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Tom gaped at his professor in disbelief. "I cannot believe you trust these people," he said. "When did they ever need proof of anything? They do as they please, especially now."
Slughorn’s eyes were frightened and defeated. "Tom, please, let me have your wand. I will stand guard outside the room, how about that?"
Tom was tempted, greatly tempted, just to strike Carrow dead as he stood. He knew how. It would be easy. There were multiple curses that would do it, some quicker than others, some more painful than others. It was such a temptation... but it would also be an act of war, and he was not ready to take that step yet. If I just had Slytherin’s basilisk—but he did not.
Warily, shooting his professor a look of disappointment, he passed his wand to Slughorn. Then he turned to Carrow. "All right, filth. Let’s get this over with."
Carrow smirked and led Tom and Slughorn out of the Slytherin common room, into one of the dungeon rooms that were currently unused. He threw open the door and gestured for Tom to go in. Haughtily he stepped across the threshold, fury simmering in every cell of his body. He rather hoped that he would be able to channel that anger into wandless magic. Wouldn’t that surprise this traitorous scum?
Carrow closed the door behind them with a clang, leaving Slughorn on the outside. He turned to Tom with a malevolent smirk on his ugly face as he drew his wand.
"Incidentally, whelp, I also notice that you continue to wear those robes," Carrow said.
Tom did not respond to that. "Get to the point."
Carrow scowled. "Very well. Here are the facts. Lord Scabior’s body was found mutilated on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow. Lord Lucius Malfoy questioned every single witch and wizard in the village under truth potion, but none of them had anything to do with the killing or even knew about it." He glared at Tom. "His high lordship concluded, with the concurrence of my own lord Lestrange"—he smirked pointedly at Tom when he said this—"that the markings on his body were ritualistic. It’s well known that your foul family practiced ancient barbarian rites into the time of the Founders, and your own apparel proves that you are fascinated with such things."
"Malfoy is wrong," Tom said, trying hard to control his words and not utter an insult. "I had nothing to do with it. You said you were going to question me, Carrow. Get on with it, and see how wrong you are."
Carrow flicked his wand, and sudden, intense pain shot through Tom’s body. He crumpled, almost falling to the stone floor, but managed to right himself.
"Scabior was the one who posted the new rules in this school," Carrow snarled, advancing on Tom. "That offended you, didn’t it, whelp?" He slashed his wand again, sending a renewed surge of pain that felt to Tom like a knife plunging into his spine.
Tom gritted his teeth and crumpled again, trying mightily to avoid giving Carrow the pleasure of seeing him cry out in pain. "It did offend me," he spat, "but I didn’t kill the bastard over it."
Rrrrrrip! Tom gasped as the edges of his wide sleeves tore away from the rest of the robe, leaving the beautiful embroidery in a frayed pile on the floor. But he could not concentrate too long on that, for in the very next second, Carrow sent another torture curse at him, causing him to double over. He closed his eyes, letting his anger suffuse him as the waves of pain poured over his body, hoping that his own magic would explode out of him wandlessly.
Yet another sharp pain hit him, this one across his face. He felt a hot trickle of fluid immediately. Several drops of blood struck the stone floor.
"You know why my sister and I left your family?" Carrow hissed. "Your uncle was a swine and your mother was a whore! The Lestranges and Malfoys are right that your kind are uncivilized."
Tom gazed up at Carrow, his own blood dripping from the slash across his forehead, the hot anger of hate filling him up. "Go fuck yourself, traitor."
Another cutting curse hit him, opening gashes on his arms. His blood streamed down his skin, dripping from his fingers. Could Slughorn not hear any of this?
"What did you do, whelp?" Carrow snarled.
Tom wobbled to his feet and faced the wizard, loathing in his eyes. "You want to know what happened, who I think is the killer? Here’s what happened! Some vassal of Lestrange raped his daughter—and since Scabior is dead, I’ll guess he was the one. Lady Hermione learned about it and wrote to Lady Lestrange. She probably was the killer!"
"How dare you, you forked-tongued liar!"
Tom blinked as blood continued to drip down his face. He steadied himself and then noticed something. A corked vessel protruded from the purse that Carrow had around his belt. "Is that truth serum?" he snarled. He stepped forward. "Give it to me. I’ll prove what I say."
Carrow considered for a moment, seemingly wanting to torture Tom some more, but then he pulled the flask out of his purse. "Very well. I’ll give it to you now, and I will have proof that you are a murderer and a liar. Defaming my lord’s daughter, his lady wife, and his dead vassal—you will be in such trouble, half-blood!" He uncorked it and shoved the rim of the flask against Tom’s mouth.
Tom sneered and yanked it away, downing it in one gulp. He sat down on the stone floor as the effects of the potion took hold, leaving him feeling empty and emotionless. At least the pain lessened. Carrow smiled darkly and, at last, began his questioning.
In a little bit, the smile had fled permanently from Carrow’s face. He was deeply troubled by what he was hearing. This cannot go any further, he thought, getting to his feet at last. His lordship cannot know about this. He will surely execute his wife if he learns—unless she kills him to defend herself—and either way, the Black family will turn against everyone who supported the Lestranges or his high lordship Malfoy. I have to keep this secret and simply report back that the boy actually was innocent. Innocent of this, at least.
Leaving Tom crumpled on the floor in a pool of his own blood, he went to the door, opened it, and sneered at Slughorn. "I am finished here," he said. "I’ll let you clean up."
"Clean up?" Slughorn said sharply. "What did you do—" He peeked in the door. "Oh, no!" He scurried into the cell-like room as Carrow made his escape.
As Potions Master, Professor Slughorn always kept antidotes with him. Tom was immensely grateful for it. Although Carrow had not poisoned him, Slughorn also had a potion that would ease the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. He handed Tom back his wand, and together they healed the cuts on Tom’s forehead and arms, cleaned up the blood, and repaired the torn sleeves. Tom felt a grim satisfaction as the threads joined back together, leaving the knotwork designs as good as new.
"Thank you, Professor," he said, getting to his feet.
"Tom," Slughorn said, "I am so very sorry—I wish I could have prevented that—"
"I do not blame you."
The words were icy, but Slughorn assumed that it was only because of the ordeal that Tom had just suffered. He nodded. "Tom, you should return to the common room. There are no classes today, of course. You should spend some time with your lady."
Yes, I should, Tom thought, though he was quite certain that he did not have the same thing in mind that his teacher did. None of this would have happened if Hermione had not been so reckless, and he was going to have some words with her.
When Hermione emerged from the girls’ bedchamber in a few minutes, Tom instantly rose from his seat to approach her.
"Tom, what’s the matter?" she asked. He looked awfully pale to her.
He smiled, but it was not a sincere smile or a happy one. He offered her his arm. "We had better have this discussion in private."
"Discussion? Discuss what?" she demanded.
He lowered his voice. "Your antics had consequences," he said, his tone severe and angry. "We need to have a little talk." Without waiting for her to accept his arm, he grabbed her and ushered her out of the Slytherin common room and into another small room on the dungeon level—not the one in which he had just been tortured, though.
"Tom!" Hermione exclaimed when he closed the door and bolted it. "What are you doing? What happened?"
He turned to her, his eyebrows narrowed in anger, his wand out. "What happened, you ask. Here’s what happened! Because of your letter to Bellatrix Lestrange, their vassal Scabior is dead—"
Hermione sniffed. "I assume you’re implying that she killed him for what he did to Adelaide? He was the rapist? Why should I care, then? Good riddance."
"I agree, but do you really imagine that she told her husband the truth?" Tom said, his eyes hard and angry. "You may be an idealist, but I hope even you aren’t that naïve."
She glared at him for the insult. "What are you implying?"
He pushed up the sleeve of his left arm. "Carrow, the traitor, came to this school this morning with an order from Armand Malfoy to "interrogate’ me over it! He claimed that Malfoy had decided the torture marks looked like Celtic ritual markings." He pointed at the healing wound. "He tortured me!"
Hermione blanched. "Tom, I never meant that to happen! I just told Lady Lestrange what had happened. I would never do something on purpose to hurt you!"
"Well, that’s what happened," Tom sneered as his sleeve covered his arm again. "If Carrow had not been ordered to also question me under truth serum, I’m sure I would have been carried off to be executed—for a murder I hadn’t committed!" He stared at her. "I know you didn’t mean it to happen, but the fact is that it wouldn’t have happened if you had not made Adelaide Lestrange’s business your own and then involved her mother in it!"
Hermione drew her wand and pointed it back at him, noting that he held his in hand. "This is not my fault," she said, "and I will not accept blame for it. The fault lies with Carrow, Armand Malfoy, and the Lestranges—and Scabior himself, of course. Not with me."
"You shouldn’t have done it alone," he insisted. "You should have worked with me. I was tortured because of this. I could have been put to death, Hermione!" he exclaimed, noting how her eyes grew wide and fearful when he said that. "Oh, and another thing that the filth said to me was that the rapist’s body was found outside Godric’s Hollow, and that Lucius Malfoy questioned all of the villagers about it. Even your precious Potter’s family."
She grimaced again. "I never meant for these things to happen, and I cannot believe you still think that I fancy Harry. Though at least he has been a friend to me," she added, "which is more than I can say for you the past year."
Tom felt a white heat surge up in him. He stepped forward, closing most of the distance between Hermione and himself. His breath was heaving as he gazed into her brown eyes. "I know you haven’t touched him," he said, his voice low and dark. "You are mine, and don’t you ever forget that." He stared at her face, anger suddenly warring with intense desire and lust. It had been a long time since he had even kissed her....
She stared back, gazing at his dark eyes. His face was equally handsome when he was angry as when he was happy—and seeing his chest heave, feeling the heat of his breath close by, brought out feelings that she had tried her best to suppress while they were estranged. I swore I wouldn’t let him touch me again until he apologized, she thought—
They closed the distance at the same time, lips slamming against each other. As if moving of their own accord, Hermione’s hands found his cheeks and threaded into his black hair. He growled and wrapped his arms tightly around her back as he forced her lips open and began to plunder her mouth, trying to pour the unfulfilled desires of a year and three months of deprivation into this one kiss, trying to prove his words to her.
Hermione allowed him to do this even as her thoughts warred with each other. It was just so good to share intimacy with him again, any sort of physical intimacy—even as he was so obviously claiming her, what with the way he was plundering every corner of her mouth that he could reach, his teeth nipping against her lips—
He thinks he can do anything he wants with me, she thought. That thought brought another surge of anger to her, but it did not overpower the desire she felt. Instead, it mixed with it. Instinctively she lunged and bit his lower lip—hard. He jerked, his eyes popped open, and to her own dark satisfaction, she tasted iron and copper as he pulled away. He gaped at her and licked his own blood from his mouth.
"You dare—" he began to say, but he seemed to change his mind. A wolfish grin spread across his face. "You are bold, Hermione."
She stared back evenly, not taking the bait this time. "I swore that I would not let you touch me until you apologized to me for your past behavior."
Tom felt as if she had thrown ice water over him. All thoughts of lust and desire fled his mind, and he stared at her in disbelief. "You did that to push me away?" he exclaimed. "You meant to hurt me?"
Hermione decided not to answer that. She did not know herself exactly what she thought about what had just happened, either the kiss or her sudden urge to bite his lip. Had she wanted to hurt him, to cause him pain and draw blood, to punish him for the kiss? He hadn’t forced it... she had met him halfway.... Pushing it out of her mind, she met his gaze with her own. "I am not going to let you distract me that way, Tom."
He stared at her, feeling almost as though she had slapped him in the face—or cursed him. "So that’s it, then?" he said harshly, ice filling his marrow to replace the heat that had just been there. "You did mean to hurt me. All right. That brings me to my other point," he said. His eyebrows narrowed again. "Why were you more eager to make amends with Adelaide Lestrange than with me?" His voice became menacing, as the memories of the torture this morning came to the forefront of his thoughts again. "You saw her sobbing over a cauldron with a story to tell—"
"A true story."
"—and even though she has bothered you for two and a half years, even though she set up a sack of pig’s blood to fall on you in your first week at Hogwarts, even though her bitch of a mother tried to murder you and my mother named the entire family enemies for harboring traitors, you still were far more willing to be kind to her than to me!" he finished in outrage. "What is it, Hermione? Why were you more willing to forgive that cunt—"
He ignored her exclamation of outrage. It was a good old English word, and he was not going to be shamed for using it because robber lords might consider it vulgar. "—than me? What did I do to you that is so much worse than what she has done over the years? Is it that she’s a witch—or that she’s half-Norman too?" He did not know what made him say that last; it was not something he had considered in his musings before Carrow hurt him, but evidently it was lurking in the recesses of his mind anyway and the torture had brought it out.
Hermione gaped at Tom in astonishment and then fury. "How dare you!" Without her conscious intent, sparks fell from the tip of her wand. "How dare you! If I had seen you in the room where Carrow tortured you, I would have come to you and helped you. That’s all it was, Tom—helping someone who was suffering! I didn’t forgive her for anything. I admit I hoped that she would feel a sense of obligation and stop her behavior, but I knew it wasn’t going to make us best friends."
"Helping someone who was suffering’ was all it was, you say?" he mocked. "And it would have been the same for me if you had seen me this morning? That’s all I am to you now, someone that you can treat as a victim to "help’ with your superior beneficence?" He gave her a sneer of disgust. "Patronizing Norman occupiers are little better than tyrannical ones."
Hermione snarled. "If you want to know why I haven’t forgiven you yet, it’s because you obviously do not believe, even now, that you did anything wrong!" She pointed her wand threateningly at his face. "I do not grant that you "needed’ to demean me in front of your little friends, but since you think you needed to, what about now, Tom? Your mother has formal defensive alliances with all of them, and whatever your "Lords of Beltane’ might think, their parents know full well that we are under contract! They made the alliances anyway. So what’s your excuse now?"
Tom had thought that very thing himself this morning, and if the morning had gone differently, he might have been more reasonable on the topic. But he was angry now—furious over the fact that he had been tortured by a traitor to his family, that someone had dared raise a hand to deface the craft of his ancestors that he proudly wore, that Hermione would hurt him and then presume to patronize him after he had just suffered torture. Hermione, who ought to be as loyal and devoted to him as his mother. He was furious, and he was also frightened. If Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange had been just a little more lawless and tyrannical, he really would have been taken out of the school to be put to death for a "crime" he hadn’t committed. They had been getting worse and worse with time; it was very possible that someday they would indeed cross that line. A sharp terror suffused him at the thought. He couldn’t let it happen! By whatever means necessary, he couldn’t let that happen. He had so much to accomplish—
"My friends’ parents don’t know the full truth," he said, the words tumbling off his bruised lips almost without his conscious control.
"What do you mean?" she exclaimed.
He smirked in malicious pleasure. "On the very first day of our betrothal, my mother made a bargain with me," he said recklessly. "Do you know what it was, Hermione? Of course you don’t. It’s been a secret. My mother promised me, as a witch, that if I didn’t want to marry you when the time came, she would break it off."
"What?" Hermione breathed.
"It’s true," he said cruelly. "She promised me that, and she told me that she wouldn’t even tell your parents about it."
"You’re lying," she protested, her eyes wide with horror. "You’re lying to me."
"I’m not." He raised his hand, holding his wand. "I swear on my magic." The tip of his wand flared bright white for a moment.
Hermione gasped at the confirmation. "You may have said it, but you don’t mean it," she said. "It was just the first day—I remember—you can’t still mean it—"
He smirked back wordlessly.
That smirk sent Hermione into a storm of rage. So he thought he could mention things that had happened on the day that they had met, as if nothing since then had meant anything to him? She wasn’t fooled. He had just called her "his." She was not going to let him get to her this way, and in fact, she would be the one to shock him now. Angrily she snarled at him, "So that’s how it is? Perhaps I might just accept that, if this is how you are always going to treat me! Why should I marry someone who threatens me with things he doesn’t intend to follow through with, just to be cruel and exert power?"
"You presume much," he shot back without thinking.
Tears instantly formed in her wide eyes, but she would not let them fall. She gaped at him one last time before fleeing the room, leaving him alone to his turbulent—and regretful—thoughts.
His High Lordship Armand Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire and Lord of Wizards and Witches in England, Scotland, and Wales.
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England
Your Esteemed Lordship,
Today I received a report of a most distressing nature, which it behooves me to bring to your attention, as it concerns the treatment of pupils in my care and the implicit pacts I have with their parents to protect them while they are on castle grounds. This morning, I was prevented from upholding my part in one such contract.
Lord Amycus Carrow, claiming the authority of your lordship and that of Lord Rodolphus Lestrange, demanded entry to the castle to conduct a "questioning" of one of my scholars concerning the death of Lord Scabior. He presented no evidence that the young wizard in question, Lord Thomas Riddle, had been involved in the apparent murder, but invoked your lordship’s name to gain access. He further demanded that Lord Thomas surrender his wand and submit to this "questioning" alone and unaccompanied by a Master of Hogwarts even as an observer. At this point, Lord Carrow proceeded to torture Lord Thomas, subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse and to several cutting curses that can cause permanent scars if not healed swiftly and expertly. Only after inflicting needless pain upon Lord Thomas did Lord Carrow actually question him under Veritaserum—at which point he learned that Lord Thomas was indeed innocent in the apparent murder.
Master Horace Slughorn attests to the fact that the order, which bears your name, did not grant permission to torture a pupil of Hogwarts or remove him from the professors. I therefore implore you to punish Lord Carrow for exceeding the authority that your lordship’s name granted him, and I formally request pecuniary restitution of fifty gold pieces from Carrow’s property for the torture of an innocent young wizard, to be remitted to Lady Merope Riddle, Baroness of Hangleton.
High Master Albus Dumbledore, Lord of Hogwarts
Albus Dumbledore smiled grimly at that signature. It was a provocation to send it, but this was entirely unacceptable. He did not even particularly like Tom Riddle personally, nor his mother, but the principle of this was what mattered. These people could not get the idea that they could torture innocent Hogwarts students—or worse—with impunity. He sealed the letter and sent it on its way, wondering what the response would be, if any.
Elsewhere in the castle, Tom contined to fume. He could not believe Hermione! He had just been tortured, and her reaction was to proclaim that it certainly was not her fault—and then to patronize him with her reassurances that she would have "helped" him. Tom supposed, for a moment, that he had come to Hermione to place partial blame on her, so her defensiveness was at least understandable in that regard... but he was right about this, damn it. She should have been more careful. Charging forward like a Gryffindor and then using halfhearted Slytherin tactics after the inevitable consequences unfolded just was not sufficient. If she wanted to act like a Slytherin while keeping her Gryffindor idealism intact, she should have modified Adelaide Lestrange’s memory to make her think she had made her own bloody potion. This was obvious, Tom groused to himself. By making herself vulnerable, and then playing at political intrigue with her little note to Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione had set in motion a chain of events that, so far, had led to his torture, the interrogation of every witch and wizard in Godric’s Hollow—and he was not convinced that it was over yet.
He did not want to admit it, but she had hurt him when she had compared his torture to Adelaide’s situation and said, oh-so-reassuringly, that she would have helped him too. Was that all that he was to her now? She had eagerly participated in the fiery kiss that had spontaneously happened... but then she had recoiled and pushed him away with a skin-breaking bite. Maybe... Tom hated to think it, but maybe she actually didn’t feel anything for him except lust.
She spends her time with Potter’s group, who are absolutely up to something—or, at least, their families are. She plays at intrigue and creates disasters—including one, now, that could have cost me my life. Her interactions with me now consist of fighting. What if she was not lying with her parting words? She was shocked when I told her of my bargain with Mother, but she recovered really fast. Tom fretted over his thoughts.
She’s part-Norman. She was raised in the Muggle culture. I have been very, very proud of my ancestry, wizarding and ethnic, and perhaps she has decided to take personal offense. She certainly was affronted before, when we were on good terms, over occasional statements I made, even though I never meant them to include her. As a witch, she has been exposed to a culture in which women can be strong and much more independent than Muggle women... but one thing we do have in common with the Muggles is our instinctive loyalty to family. She could be very loyal to hers and feel empowered to take that position in front of me because she knows that witches can. Tom was not wholly convinced; Hermione never spoke much of her family, and her parents rarely saw her except for very brief visits during the summer and winter. It seemed that once they had a betrothal agreement for her, they lost a lot of interest in her—or saw her as an adult. Tom thought that Hermione’s attendance at Hogwarts was probably also a factor for them. In any case, why would she feel so much loyalty to people like that instead of to... well, he thought grudgingly, perhaps not me, right now, but to Mother? Mother has been very good to her. Still, the ties of blood ran deep.
Tom regretted how the discussion had ended. He had not actually meant what he said, and he was not sure that she did either... but those thoughts were clearly circulating in their minds or they wouldn’t have come out. Perhaps it was inevitable, if that really was how Hermione felt. What did it mean for the future? She must finish Hogwarts, he thought at once. She has to do that. I won’t break the contract and get her tossed out of school. Afterward.... Tom sighed deeply. Afterward, we’ll see. The contract says that the deadline for a public wedding is two months after we have both completed our education. She will probably finish at the same time I do, next summer. There is still time... but if we’re still on poor terms, I will have to think about whether I want to invoke my mother’s promise.
Hermione acts like she has no interest in my political goals, but I can’t believe that her ancestry has much to do with that. She has not even expressed a preference about the Muggle pretenders, which she would if she were a Norman partisan in politics. I think that she doesn’t really believe, even now, that it is likely to get violent. She’s probably telling herself that to avoid the unpleasant reality... or she does know what the Friends of the Founders’ families are up to and supports it, though I hope not. I think it’s the first, and in that case, she must still expect that her life will be what her parents probably taught her for twelve years that it would be: marrying a noble, being lady of the castle, having children with him, doing the things that her own mother did. Her parents have been neutral in the Muggle war, but if a wizarding war erupts, we’ll be at the center of it... and if she does become my family, officially, then she has to scheme with me. There’s really no choice. He paused his rapid thoughts. Scheme with me, or... choose to lead that drab life. But I wanted my future wife to be more than just the mother of my heirs. Hermione is brilliant and powerful and strong. I wanted her to be a partner in all my schemes, not an ornament for the castle. I thought she would want that too... but what if she feels so little for me that she’s resigned to the other?
He reflected on the fact that Hermione was not a maiden anymore. That might be a problem for—suddenly Tom’s mind revolted, unable to even complete the thought. No. The idea of someone else with her was something he could not even contemplate. But what to do? He considered, for a brief moment, the arrangement that his mother had with Severus Snape. He was her personal advisor and chief vassal, and Tom had wondered before about romantic interest between them, but they had never pursued it, to his relief. Perhaps that was what he should offer Hermione in the future... but she’ll have to be fully on my side politically, he thought—and he still wanted to have more than that. He wanted what they used to have. But did she still want it?
Tom’s mood soured. This problem did not seem to have a solution—at least, not one that he could control. Best to put it out of his mind for now, then. He had additional things to worry about, like the renewed urgency of finding the Chamber of Slytherin over the next year and three months. Nobody would dare torture him if he had a basilisk at his side.
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.
Armand Malfoy sat on his great throneline chair, smiling serenely as Rodolphus Lestrange approached with his goblet. Two elves accompanied Lestrange, looking properly servile as they carried wine and sweetmeats to the high lord.
Lestrange tried to avoid looking at the potion inside the dark goblet—silver, white, and mother-of-pearl shining sinisterly in the light—as he approached Malfoy. He wished he could have the confidence that his high lord did that handling this was harmless. The substance itself looked wrong, somehow. Armand Malfoy was a great man, Lestrange thought, a hero of their race and people, and it was an honor to serve him, but....
"My lord," he said in a low voice as he reached the high seat. Armand Malfoy extended a frail hand and took the goblet. He drank deeply as the elves set down the food and wine and made themselves scarce, lingering by the doorway in case the lords needed anything.
Malfoy finished the ghastly white potion and set down the empty goblet. He gestured for Lestrange to sit on the second chair and help himself to food and wine. Relieved, Lestrange assented.
"I have heard the most interesting news," Malfoy stated.

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