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The serpent seemed to accept this explanation.

Hermione decided the next day that she wanted to visit the castle grounds again as she had done occasionally the previous summer, and Tom was more than happy to go with her. With the snake curled around his left wrist, Tom escorted Hermione to the unspoiled stream, his other arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

Sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees, creating speckles of gold on the green grass. The water flowed almost musically. Tom bent over, allowing Dunlaith to uncurl herself from Tom’s wrist. The snake slithered to a rock that was exposed to full sunlight from a break in the foliage.

Tom unfolded the heavy cloth he had brought and laid it on the ground. He and Hermione promptly sat down, putting almost no space between themselves.

Hermione leaned against him, feeling the warm sunlight on her face. "I like being here," she observed.

"Here’ meaning this exact site, or the property as a whole?" he asked.

She chuckled. "Both. It feels as if no harm could come to us here."

Tom smiled with serene smugness. "My mother puts the safety of the family first, it’s true. The walls surrounding the town have magical wards on them, the walls around the castle have more, and the inner keep has the strongest ones of all."

"Yes, I know why it is so, rationally," Hermione said, a half-smirk on her face. "But I also meant that there’s an intangible aura of safety too."

He did not reply to this, though he understood exactly what she meant. It seemed sufficient to pull her closer and plant a kiss on the side of her face.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed him backward onto the ground. His dark eyes flew wide open as she half-lay on him, but he did not overthink it. He resumed kissing her, running a single hand into her hair and thoroughly mussing it as she rested on him.

From its vantage point on the rock, the snake watched her master and mistress coil together on the ground, as her own kind did.

After a few minutes of cuddling, the young couple broke apart. An unkempt lock of bushy hair fell into Hermione’s face.

"Ugh," she observed, flipping it back. "We can’t let ourselves be seen looking like this. People would think we’ve been up to a lot more than we really have." She flushed faintly at that.

"Your hair is certainly mussed," Tom agreed. "I expect mine looks fine, though."

Hermione drew her wand and touched its tip to the end of his nose. She raised her eyebrows, but he could see the teasing in her eyes. Smirking, he smoothed her hair for her, making sure the part was straight again.

They sat silently for a few more minutes, gazing at the stream as they considered their own thoughts. Hermione stole occasional glimpses of Tom’s handsome profile. Her thoughts turned to a subject that was now disturbingly familiar to her. We were never guaranteed to like each other this much, she thought. It really was good fortune. If my parents had not seen me doing rudimentary magic when they did, and gone to the same hearing that Tom’s mother did, I would have been sent to someone else. A chill that came from inside her own body spread across her, temporarily overcoming the pleasant warmth of summer that surrounded them.

It didn’t happen, she reminded herself. This is what is real. This is my future.

He rose from the blanket, crawled over to the rock where Dunlaith sunned herself, and extended his left wrist to the snake. He hissed a command to her in Parseltongue, which Hermione could not understand but which sent another, much more pleasant kind of chill across her body. The snake entwined around his arm, and he turned back to Hermione as he got to his feet, offering his other hand to her. They picked up the blanket and continued to explore the green grounds.

They passed through the small village on the way back to the castle, earning respectful bows from the peasant folk of Hangleton. Neither of them had any particular business in town, but it was best for them to show interest and occasionally appear before their people. That was what Merope had done, and she had their undivided loyalty now, even if they were Muggles.

Still, Tom thought smugly, it is only right that Muggles should be subject to the rule of witches and wizards. Too bad that this isn’t the case at the highest levels. Two Muggle pretenders to the throne right now....

Distracted with his own thoughts, Tom did not immediately notice the small gray blur that darted down the cobbled street, nor the larger brown one that followed in close pursuit. Hermione did. She pulled free of Tom and drew her wand, just as a dark orange cat caught a gray rat between its jaws.

The cat turned around, eyeing the people nearby, its gaze settling upon Hermione’s face.

"Release that, kitty," she coaxed the animal. The rat was squeaking and twisting in the cat’s mouth.

The cat gazed at Hermione with eyes that seemed unusually intelligent. For a moment, Hermione wondered if the cat might be an Animagus... but then it passed. The rat twisted around in a way that was almost not ratlike and bit the cat on the side of its neck... but Hermione did not have time to think too hard about the rat’s behavior either. A screech escaped the cat’s mouth as it dropped its prey, which immediately darted away.

"On second thought, let the cat kill that filthy thing," Tom said. Entwined around his wrist, his serpent hissed her agreement.

The cat hissed and made to resume its pursuit, but Hermione cast a stunning spell at it. The animal froze in its tracks. Hermione approached it and picked it up, making note of the wound in its neck that was bleeding slightly. The cat continued to hiss in fury, its intelligent eyes fixed obsessively upon the rat as the rat disappeared, heading for the outer walls.

"We’ll need to heal this," Hermione said to Tom. He nodded in agreement as they returned to the castle.

They carried the protesting cat into the room of the castle that was reserved for potionmaking. It somewhat resembled the laboratory at Hogwarts where Professor Slughorn presided, but without the telltale signs of student activities. Here, there were no marks of melted cauldrons marring the tables, no childish vandalism, and no locked cabinets of ingredients that a professor had determined were too dangerous for pupils to use unsupervised. Tom went to one cabinet in particular, opened its doors, and scanned the labeled flasks and bottles until he found what he was looking for.

"Here we are," he said briskly, returning with a flask. "A general anti-infection medication, in case that foul rat had something."

"There now, kitty," Hermione said, petting the cat, which was now much calmer. The blood from the wound had congealed, matting its long fur. She drew her wand and cleaned this spot. Tom drew a tiny amount of potion with a syringe, which he then pressed, squeezing a few drops onto the wound. The cat hissed for a moment, but the pain apparently passed. It began to purr, and Hermione smiled, casting a spell to completely heal the wound.

"You need a name, kitty," she said as the cat scrambled to its feet and leapt to the floor, though sticking by her.

The cat slipped under her trailing skirt and rubbed her ankles. It poked its head out and gazed at her with those intelligent eyes.

"Hmm..." she mused.

The cat ambled out from under her robe, its bandy-legged walk provoking a smile.

"You are Crookshanks," she declared. The cat flicked its tail, turned around to meet her eyes once more, and then let out a mew.

"I think he agrees," she said to Tom.

"Well, I don’t speak cat," Tom said.

"That is his name," she said. She scooped up the cat, which did not protest at all now.

Merope was pleased to learn that Hermione had found an animal familiar of her own now. "I am so happy for you," she said, petting Crookshanks in the family parlor that evening. "I never had one of my own."

"You could still get one," Tom said. "It’s not as if it’s too late."

"It is something that must happen naturally," she said mildly. She smiled at the cat. "I have not noticed a rodent problem in the castle, but it sounds as if Crookshanks would make absolutely certain of it." She scratched him behind his ears. "If they ever do turn up, I am sure he will take care of the problem."

"Certainly the one he was chasing through the street of town today," Hermione said with a chuckle.

The cat purred in agreement.

That night, Tom was lying in his bed, reading a book from the family library. Much to his dismay, he had not been able to find any of the books in the Hogwarts library that his mother had blocked him from reading here. Surely they were there somewhere. Salazar Slytherin was a founder of Hogwarts, and Merlin and Morgana were legendary magical figures in this country—even if hardly anyone knows the truth about them anymore, he thought sourly. The book he was reading was a biography of the ancient Greek sorcerer, Herpo, who was—in Tom’s opinion—wrongly slurred by the descriptor "the Foul" by the same kind of wizards who now designated Merlin a hero and Morgana a villain.

The Romans had learned of Herpo’s magical breakthroughs and had spread the knowledge to the Celts, his ancestors. Tom was especially interested in the basilisk that Herpo had created by experimental breeding. The King of Serpents... that seemed like a title that was not just fitting for a great serpent, but also for its master....

The snake that Hermione gave me is my familiar, he reminded himself. If Slytherin left behind a basilisk, it would be more of a weapon than a pet. This is a creature that kills with its gaze, and there is not a word about Parselmouths being immune to that.

Tom then thought about Herpo’s other great accomplishment, which might solve that problem. No, he told himself. No. I can’t help but speculate on magical theory and possibility, but certain kinds of magic should never be done lightly. Tom was sure that he had heard someone—probably his mother—say something like this before, but he could not place when.

A faint knock on the door interrupted Tom’s dark musings. Who could it be at this time? he wondered, getting out of bed. He opened the door and found himself facing Hermione.

She slipped inside and pushed the door closed.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "When I brought Crookshanks into my bedroom, he immediately nosed out this hole in the wall that I had never noticed last summer. I’m not even sure it was there."

Tom then noticed that the aforementioned cat was rubbing silkily against Hermione’s legs. He had slipped in the door with her when it was open.

"He wouldn’t get away from the spot, and hissed at me when I picked him up. It just... felt creepy," she said. "I can’t explain how, and it seems silly, but I wanted to be here instead."

Tom noticed that the cat was not interested in any of the walls in his room. That was oddly comforting. Hermione’s narrative had unsettled him a bit, though he was not about to admit it. As she had implied, it was not rational. "I’ll tell my mother about it tomorrow," he said. "There was probably a rat nest. We should let your cat go over the entire castle."

Crookshanks purred.

"But you... I mean... do you want me to show you to a guest bedroom?"

Hermione hesitated. "Actually... I thought that...." She gazed at his large bed.

His eyes popped open in utter disbelief. "Hermione."

"Just to sleep here!" she exclaimed, her face coloring. "Just sleep. No one would see. The elves don’t come in while we’re sleeping. Your mother doesn’t walk the castle at night, and I know that Lord Severus does, but he has no right to barge into our rooms—"

"He also lives in his own manor now."

"That’s right," she remembered. "Well, then. No one would see us. And what’s the worst that could happen if your mother did?"

"She could make you do what you don’t want to do, and get married early," he said pointedly.

"I don’t think she would. I would take Veritaserum to prove that there would be no reason for it, and a charm would reveal that I wasn’t with child."

Tom stood, staring at her. She folded her arms.

"Fine," he finally said. "I’m sure your cat would bite me, anyway."

Hermione chuckled at this as she crossed the room. Moonlight filtered through the wavy diamond-paned glass. She climbed gingerly onto his mattress. Tom hesitated before joining her and pulling the covers up. He closed the drapes on the bed that faced the door, leaving the ones facing the window partially open.

Hermione gazed at the book he had been reading and had dropped on his spare pillow. "What’s this?"

"A biography of a great sorcerer." He took it gently off the pillow and placed it in the drawer of his night table. "Good night, Hermione."

She looked for a moment as if she wanted to say more, but she changed her mind. "Good night, Tom."

Tom relaxed, but only for a moment. In the next moment, Hermione curled against him. "Just" sleep? he thought. It would have been unthinkable a year ago, but if Hermione did this more than one night, it could get very distracting. He would have to tell Mother about the rat hole tomorrow and make sure it did get patched up.

No one disturbed their rest that night.

Crookshanks was shooting murderous feline glares at the latest hole he had identified in the castle, this one located in Snape’s chancellor’s office, which he retained in the castle because of his administrative duties. The cat had already located one in Merope’s office, as well as the one that he had discovered in Hermione’s bedroom. Snape was personally affronted at the fact that vermin had penetrated his sanctum.

"I warded the walls in this room," he snarled, "and yours," he added to Merope. "It should not have been able to gnaw through." He drew his wand and, for the third time, cast a spell to repair the wall.

Merope considered. "The castle is very old, and there may have been some remnants of conflicting magic that undermined your wards."

"I should have been able to detect such a thing!"

"It can be subtle," Hermione interjected. "A magical analogue to mold that slowly rots away a wall, or a drip of water that’s almost not noticeable."

Snape glared at Hermione, irritated at what he saw as her know-it-all nature, but not able to contradict her point.

Tom had stood aside, not offering any comments on the proceedings, just studying Crookshanks. "This cat is very intelligent," he remarked. Crookshanks ambled over to him, slunk under his robe, and rubbed against his legs before emerging again.

"Fortunately for us!" Snape exclaimed. Even when he was not actually snapping at someone, his voice tended to have an edge to it.

Tom was used to Snape’s personality by now. He eyed the older wizard and turned aside wordlessly.

Godric’s Hollow.

Sirius Black descended from the ladder that led to his loft bedroom. Occasionally he still missed the family castle, or really, any of the manors that the family owned. The Potters’ house was much nicer than a typical non-magical peasant’s cottage would be. It had three full-sized rooms—kitchen, general-purpose living area, and master bedroom—and it even had a separate loft room for Harry, which had been carved out of Sirius’s attic space as he outgrew his cradle. Few Muggle cottages could boast of this much space, especially since they could temporarily shrink whichever items they were not currently using in the general-purpose room. For that matter, no Muggle cottages could boast of the comfortable temperatures that could be maintained with two adult wizards and a witch there to insulate the structure with magic. But it still was not what Sirius had grown up with.

He made his way to the breakfast table where Lily was ladling porridge into everyone’s bowl. Sirius mumbled thanks and slunk into his seat, late, but fortunately these were his friends and did not stand on much ceremony. He began to eat his food. An excellent cook, Lily. Probably it was the same talent that made her so good with potions. Such a damnable shame that the Malfoy-Lestrange-Black alliance and their toadies had kept her out of Hogwarts.

Lily suddenly got up to open the casement window overlooking the table. A draft of wind rippled across the room as the family owl, Hedwig, soared in. She dropped a scroll for Sirius before perching on the open window ledge.

Sirius scowled blackly at the wax seal on the scroll: a coiled serpent surrounded by a ring of elder tree leaves, the new insignia of House Gaunt—House Riddle, now. That meant it was from Snape, making some other blasted inquiry on behalf of his liege, using her authority to cover his own meddling. Already primed to be annoyed, Sirius popped the seal and unrolled the scroll. In a few moments, he tossed it onto the table, his black eyebrows narrowing.

"What’s the matter, Padfoot?" James Potter asked his friend.

"Snivellus," Sirius managed to spit. "He knows about our forms."

Lily frowned momentarily at the insulting nickname, but she quickly rearranged her features to look normal. Harry suddenly hunched over, trying to make himself look small.

James shrugged, not noticing the reactions of either member of his family. "What of it? He isn’t our lord, nor is Lady Riddle. We were supposed to declare our forms to Malfoy, but Snape isn’t working for Malfoy. What’s the harm?"

"Who knows who he’s really working for?" Sirius said darkly. "I half suspect he corresponds with my brother. But this message is about Peter. He’s obsessed with Peter and thinks he may have a form too and that I purposely concealed that from him." He ate the last spoonful of porridge and added, "I’d like to know how he even found out about our animal forms."

Harry finally spoke up. "It was my fault," he said. "I told Hermione—"

"Lady Hermione," Lily corrected him gently.

Harry smiled insincerely. His mother could not seem to accept the fact that his friends at Hogwarts were very casual about their titles when it came to their close friends. "Yes. And I’m sure that she and Riddle passed it on."

Some of Sirius’s anger deflated at that. "Well, if that’s how it happened, then very well... but he needs to stop thinking I know anything about Peter. He probably saw Peter more recently than I did."

"That’s true. He might. Peter disappeared, with his mother, after the death of Lord Marvolo Gaunt," James mused. "No one has heard from him since. I hope he does have an Animagus form, because otherwise I’m afraid we have to assume he is dead—probably at the hands of that appalling brother of Lady Riddle’s, as soon as he came into the title...."

"But Snape should know about it if something like that happened," Lily objected.

"Yes, probably so," James agreed. "So maybe they just fled after seeing what Lord Morfin was like. Or maybe his old mother died privately, and he fled after doing the rites for her. It’s possible he studied the Animagus transformation privately after he saw us master it... I hope that happened... because otherwise I do not think Peter is with us anymore."

"Then I’ll tell Snape that," Sirius snarled, pushing up his chair and rummaging in his robes for his wand to summon a piece of paper for a reply letter.

Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.