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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 could do 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 good idea, in her opinion, but Tom would not have suggested it nine months ago. He must have not just "accepted" the idea, but warmed to 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 not observed 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. Were most 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 ever become 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 you know 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 did see 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 you imagine 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."

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.

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."

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 could defend 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 that supposed 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 sweet it 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.