse is
permitted in certain situations and shall no longer be considered a crime when
                                performed thus:
   1. A wizard husband may use the spell on his witch wife to force obedience
      in any lawful matter including marital duties.
   2. A wizard father may use the spell on all his children of any age who
      reside with him or whom he supports financially, in whole or in part, to
      force any lawful behavior. This provision shall be construed to include
      adult children who reside in properties owned by the head of the family.
   3. A half-blood or pureblood witch or wizard may use the spell on any known
      Mudblood to force any lawful behavior.
   4. A ruling noble with at least one drop of Norman blood, which is to say,
      at least one proven magical ancestor who entered the Isle of Britain in
      Anno Domini 1066 with the Norman company, or any Norman company that
      followed to support and enforce their rightful rule, may use the spell on
      any wizarding noble without such ancestry to force any lawful behavior.
This law does not permit the casters of the Imperius Curse to force subjects to
                       perform deeds that are unlawful.
 
Tom felt his blood rising to his head in anger. It was already allowed for
magical persons to use the spell in question on Muggles, or their own underage
children, or for nobles to use it on untitled subjects—though not titled
magical vassals. Most witches and wizards didn’tuse it on their children except
when a child was doing something dangerous, nor did most nobles use it on
witches or wizards even if they were commoners, but they could. The use of it
in any other context had been a minor crime, punishable by magical confinement
for a few weeks. It was perfectly obvious to Tom why Malfoy and Lestrange had
carved out each and every one of these new exceptions.
Snape would not do that to Mother, he reassured himself. But would he do it to
me? He is not my father… but if he did, would Malfoy and Lestrange make that
distinction? Not for my sake, I’m sure. And the last…. He thought for a moment
about his enemies at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy, Adelaide Lestrange, and their
associates were noble, but they were not rulers. This did not permit them to do
it to him—but if they did, would their families do anything about it?
Absolutely not, Tom answered his own question.
He caught sight of a very familiar bushy head of brown hair—and in the next
moment, Hermione turned around and noticed him as well. Her eyes were wide and
wary, and as soon as she noticed that he was there, she tried to get away
quickly.
She fears that I will do it to her, he thought, weaving his way through the
gathering crowd to reach her. She is afraid that I would do that to her. How
could she even think that? He was affronted and irked that she would have so
little faith in him… but another part of him was troubled that she thought she
had reason to fear it. He attempted to ignore this little voice as he caught
Hermione.
She took a deep breath as she turned to face him, her face hard and set,
determined courage shining in her eyes. For a brief moment, he wanted to
reassure her.
No, he thought at once. I have done nothing. I have not even threatened it. I
won’t be the one to say it. If she is that afraid of me, she can say it first.
Meeting his gaze with hers, he said, “Hermione, it’s in your best interest to
be able to recognize the signs of being cursed with the spell and learn how to
fight it off. I mean to do the same… though”—he struggled with the words, but
it was true—“you are obviously in greater danger.”
Some of the visible anxiety drained from her face as she considered his words.
Slowly she nodded. “They may have gone too far this time.”
“Let’s hope so.”
A guffaw sounded from near the wall where the parchment was attached. Tom and
Hermione’s heads turned quickly to see the source. To Tom’s utter shock, the
person who had laughed was not Draco Malfoy, but the youngest Weasley boy.
“Look at number one!” he exclaimed to his older twin brothers, who were beside
him, regarding him—well, not as a wizard would regard an animal familiar, but
as a Muggle might regard an amusing pet. “I wish Da would do that to Mum! She’s
being a right bitch lately.”
Hermione’s hand clenched around her wand reflexively. Tom noted with pleasure
that her eyebrows narrowed in anger.
“She is,” one of the twins agreed, “but the other three aren’t good, Ron.”
The youngest wizard—Ronald—nodded, his facial features turning sour, albeit
somewhat reluctantly so. “No, they’re not. Malfoy and Lestrange always do too
much, more than there would be real support for.”
“You think there will be support for the first one?”
Ron Weasley scowled. “Yes. Witches are getting above themselves. Just the other
day, Lavender told me that she expects me to wear this ridiculous necklace she
got for me…. Emotional and silly, they are. No wizard can understand them. I
think the newcomers have the right of it, frankly.”
A cloud of angry orange sparks and black mist, appearing almost like they had
come from a fire that had been prodded, issued from Tom’s wand, nearly singeing
his robes. Startled at the accidental magic, he decided that it was time to
leave. The Weasley idiot had already expressed his opinion—and how typical of a
Muggle-loving Weasley to side with the Muggle-inspired Norman wizards’ view of
witches, rather than the far more respectful view espoused by his ancestors’
clans—and it was a matter of time before people like Draco Malfoy showed up and
said things purposely to pick a fight.
“If you are still consorting with Potter’s secret group, you should advise him
to expel that witch-hating lout from the order,” Tom said brusquely to
Hermione. He did not wait for her to reply, turning away from her before she
said anything in response.
With that, they parted and went their separate ways—Hermione to the library,
Tom to the common room to find his Lords of Beltane. They would be just as
outraged about this as he was, especially the first, second, and fourth
provisions.
===============================================================================
As October approached, Tom increasingly avoided thinking of the wedding. There
was magic to study, both for his mastery classes—every one of which Hermione
shared, and he resented the fact that he was not studying with her now that
this was the case—and his outside projects of defeating the green potion and
the Imperius Curse.
The latter project went much better much more quickly, though it was another
matter for which Tom wished he could practice with Hermione. He did not want
any of his Lords of Beltane to use that spell on him, even for practice
reasons; it would undermine his authority. He went to Slughorn for private
lessons, citing Malfoy and Lestrange’s proclamation as the reason. The
professor was visibly nervous about the exercise.
“The proclamation merely says that the curse is allowed in those situations,”
Tom said mildly to Slughorn on the afternoon of the first lesson. “It does not
prohibit anyone from learning how to defeat it.”
Slughorn considered that, nodded, and took a deep breath as he began the
session.
After a few lessons, Tom was able to recognize and cast off the Imperius Curse
quite readily. He had a natural knack for it. As he walked out of Slughorn’s
office for the final lesson, he wondered about Hermione. She was still in
greater danger than he was. Since Hermione still refused to have much to do
with him, he grudgingly hoped that Potter’s private club would practice this.
The green potion was another matter entirely. Tom could not find any approach
for countering a potion as Slughorn had described. The potions books, the
ancient codices, all the potionmaking lore in the Hogwarts library did not even
consider alchemical potions as needing antidotes. Tom grew increasingly
frustrated with his fruitless studies on this subject… or perhaps it was the
steady approach of his mother’s wedding date that frustrated him.
===============================================================================
The Friday evening before the wedding arrived. Professor Slughorn ushered Tom
and Hermione into the courtyard of the school.
“I offer my felicitations to your lady mother,” he said to Tom, beaming. “And
to Lord Severus, of course.”
Tom managed a smile for his professor, although he wanted to punch the man in
the face—or curse him. He turned to Hermione to Disapparate with her, but she
gave him a smug smile.
“Thank you, Tom, but I have learned how to do it myself,” she said haughtily.
He gaped at her. “Well,” he finally managed, “that’s good. I hope you can
manage a long trip like this one,” he could not resist adding.
Without another word, Hermione twisted in the air, vanishing with a pop before
his eyes. Tom felt a momentary pang, as her disappearance seemed somehow
symbolic to him, but he shook his head quickly as if to clear that thought from
his mind. Then he Apparated himself.
The castle was decked in autumnal décor, Tom observed once he and Hermione were
admitted to the great hall. Branches with red, orange, and gold leaves
decorated the shelves and ledges, wreaths of autumn foliage hung from the
walls, and colorful gourds rested on tables. The high seat was now accompanied
by an additional, slightly lower seat, since Severus would be the
consort—whatever Armand Malfoy might wish. He had made his law with the intent
that Caractacus Burke would marry Merope, anyway. As Tom greeted his mother, he
held onto this idea, finding a small measure of comfort in the fact that at
least thatwould not happen.
He did cheat her, though, he recalled. He basically robbed her of a family
heirloom. Someday I’ll have to make that right.
Merope observed the frostiness between Tom and Hermione, her heart sinking at
the sight of it. She had known that they were at odds, but she still hoped that
they would repair their relationship. They still have time, she thought. And
there will be time after, as well. I hope for Hermione’s sake that it does not
take that long, because she deserves to enjoy her wedding without reservation,
but if it does, then surely they will make amends once they are truly bound to
each other for life. Hermione’s face was set and determined, Merope observed.
It was, she supposed, an improvement over the sadness that had been manifest
for so many months.
But as much as she cared about Hermione and Tom, Merope could not focus too
long on them. She was excited about her own wedding the following day. After
the initial misgivings, created by Pettigrew’s slanted information, she had
come to realize that she had grown to care about Severus a great deal over the
past three years.
She had known him as a boy, of course, but he had been a few years older, and
at that age, it made a difference. She had fled Hangleton relatively soon after
completing her education at Hogwarts and had lived with Tom in London after Sir
Thomas had betrayed and abandoned them, not seeing Severus for fourteen years.
She had not realized it until very recently, but she still bore the scars of
the terror of her own family—scars that were doubtless not as deep as they
would have been if Morfin had succeeded in his evil plans, but were still
present to a lesser degree—as well as Sir Thomas’s abandonment. These wounds
had encased her heart in a shell of sorts. It was part of the reason why her
first act as a noblewoman had been to set up a match for Tom. She had wanted to
help Hermione as well, but that was not all. Tom had been wrong in thinking she
regretted not marrying “the wizard her father had wanted her to marry,” as he
had accused that wretched night that he had killed his father, but he was
notwrong that her negative experience with self-chosen romance had prejudiced
her in favor of normalarranged betrothals made when the couple were young. Her
jaded perspective on marriage had influenced her plans for herself to an even
greater degree: She hadwanted Tom and Hermione to find love with each other.
For herself, she had not entertained the idea, even after proposing marriage to
Severus as a blatantly political move, until the day that they had talked about
Pettigrew’s information.
Somehow, the shell around her heart had cracked, and she was glad of it. If she
had not acknowledged to herself at last that she did have feelings for him, and
welcomed his for her, then she realized she would be considering tomorrow
strictly as a way to thwart Armand Malfoy. Severus would know it, too,
perceptive as he was, and he would resent it even if he put on a mask of
Occlumency for her and their guests. If that had happened, she realized with a
chill that she likely never would have known what real romantic love was, and
it would have been her own doing. But instead, she was looking forward to it.
She and Severus had conducted themselves very well. The impatience of youth was
one thing, but they were in their mid-thirties and they could wait till their
wedding night. The anticipation made it even more appealing to think about.
Despite her youthful fancy for Sir Thomas, Merope had still been very nervous
about her first wedding night. That was not so now.
Merope was brought out of her reverie by the realization that Tom was still in
the great hall, though Hermione had gone elsewhere—her room or the library,
most likely. That thought reminded her that she had something she meant to tell
Tom. She intended and hoped that it would placate him; she knew that he was not
happy about her wedding.
“Tom,” she said, descending from the high seat, “come with me to the library.
There is something I have to tell you there.”
Intrigued, Tom followed her to the library. She walked across the immense room
to a section of bookshelves that he knew very well indeed by this point. His
pulse quickened.
“These are all open to you now,” Merope said, gesturing at the bookcases that
were filled with family histories. “I have removed my hexes from everything.”
Tom was already eyeing the books greedily. She gazed at him and said in a
sharper tone, “I am placing trust in you, Tom. I’m trusting that whatever
information you seek and find here, you will not act on it in a destructive
way, like last summer. You knowof what I speak.”
Tom did. She was alluding to the Chamber of Slytherin. He tore his gaze away
from Serpent-Tongue: The Life and Mysteries of Salazar Slytherin and met her
eyes with his. “Your trust won’t be misplaced,” he said briskly. He hesitated;
it was difficult for him to say what had come to his mind, but she expected it,
and he knew he should. “Thank you, Mother.”
She considered for a moment before nodding, a faint smile on her face. Leaving
him in the library, she turned away to go to her own bedchamber. Tomorrow would
be a big day.
===============================================================================
The guests began to arrive early. There were not many in attendance. The roster
consisted of the five wizarding couples with whom Merope had allied—the Flints,
the Fawleys, the Notts, the Averys, and the recently widowed Lady Wilkes—as
well as the parents of Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, and Hermione’s own
parents. She was happy to see them, but she also resolved to put on a good
front for them and not let them see how displeased she was with Tom. Nothing
good could come of it, given that she already knew how they viewed the matter.
Hermione was surprised when a man in priestly apparel showed up and Lady
Greengrass—somewhat visibly befuddled at the fact that she was talking to a
Muggle-born on an equal footing—introduced him as Father Alphard Black. She had
not known there were any wizard priests. The stout Hufflepuff monk who
cheerfully managed the Hogwarts chapel was the only wizard she knew who had any
connection with that institution.
“Father Black performs weddings, christenings, and funerals for almost all
witches and wizards,” the woman explained to Hermione.
He smiled. “It is so. I gave up any hope of inheriting part of the Black
fortune when I took my ecclesial vows, but it is important for our people to
have representation in the church.”
Hermione could not disagree with that.
The last of the preparations were in order, and Hermione took her seat next to
Tom in the front row. Autumn decorations adorned the benches and the walls,
adding an air of poignancy to the event, but it seemed fitting. Merope and
Severus were not a young couple, after all. Father Black began to speak, and in
short order, Severus marched down the middle, his robes—not entirely black,
fortunately—billowing behind him magnificently. He took his place at the front.
The grand doors opened again, and Merope walked down the aisle, wearing a very
pretty olive-green gown that Hermione had never seen before. Probably she had
had it made for this day. She also looked younger than Hermione had ever seen,
her face rose-hued and smiling. Hermione wanted to smile too, but to her
chagrin, a lump formed in her throat at once. She glanced at Tom, who was
staring ahead with a deliberately impassive and stoic expression on his
handsome face. Swallowing hard and attempting to put her own unhappiness out of
her mind, Hermione faced forward again to observe the bride and groom as they
said their vows. Severus was smiling. It was a striking sight, one that looked
unusual on him—but not unbecoming.
At the head of the room, Merope and Severus gazed at each other happily as he
placed a gold band on her ring finger. He brought her hand to his lips and
kissed it gallantly, the smile on his face transforming into a hint of a smirk
at the thought of what was to come that night. Merope flushed faintly redder.
No one in the seats noticed these details. They were only for the couple’s own
eyes.
===============================================================================
After the wedding ceremony ended, the guests and the newlyweds removed to the
grand banquet hall. Hermione and the Riddles had rarely eaten there, using it
mainly for holiday feasts and other festive occasions for which they invited
the important Muggles of the village who provided goods and services to the
family. Obviously today qualified as an important and festive occasion, though
the banquet hall was still comparatively empty with only the wedding party and
guests present.
They took their seats at the head table and the two tables closest to it on
each side. In a bit, the elves brought out the first course of their meal, a
soup course. Merope could smell the main course of roasted duck and boar
finishing in the great kitchen, mingled with the scent of harvest vegetables,
cooked apples, blackberry tart, and freshly baked bread. It would be a fine
English meal, she thought proudly. Even her supremely patriotic son—to put a
euphemistic spin on Tom’s views, she thought wryly—would have nothing to
complain of in the food itself.
Nor could anyone speak against the beverages provided, at least on the subject
of their origin. There was cider, ale, and wine, but the wine was not from the
Continent. This unfortunately meant that its taste was not as fine as it might
have been, but Merope had decided that it was time for her to make a political
statement. With their recent Imperius Curse law, Malfoy and Lestrange had
essentially declared her, and most of her guests, to be second-class nobles
because of their blood. As much as Merope had wanted to avoid war, she was
reluctantly coming around to her son’s opinion on that matter. They had to be
deposed, and that likely would mean at least a battle or two to defeat their
loyalists.
Lord and Lady Fawley, who had been the first of Tom’s friends’ parents to swear
an oath of alliance with Merope, offered a toast to her as soon as the main
course was brought out. “To a happy and fruitful marriage for your ladyship!”
the wizard proclaimed.
Merope smiled at that, feeling sadness inside at the likelihood that the severe
internal injuries she had received during Tom’s birth had probably rendered her
unable to conceive. She observed out of the corner of one eye that Tom’s visage
tightened at this particular toast. Perhaps it was for the best, then, though
she felt bad for Severus. If he did have a child, he could not prove it or
claim his son. She felt bad that all she had to offer him was herself… but, she
supposed, she apparently was enough for him. That was what mattered.
Merope, Severus, Tom, Hermione, and the guests feasted upon the excellent food
for several hours as the daylight dimmed. The guests grew increasingly
boisterous as they drank more and more, and by the time the first stars
twinkled through the diamond-paned windows, they had lost most of their
inhibitions.
Along with the rest of the family, Severus had moderated his own drinking,
which left him feeling grouchy and surly at the behavior of their intoxicated
guests. When Lord Flint rose from his seat, Severus thought he might draw his
wand and strike down the oaf for what he said of his hostess.
“Ey, Snape, it’s dark out! Time for you to show her what a wizardcan do,” the
lord jeered, raising a tankard of ale.
Severus turned to Merope, whose face was pale and whose lips were thinned in
irritation. “They are not going to improve,” he said in a low voice. “If we
don’t leave now, this is going to get worse.”
She gazed out at their guests, making note of the amount of drink that they
still had, and nodded. “I have heard of beddings in which the bride and groom
were physically hoisted into the bed by ribald guests. We don’t want that to
happen here.”
Extending her hand to him with dignity yet tenderness, she rose from her seat
with him, holding hands. The guests applauded, several of them making catcalls
and whistles as well. Next to Merope, Tom gripped his table knife as tightly as
though it were a dagger. His face was hard and set.
“I thank all of you, my friends and allies, for attending our wedding today,”
Merope said. Several of them raised their tankards and goblets again in a
wordless toast. “I look forward to a long and productive alliance with each and
every one of you, and joyously anticipate your presence once again next summer
to celebrate my son’s marriage to this wonderful young lady.”
Hermione felt a deep, satisfied thrill of vindication at that. Everyone here
knew already, of course, but Merope had just reaffirmed it very publicly. In
light of the private conversation they had had that summer, it was clear to
Hermione that this was meant as additional reassurance that Merope would
protect her position. She stole a glance at Tom, whose face was expressionless.
Well, at least he was not hostile. Hermione judged herself quite good now at
detecting when Tom felt secret hostility to something but concealed the obvious
signs.
Arms linked together, Merope and Severus left the banquet hall, ignoring the
hoots and cheers from their guests. They flicked their wands, closing the heavy
doors behind them, muffling the obnoxious noise.
“Do you suppose that Tom and Hermione will be all right?” he asked her
seriously. It felt odd to use their given names, but now that he was family, he
knew he had the right to.
“I have no doubt that they are both strong—and sober—enough to take charge and
call an end to the feast at the proper time. I expect Tom will want to go to
the library anyway,” she added, thinking of the books that she had just opened
up to him.
“Good,” Severus growled as they ascended the massive stone stairs. “The less we
have to think of such things tonight, the better.” They reached the next floor
and turned in the direction of the castle wing that held the family quarters.
Merope’s pulse quickened as she paced down the familiar corridor. She unlocked
the door to her bedroom when she reached it and pushed the heavy door inward.
Her bedchamber was outfitted now with some personal items of Severus’s; they
did not intend to use separate bedrooms. Severus’s old room in the castle had
been converted to a personal study for him.
Severus strode into the room confidently, his robes billowing in the air behind
him. It was a very attractive look, Merope thought as she walked in and locked
the door behind them. He had already cast a spell to light a fire in the
bedroom fireplace, and with the aid of magic, it was roaring away, providing
some pleasant warmth in the chill autumn air.
He adjusted the drapes to cover the window, then turned to her. “So,” he said,
his voice low and dark, “do you want me to ‘show you what a wizard can do’?”
Merope’s eyes flew wide open. “I thought that comment offended you!”
He crossed the room, drawing close to her. “From that loutish man, it is
offensive. But is it offensive coming from me?”
Her heart thumped. “No. It’s not.” She reached for him, feeling his firm, lean
body under his silken robes.
He embraced her tightly and leaned in to kiss her. Although they had kissed
during their engagement, this one felt different. It felt deeper—and that was
not just because Severus was plundering her mouth with a passionate intensity
that she would not have guessed he had in him. They were married now. She had a
second chance at love—and this time, with this man, she knew it would last,
because it was real.
They broke apart, breathing heavily as they stared at each other. He was not as
traditionally handsome as Sir Thomas had been, she thought idly, but he had
unconventional, curiously distinguished good looks—and he carried himself with
a dignity and true confidence that her late first husband had always lacked and
attempted to conceal with arrogant posturing. She realized that now.
Severus gazed at the woman before him with a new appreciation for her. He too
was comparing her favorably to his old flame. Lily might have been passionate
and exciting, but she was fickle. It was not a moral judgment; there was just
no other way to describe someone who would end an engagement, have an intimate
relationship with someone else in the space of a week, and then, when
circumstances forced their separation, marry the person she had thrown off
unceremoniously. She would not have made him happy. Merope was mature and
steady, yet capable of passion too, he was quite certain—and he was about to
obtain proof, he decided. Enough of other people in their bedroom. This was
theirwedding night.
Feeling a sudden surge of boldness, he wrapped his right arm around her waist
and pulled her toward the bed. He fell onto the mattress first, pulling her
down with him. She hitched her skirts up and sprawled across him,
unintentionally pushing his shoulders into the pillow. A new, mischievous light
gleamed in her eyes.
“You are overdressed, Severus,” she said, her voice sultry in a way he had
never heard before. It… excited him.
“Well, what do you intend to do about this, my lady?” he drawled.
Surprised at her own boldness, yet satisfied in the rightness of it—she was a
fully grown woman, a witch, strong and confident—Merope reached for the
neckline of his black outer robe. She slipped it off his lithe form, leaving a
silver-grey one beneath. This one too was gone in short order.
“Now youare the one who is overdressed,” he said.
She reached for the clasp holding her pretty olive-green wedding robes together
at her neck. Undoing it, she opened the elaborately embroidered outer robe and
was about to slip it off her arms when he reached up and did it himself.
She raised an eyebrow at him but did not attempt to stop him as he slipped off
her underdress and chemise. It felt odd to be exposed to another person—odd and
somewhat vulnerable—but it would be perfectly all right with him, she knew. She
leaned over, sprawling over him once more, pressing her flesh against his as
they shared another deep kiss.
“Severus,” she moaned as he plundered her mouth once again. His hands, bony and
expressive and masculine, found their way to her back.
“You have a beautiful body,” he murmured, pulling away from the kiss.
She flushed; she knew that her facial features were average at best, so any
praise of her appearance affected her more than it otherwise might have. “And
you,” she replied, running a hand down his chest, “you are handsome in a rugged
sort of way.”
He smirked. “I can tell that you think so.”
Merope gazed at him, wide-eyed. His left leg was nestled between her legs.
Could he feel—
He could. Of course he could. And it excited her even further that he would
allude to her… present condition. She reddened, feeling the heat rush to her
face, as she climbed off him and lay down on her back. A heavy, hot breath
escaped her mouth.
“Come to me,” she said, her voice strangely hoarse. He did not hesitate. In the
very next moment, he propped himself up gently over her, his large hands
caressing the sides of her face. A muted gasp escaped her throat, and they
started to move together, not saying anything else coherent—at least in words.
They did not have to.
In a few minutes, they were gasping, panting, as they found release together.
The fire had done its job; in conjunction with their own mutual body heat, they
were as warm and cozy as a pair of happy newlyweds could wish to be.
“Good night, my dear,” she said, the words strange on her tongue—it had been so
long since she had used a term of affection to apply to anyone in this
particular context—but right and perfect nevertheless.
“Good night.”
===============================================================================
The next morning, the guests were slow to emerge from their alcohol-induced
sleep, and several of them needed potions to combat the symptoms of heavy
drinking. Merope and Severus also remained in their bedroom late, though for a
very different and much more pleasant reason. The household and visitors were
in such a state of disarray compared to their usual schedule that the house-
elves brought breakfast to those who were able to eat it in their own
bedchambers.
Tom was up early. He had gone to the library after his mother and Severus
had—he grimaced at the thought—gone to bed, and the genealogical books that he
had not yet read were piled in his room. He would bring them to Hogwarts
tonight, when he and Hermione returned to the school. With any luck, one of
them would hold enough clues about the Chamber of Slytherin that he could find
it in the school, but even if that were not the case, he would finally get to
read the history of his wizarding ancestors from the middle of the sixth
century to the generation when Slytherin married into the family.
Tom remembered his promise to his mother regarding the Chamber, but he
dismissed that. He had not promised her that he would not seek out the Chamber,
nor that he would not open it if he did find it. He had just promised that he
would not act on the knowledge contained in these books “in a destructive way.”
===============================================================================
Godric’s Hollow, two months later.
James Potter frowned at his old friend, who stood before him fidgeting and
cringing. He gazed around, taking in the sinister canopy of trees in winter,
denuded of their foliage, standing starkly against the grey sky.
“This bothers me, Peter,” he said frankly. “It bothers me that you learned the
Animagus transformation from us, but never told us—”
“I did! I told you! You and Sirius just didn’t seem interested,” he pleaded.
“I have no memory of this.”
“It was in the Hog’s Head Tavern in Hogsmeade during our last month at
Hogwarts,” Pettigrew explained.
“Oh, well, in thatcase, no wonder,” Potter said. “Why would you tell us when we
were drinking? You should have picked a better time, a time when we would
actually make note of it and remember.”
A flash of deep anger passed over Pettigrew’s face for a moment, but Potter did
not see it. “It still bothers me,” he continued. “After that, you spent all
your time serving Morfin Gaunt. Of all people, Peter!”
“I ran away from him after he had my mother murdered,” the short wizard said
sullenly, glaring at his old friend.
“That’s what it took?” Potter exclaimed, his voice brimming with self-righteous
disapproval.
“You have never tried to escape a tyrant lord, and Snape was always there to do
his bidding and put up wards and magical obstacles,” he lied.
Potter scoffed. “Are you a Gryffindor or not, Peter? You could have escaped
earlier, and probably even saved your mother as well, if you had just tried
harder.”
Pettigrew wanted in that moment to curse his old Hogwarts friend.
“And then his sister took over, and Snivellus decided that the way to get the
kind of prestige he’d never gotten from the Snake Lord was to get up the skirts
of the Snake Lady. And now you serve them! You must see why this bothers me,
Peter, and I can’t understand why you would be unable to tell me whatever this
is in my home.”
Pettigrew glanced down quickly, then back up at his friend’s face. “It’s
because what I have to tell you relates to your wife.”
Potter scowled. “I already know that Lily is headstrong and willful.”
“You don’t know the extent of it, though.” Pettigrew lowered his voice and
began to explain to Potter what he knew of Severus’s affair sixteen years ago
with Lily. As he did, he noted with interest and satisfaction that Potter’s
brown eyes grew wider by the second. A pink flush suffused Potter’s face, a
flush of anger and betrayal.
“And so,” Pettigrew concluded with a flourish, “this could explain your
dissatisfaction with young Harry.”
Potter’s nostrils flared. “You go too far with that implication, Peter. The boy
is soft because of the influence of his mother and probably Sirius… and that
girl at Hogwarts that he used to fancy. Yourliege lady’s daughter-in-law,” he
said.
“They are not married yet, James.”
Potter dismissed that with a scoff. “They will be. My point is, other
influences could account for why Harry is soft. His Hogwarts sweetheart, the
Lovegood girl, is also a factor. She visited us during the summer. I would
prefer the Weasley girl for him, though this is certainly better than the
absurd fantasy that he had in the first months of his first year… but she does
not exactly cultivate any manly characteristics in him. They apparently spent
the summer reading and exploring the woods outside the village.”
“He is also a Slytherin, though. That happened before he even met her.”
Potter considered that. “A good point. However, it occasionally happens that a
child is Sorted into a different house to the rest of his family. It happened
with Sirius.” He gazed at Pettigrew. “I am glad you told me, though, and I will
certainly have some words with my wife over this betrayal.” The threat in his
voice was unmistakable.
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
A flurry of owls, each one of a different color of grey or brown, descended on
Harry Potter’s place setting at the breakfast table.
“You know,” remarked Draco Malfoy loudly, observing the activity jealously,
“this custom of having birds deliver our messages while we eatis really quite
disgusting.” He glared at Harry, who was ignoring Draco’s remarks, and raised
his voice so that everyone at the Slytherin table would hear. “They could let
mice entrails fall into our bowls—or their own droppings! And any lice or mites
that they carry on their feathers would drop into our food when they flap their
wings.”
“Ewww,” opined one of Adelaide Lestrange’s hangers-on. Adelaide herself shot
Draco a look of disgust but did not comment.
“I really should suggest a ban on the practice… at Hogwarts, at least,” Draco
said arrogantly. “I suppose if peasants want to allow it in their own homes, it
matters little, as filthy as they live anyway. But Hogwarts is a castle, and
wizards and witches with noble blood study here.”
Harry was completely ignoring Draco’s comments, Hermione observed. As he read
one letter after another, his face grew more and more distraught. Even Tom, who
was seated several places away, was far more interested in Harry’s letters than
Draco’s juvenile remarks, but Harry was keeping the content to himself and
folding them up as soon as he was finished reading them.
After the meal was over and the young people began to disperse throughout the
Great Hall, Hermione—and Luna, who was seated at the next table over and had
observed the proceedings with growing concern for him—cornered him in a private
alcove in the corridors. Hermione had a terrible feeling that she knew exactly
what kind of news the letters had contained. Peter Pettigrew had been a friend
of Harry’s father, after all, and perhaps he had felt obliged to tell his old
friend what he knew. Harry looked physically ill, his face pale and his
features twitchy with what Hermione took to be a mix of conflicting emotions:
anger, betrayal, shock, and sadness, certainly.
“What is the matter?” Luna said in her gentle voice. “Is everything all right
at home?”
Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. “No, it’s not. It’s definitely not.” He
paused, his eyelids closing over his green eyes for a moment. Luna touched his
arm gently, giving him the strength to continue. “Peter Pettigrew—an old friend
of my father who now serves Lady Riddle—had information about….” He breathed
again. “About something that happened before my parents were married. A month
before. They… were apart briefly, due to an argument, and evidently my mother
had a brief romance with….” He gazed apologetically at Hermione. “With Severus
Snape.”
Hermione was not about to tell him that she already knew. The last thing he
needed was to feel betrayed by a friend who had kept such a secret from him.
She arranged her facial features into a convincing look of surprise.
“When my father learned about this from Pettigrew, he confronted my mother and
ordered her out of the house when she admitted it.”
Luna gasped. “But this happened before they were married!” she exclaimed. “And
their engagement was temporarily broken, too.”
Hermione was not surprised. In the Muggle world, it was completely accepted for
a groom to call off a marriage, or have it annulled, if his new bride had never
been married before but was found to have slept with someone other than
himself. The attitude was also present in the wizarding nobility…. Hermione
pushed that thought out of her head, not wanting to think about her own
situation. Lady Merope had promised her that she would not let Tom break their
contract if Hermione herself did not want that, so there was no danger of her
being sent to a Muggle stranger who would object to her non-virginal state. In
any case, the only aspect of this news that was a bit unusual to Hermione was
that a pureblood wizard without a title would do it. Perhaps Muggle views and
values were fairly widespread in some parts of the magical population.
“It didn’t matter to my father,” Harry said miserably. “Mother wrote to me,
too, saying that she had taken shelter with her Muggle sister’s family and was
perfectly safe—and had enough coin to provide for herself ‘until a certain
future date.’”
“What does that mean?” Hermione asked.
“I think it must refer to the content of Sirius’s letter,” Harry said. He met
Hermione’s eyes and then gazed at Luna. “He is going to get married soon, and I
think my mother intends to move in with them afterward. She likes Marlene
McKinnon. Valant,” he added, remembering the widow’s married name.
Luna burst into a smile.
“This news gave him the kick to finally propose,” Harry said. “He hasn’t told
my father yet, and asked me not to—he’s going to surprise him on the day of
their wedding, apparently, and move in with her once there is nothing my father
can do to stop it.”
“Stop it?” Hermione repeated. “No offense, Harry, but what does he think your
father could do to stop it? He has no authority over another adult wizard.”
“He does not say, but my father….” Harry trailed off. “My father has always
been the leader and decision-maker in the household. Sirius has gone along with
that until now.” He sighed deeply once more and ran his hand through his messy
hair. “Then there is… Remus Lupin,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Luna instantly knew who this was. Hermione tried to remember everything that
Luna had included in her letter the previous summer. “Is that the werewolf?”
she asked.
Harry nodded. “He hasn’t sent me a letter yet, but Sirius thinks that he is
privately on my mother’s side—and his—rather than my father’s. According to
Sirius, he doesn’t trust Pettigrew’s motives.”
“I don’t blame him,” Hermione muttered.
Harry gave her a curious look. “You don’t like Pettigrew?”
“Pettigrew showed up at Parselhall and immediately tried to curry favor with
Lady Riddle,” Hermione said. “He tried to divide her from Lord Severus. As you
know, that did not work, so I suppose he must have decided to try to ingratiate
himself with someone else.”
Harry considered that. “That’s interesting. He may have been in hiding for so
long that he thinks he needs to tear down other people to establish himself. He
succeeded with my father,” he said bitterly. His eyes reddened.
“Luna—Hermione—I support my mother too, and I think my father is wrong, but
he’s still my father. These are my parents, and they….” He broke off.
Luna moved closer to him. “I know,” she said. “It is terrible. My mother died,
but she and my father never fought… and he always treated her respectfully. She
died young… but our parents will die before we do if our lives progress as they
ought, so in a way, it is worse when one parent turns on the other like yours.
I’m so sorry.”
Hermione could not but agree. She recalled Tom’s action during the summer.
Harry would not ever consider a similar deed, but Tom had never known his
father, and it had certainly offended and upset him greatly that his father had
betrayed his mother—and him. A parental betrayal wasworse for the children.
===============================================================================
Tom did not expect a letter of his own that day. Nothing had arrived during
breakfast, and it was unusual for owls to come late. Magically bred owls knew
to do their job early in the morning unless it was an emergency. When the
Riddle family owl soared into the Great Hall during lunch and landed at Tom’s
place setting, he was surprised and alarmed about what bad news it might bring.
He untied the scroll from its leg and opened it.
 
My dear son,
I have important news for you, which I expect you to share with Lady Hermione
at the earliest convenience. I learned it just this morning, and I confess that
the news is as much a shock to Lord Severus and me as it undoubtedly will be to
you.
 
Tom suddenly knew what he was to read before he did. A towering, volcanic,
infernalrage developed in the pit of his stomach as he read on.
 
I will not belabor making the admission or obfuscate about it. I have found
that I am a month with child—in fact, with twins. I realize fully the
implications of this for you under current wizarding law. However, Lord Severus
and I agree that we will not let unjust policy affect our family decisions. The
children will be born, if all goes well naturally. However,_they_will_be
Severus’s_heirs,_and_will_be_in_the_line_of_inheritance_for_Parselhall_and
Hangleton_after_you_and_your_heirs. I promise you this as a witch to a wizard.
Needless to say, I am unwilling to commit any more details on that subject to
writing. We will have a serious discussion as a family this Christmas.
Your affectionate mother.
***** The Heir of Slytherin *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you as always for your interest in this fic! I feel like this
     chapter is very predictable, but it was something I had planned from
     the beginning, and it is a pivotal event for Tom and Hermione.
Tom read the note from his mother over and over again. With each perusal, his
anger grew—and an additional emotion, fear, quickly took shape as well.
She promises me that I won’t lose my right of inheritance, but how often do
people make promises that they cannot keep because other people interfere?Tom
thought. I’m sure that this is what she intends, but she has never wanted to
fight Malfoy or Lestrange. The situation has deteriorated rapidly over the past
year, with two members of the Wizards’ Councilmurdered,the Council itself
dissolved, and appalling new laws in effect. She seems to think that she can
defeat Malfoy without violence… or that she can just wait for him to die and
let someone else depose Lestrange once Malfoy is dead. It won’t happen. Lucius
Malfoy would succeed him, and I have no reason to believe he would be better
for us. Besides, there is the unicorn blood I’m almost certain that he
drinks—and I wish Regulus Black could confirm that—as well as the question of
whether he has secured immortality. Despite Mother’s best intentions, if a
Norman lord is still ruling wizarding Britain, one of these brats will be her
heir, not me.
Tom’s fury threatened to explode out of control as he thought about it.
Somethinghad to be done, and he was utterly certain that he was the only person
who both cared enough and grasped the present political reality enough to do
it. Potter’s group—or their parents, in any case—were probably more interested
in their own power than in anything resembling justice for their people, if the
Weasley boy’s vile reaction in October to Malfoy’s appalling law was anything
to judge by. They were certainly not to be trusted to do anything that might
help Tom, if their shabby and feeble attempts to oppose Malfoy could even
produce a change at all—which he seriously doubted. Hermione was obsessed with
her studies to the exclusion of all else, it seemed; and Mother’s heart was in
the right place, but she was too averse to violence and open conflict for her
own good, Tom thought. No, it was up to him. I have always known it was up to
me, he thought in superior resignation, but now I am sure it is. But what could
he do?
He thought about the books that Mother had finallypermitted him to read at the
time of her wedding, the genealogy and family history books that he had brought
back to Hogwarts. They had been very interesting reads indeed. A Comprehensive
History of House Gauntand The Lords of the Fenshad filled in the gaps between
the time of Arthur and the late tenth century, right before Hogwarts was
founded. They confirmed Mother’s claim that the family practiced sibling incest
every few generations, unfortunately, as well as some other unsavory details
about the Gaunts’ practices before the founding of the school. The family, Tom
had learned, had engaged in shocking ritual murder of their Muggle subjects to
enhance their own magical power, and they had claimed that these bloody rites
were to honor their almost entirely unmixed Celtic heritage. It was disturbing
to Tom, who had made his predominant ethnicity and magical status such an
important part of his identity. He certainly did not have a problem with
killing, nor did he object to killing for sacrificial purposes that would count
as “murder” to most, but even then, the circumstances mattered. It was one
thing to kill violent usurping invaders who made wizard lords swear fealty to
them or face dispossession, who attempted to impose witch-hating Muggle
cultural values on a magical community that honored witches’ power, who gave
their own blood higher status in the law than that of the families that had
lived there for centuries, and who attacked the childrenof their rivals in
school. It was quite another to comb through one’s own village for helpless
victims, and Tom did not approve of it. Many of his ancestors truly had been
terrible lords and terrible people, he had to admit. Not all—there were a
number of brilliant scholars who made magical advances or wrote compelling
histories—but many. The Lords of the Fens and A Comprehensive History of House
Gaunt had been eye-opening to him.
And finally, there was the last book, Serpent-Tongue: The Life and Mysteries of
Salazar Slytherin. A dark idea nagged at the back of his mind as he
contemplated that one. The book had not described the exact location of the
Chamber of Slytherin, but if this biography of the man was accurate, then the
Chamber unquestionably existed and did indeed contain a basilisk. The
biographer, a Hogwarts Master who had been one of Slytherin’s first handpicked
pupils, said that his old Master had told him that the creature slumbered in a
magical sleep but would awaken at a call in Parseltongue and do the bidding of
Parselmouths of the Slytherin line. Tom considered this biography a very
credible source of information, given the author’s background. The idea of
Slytherin’s creating a secret chamber was bolstered by the information—which
was quite new to Tom—that Slytherin had actually designedCastle Leo, the home
of Godric Gryffindor, when they were still the best of friends, and moreover,
that the castle had an elaborate series of secret passages and a hidden
entrance to one of the passages, rather like Hogwarts itself. That could be
veryuseful information if and when the conflict progressed far enough that they
could mount a challenge against Lucius Malfoy, who now occupied the place….
It was unfortunate that Slytherin had not shared more information with his
pupil, but most likely the great wizard had meant to save that for his family.
The book also did not confirm Tom’s theory that Slytherin had been a Seer who
had foreseen the Norman invasion and had left the basilisk behind for his heir
to use to remove the occupiers from power. Of course, that was certainlynot the
kind of information that a schoolmaster would tell a student, Tom had reasoned.
Indeed, the biography ended not with the death of Slytherin, but his
disappearance from Britain. Perhaps he had gone to Ireland, the biographer
mused, but no one knew.
But whatever glorious possibilities there might be in the future for seizing a
Malfoy-occupied property, the possibility that existed nowwas to find the
Chamber in Hogwarts and open it, to release the basilisk and claim it as his
own rightful weapon in the coming war. He needed the advantage that the
fearsome creature would offer. And it would be a way to claim my status as the
true heir of Slytherin, he thought, rather than letting one of—those two of
Snape’s—claim the basilisk in seventeen years instead. It is mine if I choose
to claim it, so I should claim it now and make my point.
If the creature would wake from its slumber at the call of a Parselmouth, then
perhaps it would make a response in the same language that only Tom could hear,
and he could track down the location to the chamber that way. At least he knew
that an entrance was most likely on the ground floor; any chamber large enough
to conceal a basilisk had to be underground, and it seemed far too dangerous to
have long multi-story shafts that would be very difficult to escape if
Slytherin’s heir needed to make a quick exit. That considerably limited the
scope of the search.
Should I do it? Tom wondered, his courage momentarily failing him at the
thought of such an undertaking. What if he accidentally looked in its eyes?
Parselmouths were subject to the fatal gaze of the basilisk just as anyone else
was. If he did this, he was trusting that the creature actually would regard
him as its new master and obey him.
The biography of Slytherin says that it will, he reassured himself. He told one
of his students that it would obey Parselmouths who were his own descendants.
He would have had no reason to lie about that to his pupil.
Tom considered the calendar. In three days, the school would close for
Christmas. He might not find the Chamber entrance in that short a period of
time, but if he did, he could wait until the final day that the school hosted
students before opening it. That would minimize the risk.
And then I will free it and take it home, to protect the castle where
Slytherin’s blood now dwells, until I need to use it in war, he thought. There
were dungeons in Parselhall, just like any other castle. There the basilisk
could stay until needed.
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall.
Merope genuinely had not thought it possible that she could conceive again. She
had been certain that the injuries she had sustained during Tom’s birth had
rendered her womb too delicate, too scarred, for any pregnancy to last long
enough for her to detect. She was still unsure if this one would quicken, let
alone conclude in a live birth—or two—but it had already proceeded farther than
she had believed possible.
She was worried for a number of reasons. First, there was the constant dread
that she would miscarry, of course. At least I am married to a master of
potions, she comforted herself—and indeed, Severus already had devised a
potions regimen for her to follow that would help to protect her health. Such
things were not infallible, but it was unquestionably better than nothing.
Severus’s reaction to her news had warmed her heart. Naturally, his uncertainty
about whether Harry Potter was his son by blood—and his assumption that he
would not have been able to have any children with Merope—had made the news
even more thrilling than it would already be. He was very protective of her
now, or at least of her physical health. Merope stifled an amused smile at the
memories of Severus’s manner when he recommended the potions to her—brusque and
matter-of-fact about the medicinal qualities, very much the potioneer that he
was, but with a strain of personal warmth due to the fact that she was carrying
hisoffspring—and all of that tempered with a nervous anxiety that his
solicitousness for her physical health must not overstep into condescension
toward her capabilities. It was thrilling, in a way, that someone did care
about her in this way, and Merope had nothing to complain of in Severus’s
concern and advice. He respects me as Sir Thomas never did, she thought.
Beyond her fear for the pregnancy itself were more worldly concerns. Belatedly
she realized that perhaps she should have told Tom explicitly not to tell
anyone except Hermione. She hoped he would have—not the sense; he did have
that—but the self-discipline not to explode in fury in front of people like the
Malfoy boy or the Lestrange girl. She and Severus had agreed to keep the
pregnancy a secret for as long as they could. She was not sure what Armand
Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange would do with the information, and she did not
care to find out. She was sure that her marriage was already infuriating enough
to them.
Then, too, there was the matter of Tom’s inheritance. She could keep her
promise to him only if Malfoy’s law were repealed—which, she realized, meant
that Malfoy and Lestrange themselves would have to be removed. It was a pity
that the house-elf who acted as a spy for Regulus Black could not murder his
masters, but anyone as malevolent as Malfoy would give thatorder to servants
that he undoubtedly abused. No, Malfoy and Lestrange had to go, and that meant
that she, Severus, their allies, and—yes, she acknowledged it—Tom and Hermione
needed to work together to formulate a plan for replacing them. That was one
thing that she intended to happen over Christmas at the family discussion she
had mentioned in her letter to Tom. They had to go, or else her word would be
worthless—a promise she couldn’t keep.
But even if we achieve everything that we need to, what does this mean for
Hermione? Merope thought with some disquiet. In that scenario, Tom could
inherit—but the twins would still be his heirs if he did not have any children
of his own. If all went well, he no longer needed to continue the line himself,
which meant that one rationale for his marrying Hermione had dried up. If
Merope ended up having to compel the marriage against Tom’s wishes, and Tom
could not even tell himself that it was necessary for the sake of the family,
it could be genuinely miserable for Hermione. More than ever, Merope hoped that
Tom’s behavior would prove to be temporary and that he would return to her in
his heart.
Merope sighed. This should be a happy moment. The worries about the pregnancy
itself were inevitable, but the political worries and her concerns about Tom
and Hermione were casting a pall. Guilt and sadness spread over her at that
realization.
“Merope,” said Severus.
She glanced around and met his gaze with hers. A smile formed on her face. He
was obviously worried too, but this had softened his features and removed some
of the bitterness and cynicism that had defined him for the past three years.
As she walked across the parlor and linked her arm with his affectionately, she
resolved to focus on the good, since there was little to nothing that she could
currently do about the worries.
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
The evening of the day that he received his mother’s letter, Tom finally
decided to tell Hermione about it. He was not going to tell her about his plans
to look for the Chamber. If he found it, he would let her know then.
She was seated in the Slytherin common room, reading a book. Potter sat next to
her, engrossed in his own thoughts. Tom remembered suddenly that he had
received several letters of his own that morning. He had not been included in
the discussion that Potter had with Hermione and Luna Lovegood, and he had
completely forgotten about Potter’s letters after his own arrived. He wondered
what had happened.
Hermione closed her book and turned to Potter, which prompted a spark of
jealousy from Tom even though he knew that there was nothing between them
except friendship now. “I think you should still go home,” she said in a low
voice. “Your mother, at least, would like to see you, as would Sirius. And you
should congratulate him on his betrothal.”
Harry considered that and nodded. “That’s true. I didn’t think of that, but
you’re right. It means that I will have to see my father, though….”
“You should see him,” Hermione urged. “He might even relent and see how
unreasonable he has acted once he sees you again.”
Harry seemed skeptical at that, but he was convinced to go to his hometown for
his mother and godfather’s sake. He managed a weak smile before rising from his
chair and heading to the door leading to the boys’ corridor.
Tom seized the opportunity. As he sat down next to Hermione in the spot where
Potter had just been, she stiffened. “Tom,” she acknowledged. “What is the
matter?”
He scowled at the news he was about to relate. Scanning the room with his
piercing gaze to make sure that none of their enemies were there, he lowered
his voice almost to a whisper anyway. “I received a letter from my mother
today,” he growled under his breath. “She is with child.”
Hermione gasped. “She is?”
“Don’t be loud. I don’t want anyone else to know. Yes, she is, and apparently
it’s twins.” His handsome face was twisted unattractively in irritation.
Something else occurred to her. “Malfoy’s inheritance law—”
“She claimsthat she won’t let that happen,” he said sullenly.
His voice was clipped and cold, and it surprised Hermione. “If she agrees that…
well… they must go,” she said almost inaudibly, “then what is the problem?”
“The problem is that she doesn’t have a feasible plan to make that happen, as
far as I’m aware,” he spat. He rose from his seat. “I just wanted you to know,
because she said I was to tell you, and after all, we are going to Parselhall
in a couple of days. That was all. Have a good night, Hermione.”
Hermione was affronted at this rudeness and the clear implication that he had
told her only because his mother had said to and because hemight get scolded in
a couple of days if he disobeyed. Her eyebrows narrowed, and she scowled back
at him as he stalked toward the boys’ bedchambers. The news was upsetting to
him; she understood that. But there was no call to be so rude to her. He barely
values me at all anymore, she thought. Our relationship has reverted to what it
was in the very first days, three and a half years ago. The emotion that
accompanied this thought was not sadness, as it had been for a while, but
anger.
===============================================================================
The next morning, Tom had felt a bit bad about his interaction with Hermione.
He realized he had taken out his frustration about Mother’s pregnancy on her.
But what was to be done? Hermione remained stubborn, obsessed with her studies,
and once again had chosen her friendship with Potter over him. By the following
summer, she would either have to open up to him again or accept the sad
consequences of personal estrangement in their marriage. That was how he saw
it. He did not wanther to choose the latter, but he supposed that she might.
They would not be the first such noble couple—or the last. In any case, he had
other things with which to concern himself right now.
The day was free for him to conduct his searches. The professors were not
teaching anything, and the pupils who were planning to visit their families
were gathering their belongings and beginning to leave, a slow but steady
trickle. The bustle on the ground floor of Hogwarts made it flatly impossible
for Tom to consider opening the Chamber—if he could find it—unless he wanted
numerous fatalities, and since no one at the school was personally responsible
for the troubles of his family ora foul Norman Muggle who tried wrongfully to
control witches and wizards, he did not. However, he could search for it and
form a plan for opening it if his search proved fruitful.
Tom had considered how best to keep any stragglers—or Hogwarts masters—away
from the site of the Chamber entrance if he did find it. Any spell to
discourage them would likely be detectable, and it would just provoke
investigation of the place. It would raisethe risk. After considering it, he
settled on a very simple but hopefully very effective solution: making a mess
in the hallway outside the room that was the entrance, slightly removed from
the door to whatever that room might be. He did have some ideas in mind; he
first wanted to check out the schoolroom where his biography of Slytherin had
told him the great man had taught his pupils. The room was now used for
Transfiguration studies, which had been Dumbledore’sspeciality—and Minerva
McGonagall’s. A pair of Gryffindors. It was almost as if the choice had been a
deliberate insult to Slytherin, Tom thought. If not for the fact that they were
Malfoys, he would almost approve of the fact that alumni of Slytherin House now
occupied Gryffindor’s castle.
Tom slipped unnoticed into the schoolroom in the midst of the confusion and
activity of students who were leaving for their homes. His magical senses were
much more sensitive now than they had been four years ago, he thought idly. It
was true that a witch or wizard’s magic developed as the person did. As he
examined the schoolroom, he detected the magical residue of attempted spells to
transfigure the myriad of things on which students practiced.
There was something very peculiar at the front of the classroom. For some
reason, Tom thought of Crookshanks, Hermione’s feline familiar. Of course, he
remembered, Professor McGonagall can transform into a cat. And obviously
Crookshanks has some magical abilities too; he’s not a common cat. It seems
that I can identify that specific magical signature now. This was
interesting—and promising. It meant that if he found the entrance itself—which
should be magically concealed, surely—then he would also be able to detect an
extremely magically powerful serpent.
He continued examining the large stone room, focusing on the walls for any sign
of unusual magic that could not be the residue of Transfiguration. As he
reached the fourth wall, his face was growing sour. Nothing had turned up. He
then considered the floor and stalked toward the center of the schoolroom. His
walk around the perimeter would have revealed any magic trapdoor in the floor
that was close to a wall. This search also came up empty.
Disappointed, Tom slumped against the floor in the back of the room, trying to
determine a logical next step in his search. No other room seemed obvious to
him based on his reading about Slytherin. Then a door caught his eye.
He knew it was the door to the supply closet, and he had been doubtful that
Slytherin would conceal an entrance to his grand chamber in such a grubby,
ordinary place as a storage room. But… it wasa room, and perhaps it was not
storage in Slytherin’s day. Tom opened the door and continued his search of the
premises.
Quickly he realized that there was magic in this room—and he detected the magic
of a serpent. His pulse quickened with anticipation. How could Dumbledore and
McGonagall not have detected this? Tom thought. He listened carefully through
his magic-detecting sense and thought he heard a voice casting a spell in his
ancestral tongue. Is it just for me? Is this magic of the blood, calling out to
me because I have this blood? Maybe they can’t hear it or sense it. That
thought brought a satisfied smile to Tom’s face as he began casting diagnostic
spells at the stone floor. Very quickly, one caused a green glowing outline of
a large rectangle to appear—just large enough, perhaps, to move a basilisk
through.
Tom instantly focused on this spot. He cast the spell repeatedly until it was
outlining the grain of the wood used in the trapdoor. He closed his eyes—just
in case—and spoke sibilant, mysterious words in Parseltongue. The magical mask
of stone veneer melted away, revealing the wooden trapdoor to Tom’s reopened
eyes. He took a deep breath.
I need to make my preparations, he thought. I need to get something to
blindfold the basilisk. This is not directly off the hall, though, so I don’t
think I want to create a mess in the hall—magical water, or whatnot—after all.
It would just draw attention here. I could create a blindfold by magic… but the
basilisk itself is a powerfully magical creature. Best to have something fully
material. Tom considered it. Oh—and there should be far fewer pupils tomorrow.
Or tonight.
The idea of opening and visiting the Chamber that night quickly took hold in
his mind.
===============================================================================
That evening, Tom crept quietly up the stairs to the ground floor with a long
strip of silky white fabric under one arm. For a castle, Hogwarts was
surprisingly short on basic supplies other than food. Magicalsupplies it had in
plenty, but not quite as many ordinary materials. There was no castle tailor or
seamstress, and the elves only repaired pupils’ robes if necessary. They did
not sew new clothing, so they did not keep fabric about. This was a bed sheet
that Tom had swiped from the sickroom. That room was empty—as he had expected
it to be on the night after many students had left for home—and the room seemed
ghostly to Tom, even though no ghosts were there at that moment. One bed in
particular troubled him, though it looked just like the others. He had just
felt a very strong evil premonition associated with that bed, though whatever
foresight this was did not give him any details. He had pulled the thin sheet
he now carried from a different bed, not wanting to disturb that one.
Tom entered the Transfiguration classroom, closed the door behind him, and
progressed to the storage closet.
===============================================================================
Although most students had gone on the first day that it was allowed to them,
some were going to make their journeys on the second day. Harry Potter, Luna
Lovegood, and Ginevra Weasley—though notthe Weasley boys—had decided to do
this. Neville Longbottom, whose family lived in Hogsmeade, also could stay at
the castle until the last minute. These four decided to have a meeting—not a
formal meeting of the Friends of the Founders, but a meeting of the four of
them plus Hermione.
“I was hoping that you might have a better idea of what your parents—and older
brothers—were doing,” Hermione said haltingly to Ginny Weasley. “Half the
school heard your brothers’ approval of Malfoy’s Imperius law about married
witches a couple of months ago. It really shocked me, I have to say.” Luna
Lovegood nodded heavily in agreement, her eyes wide.
Ginny did not defend her brothers. “Why do you suppose I did not leave with
them?” she asked pointedly. “I wish I didn’t have to go at all. That comment
was nothing unusual for Ronald—or for the twins, for that matter, though they
usually couch their comments in ‘humor.’ Ronald is just spiteful and ugly about
it. But this has been going on for several years. I don’t think my father
approves, but he is not bold enough to put an end to it, and my mother
encourages it, because she thinks that any witch that one of her precious
boysspeaks against must deserve it.”
That would have been befuddling to Hermione not long ago, but her own mother’s
irritating letter urging her to overlook Tom’s behavior in the name of “duty”
had opened her eyes. It sounded as though Ginny’s mother was far worse.
“Tell her about the argument with your mother,” Neville urged her gently. “She
might as well know. It could affect us all.”
Ginny scowled, and next to her, so did Luna. “All right,” she began grudgingly.
“Apparently, my mother and Harry’s father think that Harryand I should be
together. That was what they expected to happen when they allied under the
Friends of the Founders’ banner, but it didn’t quite turn out that way.”
“It’s silly,” Luna interjected, “because Neville’s parents are also allies, and
my father supports the overthrow of Armand Malfoy.”
“Evidently, as soon as one’s parents get involved in political power games,
this becomes a danger,” Ginny growled. “One doesn’t have to have a title. In
any case, I told my mother that it was not going to happen, and she became
angry with me. And Harry’s family, of course….” She trailed off.
“I don’t have to stay with my father,” Harry said.
Hermione considered what she had heard. It did not elucidate the greater game
of her friends’ families… but it was intriguing. She remembered, suddenly,
something Merope had said the summer before last, the summer that Luna had
visited at Parselhall. “The Lovegoods are an interesting family.” “Luna, do you
think that perhaps everyone else’s parents don’t trust your father? What does
he do?”
“He is a scholar and bookbinder by trade,” Luna said. “His researches have led
to some conclusions that many people do not like.” She gazed out primly.
Hermione thought about that. In that case, the other Friends of the Founders
might not trust him. They might want someone who could be assured to be on
their side, rather than following where the facts led him. In fact, nothing
seemed more likely: The Longbottom family renounced their title over politics
and now Neville’s father was mayor of Hogsmeade, the Weasleys of eighty years
ago also renounced a title, and Harry’s father’s family had been dispossessed
by the Malfoys. Their perspectives would be inherently political—and without
the mitigation, the softening of extreme views, that reading and scholarship
could afford. Nobles’ perspectives would be quite political, but Hermione’s
friends’ families would not have the time to devote to scholarship like Merope
and Severus—or the coin to amass big libraries. For many witches and wizards,
their years at Hogwarts would be the only lengthy time in their lives that they
had the chance to study and read.
“You should make your decisions for your lives as you see fit,” Hermione said
sincerely to her friends. “You don’t have to let your parents bully you into
matches that are not your first choice.”
Luna patted Harry’s hand and smiled. Neville awkwardly, shyly grinned at Ginny.
Ginny herself, however, was eyeing Hermione with a shrewd, pointed look on her
face. “Do you?” she asked.
“It’s different for me,” she said at once. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry
Tom. He has just been difficult….”
“For two years.”
“We have had arguments,” she admitted. “That has been the extent of it. If he
tried to harmme, of course that would be different. But I think he will warm to
me again this summer, if not before then.” She rose from her seat. “I had
better go back to my dormitory. I still haven’t packed!”
Ginny and Luna chuckled at that as she left. She smiled as she closed the door
behind her and headed down the many flights of stairs.
When she reached the ground floor, Hermione saw a shadow, long and attenuated
in the dim light of the corridors. She hid herself behind a pillar of an
archway. Her eyes widened when the shadow’s owner appeared: Tom. What is he
doing, prowling about the castle at night? Hermione thought. He entered one of
the schoolrooms—the Transfiguration room, it appeared—his long shadow trailing
after him. The shadow was cut off when he closed the door.
For a moment, Hermione was resolved to continue to the lower level and the
Slytherin common room. But her curiosity got the better of her, and she turned
the corner.
===============================================================================
Locked inside the closet, Tom hissed the command in Parseltongue that had made
the trapdoor appear earlier in the day. The wooden, hinged door became visible
once again. He considered for a moment, gathered up the fabric, and lifted the
trapdoor. A dark tunnel descending into the bowels of the school yawned before
him.
The basilisk is said to be in a magical sleep, he thought. I should be able to
enter its sleeping area safely… but I will be sure to keep my eyes closed or
trained on the floor.
He took a deep breath and stepped into the pit. The tunnel appeared to be a
slide of sorts, which was unnerving. That would be difficult to escape quickly
if it became necessary. Perhaps, though…. Tom flicked his wand. More glowing
green appeared on the curving, downward-sloping tunnel. It can change shape, he
realized.
Crouched over the floor, he opened his palm and cast a spell to make a cut,
which he pressed against the wall of the tunnel. Before his eyes, the smooth
surface transformed into a set of stone stairs that he could easily descend. He
took another deep breath and entered the tunnel, lighting the tip of his wand.
Down he descended for some time. When he reached the end, his eyes widened.
Magnificent architecture spread out before him, carved snakes with green
sparkling eyes in seemingly every crevice. A great sculpture of what Tom
presumed was Salazar Slytherin’s head overlooked all of it.
“What can you tell me, great-great-great-grandfather?” he murmured, taking in
the sights in awe. “What secrets did you keep? Did you know what was coming
less than a lifetime—a wizard’s lifetime—from the founding of this school? And
what became of you at last? You were said to have disappeared… but did the
other Founders murder you? Might Gryffindor have spread lies about the
disagreement he had with you, after you could not defend yourself?”
The stone statues offered no answer.
Tom gazed around the chamber. No basilisk was in sight—nor were there any books
or other magical artifacts. It was a pity, but if Slytherin had constructed
this chamber to be the domicile of the basilisk, it would not make sense to
fill it with other things. He noticed a great arched corridor that led into an
unknown anteroom, and his magical senses prickled. The basilisk was in there…
and it was indeed asleep.
Gazing fixedly at the floor, Tom began to speak in Parseltongue: “I am here,
Great Serpent of Slytherin. I am the heir you have waited for, and I summon you
from your long rest to serve me as I finish your first master’s work.”
Rustlings from the antechamber sounded as the immense creature awakened from
its sleep. Tom repeated his words for the basilisk as it entered the main
chamber where he stood, keeping his eyes focused downward.
“The heir of the master? The master is dead, then?”
Tom sensed the presence of the huge snake mere feet away from him. He stole a
dangerous glance out of the corner of one eye. A vast scaled body rested
nearby. “I assume so, Great Serpent. It has been many years. But I am here, and
I am of his blood.”
“You speak it… and I recognize the smell of your blood. You are the master’s
blood, indeed. You have come to finish his work?”
“Yes,” Tom said eagerly. “The world of witches and wizards is overrun with
invaders. My own mother, who is also of the blood, is under threat. You are a
powerful creature, and I command you to protect the heirs of the master’s blood
and drive out the intruders.”
“Then I am at your service, my lord.”
Tom considered. “I must first place a blindfold over your eyes, so that you do
not accidentally kill allies or innocents. We would not want that.”
The basilisk paused for a moment. “As you wish.”
Tom waved his wand around. The bed sheet sailed into the air and gently wrapped
around the creature’s head.
“I can still see through this,” the snake remarked. “It is not opaque.”
That did not surprise Tom, and presumably it would still prevent someone from
looking “directly” into the animal’s eyes, but he was not going to risk
himself. He instructed the basilisk, “I will ascend the steps first and then
transform them into a tunnel up which you can glide comfortably. I will tell
you when to come.”
“As you command, Heir and Lord.”
Tom preened at the subservient tone of the basilisk as he began to ascend the
steps. His heart was soaring. This was historic. It would make a difference—no,
thedifference—in the coming war. He could bring this basilisk to the very gates
of Malfoy Manor and Malfoy’s vassals would drop at the mere sight of it. Tom
pictured Rodolphus Lestrange, stationed outside Armand Malfoy’s private rooms,
getting an eyeful of it and crumpling to the ground. Then I would burst into
Malfoy’s sanctum, Tom thought as he climbed the stairs, and perhaps he would
even have a goblet of shining silver blood in hand—but it would do him no good
in that moment. He would gape at the basilisk and then crash to the stone
floor, the goblet falling from his withered hand, spilling its contents
everywhere… and if he has a Horcrux, then he would be disembodied. I would have
it eat his body so he could not repossess it….
Unless they know I’m coming and bring chickens, he thought with sudden
disquiet. The delightful revenge fantasy faded away with that cold
consideration. For such a magnificent, lethal creature, it was horrifyingly
easy to kill with the crow of a rooster. He would have to keep this weapon
secret until he was ready to use it.
Tom reached the top of the stairs and found himself in the storage closet once
more. He swished his wand, turning the stairs into a smooth tunnel once more.
“It is ready for you, Great Serpent,” he intoned to the creature below. In a
second, he heard the telltale signs of movement as the basilisk slithered up
the tunnel. He felt proud and satisfied enough that he thought he might burst.
The great head appeared in the open trapdoor. Tom looked away at once, averting
his gaze from the blindfolded yellow eyes. “I will open this door and let you
out,” he said. “Then I will take you out of this castle and find a secret spot
where you can hide until I can bring you home.” He went to the door that led to
the Transfiguration schoolroom and opened it.
He had only half a second to recognize Hermione’s presence at the doorway—her
brown eyes wide with alarm and shock, her mouth open in an almost perfect O,
her wand hand raised—before she tumbled to the floor.
Tom could hardly think. His first thought was horror—the fear that seemed to
pierce straight to his soul that the basilisk had killed her. He collapsed to
his knees and cried out as he grabbed her wrist.
Her eyes were still open, and her skin was already cold. That shouldn’t be….
Completely oblivious to everything else, his mind consumed with her and her
alone, he realized that he felt a pulse beneath the cold, clammy… unyielding…
skin.
She was not dead. She was Petrified, but she was alive.
Tom’s heart rate increased, or perhaps he just became more aware of it as that
relieved thought poured over him. “Return to the Chamber!” he hissed in
Parseltongue at the basilisk. He did not look back, but he heard the creature’s
descent back down the tunnel. Once its slithering noise was far in the
distance, he muttered in Parseltongue, “Be concealed.” The trapdoor vanished,
appearing as a normal stone floor once again.
The basilisk told me that it could see through the fabric, Tom thought,
panicking. It could see through it… and Hermione could see its eyes through the
filter of the weave. That is why she wasn’t killed. But what can be done to
revive her? There is a potion… a restorative… but I can’t remember how to make
it. He gathered her frigid, stiff form up in his arms. I can’t. I can’t
remember….
A shadow was advancing down the corridor outside the schoolroom, accompanied by
a light. Tom grimaced. If one of the masters caught him—
He could open the trapdoor again and take Hermione into the Chamber itself to
hide—
Albus Dumbledore and Horace Slughorn poked their heads into the classroom.
“Tom!” Slughorn exclaimed. “And Lady Hermione!” he added, springing forward
when he saw her unconscious form.
Dumbledore was giving Tom a look as hard as steel and as cold as ice. “Is this
the place, then?” he said.
Tom instantly knew that Dumbledore was aware of what had just happened—and why
would he not have? He was the High Master of the school, and it was common
knowledge that Tom was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin.
Tom nodded, not looking into the High Master’s bright blue eyes. “She has been
Petrified,” he said to Slughorn, shame filling every syllable. His fantasy
about having the basilisk kill Malfoy and Lestrange was long forgotten. “I
don’t remember the formula—”
“The principal ingredient is chopped mandrake,” Slughorn said, “which I have.”
As Tom rose to his feet, still carrying Hermione’s limp form in his arms, the
stout potions master touched her forehead. “Yes, you’re right, of course—that’s
what it is. She’ll be all right, Tom,” he said reassuringly. “The potion will
have to brew overnight, but she will be perfectly fine in the morning!”
Tom knew that Slughorn was trying to make him feel better, but it felt ghastly
and inappropriate right now—though he could not articulate even to himself why.
Why was Hermione here? he thought as they left the room and headed up to the
infirmary. What was she doing out? Was she with Potter and his friends? They
drew her out of the common room—out of safety—and then she followed… me? She
must have seen me….
As he attempted to cast blame upon Potter, upon Potter’s friends from other
Houses, upon Hermione herself, he felt even worse. He gazed down at her face,
her eyes still wide and unseeing. It was wrong, all wrong. He had seen Hermione
making such an expression of surprise before, of course, but it should never be
affixed to her face like this.
They reached the infirmary and went inside. Barely aware of his own actions,
Tom moved over to a bed and set Hermione down—and then he realized that it was
the bed about which he’d had a bad feeling. At that realization, he wanted to
be sick.
“I will stay here,” Slughorn said to Dumbledore, “and awaken the healer.” He
nodded at the quarters of the school healer, which were just off the infirmary
itself. “Once she’s made aware of it, I’ll be in the potions laboratory to brew
the restorative.”
Dumbledore turned to Tom. “It is a long walk to my office. The room next door,
then.”
Tom did not dare disobey.
***** Dark Night of the Soul *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so much as always! I hope that the events of this chapter
     aren’t a disappointment. The event that you are all waiting for will
     happen, and I expect every one of you can guess when after reading
     this. But I want to make it worthy of the wait and buildup.
     Credit where due: The end sequence of this chapter is heavily
     inspired by Chapter 16 of my_pal_bainsidhe’s_fic_From_the_Ashes. I
     say this because she’ll recognize the inspiration. ;)
Dumbledore closed the door behind himself and Tom and regarded the young wizard
with a look of deep disapproval on his face. “You are fortunate, Lord Thomas.
You are fortunate that this monster did not killLady Hermione, and you are also
fortunate that the wizarding populace is in a state of unease. Your lady mother
obviously must know about this—and I rather expect that Lady Hermione will see
to that,” he said with a hard look, “but luckily for you, the present political
situation makes it… inadvisable… for me to allow this information to spread any
farther. Lord Malfoy would certainly use it against all of us.”
Tom had not even thought about that, but of course, it was true. He remained
silent as the High Master continued to speak.
“I am not going to waste time scolding you for the fact that you harmed Lady
Hermione,” he said. “You shouldfeel remorseful for that yourself, and if you do
not, then my words certainly will not make a difference.”
Tom gaped at Dumbledore. “Of course I feel bad about that!” he protested. “I
did not mean for the beast to endanger anyone in the school, let alone her! I
would like to see her as soon as Master Slughorn gives her the restorative
potion.”
“The last thing Lady Hermione will remember upon awakening is catching a
glimpse of Slytherin’s monster. The professor will have to explain to her what
happened and why she is in the sickroom, and you should consider the
possibility that she may not wish to see you immediately after that.”
Anger rose in Tom’s chest. “I have the right—”
“You are not in charge of this castle, Lord Thomas. I am. If Lady Hermione
wishesto see you when she wakes up, that is a different matter, but I will not
force it upon her.”
“You would keep me from her? It’s unlawful to kidnap someone else’s spouse,
even in one’s own castle….”
“Hermione is not your wife, and no one is ‘kidnapping’ her. While she is a
pupil in this castle, I am responsible for her. You will notbe admitted to the
sickroom unless she asks for you.” Dumbledore eyed him dubiously. “What I mean
to discuss with you is the Chamber itself. I have known of its existence; I was
one of the Founders’ own pupils, after all. But I have not known where its
entrance was. I presume it requires words to be spoken in Parseltongue.”
Tom nodded. “There is a ward in Parseltongue, but I think it is also linked to
the blood of Slytherin.”
“As master of this school, it is not acceptable to me for a lethal monster to
reside in its bowels, accessible to a single student,” Dumbledore said
severely.
“You would kill it?” he exclaimed in horror. If Dumbledore had the basilisk
killed, that could mark the end of his dreams of revolution. He would not
cooperate, he vowed. The Chamber would not open except to a command in
Parseltongue, and he would not speak it on the command of someone who wished to
kill the basilisk. “Professor—please—it belongs to my family—”
“You said that you did not mean for it to endanger anyone in the school. What
was your intention, may I ask? What did you mean to do?”
“I was going to take it outof the school and settle it in the dungeons of my
mother’s castle.”
“How were you planning to get it there? You cannot Apparate with such a
creature.”
Tom had not considered that part. He temporized. “I would have taken it outside
the school grounds and… ordered the house-elves to bring a cart,” he said. “I
would have put it back to sleep after it was inside.”
“That would have been a long journey for you.”
Anger surged in him once again. “Are you implying that I’m lying to you? I tell
you, I did not mean to harm any students or professors with it! If I had, why
would I have brought it out at night, aftermost of the students went home?”
“Mind your tongue! I do believe you when you say you didn’t mean to harm anyone
here, but your ‘plan’ for getting it home seems half-baked at best. I will not
have this creature in the school, Lord Thomas. I would strongly advise against
bringing it to your own castle, but if you insist upon it, you have until the
school reopens in January to work out a feasibleplan for removing it safely.
Otherwise, I will take the necessary measures.”
Tom glared back. “And how do you suppose you will do that, Professor? The
Chamber only opens to Parselmouths, and only those of Slytherin’s blood can
control the basilisk.”
“Your lady mother is a Parselmouth of Slytherin’s blood,” Dumbledore said
pointedly. “I expect that when she learns of the danger, she will gladly help.”
“You would pressure my mother—?”
“I would askyour mother. I meant what I said. That basilisk will be out of my
school soon, one way or the other.” He peered at Tom icily. “I recommend that
you go to bed, Lord Thomas. The restorative potion will not be ready until
daybreak anyway, and I will not let you sit in the sickroom overnight.”
With that, Dumbledore stalked to the door, opened it, and walked away briskly,
leaving Tom to his thoughts.
===============================================================================
Tom considered returning to the Chamber to brood and think there, but he
decided against it. If he had to devise a plan to keep Slytherin’s basilisk
from being destroyed, it was best not to do something that this old man would
probably consider blatant defiance. He returned to his bedchamber in the
Slytherin dormitories, a headache now throbbing away, and plopped down on his
bed to think.
Hermione almost died, he thought. The basilisk almost killed her. It would have
if I had not blindfolded it. I wish there had been thicker material in the
castle! But she will be all right in the morning, after Slughorn gives her the
mandrake potion.
I almost lost Hermione. It has been two years since we had our first fight, and
that’s quite long enough. I almost lost her, and it is time to make amends.
Dumbledore may ban me from the sickroom, but he cannot keep her locked inside
it forever. When she comes out, we will finally talk. Surely she will
understand that this was completely an accident. We can talk about the things
we argued about, the alliances and the Adelaide Lestrange matter. I really do
want to have that talk now, and I will listen to what she has to say. I have to
get her back. She cannot think that I did this on purpose. Tom sighed, rubbing
his aching temples. He was hopeful that the discussion would go well… but there
was still a voice of doubt deep in his mind. He could not pinpoint just what it
might be about this plan that made that part of him skeptical, though.
Dismissing the concern, he rolled off the bed and stumbled over to the cabinet
where he kept general-purpose medicinal potions. Finding one that would cure a
headache, he gulped down the requisite amount and fell onto the bed again to
wait for it to take effect.
Hermione is lucky, in a way, he thought, staring at the ceiling. She is
unconscious. I am the one who will have a terrible night.
===============================================================================
Hermione awoke the next morning choking, her mouth full of a foul-tasting
fluid. Her vision was fuzzy, and her entire body ached, as if she had not moved
a muscle for hours. She closed her eyes, which seemed unnaturally dry, to allow
them to lubricate. She swallowed the remaining liquid—she realized, on some
level, that it must be a potion, so it was presumably safe—and felt the pain in
her arms and legs lessen as she did. Her eyes seemed to settle as well, and she
opened her eyelids and blinked several times before recognizing Professor
Slughorn and Mistress Pomfrey, the school healer.
“Uggh,” she groaned, rising from her pillow. This was not her own room; it was
the infirmary. She tried to remember how she had gotten here, but she found
that she could not. The last thing that she remembered was… it suddenly hit
her. Tom was in the storage closet with a giant snake beside him, its eyes
blindfolded, but I could still see two great yellow blurs through the cloth.
Hot rage flooded her body as she realized what this meant had happened.
“Lady Hermione,” Slughorn said solicitously, “are you feeling all right?” He
looked anxious. “You have just recovered from being Petrified….”
She blinked again. “Petrified,” she repeated. “For how long?”
“Just overnight! We had all the ingredients on hand to make the restorative
draught for you.”
She considered that. It meant that… today was the day she was supposed to go to
Parselhall. With Tom, she thought, the mere thought of his name in her mind
sending a new spark of anger through her. Where washe, anyway? He was
responsible for this, and he did not even have the decency to show up when she
was awakened?
“Where is Lord Thomas?” she asked tartly, not caring that Slughorn grimaced at
the formality of her question and the fact that she did not call him by his
nickname.
“He is probably in the Slytherin common room or his bedchamber,” Slughorn said.
“I see.” She threw the sheet down the bed and got to her feet. She was still
dressed in the day robes she had worn yesterday, so she did not need to worry
about being decent. “In that case, if I am well now, I had best go so that I
can gather up my belongings.” She gazed at the healer for confirmation of this.
“Yes,” Mistress Pomfrey said, “you are quite well now. Careful on your feet,
though, my lady!” she added as Hermione wobbled a bit.
As she made her way to the Slytherin rooms, Hermione resolved on what she would
do. It hurt, but enough was enough. No one could expect her to marry someone
who would treat her as something lower than a mistress, blame her for events
that were not her fault, and then put her life in such grave danger—and express
no contrition for any of it. Well, no one in the magical community who is not a
Malfoy or Malfoy ally, she thought cynically, before feeling bad about the
thought. Well… surely my parents would not insist that I wed someone who hurt
me. But many Muggle nobles would. Lady Merope, though, is the one who gets to
make the final decision, and she promised me that she would break the contract
if I asked her to. I will offer to swear my wand to her service instead. She
needs magical vassals. She may not want to accept that, because of the
complication with Tom… but I suppose it is time I accept the fact that there
may not be a complication with Tom. He was not here this morning when I was
awakened.
She entered the Slytherin common room and immediately saw Tom himself seated in
front of the hearth, gazing out at the cold unlit fireplace silently. He turned
around as she entered the room, and his dark eyes widened. He rose from his
seat and approached her.
Instantly, instinctively, Hermione drew her wand and pointed it at his heart.
“Stay away from me,” she said, her words so cold that it surprised her.
He stopped abruptly and gazed at her. “Hermione, please,let me explain.”
“Explain?” she repeated. “I cannot imagine what ‘explanation’ you can have for
Petrifying me with Slytherin’s basilisk and then not even being present in the
sickroom when I wake up, but I suppose you’ll say it anyway. Very well, then.
‘Explain’ yourself. It should be quite amusing,” she sneered.
His eyebrows narrowed. “Are you even going to give me a chance?”
“How dare you? I owe you nothing. Now is your ‘chance’ to speak, though, so get
to it!”
He breathed deeply, trying to control himself and the storm of emotions that he
felt. “I wanted to be in the sickroom, but Dumbledorewould not allow it,” he
said. “He forbade me from being there.”
Her gaze softened ever so slightly at that. Encouraged, Tom continued. “As for
the basilisk—I really didn’t mean for that to happen! I would neverset it on
you, Hermione! It was an accident. Please believe me. I can’t even express how
grateful I am that you weren’t killed.” He moved forward, reaching for her
hands, but she recoiled. He stopped and gazed at her face, plain need written
in his features. “I was awake for most of last night, Hermione. I could not get
to sleep.”
“You could not get to sleep,” she repeated, her eyes hard and set. “What are
you implying, Tom? That youhad it worse last night?”
“Well, didn’t I? I mean, you were unconscious.”
“Tom—”
He winced, realizing that that had not gone well at all. “My point is, I
thought about what had happened, and it made me realize that I… well, I need
you. I don’t want to be alone—without you. I regret that it took almost losing
you for me to realize that. I’m sorry about the basilisk. It really was an
accident, and after all, you were awakened quickly. It will never happen again.
Will you forgive me?”
Hermione stared at him in disgusted amazement. “That’s it, Tom? You truly think
that thatis all you need to say to me? That I will take you back after those
pathetic words?”
He drew back as if she had slapped him. “I don’t understand, Hermione. I am
sorry about it! I never meant for this to happen….”
“Tom, let me ‘explain’ something to you now. If you hadmeant for it to happen,
you would not be standing here. Youwould be the one in the infirmary!” she
roared, her voice suddenly hot with outrage.
He stared at her with pleading eyes. “Hermione, what should I say? What do you
want from me? I don’t want to lose you. I realized that last night, after I
almost did.”
“What do I want from you? What I want,” she said, her voice suddenly breaking,
“is something that you are clearly incapable of offering, Tom.”
“What do you mean?” A chill darted down his spine at her words.
“Have you even been listening to yourself? Everything that you have said to me
has been about how bad youhave felt, how much youthink you couldn’t do without
me, and how much of an accident this was—more excuses for yourself, and what
does it saythat you think you need to tell me that? Do you think that I
believed you did this on purpose, and that saying it was an accident will
therefore make everything all right? Because it will not, Tom.”
He gaped. “I don’t understand.”
“You certainly don’t. You have said not one wordabout any of the problems we
had over the past two years—nothing about your atrocious treatment of me in my
second year here, all supposedly to please your ‘allies’ whose families already
knew about the betrothal. You have also had not one word to say about the time
you blamed me for Carrow’s torture of you. And now, you don’t seem to think you
owe me any explanation or apology for the basilisk other than ‘it was an
accident.’ You really seem to think that youhave suffered more last night, in
your fear that you would ‘lose me,’ than I have suffered for the past two
years.” She stared at him with wide, sad eyes. “Tom, I cannot marry someone who
disregards me, unjustly blames me for things, has no consideration for my
feelings, and insists upon heedless pursuits that will endanger my life.”
Tom was gazing at her in growing horror. “What are you saying?”
Hermione took a deep breath. “We are going to your mother’s castle today. At
some point, whenever the time is right, I am going to tell her that I want the
contract broken after I complete my education here.”
His mouth dropped open in shock.
“I will swear my wand to her service,” Hermione said, the idea taking solid
shape in her mind as she spoke the fateful words. “I have great respect for
your mother. I want to help your family, and since she is with child, she needs
more defenders.”
“You can’t,” he protested, reaching for her hands again. “Hermione, no, you
can’t—”
She pulled away, avoiding facing him. It broke her heart all over again to see
that look of shock and abject misery in his eyes, but she could not allow a
consideration like that to persuade her. Tom had expressed contrition for what
had happened, but that was it—it was for “what had happened,” not “what he had
done to her,” either now or any time over the previous two years. His words had
made it plain that he had not thought about her feelings whatsoever, but was
instead focused on how much hethought he would suffer. Worse, it had not even
occurred to him that she would be offended and hurt by that reaction.
“Tom,” she finally said, “for two years, you have scorned and dismissed me
because you took for granted that ‘I can’t’ do anything in response. It’s time
you learned that, as a matter of fact, I can.”
With that, she turned on her heels and went to her bedchamber, leaving him in
the common room with devastation inscribed on his face.
===============================================================================
What can I do? Tom thought as he paced back and forth in his Hogwarts bedroom.
The shock of what had just happened had fully sunk in, and he was horrified and
distraught. Mother would accept Hermione’s offer. There was no doubt in his
mind of that. Mother liked Hermione, and if Hermione made her loyalty to Mother
as clear as a sworn oath would imply, then she would take up the offer. He
would then have to go about the grounds of Hangleton, perhaps even the castle
of Parselhall, knowing that Hermione was there but had rejected him and moved
on with her life. How could Hermione have felt as she claimed she did for so
long without his knowing about it? He was a perceptive person, a Legilimens.
How could this be?
Well, Hermione is an Occlumens, he thought unhappily. She has hidden her
thoughts and feelings from me… and now she blames me for not seeing them? I
don’t understand. She always chose her studies and her friendships… she wanted
no part of my doings after our first fight and tried to dissuade me from my
goals for some reason I could never understand… she disliked my friends because
of politics, I thought, at least…. I remember how, after Mother formed
alliances with my friends’ parents, it was perhaps time for me to talk to
Hermione, since I no longer needed to keep my distance from her to impress
those families. But then she involved herself in the Lestrange business, and I
was tortured over the murder of that filth….
As he dredged up the memories, the anger that he had felt at the time
resurfaced once more. That was not productive; he realized that, but he could
not figure out what to do. He did not really even know how to begin winning her
back. They had been estranged for so long.
Is it true? he thought miserably. Is this the end? What can I do? I would say
whatever it is that she wants to hear from me, but I don’t know what it is now.
And if I said, “Of course you have suffered, and I am sorry for that,” she
would consider it insincere, since she accused me of not saying those things a
little while ago. And… Tom sighed deeply at this… I suppose it would be
insincere, because I don’t understand her feelings.
He had already packed, but as he brooded, his eye caught the gleam of an empty
flask on a shelf. It was the one that had held the green potion from the sea
cave.
Slughorn said that the potion makes one feel remorse. It brings up memories of
one’s worst moments, he thought. I wonder….
The idea flashed through his mind that if he drank the potion, he might get to
take the artifact that hopefully lay at the bottom of the basin. His heart
thumped oddly at that. He did not even know what it was. It probablywas not
Excalibur… that basin did not look large enough to hold a sword… but whatever
it was—if indeed an artifact existed—it was something that was significant to
the Gaunt family.
Perhaps I can drink the potion, see these events again and gain some new
insight about them that will help me talk to Hermione, and also gain the
object! Tom thought excitedly, springing to his feet. The object could be a
reward for doing that! Perhaps this is the answer. And Slughorn said that there
was probably another potion nearby to restore one’s health and vigor. It could
be the water. It could be. This is what I will do, then.
They were to Apparate to Parselhall that afternoon. Tom glanced at his pack. He
could bring it with him, making it appear that he was already at Parselhall in
case he did not return from the sea cave in time and Hermione asked Slughorn to
look for him.
She might not, he thought. She might assume that I had gone on without her
anyway. That thought did not offer him any comfort, but he could not ignore it.
Sighing, he picked up the pack and left the Slytherin rooms to walk to the
Apparition point in the castle courtyard.
===============================================================================
Having been to the site of the sea cave before made it possible for Tom to
Apparate directly there—or, rather, almost directly there. He emerged from the
unpleasant constriction to face the salt spray of the sea, which was a very
different matter in late December than it had been in the middle of summer. To
make matters worse, a storm was battering the coast with damp, frigid gusts of
wind, so sodden with moisture that he could see them in the distance as fast-
moving white clouds. Tom shivered immediately as the water soaked him through.
The elements were certainly going to make him earn whatever was in the basin,
he thought.
He pulled the hood of his dark green cloak over his head, tugged his pack
across his shoulders, and turned away from the sea to face the back wall of the
shallow antechamber. The storm had pushed the water about an inch deep along
the floor of this outer cave, and the back wall was blasted with spray.
However, Tom remembered where to go. Even amid the howling of the icy wind, the
thrum of ancient blood magic called out to him, thump-thump,as it had that
summer. He walked to the spot and shivered as he cut his palm open to offer the
ward passage. As he expected, the rock of the wall slid away, revealing the
inner cave, bathed in a cold green glow. Tom breathed deeply and pressed
forward into the dim light.
The fresh water inside the vast inner cave was unnaturally still, even though
the storm outside had free rein to enter this chamber now. In fact… Tom
realized that he himself could not feel the wind. Magic, he realized. The air
was full of it. He followed his magical sense to the spot where magical power
seemed to converge, grasped at air that was suddenly thick and solid, and
pulled on the shining silver rope that appeared in his hands. It was attached
to a boat that slid out of the water with much greater ease than it should
have. In the absence of magic, it should be impossible to pull a submerged boat
by hand with only a rope, but with the charms that Tom could sense covered this
boat and its rope, it was a relatively simple task. When the boat emerged fully
from the water—again, barely making any ripples at all, Tom noted—it was
already dry on the inside. He gathered up the long folds of his cloak and robes
and sat down. There was a single oar, which he used alternately on each side to
propel the boat toward the glowing island in the center of the lake. No ripples
disturbed the surface of the unnatural, obviously enchanted fresh water.
Why did I not notice this before? Tom thought about halfway to the lake. Was I
so focused on getting treasure out of the basin that I did not make note of
anything else except for barriers that I had to overcome? This water is
obviously highly magical.
In a bit, the boat bumped against the island, and Tom got out, making sure to
tie it to a large rock on the bank. He scrambled to the pinnacle of the small
island, where the glowing basin rested atop a short pillar, its light
illuminating the vastness of the cave on all sides. Tom gazed at the green
surface, almost glittering with potency.
The worst moments of one’s life. Tom’s stomach churned at the thought of what
thatmight be like. It is so that I can understand, he told himself, taking a
silver goblet out of his pack. I need to know what the past two years were like
to Hermione, since they were clearly much worse to her than they were to me. I
did not just declare I would break the contract, after all. And… she is right…
I assumed that she would not do it either.
Shivering in dread of what he expected to come, Tom dunked his goblet in the
basin and drew out a cupful of the green potion. Closing his eyes tightly, his
mouth already puckered into a wince, he downed it.
The effect was not immediate. For a few seconds, Tom gazed down at the basin,
which was now a bit less full. Then the potion took effect.
A scene appeared in his mind from two years ago. He and Hermione were standing
in the courtyard of Hogwarts, just returned from a holiday visit to Parselhall.
Although he did not have access to her exact thoughts, the potion-induced
memory did provide him with a sense of what she was feeling. At this moment,
she was happy and content, her satisfaction tainted only slightly by a sense of
darkness on the horizon. In the memory, he brought her hand to his lips,
smiling back. The happiness in her face suddenly seemed to release a pent-up
urge inside him, and he pulled her close, kissing her in full view of anyone
else who might be present—which included his Lords of Beltane.
In the cave, Tom did not want to relive this, but the potion was in his system,
and he had no choice now. He observed in horror as he scorned Hermione before
his friends, alluding crudely to their intimacies—a private, special, almost
sacred part of their lives—as though they were no more than a romp with a
whore. The boys tittered, and Hermione stared at him in shame and betrayal. For
the first time, Tom saw it as Hermione had seen it: A Muggle-born who had
wanted so much to be part of the world to which she belonged by birth, who had
been bound to him but found joy in that due to their early friendship, and then
found that joy curdling into sadness, confusion, betrayal, and dread.
Not her, Tom thought in the cave as the memory repeated itself almost
endlessly. She was so innocent then. I never realized how much she simply
enjoyed her life, despite being under threat. At least she had my affections,
and hope for a happy future…. What have I done?
He finally came back to himself and gazed down at the basin. It seemed so full
yet. Shuddering, he dipped the goblet into the bowl again and drank another
full cup of the potion.
In his memories, Hermione was returning from the seventh-floor room where the
Friends of the Founders met. She had just learned that Neville Longbottom’s
parents were going to take the oath of fealty to Dumbledore, aligning Hogsmeade
under the authority of Hogwarts. He had been outraged that she would go to the
meetings, accusing her of “swanning about with other wizards” and “switching
sides.”
“Are they your people, Hermione?” he asked her in the memory, a nasty smirk
overspreading his face. The question had been little more than an attempt to
get at her; he had not meant to actually exclude her from wizarding England
either as a Muggle-born or a part-Norman, but she had interpreted it to mean
both. In the cave, Tom felt the cold knife of rejection himself. What had been
a spiteful comment on his part, uttered because he was jealous of her
persistent friendship with Potter and worried about political matters that were
out of his control, had hurt her deeply. The wizard she was supposed to marry
had essentially just told her that she did not belong.
Tom noticed as he pulled himself out of the memory that his eyes were damp. He
was starting to feel physically weak as well. He grimaced and downed another
goblet of the potion.
They were standing in one of the paths on the grounds of Hangleton, alone, the
summer sun radiating down upon them. “You really have joined these ‘Friends,’
haven’t you? You have sided against me—betraying me—”
Hermione was angry now; Tom could tell that in the memory. His words no longer
had the same degree of power to hurt her that they used to. She was already
hardening to him. That realization was horrifying. Tom watched in the memory as
they argued about how he treated her and how he professed to regard witches. At
the end of the encounter, she had stormed off, leaving him alone. He had wanted
to follow her—and, for the first time, Tom in the present realized that shehad
wanted him to follow her. She had wanted him to chase after her and express his
contrition. She had hoped that her logical argument—if he really respected
witches, he should treat herbetter—would persuade him to do that. It had not,
and another little bit of hope died inside her at that moment.
Tom stooped over the basin, wiping away the tear that now trickled down his
face. He doubted that it would contaminate the potion if it fell in, but best
not to let it happen anyway. He realized that he was clutching the rounded
sides of the bowl for support, and his head felt light, as if he were soon
going to faint.
Not yet, he thought, drinking another gobletful. At least the basin was finally
noticeably emptier, but that was the only good thing.
It was another Friends of the Founders meeting, this a meeting that he had
agreed to attend. He had decided it was best to see if hecould guess what their
families might be up to, as well as to stake his claim on Hermione in front of
Potter, Longbottom, and the others.
“I asked you this once, and I will ask you again now: Whose side are you on?”
That still hurt. The implicit accusation of betrayal still hurt her, and now,
it combined with anger and outrage over the fact that she was convinced that
hehad betrayed herby his treatment of her.
In the memory, they went upstairs together to the meeting, but it had ended
rapidly in disaster when Tom learned that Hermione had signed a magically
binding oath not to speak of their doings to Malfoy or his allies. He had
stormed out of the meeting, refusing to take the oath himself even though he
knew it was not one he ought to have an objection to—and leaving Hermione
standing in the room before her friends and companions, utterly humiliated.
Now, though, Tom himself felt every pang of humiliation, every stab of rage and
shame as Weasley and his girl laughed at her.
She believed, at that time, that she was bound to me with no choice in the
matter, that I cared so little about her that I would humiliate her in public
before social inferiors, and she suffered mockery and ridicule from people who
knew that they did have freedom to choose their partners, he thought, staring
at the green potion that remained. The horrifying magnitude of his mistreatment
of Hermione was slowly becoming clear to him.
“What have I done?” he whimpered, his words barely audible, though there was no
one else in the cave to hear him anyway. He did not want to drink any more of
that potion, but the bowl still had plenty for him. Clinging to the sides, his
knees bending, he swallowed another cupful—and immediately wished that he had
not. This was the worst by far—at least as of yet.
Hermione had long known that horrible crimes such as rape occurred, but her
encounter with the pregnant, morose, terrified Adelaide Lestrange was her first
experience with a person who had suffered such a trauma. She had struggled with
her misgivings about helping a foe, but in the end, her fundamental compassion
and sense of justice had won the day, and she had made the potion for Adelaide
that would prevent her from being at the mercy of the rapist and her
villainous, also-rapist father. Tom had been so quick to chastise her for not
swearing Adelaide to an oath of silence, or otherwise protecting herself, but
he had ignored the fact that, despite the second-class status bestowed upon her
by Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange himself, despite the ridicule she
suffered at school, despite the mistreatment by him—the one person who, more
than any other, should love and cherish her—she was still a kind person who
wanted to do the right thing and help those who were suffering. Perhaps he had
had a point that she should have protected herself better, but he had placed no
value on her basic compassionate instinct. Even if he himself did not share it,
he should have valued it in her, as something that she did better than he did—a
strength to counter what was a weakness in him. And if we had been together, he
thought miserably, we would have discussed it and devised a way to keep
Lestrange from a forced marriage to a rapist, see justice done to the criminal
himself, and protect Hermione’s role in it. It had not had to have happened the
way it had.
“What have I done?” he repeated again—or perhaps he only thought it. He did not
know, but it did not matter—and worse was still to come.
The second wave of the memory slammed him like a dragon. He had blamed
Hermione’s letter to Bellatrix Lestrange for the fact that he had been tortured
over the rapist’s murder. I was angry and scared, he thought. I could have died
that day, and I knew it—and I took that fear out on her.
The horrible fight occurred once again in the memory, only now, he saw it from
Hermione’s perspective when he spitefully revealed the bargain he had made with
Mother about their betrothal contract. She had been angry, but it had hurt and
shocked her deeply. For the first time, Hermione had questioned if he cared for
her anymore.
When Tom came back to the present time in the cave, he realized that he was not
standing upright anymore, but rather, was clinging to the pillar where the
basin rested, his knees bent. He was not sure that he could rise again. The
water, that cold and unnaturally still magical water, beckoned to him…. It
could restore strength, he thought—but only for a moment. He might regain his
strength, but somehow he knew that if he drank from the lake now, before the
basin was drained, he would be barred from ever trying again. The artifact
therein would be sealed against him, and he would lose Hermione, even after the
memories that he had already relived. He could not explain how or why, and he
supposed that it was his magical instinct that told him this rather than any
part of his logical brain, but somehow he knew that draining the basin was
necessary for him to have a chance at changing Hermione’s mind. Shuddering and
shivering, he reached in the dim light for the side of the basin, hoping that
it was magically secured and he did not pull the thing onto himself. Clutching
it, he hoisted himself up and gazed upon the remaining potion. He filled up his
goblet yet again, noticing that after this one, there appeared to be only one
cupful left. He could not scoop up every last drop, but the magic of the bowl
would detect when he could not get any more. He drank the potion he had just
gathered and braced himself.
This memory was not about Hermione. Instead, he was reliving the horrible
argument he had had with his mother after he had killed his father. He
experienced it from her viewpoint, and this was just as horrible—if not
worse—as anything he had experienced from Hermione’s view.
Hypocrite. Liar. Every word was a stab to his mother’s heart, as she questioned
and second-guessed her own choices in life. She hadtold lies, but it had not
been out of casual unconcern for the truth. It was because she had agonized
over when she ought to reveal the awful truth to Tom—the truth that she had
eloped with his father as a young woman, barely adult, no older than he himself
was right now, in order to prevent her own brother from raping her on a
hideous, unholy mockery of a “wedding night.”
“Who was it? There must have been someone. There always is for noble spawn.”
That question, tumbling viciously from his lips, had brought up memories of
awful dread in her mind.
“Why did I say that?” he murmured—or thought—as he relived the memory of saying
that to her. “I could tell that the question hurt her, and that was whyI asked
it. She could have told me the truth in her own way.” Shame filled him at the
thought of it.
She had set up the betrothal between him and Hermione because she had had such
a bad experience with her first marriage. He had been correct about that, he
realized. But she had genuinely believed that two young people barely out of
childhood who had so much in common would be happier, and love would come
naturally, if they went through their young adult years contractually committed
to each other. She had meant well for him. Everything she had done had been
well-intended, whether it was ultimately a good decision or not. Tom felt ill
at the memory of accusing her of selfishness—especially after he had just acted
very selfishly.
Tom’s legs had already collapsed and were unable to support his weight now. He
was clinging to the basin for support as he scooped up the last of the potion
that he could. He noted, vaguely, that there was indeed something in the basin,
though he could not quite tell what it was. It was something elongated. Perhaps
a wand? But no, wands were a recent magical innovation, he vaguely remembered.
It was certainly not the Holy Grail. Perhaps Excalibur? Wasn’t a sword supposed
to be longer than that, though? Tom's vision was fuzzy and growing dark, and
his entire body ached. After this, he would fall to his knees and drink that
water. He downed the last of the potion and tumbled to the ground, curling up
on his side. Somehow, he knew what memory that this cup was going to invoke.
That did not make it any easier.
Tom closed his eyes, feeling his cheeks dampen, as he relived the talk he had
just had with Hermione.
She does not think I set the basilisk on her deliberately, but she does not
trust me to ever change—not so much to change my plans; she does not care so
much about that, but to ever consider her well-being, her feelings, or even,
now, her safety and life when I make my plans. In some recess of his soul, he
had already known this truth by now. The sweet, innocent Hermione he had met
three and a half years ago was gone, and largely by his own deeds. All people
lost some of their innocence as they grew up, but they retained their idealism
about some things, usually. Hermione had lost her idealism about him, at long
last. Three and a half years ago, she looked forward to marrying me. Now, she
thinks I will be her death if she stays with me.
He was not sure how long he remained curled up on that cold, rocky bank. It
might not have been long at all, but the pain—both physical and mental—was so
intense, and he felt so utterly, deathly tired, that time itself seemed to
become impossible to track. Please, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut, let
her never be hurt again. Not her. Me. Not her. Not them. Me. That thought
repeated in his mind until, at last, it faded to a vague buzz. Some of the
physical pain seemed to lift.
I am dying, he thought suddenly. In that moment, he remembered the water. It
took every ounce of his remaining strength, but he was able to drag himself to
the bank. He did not hesitate. Making sure that his nose remained above the
surface, he plunged his face into the water.
It tasted vaguely unpleasant, not at all like the pure magically infused “water
of life” that he had expected, but as he drank deeply, he felt his strength
returning to him. The pangs of physical agony returned, but only briefly.
Another swallow of the water, and they began to fade.
Tom crawled from the bank, still feeling tired, but no longer as though he were
dying. Instead, he felt as though he had gained several years of wisdom. He
stood up on the rocks, the water swirling around his feet, and clutched the now
almost-empty basin for support.
There was indeed something at the bottom. He had not been in a potion-induced
hallucination. Tom steadied himself and gazed down at a sheathed blade.
Gingerly he lifted it out of the basin. The sheath itself was clearly ancient
and valuable, being made of perfectly molded copper, chased with fantastic
beasts and Celtic knots, studded here and there with green beryls. Tom’s pulse
quickened as he drew out the short blade, silver-white and pristine. The edge
was clearly sharp enough to cut even after… how long?
Tom soon had his answer as he examined it. It was not a sword. It was not
properly a dagger. This blade, he realized, was an ancient athame, an artifact
used by witches and wizards of old in potionmaking, in ritual magic, in blood
spells. On the hilt, right below a sharp-eyed raven, were inscribed the words,
                         MORGANA, DAUGHTER OF IGRAINE
Tom gazed at it longingly. It was true, then, at least some of the legend about
this cave. What power this artifact might hold….
But no, he realized. He knew what he had to do with it. In the end, it was not
for him.
***** An Intangible Gift *****
Chapter Notes
     I did not plan this story to fit the calendar, but here's a happy
     belated Valentine's Day to all of you!
     Regarding the end of this chapter and the level of detail in it,
     Hermione is 16 and Tom is 10 days short of 17.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Tom closed the door of the inner cave behind him and faced the storm, which had
not abated a bit. Cold, stinging sea spray blasted his face. He pulled his
cloak closer and shivered, but the solution was clear. Taking a deep breath,
making sure he had the energy and magical reserves to avoid a lethal accident
with the process, he Apparated to the grounds of Parselhall.
At once, the air was drier, though still cloudy, and the wind was considerably
weaker. He shifted his pack on his shoulders. It held the priceless relic he
had just acquired, as well as his other possessions that he was bringing with
him for the winter holidays. He wanted so much to perform a ritual with it… but
he had made up his mind. The urges to use it himself first—or instead—were
tempting, but he resisted them.
His mother was already waiting in the high seat, Snape beside her. Her face was
grim as she greeted Tom. “My son,” she said formally. She met his eyes with
hers, which were unusually stern. “We have much to discuss.”
Tom furtively examined her. There was no visible sign of her pregnancy… but
then, he supposed, there wouldn’t be. It was too early. He glanced at her and
nodded. “My congratulations, Mother,” he said.
“Yes, that is one matter that we will discuss,” she said. “But it is not the
only one.”
Tom’s heart sank. Had Hermione told Mother her intentions already? She had said
that she would merely do it “at some point” over the intermission.
“High Master Dumbledore sent me a letter this morning,” she said, her words
hard. “Tom, when I let you read the family history books, you gave me your word
that you would not use the information for destructive purposes.”
Tom realized what she was talking about now. “I was excited,” he said simply,
no hint of petulance in his words. “I was excited and eager. I shouldn’t have
opened the Chamber while people were there, but it was not my intention to
attack anyone, least of all Hermione.”
Merope studied him for a second before deciding that he was telling the truth.
She nodded. “I believe you,” she said, “but Hermione is extremely upset about
this. If I were you, I would go to her soon. She informed me that you have
barely discussed it with her so far.”
Tom’s heart thumped at that. Despite her obvious disapproval, that was
promising. It meant that Hermione apparently had nottold Mother what she had
told him. There was still time. “I mean to do that,” he said feelingly. “I
don’t think I apologized to her properly, which is probably what she means and
why she is upset.” He paused. “I hope to discuss a lot of things with her,” he
mumbled.
“I hope you do too,” Merope said. The meaning of her words was clear from the
tone; Tom realized that she knew quite a lot about their estrangement and
disapproved of it. “In the meantime, welcome home.”
===============================================================================
Tom brooded in his room for a little bit as he considered how to approach
Hermione and what to say. He fingered the athame, not removing it from its
sheath, merely gazing at it as though it could offer him advice. Though perhaps
I should not want advice from this particular ancestor, he thought wryly,
recalling that according to the history of Arthur’s family that he believed,
she had gone to her own half-brother with the belief that an incestuous
marriage was a fine idea. He set the athame down on a table and considered
further.
Hermione would be interested in hearing about his experience in the cave with
the potion—aftershe was amenable to him again. She would not want to know
immediately about how much he had suffered from the potion. This is about her,
he thought. I suffered that much because that is what she felt too.
The snake she had given him slithered up the arm of the chair where he sat and
coiled on top of his desk, flicking its tongue at him occasionally as he
thought. He smiled at the creature, mentally contrasting this snake—his true
familiar—with the basilisk of Slytherin. He had only ever thought of the
basilisk as a weapon in the coming fight against Malfoy and Lestrange, he
realized. It had never replaced this snake in his mind as hispersonal familiar.
And Hermione gave her to me, he thought again. That was a potent thought. The
war that he expected, the fight for his people, his own ancestry—as important
as those things were, they were still ultimately secondary to her in his mind,
even if he had chosen to ignore that fact for two years.
It was always Hermione, the entire time. I never even wanted to dally with
other girls. I never even considered it. Every night that I felt those urges, I
fantasized that my hands were hers. I never stopped loving her; I just stopped
accepting that fact myself or showing her. Tom sighed. His task now was a
monumental one: how to convince her of what he had so long denied to himself.
She will want to speak, he thought, reaching for the athame again. She will
have things to say. The alternative is that she is immovable on the subject.
There is essentially no chance that she will have little to say because she is
accepting everything I say uncritically. She will want to speak, and I should
listen to what she has to say. That means… Tom sighed again. That means that I
cannot plan this out in exacting detail.
He picked up the knife and rose to his feet, quickly leaving the room.
===============================================================================
Tom had a hunch that Hermione was in the library rather than her bedroom. He
hoped it was the case; he doubted very much that she would welcome a visit from
him in her personal quarters. He opened the great double doors to the library
and eased inside, closing them behind him immediately. Since it was the day
before the winter solstice, night had come early, and the black sky glittered
with stars through the tall diamond-paned windows. He thought he glimpsed a
light in a far corner. The candles in the library lit up by magic to track his
path through the maze of bookshelves as he walked toward the glow.
Hermione was seated in the corner. A single candle flickered on the nearest
table. She was not reading a book, but was instead staring out the window,
having turned to face outward. As Tom approached, she heard his footsteps and
turned her head, catching his eye. Her eyebrows narrowed and her lips thinned.
That was an inauspicious beginning, Tom thought, but he supposed it was to be
expected. He gazed at her for a moment. “Hermione,” he finally said, “there is
something I would like to give you.”
She instantly drew up into herself and glared at him with suspicion. “I suppose
your real plan is that I will take back what I said this morning at Hogwarts
due to this, and therefore that this ‘gift’ will really turn out to be a loan.”
Stung, Tom instantly protested. “No, Hermione, it truly is a gift.” He withdrew
the athame from his robes and held it out to her in his palms.
She eyed it, surprise filling her face as she read the name of its original
owner, but did not take it. “Where did you get this?” she said.
“There is another site where one of my family briefly… stayed,” he said,
searching for the right word. “As you can guess, about six hundred years ago,
my royal ancestor left her grandmother’s athame behind in this… place. I think
she or her mother must have been a Seer and had a premonition to do so….” He
trailed off. “I want it to be yours, Hermione. It’s a powerful artifact; I can
tell that just by handling it….” He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as he
forced out the difficult words. “If you mean to serve my mother, it would be
useful. But I want you to have it, whatever you do. It’s a gift.”
Hermione considered for another moment before gingerly touching the athame. She
picked it up and unsheathed the blade. “It’s very sharp,” she observed,
“and—yes—very powerful.” She stroked the hilt with a single finger. “There is
no binding magic in this….”
Her implication hurt, but he supposed he could not much blame her for being
wary. “I’ve done nothing to it. The magic in it was there from the beginning. I
would not use an artifact to entrap you, Hermione. I just… wanted you to know
that I truly am sorry about everything.”
Hermione sheathed it and set it down on the table next to her candle. “I see.”
She met his eyes with hers briefly. “Tom, I know what you want, even if you
don’t say it.”
“I don’t deny that,” he agreed. “It’s true. But… it’s your decision, Hermione.
I won’t even insist that we talk about it right now unless you want to.”
“I don’t want to talk about it if you are just going to say what you said at
Hogwarts. I need more than that, Tom. I warned you against this repeatedly… I
know that circumstances have changed, but you pursued this—you went looking for
this monster—knowing that people were there. Your obsessions almost cost me my
life, and while I know it was an accident, it was the culmination of two years
of disregarding me. It started with my feelings, then my ideas, and finally, my
very safety.” She gazed hard into his eyes. “If you think it was easyfor me to
say what I said this morning, you are mistaken. If it had been easy, then
frankly, I would have said it a long time ago.” Tom flinched at that, but she
continued. “I care about you, Tom, which is why it was hard, and part of the
reason why I decided upon something that would keep me near your family. But
caring about you is not enough, and I need to know if you are doing this—giving
me this—for more of a reason than that you are afraid you’re going to lose
something that you want. I need to know if I am more than just another
thingthat you want to own.”
Tom was appalled at that representation of it, but he knew better than to scold
her for saying it. If she said it in such a calm, level voice, she had a reason
to fear it. “You are,” he said simply. “I know I haven’t treated you as much
more than that—if even that—for a long time, but you are. I took you for
granted. You were right about that: I put you last because I assumed that there
was nothing you could do about it, howeverI treated you. That no matter what I
did, you would always be there, and I could just return to the way things used
to be later.” He flicked his wand, summoning a chair from a couple of yards
away, and sat down once it was there. “It wasn’t malicious, intentional
cruelty… most of the time,” he added, feeling a pang of shame at the
realization that there were some occasions, especially later, when it was.
“That first time in the Hogwarts courtyard… and the moments leading up to it,
when I treated you with contempt in front of my friends… I thought I needed to
impress them. It was not my aimto hurt you.”
“But you did, and you did not seem to care.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “I told myself that you would understand why I did it
and ignore it because it was just an act.” He gazed at her. “Because they also
hated the Norman wizards’ rule, I thought they would view it as a weakness if I
let them see how much I truly cared for you, but it’s not a weakness to show
affection for one’s family—or family-to-be—in front of other nobles. In fact,
it’s a strength. Family ties are everything to the nobility, to magical ones
especially. I should have treated you as the lady you are, but….” Tom glanced
down at his lap, shaking his head. “What can I say? I still thought I needed to
act in a certain way to ‘earn’ their respect as an equal, but I shouldn’t have
acted thatway—treating youas less than an equal. Even if I had been correct
that their support was tied to it, I shouldn’t have done it. I meant to stop
after I had their alliances, but that just means I was taking you for granted
and expecting you to tolerate something that you should never have had to.”
Hermione considered what he had said as he lapsed into silence. “I’m glad that
you finally understand that,” she said pointedly. “What aboutthose alliances,
then? I confronted you about that, you know, after your mother established
formal sworn alliances with their families. You’ve had those alliances for
quite a while now. We have still been estranged.”
He winced at that memory. “That was the time that the business with Adelaide
Lestrange occurred,” he said. “I actually intended, the very day that I was
tortured, to talk about it then… but Carrow had other ideas. And,” he added
quickly, “you were right. I blamed you for what happened. I was frightened that
day… I knew that I could have been killed, that Malfoy and Lestrange truly were
thatlawless, and I was thinking about certain magical rituals that I had known
of but never truly considered before…. It was overwhelming. But none of that
means I should have blamed youfor it. If anything, it was largely my own fault
that we hadn’t conspired together about what to do, and there was the strong
possibility that even if we had, anything we did that resulted in the rapist’s
death would have meant I got tortured anyway. Malfoy and Lestrange are our
enemies, after all.” His voice cracked. “There were times when I think I forgot
who the enemy really was.”
“You were certainly eager to show me how little you trusted me,” Hermione said
tartly. She had been listening to his words, and although they were
explanations, somehow they did not feel like justificationsto her. He knew that
his actions were unjustified. Somehow, something had occurred to him over the
course of the day to which he had been completely oblivious in the morning. She
wondered what he had been doing all day between the time she Disapparated from
Hogwarts and the time that he appeared here. “You were constantly asking me if
I was on ‘your side’ because I kept apprised of what Harry’s friends were
talking about.”
“I still think their families are up to something,” he said, “especially the
Weasleys. But that doesn’t mean that their children are part of it. I don’t
think Potter is, or Lovegood, or probably even Longbottom.”
“They’re not,” Hermione said. “Of course their families are up to something. Do
you imagine you are the only person to deduce that? They know it too, and every
time they see their families, they attempt to find out anything they can about
their parents’ secret correspondence. Harry knows that his parents are involved
in some kind of scheme… or his father is, anyway,” she said bitterly. “He’s
tried to discover what it is. Thatis why I have been going to their meetings,
Tom—that and the fact that we’ve also been practicing magic.”
“You have?”
“Yes, we have. Part of the reason I advanced to your level this year is my own
studying, but we have practiced dueling and other magic in these meetings. It
has helped quite a bit.”
He smiled. “That’s great! I’m glad for you.”
“I wanted to know what they were doing too, and whether their activities—if we
could ever discover them—would make them useful allies for this family or
something that your mother should be wary of. I have neverbeen your enemy.”
“I know,” he said penitently. “I realize that now.” He ran his hands through
his hair. “That argument about Lestrange was a time when I was purposely cruel
to you—the end of it, when I told you about my bargain with my mother. I have
nothing to say about that bit except that I am sorry. I’m sorry for giving you
reason to worry that I didn’t care about you. I’m sorry for making you feel
such misery at the prospect of being married to someone who didn’t care about
your feelings—and that this was the bestoutcome, as you reckoned it then.” He
met her eyes with his. “I hatewhat Malfoy and Lestrange have done against
witches, Hermione. I hate it. For all their fine airs about being pureblood
wizards, their views of witches are based entirely on Muggle opinions of women,
specifically Norman—”
“And Saxon,” Hermione said sharply.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Muggle women have not had it very good in this country for
several centuries, and now, Malfoy and Lestrange are trying to do the same
thing to witches. I want to rip this weedout of magical culture by the roots
before it can take hold… but what I’m trying to say is that I have not really
considered the fact that I have been making yoursituation even worse. I’ve
wanted to help ‘witches’ but haven’t noticed how you were forced to see a
betrothal that was making you miserable as the bestoutcome for yourself,
because of laws that harm witches. Again, I’m sorry.” Taken by a sudden urge,
Tom leaned forward and reached for her hands. “Hermione, will you give me
another chance? If you do, I swear to you, I will make sure that it really is
the best future you can have.” He swallowed. “I remember what it was like that
first year and a half.”
“It can never be like that again, Tom, and you know that. We were fourteen
years old and….” Her voice wavered. “So much has happened since then—so many
dark things. We’re not innocent anymore.”
“No, we aren’t,” he agreed. “But it’s inevitable that people lose some of their
innocence and idealism as they grow up. I regret that I wasn’t there for you
when you went through it, and I regret even more that I was the cause of some
of it.” He took a deep breath and released her hands. “If you still want to
take an oath to my mother, I understand. The ritual blade of her ancestor will
help you if you do that. But you deserve more. You deserve to be loved.” He
gazed at her, a wry smile forming on his face for the first time that evening.
“I will, you know. I won’t stop. It’s up to you whether to accept me, though.”
Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly before facing him once
more. “I need time to think about it. The basilisk attacked me yesterday, Tom.
It’s obvious to me that you have thought deeply about all of this… and this
knife,” she said, “I don’t know where you got it, but I would guess that this
has some connection.”
“It does,” he said. “I’ll tell you about that if you want. It was a… profound
experience.”
She considered, then shook her head. “Another time, Tom. If it was profound,
it… well, it might be too much right now. I need to think about everything.”
She handed him the athame.
“Keep it,” he said immediately, drawing away. “It’s yours, Hermione. I meant
that.”
Hesitantly she took it back, unsheathing the blade once more to study the
intricate designs of both the athame and its sheath. “It is beautiful,” she
finally said, “and powerful. You say that her granddaughter placed
this—wherever you found it?”
He nodded. “The Princess Ceridwyn—dispossessed, of course, but the Gaunts still
recognized her title in our family histories. It’s a cave on the western coast,
a verymagical site where she stayed for a while after Camlann to escape
Arthur’s loyalists who blamed her father for what happened. It seems fitting to
me that a witch should own this blade.” He rose from his chair and gave her a
feeble smile. “You said you need to think it over. I’ll leave you to that. Good
night, Hermione.”
She glanced after him as he left the library, sighing deeply once he was gone.
She had been so sure that she knew what she had to do, but now, she was not
certain anymore. I should go to bed too, she thought, rising from her seat.
It’ll be easier to think in my bedchamber, where I know I won’t be interrupted.
She took the blade.
===============================================================================
Crookshanks curled against Hermione’s side as she lay in bed, the athame
resting on the shelf inside the heavy headboard. The heavy draperies that hung
from the bed in winter kept out the magical torchlight from the ramparts and
gates of the castle that shined through her window, so she had her wand lit
dimly as she thought about what had happened.
Tom had seemed sincere. Much of what he had to say had been explanatory of
himself, and it had hurt on some level to have those memories dredged up again,
but he had never used his explanations to excuse or validate his actions. Every
time he had mentioned something, he had been clear that he knew now how much it
hurt her when he had done it and that it was both wrong and unnecessary. Of
course it was unnecessary, she thought. I was not always able to articulate
why, but I knew he did not “have” to treat me the way he did. If, for whatever
reason, he had, I would have been able to see that myself. I was raised noble.
I understand about political considerations. If he really “had to” treat me the
way he did in order to impress allies that he also “had to” have, then I would
have recognized it myself and would have waited before showing him so much
affection in the first place. Just thinking about it angered her again. He
understands now, she thought, calming down. He knows it was wrong. He really
did seem penitent throughout that entire discussion.
And the discussion itself was civil, she thought suddenly. That’s the first
time in quite a while that that’s happened. He never even came close to losing
his temper with me. He truly did sound respectful in that talk. I wonder what
happened to him? She reached for the athame, regarding the artifact with awe. A
sea cave full of magic. I wonder if it was the same place he went last summer.
It must have been. And he gave me this, despite the fact that he would have
coveted it himself last summer, if my guess is right. It’s almost as though his
act of giving me this knife is… giving up on his dream of wearing a crown. But
surely not? He’s had that dream for so long….
Though, perhaps he also realizes at last how hard it would be to make that
happen. Malfoy and Lestrange must be removed from power, but it does not follow
that a wizard must sit on the English throne. Perhaps he realizes that too.
She thought about his parting words. “You deserve to be loved,” he had said. He
didlove her, according to his own words, and would continue to do so. Hermione
thought about the happy times she had experienced with him two years ago. She
had looked forward to marrying him. In fact, she remembered, they had even
assured each other that they weremarried in their own eyes and according to
ancient magical custom. Their affections and confidence had been a joy to her
at Hogwarts in a time when she was otherwise being threatened, diminished by
those in power, ridiculed by many of her own classmates. It had all been
bearable because she could escape to their little room in the castle and have
no secrets between each other. It had not mattered as much that adversaries
told her that she did not belong among other witches and wizards. She knew it
was inherently untrue, of course, but it was easier for her if she did not have
to comfort herself solely with her own mental assurances of that. A thinker
like Hermione would always question her own convictions from time to time
without outside support—and she had it then. She had a specific place,
wizarding family, and future partner with whom she knew she belonged.
Afterward, her friendships with Harry, Luna, and the others had filled the void
somewhat, but she realized that she had never—not once—been as happy as she had
been in that first year and a half.
Have I even been happy at all? she thought. I suppose there have been times
when I was, but since then, it’s mostly been drudgery, apprehension, fear,
sadness—and resignation. I want to be happy again. If there is a war coming,
and it does seem that there must be one, I want more than just resignation,
duty, and friendship. If he does love and respect me—if he really does see what
he did wrong and has resolved to change—then we can have that again. It will
not be what we had two years ago, but—Hermione realized something with a
start—it never would have been. We always would have grown up and changed. The
actions of Malfoy and Lestrange, the evil of their allies and vassals, always
would have darkened us.
If he means what he said tonight….
A thought occurred to her, one that satisfied her as soon as her mind formed
it. This is still very sudden. He opened the Chamber yesterday. He must have
had an interesting experience today in that cave, but I will see if this lasts
for more than a few hours. I will wait a bit before deciding what to do. I will
see how he acts tomorrow, and then I will decide.
===============================================================================
The next day was the winter solstice. Hermione emerged from her bedchamber to
find the castle decorated for Yule, with mistletoe and evergreen branches
decorating the arches, ledges, and furniture. It brought a smile to her face.
At breakfast, Tom sat next to her and ate his food very properly, without the
faintest allusion to their conversation the night before. Evidently he was
sincere about leaving the decision in her hands, as difficult as that must be
for him. Across the table, Lady Merope and Lord Severus ate quietly. Hermione
observed the subtle affections between them as he murmured a morning compliment
to her under his breath and she gave him a warm smile. She was glad of it. They
both deserved the happiness that they had. She hoped very much that the twins
would be born healthy. They deserved that too….
Could I have that someday with Tom? Hermione thought. If he meant what he said,
I could. Her heart thrilled at the possibility, which she had all but given up
over the past year as she resigned herself to the prospect of a loveless
marriage of convenience and a husband who regarded her with disdainful
coldness—and then cast thatnotion aside with one horrible event. The idea she
had formed as a child, before she even knew that she was a witch, the idea that
she had developed from watching her parents and then had sadly dismissed as
naïve and foolish for a noble girl, was suddenly tugging at her soul once
again. She wanted it to be true. She wanted Tom to be sincere, more than she
had even wanted the betrothal itself at the beginning. That, after all, was
before she had really known him. She did know now how he could be at his best.
She wanted to believe.
Convinced as Hermione was that Tom had opened the Chamber in a furor over the
news of his mother’s pregnancy, she was curious how he would react now. She
studied him as they ate their meal together. He was still pretty chilly with
Snape, but then, they had never gotten along particularly well. There was no
reason that would change immediately. There was nothing in his affect that was
disrespectful, though, and no resentment at all toward his mother.
If we can remove Malfoy and Lestrange, and undo their awful laws, then he won’t
lose his inheritance, Hermione thought. He must realize that the present
situation is not his mother’s fault, or Lord Severus’s, or especially the
twins’. It’s Armand Malfoy’s fault, and why should Lady Merope and Lord Severus
sacrifice this form of happiness for the sake of any awful policy of Malfoy’s?
Late that morning, Tom approached Hermione in the corridor with a heavy book in
hand.
“What’s this?” she asked as he handed it to her. The title was The Dispossessed
Children of the Wizard-King, and the writer was Lord Hywel Gant. She recognized
that it must be a family history, and that this wizard was almost certainly one
of his ancestors who just spelled the name differently, but she wondered what
he wanted her to read in it.
“It tells about the legend of the cave that held the Athame of Morgana,” he
said. “My own experience in it was… well, as I said, I will tell you about that
if you want to know, but the natureof the magic in it was something of a
surprise to me even after I read that book.” He smiled mirthlessly. “This is
some background about it, though.”
Hermione took the book to a parlor, pleased with the interaction. It recalled
the times when they had eagerly shared interesting magical knowledge with each
other, pleased with what they had just learned and wanting the other person to
know about it too. It’s been so long… Hermione thought as she sat down and
located the appropriate section in the index.
As Tom had said last night, the book told of how the daughter of Mordred,
apprentice of Morgana le Fay, had fled to a sea cave to hide from her Muggle
grandfather’s supporters, allegedly staying in that area and surviving on fish
and gathered food until it was safe for her to leave. Curiously, one version of
the legend that Lord Hywel related claimed that she had left on the back of a
Welsh dragon, which stayed with her throughout the rest of her life, and that
was why none of the Muggles dared attack her even after she had returned to
society and married a wizard nobleman. That seemed unlikely to Hermione; Tom
had never been able to communicate with dragons, and his Parseltongue had come
from Salazar Slytherin, not the Gaunt line. Perhaps it was possible, though,
for someone to earn the trust of a youngdragon and retain that even after the
dragon was grown and perfectly able to kill its master. Some part of the legend
surrounding the clandestine princess was true; she hadplaced her grandmother’s
athame in the cave for some reason. Based on the location of the sea cave,
there could certainly be Welsh dragons in the area. However, Hermione could
understand why Tom had not focused on this part of the story.
She then came to the part of the legend that told of how the finder of the
artifact would restore the old line and become the ruler of English wizards.
Suddenly it became crystal clear to Hermione why Tom had sought out this
artifact—and the meaning of his gift was exactly as she had thought the night
before. The athame really did symbolize his dream of ruling, and by giving it
to her….
Doubts intruded. Did he give me this book so that I would read that passage and
think exactly that? she thought. Could he want me to think this, so I would
return to him and then he would have everything he wants, including me? A dark
cloud suddenly covered all the pleasant thoughts that she had had that morning
and the night before.
He meant the things he said, she thought. Whatever ambitions he may have, he
wants to share them with me. He does not want to own me; he does feel remorse
for how he treated me. And if he really does respect me, he will listen to me
when I tell him that this particular ambition is unrealistic. Besides, he can
be lord of English wizards and witches without being the king, so a literal
reading of the prophecy—if there was a prophecy—does not preclude that.
She reached the end of the chapter and turned to the next, but this chapter had
nothing further to say of the matter. Hermione closed the book and leaned back
in her chair, thinking.
===============================================================================
That evening, Merope held a private Yule celebration for only the family. With
Malfoy’s decree that observing the Celtic holidays was an act of high treason
and therefore punishable by a horrible death, she no longer included the Muggle
villagers in these events. Even Peter Pettigrew was not invited. Hermione did
not disapprove of that; based on Harry’s report of Pettigrew’s interference in
his family, she strongly distrusted the man’s intentions.
“Tonight,” Merope intoned, holding the ancient family staff high, “we solemnly
observe the passing of time and change of the seasons. This is the darkest day
of the year,” she said, her gaze settling upon Hermione, Tom, and Lord Severus
in turn, “but so it has been and must always be. Darkness is not to be feared
or loathed. It is simply a moment in the repeating cycle. And as we gather
together tonight, let us remember that without knowing darkness, we also cannot
know light; without cold, we cannot comprehend what it is to be warm.” She took
a step forward with a powerful stride and set the Yule log aflame.
Without cold, we cannot comprehend what it is to be warm, Hermione thought.
Their love had been sweet and innocent, but even if they had never had their
fights, it would have had to change. A long-lasting frost had nipped their
springtime affections, but in some ways that might have made it easier for them
to appreciate what they could have now. The comparison for the love that they
could now have would be the bitter chill of estrangement rather than those warm
youthful affections. There were so many sad ballads about the lost spring of
innocent young love, but they seemed to have been written by people who had
never known true pain. Indeed, the coming of age itself was the worst pain they
seemed to have known—and that seemed laughable to Hermione now. Lord Severus
and Lady Merope had experienced “cold” and “darkness,” and their love was
certainly not one of springtime. Adversity and rejection had given them a
deeper understanding and appreciation of their mature love. Although she knew
that she and Tom were still very young indeed, she realized that their
estrangement—though regrettable and avoidable—could still have some good
effects. There was no need to feel that the more mature love she could have
with him was inferior to what they had had before.
She stole a quick glance at Tom, who seemed lost in thought. He was thinking of
his mother’s words too, she realized. She was not a Legilimens, but she somehow
knew it beyond a doubt.
I know what I am going to do, she thought as the log blazed away, bathing her
in its light and warmth.
===============================================================================
She followed Tom after the observance. He seemed at first to be heading for his
bedchamber, but when he saw that she was pattering after him, he changed course
and went to the library. Hermione appreciated that; although he must have a
suspicion, he did not knowwhat she was going to say, and the implications of
the bedroom would weigh heavily on their conversation. He held the library door
open for her as she entered and closed it as soon as they were both inside. She
took a seat in the same corner that they had had their discussion the night
before, her gaze never leaving him as he followed.
“I have made a decision,” she began. “I thought all day about what you said
last night, and… I believe you.”
His eyes widened, but he said nothing.
“I believe that your remorse is real,” she continued. “I don’t know what you
experienced in that cave, but it must have had a profound effect.” She met his
eyes with hers and gave him a tentative smile. “I hope you will tell me about
it. But I wanted you to know, I believe you, I never stopped loving you either,
and I am willing to give you my trust once again.” She extended her hand to
him.
He reached a hand across the small table that lay between their chairs and took
her hand. She caressed his hand, feeling its warmth and pleasant dryness.
“You want to keep our engagement, then?” he said quietly.
She nodded. “I did not declare otherwise because it was what I truly desired. I
just did not think that what I desired was possible anymore. You convinced me
otherwise.” She smiled at him again as he brought her hand to his lips
wordlessly, almost as if in benediction.
“I will never forget this,” he vowed, rising from his chair, never releasing
her hand. She allowed him to pull her from hers as well. “You will come first
for me, always. Even ahead of my mother, as much as I care for her,” he said.
“I grant it will be close—” He was smirking in spite of the solemnity of the
occasion.
Hermione laughed. “That is as it should be. I’m sure she would agree—and she
has Severus now, after all. I understand what you mean when you say that.” She
closed the distance between them, pressing herself against his body and
wrapping her arms around his back. He had grown taller, and he was just able to
tilt his head and rest his cheek against her temple.
“We’re stronger together,” he whispered, hugging her tightly. “I will always
consult with you before I do something… and I’ll listen to you. I will never
again dirty and degrade our affections, either. And I will insistthat
my—our—family’s allies treat you with the respect you deserve. I should have
from the very beginning. I have chosenyou to stand next to me and they will
respect you as an honored member of this family and a witch.”
“In the end, we chose each other,” she murmured.
“We did.”
She raised her head, remaining in his embrace, and gazed upon his lips
longingly for a moment. In the next, she lunged for him, her hands flying from
his lower back to the back of his head. He met her halfway, and their lips
pressed together in desperate need. The last time they had kissed, it had been
in the midst of that ghastly argument. It had been two years since they had
shared a truly affectionate, loving kiss like this one.
He pulled away from the kiss, gazed at her with a deep and intense look, and
squeezed her tightly, eliciting a gasp of delight from her. A goofy smile
adorning her face, she moved in for a second kiss, this one with their lips
open.
It was so lovely to have his affections once more, she thought. Yes, she knew
she could have continued the physical part of their relationship, but it would
have curdled and turned sour very quickly. She wished they had not been
separated for so long, but since they had, she did not regret thatdecision.
Now, there would be no poisonous memories of intimacies that she had not truly
wanted, no obligatory, unwanted kisses tasting of bile—not even the one during
the fight. Every moment, every memory of this sort would be of genuine
affection and desire.
“Stay with me tonight,” she murmured into his ear.
He pulled away and regarded her with a startled look on his face. “You mean
that, Hermione? And—all that it implies?”
“I do. We’ve missed so much time already,” she said, pressing close against
him. “I want to at least try to make it up. Some of it.” She gave him a
lopsided smile.
“But my mother… and Snape lives in the castle now. You know he prowls the
corridors.”
“I doubt he does anymore, now that he has a wife who is with child.” Hermione
studied his face as she spoke the words; he did not flinch or wince.
Encouraged, she continued. “As for your mother… she knew, Tom. She talked to me
once about the potion. It was in the context of early marriage, but I know what
she was really asking. She knew.”
Tom reluctantly agreed. “After my… confrontation… with my Muggle father last
summer, we had a dispute. She told me then… not explicitly; I forget her exact
words, but she heavily implied that she knew. Still, though….”
“If she meant to put a stop to it, she could have. I don’t think she minds,
honestly. And she knows of our troubles too. I think she would be happy, in a
way.”
“You have not been taking the potion anymore, have you?”
She shook her head. “I’ve had no reason to… but it’s unlikely that anything
will happen. It’s… the wrong time. And I can make it tomorrow, just to be sure.
Besides, we’re getting married in six months. Please,” she urged, embracing
him. “It’s not even ‘desire’ so much—well, it is,” she blushed, “but more than
that, I just want to be close to you again.”
Tom was not truly able to resist in the first place, but after that, his mind
was made up. He held her for another moment before releasing her, taking her
arm, and walking with her out of the library. They moved down the corridor and
into the wing where the family’s private quarters were, ascending the steps and
entering the hallway.
Tom stopped outside his bedchamber, opened the door a crack, and hissed in
Parseltongue. For a brief moment, Hermione had a flashback of the open door
through which she had seen those eyes, filtered through cloth—but then a small,
harmless brown grass snake that she was very familiar with indeed slithered
through the door. Smirking, Tom stooped to pick it up. Hermione stifled a
laugh. She supposed she could not fault him for wanting to have his familiar
with him through the night. After all—she remembered with a swoop of
affection—shehad been the one to give this snake to him.
Hermione’s heart began to thump as Tom passed his own bedchamber and walked
with her towards hers, their arms still linked together. She opened the door,
ushered him inside quickly, and closed it behind her. He held his arm over a
table, and the snake uncoiled itself from his wrist and curled into a spiral on
the tabletop, resting its head and returning to its cold-weather snooze.
Crookshanks was seated on her chair. He eyed the snake with a complete lack of
interest. Even though it was small enough to be prey for such a large cat, the
intelligent creature knew that this was the familiar of his person’s mate and
was not to be harmed. He also recognized the fact that his person was on good
terms with the male again and that the services of his claws and teeth would
not be needed now. He yawned pointedly and closed his eyes, curling up to sleep
once again.
Hermione pulled Tom gently toward her bed, drawing back the drapes to allow
them both room to collapse on the mattress together. They did not waste any
time. In the very next second, she had tossed off her outer robe and was at
work on his. He pulled her close for another kiss while she detached the
clasps.
In short order, they were both garbed only in underclothes. He gazed at her
eager, desirous face briefly before making a decision. In the next moment, he
pushed her down upon her pillow and lifted the trailing skirt of her chemise.
“Tom?” she questioned as he positioned himself between her legs. “What are
you—oh!”
Tom did not know what prompted him to do it. He had always been very reticent
about intimacy around his male friends. Even though he had been disrespectful
of his private times with Hermione, he had not wanted to discuss the subject in
explicit detail with the boys. There was a line that was too far for him even
at that time. He had certainly never read anything about… specific methods or
approaches… in any books. He was not even sure if such books existed. In every
manuscript he had read that mentioned the subject, it was spoken of either in
very flowery, poetic, metaphorical terms, or—in the case of the older texts—in
words that struck him as outright crudity with no detail provided, least of all
about a woman’s pleasure. Whatever it was that was driving him, it was born of
a deeply instinctual, primal urge.
He plunged two of his fingers into her, eliciting a cry and a moan from her.
“Do more of that,” she urged.
He was eager to oblige. With a wicked smirk adorning his face, he planted a
kiss on her pelvis between her hips, then another one a bit farther down—and
down—and down. As she moaned, he trailed kisses down her body until his lips
were next to his fingers. Temporarily ignoring his own burgeoning desire for
her, he began to slide those back and forth, noting with delight how she
stretched and gasped at every motion of his hand.
He plunged a third finger inside her, noting with pleasure how easy it was—the
utter lack of resistance from her—and how this was entirely because of him,
their intimacies from before, and her undiminished desire for him tonight.
“Your mouth,” she begged, “please, Tom.”
He placed a kiss upon her heated mound and suddenly had the thought of teasing
her with his tongue. It was not something he had heard about from anyone, but
it seemed eminently natural right now, precisely the thing to do. He plunged
ahead, dipping his tongue into her heat, lapping her up as she stretched and
gasped, her hands reaching for his hair as he moved his fingers increasingly
rapidly—
He felt her clench hard around his fingers just as she let out a cry of
satisfied desire. In the next moment, she was trembling and shaking, so very
close to him. He gripped her legs and placed kisses on the smooth patch of bare
skin just above the damp triangle of curls, stroking her thighs and hips all
the while as she unwound.
Finally, her breathing returned to something approximating normal—but he was
hungry. The aching desire between his legs needed satisfaction too. He did not
want her to fall asleep, as she often had—as both of them often had—after their
climaxes before. He could not explain just how he knew, unless it was some sort
of magic, but he somehow knew that even though she had just reached
satisfaction, she could still do it again. Acting on that instinct, he lifted
himself up and propped his body above hers, gazing down at her face with
unsatisfied longing.
She gazed back at him. “More?” she murmured. She wrapped her arms around his
upper chest, closing her eyes in bliss as he positioned his tip at her
entrance. “Yes. Please—”
He could not wait any longer. He pushed forward, entering her easily and
quickly. She wrapped her legs around his waist and threaded her fingers into
his hair as he began to move. He filled her to the hilt, provoking a cry from
her at the sensation that she had missed—that they had both missed—for so long.
Although she had just had one climax, she quickly began to gasp and pant as his
motions quickened, her desire peaking again from the ease of this so soon after
the first time and the sheer blessed relief of finally, finallyhaving him once
again and the deep joy of knowing that they were reconciled at last. He picked
up his pace as her breaths grew rapid. This was what he wanted, every night,
for the rest of his life, he thought. He knew it would not actually happen that
way, even after their wedding this coming summer, but he did not allow that
thought to intrude at this moment. They were together again, in mind and heart
as well as body.
With that thought, he suddenly went over the edge. He let out a gasp and
clutched her waist tightly as he had his release. She clenched around him at
the sensation, having her own for the second time that night. Her slender
fingers gripped his hair tightly, balling around the black locks, as she cried
out.
Finally, after what felt like forever and yet somehow far too short a time,
they collapsed onto the mattress together. He slid off her and curled up next
to her, kissing her tenderly on the side of her face. “Good night, love,” he
murmured.
She wrapped her arms around his bare body. “Good night,” she whispered.
He hugged her in return, allowing his arms to rest gently on her. Her skin was
smooth and warm. Her eyes fluttered closed as she curled closely against him, a
smile forming on her face.
Tom regarded her dark head with overwhelming affection as he held her. Good
night, he thought, and may your dreams be as good as this night was. I may not
be able to keep you from ever hurting again, but I will do everything I can to
make up for the past two years. He placed a soft kiss on top of her head. This,
I swear.
Chapter End Notes
     These recent chapters have been focused on Tom and Hermione. Now that
     their problems are resolved, I'll return to the ongoing plots
     beginning with the next chapter—first the rest of the family, then a
     look at what's happening with their antagonists.
***** Round Table *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you, thank you so much! I have not yet gotten around to
     answering everyone's reviews about the previous chapter, but I
     promise I will do so very soon. I'm so happy that the reconciliation
     played well with everyone who commented. And in the event that it did
     not quite succeed for anyone personally, I hope that this chapter
     will make plain that Tom has had both a profound and a realistic
     change. He thinks about considerations (Hermione's, his mother's)
     that he formerly did not, but it's still very much a work in progress
     for him. I don't want the potion to be a "deus ex machina," just a
     catalyst for him to make lasting changes himself.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Tom awakened the next morning to the awareness of Hermione’s warm body snuggled
next to him. It brought an immediate smile to his face. Two years, he thought
with a pang of regret mixed in with the happiness. It has been two years since
we woke up like this. Unlike those times, Tom found that he did not feel any
urgency to separate in the morning light. If his mother found them like this,
then so be it.
He nudged Hermione awake, watching as she stretched, cat-like. She was clothed
only in the loose chemise she had worn under her robes, which was bunched
around her waist. She observed the darting of his gaze downward as she threw
the covers back and pulled the chemise down to cover herself, smiling wryly at
him.
“Not now?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Tonight. We have all the time in the world now.”
“That’s true.”
He got out of her bed and picked up the robes that lay on the floor. Mother had
mentioned an important discussion the day before yesterday, presumably about
the path forward against Malfoy and Lestrange. She would be pleased to know
that they were reconciled. Tom had a suspicion that the discussion would occur
today, possibly even at breakfast. He left Hermione’s bedchamber and walked the
short distance down the hall to his own.
After he was dressed, he met her again at the top of the stone staircase, where
she was waiting for him. She gazed at him, smiling, and embraced him around the
neck as he bent down to kiss her.
They separated and linked arms as they descended the stairs, walking very close
together. Tom pushed open the doors to the family dining room, where his mother
and Snape were already seated. She gazed at him and Hermione, taking in their
physical proximity and body language. A smile of approval appeared on her face,
and she nodded subtly at Tom as he sat down with Hermione.
The elves brought the family breakfast, and they began to eat. Merope
apparently had decided to wait until the end of the meal before speaking—if she
did mean to start the discussion now.
A sudden touch on his thigh made him jump. He shot a glare at Hermione, but it
lacked any actual anger. She smirked back at him as her fingers drummed over
his leg. He huffed under his breath and attempted to ignore her teasing, though
it was difficult. Was this some sort of continued punishment, first refusing
him in the morning and then this? I will return the favor tonight, he vowed to
himself.
The pressure on his leg lifted at the end of the meal when Merope cleared her
throat to gain their attention.
“As you are all fully aware, we have much to discuss as a family,” she began.
“A number of things have changed recently and I think it is important for us to
come together and share our knowledge and ideas freely.” Her gaze darted to Tom
and Hermione pointedly, then shifted back to Severus. “First, the fact that I
am about a month and a half with child. Of course, this is very early, but the
blood law of the Council—or, I should say, Malfoy—is relevant.” She met Tom’s
eyes with hers. “I wrote to you that you would remain the primary heir of
Parselhall. Lord Severus and I have agreed about this. Although I continue to
be ‘Lady Riddle’ due to my ruling position, the twins will bear the name Snape,
in recognition of the holding and title for which they are in line. Severus’s
family has vassal holdings of its own, including the manor that was his
mother’s. The twins will be in the line of succession for the barony afteryou
and your line, Tom.”
“This means that you intend to do something about Malfoy,” Tom said excitedly.
Merope nodded, her face grim but resigned. “We have no choice anymore. Malfoy
and Lestrange are out of control, now that Abraxas Malfoy and Arcturus Black
are dead. They have decreed that witches and wizards like Hermione have no
rights, that wizards can use the Imperius Curse on their wives….”
“And they have essentially declared war on the magical culture of our
homeland,” Tom added. “‘High treason’ to celebrate the old holidays… ‘petty
treason’ to cast spells in Gaelic… Normans can use the Imperius Curse on those
without that blood…. They have to go.” He gazed at Hermione briefly, then again
at his mother. “I am concerned that the Blacks want to replace them.”
“Lord Black, Regulus’s father, seems quite ambitious,” Merope agreed. She
thought for a moment about telling Tom and Hermione of Regulus’s idea that
their future child should marry a child of the Blacks… but no, that would
create an instant digression from the topic at hand. It was possible, too, that
the Black family would prefer a match with one of the twins, since they would
have purer blood than the children of Tom and Hermione. She would mention it at
some other time, then.
“It should be us,” Tom argued. “Weshould lead this. Even if Arcturus Black
moderated Malfoy and Lestrange, he also collaborated with them in exchange for
a seat on the Council.”
“These things will be decided in due time,” Merope said. “First, we just need
to talk—to lay everything on this table, in a manner of speaking—”
“Our ‘Round Table,’” Tom put in, grinning.
“I suppose so,” Merope agreed. “The point is that we all know the same things.
For my part, I can discuss our alliances. We have the families of Flint,
Fawley, Avery, Wilkes, Nott, and Greengrass with us—and the majority of the
House of Black as well. The only questions are Lord Cygnus and one of his
daughters.”
“Lady Narcissa Malfoy,” Severus clarified.
“Bellatrix Lestrange, of course, is against us,” Merope continued. “Severus
informs me that she and her husband have a strained relationship… and if she
really did kill one of her husband’s own vassals for the appalling thing he did
to her daughter, it’s possible—unlikely, but possible—that she might abandon
that side. However, I do not think she will join our side. The best we can hope
for is that she will not fight against us. Still… we are fairly well fixed for
allies. Unfortunately, we still lack vassals. Peter Pettigrew is the only one
who has returned to my service. The Carrows have completely betrayed us, and
Lord Fenrir has abandoned his wizardly heritage and embraced lycanthropy.”
“And I am not convinced that Pettigrew can be entirely trusted,” Severus said.
Hermione decided to speak up. “Nor am I. I heard from my friend at Hogwarts,
Harry Potter, that he went to Harry’s father and told him what he had told you,
Lady Merope, last summer—and that Harry’s father ordered his mother out of
their home as a result of it.”
“What?” Tom said, startled. “What is this?” He had been vaguely aware that
Pettigrew had told his mother something bad about Snape, but it had been around
the same time that he had first gone to the sea cave, and he had ignored his
family for the short period of time that remained in the summer after he had
killed his father. Whatever Pettigrew had said, the storm had blown over
quickly, given the fact that his mother had wedded Snape in October. He felt a
disquieting sense of shame at the realization that he had been too self-
absorbed and filled with spite to care.
“You didn’t know?” Snape said, astonishment in his words as his brow furrowed.
“If I did, I wouldn’t have asked,” Tom said, an edge to his voice. Even after
drinking the potion and reconciling with Hermione, he still found Snape to be
hard on his nerves.
“Very well,” the older wizard continued in his surprise. He glanced down at the
tabletop as he explained. “Pettigrew insinuated that I might be the blood
father of Harry Potter because I briefly had a romance with his mother before
she was married. She was not engaged to Potter at the time. However, she
reconciled with him quickly, so her husband could indeed be the father. There
is no way to know for certain.”
Tom stared at him, amazed. He was glad that he had not paid attention. If he
had known this, his anger at his mother’s marriage—and jealousy of Potter—would
have been even worse. “And Potter’s father ordered his wife out of the house
over that?”
Hermione nodded. “Harry did not want to go home. He did, of course, but he was
reluctant.”
“Is that what Potter was talking about the day that… well….” Tom trailed off,
not wanting to allude explicitly to the basilisk, but Hermione finished the
sentence in her mind and nodded again.
“So,” Merope concluded, “it is fair to say that Pettigrew may be out for
himself, to some degree. This makes it that much more critical to gain his full
loyalty, of course. If anything would be worse than not having any sworn
magical vassals, it would be to have a rogue in the castle. We must balance
intelligent caution with considerate overtures.” She turned to Hermione. “I was
aware that you had a friendship with Harry Potter. Do you have any insight into
whyPettigrew might have wanted to divide the Potter family? They were formerly
of some prominence in Godric’s Hollow, during the time of Gryffindor. Are they
trying to regain their position, perhaps?”
Hermione was eager to speak on this topic. “I think they must be,” she said.
“There is a group at Hogwarts that are against Malfoy but are not aligned with
the allies of this family. They call themselves the Friends of the Founders,
because they represent all the Houses, and their parents also bear that name.
The families include the Potters—though I suppose now it’s just Harry’s
father—the Longbottoms of Hogsmeade, the Bones family, the Macmillans, and the
Weasley family. Oh—and Luna Lovegood’s father is sympathetic to getting rid of
Armand Malfoy, though apparently the others do not openly conspire with him.”
“What about High Master Dumbledore?” Merope said.
“Oh, yes, I think he must be part of it too,” Hermione said. “Mayor Longbottom
tried to take the oath of fealty to him, but Malfoy voided it. And Sirius
Black, who is Harry’s godfather… but Harry thinks he is on his mother’s side
now.”
“His brother mentioned that he was courting a witch,” Severus said. “Do you
know if anything ever came of that?”
“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. “Yes—they’re engaged now.”
“Potter disapproved of the courtship,” Severus said, a dark smile forming on
his face. “Black must indeed have been angered, if he defied his friend this
way. Potter was always the leader of their wretched little team.”
“So it may be possible to have Sirius Black and his future wife as allies as
well,” Merope mused. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Marlene McKinnon Valant. She was married to a Muggle who died
fighting for one of the pretenders. She has a small child.”
“One of the pretenders,” Severus mused. “I wonder if Potter has a preference in
the Muggle war and disapproved of Black’s courtship because this witch’s late
husband fought for the other one? But if she is a widow, it should not matter
anymore….”
Hermione remembered something else. “There is also a werewolf who lives in the
forest outside Godric’s Hollow,” she said. “A friend of Potter and Black. His
name is Lupin.”
“A werewolf? I suppose it’s worth considering if he still wants to live as a
wizard when he is not transformed. Every wand helps.”
“Yes,” Tom said impatiently, “but now, what about plans? It’s all very well to
list our allies, but we can’t just blast through the walls of Malfoy Manor and
Castle l’Etrange no matter how many of us there are. I also have some
suspicions about old Malfoy himself….”
“What do you mean?” Severus asked.
Tom momentarily regretted mentioning it, because he knew his mother did not
like hearing about the topics he was about to bring up, but ignoring the
possibilities would not make them disappear. He steeled himself for her
disapproval. “I am almost certain that Armand Malfoy drinks unicorn blood to
extend the life of his body,” he began.
Severus considered that. “My sources have not confirmed that, but it may be
that they can’t. They may be magically bound to silence on that topic. What
makes you think it, Tom?”
Tom was momentarily affronted at the fact that Snape had called him by his
nickname and without his title, but he supposed that Snape was his stepfather
now and had the right. “He has the look of one who does it,” he said. “I’ve
read about it. He has the physical signs. And I also wonder… I think anyone who
would want to extend the life of his body thatmuch, to be willing to incur the
unbreakable curse of drinking that, must have a reason. I seriously wonder if
Malfoy has split his soul and created a Horcrux.”
Hermione had heard this theory from Tom before, before their long separation,
but Merope and Severus were startled. “I damned well hope not,” Severus
exclaimed. “That’s a big problem for us if he has.”
“Do you have any hard reason to think that?” Merope asked.
Tom shook his head. “There is only one visible sign, and it doesn’t appear in
my memories of the Wizards’ Council meeting… but I wonder.”
Merope studied her son for a while. “Tom,” she finally said, “I know that you
have been aware of that subject since your first year at Hogwarts, and you
wrote to me that you were afraid that you would be executed lawlessly after
that incident when Carrow tortured you. After last summer… your confrontation
with your father….”
“I didn’t do it,” he said immediately, meeting his eyes with hers. “I didn’t
make one.”
She gazed at him for an additional moment before accepting this. “Good. It’s a
grim deed, not something that should be done lightly or selfishly, but only to
safeguard the last heir of a bloodline when the family is at risk of
extinction.”
Tom had never heard his mother express that opinion before. The one time he had
brought up Horcruxes in her hearing had been when Hermione was first visiting
Diagon Alley. She had slapped him down hard then. “Mother?” he inquired
curiously. “What do you—”
“Not now, Tom,” she said. “We need to finish talking about Malfoy and
Lestrange. And as for Malfoy… I hope you’re wrong. But if anyone would do it
for selfish reasons, it would be someone capable of murdering his own son as a
traitor at the behest of a lackey.”
Tom agreed. “And it’s for that very reason—well, that and others—that we need…
something else.” He was suddenly unsure of what he was about to say, not
because he questioned the idea, but because he realized, after his epiphany
about how he had disregarded Hermione, that she very likely would not like this
idea at all. Taking a deep breath, he gazed at the table as he spoke. “I have
an idea… but I do not know how well Hermione will like it.”
Hermione suddenly knew what Tom had in mind. “Tom, are you referring to the
basilisk of Slytherin?”
He grimaced guiltily. “Basilisk venom can destroy a Horcrux… and it’s sucha
good weapon in its own right.”
“Tom,” she protested, “that thing, in this castle—” She shuddered.
“Dumbledore wants to kill it,” he protested. “I would never consider bringing
it here otherwise, but he wants it dead. Or so he claims,” he added darkly. “If
he is working closely with the Weasleys, he might want it for himself.”
“He is working with them,” she muttered as a memory suddenly came to the
forefront of her mind. “I overheard him and Professor McGonagall in an argument
about the Weasleys one night.”
“Oh?” Severus inquired. “When? What did they say?”
Hermione tried to remember. “It was very early in September. We had just
returned to Hogwarts from the summer. Professor McGonagall was arguing that
‘they believed what they were saying’ and that the evidence for it was in the
behavior of ‘the boys’ at Hogwarts. Dumbledore insisted that ‘they,’ the
parents, were merely saying whatever it was to get what they desired and that
they did not mean it. McGonagall disagreed and specifically spoke against the
mother of these boys that she mentioned. Neither of them actually named the
Weasleys, but Harry and I both agreed that they were talking about them. And
Ginevra Weasley doesn’t get on well with her brothers… which does not surprise
me. The youngest brother seemed to support the most recent Malfoy law about the
Imperius Curse for witches. She said that this was typical and that their
mother excused it in her sons.”
Tom was transfixed, and outrage filled every line of his face. “So the Weasleys
support Malfoy’s vile decrees against witches,” he said. “And Dumbledore thinks
that they don’t actually mean it, but McGonagall—a witch—does.”
“Well, they did not actually state what it was that they were arguing about.”
“It was probably that.”
“Yes, it was,” she admitted.
“There you have it, then,” Tom said. “The Weasleys and Dumbledore are not to be
trusted either—not that I did anyway. They’re probably assuming that this
Muggle-based tripe of Malfoy’s is what the magical aristocracy wants, so they
think they have to maintain it in their power grab. Of coursethat’s what it’s
about,” he exclaimed. “That’s what the Friends of the Founders are doing. And
of course they believe it themselves! Look at how Potter’s father treated his
wife. All of our adversaries want to adopt Muggle values. It is a disgrace, and
it’s another reason why we should lead this fight.”
Merope put up a hand for silence. “Severus can probably ask Lord Regulus to
investigate the Friends of the Founders, especially if Sirius Black and Lily
Potter are now at odds with the rest of them. The werewolf, Lupin, may also be
a promising source. I am more interested in the basilisk right at the moment.”
She gave Tom a hard look. “Frankly, Tom, I am very sympathetic to Hermione’s
concern about having it in the castle.”
Tom’s face fell. “But….” He trailed off, glancing at Hermione. The basilisk had
almost killed her. It hadPetrified her. He did not want Dumbledore to order it
killed, but he could understand why Hermione would not want such a thing
beneath her feet. He reached under the table and took her hand. “I’m sorry,”he
mouthed to her. Her eyes gleamed as she looked at him, and she squeezed his
hand back.
“That said, I understand as well why youdo not want it killed—or left in the
hands of Albus Dumbledore.” She took a deep breath and extended her linked
fingers in front of her on the table. “As a girl, I was horrified and
traumatized by the things that my father and brother did involving serpents.
They ritually murdered Muggle villagers with them… and occasionally even our
vassals’ family members, to terrorize them. Although a Parselmouth myself like
all of the family after Slytherin, I did not like to hear the language for the
longest time, because I associated it with them. The basilisk….” She sighed.
“The dungeons are readily accessible, and there aren’t really any cells large
enough to hold such a creature.”
“Perhaps we could lie to Dumbledore,” Tom said. “Go into the Chamber and then
come back out tellinghim it was dead, but in reality it was just in a magical
sleep.”
“Dumbledore is a very clever wizard, and he would certainly want proof. There
is another possibility,” Merope said, rising from her chair. The rest of the
family followed respectfully. “There is a vault in this castle that is lower
than the dungeons. It is accessible only by the head of the family, the baron
or ruling baroness.” She gave Tom a pointed look. “That would mean me.”
“A vault?” Tom exclaimed. “Why is that never mentioned in any of the books
about the Gaunt family?”
Merope smiled grimly. “For verygood reason, as you will see. It is a family
secret. Would you like to see it?”
“Of course.”
She glanced at Hermione. “I should warn you, this will likely be disturbing.
You do not have to come if you don’t want to.”
Hermione considered before shaking her head. “I should see it too. I know you
would not take us there if there were any real danger.”
Merope considered for a moment before nodding. She opened the doors to the
family dining room and led the other three down the corridor.
===============================================================================
The dungeons of Parselhall contained very few malefactors. Crime was rare in
Hangleton, to Merope’s credit. The family passed right by the cell block,
continuing and turning a corridor to face a blank wall. Merope strode ahead,
drew her wand, and cut her palm open with a nonverbal curse. She pressed it
against the stone wall, which—after a second in which it seemed that magic
itself hesitated—slid away to reveal a dark descending staircase. Merope healed
her hand and lit the tip of her wand. The others did the same and began their
descent.
The stairs continued deeper and deeper. The risers were not steep at all, but
their short height made it easy to stumble and trip, as they were not a
convenient or natural height for stepping down. Even Hermione, the shortest
person of the group, wanted to take deeper steps than these stairs allowed. The
staircase overall seemed to extend much farther horizontally—many times so—than
vertically.
They reached a broad landing and a circular room with walls interrupted by a
single broad arch. Merope moved forward and pushed open the door in this arch,
then turned to the other three with a dark smile on her face. “This is it,” she
said. They filed through the arch, Tom eagerly, Severus and Hermione much more
gingerly.
A vast cavern spread out before their eyes, at least fifty feet tall and
probably twice as wide. Their meager wandlight only vaguely hinted at
unsettling shadows and forms. Merope directed her wand at a low-walled circular
pit in the center and sent a jet of magical flame toward it. Whatever fuel was
in the center kindled immediately, illuminating the cavern.
“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. Her gaze had been immediately caught by a vast
skeleton in the far corner of the room—the skeleton of a very recognizable
creature. Nervous but excited, she edged over to that side of the room.
The dragon skeleton was curled up, the wings folded and the tail wrapped around
the vast body. Around it were large, dark, dry stains on the stone floor.
Hermione gasped again as she got a good look at the skull. The cranium of the
dragon’s skull had been shattered to pieces. This was likely the death blow to
the creature, an unbelievably powerful and shockingly violent curse. Why?
Hermione thought, gazing upon the skeleton. Who would do that?
Tom had noticed too. “What happened to it?” he exclaimed, his dark eyes wide
with shock. “Was this the princess’s dragon?”
“It could have been hers,” Merope said. “That is certainly the family
tradition. Someonedefinitely brought it into this vault in the sixth
century—through another door, a vast one.” She nodded at the wall opposite the
dragon’s skeleton. “It opens to the side of the hill.”
Parselhall, like many castles, was settled atop a low hill for defensive
reasons. “That tunnel went all the way down the hill?” Tom said.
She nodded. “If I opened the door—and again, I am the only one who can do it—we
would be in the valley. That is how the dragon was brought in, and it is how
the basilisk couldbe let in.”
“But if it was the princess’s, why would a Gauntkill it?” Tom was obviously
distraught at the violence that had killed the dragon. He gazed at the dark
stains on the floor, his brow furrowing.
“Tom, I do not know what kind of views you have formed about her—if indeed she
was the one who brought this dragon into the vault—but the chances are that
they are… incomplete.”
“What do you mean?”
Merope’s face was grim in the firelight. “The family tradition alsosays that
after she came to this place on the dragon, she became quite a tyrant—though
not in so many words. That is myopinion of her conduct; the rest of the family
seemed to regard it with pride. Her eventual husband, the wizard lord Eóghan,
was essentially forced to admit her to the castle—for who would gainsay someone
on a dragon? He had been an ally of her father Mordred but had not fought in
the battle, correctly guessing that their cause was doomed. She nursed her
grudge against Arthur’s supporters for the rest of her life, and quitea long
life it was, using magic to capture them and feed them to that dragon.
Eventually she started to set it on her own people, she was harboring so much
resentment and fear. Her own husband was apparently the dragon’s final victim.
Their son Gant, supposedly the father of Lady Dunwen Mac Gant—the author of The
Faithless Advisor,” Merope added in an aside to Hermione and Severus, “cast the
curse that killed it.”
Tom thought about this. “Could she communicate with it? I have never heard of
any Gaunts who could speak Draconic.”
“That gift is not in our blood. She could communicate with it, but not because
she could speak its language.”
“Then how—” Tom suddenly realized something. “Oh,” he breathed. He gazed at the
dragon’s ruined skull, then at his mother. “Quite a long life it was,” he
repeated in a low voice.
Merope nodded. “As I implied at the table, it was rational of her to create
one, in a way. She was the last of her line, with no children yet, and the
dragon had saved her. But she never did let go of her grudge against Arthur’s
supporters, and it grew to encompass the whole world, including her own family,
whom she saw as her enemy, scheming in secret behind her back and keeping her
from her rightful throne. Her dragon was forcibly linked with her soul, and it
was also her weapon against them.”
Tom was silent as he contemplated that. How close I came to that myself, he
thought uncomfortably. He hugged Hermione.
“Oral history says that she died when her dragon did—but that was not the end.
She lingered as a vengeful, angry ghost.” Merope lifted her trailing skirts so
that they would not pick up anything from the stone floor and walked to another
arched doorway. “Follow me. You need to see this.”
Hermione gasped in shock when she was inside the adjacent room. It was
circular, and incomparably ancient. The walls were adorned with carvings of
limestone, chased with marble, depicting figures of Celtic gods and
goddesses—but the style of the sculpture was chilling in its starkness of line,
of light and dark. There was something almost bestial about the figures. Along
one curve of the wall, a triple goddess glared down at them, impossibly round
eyes entirely encircling pupils. The goddess’s mouth was open in a threatening
snarl, her teeth exquisitely carved and menacing. Hermione shuddered and
glanced at the other side of the circle, where an intimidating god stared
ahead, his face angular and almost skeletal. He held a thread that was cut.
Hermione then noticed something else, and this was far more horrifying than a
creepy style of sculpture. In front of each figure, a stone bench stood, and on
every one of those benches were dark stains that spattered across the entire
room. Hermione gazed upward, noticing that the death god—or so she guessed it
to be—was also covered in it, and this long-dried blood accounted for some of
the dark coloring of the stone. She covered her mouth to muffle the cry. Those
splotches reached the ceiling.
“What would you have to doto—” She broke off, shuddering again.
Tom noticed her distress and moved closer, placing an arm around her. She
leaned against his side, shaking.
“Fortunately, I never witnessed a ritual in this room,” Merope said. “I do not
think that my father or brother ever learned how to do such things. But for
several centuries—certainly up until the founding of Hogwarts, when the Gaunts
finally ventured into the wider world and had to change some of their most
appalling practices—they performed magical sacrifices in here. The act of
ritual murder has a lot of magical power.”
Tom nodded. “It does. This, though….” He glanced at the splotches on the
ceiling. “Surely there is no need to use a curse thatviolent. And if they used
their own villagersfor this, legally obligated to them by feudal law… that’s
not right.”
“That’s an understatement,” Hermione muttered. He wrapped his other arm around
her to embrace her fully and squeezed her.
“Tradition says that Lady Dunwen’s brother, the lord of the castle—and, yes,
also her husband, Tom—performed a ritual before the Celtic god of the dead on
Samhain to open a door to the Otherworld, and banished Ceridwyn’s ghost through
it,” Merope said.
Tom’s eyes flashed in interest at that. “It should be possible,” he said.
“Tom,” Merope said in warning.
“I just said that the idea makes sense,” he said. “The Veil is thinner that
night. I’m not going to doit.” He gazed at the dried blood on the ceiling.
“That’s hideous. I understand now why you were always so reluctant to talk
about them.” He glanced down. “I understand all of it. And… the princess… if
the family tradition is true, then her story has a lot more meaning for me than
you can imagine.”
They filed out of the ritual chamber. Hermione squeezed Tom’s hand. “You were
going to tell me about Morgana’s athame,” she said. “The one that this princess
supposedly placed in the sea cave.”
Merope’s eyebrows flew up her forehead. “Morgana’s athame? What is this?”
Tom sighed and rubbed his head. “The sea cave on the coast, close to Wales,” he
said. “That was where I went that day last summer—and I returned the day before
yesterday.”
“You foundthe sea cave where she supposedly stayed?”
Tom nodded. “She really was there, too. There is an inner cave filled with
fresh water—magicalfresh water—and a basin full of potion that you have to
drink. She had placed the Athame of Morgana in this basin.” He glanced at
Hermione and released her hand, placing his arm around her waist instead as he
began his tale.
Merope, Severus, and Hermione all listened with increasing awe as Tom described
the magical barriers and properties of the cave. When he talked about the
potion’s effects, his voice grew husky, and he was suddenly no longer willing
to meet anyone’s eyes.
“So, it showed me the results of everything cruel I had said and done over the
past two years,” he mumbled, looking at his feet. “I cannot describe it
adequately. I am glad I went, though. I needed to.” He gazed at the dragon’s
skeleton. “If Ceridwyn drank of it and experienced that same thing, how could
she have gone so wrong afterward?”
“No potion will retain its effects forever,” Hermione said gently. “It was a
catalyst for you, Tom, but you have to….”
“To make the change permanent by my own will,” he said. He sighed. “Mother,
about the basilisk. If Hermione doesn’t want it here, then….” He trailed off.
“I cannot kill it myself, but if it has to be done….”
Hermione gazed around the cavern, coming to a decision. “This vault is not
actually partof Parselhall. It would not be the same as having it in a cell in
the dungeons, a mere floor or two below my feet, with an ordinary door as the
barrier. I went to Hogwarts for three and a half years when it really was,after
all. The basilisk can be kept here… as long as it is put into a magical sleep.”
She gazed wryly at Tom. “And none of the villagers are ritually fed to it.”
Merope nodded. “Very well. The basilisk will be brought here and stored in this
vault. I will write to High Master Dumbledore to inform him of this decision.
We will retrieve it from Hogwarts in the summer—once no one is at the school,”
she said pointedly to Tom.
“Dumbledore wants it gone as soon as possible,” he argued.
“He will have to accept my terms. That beast belongs to this family, and I get
to decide when and how it leaves Hogwarts. I am quitecertain that he will want
my terms to include a promise that you will not attempt to open the Chamber of
Slytherin again.”
“And so I won’t,” he said. “I have no desire to try that again. That would be a
betrayal of Hermione.”
“Yes, it would,” Merope said. She turned to Severus. “There is nothing else to
see in this vault.”
“Yes, I think we have seen quite enough,” he agreed, holding out his arm for
her. They led the way through the arched doorway, beginning the ascent of the
long, interminable staircase.
===============================================================================
That night, Merope lay on her pillow next to Severus in their bed. “I have not
heard anything from Malfoy and Lestrange about their plot for me involving
Caractacus Burke,” she said.
Severus sighed. “My ‘little sources’ have not had anything to report about
that. I will ask them when I make my request about information on Sirius Black
and the ‘Friends of the Founders,’ as Hermione called them. I do not know how
invested Burke himself was in the idea of being a lord. It took them a while to
persuade him, and it ultimately required a push from Arcturus Black.”
“But after they killed Black, Burke continued to support the scheme. Our
marriage was the only thing that thwarted it. When Tom was manipulated into
killing his father, Regulus warned us that something was about to happen. They
intended to be at the gates to force the issue. Of that I am convinced.”
“And I’m sure that you are right,” Severus agreed, taking her hand and kissing
her cheek. He leaned back on his pillow. “I am not convinced that they consider
the scheme thwarted, unfortunately.”
“Severus!” she exclaimed in horror. “But that would mean—”
“That they want me dead,” he finished. “I am aware of that, dear. They want all
of us dead, you included—eventually.” He rubbed his eyes. “We will have to make
war openly against them. That is no longer a choice. I am glad that we
discussed it as a family today.”
“And I am glad that we all area family,” she added. “Tom and Hermione have
reconciled at last.”
“Yes, I expect they have,” he said dryly. “I am reasonably sure that they are
in her bedchamber. We could check to be certain.”
Merope considered. “At this point, less than six months from their wedding, I
am not going to concern myself with it. Hermione knows how to make the potion.
They consummated their betrothal over two years ago, and they have been
estranged for so long, Severus. Let them have this now if they need it. I was
afraid that they would never reconcile.”
Severus was startled that she knew so much about the matter, but if she did not
care—and he supposed that she had logical reasons not to care—then it was
nothing to him. Tom was not his son, nor Hermione his daughter. “It sounds as
if he needed all the help he could get.”
“If the Elixir of Repentance helped, then I am glad he drank of it,” she said.
“I have been worried about him for a long time. He was so close to becoming
like one of the ancestral Gaunts.” She gazed ahead wryly, her free hand
settling on her lower belly. “I hope that these two make it—you must
understand, Severus,” she said hurriedly in response to his blanching—“I was
injuredin childbirth and did not have an expert healer. I hope they make it,
and I hope that there really is nothing in the Gaunt blood that leads to those…
tendencies.”
“I am sure there isn’t. Youdon’t have those ‘tendencies.’”
She smiled. “I suppose not.” She leaned over and kissed him. After a time, they
broke apart, but in the very next moment she curled against him and closed her
eyes. He rested his large hands on top of hers, a symbol of protection for
their twins.
===============================================================================
In Hermione’s bedroom, Tom traced spiral patterns on her flushed skin as they
heaved breaths of satisfaction and relief. “I had almost forgotten what this
was like,” Hermione gasped.
Tom chuckled as he planted a kiss on her cheek. “So had I,” he said. “I love
you very much, Hermione. I had forgotten that too.”
She returned the kiss. “I am glad that we both had our memories refreshed.”
“Yes.”
They stayed like that for a while, embracing in the nude, as their breaths
slowed to a normal rate. At last Tom spoke.
“I did not intend to put pressure on you about the basilisk. If you don’t want
it here, I am sure that you can tell Mother.”
“Tom, I cannot say that I love the idea of having it here, but it’s true that
it lived ‘under my feet’ at Hogwarts for three and a half years and did no harm
in its magical sleep. At least it cannot escape that vault on its own. I do
understand the need of having such a powerful weapon rather than effectively
disarming oneself.” She hesitated. “I’m more worried about the idea of your
using it in war, though.”
“I would apply a blindfold when I did not intend to use its gaze to kill
enemies.”
“But suppose you momentarily forgot and looked at it. I never thought I would
suggest this, but… the thing that your royal ancestor did….”
“Hermione, are you suggesting what I think you are? Even after what you heard
from my mother about how that turned out for her?”
“No! It’s as your mother said. I do not want you to do that. I just… don’t want
to lose you. That basilisk is dangerous. Please, promise me—promise me as a
wizard—that you will be careful, and use it only as a last resort. A necessity
in warfare.”
Tom considered for a moment, but in the end, there was no question of it. He
nodded. “I promise, Hermione.”
Chapter End Notes
     I know I’ve occasionally brought up dragons in this story, and the
     Gaunt bloodline is pretty blatantly “House Targaryen.” (I mean this
     in terms of certain details about their history, tendencies, and
     magical abilities. Despite that and the equally blatant Black-Stark
     comparison, this story has its own plot and is not a retelling of
     GRRM’s work. Also, I don’t think there is a clear comparison between
     Malfoy/Lestrange and House Lannister.) However, they are not going to
     use dragons in the upcoming conflict. Tom is already a Parselmouth;
     it gets into Gary-Stu territory to give him the ability to talk to
     dragons as well. The thing is, in this AU I’ve made Parselhall be
     fairly close to Wales due to the strong Celtic streak in both the
     Gaunt and Riddle families, and Welsh Greens are canon, and it
     would’ve felt like an oversight to not mention them at all.
     Nonetheless, the narrative purpose of their previous connection to
     the Gaunts is described in this chapter. Tom has romanticized his
     ancestors at the expense of the family he actually knows, even after
     what he’s learned about them from Merope and from reading. He needed
     this jolt to truly accept their very strong dark side (including that
     of specific ancestors he admires), distance himself from that, and
     make his case based on his ideals rather than strictly his heritage.
***** Shadows in the Dark *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers! Your feedback keeps me
     motivated.
     I am not sure about this chapter; it doesn't seem very exciting to
     me, but perhaps some chapters just won't be. Things continue to
     advance, though.
     Also, almost 250,000 words? I look at the total and I can hardly
     believe it. We've still a ways yet. I estimate 15 more chapters,
     approximately.
     Warning: There is a death in this chapter, and unlike the deaths that
     have occurred so far, this one is likely to be upsetting.
Malfoy Manor.
Dobby had not been given a task to complete, but neither had he been prohibited
from nosing about the castle. The elf’s contact, Kreacher, had just passed on
some questions for him to investigate.
“What of the forced marriage plot involving Lady Riddle and Caractacus Burke?
Does Armand Malfoy drink unicorn blood? Do his eyes ever flash red, especially
when he is angry?”
Unfortunately, Dobby could not give his answer to the second question. It was
not because he did not know the answer, but because he had been sworn to
silence. He could tell Kreacher that, though, and let the other elf—or his
master—deduce what he would from it. It seemed clear enough to Dobby what such
an oath would imply. He was not sure about the third one—he himself had never
seen that happen, but he typically exited from his master’s presence whenever
Lord Malfoy was having a fit.
As for the first question, he knew that Lord Malfoy did still intend to pursue
the scheme. His wrath upon receiving Lady Riddle’s notification of her
betrothal to Severus Snape had been terrible to behold. It was, in fact, one of
the times that Dobby had left the room at once. He now wished that he had
stayed, and found a place to hide, so that he would have been able to tell
Kreacher if the lord’s eyes had flashed red during that.
The good thing—one of the only good things, in Dobby’s opinion—about being a
house-elf was that he was good at making himself unobtrusive. Master’s advisor
and attendant, the wicked Lord Lestrange, was in the family parlor with him.
Dobby lurked in the shadows, hiding beneath a chair in the most shadowed corner
of the room. The wizards had a candle on the table that stood between their
chairs, but little light from it reached the corner where Dobby crouched. It
was dangerous, but such was the life of a spy. Dobby was proud that he
wasspying for those who might help him and the other house-elves who were
enslaved to Malfoy allies.
Across the room, Armand Malfoy set down the apple that he had just cut open, as
well as the knife he had used, and turned to Rodolphus Lestrange in the grand
parlor. Lestrange’s manner was still as dutiful as ever, but there were lines
of strain in his face.
“What has happened to my heretofore useful tools?” Malfoy said abruptly.
“Whom do you mean, precisely, my lord?” Lestrange rather hoped that Malfoy did
not mean him. The man’s moods truly were mercurial. Abraxas might have been a
traitor, but he had been correct about that, loath as Lestrange was to admit
it.
“I considered it quite a coup when the Carrows swore themselves to you,” he
said. “Of what use have they been, though? Carrow himself tortured the Riddle
half-blood—but that cost me a large sum of gold in the thousands in taxes that
Lady Riddle owed!”
Lestrange did not dare remind the high lord that agreeing to void Lady Riddle’s
tax debt had been Malfoy’s own idea, and that at the time, he had considered it
a brilliant one, since Caractacus Burke was supposedly going to marry Lady
Riddle soon. Thatcertainly had not happened.
“The Carrows have provided useful information,” Lestrange said hesitantly.
“Not that useful! I had hoped that they would know of some kind of secret way
into Castle Gaunt”—they never used the name “Parselhall”—“but if such a thing
even exists, it is useless. The woman really has made the place impregnable by
magic.” He scowled. “And Burke has lost his enthusiasm about marrying Lady
Riddle now. He knows that it would require Snape’s death, and he expressed to
me recently that he no longer believes it is even possible.”
“What did he mean by that? Not possible to kill Snape? What does he know about
Snape’s secrets that we don’t, my lord?”
“You misunderstand me, Rodolphus. All I mean is that Burke does not think the
castle can be penetrated, and that any attempt to enter it, murder Snape, and
force Lady Riddle to marry Burke would merely end in the slaughter of the
invasion force.”
Lestrange did not want to gainsay his high lord, but he did not disagree with
that assessment.
“He proposed another plan to me involving that damned locket of Slytherin that
he was so proud of purchasing,” Malfoy sneered. “This plan consists of placing
a curse on the locket that would slowly kill its owner, but offering the object
for sale to the Riddle boy—through someone else, of course, since Burke knows
that Riddle would not trust him.”
Lestrange considered that. “It’s a fair plan, I suppose, if the goal is to kill
the half-blood. I am not sure it would work—he’s said to be an exceptional
wizard and would probably detect the curse—but it might succeed if the curse
were subtle enough. But I cannot see how this would help get rid of Snape. Lady
Riddle told us three and a half years ago at the Wizards’ Council that she
could still conceive. I expect it’s only a matter of time before she has a
child with Snape.” He studied his folded hands. “Any such child would be of far
purer blood—not truly pureblood, since Snape himself is only half-blood, but
better. And the death of Riddle would eliminate any right of the Mudblood
Granger to live among ourpeople. Under your laws about Mudbloods from last
winter, they are only allowed to associate with witches and wizards if they are
married to one. Perhaps it’s not the worst idea.”
Malfoy slammed his fist down on the nearest table. “Rodolphus! I expected more
faith from you!”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said reflexively.
“Burke’s idea is, as you say, not bad, but it constitutes giving up—admitting
defeat. And Burke does not have a plan for anything that would happen
afterRiddle’s death. His mother naturally would seek vengeance, and Burke has
no response. I have already thought about this, Rodolphus, and I have
determined that we will continue with the original plans. Even Snape’s marriage
does not change them; he would have died anyway once Burke took over Castle
Gaunt. This just means he has to die first.”
Lestrange did not agree with this view. If the castle was impregnable, then it
seemed as though Burke was right. Any attack would be repelled or the attackers
picked off easily. He chose his words carefully, though. “What, my lord, do you
have in mind for breaching the castle’s defenses?”
Malfoy leaned forward, smiling. “Do you remember the time I mentioned a spy who
used the name ‘Wormtail’? He told my family about Snape’s poisoning of Morfin
Gaunt, and he also informed Lucius of the planned treasonous uprising in
Godric’s Hollow.”
Lestrange remembered. “Do you think you know who he is? Could he help?”
“I do think I know who he is, and if I am correct, then he is already in a
position that will be of infinite use to us.” Malfoy’s face darkened
momentarily. “The only question I would have for him is why he has not made any
contact with us since assuming this position, or even told us his real name and
the fact that he hassuch a useful post. He will have some explaining to do, if
it’s who I think it is.”
“Who, my lord—”
“I think it is Peter Pettigrew, who is now a sworn vassal of Lady Riddle.”
Lestrange’s eyes widened in awe—and then he noticed the tiny form hiding in the
shadows.
Dobby realized at once that he had been seen. He had tried his best to conceal
his movements—it was dark enough that it should be hard for the wizards to
notice him if he remained still—but this last bit of shocking information had
been too much for him. He had twitched in surprise—and instantly knew that he
had given away his position.
Malfoy saw what Lestrange had seen. In a flash, far more quickly than Lestrange
would have supposed an old man could move—though, he thought, other old men did
not drink a dark restorative—he was on his feet, advancing toward the elf.
“Elf,” he commanded, “I order you to stay where you are. Now, what did you
hear?”
Dobby stared back defiantly.
“I orderyou to tell me what you heard!”
Against his will, Dobby’s lips parted. “Everything, Master,” he croaked.
Malfoy’s nostrils flared. “And why were you listening? I order you to tell me
the truth.”
A shiver darted down Dobby’s spine. He cursed that twitch. Kreacher needed to
know this—he needed to know what Dobby had just heard! But now….
“Dobby was asked to,” he uttered, his tongue and lips moving of their own
accord, compelled by the vile magic of enslavement. He was sure he knew what
was coming next—
“By whom?”
Dobby’s eyelids fluttered closed as the words left Malfoy’s mouth, but then he
realized that all was not lost. Malfoy had not—yet—ordered him to answer the
question. He had only moments, though. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned
the sharp blade that Malfoy had used to cut his apple. Before Malfoy could make
his question a command, Dobby plunged the knife into his own heart, a defiant
grin on his lips as he took the last freedom that he could.
Malfoy and Lestrange screamed in dismay as the little elf’s life bled out onto
the floor. In fury, Malfoy pulled out strands of his white hair. He turned to
Lestrange.
“Lucius,” he snarled. “Lucius or Narcissa.”
“My lord, are you sure it couldn’t be Snape?”
“How could he even meet with Snape? Malfoys are the only ones who can give
orders to Malfoy elves, and they can’t leave Malfoy properties unless they are
told to. Lucius or Narcissa—or both—have been using that little thing to spy on
us!” He picked up his wand and stormed for the door. “I will question the rest
of them immediately.”
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
For the two couples of Parselhall, the rest of the holidays passed blissfully.
Severus did not worry about the fact that he had not received any information
from his “little source” in response to the questions he had sent through
Regulus. The elves had to meet in the dungeons of Castle Draconis, the home of
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy—the one place that both of them could visit—and such
meetings were inherently risky. Then, too, it was likely that the Malfoy elf
would not immediately learn the information Severus sought. He was not going to
fret about it just yet. There were too many pleasant thoughts to enjoy instead.
One evening right after New Year’s Day, Severus and Merope sat in the family
parlor together, side by side. They spoke little to each other, but little
needed to be said aloud.
Severus’s black-eyed gaze often darted down to Merope’s lap, even though there
was not yet anything for him to see. He knew that the twins were there; their
magic had confirmed it, and that was all that he needed to know. His wife—he
turned the word over in his mind every time he thought it, almost caressing the
thought itself—was pregnant with twins, and she was taking her potions
faithfully. He was still afraid to hope, but it seemed that they might just be
born alive. The prospect of being a father—trulya father, with children who
were definitely his and whom he could raise as a father—was incredible to him.
As a formerly dispossessed half-blood, he had not expected any noble witch to
ever consider him, and after he met Merope, he was unable to consider taking a
commoner—or, really, anyone else—as his wife. And for now, the whole family was
at peace and without conflict.
Even young Lord Thomas, Severus had to admit, was behaving tolerably, which
must in large part be attributed to his reconciliation. Severus was glad of
that too. He would not have said it to Merope in so many words, even though he
was sure she had felt the same way herself, but her son had conducted himself
atrociously toward Lady Hermione for a while. Merope’s information that the two
had been intimate two years ago had retroactively made Severus’s opinion of
Lord Thomas’s previous conduct even worse. Lady Hermione herself had sometimes
been hard on his nerves, she was so earnest and rather inclined to show off,
but that was at least understandable to Severus, who had felt as a young man
that he had to prove himself too. But what could one say about a wizard who had
a powerful, intelligent, kind fiancée and treated her ill? Severus was glad
that Lord Thomas had gone to that cave and drunk that potion, since the result
was—so far—a welcome change in his behavior.
Merope was even gladder to see the change in Tom’s behavior. In addition to
being sad for Hermione’s sake at the way that Tom ignored and dismissed her,
she had not liked at allsome of the patterns that she had been seeing. She
supposed that it was natural for any witch or wizard to have personal
inclinations or interests in specific fields of magic, and she knew that Tom
was very proud of his predominantly Celtic ancestry, but she had not liked
seeing him carry around books full of instructions for murderous rituals. The
scene in the Gaunts’ crypt had shaken him; that much was clear. He had
certainly had a sunny view of Ceridwyn, her father, and her grandmother; and it
was good that his thoughts about Ceridwyn herself had received a jolt, even if
he likely did still have idealistic views of Mordred and Morgana—to say nothing
of Slytherin, who was not quite so distant. Merope also wondered just how
interested Tom actually had been in a Horcrux. He had unquestionably read about
the topic in his first year at Hogwarts, which seemed appallingly young to
Merope. It was for the best that she had shown him the vault, even though she
had not wanted to visit it due to her own disturbing memories and concern that
it would influence Tom in exactly the opposite way to what she wished. He
needed to make the reformation of the remorse potion permanent, and knowing
that it was up to him—that the potion itself was only a temporary
catalyst—would help. Merope was also relieved, for her own sake, that she had
decided at last to plan serious steps against Malfoy and Lestrange. Tom would
look at the twins—if they lived—as threats for as long as Malfoy or his
sympathizers ruled. That was not to say that Merope looked forward to war—no
one in their right mind would—but it seemed inevitable now, and it was good
that the four of them were on the same page.
That same chilly evening just after New Year’s Day, while the more sensible
adults were indoors in a parlor, Hermione and Tom were huddled together on the
rooftop of the family quarters wing of the castle, warming themselves with a
magical fire. It was a marvelously clear night, and they were admiring the
twinkling stars.
“There’s… Regulus,” he said, pointing at the star, a grin appearing on his face
as he uttered the name.
Hermione laughed and snuggled close to him. “Do you think that this is a sign
that the wizardRegulus is going to appear soon?” she teased.
“It could be.”
His voice was completely serious. She gazed at him in surprise. “Tom,
Divination seems very questionable to me. Perhaps there are real prophecies,
but to use the stars to predict specific, small events in someone’s life….”
“I only said that it could be.”
“He is an ally of this family,” she said in a quiet voice. “It’s a logical
inference.”
Tom shook his head in amusement as he hugged her closely. “This is why I am so
glad that we reconciled,” he said through chuckles.
She laughed with him as she welcomed the warmth of his body. “Iam so glad that
you decided to change your ways and return to me!”
He held her. “For some reason, I valued an incestuous, ritually-murdering,
tyrannical family line more than you or my mother. It was stupid.” He sighed
and gazed over the ramparts. “Mother is going to have twins. I admit, I don’t
like thinking about her and Snape—well—”
Hermione smiled wryly. “That is entirely understandable, Tom. I never liked
thinking about my parents’ intimacies.”
“Well,” he said briskly, “she is, of course, but if we really can remove Malfoy
and Lestrange and reverse his awful laws, then I won’t have to worry about the
twins. They will grow up as Snape heirs and not get any ‘ideas’ in their heads.
But I was thinking lately, over the past few days… my—father”—he grimaced at
the word—“had a Muggle wife. She was with child as well. She has probably had
that baby now. She was rather far along.”
Hermione gazed at him in surprise and disapproval. “You killed him when he had
a pregnant wife?”
He looked pained. “Hermione, let me explain. I do not know what, if anything,
my mother told you about it.”
“Very little.” She met his eyes. “All right. Whatever happened, I am willing to
listen.”
“He really did deserve it, Hermione, and not just because he abandoned us to
starve—though that in itself is reason enough. He struck my mother while
wearing a suit of armor, including gauntlets over his hands. He shed her blood.
I saw the memory of it in his mind. Even if that sort of thing is acceptable to
Muggles, and… magical nobles who accept Muggle customs—”
Hermione was grateful that he had not said “Normans.”
“—it is notacceptable in traditional magical culture in this country. He called
her the vilest of names, merely because she had concealed her Gaunt heritage
from him, knowing that he was afraid of the family. He referred to meas a
bastard, despite the fact that they were lawfully married by the same priest
who married Mother and Snape. And when I finally challenged him to a duel, he
attempted to stab me in the neck while I was still bowing. Dishonorable
fighting entitles me to a forfeit.”
Hermione considered this. “By all the laws of honor, you are right. He did
deserve it. I understand, I think. Your mother did mention this, but not in
much detail.”
“She may not have wanted to talk about the details. We had an argument.”
Hermione nodded in understanding. “What of his wife, then?”
“It occurred to me that even though her child is a Muggle, it’s still my half-
brother or half-sister. I do not know how Sir Thomas provided for them. If the
child is a boy, then he inherited, and she will probably manage the manor house
in the child’s name for many years. But if the child is a girl, then they may
have been removed from the house if the heir—or the lord—wanted that. Muggle
females inherit only if there is no other heir, as you well know.”
Hermione was gazing at him in surprise, awe, and increasing affection. “What
were you thinking, Tom?”
He took a deep breath. “I was thinking about asking them—well, having Mother
look into it, and if the child is a girl, for herto ask them if they need a
home. I don’t really know of what use a pair of Muggles would be… but perhaps
there would be something for them to do in the village of Hangleton, useful to
us or not. And it would be better for them to live under the rule of magical
people, especially if the baby is female.”
Hermione hugged him. He embraced her in return, holding her. She smiled at the
contact, the warmth of his body and the closeness of his arms around her. “I am
so glad that you thought of this,” she said, separating from him. “But… you
should realize, she might not want to live in Hangleton. She might not care for
the charity of the mother of the person who made her a widow.”
“That is true,” he admitted, “but I think we should still make the offer.”
She thought about it for a moment as another issue occurred to her. “There’s
something else, Tom,” she said hesitantly. “There could be issues later, if one
of your mother’s twins is a boy and this child is a girl—or even if the reverse
is true. Even as a villager, this child would be your half-sibling. Your
mother’s twins will also be… but there will be no blood relation between this
Muggle child and your mother’s twins. Unless they are all of the same sex, this
Muggle child could someday wed one of the twins. That would be a blatant
challenge to you.”
Tom was impressed by her canny. That had truly not occurred to him. There had
been times when he had thought that Slytherin was a very bad fit for earnest,
idealistic Hermione… but now, he remembered that she had been raised a
nobleman’s daughter. He thought about what she had said before replying.
“It might be,” he acknowledged, “but Mother and Snape could prevent such a
marriage… and the twins will be raised noble. The Muggle Riddle child might not
even come in contact with them. And even if that does happen, and they decide
not to keep them from marrying, my rights are still paramount. To be honest,
Hermione,” he said, “in terms of a challenge to me—to us—it might be better for
neither of the twins to marry above themselves. I would be more concerned about
a marriage between one of the twins and, say, one of our allied families.”
Hermione thought about this before deciding that he made a good point. “That is
very true,” she said. “Fortunately for us, your mother will have to approve any
noble marriage that either of them would choose to make. I am sure she has
thought of some of these things herself.”
“Probably not the Muggle Riddle child. I don’t remember if I even told her that
his wife was pregnant. But the other possibility… yes, either she has already,
or she will.”
“I don’t actually think Snape wants to hurt you, either,” Hermione said. “He
has never struck me as being very interested in amassing property.”
Tom considered that. His natural inclination was to be suspicious of people,
but as he considered Snape’s actions over the years, he found himself agreeing
with her.
It was getting cold, so they extinguished their magical fire after that. As
they descended from the rooftop, Hermione reflected on how nice it was to talk
and scheme freely with him. They shared more now than they had before, she
thought. He had kept many of his own plans and doings from her, either out of
some misguided idea of “protecting” her or, she supposed, because he had not
entirely trusted her. He had certainly desiredher in those earlier days, and
she did believe he had loved her, but he had not treated her as a partner in
many ways. Now, he did. Despite her prior resolution to ask Lady Merope to end
the betrothal and then to swear herself to the service of the family, that was
not actually Hermione’s first choice for how she wanted her life to go. She had
wanted to know love again, to be cherished by the wizard she still loved—had
never ceased to love—but after the incident with the basilisk, she had been
convinced that Tom cared little about her and that the continued close
association with him would eventually cost her her life.
Hermione Granger, studious pupil to some and overbearing show-off to others,
was never so glad to be wrong about something.
Once inside the castle, Tom and Hermione hurried down the corridor, their
footfalls muted as they darted for Hermione’s bedchamber. They could Apparate,
but it would make a loud sound. Hermione drew her breath in sharply as a long
shadow appeared at the end of the corridor, near the landing of the stairs. A
yellowish glow accompanied it. She gazed ahead; her bedroom was still at the
very end of the hall.
Snape and Merope reached the top of the stairs and gazed upon Tom and Hermione,
who were notably past Tom’s door and obviously closer to Hermione’s. Snape’s
lips thinned, but Merope shook her head at him almost imperceptibly.
“Good night to the both of you,” she said with a nod to the young pair.
They entered their chamber, leaving Tom and Hermione in the hall by themselves.
Tom’s eyes were wide as he continued to stare at the spot where they had been.
“All right, Tom,” Hermione muttered, pulling at his arm. “I told you, she
knows.”
He gazed at his own bedroom door for a moment, during which time Hermione’s
face fell. Then he thought better of it, turned back to her, and continued to
the end of the corridor with her.
===============================================================================
For both couples, the next morning was another one of winter sunshine and
draftiness mitigated by shared body heat and post-conjugal closeness. Hermione
almost did not want to get out of bed, but she had no choice. Untangling
herself from him, she stretched and slung her legs over the side of the bed.
He groaned at the loss of warmth but reluctantly followed her. Rubbing his
eyes, he grimaced. “Mother and Snape saw us last night.”
“Yes.”
He pulled on his outer robe. “I do not want to be under Snape’s gaze—or that
hooked nose of his.”
“Then don’t be cowed by him.”
“I didn’t say I would be cowed.” He seemed vaguely affronted at the mere
suggestion. “But defying him… that’s a good idea. If he looks at us with that
glare of his, we’ll just glare back at him.”
“Precisely.”
As it turned out, Snape did not pay them much attention at the family dining
table that morning. He was too solicitous of Merope, who was feeling very
unwell due to pregnancy sickness. It was a condition that potions could aid
somewhat, but no one had yet found an elixir that eradicated the symptoms in
every witch.
“There has not even been any further experimentation in the subject—at least by
Hogwarts Masters or any noble’s chief potionmaker—in about… eighty years,”
Snape said, very displeased. Merope had left the room to rest and spare the
others the unpleasant sights of heaving.
Tom threw up his hands. “And whathappened eighty years ago?” he exclaimed. “It
does not surprise me at all that thesenobles would not have their potionmakers
work on a problem that only affects witches.”
For once, Hermione could not object. “I agree, in fact,” she spoke up. “I do
not knowthis, but I expect that if you investigated the matter further, you
would find that there has been little magical research into numerous ‘witches’
problems’ since… that date.”
Tom looked at her in surprise and approval. Under the table, he squeezed her
hand.
===============================================================================
Merope was feeling better by mid-morning. She emerged into the family parlor,
the very one that she and Severus had shared the night before. Tom and Hermione
were in the library.
“Have you found him yet?” Severus asked without prelude.
Merope shook her head. “I don’t know where he could be. It troubles me.”
“That makes two of us,” Severus growled. “I understand why you accepted his
oath, but I never thought he was trustworthy.”
“Nor do I, Severus! I have told you before, I agree that he is likely self-
interested first and foremost. My brother and father treated his family
extremely badly.”
“You have not, though. He has been here for several months now. He should not
be disappearing.”
“He may be in his Animagus form. It’s possible that he has not left the
grounds.”
“He still owes you an explanation if he is. There may be good reasons to skulk
about as a rat, but they are the sorts of reasons that youshould be informed
of.”
“Spying,” she supplied.
He nodded.
“I suppose I could release Hermione’s cat,” she mused, smirking at that idea.
“He was very determined to root out all the rodents in the castle when he first
showed up!”
Severus frowned at that memory. Yes… the animal had indeed. The cat had located
rat holes in hisprivate office in Parselhall, in fact, which had astonished
him; the walls were supposed to be magically sealed against rodent damage.
Ordinaryrodent damage, at least.
“Merope,” he said urgently, “do you think that Pettigrew could have been in the
castle as a rat before?”
“What do you mean?”
Severus explained the chain of thoughts that he had just had. Her face creased
in a concerned frown as he mentioned the fact that his office had been charmed
to keep out vermin. “But an Animagus is different. He would have magic of his
own. Vermin wards are not as strong as wards that can keep out witches and
wizards, of course.”
Merope’s face was deeply troubled. “I think… that this idea makes sense,” she
said, her brow creased. “And it further supports the idea you had that
Pettigrew is an indiscriminate gatherer of information, which he hoards for
whatever purpose may someday arise.”
“When he shows his face again, I can question him,” Severus said aggressively.
Merope considered. “Let me think about it. I will first want to hear what he
has to say about what he’s doing today. If his explanation does not make
sense—or if he admits to sneaking about as a rat—then we can pursue it.”
“I think we should pursue it anyway,” he said in a controlled tone, “but your
decision is final.”
A sharp knock interrupted their conversation.
“It’s Hermione and I, Mother,” Tom said from outside the door.
“Come in, then,” she said.
The door swung open, and they entered and took their seats next to each other
on the same piece of furniture. Both of them were clutching large books. Merope
smiled at the sight.
“We were just discussing Pettigrew’s unaccountable absence,” she said to Tom
and Hermione.
Tom gripped his wand, and his eyebrows narrowed. “I hope that when he turns up,
he is held to account. He may have lived in the wild for years, but he does not
now.”
Severus regarded the young wizard with approval.
“He will certainly have to answer for himself,” Merope said briskly. “But in
the meantime, I believe you had something that you meant to tell me at the
breakfast table, before I took ill?”
Tom had intended to mention his idea about the Muggles that he had talked about
with Hermione last night, but his mother had had to leave the room before he
could. He rested his right elbow on the arm of the sofa and considered his
words. The subject could not be one that his mother would enjoy.
“I was thinking about the fact that my Muggle father had a wife who was with
child.”
Merope’s eyes widened in surprise. “Tom! You did not tell me that she was with
child.”
“I honestly did not think about it,” he said. “I had… other things on my mind
that night, after I came home. But she was rather far along.”
“Then the child has been born! Tom! She might not have a home—”
“That is exactly what I was thinking about,” he said. “If the child is a girl,
she might need a roof over her head. They might,” he corrected. “Of course, she
might not want to live in this particular barony, and the Muggle lord might
have to release her….”
“I will certainly make the necessary inquiries,” Merope said, gazing at her son
in surprise that he had thought of something like this. “She may have family of
her own who took her in, or the child might be a boy, but it’s something to
investigate.”
“I just thought that, since heabandoned us to poverty, it wouldn’t be right to
do the same thing,” Tom said in a low voice, his eyes fixed upon his lap. “The
child is a Muggle, but it’s still related to me.”
Merope nodded. “I will definitely look into this matter.”
Another knock sounded on the door, this one unexpected to all four occupants.
“Yes?” Merope said, surprised.
“My lords and ladies,” croaked a house-elf named Fionn, “Lord Regulus Black,
heir of the Noble House of Black.”
Tom did not seem wholly shocked by Regulus’s appearance, Hermione noted. She
still did not believe that it meant anything when he pointed out the star that
was Regulus’s namesake last night, but it was an interesting coincidence,
certainly….
The door swung open. The elf bowed low to Merope and made her exit at once,
snapping her fingers to close the door behind her and give the lords and ladies
their privacy. Regulus was dressed in his heavy black traveling cloak, the one
that had a large hood that hid his face—but he had lowered this hood as he
entered the room.
“My lord Regulus,” Merope said, surprise still in her voice. “You are most
welcome as always. Please, take a seat.”
He swept off his cloak, which he left on a peg on the wall near the door, and
sat down in the closest chair to the family that was available.
“Would you care for refreshment?” Severus asked. “There are a couple of bottles
of wine in this room, and the elf could bring something else—some ale, for
instance—”
“Thank you, but it is a bit early in the day for that,” he said.
“As you like. What brings you here, my lord?” Merope asked.
“A couple of things, my lady,” he replied. “First of all… I wanted to tell all
of you in person that I have become concerned about the source in Malfoy
Manor.”
Severus’s gaze was fixed upon him immediately. “I was not expecting to hear
anything immediately,” he said. “One of the questions I sent by you is
complicated, and they are all topics that Malfoy and Lestrange may not discuss
frequently—if ever.”
“That’s true,” Regulus said, “but Kreacher, my house-elf, has told me that he
cannot make contact with the Malfoy source at all.”
“At all?”
Regulus was grim. “They cannot always meet at the same time, as you know, so
they leave coded messages in their dungeon-level meeting room in Castle
Draconis for each other. That’s how Kreacher knows when the Malfoy elf has
something to report. He has left several coded messages, but they go
unanswered. I am starting to fear the worst, frankly.”
“It has been… ten days,” Severus said. “Are you sure you should worry this
soon?”
“I have a bad feeling about it,” Regulus said. “The elf has never taken this
long to reply to a coded message. A meetingbetween the two may take some time
to set up, but this has never happened before.”
Severus groaned. “I hope you are wrong, Lord Regulus.”
“So do I,” he said.
“Do you think you could subvert another elf in Malfoy Manor?” Hermione
suggested. “Surely they have more than one.”
He shook his head. “The one Kreacher talked to was very unusual, Lady Hermione.
Most of their kind are utterly devoted to their masters, even in the face of
abuse. We got lucky with this one.”
“Let’s hope that there is just a delay,” Merope said.
“It is possible, but I would not expect it, my lady.” He sighed. “Now… the
other reason I am here. I understand that I owe you congratulations”—he managed
a smile for Severus and Merope.
“It is early yet, but I thank you,” she said.
He nodded. “Of course, this raises the stakes, as you know far better than I.”
“We do indeed.”
“I do not know—have you mentioned my offer to Lord Thomas?”
Merope glanced quickly at Tom, then back at Regulus. “I’m afraid not, my lord.
We have been busy indeed since you last visited.”
Tom raised his eyebrows at her. “What does he mean, Mother?”
“I’ll let him explain,” she said. “And Tom, I did mean to tell you myself, but
the subject would have immediately distracted us from other matters that we
needed to talk about more urgently.”
Tom gazed at her for a moment longer before deciding to accept this. He turned
to Regulus inquiringly.
“My estranged brother, Sirius, is going to marry soon,” Regulus began.
Hermione nodded. “His godson is a friend of… ours.” To her delight, Tom did not
dispute it even in a way that would be apparent only to her.
“So you know that already,” Regulus said. “Good. What I mentioned to Lady
Riddle last summer was contingent on the courtship ending in marriage, and
since it will, we can move ahead. My lord father, who is now the head of the
House of Black after my grandfather’s murder, required some persuading… but he
is willing to offer a formal alliance with the House of Black. I myself am
already allied with you, of course, but this would be the House itself. Both of
our families are ancient and magically powerful. Parseltongue and Divination
run in your line; shape-changing runs in mine. An alliance between the Serpent
and the Dog might strike fear even into the Malfoys and Lestranges.”
This felt rehearsed to all four of them; Regulus’s language was grandiose, but
it also seemed sincere.
“My parents would likely prefer an alliance between one of my brother’s future
children and one of the twins that your ladyship expects,” he continued, “but
if they are not going to be the immediate heirs of your line, then that
consideration takes precedence.”
Hermione understood at once. “Lord Regulus, are you talking about an alliance
between Sirius’s future child and Tom’s and mine?”
He nodded. “I mean no offense to you, but you must know what my parents think
about blood purity. However, they are willing to set that aside in the service
of getting the Malfoys and Lestranges out of power, now that they have murdered
my grandfather.”
Tom spoke up. “Lord Regulus, what do you think are your parents’ intentions
after that? If we make this alliance, and Malfoy and his supporters are
removed, what does your lord father intend?”
Regulus studied Tom, perfectly aware of what he was truly asking. “My father
would like to see the old Wizengamot reinstated,” he said. “After that… the
body itself should choose the high lord—or lady. That was traditional.”
“Indeed,” Tom said. “It is important that we restore the old traditions that
served the magical community so well, not replace one lord who is unanswerable
to the rest of the wizarding nobility with another.” His words were calculated
and his tone hard.
“I understand you very well, Lord Thomas,” Regulus said.
Merope spoke up. “You must have more details about this proposal to offer to
us, Lord Regulus,” she said, trying to be conciliatory. “What does your family
expect—or desire?”
“What we expect is that the alliance will be with your son’s heir, my lady.” He
gazed pointedly at Tom. “If that’s not proof of my family’s respect for yours,
I do not know what would be.”
Tom considered that, also thinking of the discussion he’d had with Hermione the
night before. If their heir married a Black, that would unquestionably prevent
the Snape twins from considering themselves as realistic rivals. And it also
does mean what Regulus said it means, he thought. If they want an alliance with
our heir, it very well could mean that Orion isn’t counting on walking into the
high lordship. He must realize that we may want it, since he specifically wants
this alliance with the heir rather than another child.
“Our heirs are not always based on birth order,” Merope pointed out.
He smiled; he had personal knowledge of that. “Of course. I would not have a
contract that named a specific child of your son’s until that was settled.”
Hermione spoke up. “If your brother has more than one child of the opposite sex
to our eventual heir, I would like our child to have a choice.”
Regulus considered that before nodding. “That is reasonable. And if the
children—his and yours—are all of the same sex, we’ll renegotiate the contract
at that time.”
Hermione was surprised that Tom was so readily assenting to this. She would
have expected him to object strenuously to choosing the future of a child of
his, since he was so reluctant to accept herat the very beginning of their
relationship. But she remembered their discussion from the night before. This
proposition was likely a relief to him. The House of Black was a great
wizarding noble house, after all. And these children do not exist yet—not even
to the extent that Merope’s twins do, she thought. It is very abstract now. Tom
is thinking strategically, first and foremost.
“I have to ask,” Severus said, a wry gleam in his black eyes, “does Sirius know
that you are making these plans for his family? Does he realize that your
father intends to forcibly pull him back into the House of Black?” He sounded
very much as if he knew the answer.
Regulus grinned back. “He will learn at the proper time. Frankly, my brother
needs to make a stand. He has had some sort of dispute with his friend
Potter—which I think is a very good thing; Potter is a deplorable influence—and
I think the time has come for him to return to his family and do his part in
the war that we all know is coming.”
***** Secrets Revealed *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you to all the wonderful reviewers! With this chapter, things
     pick back up. Several people find out about some things that have
     been kept hidden from them for a while. I am also placing a truly
     major card on the table, though in a very brief mention.
     There is another warning for hard misogyny in this chapter.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
After Regulus’s departure, Hermione could not help but chide Tom teasingly. “I
am very surprised that you consented to that,” she said, smirking at him. “I
seem to recollect that you were not too enthusiastic about ourbetrothal when it
was first made.”
Tom gazed at her. “Well, this is very different. Presumably, our children would
grow up knowing Sirius Black’s children. They will be friends. I would not have
it otherwise, if this is going to happen,” he added. He shifted his gaze to
Merope. “Our parents made the contract to get you into Hogwarts and to secure
spouses for two people who, let’s face it, would not have been considered by
anyone who was both magical and noble. Obviously we would now—”
“You would,” she corrected. “I still would not.”
He looked pained at that representation but did not dispute its truth.
“Perhaps,” he admitted, “but even so, it would be because of the political
upheaval that our betrothal caused. Malfoy and his allies are getting worse,
but others, like the Blacks, are moderating some of their views because our
family has made it acceptable for nobles not to be pureblood.”
“You are half-blood. That could have happened anyway, simply due to your
blood.”
“Maybe, but I really think it is because of you.” He gazed at her brown eyes.
“If we had never met, perhaps I would have eventually married a pureblood… but
I think in that case, my blood would have remained an ‘aberration’ to people’s
thinking, something that happened only once before the pattern reverted to its
old form. With you in the family—and Snape,” he acknowledged somewhat
grudgingly—“we have changed the pattern.”
Hermione nestled close to him, satisfied with his reasoning. “That is true.
Obviously, this family—your mother”—she glanced respectfully at Merope—“has
earned the respect of magical noble peers who are capable of being reasonable.
It’s unfortunate that that does not include the two families who control
everything.”
“It will someday soon.” He squeezed her hand and gazed at her meaningfully.
Merope gazed serenely at them. “Lord Regulus bestows quite an honor,” she said.
“I admit I am concerned about the fact that his brother does not know of his
plans, though. If his brother is getting married, he will have a household of
his own and may have the means of refusing his family’s demands.”
“I actually have my doubts about that,” said Severus. A malicious light gleamed
in his black eyes. “Black has lived with his friend Potter for years, living
off Potter’s charity, eating his food, taking up space in their home. It’s
because he grew up as a noble and never bothered to excel in any kind of magic
that could be used for practical ends, just showy things. He has not the skills
to earn his own money. He is just the typical sort of useless spoiled noble who
never bothered with such things.” Contempt dripped from his words.
“But his bride-to-be—shewas not a noble, and I’m told that she has a child.”
“That is true,” Severus said, “but she was widowed only a year ago, apparently.
She certainly did not waste any time.”
“If you are implying that she is marrying him only for security, why would she
take on a man who was ‘useless,’ another mouth to feed?” Merope challenged.
Tom leaned back in his seat, enjoying his mother and stepfather's debate. A
smirk tugged at his lips.
“Perhaps… it is not just for security,” Severus grudgingly admitted. “There may
be real affection in the case. In fact… there must be, since Black couldhave
just stayed with Potter. He started to court this witch long before he fell out
with Potter. Yes, it must be that. In any case, I do not believe that he is in
much of a position to refuse Regulus and their parents. Will he storm and rage?
Probably. I know the man. But he’ll do it, in the end.” He scowled at Tom and
Hermione. “Much joy may you have of the connection. Better your child than
mine.”
“Severus,” Merope scolded.
He looked ashamed for a moment. “I… apologize,” he grated. “Perhaps Black would
be less hostile to you, Tom, because of the friendship with his godson. For
your future family’s sake, I hope so.”
Tom did not reply. He merely squeezed Hermione’s hand again.
===============================================================================
Pettigrew did not show his face until well after sunset. The four members of
the family were in the library when the house-elf Fionn entered the room and
gingerly, almost apologetically, explained to her mistress what had just
happened.
“He says that he knows Mistress will want to speak to him,” the elf said.
“Fionn told him to wait in the great hall.”
Snape rose from his chair, reaching for his wand, his face stormy. “She is not
the only one who will want to speak to him,” he growled.
Merope put a hand on his forearm and gave him a pointed look. “I will let you
question him if he does not explain himself to me.”
Tom and Hermione peeked around the corner of the nearest bookcases. “We should
be there,” he said.
Merope nodded. Stepping forward, she led the way as the rest of her family
followed behind her. When they reached the great hall, Peter Pettigrew—who was
guarded by another house-elf and looked visibly nervous—paled slightly at the
sight of the entire family’s approach.
“Pettigrew,” Merope said, holding her wand authoritatively but
not—yet—threateningly. “You know already that you need to account for your
absence today.”
“Yes, my lady,” he said, looking at the hem of her robes.
“Well, then?” she said. “I insist upon knowing where you have been today,
whom—if anyone—you spoke with, and why.” She stared evenly at him. “And look us
in the face. If we are not satisfied with your answers, I will authorize Lord
Severus to give you truth serum.”
Pettigrew’s eyes widened at that as he looked her in the eye. “Of course, my
lady… just wanted to show respect by keeping my gaze low….”
“That is duly noted, but you are a sworn vassal of mine and I am questioning
you. It is important that you look us in the eye while you answer our
questions.” She quickly gave Tom a meaningful look. An expression of surprise
came over his handsome face, but he understood at once what she wanted him to
do. So did Hermione.
“Where have you been all day, Pettigrew?” Merope asked again.
He almost averted his gaze again, but he managed to stop himself. Tom’s dark-
eyed glare was fixed upon the twitchy, almost ratlike face. “I was not in the
castle, but I did not leave the grounds of Hangleton,” he said. “I took my rat
form.”
Tom gave his mother a quick, almost imperceptible nod.
“And why did you do this?” Merope pressed.
He wrung his hands. “I had a personal letter—from Amycus Carrow.”
That startled everyone. Somewhat emboldened by the reaction, Pettigrew
continued with more courage in his words. “I still have it, if you want to see
it. He threatenedus. He thinks he can still come into this fief and even enter
the castle.”
“He cannot enter the castle,” Merope said. “I have made certain of that. There
is some magical protection along the borders of this fief, but naturally it has
to be weaker to allow communication, travel, and trade. But if our enemies are
now starting to threaten the town, I will have to put up more wards.”
“So, my lady, I was in the village as a rat to try to find out if Carrow had
any accomplices among the Muggles.”
Tom studied him for a moment before nodding at his mother.
“You should have presented your idea to me,” Merope said. “I would have
authorized it. Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want to worry your ladyship.”
Tom raised his eyebrows skeptically at that. Merope noticed, and in a much
sharper voice, she replied, “I do not believe that, Pettigrew. You knowyour
duty is to ‘worry me’ with important intelligence if you receive any. Why did
you not tell me what you were going to do?”
Pettigrew mumbled something in which the only discernible word was “Carrow.”
“Speak up.”
He looked up, his ratlike face pained and anxious. “Carrow threatened me
personally,” he whined. “I did spy on the Muggles, but Carrow wanted me to find
out if any of them were disgruntled with your ladyship… in order to
recruitthem.”
Tom was visibly surprised, but he could tell that the assertion was true.
“And why,” Severus said roughly, his long black sleeves riding up his arms as
he pointed his wand, “did Carrow think that you might do such a thing?”
“I don’t know,” he whined.
“I think you do. I think you have passed information to Carrow’s fine ‘friends’
before.” He glared at Pettigrew. “You didtell Malfoy that I poisoned Morfin
Gaunt, didn’t you?”
“No!”
Tom’s eyebrows narrowed. “Yes, you did,” he cut in.
Pettigrew shrank back, eyes wide open. “You—you’re a—”
“A Legilimens, yes,” Tom supplied, his words hard. “And that means that you had
better tell the truth.”
“Why did you do it, Pettigrew?” Merope asked. Her voice was cold. “I am…
prepared… to forgive you for lying to us, but you must explain why you have
done any work for Malfoy and his allies, and never do it again, and in the
future, inform me of your intentions in advance. We can protect you, but you
have to provide a good reason for us to do it.”
Pettigrew’s face was desperate. “Carrow found me,” he said. “He had already
sworn himself to Lord Lestrange, and he threatened me with his high lord unless
I told him something ‘useful.’ That was the most ‘useful’ thing I knew.”
“Does Carrow know that you are an Animagus?”
“I don’t think so.”
Severus glared harshly at him. “Why are you so afraid of Carrow? What does he
know about you, Pettigrew?”
“I think he knows that… I was at Godric’s Hollow,” he said, unwilling to meet
Snape’s eyes as he referred to that town. The name had such potency, such
significance, for everyone present now. “He has never said it openly, but I
think he knows it.”
That was a stumper for everyone. Blackmail could indeed explain why the wizard
would have been bullied into telling Malfoy something compromising, especially
since the blackmail had occurred at a time when Pettigrew was unprotected. And
yet… Tom still felt some disquiet, as if something big and important was still
unexplained. He did not find anything in the man’s surface thoughts that
revealed it as a lie, though. I wish I could do deeper Legilimency, he thought
with a pang. This is very important.
Finally Merope spoke. “As I said, Pettigrew, we have the ability to protect
you. Severus was at Godric’s Hollow too, as you well know, and heis
safe—because he has proven himself loyal and worthy of my trust. If you receive
any further communications from Carrow—or anyone allied with him—you must tell
me or Severus as soon as possible.”
He nodded contritely.
“One final question. Didyou find any villagers who either were or might be
willing to become accomplices with Lestrange?”
“No, your ladyship.”
Tom gave his mother a final nod, no longer bothering to be discreet.
===============================================================================
“I have changed my mind about one thing,” Merope said after Pettigrew had been
escorted out of the castle to his own family manor house. “It has to do with
your idea about your Muggle half-sibling, Tom.”
Tom glanced up curiously at her.
“I am not going to invite them to live in Hangleton if there is any discontent
or reluctance on Lady Cecilia’s part,” she said. “If they are in need of
support, I will send gold to them. After this discussion, I will not run the
risk of having a disgruntled Muggle villager within the fief, especially an
important one, the widow of a knight with a child who is related to my heir. I
will permit them to live here only if she is completely satisfied and holds no
resentment over her husband’s death.”
Tom gazed at his mother in utter shock, astonished at the hardness of her
words.
She looked back at him sadly. “In times like these, compassion to outsiders
must be tempered with sense and caution, Tom,” she said.
He nodded. “I understand.”
“We should trust each other, though,” she said pointedly, looking at Hermione
and then Tom.
He took the point and wrapped his arm around Hermione’s waist, pulling her
close.
===============================================================================
Late that night in bed, Severus and Merope continued to discuss what had
happened.
“He has given no reason for us to trust him,” Severus said. “Personally, I
think a stay in the dungeons is what he deserves at this point.”
Merope sighed. “That may be, but it would be entirely counterproductive to
building that trust. I think his problem is that he is fundamentally not a
brave man.”
“Cowardice is a problem indeed.”
“He has had his trust betrayed repeatedly,” she mused. “My father and brother
did it in the vilest of ways… Carrow, his fellow vassal at one point, became a
traitor and then blackmailed him… presumably, his friends Potter and Black no
longer associate with him…. Severus, I think that we have two choices before
us. We can either lock him up—with the assumption that it must be for the rest
of his life, or at a minimum, until the end of the coming war—or we can attempt
to show him that he can trust someone at last. I prefer the latter.”
Severus gazed ahead into the darkness. “You did not seem that eager to give the
Muggle Riddles a chance. Do you think that you’re giving him the benefit of a
doubt because he can do magic?”
Merope was startled at that, but she seriously considered it. “You may be
right,” she admitted. “I willask Lady Cecilia if she wants to live here, but I
will not pressure her if she does not. Someone of her stature would be a leader
to the Muggles and could probably convince them readily to turn against Tom as
a kinslayer if she resents being widowed. As for Pettigrew… he will have one
more chance. If he disobeys me, goes missing of his own accord, or does
something else behind my back, he willhave a stay in the dungeons.”
===============================================================================
The following day, Tom and Hermione had to return to Hogwarts. As Tom gazed at
Hermione, he felt a rush of affection. This was the first time in two years
that he was making this journey with her truly by his side. They could Apparate
separately now, but when he turned to her with a hand extended, she understood
at once. Smiling at him, she took his hand.
They appeared in the Hogwarts courtyard out of breath and dizzy, as was
typical, and instinctively clutched each other around the waist for mutual
support. Although Hermione was once again very familiar with his touch, and in
far more intimate circumstances than this, it still made her heart beat faster.
She took a step forward and pressed herself against him, feeling his arms
around her at once.
It was very cold, so they did not remain in the outdoor courtyard for too long.
They separated and walked into the castle, hand-in-hand, completely unconcerned
about what anyone might think of it. They continued to hold hands as they
walked down to the dungeon level and into the Slytherin common room.
Tom’s male friends were already there. When the young couple entered the common
room, their heads all turned, but no one dared comment. Hermione felt a spark
of defiance as she passed by the boys, holding Tom’s hand possessively. Let
them look! They had no right to interfere. They never had.
Keeping her hand firmly linked with his, Tom walked over to the window and
gazed out into the dark water of the lake. His black eyebrows narrowed and his
mouth curled asymmetrically as he gazed out. His pensive expression was, in
that moment, so appealing to Hermione that she could not stop herself. She
turned to him and leaned upward, cupping his cheek with one hand. His eyes
widened, but he did not try to stop her as she lunged for his lips. He wrapped
his arms tightly around her and deepened the kiss that she had begun.
Her eyes fluttered closed as they stood by the window, wrapped tightly
together. The fingers of one of his hands tangled in her hair, caressing her in
the sensitive spot behind her ear. She pressed herself against him below the
waist as well, making his eyes fly open in surprise at her boldness. In that
moment, she bit his lip. He had liked that very much the time that they had had
that angry, heated kiss. He liked it even more now, she thought smugly as he
returned the bite. It hurt slightly, but somehow the pain was not actually
painful. Instead, they were marking each other as theirs.
At last, they broke the kiss and relaxed their grip on each other, though they
stayed in the embrace. She smirked at him, meeting his gaze with her own.
The boys were staring in various states of surprise, greed—Tom noted this on
Avery’s face and resolved to have a word with him about it—or disapproval.
Fawley visibly frowned.
Tom noticed as well and glared back defiantly at him. “Is there a problem,
Edgar?”
Fawley shook his head quickly—too quickly.
Tom looked around the common room. No one else was present. Nevertheless
keeping his voice low but menacing, he drew closer to the circle of five boys,
his hand firmly around Hermione’s waist. “I need to make one point very clear
to everyone,” he said. He gazed at Hermione, then back at them. “If any of you
have been hoping that Lady Hermione and I would not actually wed, or that if we
did, it would be a loveless marriage, disabuse yourself of that idea now. We
will, and furthermore, it is because we both want to.” He glared at them. “Some
of you have implied in the past that you think I should break my vows to her.
Theodore, I recall that you in particular said this two years ago.”
Nott glanced down uncomfortably.
“I have already said that I think it’s despicable. Better to abjure a vow
entirely than do that. You would not have dared to suggest it were I betrothed
to any other witch. Our enemies may treat their wives as dirt under their feet,
but I won’t have it among my own allies. Regard for witches, like our
ancestors, is one thing that must set us apart. You will treat her with the
respect she is due. Your parents have made formal, magically binding alliances
with my mother, knowing perfectly well that Hermione will be part of the
family. You had better follow their lead. We will marry, and we will continue
to be faithful to each other, and anyone who objects to this is no better than
the ones we seek to defeat. Do I make myself clear?”
The five boys nodded.
Tom glanced harshly at Avery. “Cormac,” he said to the boy, “another thing I
won’t tolerate is that slimy look that you were giving us.”
The young man flushed deeply and gazed at the floor.
“She is mine,” Tom growled, tightening his grip on her waist. “Whatever
thoughts you may have, you will keep them to yourself—or better yet, banish
them entirely. Hermione is not some Muggle whore flaunting her wares for you to
ogle. I mean it—I will not put up with any form of disrespect for her.”
“Of course,” Marcus Flint assured him. “I may be speaking only for myself, but
I think I got used to the idea of… someone like her… among our ranks a long
time ago.”
Rob Wilkes nodded quickly and firmly. He was still eager to maintain his
position with Tom after the debacle of his father’s betrayal. “I did too. You
speak for me as well.” He shot a disdainful glance at Fawley and another at
Nott. “It’s uncommon for a noble betrothal to be broken, after all. I assumed
yours would not be, and I got used to the idea.” He gave Hermione a courteous
nod.
“I advise the rest of you to follow their lead,” Tom said coolly to the other
three. He released Hermione’s waist and took her by the hand again. “Hermione
may wish to be part of our meetings. If she does, you will hear her ideas and
consider them as you would any other.”
Hermione gave him a look of surprise as he escorted her to the other side of
the common room for some privacy. “The meetings?” she repeated.
“If you want to come.”
“I will think about it,” she said. “I admit I have been curious for a long
time.”
===============================================================================
Malfoy Manor.
Rodolphus Lestrange took the scroll off the owl’s leg and popped the seal,
unrolling the parchment. As he read the letter, his already unattractive face
twisted in outrage that made him look as ghastly as his overlord.
He set the letter down on the nearest table and attempted to control his
thoughts. This was—perhaps not surprising,if he thought about it properly, but
certainly inconvenient and embarrassing.
Armand Malfoy looked up from his own letters and finally noticed the rage that
suffused Lestrange’s face. “What is the matter?” he asked, a curl of amusement
in his lips. He really was feeling better, more himself, more intelligent and
alert since that traitorous elf had killed itself. Perhaps the little bastard
had been poisoning him, undermining the effects of his special “tonic” when it
was not immediately in his system. It was possible. At least none of the others
were plotting against him.
Lestrange took a deep breath. “I have a problem… my lord.” He glared at the
offending note. “It seems that I have my answer as to who murdered my loyal
vassal Scabior a year ago, and why.”
“Who sent that to you?”
“Wormtail,” he said pointedly. “He says that Carrow can back him up. I will
have some questions for Carrow as to why he kept this from me, if so. Evidently
he heard Snape and Lady Riddle mentioning the subject. He informed me that they
believe my wifedid the deed.”
Malfoy set down his flagon in surprise. “Lady Bellatrix? Why? How dare she?”
“How dare she, indeed, my lord!” He clutched the armrests of his seat to avoid
rising without his lord’s leave. “If they are to be believed, she did it
because he seduced my daughter, got her with child, and the Mudblood made the
potion for her to abort it and then presumedto write to my wife about it!”
Malfoy’s nostrils flared in outrage. “The Mudblood made a potion to kill a
magical child that would have been pureblood, and your daughter tookit? And
then she dared to write to your wife, a pureblood noblewoman, who actedon the
Mudblood’s words?”
“So it seems.” Lestrange was furious enough to rip a hole in the upholstery if
it had been his own furniture.
Malfoy’s eyes flashed red momentarily. “This is exactly why we have to have the
kind of laws that we have made! Witches apparently can’t be trusted to hold to
anyprinciples. It is the weakness of their sex. I would have assumed that your
wife, of all people, would respect her own blood enough to teach her daughter
properly and punish her if she allowed a Mudblood to talk her into killing a
future pureblood child. Clearly, I was wrong. Noneof them can be trusted… at
least, none who have this barbarous country’s blood of rebellion flowing in
their veins.” He glared at the fire. “Your wife’s mother was a Rosier, but her
father was a Black. The Blacks are a family of traitors, I believe. ‘House of
the Dog,’ indeed. This country has a history of allowing witches to do things
like this. Their ‘triple goddesses’ and such—even if they are not worshiped
anymore, clearly, three witches conspiring together can lead to nothing good!
Your wife and daughter—and a filthy Mudblood!”
“You are right, my lord,” Lestrange growled. “What can I do?”
“You must send her out of your castle,” he replied immediately. “She currently
administers it in your name.”
“She does!” he exclaimed, outrage and anger flooding him anew. “What a trick
she played on me!”
“I personally think you should annul the marriage as well.”
“Black married us,” he scowled. “He marries everyone with magic… and I doubt he
will do that. He doesn’t like annulments.”
“Protecting deceitful women, just like the rest of his blood, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” Lestrange agreed, “but other than killing him—and that would be a
mistake, since we would have no one else in the church with that authority—what
can be done? I could divorce her in civil law, I suppose… and the girl—my
daughter”—he uttered the word with disgust, as if it pained him to say it
now—“must be sent out with her. How dare she! Even if she preferred to marry
your great-grandson, what presumption to expect that she still had the right to
after that!”
“Their betrothal obviously must come to an end, now that we know she has been
dirtied,” Malfoy declared. “I will order Lucius to break it off. Draco deserves
better.”
Although Malfoy was speaking of Lestrange’s daughter, Lestrange did not defend
her or even feel insulted on her behalf. He agreed with every word his lord was
saying.
“That elf,” Malfoy suddenly said, his eyes gleaming unnaturally again for a
brief instant. “I wonder now if it was conspiring with Bellatrix. I am sure
that she can go to Castle Draconis. I wonder if that is what was happening.”
“It could have been,” Lestrange said. “It could have.” He glared malevolently
into the flames as he planned out what he would do.
===============================================================================
Castle Draconis, Godric’s Hollow.
Lucius Malfoy roared in fury at the demand from his grandfather. Standing
aside, Narcissa observed him dispassionately. Evidently, Lord Malfoy’s source
of information did not know anything about herinvolvement in Scabior’s murder.
She did not think Lucius would care except for the fact that she had concealed
that fact from him for so long, but that in itself was something that she did
not want him to know.
“What a vileman your sister’s husband is,” Lucius seethed. “His daughter is
rapedand he takes the rapist’s side?”
“Rodolphus Lestrange himself is a rapist, according to Bella. Well,” she
amended, “according to Bella’s accounts. He forces himself on the Muggles of
their village. Bella dislikes it because he is breaking their marriage vows,
not because it is rape. But it is. At least she sided with her own daughter.”
Lucius gave a snarl of disgust. “And my grandfather presumes to tell me what to
do with my son! ‘I am making inquiries of Lord and Lady Parkinson regarding the
contract they have with the Rosier family, and if the girl has been
deflowered,’” he quoted from the letter. “Vulgar and presumptuous! Young Rosier
is Draco’s friend and cousin. That alliance would be tested if his fiancée were
torn away from him in that manner. My grandfather seems to think that he can
dictate the marital plans of anyone he wants, even if they have existing
arrangements.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I think Lady Riddle is a blood-
traitor, but I have to say, reluctantly, that this must have begun with her and
her son. My grandfather got the idea that he could interfere with their
contract with the Mudblood girl, and then that he could order Lady Riddle to
marry the wizard of his choosing. Of course he would not stop with them.”
Narcissa smiled tightly. Although she agreed with Lucius in principle, she had
no problem with the dissolution of Draco’s betrothal. It was what she had
wanted as soon as she learned of what had happened to Adelaide Lestrange. She
chose her words carefully. “Lestrange will try to have Bella executed, and
Adelaide will certainly be turned out. We must offer them shelter, but
secretly.”
“Yes,” Lucius agreed. “We must. I will write to her at once.” He cordially
disliked Bellatrix Lestrange, but she was family, and it was his duty to offer
her protection and shelter in her time of need.
===============================================================================
Castle l’Etrange.
Bellatrix had already flown by the time that Lestrange showed up at the gate.
It was infuriating, because he had intended to do far more to her than remove
her from the castle and divorce her, but so it was. At least he now had a valid
case based on disobedience and abandonment. He immediately found Amycus Carrow.
“I am told,” he said through clenched teeth, his wand pointing at the man’s
heart, “that you already knew the truth and concealed it from me.”
Pettigrew, Carrow thought immediately. Pettigrew must have overheard that pack
of blood-traitors he served talking about it. This must have been his pathetic
idea of petty revenge for the times that Carrow had threatened him. If I
survive this, I will pay him back in kind, Carrow vowed.
“The half-blood Riddle claimed it when I was torturing him, my lord,” he said,
deciding to hazard part of the truth. It was easier to tell part of the truth
than to fabricate a complete lie. “I did not believe him. I was wrong—the
lady’s departure proves that—and I apologize.”
“Nonetheless, you were wrong. You should have told me. Crucio!”
Carrow fell to the hard stone floor, bruising as he did, and writhed in pain as
Lestrange maintained the curse. He was in fact thinking of his wife, daughter,
and the foul-blooded pair of Riddle and Granger, but Carrow suffered for the
vicious thoughts his lord had of these others.
At last Lestrange had had enough—or else he simply could not maintain the curse
any longer. He lifted his wand and gazed down at the man who was now curled up
on the floor. “I think that punishment will suffice,” he said loftily. “Get up,
Carrow.”
Gingerly Carrow rose to his feet. His entire body ached.
“If you will swear henceforth to be loyal, and to tell me everything you hear
that I need to know, I will make you the regent of this fief in my absence as I
serve his high lordship.”
Carrow’s eyes widened in surprise. Instantly he fell to one knee. “I swear, my
lord.”
“I accept your oath,” Lestrange said. “Summon your sister. I will not have
another English-blooded witch acting as lady of this castle unless she is aware
of one thing in particular. She must be informed that she is to obey you—and
why.”
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
Although no one except the two involved could provethat the betrothal of Draco
Malfoy and Adelaide Lestrange was dissolved, and they certainly were not
talking about it, everyone in Slytherin House knew it.
Hermione observed her onetime rival with pity. When the morning owl post had
arrived, Adelaide had cried out in shock and horror at her letters. She had
instantly left the breakfast table. Although Hermione no longer shared any
magical subjects with her, she heard from Harry—who did share a couple—that she
was barely aware in the schoolroom. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her entire
air was one of a frightened mouse.
Draco Malfoy, who she would have assumed would be gloating—and Tom had
confirmed to her that he also had seen Draco’s furtive attentions to Astoria
Greengrass—was curiously silent about the entire business. He did not treat
Adelaide with affection, but he did, finally, show her some subdued, aloof
respect. It was almost as if his father had given him an order to keep his
mouth shut, for some other reason.
Hermione talked about it with Tom that evening, and they concluded that they
had probably correctly guessed what that reason was.
“Draco’s parents are probably sheltering Adelaide’s mother,” Hermione said.
Tom nodded. “Very likely. I wonder how long they can do it. It’s an obvious
guess for Lestrange or Armand Malfoy to make, especially if they already
distrust Lord Lucius. There are magical ways of hiding someone, though. Perhaps
they are doing that.”
“Perhaps so.”
They lapsed into silence. Hermione realized that her hand had been resting on
Tom’s leg. She lifted it, noticing at once that he seemed both to miss the
contact and to be vaguely relieved. That was… interesting. A smirk formed on
her face as she put her hand back on his thigh.
“Keep that up and I’ll have to take you to our old room,” he murmured under his
breath, staring straight ahead.
His “threat,” and the seductive, assertive tone in which he spoke it, sent a
thrill of desire up and down Hermione’s body. Her smirk broadened as she
trailed her fingers up his thigh.
“All right, you asked for it,” he said, rising from his seat, pulling her up
with him.
He was pointedly, defiantly ignoring the looks that the few others present in
the room gave them. Harry Potter gaped at them as they walked toward the door
of the common room together, obviously fully aware of—if not where they were
going, then why. Two of Tom’s friends stared too, though only for a moment.
They might have had to force themselves to look away, but they did manage it.
Pleased, Tom opened the door and stepped out with her, closing it behind them.
Hermione reached for him and, on tiptoe, planted a quick but intense kiss on
his mouth. They drew away and gazed at each other, breathless and eager.
“Have you been making the potion?” he asked as they hurried down the corridor
together.
“I have. I don’t suppose it matters nearly as much as it used to… but it would
be risky and dangerous if I conceived while I’m still at Hogwarts.”
“It would,” he said. They climbed the steps that led to the ground floor, where
the small room they had used before was. “We have plenty of time to start our
family.”
They hurried down the hall and reached the familiar room. Tom unlocked and
opened the door. This was the first time they had been in it together in over
two years, Hermione thought. It looked the same. Tom locked the door behind him
and tested the room to be sure that no one else was hiding inside, while she
transfigured a pillow into a comfortable mattress.
Hermione shed her outer robes quickly, though she kept her eyes on Tom as he
removed his. They fell to the floor in a shimmer of fine, rich linen. Garbed
only in their inside robes and underclothes, they tumbled onto the mattress,
clutching each other as they kissed deeply. Her hands explored his body through
the thinner fabric of his inside robe. Although they had certainly been
intimate at Parselhall on several nights since their reconciliation, this was
the first time that they had done it in full candlelight. It was dark outside,
but the room was very well lit. His body was more mature now, she thought as
she gently tugged off his robe. She had not seen any other man unclothed, but
somehow, instinctively, she knew that this was what a grown man’s body should
look like.
He is seventeen now, she thought. He is a man in wizarding terms. His birthday
had been quite a happy one. She had given him a present of a personal journal
in which to write.
Tom was having somewhat similar thoughts as he undressed Hermione. Her physical
development had basically completed in her fourteenth year, so she looked more
or less as he had remembered, but there were still subtle differences. She had
filled out a bit more, he thought. He pulled her robe over her head and cast it
aside into the pile of clothing that they had already made. Immediately his
dark eyes fixed upon her body, her perfect breasts and hips, her hourglass
form. As his gaze raked over her lower belly, he imagined his child—their
child—growing there. Someday, he thought, pulling her close. Maybe six months.
Someday.
Together they pulled each other down onto the mattress. She closed her eyes in
bliss and allowed him to spread her legs. He positioned himself between them as
he continued to minister to her, leaving light but sensual kisses from her lips
down the side of her neck, her chest, her belly, her hips—
She clenched her legs around his waist as he entered her. Her eyes rolled back
and a breathy gasp escaped her mouth as they began to move. Her hands clutched
at his midnight black hair and tugged handfuls, making him cry out, but the
pain mixed deliciously with the pleasure that he was feeling at the awareness
that it was hertouch, herhands—
They climaxed together, Hermione involuntarily lifting her head off the pillow
to press her cheek against the spot where his neck met his collarbone. They
clung to each other as if their lives depended on it. Finally, the release
dissipated itself, leaving them tired and satisfied.
“Imbolc is in less than a month,” he said quietly. “We should celebrate all the
old holidays together now.”
“An act of defiance?” she asked, smiling.
He nodded, a smirk forming on his face. “Defiance of him, dedication to the
world we lost but can have again.”
Chapter End Notes
     ETA: I've realized that the Pettigrew-Carrow-Lestrange-Malfoy
     information loop, and who knew what when, could be confusing, so this
     note is to clarify it (no change to story text anywhere).
     As Pettigrew says (and Tom confirms), Carrow blackmailed him into
     telling Malfoy about Morfin Gaunt's poisoning (chapter 29), right
     before he resurfaced. Yes, this does imply that Carrow knew that
     "Wormtail the spy" was Pettigrew and concealed it from Lestrange and
     Malfoy, since Malfoy only figured out Wormtail's identity in ch. 40.
     However, Carrow is a traitor and oathbreaker, has kept information
     from his new lord before, and got punished for it in this chapter.
     He'd conceal things to suit his own purposes.
     There are two big unanswered questions about Carrow's blackmail of
     Pettigrew. What else does Carrow know about the failed revolt, and
     exactly whom is Pettigrew afraid of his Godric's Hollow-related
     activities being exposed to?
***** Summer Is Coming *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you once more to everyone! Another major plot reveal in this
     chapter. I originally meant for this to come later, but I think it
     needs to come out now. The tension is ramping up.
Malfoy Manor.
“I would have supposed that shewas at Lucius’s home,” Armand Malfoy opined. “I
am surprised.”
Rodolphus Lestrange nodded. “It is possible that they have rooms that are
magically concealed, though.”
“If Lucius cast wards for such rooms, I should be able to see them. He is of my
blood.”
“It might have been Lady Narcissa, if this really did happen,” Lestrange said
sourly. “Sheis a Black.”
That suggestion visibly irritated Malfoy. “Lucius better not have delegated
that kind of magical power to her, a witch who is not even of his own blood!
That castle was meant to be his. He is the one who came to its defense sixteen
and a half years ago when we learned of the treasonous plot! And it was the
first English holding to fall to us. For him to grant warding power to an
English-blooded witch….” He trailed off darkly.
“Bellatrix could also be with her father, Cygnus Black. He is a reclusive
sort.”
“Yes, she could,” Malfoy agreed. “That is a good point. I want you to
investigate that idea, Rodolphus. At once.”
Lestrange was startled at the abruptness of the order. “My lord? Are you going
to be all right in my absence? Your tonic—”
Malfoy dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “I have found that I need less
of it, less often, since that elf died. I think it was poisoning me, negating
the effects of the tonic. My mind feels sharper, too.” He smiled menacingly.
“I am glad of this, my lord,” Lestrange said obsequiously, “though your mind
has always been sharp—”
“Don’t be a fool, Rodolphus,” Malfoy snapped. “Your loyalty is noted, but you
sound like a fool. I was slipping. You and I both know it, and now that the
traitor elf is dead, I feel much better. I will be quite all right. See to
Cygnus Black.”
Lestrange bowed. “As you wish. Shall I go alone? If she isthere, I would be
outnumbered.”
Malfoy considered that. “I will send Rosier and Selwyn with you.”
Lestrange raised his eyebrows. “Rosier, my lord? Bellatrix’s mother is Lord
Rosier’s sister.”
“Rosier owes me! He refused the proposed alliance with the Parkinson girl. He
claims that his grandson is a very close friend of Draco and that breaking the
betrothal to give her to Draco would create discord. They are only second
cousins! But he is adamant that it must not be done, so I think he should have
to deal with his sister Druella’s offspring. He will learn that gainsaying my
will has unpleasant personal consequences.” He peered at Lestrange. “Selwyn is
my sworn man. Despite his family name, he has adopted our customs entirely. He
will help you keep Rosier in line, but you are in charge of the operation. I
will make sure that they know that.”
===============================================================================
Rodolphus Lestrange pulled his cloak close as he, Selwyn, and Lord Rosier
stormed away from Lord Cygnus and Lady Druella Black’s secluded manor deep in
the hills.
“It hasto be Lucius and Narcissa who are sheltering the bitch,” Lestrange swore
to his companions.
Lord Rosier nodded. “I think you are right, my lord. If I may say so, I am glad
that my sister was not part of this. I regret that my niece may be. Though,” he
sneered, “it seems that all three of Druella’s brood turned out to be no good!
Bellatrix is a traitor to her husband, Narcissa may be sheltering her, and
Andromeda is married to a Black!”
“Look on the bright side,” urged Selwyn. “At least none of them can have
additional offspring!”
“They cannot, but I need to, since my daughter is useless for matchmaking now.
I need to take a new wife,” Lestrange said sourly. “Once I have found Bellatrix
and taken care of that problem, I will be free to do so even according to the
rules that Alphard Black observes.” He glared ahead as they reached the
boundary of Lord Cygnus’s property. “I hate having to tell his high lordship
this, to be honest with you. He will not like our conclusion. Draco Malfoy is
the last Malfoy heir.”
“Young Lord Draco probably has nothing to do with it,” said Selwyn. “And Lucius
may be relativelyinnocent too. If his wife did this and he let her bully him,
that’s certainly an offense to his high lordship… but it doesn’t seem as bad as
if Lucius were the source of the idea.”
“I suppose Bellatrix mightbe on her own,” Lord Rosier mused. “She seems
resourceful. She might not be sheltering with anybody.”
Lestrange spat as they reached the Apparition boundary. “I’m going to bring my
daughterhome and ask herabout it.”
===============================================================================
Hogwarts.
Tom and Hermione huddled together in the clearing of the forest as they lit the
final Imbolc candle. The candles rested on a flat stone that Hermione had
levitated to this spot. The light of dawn was peeking through the branches of
the trees. Hermione suppressed a yawn.
Tom chuckled at the sight and pulled her close. She wrapped the blanket she had
brought around herself to keep warm as the candles burned and the early morning
light slowly grew brighter.
“This feels vulnerable,” she admitted to him.
“How so?”
“The sun is beginning to rise,” she explained. “We’re not concealed by
darkness… and we cannot assume that people are sleeping.” Noticing the frown on
his face, she reassured him, “But that does not mean I regret it! It’s a lovely
ritual. We’ll just need to have an alibi if someone sees us as we go back into
the castle.”
Tom scowled at her vague allusion to Malfoy’s laws. “If anyone sees us and
asks, we were just enjoying the sunrise. In our defense, it is a nice one. Look
at those colors.”
Hermione gazed at the candles, then the frost-covered ground, then upward to
the reddish morning sky. “The light is returning,” she murmured. “The meaning
of Imbolc. It has certainly returned to us. This should be a cause for
happiness. Tom, I’m not just worried about being caught returning to the
castle.” She gazed at him. “I’m worried about the summer.”
She did not seem quite finished explaining her concern yet. He held her as she
poured out her fears to him.
“Weddings have been attacked before, Tom. I don’t know if it happens to the
wizarding nobility, but it has happened to Muggles before—Saxon and probably
Norman too. When many people gather in one place to revel and make merry, and
drink, they become easy targets.”
“Hermione—”
“Your mother is with child! As soon as that’s known—and it willbe by then,
because it’ll be visible—she is also a target. They will try to kill her
babies. I have heard of that happening too, pregnant noblewomen being stabbed
in the belly. And I don’t think that Malfoy and his allies ever intended to let
us actually wed.”
Tom gazed at the candles, which were stubs now. One of them went out, leaving a
puddle of melted wax on the stone. “I agree with you. They didn’t mean for our
wedding to ever happen, and they will try to harm Mother. But Parselhall is
secure. She has said it so many times. I trust her.”
“So do I, but I just… worry. It would be a perfect opportunity for our enemies.
They know that war is ahead, and this would be an event—probably the
onlyevent—for which all the people they oppose are in the same place. They
would see it as a chance to strike a blow we couldn’t recover from, to end the
war before it begins.”
He considered that. “That is all true, but Mother must know it too. Mother… and
Snape,” he begrudged. “I’ll write to her just in case, though. We willbe
prepared. What you describe—it won’t happen.”
Hermione gazed at the rest of the candles. The ones that were still burning
were flickering dimly, surrounded by pools of wax. She drew her wand and
extinguished them, then cleaned the wax off the stone, leaving no evidence that
anyone had performed an illegal Celtic ritual. Tom scowled at her movements but
did not try to prevent her from clearing up; he understood the reason. When she
was finished, he offered her his arm, and together they walked out of the
forest.
The reached the courtyard of Hogwarts, only to see at once that they were not
alone. Two cloaked figures were standing in the shadows, having a conversation.
The sky was still dark enough that it was not possible for Tom or Hermione to
identify the people—
The shorter figure turned around, eyes wide and frightened. “What are you two
doing out of the castle?” Adelaide Lestrange exclaimed.
Tom stared back at her. “We watched the sunrise,” he replied curtly. “What are
you and—Professor McGonagall?”
Hermione was equally shocked. Minerva McGonagall was the Head of Gryffindor,
not Slytherin. Why would shebe helping Adelaide with whatever was going on?
The taller cloaked figure peered authoritatively at Tom and Hermione. “Both of
you, get behind that arch,” she said. She turned to Adelaide again. “Are you
ready? Do you have everything in order?”
“Everything that I need,” the girl mumbled. She gazed at the castle of Hogwarts
unhappily. “I still cannot believe this—I know I was not your best pupil, but I
looked forward to being here, and now—” She broke off, turning her hooded head
away.
McGonagall was silent for a moment. “It may be that you can return someday,”
she said.
Adelaide shook her head, as if to dismiss that idea. McGonagall pursed her lips
but did not speak again to contradict her. Hermione and Tom watched from a
distance, hidden from behind the arch that McGonagall had directed them to, as
a third person appeared in the courtyard with a pop. This one was silhouetted
in the morning light, so they could not identify who it was.
The figure shook McGonagall’s hand gingerly and turned to Adelaide, placing a
hand on her shoulder. A sob wracked the girl. In the next moment, both of them
Apparated away.
McGonagall then turned to the arch where Tom and Hermione were concealed. She
strode over and peered at both of them.
“‘Watch the sunrise,’” she repeated skeptically. “Lord Thomas, I am well aware
of what day it is, and I will certainly keep your secret for you. I am of that
blood myself, so I have no desire to get anyone in trouble for observing the
old holidays. But you and Lady Hermione will keep your lips sealed about what
you just witnessed as well.”
“Is she leaving the school?” Hermione asked quietly.
McGonagall nodded. “She has been targeted by her own father. Apparently he
thinks that she knows where her mother is and means to harm her if she won’t
tell. She came to me after a Transfiguration lesson to tell me. It was
unexpected, because she never seemed to regard me as a mentor, but I think she
wanted to confide in a woman. Her own female friends in Slytherin have
abandoned her too.”
Tom and Hermione had noticed that. Adelaide’s band of Slytherin girls had
ostracized her since the owls had arrived to deliver the fateful news to her
and Draco Malfoy.
“It is despicable, and even though I was not her Head of House, and she was far
from my favorite pupil, I will not watch this sort of atrocity happen to a
witch.” Her lips thinned even further than they already were. “High Master
Dumbledore and the other professors do not know of my role in this.”
“They will not find out because of us,” Hermione promised her. “I swear.”
“And so do I,” Tom said, as they held their wands aloft.
McGonagall nodded. “I accept your oaths. Now, get back inside the castle.”
===============================================================================
Adelaide had left behind some of her relatively impersonal belongings, as well
as a note that apparently—according to the story being told—indicated that she
was leaving the country itself to go to the Continent.
“I very much doubt that,” Tom confided to Hermione that night in their private
room. “But of course, she had to have an explanation other than the real one.”
Hermione agreed. “It’s worrying, Tom. I do not know exactly what Professor
McGonagall was implying this morning, but if she is that afraid of her own
father,the man must be a monster. I mean, he is, of course,” she clarified,
“but it’s a rare monster indeed who turns against his own child.”
“He is following in the footsteps of Armand Malfoy,” Tom said sourly. “For her
sake, I hope that he never finds her, because her fate will probably mirror the
fate of Malfoy’s offspring too if he does.”
Hermione shuddered.
“On the other hand, my mother received some good news about… the Muggles,” he
said. Hermione instantly knew that he was referring to the widow Lady Cecilia
and her child. “The child is a girl, but the two of them went to live with her
family. It’s a relief.” He sighed and stretched his legs in front of him.
“Your friends have been better to me,” she said in a change of subject. “I
think that what you said to them last month did the job.”
“Good,” he said. “Whenever we have a meeting again, you are invited.”
She smiled and curled against his side. “I think I willcome, actually—and I was
just about to tell you that the Friends of the Founders are holding a meeting
tomorrow night, and that youare invited.” She gazed wryly at him. “If you can
bring yourself to sign that paper stating that you will not tell any Malfoy
allies about it.”
He scowled. “I still don’t like swearing oaths to them… but if it really does
refer only to Malfoy allies, I suppose I can do that.”
===============================================================================
The following night, Tom and Hermione ascended the many staircases to go to the
Come-and-Go Room for the meeting. They linked their arms together and walked as
close to each other as they could. Hermione was thrilled at how eager he was to
express their bond once again, and a smile formed on her face almost
involuntarily at the thought. She continued to smile as they entered the room
and Tom signed the document, even though his eyebrows narrowed and he took in
his breath abruptly as he affixed his name. Harry gave them an encouraging look
and handed them flagons of ale for refreshment. Hermione noticed relief in his
eyes as she sat down with hers.
Unfortunately, the smile faded from Hermione’s face as soon as the Weasley boys
entered the room. The twins bore expressions of haughtiness, as if they knew a
secret that no one else did. They regarded Tom with surprise. One of them
narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Tom, while the other snorted lightly at the
sight of Tom and Hermione’s blatantly affectionate, possessive body language.
It was obvious to Tom and Hermione that the Weasley twins either regarded their
affections as insincere, or found it amusing to have observed a noble couple in
an affectionate moment. Tom noticed, and he glared back at them, making a point
of holding Hermione around the waist.
The younger Weasley boy was not so able as his older brothers to control
himself. He sneered openly at Tom and turned to Harry and Neville. “Why is
hehere?” he demanded. “The last I saw, he refused to sign our list and stormed
away… though I suppose she”—he gestured at Hermione—“must have told him
everything anyway.”
Wordlessly, Tom rose from his seat, drawing his wand. He advanced toward Ronald
Weasley.
Hermione leapt to her feet and grabbed Tom’s arm. “Leave it,” she said. She
shot a harsh glare at Weasley. “Some people are churlish. Don’t sink to their
level.”
“Lord Thomas is here because he is interested in the same goals that we are,”
Harry Potter spoke up, peering darkly at Weasley. “Anything Lady Hermione told
him is between them. The oath only refers to Malfoy’s allies, which Lord Thomas
absolutely is not.”
“Maybe it should be broader,” Weasley said, continuing to glare at them. He
edged closer to his bigger, taller brothers. “Maybe it should include talking
to anyoneexcept ourselves and our families.” He sneered at Hermione. “And he is
not your family yet.”
“That oath would prevent usfrom gaining any new allies, since we couldn’t tell
anyone else about the group,” Neville Longbottom said sharply. “Sit down and
leave them be, Weasley.”
Ronald mumbled something resentfully to his older brothers as he sat down. Tom
made a motion to follow him, but Hermione reached again for his arm and pulled
him back towards her. He sighed but assented.
Harry strode to the front of the room. “Welcome to all, as always, and good
evening to you. The Weasley family has some important news for us tonight,
which I understand that Ronald Weasley will tell—”
Tom glowered at this.
“—and I myself would like to announce that my godfather, Sirius Black, is
getting married to Marlene McKinnon Valant, of Godric’s Hollow, in a week.” He
raised his flagon in a toast, and in the next fraction of a second, the group
members all followed. Hermione and Tom exchanged meaningful, pointed glances
with each other as they clinked theirs together with the flagons of the people
nearby.
I wonder if Regulus has told him anything yet, Tom thought as he quaffed his
ale.
The three Weasley boys had joined the toast, but they all hovered in a knot,
gazing suspiciously outward at the others. Harry noticed.
“Is something wrong?” he inquired. His voice was just a little too innocent.
“I mean no offense to your godfather,” Ron Weasley said, “but I have heard some
things about his bride.”
“What have you heard?”
“Her first husband, a Muggle, fell fighting for the queen-pretender.”
“That’s true. Is there a problem with that?”
The twins nudged Ron. He scowled. “I suppose not.”
Harry nodded curtly. “I am glad to hear it. Now, the next bit of news tonight,
as I mentioned, is going to be given by… Ronald Weasley himself.” He gestured
courteously as Ron rose and came to the front of the room.
“Some of you may know that my eldest brother, William, has been on the
Continent for a while, trying to gain the support of the goblins. I am pleased
to tell everyone that… he has managed it at last.”
Polite applause filled the room, but Tom did not join in. He gazed at Weasley
with a studying look, as if trying to read his thoughts. Perhaps he is,
Hermione thought.
“I understand that he has promised them quite a treasure trove of goblin-made
artifacts that they said had been stolen from them by English witches and
wizards,” Ron continued.
Tom’s eyebrows narrowed abruptly. “Excuse me?” he spoke up. “Stolen? And he
believed their word, just like that?”
“He says that the goblins have a different view of property—that the creator of
something is always the owner, and any ‘payment’ for it is rent, and passing it
on to one’s heirs is theft from the goblins.”
Tom sputtered in contempt. “So what?” he exclaimed. “If that is what they
think, then they should put it in the contracts they have with their human
customers—or not do business with us at all! Why should wedefer to their views
if they lie and deceive us, just so they can hold a grudge about how wicked
humans are? There is a reason we don’t trust goblins,” he finished darkly.
Ron was standing at the front of the room, appalled. He turned to Harry Potter
and Neville Longbottom in outrage. “I cannot believe you allow this,” he
complained. “Is it because he is noble?”
“We have always allowed debate and dissent, Weasley,” Neville said.
“Well, I think this is taking it too far.” Ron pointed at Tom. “He is not with
us! I don’t know why he is here—or why sheis here, unless it was to spy on us
for him—but he is not on our side. How can you not see that?”
“Sit down, Ronald,” one of the twins growled.
He almost looked for a moment as if he might, but he changed his mind. “No,
let’s talk about it. I really would like to know why Riddle is here—oh, pardon
me, ‘Lord Thomas,’” he said, giving a mocking bow.
Tom drew his wand and advanced. “I would like to know why you are here,” he
said, pointing his wand at Weasley’s forehead. “Half of the pupils in the
school heard what you said about witches when Malfoy’s Imperius laws went up!
You don’t have an objection to witches being controlled!” He glared at the
younger boy’s face, trying to lock his gaze with Weasley’s, but Weasley kept
his eyes directed at his feet out of intimidation. “And now your brother has
negotiated an ‘alliance’ that loots Britain’s magical treasury and hands it
over to the goblins! What authority does your brother have to pledge that? Who
do your family think they are?”
“My family has more authority than—” Weasley suddenly slammed his lips shut as
the twins rose from their seats.
“That is a fair question, actually,” Harry said, frowning as he considered
Tom’s words. “What isyour brother talking about giving the goblins, and when?
If it’s something your family owns—or would gain at the end of a war, because
it was something you lost to Malfoy—then that is your own affair, but is that
all he promised them?”
“I want to know why he thinks that his family members have the authority to
make promises like that,” Tom repeated, glaring at Weasley.
“And Iwould like him to explain what he said about witches and Malfoy’s law,”
Hermione added, standing up.
Ronald Weasley looked like a trapped rabbit. “I was angry about my mum!” he
burst out. “And the goblins—my brother—it’s just a promise he made, right?”
“Are you implying that he did not mean it?” Tom said.
“He meant it, but… I don’t owe you an explanation,” Ron said sullenly.
“But you owe us one,” Harry spoke up. “Neville and me. And Luna,” he added as
she took his side, “and… your own sister?” Ginny Weasley had taken her place by
Neville, and was gazing at her brothers in shock.
One of the twins finally rescued Ron. “As I understand it, our familyhas taken
the lead with the full approval of your father, Potter; your parents,
Longbottom; the Macmillans and Bones; andDumbledore. We thought that your
parents would have told you. Truly, we did.”
Tom and Hermione glanced quickly around the room to get a look at everyone’s
expressions. Harry and Neville were shocked. So was Luna. Susan Bones and
Ernest Macmillan were surprised. Ginny Weasley was outraged.
“Why would you have thought that?” she exclaimed. “You did not even tell me
that they were now leading it, let alone that Bill had promised wizarding
treasure to the goblins that was not his to give away!”
“I think they decided not to tell you because—” the twin who was speaking broke
off.
“Because I am a witch?”
“Because you are young.”
“I think it’s because I am a witch. I know what Mother thinks. She is such a
hypocrite.”
Harry attempted to interpose. “Let’s all calm down,” he urged. “This is very
surprising, and I think we all have additional questions….” He trailed off, his
attention distracted by Tom.
Tom was still trying to lock eyes with any of the Weasley boys. At last, he met
the blue eyes of Ronald Weasley. He gazed hard into the other boy’s face for a
moment, his dark eyes widening in unmitigated shock at whatever thought he had
just read. His eyebrows narrowed as he turned aside.
“Tom?” Hermione asked.
He shook his head quickly. “I will explain later,” he said in a tone so low
that no one else could hear it. To Harry he said, “You are quite certain that
you know nothing of what your father or anyone else’s parents are doing for
this—group?”
He shook his head. “This is a surprise to me. I had no idea that the Weasley
family now led the group… the outsidegroup, of course. As for this goblin
alliance….” He turned to the Weasley boys. “What treasure did your brother
promise them, and when?”
One of the twins replied. “At the end of the coming war, the goblins who fought
for us would get to look over all the wizarding treasure and take back anything
that belonged to them.”
Tom’s jaw dropped. “What?” he roared. “How dareyou! I don’t know if my mother
owns anything goblin-made—though she probably does—but it doesn’t matter. How
dareyour family! Your plan is to win the war, sit high and mighty, and give
away the treasury to foreign agents? And they are, Weasley. They are not
witches and wizards. They do not share our interests, and by your own
admission, they have been living on the Continent, to boot.”
“This is a… surprising bit of news,” Harry said haltingly, staring at the
Weasleys. “How did your family think the wizarding nobility would accede to
that?”
“Most of them support Malfoy and Lestrange. They would be defeated.”
“Not all do,” Hermione spoke up, standing beside Tom arm-in-arm.
“I understand exactly why you did not want us here,” Tom snarled to them, “and
why you wanted to expand that oath of silence! My family and our allies are
your enemies too, now, aren’t they?”
Ronald Weasley drew his wand on Tom and sent a curse at him. Shocked, Tom
blocked it, then returned a stronger one. Weasley crashed backward, stumbling
on his feet. He fell backward on the floor.
Everyone else in the room went for their wands if they did not already have
them in hand. Harry and Neville shared a quick glance, then raised theirs high
and sent showers of magical sparks through the room.
“Wands away!” Harry exclaimed. “This has gone too far already!” He gazed at
Neville for nonverbal confirmation of something. Neville nodded grimly. Harry
turned back to face the restive group. “I think this should be the final
meeting. Clearly, things are going on at our parents’ homes that mostof us know
nothing about. Anyone who wishes to practice magic, as we did in previous
years, please let me know so that we can form a new group for that. But this
political group seems like a sham to me now, to be frank.” He gazed at the
Weasleys in disappointment. “I did not know that your parents and brothers were
making plans of that magnitude.”
“It is not our fault if your father did not tell you,” said Ron, getting to his
feet again.
“No, it isn’t, but I see little point in meeting if our opinions mean nothing
to anyone. What is the purpose of this if people are going to make the
important decisions behind our backs?” He flicked his wand, summoning the list
of names, and folded it up. “We are still bound not to talk of this to Malfoy
or his supporters… but….” He trailed off, gazing at Tom and Hermione in
concern.
Tom was staring back at Harry, trying to come to a decision about something. He
then glanced away, meeting Hermione’s gaze with his. He pulled her close and
gave the Weasleys a withering glance as they left the room together, ahead of
everyone else.
They walked quickly down the hall, almost running. Tom was in a hurry, and
Hermione was eager to be away from that and find out what he had learned from
performing Legilimency on Ron Weasley. Whatever it was, he had not liked it at
all, but it was also not something that he had wanted to blurt out to the
group. She felt a growing trepidation as they descended the many flights of
stone steps.
At last they reached the ground floor. Tom strode toward their private room,
closed the door behind Hermione, and locked it tightly with magic. He sank onto
a sofa and pulled her down next to him.
“Hermione,” he finally said, “I did not want to tell Potter this until I asked
your opinion first.”
She remembered the conclusion of the aborted meeting, and how he had stared at
Harry contemplatively. “Is this about what you read in Ron Weasley’s thoughts?”
He nodded. “This is bad, Hermione. It’s worse than giving away other people’s
property to goblins, and that’s quite bad enough in its own right.” He took a
deep breath. “The Weasleys have one son who is knighted.”
“I know,” she said. “Ginny Weasley mentioned it that other time that you
came—briefly.”
He looked pained at that memory. “I really wish I had stayed, then,” he said
quietly. “I humiliated you that evening, and I am sorry, and it seems that I
got what I deserved for it by missing out on hearing that.” He sighed. “I doubt
I would have guessed then, but enough has happened since then…. Hermione, he is
not just a knight. He is the Muggle pretender Stephen’s personalwizard knight.
The eldest brother has plans to go to the Muggle court as well. They have
formed an alliance with him. His Muggle supporters—many of them—back him
specifically because they do not want a woman, his cousin, ruling. He is also
offering the church power over many government affairs.” He put his head in his
hands. “God only knows what the Weasleys have told him about wizards and
witches! This could be a disaster, Hermione.”
She was gazing at Tom in horror. “Tom! Lord Regulus’s first visit to Parselhall
last summer! He told us that his grandfather Lord Arcturus had heard of magic
being used in a battle in the Muggle civil war, and that they thought it meant
Malfoy or Lestrange had an alliance with one of the pretenders. It wasn’t!” She
glared at the ceiling. “It was a Weasley!”
He gaped at her. “You’re right,” he exclaimed. “You are absolutely right.” He
gazed ahead, his eyes wide with alarm and upset. “Mother has to know of this.
She will want to tell Lord Regulus about it, of course.” He turned to her.
“What about Potter? Does he live with that wretched father of his still?”
“I don’t know, but it sounds as if he might have the option of living with
Sirius Black soon instead.”
“I hope he does. You should urge him to do that,” Tom said.
“And of course, this is why Harry’s father and the Weasleys dislike Sirius’s
fiancée,” she glowered. “Her first husband fell fighting for the other side!”
Tom glowered back. “Do you think we should tell Potter about this?”
She considered. “Yes,” she finally said. “He was not happy when the Weasleys
gave their news. He dismissed the meeting early and disbanded the group. He is
angry with his father already. He needs to know.”
===============================================================================
Tom and Hermione took Harry aside privately the following evening to give him
the bad news. His green eyes grew wider by the moment as they explained the
full story to him—minus the information from Regulus Black, which they had
sworn not to talk about with others.
“I cannot believe it,” Harry gasped at last. “How could they do that? And not
to tell Ginny anything?” He gazed out. “This must be what my father was keeping
secret in his correspondence. And are Neville’s parents part of it? Do they
support this?”
“I was not able to tell that from what I read in Weasley’s thoughts,” Tom said.
“I am more concerned about Dumbledore.” He gazed at Hermione. “You said over
Christmas that you had overheard him arguing with McGonagall about the
Weasleys.”
Hermione nodded. “Harry knows about that. I told him, and we agreed it had to
be the Weasleys that they were discussing. Dumbledore was convinced that the
Weasleys were insincere in whatever they were saying—promising—but McGonagall
believed that they meant it and criticized the behavior of the boys in
particular as evidence to support her opinion.”
“I remember. This is put in a very different light now,” Tom growled. “It
sounds as if they have offered concessions to the pretender that will harm
witches. So—witches, anyone who owns goblin-made property, wizarding nobles who
oppose Malfoy—I wonder if they have made any other promises that betray the
magical population of Britain?”
That observation was left in the air, for Hermione and Harry to contemplate.
“I am going to leave my father’s house,” Harry said abruptly. “Sirius needs
support.”
Tom and Hermione shared knowing, secret grins.
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
Merope read Tom’s letter—which Hermione had also signed, she noted—and set it
down abruptly. She turned to Severus in concern.
“Lord Regulus and his family were correct,” she said. “There is an alliance
with one of the Muggle pretenders to the throne. They were wrong about who made
it, though.”
Severus raised his eyebrows.
“It is not Malfoy and Lestrange. It’s the Weasley family—and very likely Albus
Dumbledore.”
Severus sat own in his chair, his brow furrowing. “That is not good news. That
basilisk—I understand exactly why your son did not want it left at Hogwarts,
even if he did not know at the time how dire this was. We need to have a plan
for getting it away from Dumbledore as soon as possible.”
“That may not be very soon, Severus. It cannot be Apparated, and it’s too cold
to transport it by non-magical means. At least Dumbledore cannot get into the
Chamber of Secrets without the complicity of a Parselmouth, and Tom is the only
such at Hogwarts.”
“Should we tell our allies?”
She considered that. “Let’s tell Lord Regulus. He is our chief ally now, after
all, and since his grandfather was already on the trail of this when he died,
he deserves to know first. We can discuss together, with him, what to do about
telling the others.” She gazed out the windows at the thawing grounds. “Tom and
Hermione also tell me that they are concerned about the security of their
wedding. It’s a valid concern.”
“Their wedding should not be held on the date that we give out publicly,” he
said. He turned away from the landscape and faced her. She moved to face him
but found it hard to meet his eyes. “It should be held—quietly—at an earlier
date, with only the invited guests aware of that. Otherwise… the ceremony will
be targeted. They are correct about that. Regulus is convinced that the elf
source was killed, and I fear that he is right, but he was sure that Malfoy had
not given up his plan to force you to marry a loyal man of his own. Frankly, I
think we should make the first move.”
Merope’s face turned grim. “Severus, I don’t even know what that move should
be. What if Tom is right about Lord Malfoy, and he is deathless? And apparently
we may have more than one enemy to fight before this is over. The ground is
thawing. Summer is coming quickly.”
He gazed out at the grounds once again, thinking.
***** A Change of Plans *****
Chapter Notes
     Surprise! I had a snow day, so that means you get a bonus chapter
     this week! This one is mostly rather dark and foreboding, I'm afraid,
     but it contains some new points of view that I expect you have all
     very much wanted to have for a while.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Castle Draconis, Godric’s Hollow.
Lady Narcissa Malfoy passed through the great, heavily warded double doors to
the private family quarters of the castle. Her beautiful face was pinched; she
held a document between gloved fingers as though it bore a curse. She reached a
blank expanse of wall, removed the glove on her right hand, and—keeping the
scroll under her arm—drew out a small knife to nick her hand. Wincing, she
pressed it against the stone surface.
A door outline appeared for a moment and then completed, revealing a heavy
wooden door. It swung open of its own accord. Narcissa healed her hand and
entered the room, making sure to close the door behind her.
It was a relatively small room, with a bed, two chairs, a table, and a bookcase
in close quarters. A narrow doorway indicated a smaller room adjacent to it, a
storage closet that had been repurposed. Bellatrix Lestrange sat in one of the
chairs, reading a book, scowling deeply.
Narcissa took her seat and handed the document to her sister. “Lucius just
returned from his high lordship’s castle,” she said tautly. “Apparently, he has
procured a civil divorce for Rodolphus. This is the announcement.”
Through the narrow inside doorway, a smothered snarl echoed.
“Adelaide, come out at once and speak to your aunt,” Bellatrix snapped.
She emerged from the tiny room, her face contorted in a way astonishingly like
her mother’s. Bellatrix scowled for a moment, but then she supposed that, even
if she were determined to look like that, at least she did not resemble her
vile father. Since her mother and aunt occupied the two seats, Adelaide
remained standing.
“You may sit on my bed,” Bellatrix said. Adelaide complied.
Bellatrix then turned to her sister, her eyes wide and angry. “And what do I
care if that bastard has divorced me? He hasn’t been faithful to his marital
vows in years. He could not keep his dick out of the Muggle whores of the
village—”
“Bellatrix, your daughter,” Narcissa said sharply.
Bellatrix and Adelaide exchanged indifferent glances. “Do you really suppose
she doesn’t know about these things?”
“It’s uncouth. You sound like an English churl, not to put too fine a point on
it.”
Bellatrix sneered. “Our father isEnglish. The English churls seem to treat
witches better than Normans. Far better to say ‘uncouth’ words than to threaten
one’s wife with execution and take the side of a rapist against one’s own
child! I’m very glad indeedfor you that the worst you have to worry about from
Lucius is that he might have a social faux pas.”
Narcissa looked chastened at that.
Smugly Bellatrix continued. “As I was saying, Cissy, I don’t care if Lucius’s
grandfather did that for him. It’s good riddance, as far as I am concerned! I
have wanted to be rid of the Muggle-fucking lout for years. What interests me
more is when and how thissituation might change.” She gazed scornfully around
the small, hidden, windowless room. “You know that if anything happened to his
high lordship, Lucius would assume the title.”
“Would he?” Narcissa said darkly. “I am not convinced that he would.”
“What do you mean? Do they suspect?”
“Of course they suspect!” she exclaimed. “It’s a matter of time before they
force the truth out of Lucius! Fortunately, he himself cannot use the blood
ward, but of coursethey suspect! I think there are problems with the idea of
anything ‘happening’ to Lord Malfoy in the first place….”
Bellatrix gazed sharply at her sister. Adelaide glanced at Bellatrix in
confusion. “Mother? What does she mean?”
Narcissa shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t speak of what I cannot
prove. In any case, if he did die, how do you know that he would not have
picked Rodolphus to be the new high lord? And then there are other factors. I
am convinced that Lord Black is scheming. He wants revenge for his father’s
death.”
“Yes,” Bellatrix drawled. “I am sure he does. Didyou and Lucius have anything
to do with that? It will not go beyond these walls… obviously.”
“We did not. I think I know what happened now.” She eyed them. “Thiscannot go
beyond these walls either. Lucius has since then discovered a secret entrance
to the castle.”
Bellatrix’s eyes widened in surprise.
“It has a Malfoy blood ward on it, meaning that it would have allowed Lord
Malfoy secret access. I believe that the passage itself must date from the time
when Godric Gryffindor built this castle, though; it looks original to the
structure.”
“You think Armand Malfoy sneaked into the castle and poisoned Lord Arcturus
himself?” Bellatrix exclaimed. Her face paled, as did Adelaide’s. “But that
means he could get in again!”
“We have since then added charms to make it more difficult. But yes, that is
what I think happened. Orion Black has remained furious about it. Our sister
Andromeda is not very communicative, but I think she is with her husband
Regulus on this. And I also wonder if that branch of our family is interested
in allying with… the blood-traitors of Hangleton.”
Bellatrix’s nose wrinkled. “It would be a disgrace if they did. Still, the
Mudblood informed me of the vile thing that was done to my daughter. The one
time I will ever be grateful to a Mudblood for anything.”
“Riddle has a group of friends that followed him for years,” Adelaide muttered.
“They have openly defied the law and worn old symbols on their clothing. I
think they have performed the illegal holiday rituals, too. And those families
are allied with Lady Riddle now.”
“So,” Narcissa said, rising to her feet, “you should ponder this, sister.
Lucius and I are not assuming that he will ascend to his grandfather’s
position, if his high lordship is even close to death—which I highly doubt.
Rodolphus might—or there might be war.”
Bellatrix scowled again. “As miserable as that prospect is, at least it would
mean that Adelaide and I could get out.”
“Ifwe all survived such a war,” Narcissa said pointedly. “What makes you so
certain that we will? No one trusts us, Bellatrix. Lucius and I have no allies
except our own vassals.”
“What?” she breathed, horrified.
“It’s true. The Blacks do not trust us, Lord Malfoy doesn’t, your former
husband certainly doesn’t, and the Riddles seem to detest us because of our
family name.”
“Why do you care about that pack of blood-traitors?”
“I don’t care about them. But I am no fool, Bella, and I see signs that they
are seeking something higher than what they have. If there is war, we might
face the prospect of a Black or a Riddle in the seat that Lord Armand Malfoy
currently holds. Obviously, if there is a war, and Rodolphus and Lord Malfoy
win, we are all lost. But if not… what would you rather have, a half-blood with
a Mudblood wife ruling wizarding Britain? Or a Black, as we are by birth?”
“Are you suggesting allying with that lot? Half-bloods, blood-traitors, and a
Mudblood?”
“I’m suggesting nothing except that you should ponder what I’m telling you.”
She pushed the door open; from the inside, it did not require a blood
sacrifice. With a single, pointed look, she left her sister and niece to their
thoughts.
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
Winter was turning into spring, and Merope was noticing changes in her body. It
might not have been noticeable if she were carrying only one child, but with
two, she noticed that she was beginning to gain weight and that a bump was now
visible. A small one, one that she could still conceal with the right robes,
but nonetheless….
In the morning light of their bedroom, Severus stretched and turned to her. He
smiled as he noticed what she was examining.
“They will be born healthy,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I know it. Look at
how well they’re developing now.”
“I certainly hope so,” she said. “It does look good.” Her eyelids fluttered
closed as he touched the place. It was still so wonderful to share the joys of
a pregnancy with the child’s (or children’s) father—her husband. Sir Thomas had
abandoned her before Tom was born, and even during the pregnancy, there had
been the awful, terrifying secret between them—the secret of her magic, the
secret of the magic that their child would certainly have. Merope could not yet
detect the magic of these two, but one generally couldn’t until about half
term, if then. Sometimes a prospective mother never did, and had to wait until
the child was able to produce a magical outburst to know that the child was a
witch or wizard.
She and Severus got out of bed and began to dress themselves. “I hate to
mention this subject again,” Severus began, “but we really must make plans.
Having Tom and Hermione’s wedding on a secret date is only the beginning. As
soon as the date that we give out passes, we will be attacked. We need the
basilisk of Slytherin, and we need to consider attacking first.”
“With the basilisk?” Merope said, frowning deeply. “Severus, I don’t want to do
that.”
He sighed. “Our allies will not want to risk their lives for us if we are not
using all the weapons that we have ourselves.”
“A basilisk is not like a dragon. It can easily be killed. It’s best as a
surprise attack, not a weapon that everyone knows one has. Roosters aren’t
exactly difficult to come by, Severus,” she said wryly.
He considered that. “That is true… and it would probably persuade the allied
families to accept limited use of it.”
“Do they know of the basilisk?”
“You’ll have to ask your son that,” he snarked. “But if he has discussed
Slytherin’s chamber with his friends at all, I think it’s safe to assume that
the parents at least know we mighthave access to it.”
“I’m surethat he has told his friends about the chamber over the years.” She
stared out the window. “What of this new threat? We have not heard anything
from Regulus yet. This is a difficult one, Severus. I almost feel that we
should make an alliance with the queen-pretender, to counter this… but….”
“I think that would be a grave mistake. Her forces are losing the Muggle war.”
His words were grim. “We have two choices. Either make a verylate play for the
Muggle throne yourself, based on your ancestry—”
Merope laughed darkly. “Tom would approve of that, I’m sure! But it’s an absurd
idea, no offense. That line has not ruled any part of this island in six
hundred years.”
“Or somehow consider a way to undermine the Friends of the Founders’ influence
with the Muggle Stephen. What that might be, I do not know.”
She thought about it. “The Weasley family refused to take the oath of fealty to
Armand Malfoy, who—vile as he is—wasKing William’s choice to rule witches and
wizards, and was retained by William’s sons. I wonder if Stephen knows that. I
would imagine not, and I doubt he would be impressed if he did.”
“So, inform him that the Weasleys refused to swear fealty to the same man that
we are going to openly wage war against?” Severus said, grinning.
She shook her head. “I didn’t say it was a good idea.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Unfortunately, I do not have a better one,” he
admitted. “We should focus first on Malfoy and Lestrange, though. They pose an
immediate, dangerous, personal threat to us. I would suggest an attack on
Lestrange’s castle, now that Carrow is the regent of that fief and Lestrange
himself is polishing Armand Malfoy’s arse.”
The corners of Merope’s mouth tugged upward at that.
“Perhaps we should deal with the Weasleys by making a tentative alliance with
some of the other Friends of the Founders, so that we would at least have a
seat at the table. James Potter is a prick,” he sneered, “but apparentlySirius
Black will be strong-armed into a marriage alliance with us, and he has ties,
of course. And the Longbottoms may be reasonable.”
She thought about this. “All right. We shouldn’t act while Tom and Hermione are
still at Hogwarts, of course. They are too vulnerable there.”
“I agree.”
“I am very glad that Hermione studied so hard that she will be a master after
only four years,” she continued. “I would have thought that Tom would be
jealous, but he does not seem to be when it’s Hermione. He probably knows that
he could have done the same thing if he had not put as much effort into his
‘family research’ and ‘alliances.’” Her gaze darkened. “But truly, for
Hermione’s sake, I am glad that she has managed this. I would worry about her
if she had to stay at Hogwarts an extra year after Tom had left.” She
shuddered. “She would be so vulnerable there without him.”
“She does have other friends,” Severus said gently.
Merope took a deep breath and let it out slowly, to relax herself. “Yes. She
does. It would not be as bad as if she were truly alone… and she was estranged
from Tom for so long, but our enemies did not do anything bad to her. Still,
they are feeling emboldened. If everything had happened the same, but Hermione
had to stay an extra year… I would worry about her. Malfoy and Lestrange
would—” She broke off at once. “I almost would have considered changing the
contract with the Granger family so that she did not have to complete her
education before getting married. Fortunately, none of that will be necessary.”
===============================================================================
Malfoy Manor.
Rodolphus Lestrange strode into the great castle, his wand pointed directly at
the back of the wizard who walked in front of him. To either side marched
Selwyn and Rosier.
His high lordship is not going to be pleased, Lestrange thought. He was already
inclined to be frustrated with Burke. And now….
Malfoy sat on the high seat, his eyes gleaming in righteous anger and
satisfaction as Lestrange, Selwyn, and Rosier hauled Caractacus Burke before
him. Selwyn held Burke’s wand.
“Burke,” Malfoy said, “you have been brought before me to answer for
insubordination and cowardice. My loyal vassals visited your manor with the
intention of informing you of my plans for the scheme that we had agreed to
yearsago—and instead, you insisted that you would not be part of it any longer!
You do realize the penalty for direct defiance of your high lord, I hope?” he
concluded, a sinister grin on his aged face.
Burke gazed at Malfoy’s shoes, trying to juggle subservience with courage, not
wanting to look the high lord directly in the eye but also not wanting to
cower. “My lord,” he said, “I do not wish to defy you. Please understand this.
I am not a traitor. But I am nonetheless glad that Lord Lestrange has brought
me before you, because I would speak with you about this plan. I fear it cannot
possibly succeed, and I would like to demonstrate my loyalty to you by
dissuading you from a scheme that could be disastrous.”
“Don’t listen to this cowardly scum,” Selwyn growled.
Malfoy held up his hand. “You say that it cannot possibly succeed. Why?”
Burke swallowed. “My lord, I have brought the locket of Slytherin before
you—and of course, your lordship knows this, but Lady Riddle and her son are
descendants of him. They are Parselmouths, and they could have access to
Slytherin’s great weapon.”
Malfoy’s nostrils flared. “That is your reason, Burke? I know much of Salazar
Slytherin, more than you,and he did indeed create a chamber in the bowels of
Hogwarts to keep a monster. But there is nothing for meto fear from that! Such
beasts are easy to kill. I thought that your explanation would relate to the
wards that Lady Riddle has placed on her castle.”
“That is another factor, sire. They are simply impassable. Any force that
attempted to storm that castle would be killed from above. They could shoot
curses down at us, my lord, and we could not return them due to those wards! I
have examined them. They let spells out but not in. No one is getting into that
castle by force, my lord, with all due respect, and I beg you not to try it. It
will only result in the loss of whoever goes.”
“I have already been told that no one is getting into the castle by force,”
Malfoy said, his lips curling upward. “That is not my plan.”
Burke believed that he grasped Malfoy’s implication. “My lord, do you think you
have a secret way in?”
“I will not inform the likes of youof what I may know,” Malfoy snarled. He
pointed his wand at Burke threateningly. “I want an assurance of your obedience
before I tell you anything.”
“But my lord, I—”
“Or does your obedience depend on knowing my plans first?” he said, his words
menacing. “Is your loyalty to your high lord conditional?”
Burke swallowed hard. “My lord… I have always served you. When my lord Arcturus
Black died, I learned of the Black family’s attempts to undermine you. I do
understand why you….” He trailed off, suddenly realizing what a mistake he had
made.
Malfoy’s eyes widened and gleamed the wrong color. “Burke, you dareaccuse me of
murder?”
“No, my lord! Certainly not! I merely was going to say that I heard of the
Black family’s questionable actions after his death, so I understand why you
would… think about me.” He winced, realizing that this statement was not much
better than what had almost slipped out.
“If you are loyal to me, then you will stop being a coward. I almost think that
you don’t wantto marry Lady Riddle anymore because I expect you to kill her
after you have sired a child on her. Lord Arcturus hated the idea of even
killing the half-blood and Mudblood, let alone this idea. Is that it, Burke?”
Burke gulped. “My lord, I do think that this plan involves a lot of blood…
perhaps more than is truly necessary. Snape, of course, would have to die… but
must everyone else?”
Malfoy sucked in his breath abruptly. He turned to Lestrange. “Take him away.”
Burke gasped in horror as Lestrange, Selwyn, and Rosier grabbed his shoulders
and marched him out of the great hall. He knew, as he left, that he would
either be imprisoned—if he were lucky—or more likely, executed in some ghastly
way. His heart thumped in terror, and as he approached the heavy double doors,
his mind quickly formed a desperate, foolish plan—but it was his only hope.
As soon as he was out of Malfoy’s line of sight, he wrenched his right arm away
from Rosier, who held it, and dug into his belt purse for the locket of
Slytherin. “I cursed this,” he sneered, flinging it in Lestrange’s face.
To his surprise, the gambit worked. Lestrange recoiled in fear of being blasted
with a curse, which gave Burke time to grab his wand away from the startled
Selwyn, run just past the Apparition boundary—dodging Rosier’s curse—and
Disapparate on the spot.
Lestrange was clutching his face, feeling his cheeks and nose all over to
attempt to detect curse damage. The locket of Slytherin lay unattended a few
feet away. Disgusted and frightened of the wrath that he knew they would all
face from Malfoy, Selwyn gingerly approached the locket and cast a spell at it.
When nothing happened, he gazed at Lestrange with contempt.
“He lied,” Selwyn said bitterly. “The bastard traitor lied. It is not cursed.
Take your hands off your face, my lord.”
Lestrange froze in horror. His hands slowly fell away from his face, revealing
a frightened pair of eyes. “No,” he croaked. “We losthim. His high lordship
will be furious.”
“Yes, he will,” Rosier said grimly, reaching for the locket, “but we must face
up to it.”
The three wizards trudged miserably back into the great hall. Malfoy was
visibly startled to see them, but Lestrange could tell from the way his face
soured that he had instantly figured out what had happened.
“Rodolphus,” he said, his voice deadly dark, “what have you to say for
yourself?”
Lestrange knelt and bowed low. “I am so sorry, my lord. The foul traitor
tricked us, throwing that locket in my face and claiming it was cursed. He made
his escape that way.”
Malfoy’s heavy breathing was the only sound audible in the cold castle. As he
awaited his fate, it seemed to Lestrange that every second lasted for an
eternity.
At last Malfoy spoke. “You have failed me, but you have not been disloyal to
me,” he finally said. “You have not betrayed me.”
Lestrange’s heart leapt at these words. Perhaps he would not be executed.
“Nonetheless, you must bear the penalty of failure. Lestrange… I ordered you
granted a divorce from your traitorous hag of a wife. For this boon, you
already owed me, and this failure now has compounded your debt.”
Lestrange held his breath again.
“I know that yousupport the plan for the Riddles. I have decided that, due to
this failure, youwill marry the blood-traitor woman.”
Selwyn and Rosier exchanged relieved glances with each other, but Lestrange was
not happy. He lifted his head and gaped at Malfoy. “My lord,” he sputtered, “I
thank you for your mercy, but… Bellatrix still lives, and there are
consequences to breaking one’s sworn oaths—”
“She lives now,but we will find her.”
Lestrange protested. “My lord,the Riddle woman is a dirty blood-traitor! She
has taken a Mugglebetween her legs—and a half-blood! She consorts with
Mudbloods—”
“How dareyou,” Malfoy seethed. Lestrange lowered his gaze to the floor at once,
terrified that he had gone too far. Malfoy continued, “How dareyou challenge my
decision! Of all people, I expected youto be loyal! I have spared your life and
offered you freedom, after a failure that merits severe punishment! And”—he
narrowed his eyes—“do not think me ignorant of yourconduct. You have had scores
of Muggle women.”
“My lord, they’re women—”
“They are also Muggles, and you are a wizard! I have not spoken against your
actions, but do you suppose Idid such things in my youth? You should control
your lusts better than a filthy Muggle, Rodolphus—but I suppose some of us
areweak, and others are strong. You are fortunate that I recognize your
weakness for what it is and overlook it because of your loyalty.” The final
words were pointed.
Lestrange gulped. “My lord, I thank you again.”
“You will replace Burke in this role. You will kill Snape, Riddle, and the
Mudblood. Whoever Lady Riddle may have had before, it does not change the fact
that she herself is a pureblood—so after you have a new pureblood heir, you
will remove her too.”
Lestrange was still appalled at what his lord was demanding that he do, but he
did not dare protest any further. “Yes, my lord,” he said subserviently. Rather
than focusing on the act of marrying the blood-traitor, he thought instead
about the killings, the acts of vengeance against all of those who had defied
and undermined his high lord’s rule, who had set in motion a chain of events
that had torn apart hisfamily, who were dirtying the wizarding world by their
very existence. “I will kill every Riddle I can get my hands on, and then I
will kill that filthy snake of theirs, and after they are all dead, I will piss
on their graves.”
===============================================================================
Caractacus Burke banged hard on the doors of Cygnus Black’s well-concealed
manor house. He had sent a messenger bird to Cygnus, a distant cousin of his,
and hoped against hope that he would be granted sanctuary.
The family house-elf opened the door and bowed to Burke. “Master and Mistress
have been expecting Burke.” The elf urged him inside and closed the door behind
him.
Burke had not been in this manor house since he was a young man. Like all of
the Black properties, it bore numerous banners with the family’s canine
heraldic device. The menacing teeth of the dog gleamed in the torchlight.
Cygnus Black waited in his high seat, his wife Druella beside him. Although
they were both silver-haired now, she remained an extremely attractive woman.
Cygnus himself had the good looks of most of the Blacks, with a well-trimmed
beard and a fine head of hair. He gazed down at Burke appraisingly.
“I am well aware that you have been doing Malfoy and Lestrange’s bidding,” he
said abruptly.
Burke bowed. “Yes, I have—but they go too far. They would have me marry a woman
only to murder her son, daughter-in-law, and then the woman herself after I had
sired a child on her. And now, I would have to murder her current husband.”
“You are speaking of Lady Merope Riddle. As I understand it, you would have had
to do that before as well.”
“Her first husband was a Muggle,” Burke explained. “She is married to a wizard
now.”
Cygnus considered this before nodding. “You do make a good point.”
“So, cousin, that is what his high lordship Malfoy would have me do now.
Killing all of her remaining family, and finally, the woman herself! That is
too far for me. Marriage creates a bond of family, and those who betray their
own families… well, it is a grave crime, even if his high lordship does not
choose to consider it so when it’s one of his enemies.”
Cygnus nodded again. “I am to understand that Lord Malfoy has also involved my
brother-in-law Rosier in his sordid business.” Beside him, Lady Druella
scowled.
“Yes, he has, though Lord Lestrange is still his right-hand man.” Burke smirked
to himself at the thought. As the one nominally in charge, Lestrange would bear
the brunt of Malfoy’s wrath at the escape. Perhaps the bastard was even dead
now.
“My brother is responsible for his own actions,” Lady Druella said tautly. “I,
however, am more concerned for my daughters. Bellatrix is in hiding, I know not
where. Andromeda and her husband are surely on Lord Malfoy’s list of enemies,
simply because they are Blacks. Narcissa and her husband are definitely in
danger. I realize that Lord Malfoy is also trying to wipe out the Riddle
family, since their schemes started all this. I have come to agree with my
husband’s family that they should be let alone, but I would not be interested
in fighting purely on their behalf. I am concerned about my own children. My
lord husband and I could potentially lose all three of our daughters.”
Burke bowed his head. “I would not have such a terrible tragedy happen.”
“You have lost your manor. We can provide you shelter, but what can you offer
us?” Cygnus asked.
Burke considered. “I can offer you my wand, of course—and I will tell you
everything I know from my time plotting with Lord Malfoy and Lord Lestrange.”
Cygnus and Druella exchanged smug grins with each other.
===============================================================================
Castle Parselhall.
Peter Pettigrew crumpled the letter that he had received today from Amycus
Carrow and closed his eyes, wincing. He was in a bind, and no mistake about it.
 
Wormtail,
You had best come to the right decision about your loyalties. We are losing
patience. You can let others into Castle Gaunt—for now. But if you continue to
make mistakes, your blood-traitor liege will revoke access to you, and she
might do worse. My sister and I had hoped that the magical implements that she
gave to some of the villagers would be useful, but if she has all the Muggles
in Hangleton kissing her robes, then you are on your own. You had better devise
a way to allow others in secretly, and soon. If your presence at Castle Gaunt
proves to be useless, it will end. I doubt that even you can explain away
telling his high lordship about the treason of the Godric’s Hollow rabble. The
blood-traitor witch would not like that, would she?
 
Pettigrew set fire to the note. Before he had returned to the castle, Lady
Riddle had declared it treason to correspond with the Carrows. She had not
blamed him for receiving the previous note, in which Carrow ordered him to
investigate the Muggles, but she would blame him for this. He was on thin ice
and he knew it.
What could he do? Carrow—on behalf of Lestrange and Malfoy, obviously—wanted
him to find, or create, a way to let people enter Parselhall undetected until
it was too late. He wanted a surprise attack. If Pettigrew persisted in
stalling, Carrow would find a way of informing Lord Severus and Lady Merope
about what Pettigrew had done in 1130, and he was quite right that Pettigrew
doubted he could explain that away. Pettigrew supposed that he could tell them
first, and throw himself on their mercy, neutralizing the blackmail… but they
would consider his deed a severe offense and an indication of loyalty to
Malfoy. He probably would not be executed—Severus would want that, but Lady
Merope was merciful—but he would spend a long time in their dungeons, probably
in a dark cell with a magically sealed window, to prevent him from escaping by
transforming into a rat.
Pettigrew wished he had never gone to Lord Malfoy that night. It had seemed
like the only thing to do then, of course. He had loathed the Gaunts—the males,
the father and son whom he served, were mad and wicked—and he had also been
very angry with Prongs and Padfoot. They could have saved him—and his
mother—but they refused.
“But Peter, we cannot possibly shelter you in our little house! It is not a
grand castle like the one you live in.”
“I don’t live in the castle. My mother and I have a manor home on the grounds.”
“Still, that is far grander than our place. We do not have room for you unless
you live as a rat.”
“I would do that.”
James shook his head. “I won’t permit it, Peter. And then what about your
mother? Lily and I will surely have children, and we’ll already have to house
Sirius. Would you ask us to turn him out to make room for your mother, when she
already has a house far better than ours? Don’t be so selfish.”
That was it. Pettigrew was convinced, from that night, that his “friends” from
Hogwarts cared nothing about him. He had toldthem the kinds of things that Lord
Marvolo and Lord Morfin did. It had not mattered. They had really believed
that, as a scion of a knightly family, he could avoid the vile conduct of evil
nobles. James in particular had not listened when he had protested that this
was his liege lord and so it was difficult for him to avoid anything.
There they would stay, safe and snug in their little cottage, James and Lily
and Sirius, so confident that nothing could touch them no matter what they did.
Risk was for lords and knights, like his family. Or so they had thought.
That night, Pettigrew made certain that his friends would never again remember
that he, too, was an Animagus. If they would not be loyal to him, he would not
entrust them with his greatest secret.
Now, he wished he had never turned to Malfoy. Lady Merope was not like her
brother and father. She had given him several chances now. The Pettigrews had
served the Gaunts for ages, and he would have gladly served her.
But… she had also married Snape. He had detested Snape as a fellow Gaunt
vassal. They had gotten along reasonably well as boys, but when he made friends
with Sirius and James, and they had started to harass and bully Snape, Snape
had blamed himfor it as well—and Snape apparently held a grudge for years.
Pettigrew seethed as he thought about Snape’s behavior to him lately. He has
never trusted me, he thought angrily. He made me take Veritaserum the first
night I was here! I did not come here on Malfoy’s orders. I wanted to return to
the family I had served.That perhaps he did not deservetrust did not occur to
Pettigrew.
He then thought of Lord Thomas, Lady Merope’s son. The young man had had little
to do with him so far, and Pettigrew did not know exactly what he got up to
anymore—other than, apparently, reading books about forbidden Celtic magic and
bedding his betrothed all the time—but he had spied on Lord Thomas as a rat in
those early days before the girl took in that cat as her familiar. Lord Thomas
was obsessed with his ancestry in those days, Pettigrew thought darkly, and
that boded ill. Though he was far less inbred than most of the past Gaunts that
Pettigrew’s ancestors had served, and did not bear the surname, he had all the
signs of being just like the worst of the Gaunts. A streak of violence and
madness ran through that blood.
He may not inherit, Pettigrew reminded himself. It might end up being one of
Snape’s twins. They think that they can someday change that law, but even if
they did, Riddle could still be challenged. Lady Merope is a good liege… but
her son could be a menace, and if he isn’t her heir, then her heir will be a
child who is part Gaunt and part Snape. That is no better.
Pettigrew glanced at the ashes of his letter again and shuddered. He did not
want to betray the witch he served. Lady Merope had been kind to him, even when
others had urged her not to. He was worried about what Carrow might write to
her to tell her, but he would just have to keep an eye on the incoming owls.
And perhaps urge her to put up a ward blocking any from their enemies. Letters
can carry curses, he thought, rising to his feet. That is a logical reason to
block them. I’ll advise her, and even though it’s really to protect me, it will
sound good to her.
===============================================================================
Hogwarts, two months later.
Hermione and Tom made sure that no one was watching them on May Eve as they
fled the castle. It was true that all celebrations of Celtic holidays were
illegal, but they both rather doubted that a Yule log or some Imbolc candles
would be quite as brazen an affront to Armand Malfoy’s awful law as a Beltane
fire—orthe deed that they had in mind to follow it.
Or a Samhain ritual, perhaps, Tom thought as he entered the edge of the woods.
I want to do that, and since we will not be at Hogwarts by then, perhaps I
finally can. My ancestors could open doors to the Otherworld.Tom recalled, as
he hurried into the woods with Hermione, that the means that his ancestors had
used to do that were rather atrocious… but perhaps there was a better way. It
was another thing to read about this summer.
They reached the clearing where, three months ago, they had lit the Imbolc
candles. This was already a magical site because of that, so it was a good
choice. Together they laid out kindling into a circle, a magically powerful
shape, then stepped away from it. The time was almost midnight.
The endeavors that they were going to bless were the same, and they were—Tom
understood now—the most appropriate type of activity for this holiday of
fertility and growth. Two years ago, when it was still allowed to celebrate
this holiday openly and the Masters of Hogwarts had made a ritual fire, Tom had
scorned the idea of blessing a romantic relationship. He had instead charmed
his political ambitions. It had worked, he had to admit; that summer, he had
finally managed to make some useful alliances. However, it had come at a
terrible cost to his relationship with Hermione. He realized that this likely
did not mean that the Beltane magic inherentlyraised one goal to the detriment
of something else, but rather, this outcome had been a reflection of his own
sneering dismissal of Hermione’s importance to him. The magic truly had acted
on his own feelings and values. Casting the charm now to bless their
relationship—in a month, their marriage—would not hurt his other goals. Their
relationship was mended now, but knowing the power of Beltane, Tom rather
looked forward to the effects this ritual would have.
Together he and Hermione began to cast the spell in Gaelic. Green and gold
sparks showered from their wands, falling on the kindling. They continued to
chant until, at last, the wood burst into flames. For the most part they
appeared as natural wood fire, orange and gold, but at their heart they were
green.
They raised their wands and cast into the air the symbols of magic, eternity,
and each month of the Celtic year. Hermione was enchanted, her eyes glittering
with the colors of the fire as she watched. Tom realized, with a pang, that she
had never seen this before. She thought she would not get to do it, he thought.
After Malfoy banned it, the Masters of Hogwarts of course stopped recruiting
pupils for this, so she would have assumed she just would not get to do
it—unless we did it later, after she was no longer at the school.
Tonight there would be no sacrifice of fruit. They were going to do something
that Dumbledore would never have permitted for the official school Beltane fire
that he used to have. Hermione had been unsure about it, but ultimately she had
agreed that this was not a malevolent use of blood magic. They drew blades and
cut their palms open, letting a few drops fall onto the flames. What greater
physical sacrifice was there than of one’s own vital fluid? The fire roared,
contrary to logic—but in perfect accord with magic.
They turned to each other with potent, meaningful looks on their faces and cast
the bits of parchment bearing their expressed goals—goal—into the fire. It
accepted them, and immediately, the fire crackled as if in satisfaction and
approval. Flames danced upward, entwined and seemingly knotted together. Sparks
flew into the air. Tom suddenly recalled how, two years ago, he had seen the
symbols of ravens and serpents, and perhaps even a crown. Then he remembered
something else. In the heart of one flame—a flame that, uniquely that night,
burned red—there had been the image of a person, furious and distraught. Tom
had not thought about it since then, and he had not seen it long enough to
identify who it was—but he knew now.
That was my face, he thought. He gazed into the fire, wondering if it would
show him anything of the sort tonight—but this fire did not.
Tom and Hermione held hands by the circular fire as it burned into the night.
Soon the hot, intense crackling had subsided to a steady burn, and the flames
decreased in both height and intensity. The pair turned to each other as the
fire reached its steady state. Almost involuntarily, they fell into each
other’s embrace. Their lips met, their faces damp with sweat from the spring
night and their own proximity to the fire.
He gently lowered her to the ground and began to kiss her. A moan escaped her
lips, and she reached aggressively for his dark hair as he pulled up her robes
and trailed intense, bruising kisses down her face and neck.
They reached for each other everywhere, hands clutching and caressing, lips
crashing together in a fog of heat and breath. Somehow their robes found their
way to a pile well away from the fire, even as Tom and Hermione themselves
remained close enough that the flames heated their bare bodies. The grass here
was dry, but they rolled just a bit and found themselves in a dewy bed. The
heat of the Beltane flames lessened but did not disappear.
Hermione gazed upward at the starry sky, her chest heaving, her legs splayed
wide. “Tom,” she gasped.
He was hovering over her, the angles of his face accentuated by the firelight
that continued to flicker behind them. “Yes?” he said in a voice that was
almost a hiss.
“I took my potion, and it is not really the right time for my body anyway… but
the magic of the day… what if….” She trailed off.
He gazed at her, her skin appearing golden in the firelight. The idea of
Hermione carrying his child, her body fertile and ripe, made him want to take
her right then and not even answer her. And that will happen someday, he
realized. Perhaps even this summer. She will. We will.
“If it happens, then we will be parents eight months after our wedding, and my
mother’s twins will have a niece or nephew less than a year younger than
themselves,” he said, his lips curling upward in a moment of wry humor. He held
her hips. He wanted her so, so badly. “Don’t worry about it, darling. It’s all
right now.”
She considered that for a moment before wrapping her arms around the back of
his neck and her legs around his waist.
The fire burned down to the forest floor. Hermione and Tom stayed in that spot,
clad only in the night sky and the powerful magic of the rite, till the flames
were embers.
Chapter End Notes
     Next chapter will be, at long last, the wedding! It may not come out
     until Sunday.
***** A Green Wedding *****
Chapter Notes
     Here you are! Thanks for all the support of this story.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Hermione walked quickly with Tom to the patch of woods behind Hogsmeade. A
small stone ruin of a structure with classical columns and a crumbling
foundation lay hidden in the trees. In its glory days, it had been about the
size of a small room, surrounded on all sides with columns. A squat,
rectangular stone bin stood in the center. The ceiling had long ago collapsed,
leaving some of the columns broken and an open view of the sky for anyone
standing inside.
“This is ancient,” Hermione remarked, examining the columns. “It must date from
Roman times.”
Tom nodded. “Yet another round of invaders. However, their architecture
outlasted them. They must have used it originally as a temple, but my friends
and I have met here whenever we could manage to escape the castle. It was
greatly enjoyable to plot the reclaiming of our country in the crumbling ruins
of defeated invaders.” He grinned.
Hermione managed to return the smile. Evidently, Tom’s specific form of
patriotic sentiment had emerged from the sea cave with little alteration. He
was better; he no longer regarded everyone with Norman blood as untrustworthy,
perhaps partly out of awareness that the British Isles had seen wave after wave
of invaders over the centuries. He also treated heras his equal. The potion
that he had drunk had made him see how he had acted towards her and his mother,
and he had changed his behavior drastically in that regard. Additionally, the
passage of time had made him understand that his specific goals—wearing the
crown and sitting on the Muggle throne—were unrealistic. But his general
opinions about what the law and culture of the wizarding population should be,
and who should govern it, had not altered that much.
Interestingly to Hermione, she realized that hers had. She was able to see with
clear eyes that Malfoy and Lestrange were introducing destructive policies to
the wizarding population, in the name of promoting their own ancestry as
superior to the “churls” and “barbarians.” It hardly mattered to Hermione that
she shared that ancestry in part. What they were trying to do to wizards
and—especially—witches in Britain was appalling, and now that Tom did not
regard people as potential enemies based purely on their national background,
she was in agreement with him about the government of the wizarding population.
The two of them stood hand-in-hand at the center of the Roman temple, watching
and waiting. Tom’s friends—the “Lords of Beltane,” as they had called
themselves—would arrive soon. In a minute, the pair started to hear footsteps.
Then people started to emerge through the trees: Theodore Nott, Marcus Flint,
Rob Wilkes, Edgar Fawley, and Cormac Avery.
“My friends and allies,” Tom said formally, welcoming them as they stepped onto
the cracked stone surface.
Edgar Fawley gazed at Hermione, then Tom. “We missed you last night, my lord.”
Hermione noted that the young man still spoke to Tom with a noble address. He
did not,however, call Tom by a royaltitle.
Tom nodded. “I was with Lady Hermione. We lit our own fire. I did tell you that
I was going to do that.”
“You did,” Fawley agreed. “I just wondered… ours, the fire that the five of us
lit, did not burn as brightly as I think it would have if you had been there to
help it along. Your magic has always been… superior.”
Tom smirked. “That is very true. But the fact is, Hermione and I put a charm
upon a different part of our lives this time. We’re marryingin a month, Fawley.
And while I have personal confirmation that a person canuse Beltane magic for
something else, the holiday itself… well, our druid ancestors meant the ritual
to be about that.” He eyed Fawley and the other boys. “It wouldn’t have been
appropriate for us to be present at yourfire… unless your fiancées were also
there, those of you who are engaged? I assume not, though.”
“I askedDaphne,” Marcus Flint groused, “and she wanted to come—she is fully in
support of us—but she said she needed to keep an eye on her sister.”
Hermione’s ears pricked up. “Is Draco Malfoy still pursuing Astoria
Greengrass?”
Flint scowled at the ground. “According to her, he’s been emboldened by the end
of his betrothal with Lest—Lady Adelaide, and the fact that they haven’t found
a new witch for him yet. Daphne is afraid they will try to elope as soon as
Malfoy finishes his schooling, which should be next year, like the rest of us.
Except yourself and Lord Thomas,” he added.
Tom considered this. “In a year, things may be very different. Frankly, haven’t
we all intended that the Malfoy family should be deposed? If Lord Lucius does
not rule anything except Malfoy Manor—or Godric’s Hollow—then what does it
matter if they marry? Of course,” he reconsidered, “it could be dangerous for
them to talk and conspire while a war is ongoing, in the meantime, so I think
she is right to try to prevent it.”
Flint nodded. “You say that in a year, things may be different. You expect that
it will happen that soon?” He sounded worried, and the other four looked
concerned as well. “We’ll still be at Hogwarts!”
Tom took Hermione’s arm, pulled her close to him, and stared out grimly. “My
lady mother and my stepfather expect that Malfoy—Armand Malfoy—and Lestrange
will try to attack soon after our wedding. Hermione feared that the ceremony
itself would be targeted, which makes perfect sense… but we mean to prevent
that. Apparently, Malfoy never wanted to admit Lady Hermione to Hogwarts at all
and never got over the ‘humiliation’ that a noble family actually took
advantage of the loophole that he himself left in wizarding law at the time.”
“A loophole that he has since eliminated,” muttered Wilkes.
Tom nodded, his brows descending in irritation at that memory. “Yes. Among the
many vile ‘laws’ that he created over the past four years was one that would
end that possibility for anyone who came after Hermione. And with the two
members of the former Wizards’ Council who could restrain him now dead, he and
Lestrange will continue their offenses. Yes, I think a wizarding war is going
to break out this summer,” he concluded darkly. “So do your parents. That is
why they allied with my mother. If we’re right… then Hogwarts may be closed to
pupils while it rages on.”
The five young wizards stared ahead. “Then Daphne is definitelyright to keep an
eye on her sister,” Flint said.
Wilkes nodded firmly. “It is a good thing that we are all from titled families
that have libraries of magic. I feel bad for the common students if the school
closes.”
Hermione gazed at the young man with surprise. So, she noted, did Tom. “It
would be unfortunate,” she said, “but at least everyone could return as soon as
the danger ended.”
“And as for that danger,” Tom said, “my mother’s plan is to move Slytherin’s
serpent—yes, I found it,” he said as the five boys collectively gasped, “and I
don’t want to discuss that any further.” He squeezed Hermione. “The plan is to
move it to Parselhall… well, more accurately, to a vault far below Parselhall
that’s carved into the hillside. My royal ancestor housed a dragon in it, long
ago… but again, I’ll say no more about that. It is an unpleasant topic. We
already have very powerful wards on the castle, and I would recommend that your
families all do the same. My mother has written to me, and my family and I
agree that Lestrange should be killed first, if possible. It would leave Malfoy
vulnerable. We should attempt to take his fief even before that. He has left a
regent in charge of it, Carrow,in fact, the traitor, because Malfoy has
Lestrange waiting on him like a servant in that demeaning Norman custom for
nobles.”
The boys scoffed derisively at that.
“After that… we shall see.”
===============================================================================
“You did not tell them about your theory regarding Malfoy, or about what you
discovered from Weasley,” Hermione said to him after they were alone again
inside the castle.
Tom gazed at her. “I can’t prove my theory about Malfoy. It’s just a hunch. Of
course, I did have some Gaunt ancestors who had the gift of Divination… their
powers of insight were very good… but I have no evidence. And as for Weasley’s
plot, I have not heard back from my mother about how Lord Regulus took it. His
family would have a better idea of how to deal with the Muggle crown, since
Arcturus sat on the Wizards’ Council. It’s better not to tell them about that
until we have an idea of what to do about it.” He scowled, turning his head to
stare past her. “There isan obvious choice, but I don’t think any of us want
blood on our hands unless it is the blood of traitors, murderers, and rapists.
And the Weasleys, though contemptible, are not that.” He sighed. “We’ll have to
think of something else.”
“Well, I am glad that killing an entire family over a scheme you dislike is not
something you want to do,” Hermione said tartly. “We would be no better than
our enemies.”
Tom turned to her at once, his dark eyes wide. “No! I wouldn’t do that. I think
we need to consolidate power and influence among wizarding nobles, and then
present ourselves as the choice of the magical population. The Weasleys have
made their alliances in secret, with only James Potter and perhaps a few others
aware. The Muggle king would surely respect a demonstration of political power
over a secret promise. And if it comes to it,” he concluded, “we could use the
Imperius Curse and mind magic on the Muggle king to change his mind.”
Four years ago, Hermione would have been appalled at that suggestion. Now, she
considered it a reasonable possible solution to a thorny problem.
===============================================================================
Four weeks later.
The pupils who would be acclaimed as masters lined up in the Great Hall,
dressed in their best robes. Those who were from noble or knighted families
wore their family crests somewhere on their persons. Hermione fingered hers as
she stood beside Tom. Her family’s heraldic animal was the otter. She had
generally avoided wearing it since she came to Hogwarts, since it had been
clear to her from literally the first evening in Slytherin House that Muggle
nobility meant nothing to wizard nobles. However, with only a few more days
remaining of being a Granger, she decided that this was the occasion to wear
it.
Their alliance had changed minds, she thought. Not many, but some. Tom’s own
friends had been perfectly polite to her at the final Lords of Beltane meeting
that she had attended. Their families had entered into alliances with Lady
Merope without making any inappropriate demands or even criticizing the
betrothal. The Blackfamily, of all people, had accepted the idea at long last,
to the extent of seeking an alliance with Tom’s future heir. I understand
exactly why Lord Malfoy did not want me to come, she thought smugly. He did not
want his precious nobles to have to deal with someone like me. He knew that the
minds of some of them would change if they did. She reached for Tom’s hand and
squeezed it, knowing that the gesture was concealed by their wide trumpet
sleeves, but in truth, she did not much care if the whole school saw it.
The many pupils who were not finishing were standing in respect to those who
were. To Hermione’s surprise, she felt tears come to the corners of her eyes as
she met the faces of Harry, Luna, Neville, and Ginevra Weasley. Harry would
finish next year, at least—or so she hoped. It would be ideal if they could
quickly take out Lestrange, Malfoy, and their toadying vassals this summer with
a minimum of fighting, so that the school could continue uninterrupted. If so,
Harry would finish in five years as Tom had done—as she herself likely would
have done if she had not been estranged from Tom for half of her time here,
leaving her with a motive to study obsessively. The others would not be long in
following Harry. They will be fine, she thought. Friendships can last a
lifetime, but we ultimately do not live with our friends, usually. We live with
our families. And I’ll see Harry and Luna, at least, in a few days anyway. They
had accepted her invitations to the wedding. Neville had wanted to come, but
his parents had supposedly needed him in Hogsmeade—and Ginny knew that her
mother would not permit it.
The professors lined up. Slughorn was dressed in heavy green robes, and
Hermione was quite sure it was not her imagination that he gave her and Tom
particularly significant looks as he passed by the new masters of magic. High
Master Dumbledore ascended to the podium at the head of the Great Hall and
gazed out. He began to speak.
“Tonight, this twenty-ninth day of the month of May, Anno Domini eleven hundred
forty-seven, we gather here to recognize those scholars who, after years of
study, are now acclaimed masters in the art of magic.”
A thrill went up and down Hermione’s body, and although she had meant to remain
solemn and staid, a smile burst onto her face at these words. I am a master of
magic, she thought, holding her wand aloft. He has declared it with the power
of his word. Nothing can ever take that away. Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus
Lestrange can never take this from me.
Tom squeezed her available hand and they exchanged quick, proud glances. They
had long awaited this night, and at last it had come. Hermione was so glad that
they could really, truly share it, now that it had.
===============================================================================
Hermione’s parents came to Parselhall the day after she and Tom left Hogwarts.
It was strange seeing them again, she thought as she greeted them beside
Merope, Severus, and Tom. They had been out of her life for so long. Her mother
had more grey in her hair than Hermione remembered the last time she had seen
them.
Their presence at the castle meant that Hermione was unwilling to spend the
night with Tom again until their wedding night. She knew that no real harm
would come of it even if her parents caught them, but it would cause needless
embarrassment. It was not a huge sacrifice, being only a few days.
She was more surprised to see Lady Merope’s present condition. Although she was
only six months with child, the fact that she was having twins meant that she
looked much farther along. Thiscould not be hidden, Hermione thought with some
dismay. There were magical glamour charms, but it was possible to detect their
presence. Every guest would see Merope’s condition, and from there, the news
would spread.
Hermione sighed as she thought of this. She had felt foolish about it at the
time, but when she had her monthly cycle about a week ago, it had made her sad.
She had really thought that being intimate with Tom on Beltane, next to a
Beltane fire, would result in a pregnancy, and after Tom’s assurance that
night, she had come to welcome the idea. It was a disappointment to bleed, for
once. I was taking the potion, she thought, but still… my mother had trouble
conceiving… and so did women on my father’s side of the family. I will give it
time… I will take the fertility potion now… but it would be unfair, in a way,
for a thirty-five-year-old woman who experienced a damaging childbirth to have
twins, while a healthy sixteen-year-old has difficulty.
Lady Merope had decided to tell Lord and Lady Granger only a part of the truth
about the current danger, so they knew that the Wizards’ Council had been
reduced to Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange, and they knew that those two
men and their vassals were very displeased that the wedding was actually going
to take place. They did not know the true reason that Merope had wedded Snape.
They certainly did not know that the young man their daughter would marry was a
kinslayer. With an explanation of the circumstances, Lord Granger might
understand, but it was still a topic that they all deemed better to avoid.
The same was true for several topics of a magical nature. At the head of
thatlist was the Chamber of Slytherin, of course—but Hermione also had no
particular desire to inform her family that their adversary was probably under
a self-imposed, unbreakable curse that came from drinking the blood of an
innocent creature, nor did she intend to mention the fact that witches and
wizards could literally divide their souls and encase them in objects. These
were issues that Muggles could not help them with, in any case.
Hermione noticed that her father was visibly frustrated about something, but
that he did not seem inclined to talk about it. She managed to corner her
mother the night before the wedding—or, rather, her mother came to her to have
a mother-daughter talk about the momentous occasion. For all the distance that
had opened up between her and her parents over four years, Hermione felt a
flood of affection for her mother at this gesture.
In Hermione’s bedchamber—the last night she would sleep in it—they gazed at the
gown that she would wear the following day. It was two shades of green, a dark
green outer robe and a leaf green inner one, with Celtic knots in the same leaf
green attached to the edges of the outer shell, and little flowers picked out
in gold next to these decorations. Although not unheard of among Muggles
either, green wedding robes were a wizarding custom, she had learned; the color
symbolized fertility. The sleeves were almost obscenely wide, a flagrant
display of luxury, but Hermione supposed that one’s wedding day was an
appropriate occasion for that. She would also wear a belt of rich brown silken
cord, loosely knotted in front. She had decided to put on the opal necklace
that Tom had given her for her birthday during their first year at Hogwarts.
“You will be a lovely bride,” Lady Granger said kindly, putting an elegant hand
on Hermione’s shoulder.
Hermione met her mother’s eyes and managed a smile. “Yes,” she said quietly, “I
suppose so. And I thank you.”
“He has been very devoted to you,” the older woman said. “I have made a point
of observing it since your lord father and I arrived. I assume, then, that the
two of you resolved your difficulties.”
“Yes,” Hermione said, the weak smile blossoming into a broad one. “We have been
devoted again for the past six months. We care very much about each other,
after all this time.”
“I am glad to hear it. It is what I hoped for, four years ago. This is why we
wanted you to have a long betrothal and for it to begin with friendship. It’s
of course paramount to secure a good match and an alliance that will provide
mutual benefit, but we knew that we also wanted you and your future husband to
be fond of each other.” She gazed at the wedding gown with satisfied pleasure.
“And I am glad to see, as well, that her ladyship has established herself as a
noblewoman and has strong alliances with others. I know that she is worried
about enemies, but that is just a fact of life for people of our class. In
fact… I think that nobles with magic have it easier. She explained to me how
she has sealed this castle against invaders. We cannot do that.”
Hermione had not thought about it from that point of view in a long time, but
she realized that it was true. For all their fears and worries, Lady Merope,
Lord Severus, Tom, and their allies had a distinct advantage over those whose
security had to be based purely on the physical strength of a fortress and
clever situating of its defenses.
“I noticed that Father was worried about something,” Hermione ventured. “Is
everything all right at Castle Grange?”
Lady Granger pursed her lips. “Everything is well,” she said. “Your cousin
Charles has complained about the size of your dowry and the fact that the
Riddles are not a family with whom the Grangers have ever allied in any
respect, marital, defensive, trade, anything.” Hermione’s eyes grew wide in
protest, and her mother quickly continued. “Don’t worry, my dear! Your father
has put him in his place. It is likely that he wanted more money for himself
one day when he inherits the title. The transaction has already been made, so
it is quite safe. As for his other objection… your father explained to him that
we made the arrangement because of your magical ability, but I don’t think your
cousin likes magic.”
Hermione’s heart sank at that. “What do you mean?” she exclaimed. She thought
of her childhood, of meeting her first cousins—double first cousins—for family
events. They had always gotten on well… but then, that was before she knew what
her abilities were.
“He seemed frightened of it when your lord father explained what it was. That
is understandable, I suppose, from his perspective… it was startling for your
father and me to learn of it four years ago… but he also suggested that he did
not think people of magic should be in the nobility.”
Hermione’s face hardened. “That is unfortunate for him, then,” she said icily.
Lady Granger held her daughter. “I think that in time, he will learn more about
it. Give him time—and don’t worry about it now! He cannot do anything, and
tomorrow is your wedding day.”
===============================================================================
Elsewhere in the family wing, Tom was in the small family parlor with his
mother. Severus was in the potions laboratory, brewing the Draught of Fertility
for Hermione for the following night, and considerately giving them the chance
to be alone before the important day. Tom stared ahead, thinking about all that
had happened since they had come to this castle—since he had met Hermione. I am
lucky to have her, he thought. It was fate that our families were at the same
Wizards’ Council meeting that day, because otherwise we probably never would
have met, but I am lucky that my own behavior did not drive Hermione away from
me forever.
He turned to his mother. Her pregnancy was progressing healthily. Twins were
often born early… but this was still too early for them to survive, even with
magical healing. He hoped that they made it. Although he still did not like to
think of his mother in bed with Severus Snape, his solution was that he just
wouldn’t do so. He was glad that she had a husband now who respected her and
was good to her without that consideration being dependent on a lie.
“Mother,” he finally managed, “I just wanted to tell you… I’m sorry about that
thing I said in our fight last summer. I had no idea… though really, I
shouldhave. I knew that at least two of our ancestors practiced incest, and I
knew that the Gaunts did some evil things. And I could tell that it was
upsetting you when I kept calling you a hypocrite and demanding answers.”
Merope gazed at him, one hand resting on her pregnant abdomen. “I accept your
apology,” she said crisply. “I shielded you from that, to the extent possible,
so even if you ‘should’ have known, to you it was something you had read had
happened once by mutual consent six hundred years ago. To me, it was something
I grew up knowing about, and as I reached adulthood, it became a threat I
regarded with personal terror and dread.” She sighed. “That said, you were
correct that I arranged a betrothal for you because I had a bad experience with
a ‘love match.’ I would not have done it if you and Hermione had not formed a
friendship that day, though. It just seemed the right thing to do—to spare you
what I suffered when your father left me, to help Hermione go to Hogwarts and
assume her rightful place in the world, and to cement your friendship.”
He smiled wryly at her. “Well, I can say now that I’m glad you did it—but
that’s because it’s Hermione.” The smile faded. “I hope it works out just as
well for our future child. I understand the reasoning—the Black alliance is a
critical one—but I hope it works out.” He considered something. “Will Regulus
Black and his family be here?”
“Yes,” Merope said. “We were unsure about that at first—it’s openly declaring
the alliance—but the time has come for secrecy about such things to end. He,
the Lady Andromeda, and Lady Nymphadora are expected to come.”
A sudden, dark thought passed through his mind. “And Pettigrew?” he said
harshly. “We know that he has told Malfoy compromising information before. You
are prepared for himto learn about the Black alliance?”
Merope’s lips thinned, though it was not directed at Tom. “I have discussed
this with Severus. He will be seated amongst the guests. He will not be allowed
to roam free at any point. And my hope is that being included in such a way,
and permitted to see such important things as the presence of Lord Regulus,
will ensure his loyalty.”
Tom stared ahead once again. He hoped his mother was right.
===============================================================================
The guests began to arrive quickly the next morning. The six wizarding noble
families with whom Merope was openly allied came, bringing their sons—and, in
the case of the Greengrasses, daughters. Luna Lovegood’s father then turned up,
with his daughter and Harry Potter in tow. To Merope and Severus’s surprise,
Sirius and Marlene Black came with this group, though the woman’s young
daughter was not there.
“We left her with Lily Potter,” the newlywed witch explained. “Such a good
friend!”
Severus smiled thinly, not wanting this particular person to be a topic of
discussion at all.
Lord and Lady Granger were greeted politely by everyone, though it was apparent
to Merope and Severus that the pureblood nobles were rather nonplussed at the
experience of greeting Muggles as social equals, even Muggles with land and
titles.
However, the most unexpected task was keeping Lovegood away from everyone else.
His behavior was very odd, and he seemed to have little notion of how to behave
in public. Luna herself was not so awkward and gauche as he was, but neither
would she hear a word of criticism of him. It was ultimately left to Harry to
keep him distracted, who—after four years of being in Slytherin
House—understood very well the need to keep such a man from causing a scene.
At last, the Black contingent arrived. Lord Regulus came to the door with great
dignity, his lady wife and… presumed… daughter next to him. Father Alphard
Black emerged through the entrance with them, his clerical materials in hand.
Then, to the utter shock of everyone present, Lord Orion and Lady Walburga
strode through the doors and surveyed the Great Hall with measured,
aristocratic gazes.
The assembled wizard nobles took in the sight with a collective intake of
breath. Merope and Severus were quite pleased; that it was such an evident
surprise meant that Tom and Hermione had kept their word to Regulus and had
told no one. Truth to tell, they themselves were shocked at the appearance of
Regulus’s parents—Lord and Lady Black, theBlacks of wizarding England, the
heads of the great family. Merope was especially surprised at the presence of
the lady. She was known to be a devout believer in blood purity. What must she
think of being here,in the home of blood-traitors, to observe the wedding of a
half-blood and a Muggle-born? Her face was vaguely curdled, Merope noted.
And yet, here she was. Perhaps she did not mind the prospective alliance so
much if it involved the offspring of a son who was already out of the line of
inheritance and his common-born wife, the widow of a Muggle.
Sirius and Marlene noticed their family’s approach. His face twisted in dismay
as his intelligent mind quickly worked out just what they were doing here and
why. He sneered at his parents and brother and addressed himself to Lady
Andromeda and his priestly uncle instead.
“I am surprised to see you here,” he said gruffly.
“Not as surprised as I am to see you,” she replied. “My felicitations to you
and your wife, of course.” She smiled genuinely at Marlene. “I am pleased to
meet you… sister.”
“My godson is a friend of the bride and groom,” Sirius growled. “And he lives
with us now. They specifically wanted him and his girl here as guests.”
“It is an unconventional noble wedding, to be sure,” Andromeda agreed, “with
such a mix of guests, noble and common, wizard and Muggle, but I don’t consider
that a bad thing.”
“What of your husband? What does hethink? That’s what truly matters, according
to the current regime and my erstwhile best friend.”
Andromeda gazed coolly at him. “Regulus sees the matter as I do, more or less.
And he has always respected my wishes and opinions, whether he agrees or not.
The people we are among today also respect witches. You should not assume that
everyone is like James Potter and Armand Malfoy, Sirius.” With that, she lifted
her skirts so that they did not drag on the stone floor and sauntered away with
her family, leaving him to contemplate her words.
===============================================================================
Hermione clung to her father’s arm happily as he led her down the aisle to the
proscenium of the hall, where Father Black and Tom awaited her, dressed in his
own new robes of evergreen, grey, and silver. This was quite a green wedding,
Hermione thought. Tom was trying his best to keep an undignified grin off his
face. Hermione’s pretty green bridal robes accentuated her form very nicely,
Tom thought as she walked towards him.
Father Black began his speech, but Tom and Hermione largely paid it little
attention. Hermione was thinking of that night when they were fourteen and had
consummated the betrothal. According to old wizarding custom, that was a vow
equal in magical potency to a wedding such as this one. Tom had—not broken it,
exactly; he had not betrayed her for someone else, but he had arguably
abandoned her, and he had paid a price for it: He had had to suffer under the
sea cave potion’s effects. Now, though, they were pledging to each other not
just for their own ears, but before many other people.
Black concluded his remarks about marriage. He held forth a ribbon of green
silk, which he allowed Tom and Hermione to wrap around each other’s wrists as
they spoke vows of faithfulness to each other. In wizarding weddings, a
handfasting ceremony occurred. Merope had told Hermione’s parents about this so
they would not be taken aback. It seemed that they had no objection to it if it
occurred with the obvious approval of a priest of the Church—but Tom, and now
Hermione, knew its older origins.
As he pronounced them husband and wife, the smiles that they had been holding
back burst onto their faces against their wills—but at this point, nobody
cared, including Tom and Hermione themselves. They exchanged tender kisses and
held hands at the front of the hall, gazing out at their guests with those
smiles continuing to adorn their young faces.
===============================================================================
A grand feast followed the wedding itself. The crest of House Riddle—a coiled,
three-headed snake encircled by a wreath of elder tree leaves—was displayed
prominently on a banner on the far wall of the grand dining hall. Hermione,
Tom, Merope, and Severus sat at the places of honor at the head table. Next to
them were Orion and Walburga Black. Regulus had understood why his parents,
rather than he himself, should assume this place of honor; he had already
decided to work on his estranged brother now that he had the opportunity to
influence him away from that incomparable lout James Potter.
Merope observed the young newlyweds with affection. They spoke in hushed
whispers to each other at the table, occasionally glancing furtively outward
before returning to their private conversation. She could guess what they were
talking about readily enough… but she had not cared that much two and a half
years ago, and she certainly did not care now. They were eager to share a bed
openly and without fear of detection, which was more than could be said about
many couples of their social status.
She glanced at Peter Pettigrew, who, to her dismay, was somewhat off by
himself. That was disappointing. She had hoped that Sirius Black, who had
supposedly been his friend at Hogwarts, would make overtures to him. At least
he is participating in the revelry, she thought.
And revelry it was. The house-elves kept bringing out dishes, all of them
selected for their Englishness, many of them with a magical component to their
preparation. The guests—including the Grangers—were frankly digging in. For her
part, Merope was enjoying dessert, a blackberry pie, rather out of turn—but she
wanted it now, due to her pregnancy, and her house-elves cheerfully obliged
their mistress’s whims.
A shout rose up from the main guest table, followed by a burst of laughter. It
seemed that the same people who had made inappropriate jests and shouts at
Merope’s wedding were at it again. Merope’s eyebrows narrowed. Even though she
knew that Tom and Hermione had already been intimate, it was a very different
matter for Lord Flint, a man her age, to make ribald, bawdy comments about her
son and… daughter-in-law.
Severus glanced at her meaningfully. “Would you like me to curse that oaf? I
wanted to do it when we were married.”
“Yes, I would like that,” she growled, “but you still mustn’t do it. He’s
drunk, and the last thing we need is a duel amongst ourselves.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Severus drawled. He gazed at Tom and
Hermione. “At least they are so wrapped up in each other that they are
completely oblivious to it.”
“So far,” she said—but in truth, she was very affected by the concern that he
took for the young people. He had never had much use for Tom before, but he
still felt the affection of a stepfather and the loyalty of being in the same
family. Merope reached under the table for his hand, caressing the familiar
bony fingers. He was surprised at the sudden gesture but returned the moment of
affection with a tender smile of his own.
===============================================================================
Merope and Severus were not entirely correct. Tom and Hermione were well aware
of the kinds of jests that their guests were making. They simply chose to
ignore them. This was their day, and they had simultaneously, nonverbally
agreed to not allow any sort of foolishness to mar it for them. Nor were they
strictly whispering about their own anticipation for their wedding night—though
that topic was certainly part of their private discussion. But they had other
things to talk about as well.
“Now would be the time for anything to happen, if it’s going to happen,” Tom
remarked under his breath to Hermione as he gazed across the guest table, where
intoxicated nobles and commoners laughed and chattered. “Of course, the wards
are secure, and nobody can come in without an escort who does have access.” He
smirked and raised his goblet of wine. “To Armand Malfoy’s basilisk-venom-
saturated corpse.”
Hermione gasped at his daring—but she hesitantly joined the toast, clinking her
goblet against his, a shocked yet wry smile on her face.
“He would probably burst a blood vessel if he knew that the wedding he so
reviles the thought of has already happened,” Tom said. “Pity that it may not
mean his final death.” He took another sip.
Hermione looked down at her plate. “Let’s not discuss that right now, Tom,” she
urged.
He set his goblet down. “Fair enough. What would you like to discuss, my dear?”
Her heart thumped at that. “I don’t actually want to discuss—what you are
hinting at—here.”
He gazed out the tall windows. The sky was growing dark. “I don’t blame you,”
he said abruptly. “I would rather act upon these thoughts.” He turned to his
mother and whispered something in her ear. Hermione felt heat rise to her
cheeks as he drew away from his mother and Merope gave her a cheeky smile.
Smiling, the baroness rose. She lifted her wand and placed it against the side
of her throat to amplify the sound of her voice. The guests, including the
sodden, ribald wizarding noblemen, hushed as she began to speak.
“My friends, my allies, my assembled honorable guests, I regret to interrupt
your feast, but my son and daughter-in-law wish to retire,” she said with as
much dignity as she could put into the words. Scattered hoots sounded through
the room. Lord Flint applauded for a second—and Hermione noted that Tom’s
friends all bore lewd smirks on their faces—but at this moment, it did not
bother her. The bedding announcement was inherently an invitation to lewdness.
“Let’s get them upstairs, then!” exclaimed a young man—one of Tom’s friends,
Hermione guessed.
Many of the guests, not even exclusively the male ones, rushed the head table
to try to lift up Tom and Hermione to carry them up to their bedchamber.
Hermione’s parents—and the titled Blacks—remained back, rather aghast. Tom had
heard of this sort of thing happening before, though, and he was prepared. He
drew his wand and pointed it outward, moving his arm in an arc as he regarded
the guests menacingly.
“We have this under control,” he said, smirking. “I am quitecapable of taking
my bride to bed without assistance.” He bowed ironically, and, in the stunned
silence that followed for a few seconds, rose upright once again and brought
Hermione’s hand to his lips gallantly. Then he raised his free hand in a
gesture of farewell for the night.
In preparation for this day, the house-elves and Muggle assistants from the
village had set up a different, larger chamber for Tom and Hermione in the
family quarters. Tom’s bed was the grander of the two, having been made
specially for him when he and his mother first took possession of the castle,
so it would be their marriage bed, but the furnishings in this room were a mix
of personal items that had belonged to both of them. As he pulled her into the
grandly furnished room, she noticed with pleasure that both their animal
familiars were already there, having made themselves at home.
They stumbled their way to the large draped canopy bed and threw back the
drapes to allow themselves to fall onto the mattress. Hermione climbed on top
of Tom and pulled at his robes, her breaths already starting to heave and
intensify at the thought of what was to come. It was not even that it was a
novelty—it wasn’t, anymore—but there was something special about doing this
with him on this particular night.
She had managed to remove his evergreen outer robe, revealing a slate grey
inner one, when he gripped her waist and flipped her over. Hovering over her,
he swiftly removed the dark green robe she wore, then the leaf green one,
leaving her garbed in only her underclothes.
“I cannot quite believe that this day has come,” he growled as he pulled her
remaining clothes off and sent them flying. He gazed at her bare body, golden
in the candlelight, her only adornments being the opal necklace and marriage
rings she wore.
She reached for his grey robe, but he took her wrists and gently moved them
away, regarding her with a patient, wry, teasing smirk. “Not yet, my love,” he
said, his words almost a hiss. He gazed at the bedside table on her side, where
a gold goblet and a sealed, opaque stone bottle rested potently. “I think you
should take a look at that while I remove my remaining clothes.”
Hermione drew in her breath as she sat upright and eased over to that side of
the bed. The bottle was sealed by magic—Severus Snape’s magic, she recognized
as she broke the seal with the correct charm. She picked it up and poured it
into the goblet, sure she knew what was inside—and she was not mistaken. A
lush, healthy green potion sparkled cheerfully, a leaf green liquid very close
to the color of her robes, with silver and gold sparks occasionally flashing in
it.
“The Draught of Fertility,” she said.
Tom gazed at her with lustful impatience. “Yes. He was working on it last
night.” He crawled across the bed to rest next to her and trailed his hand
across the heated skin of her thighs as she drank from the goblet. It was
almost distracting—but not quite as distracting as lookingat him and seeing
just how ready for her that he was—
The potion tasted very good, sweet but not too sweet, like a pleasing mix of
summer fruit. Hermione tipped the goblet upright to get the last drops, and
then set it back down on the table. She resealed the stone bottle; if anyone
tampered with it, she would recognize that the last spell used was not her own
magic the next time she opened the bottle. The potion seemed to make her entire
body feel warmer—and more than that. When she gazed at Tom again, she could not
look at him for more than a half-second. Immediately she lunged for him.
He was ready. He caught her in his arms and pulled her close, planting a deep,
possessive kiss on her lips, parting them forcefully with his tongue,
plundering her mouth with all the desire of years of anticipation.
They fell onto the pillows locked in that embrace, that heated, breathy clutch.
Tom grabbed her around the waist again, holding her gently but firmly, and
pushed her into the mattress as he mounted her.
His right hand trailed down her sides as he gazed at her in awe and unmitigated
desire. His lips parted ever so slightly, and his nostrils flared as he stroked
her side. “Hermione,” he murmured, “I am going to attempt to make up for those
two years tonight.”
“You already have.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I think not.” With a wicked grin, he descended on
her with his tongue and lips, kissing his way down her body, making her moan
and thrash underneath him, until he reached her heated juncture. She was more
than ready for him—and at that moment, Tom wanted to take her at once, to sate
his own desires as well as hers, but he had made up his mind. He plunged his
tongue into her core, making her cry out and reach for his black hair with her
hands.
She caught one fistful and pulled. He yelped, startled. She had not pulled any
out, but…. Tom reached for his wand. With a single flick, Hermione’s fingers
were out of his hair, her wrists were above her head, and with another flick,
the rope belt that she had worn that day wrapped itself around her wrists.
“Tom!” she exclaimed, shocked.
He made no verbal response, but, with a single darkly desirous smirk, licked
her most sensitive spot with his tongue. She hissed and strained to free
herself, but even as she was bringing her bound wrists over her head, Tom slid
up and propped himself over her on his elbows. He stared at her, his dark gaze
seemingly serious, all vestiges of a smile now gone from his face—but she knew
it was a front.
“I cannot believe you did that,” she said, trying to free her wrists.
He merely gazed into her eyes as she struggled in vain. The intensity of his
gaze sent shudders of longing down her.
“Tom, for God’s sake, free my wrists or take me—or both!”
He picked up his wand again and regarded it with seeming contemplation for a
moment. Underneath him, Hermione whimpered and twitched at the sight. That was
it. He pointed it at her wrists, cast a spell to untie the rope, and thrust
hard into her in the next second. She grabbed his back at once with her freed
hands, clutching, gasping as one as they moved together.
It did not take long for either of them to climax. Hermione had hers first,
reaching for his back again as the waves of pleasure and relief overtook her.
Seeing her like this—his wife—sent Tom over the edge. He buried his head in the
space between her neck and shoulder as he emptied himself into her. They clung
together, sweaty and hot and utterly, completely happy.
That was merely the first time of the night for them.
===============================================================================
Several hours later, when the guests had either retired to their guest chambers
or had—in a few cases—been hauled off to their chambers in drunken sleep,
Merope passed by the newlyweds’ shared chamber. She was the only person who had
had nothing to drink. Severus was awaiting her in their own room, but for now,
she wanted to check on the young pair. She listened at the keyhole of the door.
There was no noise except the sounds of heavy breathing. Satisfied and happy,
Merope turned and walked toward her bedchamber.
“Well,” Severus said, taking her in his arms as she entered, “that is over.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. She began to disrobe, noting the fact that he was
already dressed in nothing except a loose black robe of thin silk.
“And now, we get to work.”
Chapter End Notes
     I realize what probably everyone (minus maybe one or two) was
     expecting/fearing, but I wasn't going to do that to you! These kids
     deserved this day.
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