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"Certainly, she could have property that was her own. In the wizarding world, witches always own their clothes, jewels, animal familiars, portable property, tools of magic—like a wand and a cauldron—and books. That is our law—and even Malfoy formally declared her to be a witch, so it applies to her. Anything else, any items of furniture, could be designated hers too, if you wish."

The Grangers nodded, very pleased. "We should get to that as soon as is practicable, then," he said.

"Yes—but let us first see what is officially wizarding law about admission to Hogwarts," Merope said. She was also pleased with how smoothly this had gone. She had barely been in possession of the title for a week, and she had already negotiated an agreement with another noble family, provided for her son’s heirs, and helped a deserving young woman. It made her feel proud of herself.

I haven’t told Tom about it, she thought—but she instantly pushed that idea away. He had to know that something like this was likely. His schoolmates in Slytherin were mostly aristocratic. Besides, he obviously liked Hermione.

Merope called an elf to the study to summon Severus. In a few minutes, he was there, solemnly bearing the official Codex of Wizarding Law for their country. He set the heavy tome down on Merope’s desk and turned to the section concering Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He soon located the relevant passage.

"The wizarding Viceroy to the Crown has an agreement with Scotland to admit young witches and wizards from Britain and Ireland to Hogwarts School,’" Severus read, "and such admission is granted to all young persons of magic who have a grandparent who is a witch or a wizard.’"

"That," Merope interrupted, adding as an aside to her guests, "is because occasionally magic skips a generation. It’s rare, and oddly it seems to be more common in children of pureblood couples, but it does happen. You may continue, Severus."

"Out of concern for the purity of blood of our most ancient families, other young witches and wizards, who cannot claim descent from at least one magical grandparent, are not permitted to attend the school unless they are in an official betrothal to a witch or wizard who is of documented magical descent.’ It is straightforward, then," Severus said.

Granger shook his head in disgust. "That is completely illogical," he declared. "Lord Malfoy wants to protect the "purity of blood’ of wizarding nobles, so he does not allow young people like our daughter to enter this school—unless they are betrothed to a witch or wizard! If he thinks a girl like my daughter is of "impure blood’—and I very much wish I could meet him sword-to-sword for that—then he shouldn’t want her to marry a wizard at all. There’s no sense in this law."

Merope smiled grimly. "I don’t think that he meant it to make sense. Before the Conqueror, the school admitted all young people who could do magic. I think he wanted to leave the possibility in the law, to maintain some degree of faith with the magical population of England, while creating a legal stipulation that hardly anyone could meet. A Muggle-born of common birth probably would not know any families whose children had magic. There were some old magical families who refused to swear fealty to Lord Malfoy and lost their lands, but they are scattered, and it’s their custom—if their children marry witches or wizards at all—to let their children find their matches at Hogwarts."

The Grangers nodded in understanding.

"Most wizarding nobles are pureblood and marry amongst themselves. Tom, in fact, is the only one I can think of who is not...." She trailed off, suddenly cognizant of the fact that Severus Snape was half-blood and his family had been unfairly stripped of their noble title. She would restore it, then, and soon. "In any case," she concluded, "I think that in writing this law, Malfoy simply did not consider the possibility of a Muggle-born of noble birth, who would have the resources of a noble—or that there might one day be eligible wizarding families who did not share his views. He must have thought he had stripped all of those of their titles."

Granger shared another look with his wife before asking a final question. "Do you believe that, perhaps, Malfoy will care less about this situation because your son is half-blood? Since he claims to be concerned with keeping "pureblood’ magical families that way, perhaps he is not concerned with anyone else?"

"I hope that is the case. What do you think, Severus? You have studied the law for several years."

Severus considered. "I think that you are correct: Malfoy cares more about "purity of blood’ in families that he already deems so, especially nobles. But he might—probably will—be angry at the fact that you did exploit his own law, and he does have the right to change it. I do not think he will... but you will not be making a friend of him by doing this."

"Armand Malfoy would not count anyone in this room as a friend," Merope said. "I am not worried about someone who will never approve of any of us. This provides for the young people’s futures, and it should get Lady Hermione the magical education that she deserves."

The Granger family had planned to stay at Parselhall for several days, so that evening, they were shown to their quarters to prepare themselves for dinner. Merope would have her talk with Tom in private before the meal, and Hermione’s parents could do likewise with their daughter.

Hermione had been reluctant to set Morfin Gaunt’s wand aside in the library even though it still had not taken to her. She had just had such fun practicing magic. The whole day had been wonderful. Even if she didn’t get to go to the school in Scotland—as lovely as it sounded—she surely would get to learn magic in this castle.

And something else had occurred to her as the afternoon wore on, and she and Tom were left in the library under the care of the house-elves. Such interesting creatures, Hermione had thought upon seeing them. She rather wanted to know more about them... but in good time. As soon as possible, she meant to go to her parents and ask something of them.

She liked Tom—Lord Thomas, she supposed, but he wanted to be called Tom. He had started their acquaintance playing the know-it-all, but she perfectly understood why someone who knew a great deal would want to talk about it. She had been called a know-it-all herself by her cousins. His knowledge was very helpful, and it had not taken long for his attitude to her to change and become more familiar and friendly. She could tell how impressed he was that she had natural talent for magic—and, if she were honest, she was proud of herself too. She really wanted to go to school with him in Scotland.

And perhaps there was a way! She had been so humiliated and upset at the hearing that she had thought little of what that Lord Malfoy had said to her father, but she remembered now. Maybe they could fulfill his terms. She was almost thirteen years old, and she knew that her parents were starting to think seriously about finding a match for her. Tom was extremely suitable, and a wizard at that. And she liked him, and thought he was... handsome, she thought with a blush... and she was pretty sure that he liked her.

At least, he saw her as a potential new friend.

That evening, Hermione knocked on her parents’ bedroom door in the Riddles’ castle with a question in mind and nervous flutters in her stomach. When they admitted her and inquired as to what she needed, speech momentarily failed her.

Then she recovered her courage. She smiled at her parents. "I wanted to thank you for bringing me for this visit, first," she said in her most ladylike tones. She supposed it was not usually necessary to be so formal with them in private, but the occasion seemed to demand it. "I had a lovely afternoon with Lord Thomas. I think we are going to be friends... and I...." She trailed off as heat crept unwanted into her cheeks. Suddenly she could not keep up the façade of formality. "Could you please try to set up a match with him? I haven’t heard anything from you about anyone else... and it’s very suitable... and it might even mean I was allowed to go to the school of magic in Scotland. And I like him," she ended in a near-whisper, her face flushed red.

Her parents exchanged a single look and burst into laughter. Hermione wanted to melt into the floor in embarrassment.

"Oh, my dear, we were not laughing at you," her mother quickly assured her, getting up from her chair and giving Hermione a quick hug. "We were merely laughing because... we have already done it."

Hermione gaped at them. "Already?"

"His lady mother mentioned the idea to us after we left the library and those creatures replaced us as chaperones. She had observed your... acquaintance... as well. We were going to tell you before we have dinner with the family, and it is going to be announced formally at the table."

Hermione was still blushing hotly, but she could not stop smiling. "That’s wonderful! I’m so glad. I like him, and we have a lot in common.... Do you think I will be allowed to go to school?"

"We hope so. The law says you will be, so you will go unless this Lord Malfoy changes it specifically to prevent you from going. And Lady Riddle does not think he would do that."

Hermione wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself in joy and satisfaction.

As she prepared herself to break the news to Tom, Merope became nervous. Tom was a very strong-willed and independent young man, and he was not always easy to read. It had certainly looked to Merope that he was enjoying Hermione’s company, but what if it had been merely for appearance’s sake? Tom certainly knew how to act the gentleman.

The only way to know is to tell him, she thought. And I’ll have to tell him anyway, because I could not possibly surprise him with something like that at dinner.

While their guests were preparing, Merope steeled herself for the discussion. She knocked on Tom’s bedroom door and entered when he responded.

His desk was piled high with books. Merope was tempted to look at them, to see just what he was reading, but she had a more important matter at hand. She took a seat in a chair with green velvet cushions and regarded him seriously.

"Tom," she began, "I need to talk with you about something very important."

He glanced at her. "I’m listening."

She took a deep breath. "Our guests and I noticed today that you and Hermione were enjoying yourselves in the library, practicing magic. She is quite talented."

"Yes," he said briefly. "I was... impressed. I know that we’re descended from Slytherin, but I rather wish she could go to school at Hogwarts. There are many people there I know who, frankly, deserve to be there a lot less than someone like her. They’re barely wizards and witches, or they barely try to learn anything."

"Yes... I do not doubt that," Merope agreed. She leaned forward. "Well, as it happens, Tom, we think she will be allowed to go to Hogwarts now. You might remember what Lord Malfoy said at their hearing, that she would be allowed to go if she were spoken for by a wizard."

Tom’s face suddenly turned stony. "Mother," he began, his words cold, his tone a warning.

Oh, no, this is bad, Merope thought, but she knew she had to finish it. "And to be quite honest with you, Tom, now that you are the heir to a title, you will have to marry someday. You have not seemed to have prospects at Hogwarts, and you were getting on so well with Hermione... so her parents and I have written up a betrothal contract for the two of you—"

Tom exploded. "Are you completely mad? I just met her!"

"Don’t you dare take that tone with me! You wouldn’t marry now, anyway. Both of you would finish your magical education. And no, I am not "mad.’ This is hardly unusual, Tom."

He stood up and stormed aimlessly around the room for a moment, then turned and glared at her. "It’s "unusual’ for me."

"You are a noble heir now—the last heir, the only heir. You have to marry. You are the only one who can continue the line after me."

Tom stared at her in fury. "Right. That’s one thing, but then as soon as we become nobles—literally, within one week, you decide to choose my wife for me?"

"Wealth and power come with new responsibilities!" Merope exclaimed. "It’s important to marry well—to have bonds of alliance, and to have a partner of similar background. Even though we have lived a hard life, you have noble blood, and a fine mind, and so does Hermione. Neither Muggle nor wizard nobles would respect you if you married a peasant."

He gazed at her scornfully. "You know, Mother, I seem to recall that you didn’t let your father choose your husband, and that he was a Muggle."

Merope blanched. "My father—" She collected herself before she blurted out more than she intended. "My family, as you know, held the sorts of views that Lord Malfoy holds. I was disinherited because my husband had no magic. He was a knight, though. It wasn’t unsuitable."

"So your father didn’t have someone else in mind for you?" Tom said skeptically.

"My family disapproved of everyone except pureblood wizards who shared their opinions exactly," she evaded, trying to put enough confidence into her words that Tom would think it answered his question negatively without actually having to lie to her son. "Do you have a sweetheart at school, Tom? Is that it?"

"No," he bit off sullenly.

"And I know you were enjoying your time with Hermione."

"We got along well," he admitted. "She’s very smart. We could be... friends." The word sounded unfamiliar to his own lips, but not unpleasant. He continued, "But I just don’t like that you want to pick my wife for me. Perhaps Hermione grew up expecting that, but I did not."

Merope sighed and rubbed her temples. That was a fair point, and even though her mind protested that she had exceptional circumstances, she was feeling his prior charge of hypocrisy. "All right, Tom," she said. "I’ll make a bargain with you."

He raised his eyebrows.

"The agreement states that, barring urgent necessity, there would not be a wedding until you and Hermione have completed your education. That’s likely at least four years from now, perhaps five, if she requires five years. That is several years for you to get accustomed to the idea and to her... and it should let her obtain the education that should be hers by birthright. If, at that point, you still truly do not want to go through with it, I will break it off for you."

Tom considered, then nodded. "All right. It’s a deal."

"You are not to tell her—or anyone else—about this deal," Merope warned. "The Grangers would consider the betrothal agreement a bad-faith contract if they learned. Frankly, so would Lord Malfoy and the Wizards’ Council. And since I am making this bargain with you, I expect you to make an effort to become friends with her, and I hope that it will become more, though I know that cannot be forced."

Tom nodded stiffly. He had four to five years. That was plenty of time; he did not have to worry about this now. He wasn’t going to be married off immediately. "Regarding Malfoy," he said. He met his mother’s eyes with his own. "What if Malfoy changes the law in response to this gambit, so she isn’t allowed into Hogwarts anyway? He can do that."

Merope took a deep breath. "I think he won’t," she said. "He has this justification written in the law because he understands that, prior to the Norman conquest, Hogwarts allowed all witches and wizards to attend. To avoid unrest, he must not have wanted to write a law that completely defied three of the school’s founders, so he left an opening... but he assumed that any Muggle-born youth would be of common blood and would be isolated from commoner magical families. I think he must not have ever considered that Muggle nobles could have a magical child. But... even if I am wrong, and he does change his own law in response to this... then Hermione will still have the protection and alliance of our family, and she can be tutored here... and everything else that I said still holds true." She glanced at him and noticed, with some relief, that some of the anger had dissipated from his features. "Tom, you admitted yourself that you enjoyed spending time with her today. I ask you, please, for however long you remain annoyed, not to take your frustration out on her. Don’t think of it, if that helps. Just think of her as a friend—as she was this afternoon."

Tom considered for a moment before nodding.

"We are going to announce this at dinner, which is why I wanted to tell you in advance. I expect it will be served in about half an hour. Please be washed and ready."

The grand banquet hall had stone walls over thirty feet high and narrow-paned windows. A vast banner bearing the crest of the Gaunt family hung on one wall. Merope intended to design a new one for the new house she was founding, one that reflected the Gaunt and the Muggle Riddle crests but incorporated new elements too. The castle’s staff and field workers ate at the common tables, with the family, their honored guests, and their one vassal, Snape—Marvolo and Morfin had driven away the rest—at the high table. They had eaten there most days since moving in, and naturally they had to eat there for important occasions such as this one, but henceforth they would usually eat in the much smaller private family dining room.

There was real hope among the common folk that a new era was upon them, and to them, their new Lady Riddle’s choice to contract an alliance with a family completely unallied (and unrelated) to the deceased Gaunts boded well. It still seemed right and proper to them that the future consort of the heir could do magic—they were accustomed to being ruled by witches and wizards—but neither their new baroness, her heir, the heir’s betrothed, or her parents seemed to exhibit the attitudes that had left Marvolo and Morfin with no sincere mourners among the peasant folk. Merope had made her announcement to all her subjects, to much applause from them and a stare of utter malevolence from Tom that, fortunately, no one had seen. Tom’s thoughts were entirely different to those of everyone else in the banquet hall.

What good is her bargain with me if she announces this in such a public way? Tom fumed. Over the years, he had had more self-confidence than his mother, so he had used this to get his way about a great many things: the freedom to wander about the wizarding district of London, to read any books of magic that he could understand, to save up his pocket allowance to buy a serpent familiar eventually. He sighed inwardly at the thought of the small pile of Sickles and Knuts in an earthenware jar. He had not saved the necessary amount, and now that they had come into the title, his little bank—which had formerly seemed like so much money—was laughable. He could buy many animal familiars now if he liked; his years of saving had ultimately meant nothing. However, his mother had let him do it, even though he had to talk her down from her opposition to the idea of a snake in the house. Apparently she had bad memories of her brother and father setting adders on people for amusement.

Tom had been good at getting his way for any matter other than luxury expenses that his mother could not afford, but now, suddenly, his mother had revealed that she had a bullying side of her own—and a manipulative one, to boot. How else to explain what she had done, telling him that she would let him out of the contract, and then making a public announcement—and creating the expectation in all her subjects that the marriage would happen—that would make breaking the contract humiliating in the extreme?

He stewed and seethed through dinner. He was seated next to his mother on one side, who sat proudly with the emerald tiara of her regnancy on her head and wearing a gown that he did not recognize, made of rich embroidered taupe linen. Apparently she had finally found her old wardrobe sometime between her conference with the Grangers and dinner. On his other side was Hermione, who was pink in the face and smiling in a way that Tom found insufferable. Happy as a lark in spring, he thought sourly as he shoveled down a spoonful of vegetables. And the blushing of her cheeks—and her reluctance to meet his eye, only to blush even redder when she did—made it clear that her happiness was not only about presumably being permitted at last to attend Hogwarts. It infuriated him.

This frizzy-haired noble brat immediately sinks her claws into me, as if I’m property, he fumed. Though I suppose that is exactly how they see their children. What was it Mother said, that I had to marry to carry on the line? As if all I’m good for is siring offspring—or a means to get someone else into Hogwarts.

He swallowed the last of his main course, which was thoroughly chewed in his steaming anger. While Hermione’s face was still hidden by that cloud of hair, he gave her a glare. He may have promised his mother not to take out his irritation on Hermione, but she had promised him something too, and it seemed very much to him that she had not meant it. Well—if Hermione kept her distance from him, he would not be rude to her, but if she started to attach herself to him as if they had chosen each other, then she would suffer the consequences.

The Grangers needed to rest after their travel, so Tom did not have the chance to see Hermione again that evening. He expected that he would continue to fume in his bed late into the night, but to his surprise, he realized upon getting under the covers that he would fall asleep quickly. The bed was not ideal; it was one discovered in an otherwise empty room and temporarily moved into his new bedroom until the grand oak bed he had requested was finished, but it was good enough for now. He could not imagine why he was tired, but perhaps anger had exhausted him. He was dreaming soon.

The following day, he awoke and immediately remembered the previous day’s events. By now, his memories of the enjoyable moments with Hermione were becoming corrupted by his anger at his mother. Even thinking of Hermione’s face brought a renewed surge of fury with the entire situation, and at that particular moment he was utterly certain that nothing would ever allay it. Proximity to Hermione would only annoy him further, since it was obvious to him that she believed she liked him, but distance from her would further rewrite his happier memories.

So although it was not usually in Tom’s nature to openly pick a fight—he preferred subtlety and cunning—he rather welcomed the interaction with Hermione that their parents blatantly arranged mid-morning for them, by going into the grand library once again and the adults pointedly secluding themselves.

Suppressing the visible signs of his anger, Tom gave Hermione an impassive, utterly emotionless look and turned to the bookshelves before him. He perused the titles with no intention of actually selecting a book.

Hermione was confused for a moment, but then she gave Tom a tentative smile and attempted to move closer to him.

He grabbed a book at random and yanked it from the shelf. Holding it as though it were a precious gold goblet, he carried it to the nearest chair and sat down without a word to Hermione. To his exasperation—but, he had to admit, mean anticipation—she followed him, affront and hurt spreading over her face.

Finally he met her eyes. He raised an eyebrow and said, with the haughtiest air of annoyance that he could muster, "Do you want something?"

Hermione was taken aback. "I wanted to read with you. What’s the matter? Are you unwell today?"

"I am perfectly well," he declared icily. "I prefer to read in solitude. Find a book of your own if you must."

Her eyebrows narrowed. "You read with me yesterday. Are you sure you feel well?"

"I am certain. If you want to read, I am not stopping you."

Hermione gazed at the book he had opened in his lap. He was not looking at the pages. She then noticed that the chair he had chosen to sit in did not have a match. The closest chair for her was twelve feet away.

"If you are well, then I don’t understand why you’re being so impolite to me and wanting to avoid me. We should spend time together, considering the situation between us," Hermione explained officiously.

Tom felt pettily satisfied that she had brought it up herself, in such a pedantic tone, and with a personal accusation into the bargain. Perfect, just the provocation I wanted, he thought. "That’s a long time from now," he objected, "and I didn’t ask my mum to pick a girl for me to marry."

Hurt filled Hermione’s face. "You don’t like me?"

Irritation surged momentarily in him at what he first took to be an insincere sympathy plea, but then he realized that she really was upset. His face grew stormy as conflict entered his mind. "It’s not that. You’re a powerful witch, and I... enjoyed your company yesterday," he admitted. "But I don’t want to think about getting married to anybody... and she chose for me." He gazed at her with narrowed eyes. "So did your parents. Doesn’t that bother you?"

"I always knew it was probably going to happen," she said haughtily. "I was born when my mother was thirty-one, and now she’s too old to have any other children—so my cousin is going to inherit from my father. At some point... I won’t be able to live in the castle unless it’s on his charity, so I had to marry somebody."

"That’s stupid," Tom sneered. "There are plenty of witches who inherit. My mum, for one."

"Well, then I’m glad that I’m a witch, because I like the wizards’ and witches’ tradition better. But I will inherit. I will get my parents’ personal property—but not the estate, family gold, or title. My cousin already had a fiancée, and he is my first cousin through my father and my mother, so I couldn’t marry him. I have to be provided for somehow."

"You’re a witch. You can provide for yourself."

"They would consider it wrong for a person raised noble to have to do that."

"My mum was raised noble, and she did," he retorted.

"She shouldn’t have had to," Hermione said decisively. "Your lady mother’s family was horrid to her. They never should have treated her as they did. She didn’t make a bad match. They dispossessed her only because your father wasn’t a wizard... and now she has the title, so ha! to them."

"I still don’t see why that means your parents had to pick for you... or my mum for me."

"That Lord Malfoy wouldn’t have let me go to magic school unless I was pledged to someone, and your mother wanted to help my family... and they wanted to help her." Hermione’s lower lip quivered. "Our parents are nobles. It’s just what they do. Many families don’t care if their children are friends, or even know each other, but my parents promised me that they would not send me to someone I disliked...." She trailed off. "You said we were friends. I thought you liked me."

Tom scowled, well aware that she was trying to manipulate him into saying it. "What if you meet a boy at Hogwarts that you like better than me?"

Hermione was shocked. "It would be wrong for me to consider other boys now!"

"That’s not what I asked. What if you did anyway?"

She stood up haughtily and glared at him. "I won’t like any boy better than you, because I am a lady, and ladies are honorable and keep their word."