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mickume

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"This is a useless correspondence," Severus declared, setting down the letter he had just received from Sirius Black. "He does not know if Pettigrew ever learned to transform, but he says "it is possible’ given that he and Potter did it when they were young. In other words," he said, his recognizable savage snarl entering his tone, "they were careless and boastful of what they were up to. He claims that Lord Lucius doesn’t know about their forms, but how can he not if they were as careless as he implies?"

"If he does know, why would he not have acted?" Merope challenged. "I am sure that he suspects they were involved in the uprising years ago... and I would be surprised if they weren’t. But even if he cannot prove that, he could prove that they lied to him, their liege lord, about something. It would be an excuse to be rid of them. I don’t agree, Severus—I think he is in the dark."

Severus scowled.

"Black probably means that he and Potter were open with their own friends about what they were doing, not everyone. You didn’t know about it, after all, so why should Lord Lucius? You should not let your dislike of Black and Potter cloud your reason," she said gently.

"Perhaps not," Severus said grudgingly, "but the correspondence is pointless. You are right: I don’t like Black. And because he’s not able to provide any useful information to me, I see no point in continuing to write to someone I do not like. I have other sources."

Merope nodded. "Any word from the prime source’s little informant?"

Severus shook his head. "Not since the initial suggestion that they are talking to Caractacus Burke. If they have had any additional meetings since that one, I have not been informed of it."

"And he never found out what the subject of the meeting was?"

"I am afraid not. I told you my suspicions... there is little else that they would have summoned an untitled manor-holder, a former shopkeeper, to their grand castle for. He would be beneath them, pureblood or no."

Merope sighed. "I hardly know whether to reveal what I fear about myself. I cannot prove it, for one... it may not be true... but if it is, then in their eyes, there would no longer be a reason to care about whether I live."

Severus looked alarmed at this statement from her. "My lady... there is no occasion for talking about that. You had a difficult childbirth, it is true—"

"And severe injuries. I am sure that I would have died if I had not healed myself."

"But you did heal yourself. You have no reason to think that there was permanent damage, and as you rightly say, voicing this fear as if it were fact would give them every reason to try to harm you, your son, Lady Hermione, and to try to seize this castle for themselves."

Merope did not argue. She ran a delicate hand across the table in front of them and sighed. They both remained silent for a minute until she spoke again.

Severus’s gaze shot up. Alarm filled his dark eyes. "You’re certain of that?"

She nodded. "I saw him through the window with my own eyes. He had a lovely blonde Muggle lady next to him, so I made an additional investigation of the local records...."

"Divorce or annulment?" Severus’s voice was anxious.

"Divorce," she said. "As I suspected, he apparently claimed that I abandoned him, which freed him to remarry. Lying, cowardly, prejudiced Muggle wretch...." Her eyebrows narrowed in anger. "For Tom, of course, that is preferable... the last thing he needs is something in Muggle records that would make his parents’ marriage invalid and therefore make him "illegitimate’... that would require someone to secretly clean it up... but for me, of course, it presents a difficulty if I wanted to remarry, since I swore a magical oath."

"And a grave danger to Riddle if my suspicions about Burke are correct and the Malfoys find out that he is still alive."

They fell silent again, the weight of this information putting an intangible but nonetheless vast distance between them.

"I do not want Tom to find out yet," Merope said. "I mean to tell him in my own time, but not now."

Severus nodded. "Did they have any children?"

"I saw none. That does not mean there were none, of course, and that is another matter I must find out before I tell Tom about it."

After the night that they secretly slept in Tom’s bed, Hermione had not wanted to talk about it with him, nor apparently he with her. Neither of them mentioned the subject for several weeks, but it stuck in Hermione’s imagination anyway. She found herself dreaming about how it might have gone if they had not been so proper that night—if, instead of simply curling up together, they had started to kiss and embrace as fervently as they did in private moments during waking hours. She knew exactly how it might have ended up.

These thoughts brought heat to her cheeks, but the embarrassment at the idea was diminishing. The heat was... a different sort now. It just did not seem that there would be anything wrong with it if they did decide to take their affections much farther than they yet had. Some noble lordlings engaged in shameful forced trysts with servant women, or took advantage of the romantic naïveté of peasant girls, never touching their actual fiancées until they were married... but Tom was not one of those. He wanted her, and she wanted him. What difference would it make if they acted on that desire a bit early? She would not be a virgin on her wedding night, in that case... but he would not care about it if he knew he was responsible for that.

She recalled his interest in early marriage and hesitated at this line of thought. She would have to make absolutely certain that she would not become pregnant... and she would need to extract a promise from him that he would not tell his mother about it to pressure her into an official, public wedding earlier than she wanted.

There was perhaps a way. Under old magical custom, consummating a betrothal was a valid method of marriage. It would not suffice for the complex legal arrangement that involved property rights, dowry money, and required solemnization by a religious officiant, but by the customs of the ancient magical culture that Hermione knew Tom was so enamored of, it was marriage. Maybe that would satisfy him.

—If she decided to act. She still had qualms. She did not know how to prevent pregnancy, but surely there was a spell or a potion that would do it. Magical families did seem to be much smaller than Muggle families, based on her observations at Hogwarts—even the common families, who were probably mostly love matches and might be supposed to be more fecund than nobles who mostly reproduced out of duty. There must be something.

The end of summer approached, and with it, the two began to get ready to return to Hogwarts. Unlike many pupils, they did not need to refresh themselves on the subject matter, because they had spent much of the summer reading.

Tom had gone to the family library essentially every day that it rained—and some when it did not. Hermione had gone there with him whenever he did. She had developed a strong interest in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes lately, which was pleasant, as Tom too had quite an interest in ancient history and the magical languages of the old culture. It was another subject over which they had bonded.

"I look forward to this coming year," Tom observed one day toward the end of August. "Apparently, there is a project combining several magical disciplines that is open to certain students, the best ones of course, and it is a full-fledged ritual."

Hermione’s interest was piqued at once. "That sounds very advanced! Of course you will get to do it, though."

"I would not rule out the possibility that you will too," he said seriously. "You have a gift for Arithmancy."

Hermione smiled proudly. "What does the ritual do?"

"It is performed on the eve of Beltane, and it takes advantage of the magic of that date... I understand that when it’s done correctly, it results in a powerful charm upon one specific magical endeavor that we pick, and the charm lasts all summer."

"Oh, so you could not use it for studies at Hogwarts, then," she said slyly.

Tom shot an admiring gaze at her. "No... but I like the way you think."

She smirked. "You would not need such help anyway."

He smirked back, fully in agreement. She edged closer to him, and in the next moment, he was embracing her, pulling her close, and nuzzling the side of her neck. The smirk on her face turned into a smile as she eagerly returned his affections.

They pulled apart, breathing heavily, and gazed at each other for a while. Then Hermione spoke.

"Remember when I came to your bedchamber?" she asked.

He gazed evenly at her, fighting a smirk. "It is hardly something I would forget."

"Well," she said boldly, "I may join you again tonight, after your mother is in bed." She winked.

Tom drew away from her and looked aside. The ghost of a smirk disappeared.

"What’s the matter?" she asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious and doubtful. Perhaps he really was not comfortable with that night, and that was why he had not discussed it. Perhaps he was put off by how forward she was with him now. Perhaps—

"I assume it is not because your cat found another hole in the wall," he said, attempting levity but failing. Hermione rallied with a forced smile, but this too failed as she shook her head. Tom sighed. "Hermione, this is risky."

"What does it risk?" she challenged. "In our specific situation, what does it risk? If we were discovered, it would either be by an elf—whom you could order to silence—or by your mother, and she would hardly separate us!"

"I have said what it risks. Have you changed your mind about that?"

"Your mother would listen to us if we said we hadn’t done anything."

For another moment, Tom continued to look away, but then he turned to face Hermione. "I agree—but I’m not entirely sure that we would avoid "doing anything.’"

Hermione’s eyes widened. "Have you been in my mind, Tom Riddle? I would appreciate it if you asked—"

"I have done no such thing... but after that, I don’t believe I need to," he said, his smirk back on his handsome face.

She flushed faintly, but she held her gaze with his. "Nor, apparently, would I need to read your thoughts if I were a Legilimens. But this is good—it means that we both are aware of these... desires... and that we should be better able to control ourselves."

"Should," he murmured, reaching idly for her waist to pull her close once more.

Hermione let his fingers caress the small of her back for a moment. "I have a sound motive," she said. "I do not know how to prevent pregnancy."

"I have heard that there is a potion."

"That is as I expected... but I don’t know how to make it, so I have every reason to be careful. Please, Tom," she said. "It will be harder once we are back at Hogwarts. I want to enjoy every moment that we have this summer."

He considered for a moment before nodding. "Tonight, then."

That night, when the stars were shining brightly and the sky was impenetrably black, Tom heard the expected light knock on his bedroom door. Hermione pushed it open just enough to slip through and closed it behind her. Tom noticed that the cat was again with her. He looked down at the sharp-eyed animal circling her legs and raised his eyebrows.

"He followed me," she explained, not needing him to voice his question. "I was not about to leave him behind if he wanted to accompany me here."

"He might go to Mother, certainly," Tom agreed. He lifted the covers for her as she crossed the room.

She noticed that his snake familiar was coiled in the single patch of moonlight that reached the bedside table. The reptile roused itself from sleep and flicked its tongue at her, seemingly in greeting. Crookshanks leapt into a chair and curled into a ball himself, apparently unconcerned about "protecting" his mistress from Tom despite Tom’s joke to that effect the first time that Hermione had joined him. He noticed the animals’ reactions and smirked as Hermione got in bed beside him.

"It seems that our familiars have offered their approval to us," he observed.

"They should," she murmured. She paused, hesitating, before crawling on top of him. Nervously, haltingly, she ran her hand down his side, through the robe that he wore to bed. Since it was summer, it was notably thin. She was quite sure that he was not wearing an additional layer—and neither was she.

He was startled for a moment, but he recovered quickly, placing his palms on her back as she descended upon him to kiss him. His hands moved to her waist, holding her in place.

"I am so glad that this has happened between us," she whispered in between kisses.

He suddenly noticed that her sleep robe had ridden up her legs to her thighs. Without even thinking about it, he tightened his grip on her waist and flipped her onto her back, then pressed her into the mattress aggressively. She gasped and breathed heavily as he bent down to kiss her on the side of her neck.

"Liking you and wanting you does make this situation so much easier," he growled, his eyes gleaming in the starlight with teasing.

A shadow momentarily passed over Hermione’s face at his words. "Hermione?" he asked, noticing.

She met his gaze again. "Yes," she said quietly. "It does." She tried to rally a smile but could not quite manage it.

Although Tom did not understand exactly what had made her so immediately sober, the pause brought him back to earth. He realized, with surprise and some disquiet, that he very likely would have gone against his expressed intentions if she had not had this pensive moment. He eased off her and onto his side, giving her a very chaste kiss, in sharp contrast with what they had been doing.

"Good night," he murmured.

She seemed relieved to have pulled back from the brink as well. As she had done the first time, she curled against him innocently and closed her eyes.

At last the day came that they would return to Scotland. One of Merope’s elves walked with them to the great hall of the castle. Merope herself smiled proudly as they Disapparated from the castle. A year ago I would not have believed I would have this thought, she thought, but I hope they can be a bit more discreet at the school than they were here. She had seen them embracing and kissing in various alcoves and corridors of the castle when they thought they were alone. It was gratifying that they liked each other this much, certainly a vast relief to Merope, and there was no harm in it when they were at home, but at Hogwarts they ran the risk of being observed by their peers. It was perhaps an odd social more that nobles should not appear vulnerable before other nobles outside their closest family, but so it was.

Meanwhile, Tom and Hermione gazed around the familiar grounds of Hogsmeade as they waited for the rest of the students to arrive. When everyone was finally there, they began to enter the castle and took their places at the Slytherin table, next to each other, with Harry Potter on Hermione’s other side. She noticed that Daphne Greengrass was sitting next to Marcus Flint, one of the Slytherin boys that Tom had begun to cultivate last year as a possible political ally against Draco Malfoy. That was new. Perhaps they were betrothed now? Hermione supposed that if that were the case, she would certainly hear about it in the Slytherin common room after the Sorting and feast.

The Sorting itself held no surprises. Hermione clapped with the rest of the House as Daphne’s very pretty younger sister, Astoria, joined them. She almost missed another interaction, but Tom’s calculating, fixed gaze caught her attention. She followed the line of his dark eyes and realized, with surprise, that Draco Malfoy was giving Astoria admiring looks—and Adelaide Lestrange was very displeased about this.

Malfoy winced suddenly, and Hermione realized that Lestrange must have cursed or pinched him under the table. She smothered a smirk and returned to her meal with Tom. That was interesting indeed, though she hoped that Malfoy did not do anything untoward to Daphne’s sister that would harm the younger girl’s reputation. The Malfoys already had too much power over other noble families.

At the end of the Sorting, a new Weasley, this one female, sat on the stool for quite some time until the Hat finally declared her a Gryffindor. Hermione wondered about the Weasley family, remembering what Tom and Harry had said about them. On the other hand, if they would torment Harry for being Sorted differently to his father and godfather, perhaps she should not bother trying to get to know any of them... but then, this girl, Ginevra, apparently almost wasn’t a Gryffindor....

Hermione pushed these thoughts out of her head. There would be plenty of time during the year to determine if she wanted to make any new friends outside her House.

A few weeks later.

Hermione’s fourteenth birthday dawned cloudy, but she did not mind; the cool temperatures brought about by the cloud cover were pleasant. She rose early and went to the ground floor to see the sun; the underground location of the Slytherin common room and bedchambers was something that she was still not used to. She sat next to a window and silently thought, enjoying the solitude.

She had found her feelings about Tom—and Hogwarts—increasingly darkened with reflections on what might have happened if things had gone differently, though it was not quite that simple, she supposed. It was not that she enjoyed her time with Tom or her education at Hogwarts any less for these new thoughts. In fact, it was rather the opposite. But that did not change the fact that these new, more mature thoughts reflected a certain loss of innocence.

If Tom had not supported me after Adelaide Lestrange attacked me a year ago, I am not sure that I would have bothered taking revenge of my own, she thought. I do not think I would have given up on Hogwarts, but I am quite sure that she and her pack of followers would have continued to bully me all year, and it would have gotten ever worse with time—as hard as that is to consider. She did not want to consider the details of just how bad the bullying might have become, given how brutally it had begun.

And without Tom’s support, not only would I have been subjected to continued bullying, I would have become pessimistic about our relationship. I would have assumed that I would never have real affection from him... and with Harry’s friendship, I might have.... Hermione did not want to complete that thought. She understood, at last, exactly why Tom had been darkly cynical that she might find another young wizard that she liked better. She would not have been tempted to act on any such feelings—despite what she fantasized about with Tom, she was too acutely aware of her station to consider acting on similar fantasies with anyone except her fiancé—but merely having forbidden feelings at all would have made her miserable. And that, combined with the near-certain bullying....

It had not happened that way, she reminded herself. Her initial conviction that Tom liked her had proved true, he had backed her up, and their combined strength had dissuaded Adelaide or her minions from continuing any physical attacks on her.

Lady Lestrange might not have attempted to kill me in Hogsmeade, she thought. It did appear that the assassination attempt was provoked by Adelaide’s disgrace... but it was also possible that the girl’s mother might have made an attempt on Hermione’s life even if that had not happened. After all, she did object to someone of Hermione’s background attending Hogwarts.

These wizard blood politics are terrible, she thought. I must have magical ancestry just like everyone else, even if I don’t know who the witch or wizard was. And then there is the fact that the Wizards’ Council families and their allies seem to consider people with Norman ancestry superior to those without....

Hermione remembered, with some disquiet, that Tom manifestly believed the opposite. He was exceedingly proud of his heritage, which was natural for anyone, but the venom that he spouted for the Normans—her ancestors too, in part—also approached extreme levels sometimes. He would use terms like "usurpers," "robber lords," and "occupiers" casually, as synonyms for the people of Normandy who now lived in England, almost daring anyone to challenge him. He did appear to make an exception for her, at least. She hoped that he would someday make exceptions for others.

The sun was now fully risen, so Hermione made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast. She smiled at the sight of the early risers enjoying their meal. At the Slytherin table, Tom was sitting on a bench, a wrapped box next to him. Her smile broadened as she entered the grand room and approached him.

He did not wait, but held out the box to her wordlessly, his gaze seemingly impassive—but Hermione knew better by now, and she could detect one of his masks, especially one that he was using on her. She accepted the gift and opened it. An assortment of confections filled the box, some with rare spices that must have been purchased on the wizarding market, for she certainly had not smelled some of these at her Muggle parents’ castle.

"Thank you, Tom," she said, selecting one, not caring about the morning hour as she popped it into her mouth.

"Happy birthday, Hermione. It has been a good year for us," he murmured, quietly enough that only she could hear.

Hermione agreed.

In a few days, her reading finally paid off. One rainy morning, she at last located the potion recipe that she was looking for in a book about witches’ traditional herbalism. The formula for "a Moon-Potion to Prevent Conception" stared back at her from the pages. The ingredients were all at Hogwarts; she was positive of that. She had been in Slughorn’s cabinet too often not to know its contents. The potion could be made quickly, without having to sit for more than two hours, and it would work for a month, as the book’s description indicated.

This was a point of no return, she realized. If I make this potion, I will probably go to Tom quickly. This is the only reason I have been giving myself to avoid it so far. We are not set to marry for at least another three years, possibly even four. If we take this leap, can we really keep it a secret for that long? Because if we can’t—if anyone else finds out—then I will be finished at Hogwarts.

Hermione gazed at the pages of the book. If someone did find out, it would not mean the end of her magical education—but she would have to go to Parselhall to finish her studies. And then, horribly, a memory surfaced in the back of her mind, the memory of Abraxas Malfoy permitting her to enter Hogwarts and own a wand.

"If she fails to be declared a master by the instructors of the school, she will not be permitted to bear instruments of magic in public places...."

For a moment she felt sick. The risk wasn’t worth it, she thought frantically—but then she remembered that she and Tom had been affectionate in more innocent ways for the latter half of the previous year, and no one had seen them. If necessary, they could hide in a room in an isolated part of the castle and leave separately just to be sure. They certainly could not go to Tom’s bedroom, and he was magically barred from entering hers at the school.

Then, too, Hermione wondered if there was an actual policy against married witches attending Hogwarts. If it existed, such a rule would be based on the expectation of a couple’s marital rights—they would presumably have accommodations separate from the main girls’ and boys’ bedchambers—and the attendant risk of the young wives becoming pregnant and in greater danger from other students’ magic. But if they were taking this potion, that risk would disappear.

I don’t know if there is a policy like that, and I do not want to risk it, she thought. If I make this, and he agrees—which he probably will—then we will just have to be careful.