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"It wasn’t your word."

"Yes it was. I went to them after we left the library and told them I wanted this... and I would bet that your mother asked you and you said yes!"

Tom glared back. He really wanted to tell Hermione about his mother’s bargain with him, but she would tell her parents, and that would get him in serious trouble. "It was only because she pressured me," he said cuttingly. "She said if I didn’t, Lord Malfoy wouldn’t let you into Hogwarts."

Hermione sniffled and looked down to try to hide it.

"She also said that I would need to marry someday because she had the estate back and I was the only possible heir. And I guess since I am half-blood, no pureblood witch girls would consider me, especially not the noble ones. You’re less than half-blood, though, so it’s no wonder that you’re so happy at this prospect."

Hermione was on the verge of crying. "Why are you being so hateful?" she exclaimed. She turned away as the tears fell from her eyes. "You liked me until our parents made their agreement, so I think you still like me and you’re just angry at your mother." She wiped her eyes and whirled back around to face him. "I’m going to tell your mother about this, so what do you think of that, Tom?"

"I think you’re acting like a brat," he sneered. "You keep saying that I like you. I liked the girl who read a magic book eagerly in the library and wanted to try spells with a wand. I don’t like whiny brats who tattle."

Silent, irregular tears still coursed down Hermione’s face, to her clear embarrassment. She was flushed red, and her eyes fluttered shut at his words.

Tom suddenly realized that her parents might be able to see this. Nervously he looked in the direction of the Grangers and his mother, across the large library. Indeed, they were gazing at him and Hermione. It was not clear to Tom if they could tell that Hermione was crying, or if they had heard the argument—surely not—but he did not want them to walk over. Hermione’s parents would think ill of him for hurting their daughter’s feelings, and his mother would be furious with him. Whatever else he might think of the situation before him, he did not want others to see him as unfit or uncivilized. He had too much pride.

Hermione’s words suddenly registered in his brain, and he realized the truth of them: He was just angry at his mother and was using Hermione as the target for it because she had been happy about the circumstances. Now that he was thinking about it, he realized that he felt no pleasure in making her cry.

"I’m sorry," he mumbled. "I did not actually mean that bit about "less than half-blood.’"

Hermione wiped her face and nodded wordlessly. She would not look at him. That... bothered him, though he could not say why.

"Hermione," he finally said, "let’s go to a different part of the library, where we both have seats." He offered her his arm.

She took a deep, shaky breath. "All right."

Merope did not comment to Tom about what she was sure she had witnessed in the library. The Grangers—fortunately—had not interpreted it rightly, and had believed that Hermione was simply embarrassed, but Merope was quite sure that Tom had said something to her to make her cry. However, a moment later he was extending his arm to her to walk her somewhere else in the library, and then they were taking their seats in a cozy little nook. Before long, they were conversing—inaudibly to Merope, but obviously not in a hurtful way—presumably about the content of their books. Whatever had happened between them, they had patched it up. That was a good sign for the future, she decided. Logic and duty were all very well, but she did not wish a miserable marriage on her only child.

Perhaps Tom had already learned his lesson. He obviously did not like the immediate consequences of harboring anger—not even any punishment that she might inflict, but just the shame of upsetting a girl whom, Merope was quite convinced, he did respect and like in some way, and who was not even the real source of his ire. Merope resolved to be patient. Eventually—and it might not be very long—his anger at her would dissipate too.

Dinner that evening was different. They ate in the banquet hall again, since they had the Grangers as guests, but Tom felt more... tranquil, he supposed... about being seated next to Hermione. Her appearance was back to normal too; gone were the flushed cheeks and incessant smiles. That helped. Although he knew that the choice of seating was deliberate and rather heavy-handed, part of their parents’ apparent plot to make them spend as much time with each other as possible during this visit, it somehow felt less obnoxious now that Hermione was responding in a way that he could respect.

It had hurt his pride to apologize to her earlier in the library, but he did not regret doing it. He wanted her to back off, to stop acting like an infatuated young girl when they barely knew each other, but he had not actually meant to insult her. It had slipped out, perhaps because he had heard such things from his own schoolmates directed at himself for a year. Immediately after they had come to that accord, and they had resumed reading books and discussing magic together as they had the day before, he had remembered again why he had enjoyed her company. It really was nice to be able to share this interest with someone close in age who was clearly very talented. While he was talking about scholarly matters with her, he could almost forget that their parents had devised a legally binding contract that—unless his mother let him off, or he did what she had done and ran away—would compel them to marry in a few years.

Perhaps his mother was correct, and he would come to see Hermione that way by then. It was possible, he supposed, when he thought about the matter rationally. But that was beside the point. She should not have done such a thing to him, noble or no. Tom knew that—as she had said—wealth and power brought new responsibility, but in his view, that only encompassed matters like ruling a village, planning defense strategies for the castle, or overseeing a household. It did not include any "responsibility" to marry the person his parent told him to. That still irritated him.

He tried to push the thought out of his head for now. It would do no good to pick another fight with his mother, since he had already wrung a concession out of her and he did not expect she would offer him more. Besides, even if she did, the only concession she could make above the existing one would be to repudiate the contract now, and such a shocking reversal—after that public declaration last night—would undermine her when she was just starting as baroness, as well as hurting Hermione deeply and preventing her from going to Hogwarts. He was not overly worried about the Grangers themselves; a pair of Muggles could do little in retaliation, but he realized he didn’t want to harm Hermione—or his mother, or by extension himself. It certainly would do no good to continue targeting his anger at Hermione, who—rightly, he thought, with not a small degree of arrogance—was pleased to be engaged to him, and was a person he respected and... liked, he supposed.

He glanced at her as she sipped her watered-down wine delicately. She met his eye and gave him a shy, hesitant smile. He tilted his head slightly and returned a half-smile.

The following day, Merope herself was waiting in the hallway outside Tom’s bedroom just after he got dressed. Inwardly he sighed. She wanted something else, did she?

"Tom, please come with me," she said in tones that were mild but still brooked no argument. "There is something that you need to do—in my office."

Wordlessly he followed her into the room that she had set up for administration, ruling, and study. She closed the door behind him. He wondered what this was about; why all the secrecy? A house-elf could have relayed a message....

She gestured at a writing desk on which assorted shiny items gleamed in the morning light. Tom walked to it and peered at them, his suspicions rapidly growing as he drew near.

An assortment of rings lay on a piece of black velvet. There were several that, in Tom’s opinion, hardly counted as jewelry. One, in fact, looked very much like a piece of heavy wire bent into a circle and sealed together at the ends by magic. Another was badly scratched bronze. There were a couple of plain bands, one with a smooth cabochon of what looked like glass, and one that was actually quite nice—silver with a patina, and an emerald encircled by two snakes.

"These are the rings that I have found in the castle—other than the family crest ring, of course." She was wearing that one, Tom noticed. "You must select one for Hermione. You should place it on her finger today when we seal the contract. Don’t worry if it’s the wrong size; I’ll adjust it with magic—or you can if you are confident."

Tom’s irritation surged once again. He "must" select a ring? And put it on Hermione’s finger himself? It was perfectly obvious to him that, protocol or not, this was another way for his mother to bully him. So much for trying to forget about it and thinking of Hermione only as a friend, as she had said when she had first told him of the plan.

Scowling, he gazed at the rings. So she insisted that he pick it out himself and put it on Hermione’s finger? Well, then, in that case she should not have included the ugly, cheap, or damaged ones. He would pick one of those and embarrass her. His gaze paused at the scratched and tarnished bronze ring, then the one that looked like wire.

But if I do that, I’ll look like a savage boor, he realized. I might humiliate my mother, but I would also humiliate myself. And if Hermione does attend Hogwarts, everyone will see the ugly, cheap ring on her finger and ridicule me for giving it to her.

He glanced at the silver-and-emerald serpent ring. It must be fairly recent, since Parseltongue had entered the family line through Salazar Slytherin. That would explain the better condition of it, too. He sighed. As much as he hated to look compliant with all this, that was a ring that no one would be ashamed of. With a resigned scowl, he picked it up and held it between his thumb and index finger, gazing at his mother through narrowed eyes.

She nodded in approval—almost, he realized, as though she had planned this. He wondered if she had created that wire ring herself. She flicked her wand and summoned a box from the depths of a drawer somewhere.

"An excellent choice," she said, taking it from him and placing it in the box. "It belonged to your great-grandmother. Come, let’s present it to Hermione." She handed Tom the box and ushered him out of the office.

The Ceremony of Betrothal was ultimately a private affair, involving the two families and witnessed and recorded by Severus Snape. Tom was relieved that his mother had not summoned the entire staff—or village—to bear witness. She and Lord Granger affixed their signatures to the document, which detailed the terms for reciprocal defense of each other’s property—though Tom expected that that was rather one-sided, since the Grangers were Muggles—the amount of gold for Hermione’s dowry, specific property terms, a deadline for a wedding that was two months after they both completed their magical education, and language giving the young couple the authority to designate the primary heir from their future children as they saw fit. Tom nearly choked at that clause and the picture it put into his head.

They were also going to have Hermione fostered at Parselhall for much of the time that they were not at school—assuming that she was, in fact, allowed to go to Hogwarts. There, she would get accustomed to the castle and the distinct business of the barony of Hangleton.

Prior to the private ceremony, Merope had taken Tom aside to explain this to him.

"I remember some details from my girlhood," she had said, "but I have much to learn about the art of ruling, and I think it best that you learn it with me. Lady Hermione probably knows more than both of us about that subject, based on something her father said to me... so it would be sensible for her to be here for that reason too during the summers."

Although the legally binding signature was her own, Merope had also determined that, as heir to the title, Tom should sign the contract too. Nobles who were witches or wizards kept information about their family affairs and the administration of their holdings largely within their own circle, so they were somewhat secluded from the doings of the Muggle nobility... but the Grangers were not magical. The protections—and as prejudiced as they were, Malfoy’s Wizards’ Council did at least offer protection to the magical community from Muggle laws that countered their own traditions—did not apply to them. There was the possibility that, in the confusion of the ongoing Muggle war of succession, some greedy Muggle might not consider the signature of a woman valid and would try to force the issue with Lord Granger. That, after all, was part of the rationale of Stephen’s supporters, that Matilda had no right to rule the Muggles due to her sex. The idea of some absconding Muggle pervert getting his hands on Hermione disgusted Tom.

He wondered for a moment if this was a magical contract... but when he brought his quill to the parchment, he could not detect any magic at all. A good thing. He would have been outraged at his mother if she had done that to him. Trying to keep his countenance and not betray his frustration at his mother outmaneuvering him—and manipulating his pride and his sympathy for a person of magic—Tom signed his name to the document. His mother and Lord Granger pressed their family seals into wax drops at the bottom.

He then presented the silver ring to Hermione, holding his wand in his other hand. He was perfectly capable of shrinking it to fit her delicate fingers, and he did not want his mother to embarrass him further by doing that in his stead. His great-grandmother must have worn this ring into her old age, when her fingers would have grown arthritic and the joints knobby, because it seemed far too large to fit a woman’s fingers otherwise. He had already shrunk it a bit, in fact, so it would at least appear to fit—mostly—on Hermione’s ring finger.

She was smiling broadly once again as he slid the ring on her finger and resized it, a white smile of genuine pleasure. In that moment, the thought flitted through Tom’s mind that she was... rather pretty. Perhaps it was the green gown she was wearing—he always liked green—but still, that smile....

He knew protocol, so he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles lightly and quickly. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and then her smile shifted slightly, with one corner of her mouth a bit higher than the other. It was lopsided, but somehow this looked even more genuinely happy than the previous one.

I hope she does go to Hogwarts, Tom thought.

The Wizards’ Council.

Armand Malfoy and the other members of the Wizards’ Council were not especially happy to see either the Grangers or the Riddles again, and to the credit of his intelligence, he apparently deduced why they were there together before being told, based on the sour look on his wrinkled face.

"My lord," Merope said, her voice carrying a new confidence, "we come before this Council to inform you that Lady Hermione Granger, whom you previously declared a witch, has fulfilled the terms of both the Council and the law regarding admission to Hogwarts School. Her family and I have entered an agreement involving our children. As you may notice, Lady Hermione wears the betrothal ring that my son selected for her. We request a reversal of the Council’s previous decision concerning her acceptance at Hogwarts."

Malfoy turned to his son Abraxas and to the other members of the Council, utter fury written on his face. Abraxas stepped forward, seeing that his father was too angry to respond.

"Lady Riddle, we will confer in private and inform you of our decision forthwith." With no further comment, the Council huddled in a circle and cast spells making their discussion inaudible to the Council attendees.

The Riddles and the Grangers stood unafraid. The worst that could happen was that the Council would arbitrarily change the law, and if that happened, it would be unfortunate for Hermione—unfortunate that the young people could not attend school together and have that experience in common—but Hermione could still be educated in some manner at Parselhall.

Although they could not hear, they could observe. Armand Malfoy was gesticulating wildly, a blood vessel throbbing visibly through the thin aged skin of his neck. He was furious, and apparently advocating to change the law despite the Grangers’ fulfillment of its requirement.

This is more than just the decrepitude of aging, Tom thought as he observed the old wizard’s pinched face and withered skin. Dumbledore doesn’t look this bad and he’s about the same age as Malfoy. It is meanness that did that to him.

Abraxas Malfoy, who was elderly in his own right but did not yet display the kind of visage that his father did, bore a more reasonable and conciliatory expression on his face. So did Arcturus Black. Rodolphus Lestrange, by far the youngest member of the Council, looked displeased but resigned. Unless the old man overruled all of them, it appeared that Hermione would go to Hogwarts.

The Council broke apart and returned to face their petitioners. Armand Malfoy did not go to the podium to speak; he was still too visibly angry. Instead Abraxas Malfoy came forward.

"It is the decision of a majority of the Council that your petition will be granted," he said curtly.

Hermione burst into that pretty white smile again.

"Do be aware," he said in severe tones, "that her continued study at Hogwarts School is contingent upon the continued existence of this betrothal agreement. Should it be voluntarily renounced... or should young Riddle die—"

Tom could hardly believe his ears. Was that a threat? Instinctively he reached for his wand, just to feel its reassuring presence, though he had no intention of using it at this moment.

"–then Lady Hermione Granger will no longer be permitted to be tutored at the school. Furthermore, 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 unless she is a widow with one or more magical children that would need to be controlled. But your petition is granted, and as such, she will be permitted to acquire her own wand and any other personal tools of the art that she needs. And now, this session of the Council is concluded. You are dismissed." Abraxas turned away abruptly, followed by the rest of the Council.

After the departure of the Grangers and Riddles, the Wizards’ Council members gathered in a private room and discussed what had just happened. Armand Malfoy was still beside himself with anger at—as he saw it—being taken advantage of.

"I cannot understand why you would not consent to changing the law," he groused. "You know that it was not intended to actually allow Mudbloods to go."

"Nevertheless, the law is what it is," Arcturus Black said. "We could change it, but at what cost? You may not wish to see it, my lord, but our power is fragile with this Muggle unrest. The Conqueror appointed you as his viceroy, but he is dead, and several of his sons, and we have been just separate enough from the Muggle nobility’s affairs—"

"And rightly so!" Malfoy exclaimed. "It was wise of us not to get caught up in that!"

"Of course. We should have as little to do with them as possible, which is why I hate that any Muggle nobles have produced a magical child. But because we have had so much autonomy, the Muggle crown now has little interest in protecting us—the members of this Council, I mean. The Grangers and Riddles might have tried to appeal to one of the Muggle pretenders to overrule us if we had changed the law. They might even have incited the common magical folk to their side... the Mudbloods especially... and that would probably mean that the Muggle war would involve us."

Malfoy scowled, which was incredibly unpleasant on his face. "I still don’t like it. Even if that is what the law says, it isn’t what we meant. They know what we meant, and they’re defying us."

"I agree with Lord Black that we had little choice," Abraxas Malfoy said, "but I think it means that we should have changed the law before. We’ll have to change it after this girl completes her schooling."

"Unless this Mudblood becomes a symbol for others of her kind to rally to!" Armand exclaimed. "Even in that hive of rebellion, Godric’s Hollow, the Mudbloods have generally accepted the idea that Hogwarts is not for them."

"Some of them still marry into magical families," Black pointed out, "at least, once the young witches and wizards return from Hogwarts to the village. It’s surprising, really, that they have not already exploited the law in that village. I suppose the common folk don’t have the property or power to dangle before their children to get them to accept arranged betrothals. And, as you say, my lord, the direct rule of Godric’s Hollow by your grandson Lucius has changed expectations there."

"But I am still concerned about the effect this may have," the elder Malfoy complained. "And now, an old noble family is going to be dirtied even further than it already was."

"The son is half-blood," Black mused. "There are no others in the family. It is tragic that an ancient family is no longer pureblood, but it was not of our making. Of course, there is the theoretical possibility that Lady Riddle might have another child, but that is unlikely. What pureblood noble would touch a thirty-one-year-old blood-traitor?"

"True," grunted Rodolphus Lestrange. "I can’t think of any who’d want a witch who’d fucked a filthy Muggle. That dirt probably never comes off."

Black chose to ignore the younger man’s vulgarity. "Perhaps, then, we should simply... give up the line of Gaunt. The family name is at an end, anyway. If the boy marries the Mudblood, then who among wizards would consider their children as matches? They would have to look to the Muggle nobles. Eventually, they would become all Muggle. Perhaps we should let them suffer the just fate of blood-traitors."

Lestrange fell silent, evidently considering the idea. Abraxas Malfoy appeared to contemplate it as well.

Then Armand Malfoy wheezed out his displeasure. "They could just as easily change our customs by their bad example! The woman was from a fine old family, but it did not prevent her from turning blood-traitor. Others might follow. Then they wouldn’t have to turn to Muggles! We should eliminate the danger now."

"With all due respect, your lordship, I cannot support killing the young people at school," Black said. "The common families and the dispossessed are already simmering. An act like that could be a catalyst for organized rebellion—and with the Muggles at war over their throne, and making chaos of their own accord, it would be hard for us to put it down."

Malfoy scowled, but he could not deny Black’s point.

Abraxas spoke. "My grandson Draco is going to attend Hogwarts. He, with your daughter"—he inclined his head to Lestrange—"could lead Slytherin House and keep the influence of Riddle at a minimum. The Mudblood will, of course, be Sorted somewhere else."

They seemed to accept this. Although Armand Malfoy was still dissatisfied, he trusted to the leadership abilities of his own great-grandson to take care of the situation.

A few weeks later.

Hermione was delighted to go to the shops in the wizarding quarter of London to purchase her supplies. Merope and Tom knew what she would need, and Tom had up-to-date knowledge of what subjects were taught at Hogwarts.

"Magic," he explained authoritatively to Hermione as they strolled down Diagon Alley with his mother, "is like any field of knowledge in that it is constantly growing. The subjects taught at Hogwarts have changed since the four Founders. Now we have Charms and Curses, Potions and Alchemy, Divination, Transfiguration, Ancient Languages, Arithmancy, Herbalism, and Animal Husbandry—of magical animals, of course."

"That sounds very interesting," Hermione agreed in heartfelt tones. "Which ones are you learning?"

"All of them," he said with a smirk.

"Of course," she chuckled. "I mean to learn all of them too. I completely understand. Which are your favorites, then?"

"Charms and Curses, Divination, Ancient Languages, and Arithmancy."

Hermione twirled her new wand in her hands. "I wonder about the Alchemy part of Potions and Alchemy... has anyone succeeded at the discipline’s ultimate goals, then? The transmutation of base metals, or the creation of the Elixir of Life?"

"No," Tom said. "And I hope no one does. While there was a time not too long ago when it would have been quite nice to be able to create gold, my perspective on that has changed recently. It loses its value if everyone can create it with ease." He smirked. "And the Philosopher’s Stone is only theoretical. Master Slughorn, who teaches the subject, likes the idea of the Elixir of Life, but I rather think that even if it’s possible and it just has not been discovered yet, it would be a waste of time," he said arrogantly. "There are two other ways—"

"Tom, that’s quite enough," Merope said sharply. "You should remember your new status and mind what you talk about in public." To Hermione, Merope said in a very low voice, "One of them is the drinking of unicorn blood. Although it does restore health, it places a terrible curse upon the life of one who does it, which cannot ever be lifted. It is basically considered a supreme act of diabolism, so people don’t speak of it." She gave Tom a hard look. "Even those who like to show off what they know."

Hermione considered that. "What about the other thing he was speaking of? What is it?"

"It’s an advanced ritual involving the soul. A great personal sacrifice, which should never be made lightly or for improper reasons, but reversible. Still not a topic to be discussed flippantly, such as to show off one’s knowledge," Merope said, continuing to glare at her son. "And I can assure you, Lady Hermione, that these topics are not typical of what you will learn at Hogwarts. I did not learn of them until my final year there. Tom has been reading."

"I certainly have," he said, affronted. "And I wasn’t going to blab loudly, Mother."

Merope sighed and shook her head. Tom was a voracious reader, and she supposed that she could not fault him for that. It appeared that Hermione had it in common with him. That was good, she decided. She was in favor of anything that would help the young people bond. Tom was being civil and gentlemanly to Hermione. There was nothing to reproach in his behavior to her now, but it was hard to tell if he truly viewed her as a friend. Merope wanted him to have what she had not: a marriage between equals in stature and ability, built on truth rather than lies, and supported by both families so that they would have stability and prosperity. She wanted them to bond as much as they could before school began, because she could not imagine them having that much shared time at Hogwarts. Hermione would not be taught alongside Tom unless she advanced very quickly... although she might do just that, Merope conceded to herself. Still, it was all but impossible to imagine someone of her heritage in Slytherin House. They would surely be separated, so they needed to become friends now.

As if reading Merope’s mind, Hermione asked a new question. "How do you get Sorted into a House of Hogwarts?"

"They put a hat on your head, and it talks to you in a voice only you can hear and tells you where you should go," Tom said.

Hermione was startled. "So it’s one of the kinds of magical objects that can think."

She considered. "Can you carry on a conversation with it through your thoughts?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "It wasn’t on my head long enough for me to do that... it told me my House pretty much instantly, not that there was any doubt... but I have heard of that, yes."

"I see." Hermione thought about that for the rest of their London trip.

As the summer wound down, Tom and Merope settled into their new lives. The Grangers remained guests at Parselhall for a while, but finally had to return to their own home. They departed without Hermione, promising to send some of her personal belongings by a servant until Merope assured them that it could be done more easily on her part. Her two house-elves were perfect for the job. After a grand dinner the night before, she saw them off, somewhat bewildered, but overall pleased with the results of their long visit.

Merope was pleased too, and not just because she had found an eminently appropriate match for her son over the course of that visit. She had picked Lord Granger’s brain—and Lady Granger’s, too, although she knew less—about matters relating to administration, ruling, and establishing herself as a figure of authority to a fief of peasants who had been cowed by fear rather than developing true respect. Her own life experience budgeting and managing a household, however small, was not useless, and she did remember a lot of what she read as a girl, but the Grangers’ knowledge was invaluable.

She could tell, too, that Lord Granger was correct about his daughter knowing a lot about the subject herself. If Tom was being a know-it-all and eagerly showing off his knowledge of magic, Hermione was starting to fall into the same pattern when it came to political and administrative knowledge.