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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 her not 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, Lady Riddle?"

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 could she 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 unconventional messenger."

"And what do you mean by that?"

Granger exchanged a look with his wife. "Indeed. Is that a magical custom?"

"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 correct judgment, 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 wanted her 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.

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 former circumstances. 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 his library. 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. That was 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 was curious, 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. She would 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."

Hermione gazed skeptically at him. "Is that really so?"

"Oh, yes. Wands and staves 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 unquestionably do." 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 could do 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, so like 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 certainly did 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. After a moment’s consideration, Merope decided to summon the two house-elves to watch Tom and Hermione because they could perform magic too. 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 very secure, 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 not permit 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.