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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 was of noble blood, and he did have 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.

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 those Gaunts, 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. Her surviving family would probably kill him for being half-blood. The Church? He might have 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 Muggle titles, 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....

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.

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 why she 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 he have 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 can do 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 deliberately by 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, specific magic 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 muddy ancestry—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 pureblood noble family’s prior arrangement. Yes, she is noble—but from a wizarding standpoint, 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. "Is she? 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 commoner wizard... 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?"