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"I also think that we must consider other methods of neutralizing them," Abraxas Malfoy said. "The lady said that she was still able to conceive children. If there are unattached pureblood nobles... or even half-blood bastards... then we could try to pressure her into a marriage that would result in her son being cut off if she had other children."

"Castle Gaunt—or whatever she calls it now—is impermeable," Arcturus objected. "And that great wall surrounds the village and fields. They built it to be a self-sustaining fortress, and it is. It’s protected by strong magic, too. That castle has been there in some form for over six hundred years. We have nothing to threaten her with other than the lives of her son and the girl."

"That is true," Abraxas agreed glumly.

"I would not be against that," Bellatrix said spitefully. "Especially the Mudblood. This is all her fault. My daughter studied alongside the half-blood for a year with nothing like this happening. It’s distressing that such a one would be in Slytherin House, but I suppose he is descended from the Founder. The Mudblood is the cause of all this. We should just kill her. And if you say that her parents would go to one of the Muggle pretenders for justice, my answer would be: Why not kill them too?"

"Because Lady Riddle is a blood-traitor and has a contract of alliance with them," Arcturus said, his patience fraying. "We cannot act against them yet! In time, we’ll have a plan, preferably involving Lady Riddle, but we should not act rashly and violently. Instead, we should come together now to reaffirm the standing of our friend and kinsman’s family." He turned to Lestrange with a nod.

Abraxas glanced at his son, Lucius. "I told you my idea. Have you decided?"

Lucius nodded. "Yes. We’ll do that." Pleased to finally have the attention of the noble and venerable wizards in the room, Lucius smiled and explained to his peers what they proposed.

Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.

My lady mother,

We are adapting to the resumption (or beginning) of our studies at Hogwarts well. Lady Hermione has made a friend, and possibly has two more eventual friendships developing. As you would expect from the abilities that she demonstrated while she was with us, she is excelling at magic. I must take a little credit to myself for that, because you will be pleased to know that I study with her and practice spells when she wishes to.

But I regret to tell you that she will need both friends and powerful magic. Recently, a group of Slytherin girls, led by Adelaide Lestrange, launched a shameful attack on her in the corridor of the girls’ bedchambers. I will not dwell too long on the particulars, but will say that they ambushed her with rotten food and trash from the kitchen, and after driving her into her room, Lestrange set up a magical trap in the threshold of her door that covered her in mud and blood when she walked out. It was a disgusting, low thing to do, and neither of us will ever forget it.

In a few days, though, she had her revenge, challenging Lestrange to a public duel in the common room—and easily defeating her. I was proud to watch her. She will be a great witch someday and I am glad she has the opportunity to study at Hogwarts....

Merope read her latest owl post from Tom, a frown crossing her face. Tom had told her about the attacks on Hermione and the following duel, in which Hermione publicly challenged the Lestrange girl and defeated her, but his wording was very guarded indeed. Something else had happened that he was not telling her—or if not, then she was extremely disappointed in him. It was understandable that Tom would not want to openly attack a group of pureblood young ladies, especially one whose father was on the Wizards’ Council, but if he really had not done anything to defend Hermione—if he had stood back completely—then it was a very unpromising development for their betrothal, let alone for his own honor.

Merope had thought that the young people would develop a friendship over their shared intellectual interests in magic, as well as banding together against the onslaught that would surely be facing both of them, especially since Hermione had gotten herself sorted into Slytherin House. But Tom was very good at concealing his emotions when those emotions were anything other than raw anger, and Merope was not certain that he genuinely liked Hermione as she believed he ought. Hermione herself, too, fancied him, but in the absence of encouragement or any attempt to form a friendship, that would not last. Merope hoped she was not watching a disaster unfold. They just need more time, she thought. They are very young yet. And he may have more feelings for her than he shows me. If that was the case, then Merope hoped very much that Tom would show Hermione, at least.

She wondered, too, if she had been in the right to make her bargain with Tom. If he really was as cool to Hermione as her more pessimistic reading of the letter implied, then he might have concluded that his best option was to go along with the betrothal for their years at Hogwarts, to make all the proper courtesies to her, but then after they were finished with their studies, to declare that he did not want to marry her. Although she had not taken a formal oath to him, it still seemed very much to her that she had sworn falsely to someone, whether the Grangers or her son. The thought troubled her. If, a few years from now, he did make that assertion, then what would she do?

I made the bargain with him in order to placate him, to cool his anger, and to remove the element of compulsion that might get in the way of him becoming friends with her, she realized. I did swear falsely to him. I did not make the bargain intending to actually keep my word to him.

Another possibility intruded, which was in its own way even more unpleasant to contemplate. Tom had quickly adapted to the lifestyle of a young lord. It was a common more that it was all right for noblemen to have mistresses or worse, provided that the women were Muggles, and that it hardly mattered whether they cared for their wives. As a woman, Merope found that particular social custom of her class disgusting, and sweet Hermione deserved better. Witches, who had powers of their own, deserved better. No—she would not think that of her son without evidence. Tom had not even been interested in girls.

She read the letter from him again, reconsidering it. Yes, it was guarded language, but there was also real anger between the lines. Sometimes Tom exploded in rage, but on other occasions he would simmer quietly. And he very well might have done something that he did not want to commit to print. That was certainly like him.

Merope looked up from her letter. Severus Snape was standing in the great hall, looking agitated and concerned.

She rolled up the letter and gave him a welcoming smile. "Severus. What is the matter?"

He sighed. "May I suggest that we sit? This is a... difficult subject."

Merope raised her eyebrows. "Certainly," she replied, sitting down at the high seat.

Severus sat nearby. He ran his right hand through his black hair, looking pained. "First, my lady, I must apologize to you for something I have kept from you, and beg your forgiveness."

Merope’s eyebrows went even higher. She instantly thought of the fiefdom’s finances and the odd circumstances surrounding Morfin’s death. If Severus was going to confess to hiding financial information from his profligate late lord, or even taking part in Morfin’s death—perhaps by deliberately failing to heal him adequately—then she was already prepared to forgive. A loyal vassal should distinguish between the good of the larger family (and holding) and the personal whims of a bad lord. Any lord who never listened to wise advisors, in Merope’s opinion, did not deserve power.

What he said was completely unexpected. "For several years—since the year after your ladyship eloped with Sir Thomas, in fact—I have had a web of contacts among your family’s rivals who occasionally provide pertinent information, information that relates to plans or schemes involving... the Gaunt family," he finished, grimacing. "Or, as it is now, the Riddle family."

Merope was astonished. "A spymaster?" she exclaimed.

"That is a very strong term, your ladyship. That said, I suppose you could say that my associates are spies. They pass information. And I received some very alarming information about a plot that concerns your son, Lady Hermione, and you."

Merope was paying full attention now. "This is very unexpected, I admit," she said, "and you realize that after this discussion, I must ask that you disclose the names of these people to me. But for now, I just want to know who the plotters are and what they are plotting."

Severus looked unhappy at the first request, but he was not inclined to disobey her. It made sense that she would want to know about this. He gathered his thoughts before continuing.

"I don’t know if Lord Thomas has told you about the latest goings-on at Hogwarts," he began.

She nodded, holding up the rolled scroll. "He wrote to me about a disgusting attack on Hermione by most of the young Slytherin girls. She dueled the leader, though—Lestrange’s daughter, unfortunately—and defeated her."

"That was all he said?"

She gave him a curious look. "Yes. I presume there was more, then?"

"There is more. Perhaps he didn’t want to write this in a letter that could be intercepted... but the Wizards’ Council and their close relatives are quite certain that he sent a bottled memory to the Lestrange daughter’s fiancé across the water. A very compromising memory, apparently of the young lady publicly drunk and in the company of older wizards in a shady inn. Evidently this happened last year, so he could have seen it. In any case, the nobleman broke off the betrothal over it."

Merope gaped, trying not to smile. That was something Tom would do at his most devious, and it certainly made sense for him not to admit to it in writing. Perhaps he had told Hermione. Merope hoped so. It was good that he had indeed taken his own vengeance on her lead tormentor, and the fact that it was not open and public implied that it was at least partially out of anger on her behalf rather than personal pride.

"Well," she finally said, "he certainly did not tell me of this in the letter, though I can understand why. He may have meant to tell me when he visits me this winter. But that is very effective revenge. I presume the Wizards’ Council families were not happy?" she added ironically.

Severus looked grim. "There was discussion, my source tells me, of murdering the young people, but that Lords Arcturus Black and Abraxas Malfoy oppose it strongly. They consider the revenge to be out of proportion to the offense—of course, they don’t consider the attack on Lady Hermione an offense at all—but it has made them all realize that any harm to your ladyship’s family will be met with a counterattack. So their current strategy is to attempt to force you, yourself, into a marriage with a wizard in the hope of Lord Thomas eventually being cut out of the line of inheritance."

Merope frowned. That was not entirely unexpected... after her initial hearing at the Wizards’ Council, where Malfoy had asked her impertinent questions, she had realized that it was something that had occurred to them.... "Did they name anyone?" she asked.

Severus shook his head. "No, and it’s a very preliminary idea. My source tells me that they don’t even know if they could, because this castle is so strong. But it is something that they are apparently contemplating, should they deem it necessary in the future, so I was obliged to inform you."

She nodded, taking it all in. "I thank you for your continued loyalty."

"It is an honor to serve you, my lady."

Obsequiousness did not suit Severus Snape, Merope thought. She appreciated the loyalty but did not demand the groveling. It reminded her far too much of the degrading shows of obeisance that her father had demanded....

"And now, Severus... your contacts? I understand the sensitivity of their positions," she added.

"I would never question your discretion. Very well." He lowered his voice and gave his liege the source of the information, observing as her eyes widened in surprise.

Adelaide Lestrange’s fall from grace remained the talk of Slytherin House, especially the younger pupils, for several days after the fateful owl arrived. Even her own friends began to keep their distance from her in public, which suggested to Hermione that they were not friends at all, but leeches. Then, on the evening before the much-anticipated Hogsmeade visit, another owl from her family arrived, separately from the morning flurry of letters.

So did an owl for her cousin, Draco Malfoy.

Adelaide read her letter and leaped up from her seat in the Slytherin common room. "Ha!" she exulted, waving it in front of Hermione’s face, to the bewilderment of the latter. "Look at this, Mudblood!"

Although the parchment was flapping in the air, Hermione managed to read the pertinent bits. "Malfoy?" she exclaimed. On either side of her, Tom and Harry glanced up sharply.

"That’s right!" the girl crowed. "You may have thought you ruined my prospects, Mudblood, but I went from expecting to marry the greatest wizard in France—"

"Aquitaine, you mean," Tom muttered.

"—to being engaged to the heir of the most powerful wizarding family in England. It is a barbarous country compared to the homeland of my father’s people," she sneered pointedly, "but the Malfoys are civilized."

After this description of England, Tom was angry enough to curse her. Hermione tried to take in what she had heard and formulate a response. "Lestrange, your betrothals are not my affair, and I did nothing to you to cost you your first one."

On the other side of the room, Draco Malfoy was glowering over his own letter. Tom and Hermione noticed. That was... interesting.

"Oh, you may not have sent the memory yourself, but he did," she said, eyeing Tom. "And he wouldn’t have done if not for his degrading alliance with you."

Tom rose from his seat slowly, with the grace of a snake uncoiling. He cast Adelaide a hollow, chilling smile. "Lestrange, you would be advised not to say another word against her." He took Hermione’s arm, pulling her gently out of the chair and prompting her surprise—and a rush of pleasure at his touch. "You have no proof of who informed your erstwhile betrothed about your vices. I saw it, yes, but so did others," he sneered. "You made it quite a public spectacle."

The girl’s joy dimmed, and her face darkened. "You dare—"

"Yes, I dare," he hissed. "The only thing degrading is that your family has to scramble a betrothal to your own cousin because you’re too well known as a drunk for anyone else to consider you." He pulled Hermione close. "And I meant it. You will leave her alone and not say another word against her. She bested you in a fair duel. If it embarrasses you that a young lady who learned about magic only a few months ago beat you, then it should, but that is your problem." He forked an eye at Draco, who was visibly unhappy at the news. "And perhaps Malfoy’s."

Lestrange looked as if she wanted to say more, but the look on Draco’s face caught her attention first even though he tried to force his features into a smile when she looked his way. She gave Tom and Hermione a final snarl before heading toward her cousin.

Still holding Hermione’s arm, Tom ushered her into a more private corner. Harry followed quickly.

"All right, Potter, I suppose you had better hear this too," he muttered.

"Malfoy doesn’t look very happy," Hermione observed. "I wonder why? They seemed to be on friendly terms until...." She trailed off as she realized it.

"Until the first bit of news broke, yes," Tom supplied. "He’s embarrassed about her too. And who can blame him for being angry at being someone’s second choice, the person they foisted her on because nobody else would probably take her? But this is still potentially dangerous for us."

"The families are already allied," Harry said.

"Yes, but this just affirms it further. And it means that...." He hesitated before taking the plunge. "You had best stick with us, Potter. You’re not without talent. Since you accompany her during the day, I would like you to watch out for any attempts to harm her when I am not there."

"Of course," Harry agreed. "Like a knightly guard."

"Right," Tom said, rolling his eyes while Harry was not looking. "Like that."

"I know a member of the Black family," Harry said eagerly, glad to have been officially accepted. "Sirius Black. He lives in a separate room of my parents’ home—"

"I have heard of him," Tom said, contempt seeping from his words. "He is not considered part of the family anymore."

Harry looked as if Tom had thrown cold water on him. "Well, I can still keep my ears open."

"As you like, but I would not expect anything useful to come of it. It’s more important to gather allies from people who actually have some power."

"You have been here a year," Hermione pointed out. "Surely you must have some idea of who is persuadable."

Tom looked pained and defensive for a moment. "I have not had any friends until... you," he admitted. "But, yes, there are some who are more disaffected with the Malfoy regime than others. I need to work on them. Now that I am a noble, my views may actually carry weight with them, whereas they didn’t at all last year."

She nodded, still thrilling over his declaration of friendship. "Daphne and Millicent are all right. Perhaps...."

"Yes, you should continue as you are with them. Don’t push yourself on them as a close friend, though."

"I had worked that out myself," she said.

"Another thing that will be interesting to watch is how Malfoy’s views evolve... or don’t," Tom said, gazing surreptitiously at Draco. "The Hogsmeade outing is tomorrow. They’ll have to go as a couple, of course. We should watch them."

Privately Hermione agreed with this assessment, but she also hoped that Tom would set aside some time for her during the outing. It would be nice to spend some time together that did not revolve strictly around practicing magic, studying, or scheming for revenge on their enemies.

Tom had been to Hogsmeade before, during the previous year, and he had not been especially interested in it after a visit or two. Although it was all-magical, it was not, in his view, the grand exemplar of what the wizarding community could do. Hogwarts itself was much closer to that, in his opinion. Hogsmeade was, ultimately, a small village of a few score families, boasting of two taverns, a textile weaver and tailor shop, a baker, a confectioner, and a general store. These businesses might be necessary to support a town, but Tom would rather spend his time in the Hogwarts library—and for much of the preceding year, he had.

Things were different now.

Hermione would probably prefer the library herself, he supposed, but at the same time, she had not been to the little town except on the very first day, before the Sorting, and she had not had the chance to see it properly then. There were particular things expected of him now, he supposed; he should take her to see the place. Perhaps treat her to candy... maybe also something at the Three Broomsticks. It is a tavern, but Hogwarts students visit. It isn’t inappropriate if I am with her. The other one is where the villagers and older students tend to go—and Adelaide Lestrange.

Tom definitely did not want to create any situation that would invite comparisons between Hermione and her nemesis.

Waiting in the common room for her to appear, he mused again about Hermione. He had been doing that a lot, it seemed. I am just trying to resolve in my own mind what I think of her, he thought. For a while, he had seen her as something of a status symbol: proof that he really was a young lord now. He had also considered her as a mentor would consider a pupil, someone to teach, to impress with his own knowledge, to mold in the shape he would like. And it was not that he was suddenly against wanting to influence her views, but Tom found that those ideas of what Hermione was to him now seemed inadequate.

Maybe it was her dueling defeat of Lestrange and her resolve to be strong in the face of hard politics. Tom would have expected the proper, dutiful, idealistic Hermione he had met a couple of months ago to wilt and crumble before the ugliness of Wizards’ Council politics and the conduct of the members’ offspring. That she had instead taken revenge, both public and private, and had approved wholeheartedly of his additional revenge had surprised him. Suddenly, she was not just a trapping of nobility, nor just a lump of clay to shape. She was a witch, powerful and intelligent and worthy of respect. He had known that she was smart and powerful, but it was an intellectual observation. Now, it was more visceral, more personal. He was proud of her, not for his sake, but for hers.

Their relationship was different. He just was not sure what that relationship was, yet—though maybe, just maybe, he really was beginning to see her as a friend.

His musings were interrupted when she stepped through the threshold of the girls’ corridor. He rose from his seat and greeted her, extending his arm to her. As she took it, he could not keep the ghost of a smile off his face. She really was looking very well today, and he was glad of the outing.

She noticed the smile. Her brown eyes lit up, and she beamed back at him, clearly thrilled to the bone that he was smiling at her in a sincere way. Tom was very good at reading people, and he understood. He knew why she was so happy with the unexpected little smile, and the implications of that shamed him. She did accuse me of being cold to her, he thought as they walked down the hallway of the school. But enough of that. I would hold a wizard nobleman in contempt if he had a great witch for a wife, and yet treated her in such a way that she didn’t expect him to genuinely smile at her. I don’t want Hermione to expect negligence and coldness from me, nor to be surprised when I offer her sincere regard or admiration.

He thought briefly of how his mother would react if she knew of this change in him. She would be delighted—and probably a bit triumphant, given that "bargain" she had made with him that he now suspected was made in bad faith to manipulate him. Mother said, "Make an effort to become friends with her," Tom recalled. But would I have noticed her if not for our situation? If she had been allowed to come to Hogwarts on her own, would I have taken notice? Is this a real regard I’m starting to form, or an adjustment to the inevitable?

His mind whispered that his conduct to Hermione so far had been the adjustment, and this new appreciation of her was indeed real and would have formed anyway. It hardly matters why this relationship began, he decided. If my mother sees it as a triumph for us to become friends, so be it. She "wins," but Hermione and I win something more.

The Three Broomsticks was crowded with young people from Hogwarts, but Tom and Hermione managed to snag a small table for two in a corner that was... not quiet, but less loud than the boisterous central area. As they waited for their food and beverages to arrive, Hermione fingered the ring on her finger—the ring he had given her, Tom noted—and glanced surreptitiously out the nearest window.

"Hogsmeade is a very interesting place," she said, "but I did not have the chance to read too much about its history. It’s peculiar, though... is the High Master of Hogwarts considered the lord?"

Tom shook his head. "There is no lord," he said slowly. "Hogsmeade is a free town. They have a mayor, but no lord. Of course, they certainly benefit from the proximity of the castle for protection... and their economy," he muttered. "They must make a fortune on weekends."

"But how do they feed themselves without fields?" she asked, astounded.

"There are fields. Hogwarts doesn’t buy its food—most of it—from Muggles," he said disdainfully. "This ridiculous Muggle war for their throne would make it a risky proposition indeed for our people to depend on Muggles for our food. There are farms outside the town that supply the kitchen of Hogwarts, and the village gets a cut. Also, most of the people who don’t own shops have private gardens, a goat, a cow, chickens, or something."

"A free town," she mused. "That’s very interesting to me. I suppose that since they’re all witches and wizards, they could protect themselves to a great degree even without the school."

He nodded. "I think that situations like my mother’s, and the other noble families with magic, must be remnants of the ancient times when people like us were high priests of clans, with authority over the non-magical chieftains. Well... that was how the Celts, my magical ancestors, did it, anyway," he clarified. "Who can say about these... newcomers." He was proud of himself to have remembered that Hermione’s heritage was half Norman and to have avoided using a more negative term to describe the current leadership.

Hermione looked uncomfortable nonetheless, and changed the subject slightly. "King Arthur was a great lord, though, and he had a wizard as his advisor instead...."

Little did she know what she was about to unleash. "I have read just enough about King Arthur in my mother’s library—before she put a hex on our family genealogy books—that I have essentially no use for him. He tried to keep the Wizard-King in Exile from the throne—" Tom broke off abruptly, trying to control his temper about this subject. He really wanted to read those books.

Hermione was staring at him. "Your genealogy books? Are you descended from that line too, in addition to Slytherin?"

"On my mother’s side," he said proudly. "There were references to our descent from Morgana le Fay and Mordred the Dispossessed. I would love to know more about it. She won’t allow me to read it yet, though. She put a hex on the books after she saw me reading one."

Hermione gazed sympathetically at him. "In a few years, I’m sure she will decide you are old enough. After all, you and I will obtain mastery of magic in three or four years, I’m sure, and we will marry.... If we are old enough for that, you are old enough to learn about ancient family history." She paused. "I have heard that Mordred was... the king’s natural son. He wouldn’t have been eligible, even if he hadn’t done wicked things."