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Hermione thought for a moment about inviting Luna and Ginevra to Castle Parselhall. Hmm. Although they were not nobles, and her parents might not approve of her association with them at all, Lady Merope was her foster parent. She seemed to have a different attitude, and might regard well-mannered, educated, respectable witches as suitable companions whether they had titles or not. To the wizarding aristocracy—other than exceptional snobs like Adelaide Lestrange—it seemed that common-born witches and wizards were several notches above common-born Muggles, a kind of nature’s nobility, or gentry at least. With Lady Merope making the decision, it was possible that Hermione could invite her female friends here.
My parents really have taken little interest in me since I went to school at Hogwarts, Hermione thought suddenly. She had written letters occasionally to them, but they seemed to regard their work rearing her as finished and related to her as an adult daughter now. She supposed that in Muggle terms, she was, even though witches and wizards held that she was not until she turned seventeen or achieved mastery of magic, whichever came first. Was the distance between her and her parents because she had magic and they did not, and they considered her to be a part of that group of nobles now, or was it that they had achieved their principal goal as noble parents and found a match for her? Probably both, she thought sadly. She loved them, and she knew that they had been very good to her, but after seeing the surprisingly close familial relationships among people of magic, Hermione now realized that even the kindest Muggle aristocrats were not very affectionate parents in comparison. It must be the wizarding custom of viewing sons and daughters as "children" for longer, she thought—but this line of thought only reinforced to Hermione how alone she really was.
She would ask Lady Merope about inviting Luna and Ginevra, then. It was probably best to give them an opportunity to visit their own families first, but in a couple of weeks, she would inquire about it.
Little did Hermione know that Tom was planning the same thing. Down the hallway, he sat at his desk in his bedchamber, thinking. He did not want to waste the power of the ritual that he had performed. He felt the thrill of possibility, a window opening up to reveal an unexplored vista. The power of the ritual was his to take—but he had to do it.
I need to formalize my friendships as alliances, he thought suddenly. He took up a quill and dipped it in ink. These friendships are no good right now in pragmatic terms. Hermione said once that we dreamt fanciful dreams. I hate to admit it, but she was right. I need their families in alliance with my mother.
Tom had never invited friends to the castle. In previous summers, including the summer before Hermione had started at Hogwarts—the very first few months that Mother had owned it—he had been content to spend the days by himself or with Hermione. But she was keeping to herself, and the more that she stayed away from him, the more inclined he was to let her keep her distance. Then, too, things were in motion beyond the walls of Hangleton. The Wizards’ Council was always up to no good, and the families of the self-proclaimed "Friends of the Founders" (Tom doubted very much that the Founder who was his ancestor was included) were making provocations—and, Tom suspected, also doing or planning something that they did not want to tell their children. Other people were making their moves, and Tom realized he needed to make his. It had been nice in the past, but currently, each moment spent lazing next to the stream with Hermione would be a moment wasted. Let her stew in her cauldron, then. I have better things to do.
He rose from his chair and went to find his mother. She was in her office, studying the accounts of the barony for spring. Her eyebrows went up as he entered.
"I was hoping to invite some friends to visit," he said obligingly, smiling at her to try to persuade.
He need not have bothered. Merope returned the smile. "I am very glad that you have additional friends," she said. "Who are they?"
"Edgar Fawley, Marcus Flint, Rob Wilkes, Cormac Avery, and Theodore Nott."
"Those are all noble families," Merope said, frowning in thought.
Tom understood what she was getting at. "We have been friends for a while now, but before you were raised to your title, they had little to do with me," he said. "I’m quite aware that they only began to see me as an equal, and a potential friend, after that. But they do now."
Merope sighed. "It is true... but as you say, at least they do now. I don’t think those families are aligned with the Malfoys."
"They are not."
"Then if their parents don’t object, they may certainly come."
Tom smirked broadly as he bowed to her, turned away, and left the room.
Within a couple of days, young wizards started to arrive. Hermione watched from a distance—a short distance physically, a vast one in her heart and mind—as Tom’s friends, the very people who in her opinion had led him away from her, began to turn up in Parselhall. It wasn’t fair, she thought, hiding away in the library after Fawley arrived. This was Tom’s home, but it was also hers. She would be lady of the castle someday. As lonely as it was now, it had at least been a sanctuary from these boys, an inner sanctum for her to escape to—until now.
In a sense, Hermione supposed that it still was. They were spending time elsewhere in the castle, one of the many rooms in the vast place. The sheer emptiness of this castle was always a sharp contrast with the bustling one in which Hermione had grown up, but then again, a Muggle castle needed a household of Muggle servants. Witches and wizards apparently needed only elves, a few people from the village for work such as sewing, and magic spells. It was lonely, but at least they were not bothering her. There was enough room that they did not have to see each other at all except at dinner.
Hermione carried a heavy book to a corner of the library and attempted to read. She was going to invite Ginevra and Luna, but she knew that the castle must have become much less appealing to them—if they had known—since Tom’s friends began to arrive. Her second plan was to study and practice her magic. Feeling under siege in her own home only reinforced that inclination to her.
A noisy rumble sounded at her feet—a dark orange blur appeared in her peripheral vision—and in the next moment, her lap was full of fur. Crookshanks walked proudly over the pages of the book, rubbing his head against Hermione. She laughed in exasperation, gently shifted the book out from under his feet, and closed it. The cat sat down contentedly in her lap, his goal achieved. He continued to purr as Hermione scratched and petted him. A smile formed on her face in spite of herself. At least Crookshanks would not abandon her....
The tall doors to the library creaked open. Crookshanks stopped purring; his ears turned back in alert. His gaze followed the clatter of footsteps on the stone floor. When Tom turned the corner of the nearest bookshelves and found himself facing Hermione, the cat let out a growl of warning and leapt from her lap to the ground.
Tom glared at the animal. He regarded Hermione with a silent stare before sniffing faintly, as if annoyed that she was present. He turned to continue walking.
He was by himself, she noticed. Although she knew it was a bad idea, she could not resist. "Where are all your friends?" she said, snideness in her words.
He stopped cold, turned around, and glared at her. "That’s none of your concern."
Crookshanks growled and hissed. Before Tom could move, he leapt forward and viciously attacked Tom’s ankles, exposed by the low shoes that he wore. The cat’s long fluffy tail was visible outside Tom’s robes. He shrieked, dropped the book he was carrying, and fell to the ground as Crookshanks darted away. The cat crouched next to the left side of the chair that Hermione sat in, growling and glowering at Tom as he clutched his bleeding ankles.
Tom finally got his wand out and healed the bites and scratches. He rose to his feet again—Hermione noticed, with grim satisfaction, that his eyes had unshed tears in them—and glared furiously at the cat.
"Don’t you dare hurt him!" she exclaimed. His wand was not pointed at Crookshanks, but she was not going to give him the chance. She fumbled for her own wand and held it threateningly.
"I would never hurt a witch’s familiar," he said contemptuously. "But you should control that cat. Did you teach him to do that to me?"
"No, but I wish I had," she snapped before she could stop herself.
Tom raised his wand to Hermione’s face, but he did not cast a spell. She kept hers pointed back at him, not blinking as she locked eyes with him. She would not blink. She would not—
Tom suddenly laughed. He lowered his wand. "You’re afraid of my friends?"
Her eyes popped wide open as she realized what had happened. "How dare you," she said, outraged. "You have no right to read my thoughts without permission."
"I am a Legilimens and I will use my skill as I see fit. If you don’t like that, then make me stop." He smirked at her, picked up his book, and walked away—picking up his pace, she noticed with satisfaction, after Crookshanks hissed at him again.
Then his words hit her. All right, she thought. I will.
Hermione knocked on the door of Lord Severus’s office in the castle, nervous about this entire situation, but resolved upon it. The knob turned, and the door swung open, revealing the dour-faced man. He gazed upon her with a sneer, which generally would have cowed her, but she was used to it from Tom by now. She met his gaze.
"Lord Severus, I would like to learn Occlumency," she said without prelude. "I remember that you mentioned once that it would be a good skill to know, and that you could teach it...."
His scowl somehow deepened, but he considered her words. "I know it, yes. What does her ladyship think of this?"
"Lady Merope? I have not asked her," Hermione admitted. For a moment worry crossed her mind, but then it passed. Merope would not mind. Tom would, but she did not require Tom’s permission for this. The thought made her feel smug.
She followed Lord Severus as he walked briskly down the hallway to Merope’s office. She was alone inside when she granted them admittance, and she seemed surprised that Tom did not accompany them.
"My lady," he said, "Lady Hermione wishes to learn Occlumency from me. Since she is a young witch, and with the situation with your son—and your guardianship of her—I wanted to make sure that this was acceptable."
Merope regarded Hermione curiously. "I did not know that you were interested in that type of magic," she said. "Of course you may learn from him, but I didn’t realize it was something that you wanted to do."
Hermione quickly fished for an explanation. "I think I should learn how to protect my mind, what with enemies all around and threats probably increasing," she said. "I don’t know who has Legilimency skills and who does not, and it’s best to be prepared."
Lord Severus did not seem to buy that explanation entirely, and Hermione was not sure that Lady Merope did either, but it was at least part of the truth. It wasn’t false in itself. Merope studied her for a moment before nodding her head. "Of course. As I said, you may certainly practice with him. That said," she added, frowning thoughtfully, "it’s probably best to keep the door open and to have the lessons in a relatively public, commonly used room. For appearance’s sake."
Lord Severus nodded curtly in agreement.
The Occlumency lessons would take place in a small parlor near the entrance to the great dining hall. The ground-level hall was just outside the room, and when Severus strode in, he pointedly charmed the heavy wooden door to remain fully open.
"Lady Hermione," he said without prelude, his voice gruff, "I suspect that the reasons you gave for wishing to know this skill are... incomplete."
Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise and embarrassment.
"All I have to say is this: If you want to learn Occlumency in order to conceal from Lord Thomas any act against him, whether you’ve committed it already or merely plan to, then I will find it out in the process of teaching you, and I will cease the lessons immediately." He put his hand up as she began to speak in protest. "I am not saying this to involve myself in the private matters of your betrothal, because trust me, I don’t want to. But I am sworn to the Riddle family, and it is a violation of my oath to be complicit in actions against them."
"I have done nothing against him and I don’t plan to," she burst out in indignation. She hesitated for a brief moment about whether to tell him the truth, but realized that he would probably see it anyway, as he had just said. "What I told her ladyship was true, but the rest of the truth is merely that Tom is a Legilimens himself and reads my thoughts without permission, and I don’t like it. I’m not trying to hide any betrayal from him, nor would I betray him. I just want privacy for my own mind, the same as he has, since most people aren’t Legilimens."
He studied her. "Fair enough." He scowled. "In that case, we shall begin. I assume that you have read something about this magic before, and that you know the basics of it on a theoretical level. One hardly sees you without a book nearby."
"Yes, I know the basics."
"Then you know that you must focus all of your force of will upon blocking me. You must not think about the details of any memory that I encounter, because that will only clear the way for my magic. Shut down your emotions. Force yourself not to dwell upon your memories. Detach and think about blocking me." He raised his wand. "Legilimens!"
Hermione’s mind reeled as she felt an alien presence. It was much more aggressive and coarse than Tom’s Legilimency—but Tom never used the spell verbally. Apparently Severus did not have a natural talent for it. Nonetheless, she felt memories being forcibly dragged out of her mind without her control.
The library at Hogwarts.
"Lower your wand and don’t ever point it at me again."
Hot fury flooded her mind. She rose from her chair and stormed toward him. He moved his books to one arm and pointed his wand at her face, glaring furiously.
"Do not tell me what to do, Tom Riddle."
No, Hermione thought in the present time, that’s quite enough. That’s none of your business. Out! She tried to remember what she was supposed to do. Don’t dwell on the emotions and don’t think about what happened. She forced herself to remember where she actually was. The memory faded, and the parlor came into focus again. Snape was glaring at her, his wand pointed at her face, but his eyes were also slightly widened in surprise and alarm.
He lowered his wand. "Finite. An acceptable first attempt," he said grudgingly. He forked an eye at her. "What was that?"
She glared back. "I thought you didn’t want to know."
"You fought with him."
"Obviously so, but our private quarrels are our own concern. All couples fight from time to time."
Severus glared at her. "Mind that it does not become more than a mere quarrel."
"It won’t. I told you that already."
A scowl reappeared on his face. "You are a promising pupil of Occlumency. Are you ready for another attempt?"
Hermione was stunned at how quick he had been; he had given her no time to prepare—but that’s how it would always be, she thought as he began to pore through her thoughts again. A memory slouched out of the recesses of her mind. She and Tom were locked in a tight embrace—
Out! she thought furiously. Embarrassment flooded her, and against her better judgment, she began to focus on the embarrassment and on the particulars that had caused it. The memory came into better focus. She was still clothed, at least, but Tom was tugging on her robes. Stay out! she thought. She remembered the method again. Detach. Don’t think about the memory. I am in the small parlor at Parselhall, and it is summertime. This is an Occlumency lesson. It is summertime, and I’m going to ask Lady Merope if I can invite Luna and Ginevra.... As she focused on something, anything, other than the memory itself, its presence faded and the current surroundings returned to prominence.
Snape lowered his wand. "Finite." He regarded her with sympathy. "That’s enough for this lesson, Lady Hermione."
She agreed completely.
That evening, after an extremely awkward dinner with Lord Severus, Tom, and Tom’s friends in close proximity, Hermione shut herself away in her bedchamber with a large book about Occlumency. She had read about the subject before, just as she had told Lord Severus, but she was determined that he was not going to see even as much as he had seen today in the first lesson. Her memories with Tom were obviously the most emotionally charged, the most likely to leak and be seen, but they were also the most private—the most intimate, and in many cases, the most precious. She was determined to protect them.
Two weeks later.
Tom proudly welcomed Lord and Lady Fawley to the castle, his mother watching with sharp eyes. They were going to bring their son back home, but before they did, they had very important business with the baroness.
In a short time, Lady Merope had ushered them into a private sitting room. She took her seat, and as they followed, she ordered a house-elf to bring refreshments.
"I am honored to negotiate with another whose family had an original seat on the Wizengamot," Merope said, her words stately and cool but not insincere.
Lord Fawley smiled, holding his wife’s hand. "And likewise for me, my lady. It is a pity—no, a crime—that these interlopers presumed to disband it and establish themselves in its place. We would have welcomed them to the table," he said, shaking his head. "They would have been admitted and given family seats... we did it for the Saxons, for the Vikings when they came... but that was not enough for the likes of Lord Armand Malfoy."
"Lord Malfoy has behaved in an unfriendly way to my family," Merope said. "He has instituted a new law that takes power away from witches who are the rightful heirs to titles, if they choose to marry."
"Indeed, I have heard of it. A shocking break from ancient tradition... though the ancient traditions have been eroded with time, of course."
"And Malfoy has also pardoned a pair of oathbreakers who used to serve my family and then swore to the Lestranges."
Fawley raised his eyebrows. "That is a very personal affront."
"It is," she said tightly. "I have named the family of Rodolphus Lestrange as enemies for accepting the unlawful oaths, but Malfoy’s pardons are personal affronts indeed. The troubles really began, of course, when I appealed the Wizards’ Council’s initial decision to deny Lady Hermione Granger admission to Hogwarts. Although the contract with the young lady and my son has no effect on Lord Malfoy or the others in the Council whatsoever, they seemed to regard it as a defiance of the spirit of their law. They have never forgiven it," she ended wryly.
Lord and Lady Fawley exchanged glances, considering her words and what they thought of it. Finally he spoke. "Of course," he said hesitantly, "we would not presume to interject ourselves in how you conduct your family affairs...."
"I should hope not," she said coolly.
"Certainly not," he said, his voice stronger. "And it is an appropriate match, considering he’s half-blood. They wrote the law, and you obeyed it. They should not have acted the way they did. They are entirely out of control, and my son tells me that your family fears what the future may hold from them."
"It is so," she admitted. "Currently I am safe, and this castle is very ancient and has powerful wards, which I have reinforced of late... but—and I will speak plainly—my late lord father and brother were irresponsible and wicked to our longtime vassals. They undeservedly stripped some of them of their titles, exiled others—and I still have not found one in particular, or even learned if he is yet alive—and drove others to defect, including the pair of oathbreakers. As a result, I am left with few allies other than Lord Severus Snape, who is the greatest friend to this family. I also, of course, have an alliance with Lady Hermione’s parents, but as you know, they are not magical. I would certainly welcome an alliance of friendship with your ancient and noble family," she concluded, making sure to sound as formal and stately as she could.
Lord Fawley nodded. "And it is an honor to make it. So many of the old noble families went over to the other side. The Blacks... it’s a disgrace, if I may say so." He considered. "We are not, of course, making war on the Wizards’ Council."
"No," she agreed. "This is a defensive agreement, a statement to them that we do not stand alone."
Tom almost preened with pride at these words. It was a shame that Hermione had chosen to secrete herself away in her room, reading something, instead of listening to this. She would have nothing to say now. No more fanciful dreams; this alliance was real. The Fawleys would be but the first allies to join, if he had anything to say about it.
As it happened, Hermione did know why the Fawleys had come. She had overheard Tom chatting with the boy about the alliance. Her heart almost shattered when she heard Fawley say that his parents were interested in it. This is going to reinforce Tom’s idea that he was justified in treating me ill, she had thought miserably. This is all that he really cares about now, getting people on his side for the future war that he intends to wage—or provoke. I wonder if his mother knows what he really intends by it. She was actually quite sure that Lady Merope knew no such thing, and she considered telling her the truth, but she decided against that. Lady Merope needed allies for her own sake, whatever Tom might have in mind, and she would be the one negotiating any alliances, not Tom. There was nothing to be gained by tattling on him to his mother, and she might very well respond by rejecting allies that she sorely needed.
That did not make the situation easy for Hermione to take. She had little doubt that Tom had chosen to use the school’s Beltane ritual to bless his ambitions, rather than their relationship, and that this was the result of the incomparable power of old magic. At least the effect will taper off by the end of summer, she comforted herself. It is not a permanent charm. He’s using its power right now, while it is at its peak. I can get through this. Maybe he’ll be more amenable to my perspective after he can’t say any longer that he needs to be cruel to me in order to keep his informal allies with him. There will be formal alliances after this.
In the meantime, she was determined to become a master of magic as early as she could. She spent a lot of time in the library, but when she did go elsewhere—including outside—she usually had books with her and her loyal Crookshanks at her heels. She was going to be selected for that ritual next year, at the same age that he was. Whether she would use it for their relationship, she would decide later. An angry part of her thought that perhaps she should use it for a similar purpose to the one he had chosen. Another part wanted to use the old magic to influence him. She would decide when the time came.
The Occlumency lessons continued through the summer. After an initial period in which her ability to deflect Severus’s magic did not improve—it did not decrease, but her speed at blocking him did not increase either—she had a sudden breakthrough. One minute, Severus was scowling, glowering at her, as she fought to keep him from seeing the memory of her crying in the corridors after Adelaide Lestrange’s mud-and-blood attack—and in the next moment, she had not just erected an unassailable mental shield, but had also somehow reversed the direction of his spell.
In that moment, which lasted no longer than the time it took to gasp for breath, she saw Severus sitting at his desk, sighing. His thoughts were consumed with Lady Merope.
"Out!" he roared, suddenly blocking her. He ended the spell and breathed heavily, glaring at her. "You will not speak of this," he demanded.
"Certainly not," she said, her eyes wide and her voice low.
"I think you have mastered Occlumency now. You have improved all season. I recommend practicing whenever possible. You know the technique. It is better when someone is attempting to read your thoughts, but you can practice the state of mind at any time. Do it."
Hermione recognized that as a dismissal. She nodded, bowed, and scurried out of the room at once.
There was still almost a full month before Hermione and Tom were to return to Hogwarts. Hermione remembered her initial resolution to invite her friends. Now that she had achieved something concrete, she decided that the time had come to do that. Confidently she strode to Lady Merope’s office to explain her idea and ask permission.
The older woman considered Hermione’s words and smiled when she was finished speaking. "Of course you may invite your friends from Hogwarts," she said. "I have heard of the Weasleys. They used to have a title. The Lovegoods are an interesting family... they are poor relations of Rowena Ravenclaw herself, not in the direct line, but related... I would be honored to have both of the young witches here and I hope their parents allow it."
Wouldn’t Tom be surprised! Smugly imagining the look on his face when her friends turned up, she went to the courtyard to send the owls.
The replies arrived in a day. Luna’s letter bubbled over with enthusiasm, declaring her own residence in a single tower and her interest in "a real castle." Ginevra’s letter was more circumspect, but she seemed relieved to be away from the cramped cottage full of wizards. Hermione also detected some tension between Ginevra and her mother, and she wondered for a moment if that might be the real reason why the Gryffindor witch was choosing to visit... but what mattered was that she was visiting.