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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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Malfoy smiled grandly, an evil gleam in his eye. "Yes. First, Dumbledore presumed to write to me, demanding restitution to Lady Riddle from Carrow’s estate." He laughed.
Lestrange chuckled dutifully.
"Of course, I sent the coin at once."
Lestrange stopped laughing and stared at Malfoy for a moment. "My lord?"
"Certainly," Malfoy stated. "Carrow has already displeased me, of course, which is why you are here and not he. It is not as if Dumbledore asked for my gold to go to the woman. And apparently the half-blood wretch was innocent, as surprising as that was. I thought you would find it amusing, though."
"I do indeed, my lord," Lestrange said.
"More importantly, I received a letter stating that the late Morfin Gaunt died under highly suspicious circumstances and that there is ample reason to believe that the half-blood Severus Snape poisoned him."
Lestrange started. "My lord, are you quite sure of that? Gaunt died of a digestive ailment incurred after a large meal, I thought...."
"Such things can carry off wizards, but it is rare," Malfoy said. "And a "digestive ailment’ could easily be poison. It’s well known that Snape is a master of potions."
"This sounds highly speculative to me, with all due respect, your lordship. Who sent this letter?"
Malfoy leaned in, grinning. "It is someone who has provided useful intelligence in the past to my family. A spy by the code name of Wormtail."
"What is his real name?"
"I do not know, but his record speaks for itself. The Malfoys trust him. He claims to have witnessed Snape making a poison just days before Morfin Gaunt’s sudden death."
"Witnessed?" Lestrange breathed.
"So he says. I have tried to find out which of the old Gaunt vassals were still in service at the time Lord Morfin died, but as you know, they have those records now. I have only hearsay to go on... but I think this source is either a vassal who was a rival of Snape’s, or perhaps a servant who was summarily dismissed after Lady Riddle assumed the title."
"So you think, because of this information, that Snape...."
"Since Carrow found that young Lord Thomas was innocent, I think it must have been Snape who killed Scabior. He may even have acted alone, without Lady Riddle’s knowledge. He certainly did in murdering his lord three years ago." The corners of his mouth tugged upward maliciously. "I think we should reveal this and accuse him of treason."
For a second, Lestrange wanted to shout his gleeful agreement. Then reason took over. "I must respectfully disagree, my lord," he said in regret. "If we did, they would deny it. If there is nothing implicating Lady Riddle herself, it would go nowhere. A letter sent by an anonymous source—a letter with no Veracity Charm upon it—wouldn’t be reliable in many people’s eyes."
Malfoy glowered. "My word is law now. They should believe what I say."
"Perhaps so, my lord," Lestrange said reflexively, "but even if they do, let’s be honest, my lord, Morfin Gaunt was loathed. There are few who would care if Snape did murder him. Perhaps it’s better to keep it in reserve as blackmail."
Malfoy looked as if he wanted to argue more, but he changed his mind and nodded curtly. As Lestrange sipped the rest of his wine, he wondered if this was the sort of thing that had driven Abraxas Malfoy to act against his own father. It does not make it right, he thought. Malfoy is an aged wizard. He should have an advisor... one who does not abuse his position as Abraxas did. I am that person now.
Castle Parselhall at Hangleton.
Merope was furious. When Tom had first written to her about what had befallen him at Hogwarts—and what he realized, as she also did, could have happened if Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange had been a bit more lawless—she had immediately sent an angry letter to Malfoy. As far as Merope was concerned, this crossed a line. Bellatrix Lestrange’s assassination attempt on Hermione a couple of years ago had also crossed a line, but unlike that, Carrow had tortured Tom openly and with the full knowledge of his lord. They were getting much bolder.
And now the evil old man had sent her a purse of gold—from Carrow’s estate, he said, in a letter that was grotesquely insincere in its apology. As if shedding her son’s blood could be paid off with fifty Galleons! It was an insult. He even had the cheek to say that Albus Dumbledore had suggested this remedy. What of the outrageous "tax assessment" that he wanted to conduct this summer in preparation to rob her of her land and castle?
As she attempted to calm herself, Severus was standing before her with quite a report to give from his sources’ information, and all of the report had to do with the continuing consequences of Scabior’s murder. This was important, she told herself. She needed to hear this. There would be time enough to fume about Malfoy’s latest insult.
Merope sipped a goblet of wine and took several deep breaths to compose herself, then turned to Severus. "I am ready to hear it," she said, attempting to sound calm.
Severus looked down at the parchment he held in hand. His brow furrowed in a wince, but only for a moment. He took a deep breath of his own before beginning.
"The source for this is... highly-placed," he began hesitantly.
Merope gave him a wry smile. "It’s a house-elf for the Malfoys, isn’t it?"
Severus was startled. He gaped at her. "My lady, how—"
"Severus, some of the information you have given me over the past three years could only have been overheard by someone who was physically there. You told me about the Blacks... but they were not always present. You also have said "little sources’ on several occasions."
Severus heaved his breath. "Well, my lady, you are very astute. Of course...."
"I certainly would not tell that to anyone, even my son. Such a source is extremely vulnerable, given the nature of elves’ binding to their masters. Malfoy could simply order the elf to come to him, and he could not escape. I understand the sensitivity."
"Naturally so," Severus said hurriedly. "Well... my source tells me that this is going to be public soon enough, so we merely have to keep silent until that time. Essentially... there have been some major changes in the households of our adversaries. Our declared enemies, in the case of the Lestranges."
Merope’s eyebrows went up. "Oh? In what respect?"
"The Lestranges are going to be divided, for one," he said. "Lord Lestrange is going to attend Armand Malfoy. It’s an, er, imported custom for nobles to wait on higher-ranked nobles or royalty."
Merope scoffed and smirked lightly. "Yes. I thought that Carrow had that wretched job... was he dismissed?"
"From that task, yes. He went to Malfoy to tell him that he did not want to do the tax assessment of this property this summer—yes, he was the one chosen to do it—"
"Typical," Merope said with contempt. "Every opportunity they have to insult this family, they take it." She glared at the gold coins that Malfoy had sent with the post.
"So it seems," he agreed. "But Carrow’s interaction with your son must have frightened him, I assume because he found your son to be innocent. According to my source, he expressed fear to Malfoy that he would be killed on the spot if he showed up."
"If it were up to Tom, I have no doubt that he would be." A shadow came over her face for a moment. "Will the assessment take place, then?"
"I’m afraid I don’t know. It depends on whether he can find someone else to do it."
She nodded. "Please continue."
"Malfoy did not like what he perceived as Carrow’s cowardice, and his punishment was to dismiss him from his household, summon Lestrange to take his place, and send Carrow to wait on Lady Lestrange and her daughter."
Merope chuckled. "So he took Lestrange away from his own castle! Lady Lestrange rules in his name now, then?"
"Evidently so."
"Given what my son wrote to me about the real reason Scabior was murdered, that’s interesting indeed. I wonder what they are going to do now that they have apparently run out of suspects?"
Severus winced, and Merope noticed. "What is it, Severus? Have they accused me?"
He shook his head quickly. "No, they think I was the killer. And they...." He trailed off, wincing, closing his eyes momentarily.
"Severus, I insist that you tell me what is troubling you."
He sighed, closing his eyes again. "As you command, my lady." He took a deep breath. "The implications of this intelligence are very disturbing, but I fear you will not like what I’m about to tell you. I will suffer any punishment you decide to mete out."
Merope suddenly wished she had not asked. "Go ahead, then," she said nervously.
"There was a spy who... witnessed me making a potion just before the death of your brother, Lord Morfin," Severus said, looking away.
Merope’s eyes widened as she took in the implication. "Severus...."
"It implies exactly what you think it does, my lady," he said stoically. Seized by a sudden impulse, he got up from his chair and knelt before her. "I did it because your late brother was destroying the fief. His conduct had already driven off most of the family vassals, and he was ordering me to spy on you in London with the goal of forcibly bringing you here—for him."
"It was a loathsome, evil command, and I could not obey it. My oath was to your family, and his conduct was harming it. You still lived, and I decided that it would be far better if you...."
"Severus," she said again, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I understand. I really do. I admit, if I had learned this three years ago, I would have been highly suspicious of you as a vassal, but you have proven your loyalty to me and my family—to Tom and Hermione—repeatedly since then. As for my late brother, I do not doubt for a second that he had such foul designs. Do you know why I eloped with Sir Thomas in the first place?"
He demurred. "I never considered it my business...."
"You must have suspected," she pressed. "But, yes, I did it to avoid that fate. My father had that very plan... so eloping was my only chance. I believe you, and I forgive you."
He raised his eyes to meet hers, almost afraid to look, but there was no anger or betrayal in them. "Thank you... Merope," he finally said.
She smiled. "Now, get off the floor and take your seat again. As you said, the fact that anyone was a witness to that is very disturbing. Did your source say who it was? I presume it was not Carrow himself."
"No, it was some spy with the code name of Wormtail. Even Armand Malfoy apparently did not know who that was, though, just that he had helped them before and that was why they trusted him." He sighed. "That was three years ago, though. The castle is utterly secure now."
"That’s true," she agreed. "Thank you for telling me all this, Severus. Is there anything else I should know before I write to Malfoy?"
"No, my lady, that was the whole report. Is your letter going to be about that bag of gold, then?"
She shook her head as she smoothed out a sheet of paper. "It is an insult, but I will not call it such. I can smile just as falsely as any of them," she said grimly. "Obviously I cannot make reference to anything that has not been made public yet, but I don’t have to. I am going to inform him that the offenses against this family are far greater than a mere fifty Galleons could cover, and that in consideration of that, I will consider any "back tax’ I supposedly owe to have been taken out of the payment before he sent it. They have been targeting my family, and I have had enough."
Castle Black in the North, two months later.
Regulus and Andromeda Black listened intently as Regulus’s parents and paternal grandfather spoke. The grim, dark, cold fortress was very unlike Regulus’s home, Canis Manor, in the south of England. It was chilly here even in late spring, so much so that Arcturus, Orion, and Walburga wore fur-lined robes. Regulus and Andromeda donned even heavier ones, unused as they were to this. The tall two-story windows in the grand hall of the castle seemed to make it even colder. Through those windows, in the distance a great magically charmed wall loomed over the landscape, protecting the castle and lands from the sinister forest that reputedly harbored giants and werewolves.
"Regulus," Lord Arcturus began, his fur collar making him look majestic. Behind his high seat, a banner fluttered in the cool draft, bearing the crest of the Black family. To Regulus and Andromeda’s eyes, even the dogs on it looked more ferocious and wolfish than the ones that adorned the crest in their home, in keeping with everything else here. "I have summoned you and your lady here to warn you."
"Warn us?" he repeated.
Arcturus nodded grimly. "I collaborated with Abraxas Malfoy to attempt to keep his high lordship from doing destructive things. As you know, that attempt failed, and Abraxas is dead. I fear that I may be next. Lestrange wanted to remove all competition for his high lordship’s ear... and if he suspected Abraxas, I am sure he suspects me."
"You are safe here, Father," Orion assured him at once.
Arcturus raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps so—for now, at least. I just wanted to tell all of you, though, to be prepared and to know about this. If I die soon, it almost certainly will not be of natural causes."
"Father! You aren’t about to die!"
"I hope not," he agreed, "but if I do, I wanted to warn you now so that you won’t be fooled. Lestrange cannot be trusted, and I am not sure that his high lordship can either."
"What about Bellatrix and Narcissa?" Andromeda spoke up. She had never much liked her older sister, and had not gotten along that well with her younger, but they were her sisters.
"I think that Lestrange is at odds with Bellatrix," Arcturus said. "Whether that means you can trust her, I do not know... and as for Narcissa, thus far, I think she can be trusted. She and Lucius think they are next, frankly. They think Lestrange is going to do to Lucius what he did to Abraxas. Their view is that Lestrange ultimately means harm to Lord Malfoy himself, and that once he has removed everyone else, he will seize power by acting as regent for Lady Adelaide and Lord Draco, who would then be "Lord Malfoy.’"
Regulus considered this. It did not square with what he was hearing from his elf source in Malfoy Manor. The conversations that Kreacher repeated to him from the Malfoys’ elf were indicative of utter sycophancy and hero-worship on Lestrange’s part. "What do you think about that, Grandfather?" he asked.
Arcturus sighed, his fur mantle sagging slightly as he did. "I do not know," he admitted. "It makes sense, but Lestrange always showed immense respect to Lord Malfoy. For my part, though, I fear that something even worse may be afoot."
The eyes of all four younger Blacks turned toward his face.
"So far, we have all kept out of the Muggle war, and it seems to be winding down at last—though who can say? We have thought that before, when in fact it was just a shift in fortunes from one pretender to the other," he said. "They always seem to regroup. What I fear, though, is that Malfoy and Lestrange have made an alliance with one of them. Which one, I do not know."
"What makes you think that?" Lady Walburga asked.
"There are reports of magic in a battle," he said. "I cannot find out which side the apparent wizard was fighting for, but the reports are that someone used a visible curse. Needless to say, this is deeply disturbing. William the Conqueror came over and established his reign without wizard assistance. In fact, he did not want to think too much about the fact that there were witches and wizards in the world, and that is why he deferred all matters concerning magic to Armand Malfoy and then left well enough alone. He owed Malfoy nothing, though. But if the ultimate winner of the Muggle war owes the throne to Lestrange and Malfoy, then they could get him—or her, if there is an alliance and it’s with Empress Matilda—to punish Lestrange’s enemies, and we would have no recourse. As it is now, we do have the option of appealing to the Muggle monarch if we are dissatisfied with Lord Malfoy’s decisions, even though no one has ever done so, for obvious reasons."
Walburga muffled a snicker. In her opinion, those "obvious reasons" were that it was disgraceful for a pureblood wizard noble to beg a Muggle for favors, even if that Muggle wore a crown. In truth, the wizarding nobility had deemed it inadvisable to invite Muggle interference in their business.
"What do you think should be done about this?" Andromeda asked.
"I don’t know what can be done about it," he confessed. "I will try to get the truth about this report of magic, for one... find out if it really was, and if so, whom the wizard was fighting for, and whether it was an independent recruit or a formal alliance. I would say that perhaps it was a Mudblood who went for a soldier, but that seems too optimistic. How could such a one even know how to cast a spell? Unfortunately I do think it was a trained wizard, which indicates that someone who knows he is a wizard has taken a side... but I will see what else I can discover. In the meantime, remember what I said. Beware of Lestrange, beware of Lord Malfoy, and stick together. We are all Blacks by both marriage and blood. Our heraldic animal is the dog, a loyal and intelligent creature that thrives in a pack. When a pack stays together, it survives."
Tom was reading a manuscript in the library, Hermione noticed as she entered the grand room. He lifted his gaze for a moment to sneer at her and then returned to his reading.
There was not a hint of affection in that look, and an unwanted, humiliating lump formed in Hermione’s throat at the sight of it. She suddenly realized that she could not remain in the library. Attempting to hold her head high and match his indifference, she found the book she was searching for, took it from its shelf, and stalked out of the room back to the dungeons.
As soon as she entered her bedroom, she collapsed on her bed, the book forgotten. Tears refused to form, though her face grew hot and the lump in her throat seemed to harden.
He doesn’t even like me anymore. He blames me for his torture still.
Hermione blinked away tears and conjured herself a goblet of cold water, which she drank immediately. It soothed the sudden lump in her throat.
It had been a couple of weeks since her huge fight with Tom, and the pain had only barely subsided. She wished she had not made that statement at the very end—but at the same time, what else was she to do? Tom had been needlessly cruel, and she was tired of allowing him to hurt her with his cruel words. She also wished she had been a bit more compassionate to him over the torture that he had suffered just before the argument. In retrospect, she realized that her reaction had probably made things worse... but, again, what was she to do when he came to her full of blame for her? When she had written to Bellatrix Lestrange, the idea that it might hurt him was not even in her mind. She had never meant for such a thing to happen. Perhaps she could have been a bit more careful—she had certainly realized that after Adelaide spitefully spread the rumor around that she was making a potion to induce miscarriage—but when Tom came to her with anger and blame in his words, her natural instinct was to defend herself even if he had suffered.
What is my life going to be like? she thought miserably. She did not think that Tom really meant what he had implied, that he would ask his mother to break the contract between their families... but what if he did? What was her legal status as a witch? Would her parents still have the authority to negotiate a new betrothal for her—to someone she didn’t even know, almost certainly someone who could not do magic and probably would not understand about it? The idea was sickening... and as she reflected on the anti-"Mudblood" laws that Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange had enacted, she realized that her parents certainly would have such authority. The only nobles in the magical community who had ever stood up for her were the Riddles and Severus Snape... and, she supposed, the masters at Hogwarts, but after she was declared a master herself, they could not shield her from anything.
I will tell Lady Merope that we have consummated our relationship if Tom dares try it, Hermione resolved. She must already suspect, based on what she asked me while we were still intimate, but I will tell her outright. I will also tell her that he considered me married to him by the ancient magical rite, that I have never betrayed him, and that if he wants out of the contract, it’s for no reason other than spite.
And he may not have thought of this, but his mother, at least, must realize what Malfoy would do if we broke the betrothal immediately after I finished school. He would think we swore falsely from the start. He would consider us all oathbreakers and would retaliate against us. Lady Merope probably told Tom that she would end it if he wanted because otherwise he might never have softened to me. She has to know what the consequences would be if she actually did. I won’t let him do this to me.
Hermione sighed. She continued to clutch the pillow, well aware that she had just reasoned that a loveless political marriage would be acceptable as long as it was with Tom—but not choosing to dwell on the details.
One month later.
It was summer again, and Tom and Hermione had been one day at Parselhall. Tom was still keeping to himself except during meals and occasions when they both happened to be in the same room. This was such a time, as the Riddles, Hermione, and Severus Snape awaited a guest in the great hall. Snape and Lady Merope seemed to know the identity of this person, but Tom and Hermione were to be surprised.
The person, whoever it was, was not one of Tom’s friends. Hermione knew that they were coming at some point, but Tom would know if this person was one of them. She had overheard him asking his mother for permission to invite them again. It seemed that Wilkes was going to come toward the end of summer. The young wizard supposedly had something critically important that he wanted to tell Tom. Hermione rather dreaded it, because she was sure that she knew what it was about. Tom’s ambition of claiming the crown of England for himself, based on six-century-old lineage, and presumably using Slytherin’s monster to force his will, was what Tom discussed with his friends, she was sure.
Malfoy and Lestrange are out of control, she thought, and they do need to be replaced, but Tom could have taken this ambition in a much more productive direction. He could stand up for reinstating the full Wizengamot, or replacing Malfoy with Lady Merope, or any number of possibilities. As it is, Tom would be injecting himself into the Muggle war with his current goal, and he would have to have Slytherin’s basilisk to stand a chance of achieving his ambition. What Muggle would support his claim on its own merits? That line hasn’t ruled any part of this country in centuries. And even with a basilisk, what are his chances, truly?
Hermione did not like to think about that. Something did need to change—Malfoy did need to go, and Lestrange with him—but what Tom wanted to do seemed so dangerous. Hermione just wanted to have the sort of life she had thought she would as an almost-thirteen-year-old, when she had first met him. She could have that if Lady Merope replaced Malfoy. That was what Hermione wanted to happen. But no one else seemed to want it, including Lady Merope herself. In fact, Lady Merope seemed strained as she attempted to maintain her own personal status quo.