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"It’s very important to keep your vassals happy," Hermione had mentioned one day after her parents had departed over a family breakfast, as Merope mentioned Severus Snape. His situation was a matter that kept occurring to her and then slipping her mind as something else distracted her, some new demand in her highly demanding new life.

"I have certainly heard of lords who tyrannized their noble vassals," Hermione had continued, somewhat officiously—though Merope could tell that was unintentional. "However, in nearly every instance, as soon as they realize that their combined power is greater than that of their lord’s, they act to undermine him or revolt outright. Not that I am suggesting yours would do that to you," she had added at once, looking somewhat embarrassed. "But there seem to be very few loyal vassals remaining...." She had trailed off, obviously worried that she had offended Merope.

But Merope had not been affronted. Hermione was speaking good sense. In fact, her family’s vassals had dwindled alarmingly over the years of her exile, whether because of being executed, sent away, stripped of their noble titles, or because they themselves chose to depart. A knightly family named Pettigrew had completely vanished, gone no one knew where. The Carrow family had been reduced to poverty and had gone to beg favors at the Lestrange family’s court, after—Severus had hinted—Lord Morfin had attempted to force Lady Alecto and Lord Amycus to serve him in bed, at the same time, while also trying to make them engage in activities between themselves for Morfin’s own titillation. Merope did not doubt it for a second; her brother had been completely depraved. She intended to bring the Carrows back in some capacity—they would be a useful source of intelligence about the Lestranges, too, if their loyalty could be restored—and to track down whoever was left of the Pettigrew clan.

There was no hope for a comparatively new knight who had no family name and had gone by the Norse name of Fenrir. He had been infected with lycanthropy, apparently as a sadistic punishment of Morfin’s for some probably imagined "offense." It was long suspected that the wilds near Hangleton harbored all manner of dark creatures, including werewolves. Sir Fenrir had assumed the name Greyback after being forcibly turned, rumor held, and had embraced his new condition.

Severus Snape was now the only wizarding vassal that Merope had left—and he had been reduced to being an informal advisor, when he ought to hold a title. She held a private ceremony for him to swear the oath of fealty to her. He spoke manfully, his voice deep and strong, as he took the oath.

When she addressed him as Lord, a hint of a smile appeared on his face—which she did not fail to notice. It almost brought a matching smile to her own.

Despite raising him to a title, Merope still intended to learn about management along the way from Severus. He had managed the estate—officially, following her brother’s death, but she strongly believed that he had managed it in truth for a long time before that. It would be a challenging line to walk between maintaining her own authority, treating him with respect, simultaneously respecting the knowledge he had to offer, and handling... whatever this new thing was. Probably it was just the fact that she had not been admired by a man in years, so she was now interpreting a smile as that even though it surely was not. In any case, she could not let it grow, even though Severus now—by her own doing—had a title. Tom was her heir, and she could not do anything to jeopardize that.

By the end of the summer, Tom was settled into his new life well. In fact, he mused to himself, it was almost as though he had never lived otherwise. He was meant for this life, he thought. He had always appreciated grandeur and splendor. He was born to bear the title of Lord.

There were certainly plenty of perks. His grand new bed was finished, and it was what he had hoped it would be: dark finished oak with heavy green-and-grey drapery, to match the colors of Salazar Slytherin and to reflect his proud Celtic heritage. Every day now, he wore fine robes of rich fabrics and deep colors. He had a tin tub of his very own that held so much more water than the pitiful washtub that they had also used for laundry when they lived in London.

And, of course, he had all the books that he had missed for the first part of the summer, when he first returned from Hogwarts. After being exposed to the library at the school, he had feared he would truly dread summers—but no longer. The Gaunt family library was as extensive as the Hogwarts one, and it was several hundred years older.

He had even become rather complacent toward Hermione. She had entered his life only a few days after he had taken up residence in the castle, so with the passage of time—even a couple of months—she became associated heavily with that in his mind. He was a young wizard nobleman; he lived in a grand castle with amazing artifacts and amenities; he had a young witch fiancée. It was part of the same package. He enjoyed her company, especially reading and practicing magic with her. She would not go to Hogwarts ignorant and incompetent, not if he had anything to say about it. It would reflect badly on him if she did, but also, he hated the idea of her intelligence and talent not being utilized fully. He liked spending time with her, and although he did not feel romantic feelings for her, he found the annoyance about the situation slipping away as the summer advanced. He didn’t like the idea of major parts of his life being out of his control, but his mother had also brought him into wealth and power without his personal consent, and that was certainly something he didn’t mind. If he did have to marry, and it was obligatory for him to marry well, then perhaps it was for the best that his mother had taken care of it, he told himself. It wasn’t as if any witch at Hogwarts of comparable social status was considering him, even though he was their superior in ability in every subject. Perhaps his mother had just saved him a world of trouble. He didn’t have to "court" Hermione. Really, he had always thought that "romantic courtship" was a dangerous game in which people put themselves at risk of being hurt, deceived, misunderstood, and materially harmed in the worst case, as his mother had been. He didn’t have to play that degrading game to "win a witch’s hand"; he just had to treat Hermione well, and that he could do. The future... actually being married to her... well, he would think about that later.

Hermione had a room of her own now. The house-elves had brought many of her personal possessions that she needed, or to which she had sentimental attachment, and she had made herself at home. It was almost as if she hardly missed her parents. Tom wondered at that; he knew that noble children were often fostered at other nobles’ castles, but Hermione had not been until now. Perhaps she, despite her affection for them, saw herself as separate from them to some degree because she could do magic. Tom could understand that. She was continually surprised in the most pleasant way whenever she learned about something new that could be done with magic. He liked his fine new bath, but her joy at having a continual supply of water at her command, at any temperature she wished it, was amusing to him. She loved the library about as much as he did. He was certainly proud that their castle was so impressive to her.

At last it was time for Hogwarts to begin instruction once again. It was a bit odd to Merope that the school did not keep its young scholars there for most of the year, but there were many children whose families needed them for their small farms during growing season. Hogwarts was certainly egalitarian. There was nothing like it in the Muggle world.

She sent the house-elves to bring Hermione’s parents to Parselhall to say farewell to their daughter. It was amusing to watch the Grangers wobble slightly, disoriented by Side-Along Apparition, but the scene of family affection as they made their farewells almost brought tears to the corners of her eyes as she thought of her own son. At least he was not going to move out of the castle....

The elves bowed to Merope and promptly took hold of Tom and Hermione’s hands to Apparate them to the quaint Scottish village of Hogsmeade, where the young scholars would mingle until it was time for them to go into the castle.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed at once as she saw the thatched roofs of the village—sealed from the elements by magic—and the grand castle in the distance. Young people were appearing in the street, sometimes with their parents or other adults, sometimes with house-elves. She immediately noticed that the ones who were escorted by elves were the best-dressed of the lot.

The nobles, she thought to herself. The idea that there would be so many people like herself and Tom lifted her spirits. A smile formed on her face—and then it faded. What if they are all like Lord Malfoy? she thought anxiously.

The house-elves bowed to Tom and Hermione and disappeared with two pops, leaving them in the village. She turned to Tom questioningly. He had done this before. He knew what to do, where to go.... She surreptitiously reached for his left hand.

He looked startled as she tried to hold hands with him. "I’m not going to lose you," he said at once, snatching his hand away.

A group of very well-dressed girls had noticed Hermione. One of them, a beautiful witch with curly black hair, sneered at her, her lovely features becoming quickly distorted by the ugliness of her expression. She pointed rudely at Hermione and said something to her friends, who all snickered in what looked to Hermione to be a very nasty way.

Tom noticed. He glared fiercely at the pack of young witches, then turned to Hermione. "That is "Lady’ Adelaide Lestrange," he said, a sneer in his words at the title he did not want to bestow. "She’s Rodolphus Lestrange’s daughter—the youngest wizard on the Wizards’ Council—and she’s a right hag."

"She disapproves of my... blood status?" Hermione asked, remembering the term.

Tom nodded. "Mine too. She also disapproves of me because her father is of Norman stock, and I have none in my family whatsoever, even on my father’s side. Their kind think we’re barbarians, although they invaded our country." He glowered at the thought of it and gripped his wand tighter.

"I have some Norman heritage," Hermione said quietly. "My paternal grandmother and my maternal grandfather were."

Tom raised his eyebrows at her. "I see. Well... that would make a difference if Lestrange cared about it more than she does about magical ancestry. But she doesn’t, so you’re better off avoiding her."

"I’d rather stick to you," Hermione agreed, cheerfulness filling her voice again.

Tom felt a pang for her. The Sorting Hat was probably going to place her in Ravenclaw, he would guess, and she would miss him—but it was for the best, he told himself. He shuddered to think of what the Slytherins would do to a "Mudblood" in their midst.

Candles floated in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, and even though Hermione had lived in a castle all her life—and had lived in a magic family’s castle for the past couple of months—this was still awe-inspiring.

The Masters of Hogwarts were an interesting assortment, she thought. The teacher of Potions and Alchemy, Horace Slughorn, was Tom’s Head of House. Albus Dumbledore, the High Master, oversaw the school at large. Minerva McGonagall, who was ferociously Scottish, taught Transfiguration. Hermione paid somewhat less attention to the others, because these three seemed the most striking to her, but she did note that they included a very short wizard, a strangely garbed witch with an aura of affectation about her, and a somewhat grubby-looking woman who, before Hermione had learned of this mysterious community of people scattered throughout the British Isles, would have been her exact mental picture of a "witch." There were others, too. Hermione supposed she would get to know them all in short order. But for now, she had to be "Sorted," as it was called.

A few people came before her. When it was her turn, the teacher named McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head, and sure enough, it was as Tom had warned her: The object began speaking. It seemed audible to her, but she was also sure that no one else could hear. Well, it hardly mattered. She had made up her mind what she was going to do. It was the only honorable thing she could do, after all.

"You are one of a kind at this school, Lady Hermione," the Hat spoke. "It took great courage on your part to come... yes, much courage indeed."

"Yes," she agreed in thought, "I suppose so. But you know I should not go to Gryffindor."

"Not Gryffindor, eh? Are you sure? Ravenclaw, then? You are quite bright, you know. Perhaps you would thrive best among those of ready wit."

The Hat almost seemed ready to bellow out the word. Alarmed, Hermione interjected. "Not Ravenclaw either!"

"No? You would do well there."

"Perhaps, but it would be extremely improper for me to be in a common room with other boys away from my fiancé."

The Hat seemed to hesitate. "Your fiancé is in Slytherin, of course. Indeed, he is a Slytherin, literally. You have some traits of the House in yourself—you have traits of all of the Houses—but you would face difficulties in Slytherin. You know not what you are about, Lady Hermione."

"I know that it is full of young scholars who would despise me because my parents are not magical, but Tom is there too. I need to be with him. And perhaps by being there, I—we—can change their minds."

"That is very idealistic of you."

"Should I not be? Are you casting aside a fourth of your school?" she challenged.

"My, my, how feisty you are. No, I see value in all the Houses. But it is my job to Sort the new students where I deem best. You would be with your Slytherin in Slytherin, yes... but you would truly need him, I fear."

"I should be with him. I can’t be in a common room with other boys unless he is there. And... I like him. I want to go through school with him... and I think that I should set an example for anyone like me who comes after me, that they can belong in any House of Hogwarts and excel."

The Hat hesitated. "You are certainly ambitious," it conceded. "Very well. Ambition and cunning are not the most prominent character traits of yours yet, but they will come in handy in your life, and we all have a choice about what we want to cultivate... so if you are very sure... SLYTHERIN!"

It bellowed out the final word, then fell silent as McGonagall lifted the Hat from her head. She gazed out at the Great Hall and noticed that, unlike the Sortings before her, for hers it was deathly silent.

The students of her new House, except for Tom, were glaring at her as if they wanted to murder her. Tom was regarding her with something very much like panic.

She made her way to the table. No one moved to give her a spot, except for him. When she reached him, his expression had shifted to one of utter exasperation.

Fortunately, the witch after her, a girl in fine robes named Daphne Greengrass, was also Sorted into Slytherin, and she was more welcome there. That was a positive distraction, and while they were politely applauding, Tom hissed at Hermione in fury.

"You did that on purpose, didn’t you?"

She turned to him, smirking. "I convinced it, you mean."

He gazed at her. "You have no idea what you just did."

"I have an idea. I had plenty of reason to believe that no one would like me. After all," she said tartly, "Lord Malfoy did not let me into the school at first." She fingered the serpent ring on her finger.

He glared. "Watch what you say. His great-grandson is up there, and I have no doubt he will be in this house. But—fine. It’s done now."

They watched the rest of the Sorting. The boy of whom Tom had spoken, Draco Malfoy, was indeed placed in Slytherin, to much cheering and smug satisfaction on the parts of most of the students there. It was apparently good when the direct descendant of the leader of the magical community was part of one’s House.

Unless, of course, one was not pureblood.

Most of the students did not take long to Sort. Hermione’s own Sorting had been one of the longest. But shortly after Malfoy, a boy with messy black hair took his seat on the stool, the Hat covering his head, and he sat there for a long time. The students in the hall began to murmur, as they did every time someone took a long time. The boy’s name was Harold Potter, which meant nothing to Hermione, but apparently many people liked to speculate about where a scholar would go based on where his or her family members had gone.

"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat called out. McGonagall lifted it off the boy’s head, and once again Slytherin House was struck dumb. Weak claps sounded from the table. Hermione added hers.

"Who is that?" Hermione whispered to Tom as the boy made his way there.

"I have no idea. He’s not from a noble family."

That much was apparent. Although he wasn’t shabby, his robes were not nearly as fine as hers, Tom’s, or—for that matter—most of the other Slytherins’. He reached the table and looked around for a seat.

"May I?" he asked Hermione politely, gesturing at the empty space on the bench next to her. She nodded, and he sat down.

The Sorting continued, with a couple more new scholars for Slytherin, but on the whole, the House was stunned at what had happened.

"What has become of this House?" murmured Adelaide Lestrange, gazing down the table with scorn at Hermione, Tom, and Potter.

Tom glared back. "I heard that, you know."

Draco Malfoy spoke up. "How dare you address my cousin that way, churl."

Hermione gripped her wand, but Tom had already drawn his under the table, though Malfoy could not see it. "I am not a "churl,’" he said slowly. "Apparently your grandfather and great-grandfather neglected to tell you of my mother’s reinstatement to her title."

Malfoy sneered. "Your mother may be a noble, but she is a blood-traitor, you’re a half-blood, and that Mudblood there has no business in Hogwarts, let alone Slytherin House."

"Your great-grandfather’s own law permitted her to come," Tom snarled. "And if you say that again, you’ll wish you hadn’t."

"You dare to threaten me?"

"I won’t tolerate you insulting her or my mother. And this is my House. Slytherin was my great-great-great-grandfather, and I live in his wife’s castle. And so does she."

"The mighty have fallen indeed," Adelaide put in. "And now, on top of having dirty-blooded nobles in the House, we have half-blood commoners in our midst." She sneered at the new boy, Potter.

He ducked down, clearly not expecting Tom or Hermione to come to his defense.

"The Sorting Hat placed everyone at this table in this House," Hermione declared, "and there is not one person in the school who isn’t allowed to be here." She held up her left hand. "This is my betrothal ring. As Tom said, I am fostered at his home. My parents rule a fief. I am really not so different to the rest of you—"

Loud snickering spread across the table at that.

Tom gave her a hard look. He did not actually say "I told you so," but Hermione realized that he did not need to.

The House was divided into a common room, a girls’ dormitory, and a boys’ dormitory. There were not that many students there, so everyone got to have a small bedchamber to himself or herself—something that Hermione was grateful for, after that dinner. She was worried that she would be attacked in her sleep if she had to share a bedroom. But perhaps old Slytherin had decided that it was undignified for the young aristocrats—the people he undoubtedly expected would be most of the scholars of his House—to share rooms. Perhaps the school simply had not grown enough that they had to double up. Whatever the reason, Hermione was glad of it. She found that her items had been set up in her room while she was being Sorted and having dinner, so she mustered her faltering courage, ignored the voice in her head urging her to hide in her new room, and headed to the Slytherin common room to find Tom.

He was nowhere in sight. Anxiously Hermione looked around the room for him, in vain. There were many young witches—and wizards—whom she did not know, and unfortunately, the only people whose names she could remember were Adelaide Lestrange and Draco Malfoy. She did not want to socialize with either of them. She had a feeling that their idea of socialization would entail magical bullying or worse.

The witch who had been Sorted immediately after her then passed by, and Hermione remembered that she was named Daphne Greengrass. She did not look overtly hostile. But she had not been introduced to Hermione, and she did not seem interested in making her acquaintance right now. Hermione sighed as she sat on a chair, wondering why she had not listened to her own mind and gone to bed.

The other half-blood boy—the one named Harold, she remembered—stopped walking in front of her and wavered, gazing at the unoccupied chair next to her.

"You may have it," she said politely. "No one was there when I entered the room."

He sat down. "This castle is a grand place," he remarked, "though I suppose you would know about fine places... erm...." He trailed off, realizing he did not remember her name.

"I am Hermione Granger," she said kindly. "And you are Harold... Potter?"

"People call me Harry. Pleased to meet you properly. It’s "Lady,’ too, isn’t it?"

She nodded. "I suppose so. I don’t know if that is observed as much here.... My father is the lord of Castle Grange."

"Are they really Muggles?"

"They are really Muggles. I’m sure you’re thinking about Lord Armand Malfoy’s law, but I was allowed to enter because of my betrothal to Tom—Lord Thomas Riddle," she clarified. "He has been here for a year already. He’s the wizard who spoke up tonight." She glanced at him. "What about your family?"

He chuckled. "Compared to that, they’re nothing special. My father has a shop in Godric’s Hollow that my grandfather founded. Godric’s Hollow is a town that has a large number of magical people."

"Godric’s Hollow... is that like Godric Gryffindor?"

"Yes, he lived there. He used to be the lord there—his family, that is to say. Now we’re ruled by Draco Malfoy’s father." The tone of Harry’s voice indicated that he was not pleased about that circumstance. "Four generations of Malfoys. But I was interested in your parents because... well... my mother is like you. She is Muggle-born. She didn’t go to this school," he added as he saw Hermione’s features shift in interest, "but she learned a great deal at home from the families in the village who did."

"I suppose your parents were not engaged until later, then."

He smiled wryly. "They tell me—joking about it now, of course—that they didn’t get on as children at all, so no. And... I mean no offense by this... but villagers’ families don’t typically set up matches in advance. It wasn’t ideal for her, of course... and the Founders, most of them, would have meant for her to go. I think even old Slytherin would have seen it differently if he had known someone like her. She’s great at potions—she invented this potion to fix my vision that I take every fortnight. I can’t see well enough to read without it."

"What is going on here?"

Hermione and Harry whipped their heads around. Tom was standing behind the chairs, glaring at Harry ferociously.

"It’s nothing to worry about," Hermione reassured him at once. "I was just getting acquainted with Harry Potter. He wasn’t threatening me."

"I wasn’t worried about him threatening you," Tom growled. He eyed Harry. "Be careful how you speak to her, Potter." He almost spat the name. "And what you speak of."

Harry stared levelly at Tom. "I wouldn’t say anything disrespectful of your engagement, Riddle. Or is it Lord Riddle?"

"You can call me Lord," Tom replied with a smirk. "And I’m glad to hear this, and although I think it’s good for Lady Hermione to make friends here—especially in this House—do make sure it stays "respectful.’"

Hermione stared at him in amazement, her eyebrows halfway up her forehead. He gazed back at her, a strangely intense look—possessive without romance—in his dark eyes, before he broke the gaze.

She stood up. "I should retire to my room, actually," she said at once. Turning to Harry, she gave him a weak smile. "I was pleased to make your acquaintance. The three of us will have to eat meals together, I think."

Tom muttered something inaudible under his breath, but he did not vocally disagree. He offered her his arm and escorted her to the door of the girls’ bedchambers.

Hermione had had tutors before, but never in such fascinating subjects as the magical disciplines. As it turned out—perhaps because of the policies that the Wizards" Council had imposed on Hogwarts—pupils were apparently expected to have some basic knowledge even before they came to the school. They were expected to be able to clean themselves, which meant knowing water and heating spells. They were expected to be able to levitate objects and reduce the weight of heavy loads if need be, rather than struggling with immense stacks of large books. She was immensely grateful for even the few weeks spent at Tom's family castle practicing.