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mickume

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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. She was 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 could be 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.

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 always with their fiancées, granted. He was cautious, and she was 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 almost felt 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 did see 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 our ability 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 saw her," 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 purportedly a 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?"

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 he is 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 like each 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.