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He understood what she was asking, through her vague and seemingly benign questions. He shook his head in the negative. "She’ll know it was me, but this way she can’t prove it." He gazed at her pointedly. "We’ll talk more then, and you can tell me more. I have heard the most interesting things."

His tone was admiring. Hermione flushed faintly at the praise, and it thrilled her that they were starting to bond over a common cause, even if that cause was a strategy for revenge.

The Owlery sported an expansive view of the rolling Scottish countryside that was especially magnificent in the fading light after sunset. Hermione could see a couple of stars already. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she noticed the tall, dark-haired young wizard in one corner, tentatively stroking the feathers of a large owl.

She approached him. He looked up, noticing her. "Hermione," he said in acknowledgment. He drew the memory flask out of the pouch on his belt and held it before her, his eyes glittering and his mouth breaking into that calculating smirk of his. "Here it is. As I mentioned earlier, I’m sending it to this lord because I don’t think blackmail would be a good idea. She would, obviously, know exactly who had threatened her, and she might tell her usurping Norman father"—Tom winced for a brief moment as he realized, once again, that he had forgotten Hermione’s part-Norman descent—"about my threat. He could harm my mother... or either of us. Or possibly even your parents."

Hermione gaped. In all of this scheming, she had not thought for one second about the risk to her non-magical parents. "But... there is a defense clause in our families’ contract, isn’t there?" she exclaimed.

He considered that. "Yes, there is... and I am sure that, if she hasn’t yet done so, my mother will send some people to your parents’ castle to put up magical protections to prevent that very kind of attack. Perhaps Lord Severus can do it. They know that if they do anything to your parents, my mother will retaliate, and since they’re Muggles, my mother might even bring it to the Muggle aristocracy’s attention. I very much doubt that the Wizards’ Council wants our people involved in the Muggle conflict," he added, smiling darkly. "But they—your parents, I mean—won’t be in extra danger right now anyway, because if I send this directly to the Frenchman, no attribution to myself, then Lestrange will certainly believe I did it in retaliation but will not be able to prove it."

Hermione frowned, taking all this in. It made sense.

"Now," he continued, his smirk broadening, "what about you? I have heard the most interesting complaints from your attackers and their male associates. It seems that they have been having a great deal of trouble with their studies lately." His eyes were gleaming with approval.

"I used Memory Charms on them," she admitted. "All of them except Lestrange. Her, I intend to duel publicly."

Tom nodded in approval. "A good front to conceal the Memory Charms. And—Hermione, your magical ability is extraordinary. I hope you realize that."

It was not false flattery. He meant it, and he was legitimately impressed. Hermione smiled—but then she remembered that Tom had always been impressed with her magical skill.

She decided to plunge forward and ask him about the issues that had dogged her thoughts for the past week. "Tom, I thank you—sincerely—but may we talk about some things, now that we are alone?"

Tom glanced at the owl. He believed he understood what sorts of "things" she had in mind, and he realized it would be a complicated discussion if so. He took a deep breath, slid the flask into the leather pouch that was bound to the owl’s legs, and summoned a scurrying rat from the castle floor. The owl took the squeaking rodent in its sharp talons and cast off in a majestic, threatening black shadow.

He turned to her. "All right. What do you want to discuss?" He grimaced inwardly about how cold that had come out.

Hermione did not flinch or draw away. She eyed him, not disapprovingly, but also without any sign of the girlish adoration that she had shown him at the beginning of their relationship. "I want to discuss us," she said simply. "Specifically, I wish you would tell me why you have been so cold toward me here at Hogwarts."

"I haven’t been cold toward you," he said defensively. "I have treated you as I should."

"You have," she insisted. "You escort me, yes—you do exactly as you should and always act like the nobleman that you are—but you show no warmth and little friendliness to me. We don’t even talk about magic here! At least we had that at your mother’s castle. I just don’t understand. And Harry...."

Tom’s face had soured at the mention of that name. Hermione noticed. "Are you jealous of him, Tom?" she charged.

"Of course I’m not. He’s a shopkeeper’s son. There’s nothing to be jealous of."

"You’re jealous of the time I spend talking to him," she said. "I remember what you said to me when we had that first argument. You were worried that I would meet another boy here. That’s what it is, isn’t it? Tom—you have no reason to be! I know that you were raised differently than I was. I understand that. But I wouldn’t betray you!"

Tom considered what to say. Her charges of jealousy of Potter over her attentions were completely accurate, and he was not sure he even wanted to deny that to her face. He would then have to concoct another explanation for his attitude to Potter, and it would only further her fears that he did not care anything for her. "My mother ran away from her family to marry for love," he finally said. "Or... desire, at least. I don’t know. But she gave up wealth and power for fourteen years to do it, Hermione."

"Had they picked out someone else for her?"

Tom hesitated. He had tried to get that information out of his mother, and she had certainly implied that they had not, but she had not stated it outright. "I don’t know," he said. "But whether they had or not, she lost everything because she met someone she liked better than the family riches. And I’ve heard of nobles who betray their spouses all the time," he added sourly. "Men and women." And it is atrocious to think of being cast off in favor of someone else.

Hermione looked appalled. "I have heard of such things, too, of course, but I am not that kind of woman."

"I wasn’t saying that you were," he said at once. "I meant before your marriage."

"I don’t see it as that different," she said stubbornly. "Honor is honor. I wear your ring. And this is all beside the point, because I like you, Tom! But you made it very clear to me that you didn’t want me to show you that, so I stopped after the first couple of days at your mother’s castle. So I don’t understand why you would choose to be jealous of Harry when you don’t show warmth to me yourself and don’t seem to want me to show it to you. Does it embarrass you?"

He wanted to glare at her, but only for a fraction of a second. Her questions were perfectly logical, and he could see that when he looked at it objectively. "It annoyed me when you showed "warmth’ to me at first because we had just met, and I was angry with my mother over what she had done, and I knew that you could not really care for me that early since you barely knew me."

She considered this, though it made her blush in shame that he was implying that she had acted silly at that early stage. "Are you still angry with your mother? You don’t act it. Even before we came to Hogwarts, you have acted as though you had accepted this."

"The two aren’t mutually exclusive," he said defensively. "I had accepted it, you might say... but I was still angry with her. Frankly, Hermione...." He hesitated for a moment. What he was about to say would hurt her feelings. But it was his honest opinion, which was what she wanted, right? He continued, "I know why nobles play matchmaker with their children. They want to make alliances for mutual protection. But your parents can do precious little to defend my mother’s keep... and they bring little, if any, political benefit in the wizarding part of the aristocracy... so it seemed to me that our parents were using me in order to get you admitted to Hogwarts, and that was it."

Hermione was staring at him, eyes wide. He plunged ruthlessly ahead. "I couldn’t see what we got out of it, or specifically, what I did, for a while at first. Don’t cry, Hermione"—for those large eyes were welling with unshed tears. "I said "at first.’ That changed after I got to know you better. You are so superior to others at this school...."

She blinked away the tears and took a deep breath. "And that is why you accepted it?"

"Mostly," he said. There was a hint of truculence in his voice. "And... I got used to my new status. It became a part of that, in a way."

She gave him a nod. "That’s fitting," she said, a bit of that know-it-all officiousness returning to her voice. "It is a part of it, almost always."

"But"—he turned aggressive again—"it’s marriage, Hermione. It’s not that our parents are merely encouraging us to be friends. They wrote a contract for marriage. Do you actually comprehend what that means?"

Hermione glared stonily at him. "I grew up with two parents, Tom Riddle. Your father died before you knew him, and your mother did not remarry. Maybe the right question is, do you comprehend what that means?"

Tom was startled and rather affronted for a moment, but rapidly those feelings changed to pride in her. He liked it when she was strong and met him face-to-face. "I have lived in the world too, Hermione," he said. "But... I take your point. You comprehend what it means. You were just raised as a noble, so this has been normal to you for your whole life."

She nodded. "I wish you would believe me when I say that I like you, and that I value my word and honor and I would not cheat on our agreement... and that my feelings for Harry Potter are purely amiable in any case. But even if you can’t do that yet, I just want to be friends for now, Tom. Just friends. If you’re worried about Harry, doesn’t it make sense to be friends with me anyway?"

Tom considered. He remained silent for a while, and Hermione spoke once more. "My parents’ marriage was arranged by their parents. They—my grandparents—wanted a really strong alliance, so there were actually two marriages, my aunt and uncle as well as my parents... but my parents are still very kind and affectionate to each other. I know that they’re friends. That was also something that I grew up observing." She left off at that, but Tom knew what was unspoken: "And I want that too."

He nodded and extended a hand to her. The fact that she had mentioned her parents as "friends" rather than an infatuated pair in a heated romance comforted him... and her logic about Potter was sound. It impressed him; he had truly not thought of it that way, that he was potentially harming his own interests by letting Potter be the one to offer her the most attention. "I can do that," he said, feeling the warmth of her hand as she slipped it into his.

She smiled as the sky turned to midnight blue and more stars came out.

The occupants of the Slytherin common room raised their collective eyebrows as Tom entered the room holding hands with a girl. Any hint of intrigue was like gold to a niffler to them. But as soon as they saw that the girl was Hermione, and therefore that there was no potential scandal, interest faded—except in one quarter. Adelaide Lestrange, surrounded by her pack of extremely unhappy-looking girls, glared at the pair silently.

Harry Potter was seated by himself in a corner. Tom paused as he noticed the younger boy. Then he turned to Hermione, gave her a nod, and released her hand, heading toward Potter’s corner.

Hermione turned to Lestrange. Now was as good a time as any. She mustered her courage.

"I’m calling you out, "Lady’ Adelaide," she said, her words quiet—though loud enough for others to hear—but steely.

Lestrange met her eyes. "You dare to call me out, Mudblood?"

"You led an unprovoked attack on me. You meant to shame me, by your choice of "materials’ to use against me, but you disgraced yourself by your actions. It was underhanded, disgusting, and more befitting of a lowborn bandit than a lady." Her words grew stronger still. "As is my right by our laws, I challenge you to a magical duel."

They had the attention of everyone in the Slytherin common room at this point. Lestrange glanced around quickly, realized this, and realized that there was nothing to be done but accept the challenge. She sneered at Hermione. "Accepted. Do you feel up to it right now, Mudblood? Let’s get this over with, so you can go back to your bedchamber and cry some more. Or maybe go back to your Muggle parents where you belong."

Hermione glared back. "I won’t be the one going anywhere." She glanced at the two boys in the corner, who were watching closely, and drew her wand. "I have no objection to dueling right now."

One of Lestrange’s... friends, or whatever they were, Hermione supposed... tugged at her sleeve in what she imagined was an unobtrusive manner. "Adelaide," the girl whispered, "are you sure you want to do this right now, in front of everyone?"

"Be quiet, Rosier," the girl commanded. She stood and drew her wand on Hermione. "I suppose we must bow, even though you do not deserve it."

She won’t attack me during our bow with the entirety of Slytherin, including Tom, watching her, Hermione thought as she bowed to the girl, who did the same.

As soon as their heads bobbed back up, they were ready. "Reducto!" Lestrange bawled.

Hermione blocked it nonverbally, which she noticed out the corner of her eye earned her immediate respect from the Slytherins, just as Lestrange’s verbal screeching of a spell lost her some of their respect—at least momentarily.

Unfortunately, the spell Hermione meant to use was one she could not yet cast silently. "Confringo!" she exclaimed. A heated pressure wave exploded from her wand, catching Lestrange. Although it was nowhere as strong as it would have been if cast by a trained adult witch or wizard, it was still enough to impress the young people in the room. Shock filled the older girl’s eyes as she stumbled, small flames catching at her robes from the curse.

"You filthy Mudblood!" she raged, but the time spent shouting the insult cost her dearly. Hermione sent a jinx at her almost completely nonverbally, only whispering it under her breath. The girl tripped over her own legs.

Hermione smirked. Expelliarmus, she thought, expecting the duel to end—

—Lestrange blocked it, only just, but with her quick defense, the duel was not yet over. She rose to her feet, still wobbly, and sent a silent Fire-eye Jinx at Hermione. Shocked, she blocked it, but only barely. Furious, both with herself for letting her guard down, and with this girl for using something like that—that would have been horribly distracting if it had hit, and it might have lost her the duel—Hermione mustered her magical energy and hurled a nonverbal Stupefy at the girl. It struck.

Grimly satisfied and proud, Hermione cast the Expelliarmus once more. Lestrange’s wand sailed into her hand. She pointed it over the prone girl, contempt and triumph radiating from her face. Lestrange gazed back furiously, but she knew what everyone else in the room knew. The Mudblood had beaten her in a duel of honor.

The smirk on Tom’s face was broader than she had ever before seen it.

Castle l’Etrange.

Countess Bellatrix Lestrange rose from the throne-like chair in which she sat and waved the letter she had just received before her vassal.

"Do you understand me?" she roared. "My daughter was just attacked at Hogwarts by a Mudblood! They should not even be allowed!"

Amycus Carrow scowled. "I heard of it, my lady."

"That filthy girl singed Adelaide’s robes!" Bellatrix exclaimed.

"But she knows how to undo that, doesn’t she?"

Bellatrix glared. "That is not the point! My daughter should not have to repair her robes like a house-elf or a grubby village witch, and certainly not because of a dirty Mudblood who should not even be at Hogwarts!"

Rodolphus, the lord of the castle, strode into the great hall where his wife was. He eyed her. "I approved the Mudblood’s admission," he said grudgingly, "because of a marriage alliance play that your former liege lady, Carrow, made for her son. You tell me now that the Mudblood has repaid the Council’s charity by attacking our daughter?" He strode forward. "Give me that letter," he demanded.

Bellatrix glared at him for a fraction of a second but handed over the note. Rodolphus read it, scowled, and rolled it up, not giving it back to her. "According to her, it was a duel that observed the traditional rules. She was a fool to take up the challenge. Accepting a Mudblood’s challenge is tantamount to declaring them our equals. I have no sympathy." Still holding the letter, he strode out of the great hall.

Bellatrix looked as if she wanted to protest, but she would not berate her husband in front of Carrow.

A few days later, a second owl arrived.

Although a Slytherin, Adelaide Lestrange had essentially no concept of secrecy when it came to her emotions, even when it would have been in her interest to keep her feelings about something to herself. The screech of dismay and outrage reverberated down the Slytherin table at breakfast shortly after her owl arrived and unceremoniously dropped a letter before her, as if it knew the contents.

Tom’s face was curious but otherwise impassive. Next to him, Hermione attempted to mimic him. She was pretty sure she knew what tidings that owl bore, at least in essence. The details, of course, would come out later. On her other side, Harry craned his neck to get a better view as Adelaide rose from her seat in distress and her friends sat back, not offering a word of support.

Later that day, the truth was out: Lord Berengar, the wealthy pureblood nobleman in Aquitaine who was more than twice Adelaide’s age but to whom she had still been engaged, had ended the betrothal unceremoniously after receiving certain information about her.

Hermione had to feign ignorance of the intrigue, and Harry was ignorant of it. Daphne and Millicent were more than happy to enlighten their housemates during Potions. "She drinks all the time," Millicent said baldly, though her voice was audible only to the three people nearest her. "I’ve already heard about her stash of wine in her bedchamber."

Hermione stared at Millicent. That had not been in the description Tom had given her of his memory. "She has wine hidden in her room?" she repeated.

Daphne nodded. "Her friends—the ones who attacked you—visit her to have parties. They’ve already had two late-night revels, supposedly, unless Parkinson was making empty boasts... but yes, I’m sure that’s how she knew her way around the kitchen. She’s either been stealing it or flattering the elves into giving it to her for a year already."

"Drunkenness runs in her mother’s family. Everyone knows about her mother the Countess, and nobody wants to visit Castle l’Etrange because of her ladyship having too much and going into a violent rage," Millicent stated.

Daphne nodded gleefully as she powdered her scarab beetle. "And the rumor is that there was an incident last year where Adelaide stumbled out of the tavern at Hogsmeade—the low one, the Hog’s Head—barely able to walk, reeking of cheap ale, surrounded by older wizards, mostly ones who finished last year. And that this is what Lord Berengar found out about."

Harry looked startled. "If they did anything to her, wouldn’t it already have been a scandal?" he asked.

"Well, yes, so they probably didn’t," Daphne acknowledged. "But that’s not the point. Ladies can’t risk their reputations... and who can blame Lord Berengar for not wanting to marry someone who is in her cups half the time?" She smirked and turned to her cauldron.

Hermione, who had known of this part and had been thinking about Tom’s owl for several days, was contemplating other things. "So what is going to happen?" she asked. "It seems that it might be difficult for her to get another betrothal if people know about this."

"Oh, I expect her parents will find something," Daphne said with a shrug. "Her father is on the Wizards’ Council. But her prospects are definitely dimmer now." She smirked again and lowered her voice to a whisper. "They’ll have to settle for a second son, I’d bet. Poor Lady Adelaide." Insincerity dripped from her words. "But between us, I thought that Lord Berengar was too old for her. It’s disgusting that some man who is almost thirty looks at a thirteen-year-old and sees her as a wife. I know that a lot of people don’t agree, but that’s just what I think. Maybe the bright side for her is that her father will find a wizard close to her age."

Hermione was aware that that kind of thing happened regularly, but she had not personally known of any girl who had been married off to an adult man. The thought revolted her too... even for an enemy who hated her and had set her up to be covered in blood. She gave silent thanks that her parents had promised her a few years ago that they would not send her to someone who disgusted her.

Tom... Hermione smiled at the thought of him. Since they had had their discussion in the Owlery, he had been more considerate of her—and, notably, less contemptuous of Harry. He had taken part in their small study sessions in the common room, sharing his knowledge. Admittedly, he still had a rather superior air when he talked about magic, especially magic that he knew and they did not (or that he thought they did not), and especially when he spoke directly to Harry. But Tom had been like that about his knowledge from the first day she had known him, and if Hermione was entirely honest with herself, she had that quality too.

His public behavior was unchanged; he still had perfect, unimpeachable manners, and did not act overly familiar with her in front of other people. He escorted her to meals, joined her whenever she wanted to practice magic in the common room and Harry Potter was present, and kissed her hand as he saw her off at the door to the girls’ corridor at night. Nevertheless, Tom really was keeping to his word about attempting to be friendlier with her when they were alone. They were going to have the opportunity to visit the nearby village, Hogsmeade, this weekend, and he was going to take her. She was looking forward to it.

Her thoughts returned to the classroom as her potion turned a brilliant, sparkling shade of red, exactly as it should. The potion in Millicent and Daphne’s cauldron was nothing to be ashamed of, but it did not sparkle. The girls eyed their neighbors enviously. For that matter, Hermione envied Harry his brilliant mother, who had taught him this subject, and a flash of anger passed through her mind at the thought that such a person had not been allowed to attend Hogwarts. It wasn’t right. She was glad of her match to Tom—but that was because of her station in life and the fact that she liked him. Her admission to Hogwarts should not have been contingent on it.

Well, perhaps that would change. Armand Malfoy would not live forever—he looked half-dead already, she remembered scornfully—and perhaps with this disgrace to his family, Rodolphus Lestrange’s influence would be diminished. And, too, perhaps the excellent example she could set in school would prompt the Wizards’ Council to evolve eventually.

Castle l’Etrange.

The family sitting room was crowded with well-dressed, esteemed personages, almost all male. Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange sat enthroned in the grandest seats. Three generations of Malfoy men sat coldly in chairs, accompanied by Narcissa, Lucius’s wife. Arcturus Black, his son Orion, his daughter-in-law Walburga, and her brother Cygnus—who so happened to be the father of the host’s lady—occupied seats across from the Malfoys. Orion and Walburga’s heir, Regulus, sat next to them. Across the room, magical blue-black flames flickered in the great hearth, not providing a scintilla of real or perceived warmth to the room. It was fitting, at least.

Rodolphus spoke. "I thank you, my lords and kinsfolk, for coming here tonight in our time of trouble, to give counsel as friends."

Armand Malfoy did not seem especially inclined to agree with Lestrange’s view on that matter. He eyed the younger wizard without respect. "I understand that your daughter’s disgrace was caused by her own reckless and unladylike conduct, although I would agree that something must be done to keep the reputation of your house from further decline."

Lestrange’s eyes widened in anger, but only for a moment. One did not cross Armand Malfoy, not even—or perhaps especially—one on the Wizards’ Council.

"You also told me that she was defeated in a duel by the Mudblood. Do you think that the Mudblood sent the information to Lord Berengar?" Armand asked baldly.

"No, my lord," Bellatrix spoke up. "She wrote to us that the event occurred last year. That said, I do suspect that the Mudblood’s betrothed, the half-blood son of the blood-traitor Gaunt lady, was the one who sent the information." She scowled. "Lord Berengar said it was unassailable evidence—an actual bottled memory. I am sure it came from Riddle."

"Yes," Lestrange agreed. "And frankly, something needs to be done. They are getting above themselves."

The eldest Malfoy leaned in, leering, his papery skin stretched thin. "I told all of you that we should not admit the Mudblood. Instead of accepting her place after your daughter and her little friends taught her that lesson, she and Riddle chose to retaliate, and now it has cost your daughter a grand title. The Berengars are the highest-ranked wizarding family in their country."

"I am aware of what we have lost, my lord," Bellatrix said through clenched teeth. "But it is because of this that we must act."

"I spoke in favor of killing the Mudblood and the half-blood," Armand opined.

Arcturus Black spoke up. "And I opposed that then and still do, my lord, for the same reasons. And now we have to consider the fact that these people are good at taking meaningful, damaging revenge. The Mudblood is not isolated. They may truly be fond of each other; they certainly confide and conspire, since this duel and the memory scheme happened at the same time. Lady Riddle may have even been involved in giving them ideas, for all we know. In addition... she has raised that half-blood, Severus Snape, to a title."

Bellatrix gave a snarl of disgust.