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Regulus looked confused for a moment, but then he realized what she meant. "Oh, no—you misunderstand—I was not offering Dora for your son, Lady Merope. I was alluding to the future children your son and Lady Hermione will have."
She furrowed her brow in thought. "I still don’t follow, then," she said. "Your daughter would be too old by the time any grandchildren of mine were old enough to marry. Do you mean to have another child, then?" That surprised her; Andromeda Black was forty-two.
He glanced around, trying to decide something. Finally he sighed again. "What I am about to say must not leave this room—ever. It relates to my family."
"You have my word," Severus said at once.
"And mine," Merope added.
He took another deep breath. "Dora is not my daughter by blood. I cannot sire children, Lady Riddle. I tried—I care for my wife, but...." He broke off. "Dora is still, of course, a Black through her."
Merope looked disapproving. "I don’t mean to criticize you for your private family business, but... am I understanding you correctly that you made your wife have a child by another man so that you could claim an "heir’?"
"That’s not the case at all," he said sharply. He leaned in. "Lady Riddle, do you know why I first decided to work against the Wizards’ Council?" He did not wait for a reply. "When I was younger, I had a... lover, I suppose you would say... and Armand Malfoy found out about it and had him killed."
Merope and Severus both gaped.
"My grandfather set up my marriage at once. It was part of a bargain he made with Malfoy to protect me. I care for her and see her as a dear friend. We understand each other well, so she knew the truth. She knew I could not be—attracted to her. And then I discovered that I couldn’t even give her a child. What right did I have to keep her from all domestic forms of happiness? She was planning to elope, to face disinheritance, before the family scrambled our wedding together. The wizard, her lover, is Dora’s father by blood and in my service. My only requirement was that they keep that secret from her as long as I am alive. So—no, I am not speaking of a child of mine at all, Lady Merope."
Merope tried to process what she had just heard. It was sad to her, desperately sad in so many ways... but she understood Regulus’s reasoning, and she was just glad that they had managed to make the best of an otherwise awful situation. "Are you speaking of a future child of Dora?" she asked.
He looked cagey at that. "Either her, or... my estranged brother. He is seeing a witch at last. Though I understand that his friend Potter does not approve." He cracked a wry smile.
Severus’s face turned sour. "Your brother does not need Potter’s permission."
Merope shook her head slightly, not wanting to go down that rabbit hole. She knew all about Severus’s dislike of James Potter and his friends, and she suspected that was why he distrusted Pettigrew. "I... will certainly consider what you have said," she said haltingly. "And I am sensible of the honor you bestow. But you must accept that Tom and Hermione will finish Hogwarts before they get married, for one—"
"Certainly," he agreed.
"And for another... well, I am not sure that I should make such an arrangement myself."
He frowned. "You are the head of the family."
"My son would insist on being part of any discussion involving his future children," she said. She decided not to tell him that Tom and Hermione were estranged right now.
Regulus looked impatient. "Well, my lady, involve him if you feel that you must, but it is a sensible plan, so if you like the idea yourself, I hope you will impress the sense of it upon him. And if he has done something dreadful tonight, the urgency of cementing an alliance of the strongest kind is all the greater. My father is very nearly persuaded, especially if he can keep Dora as the family heiress."
Merope recognized that the discussion was at an end. "Thank you again," she said. "I will consider your offer... and find my prodigal son," she added with a weak laugh. "Let’s hope that he is just reading." She rose, followed by Severus and Regulus, and together they left the room.
Tom was furious again by the time he reached the gate. He had thought about what his father had said about the Gaunts, Mother’s family. He had heard from other sources, including Mother herself, that his uncle Morfin and grandfather were not good lords and had had some cruel practices... but his father had also been cruel. Why had his mother named him after two cruel men? Mother had issues, he thought sourly, the summer wind whipping his robes in the night.
But as important as his name was, even more important than that was the fact that Mother had run away from her family—and he still did not know precisely why. Sir Thomas might have thought she had run because of their magical practices, but Tom did not believe it. She was a witch herself. Why had she really done it? The thought crossed his mind briefly that this was the very reasoning his father had used for disbelieving her... but he was an ignorant, magic-hating Muggle, whereas I’m merely being logical, he assured himself.
The great doors to the castle creaked open, and a group of three people stepped out. Tom slunk into the shadows so he would not be seen and peered out from behind a tree. There was Mother, there was Snape, and the third person wore a dark cloak and hood shadowing his face. It was hopeless to try to identify the stranger, and in the next moment, he Apparated anyway. Merope and Snape went back into the castle.
Tom waited a bit longer, during which time his burgeoning anger at her continued to expand. She probably ran away from a set-up match of her own, he seethed. I have long wondered about that, and I would bet almost anything that it’s true. She is probably a hypocrite and is definitely a liar, and I’m going to confront her. As this thought filled his mind, he stepped out of the shadows and entered his home.
He noticed his mother talking in low voices with Snape. Scowling at that, he stepped up, the heat of his own righteous anger powering him.
"We need to have a talk, Mother. Right now."
Her eyes widened in... what was that, Tom thought? Affront? He had made that demand rather brazenly.
No, he realized—it was fear.
She took a deep breath, gave Snape an apologetic glance, and turned to Tom. "Very well, Tom," she said, her tone resigned. It was almost as if... she knew what she was about to hear, Tom thought.
But she can’t know, can she? How could she know? he thought as he walked with her into a small parlor. She closed the door behind them and locked it magically, then turned to him, her expression wary.
Tom decided just to go ahead with it. If she had guessed, so be it; if not, she would find out at once. "I don’t know if you noticed this, but I have been—away—this evening," he began.
"Yes, I noticed," Merope said sharply. "I suppose you are about to explain where you have been?"
At that tone of voice from her, Tom’s irritation flared up. "Yes, I certainly am," he snapped back. He smirked at her. "And I am not the only one who has some explaining to do, Mother. I learned something very interesting indeed, namely, that my father—my Muggle father—was not dead, as you falsely claimed to me for years. I paid him a little visit."
Merope looked pale. "You met your father?" She was sure she knew what was coming next, but she hoped she was wrong—
Tom glared. "I met him, and I dueled him, and he is dead now."
"Tom!" Despair, disappointment, and fear filled that cry, that one word, but he paid no heed to her anguish.
"He deserved it, and I was within my rights after what he said—after what he did to us."
"That’s dishonorable, Tom. It wouldn’t have been a fair duel—he was a Muggle—"
"That’s just too damned bad," Tom spat. "Sometimes duelists aren’t equally skilled. I was more honorable than he was! He tried to stab me while we were bowing to each other! I left his Muggle wife alive, at least, but I had every right to duel him and kill him. He abandoned us, he called you a "serpent-spawn whore,’ and he struck you wearing armor!"
She flinched at that memory and involuntarily put her left hand to her cheek, dropping it to her side at once as she realized. "How do you know about that?" she cried. "Did you read his memories?"
Tom smirked. "Of course. I saw that, and that was all I needed to see. I was fully justified under the law, Mother."
Merope attempted to gain command of herself. "Legal or not, you are a kinslayer now."
Tom stopped in his tracks. Slowly he turned around to face her. "You have no moral authority to give me that name—or any name," he said, drawing his wand on his mother.
"Don’t you dare point your wand at me," she said sharply.
Tom ignored this. "You are a liar, and I am done with your airs of moral superiority and noble generosity. I am done with your attempts to control my life. I have bigger plans than to sit on a chair in this castle."
Merope snapped. "Oh, is that so?" she snarled. An orange spark shot from her wand tip; he jumped out of the way in shock. "This is not good enough for you now? Would you have preferred to continue living in the flat in London? I did this, I got this estate back, for you, you ungrateful brat!"
"And you expected me to be happy with your setting the course of my life, I suppose. Why? You weren’t happy! You wanted—not more, of course," he sneered, "but certainly something different to what your father wanted for you. You wanted the freedom to elope with a Muggle, even if it meant losing your birthright, but you don’t want me to have that same freedom to order my own life. Well, I am done."
Merope attempted to ignore the torrent of attacks. "Are you talking about Hermione?"
Tom sneered in derision. "I’m talking about a lot more than just Hermione."
"Then what do you mean?" Her words were hard. "What do you think you want to do that I am preventing you from doing? Do tell me."
"We should be fighting Armand Malfoy more!" he burst out. "We are the descendants of Slytherin, and of Morgana—we may not be pure Celtic, but we’re closer to pure than any other wizard nobles. That was the best time in our country’s history for magic! We should be leading this fight, not a bunch of villagers in Hogsmeade and Godric’s Hollow with God only knows what secret agenda. You seem to think—Hermione seems to think—that ignoring the problems will make them disappear."
Merope stared hard at him. "I have not been "ignoring the problems,’" she said. "I have alliances with five noble families—and, yes, you helped through your friendships with their sons—though I have something to tell you about one of them in just a moment! I have also done work behind your back to protect this castle—"
He stormed about aimlessly, pale with rage. "All defensive! Why not challenge them?"
"A strong defense is a challenge. It says "I know you mean me harm, and I’m prepared, and I can withstand your worst.’ You are a Slytherin, Tom—in your House and in your family. You should understand that." She glared at him. "As for what I have been doing, you do not have a clue, or else you would not have done this! Let me tell you something. Armand Malfoy has been trying to have him murdered. I put up a shield over his home, protecting him from anyone not of my blood. You, of course, got through... and I would guess that one of your friends told you that he was alive. Guess what, Tom? I just learned, while you were gone, that Lestrange was forcing the father of one of your friends—one of my sworn allies—to manipulate his son into telling you that, so that you would go, get through my blood ward, and kill him in anger. You just did Malfoy’s work for him!"
Tom scoffed. "Why would Malfoy care about the life or death of one stupid Muggle?"
"Malfoy and Lestrange want to force me to marry Caractacus Burke so that he can take over this castle and turn us all out—or kill us. They couldn’t do it so long as your father was alive, because I had taken vows with a magical oath."
"What?" he exclaimed, the blood suddenly draining from his face. He had not anticipated anything like that.
"It’s true," she said grimly.
Tom was stunned. He paled a bit as he gazed at his mother. "Malfoy wants to force you to marry Burke? That filthy shopkeeper who cheated you?"
"Did your friend tell you about that too?" she asked him rhetorically.
"So that’s what they have been planning—oh, no, I didn’t...." He trailed off, upset and momentarily regretful, but this changed at once. "But maybe I wouldn’t have if you had not lied to me for years. You said he was dead."
"I meant to tell you eventually."
"Well, he is dead now," Tom said cuttingly. The shock of what he had just learned had passed. Why should he have let Malfoy and Lestrange prevent justice from being done? "Whatever Malfoy thinks he can do is a separate issue. I had every right to kill him. He deserted us. He went back to his little manor, so secure in the belief that you wouldn’t survive and Lord Gaunt would never know what happened. He left his wife and child to die and went back to his manor to live in comfort! It isn’t as large as this castle, but it would have been a decent place to live—and he denied that to us because we’re magical! You can’t possibly mourn him."
Merope sighed. "I have not cared for him since you first did magic as a two-year-old. That was what finally made me let go, seeing that you were a wizard and realizing that my true place was with our people."
"Why did you name me after him?" he burst out.
"I did not want to give you—or myself—the name of Gaunt. I am glad that I left him in the end, but try to understand that his treatment of me was far better than anything I had experienced from my family. I had you because of that choice, and that alone makes it worth it. He did not raise a hand to me until he learned that I was a witch."
"He never should have at all. And—the name—I’m named for him."
"I agree he should not have... but Tom, it is our name now. When I hear the name "Thomas Riddle,’ I don’t think of him; I think of you." She sighed again. "He feared my family. The Gaunts were really loathed." She stared at him. "I understand why you did what you did. He was a coward. I didn’t see that at the time. I was desperate and he was a way to escape."
Merope blanched.
"Escape what, Mother?" Tom demanded, his face set. "An arranged marriage of your own? That’s it, wasn’t it? I knew you were a hypocrite."
Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment. "Do not call me that—you do not know—"
Tom continued, disdainfully and arrogantly ignoring her sudden distress. "I don’t believe your decision to get the estate back had anything to do with me. It’s about your own regrets. I guess you set me up with Hermione because he left you, and you must think you would have been better off with whoever your father wanted you to marry instead."
Merope actually looked ill at this statement.
Tom noticed. "Who was it?" he demanded. "There must have been someone. There always is for noble spawn."
She looked down at the floor, feeling queasy. Running away with Sir Thomas really had seemed like the right thing to do—or at least, much less wrong than the alternative....
"My own brother, Morfin Gaunt," she said in a low tone.
Tom’s wand hand dropped of its own accord. His face contorted with revulsion. "What?" he sputtered.
"It’s true. The Gaunts practiced sibling incest every few generations, to "keep the bloodline pure.’ Slytherin’s son and daughter were another pair," she added pointedly.
Tom looked close to being sick, as if he were revolted by his own body now, by the flesh that bore that heritage. "How—that’s—how would that even have been legal?"
"Under the king’s law, it wouldn’t have been. But my family always concealed the truth from Muggles outside our own fief, and tyrannized the ones they ruled, and Malfoy’s Council explicitly permitted it for wizards because of blood purity. My "wedding’ would have been in six months."
Tom was appalled. "That is disgusting," he declared. "I... see now why you ran away."
She looked away from him, her lip curling at the memories. "Until then, I had avoided thinking about my father’s depraved plans. But my brother was jealous when I took a fancy to your father. He called me vile names and made an obscene reference to my father’s plans, and it was only then that I realized the horror of what my life would be. I resolved to get away however I could."
Tom remained speechless, taking this in.
"I went outside the grounds whenever I could, sneaking into the barony to the north because there were so many villages—so much to see, even if they were all Muggles. Those prosperous little villages, full of tradesmen rather than field-bound serfs, ended up being my model for reforming Hangleton once I took power, in fact," she added. "I fancied your father, but I didn’t really know him until we ran away. I realize now that he was a means of escape from that unnatural wickedness. If my father’s plans had been more typical of noblemen, then I don’t expect I would have eloped, unless my intended had been loathsome to me." She raised her gaze to him. "Do you still think I am a hypocrite?"
He winced, unable to meet her eyes. "I... no, I don’t. I...." He trailed off uncomfortably.
She sighed. "Tom, we will take care of this. I wish you had not done this; I will not deny it, but I will not let it ruin us. I absolutely won’t marry Burke. I should have told you the truth... and I will start doing so more often... but you had better start sharing more with me as well."
Tom eyed her sullenly. "What do you mean by that?"
"I want you to tell me what is this problem that you and Hermione will not resolve."
Anger suddenly flared back up inside him. "That’s not your concern, Mother."
"Is it not? The masters of Hogwarts tell me that they expect she will finish her tutelage next summer, the same time you do. You have less than one year to resolve your differences before the wedding. After that...." She trailed off. Now might not be the best time to tell him explicitly about the Black family’s offer. "After that, you’ll need to start thinking about children and—your future as a family. You are running out of time, Tom."
"You assume that I still want to marry her," he said spitefully, the words tripping off his tongue before he knew it.
"You don’t have a choice." She had just about had enough of her son’s petulance, especially considering what he had just done this evening—and what Merope knew she would have to do to counter Malfoy and Lestrange now. He had certainly circumscribed their choices with his rash act. But as soon as she said this, she knew that was exactly the wrong thing to say.
Tom stood still as her words rippled through his mind. A volcanic anger surged in him at this challenge.
"Oh yes I do," he snarled. He pointed his wand at her again, defiantly. "If nothing else, I have the same choice you had. Shall I make it? It’s Hermione’s fault, ultimately, that I was tortured—and she didn’t even care! I told her about the bargain that you made with me, and she said herself that she might agree to end it!"
In truth, he did not want to end it. Hermione was intelligent and powerful, and he knew that he was still attracted to her... but at the same time, they were not on good terms after several things over the last year and a half—and he did not want to swallow his pride before her in order to reconcile. Nor did he want to swallow his pride before his mother.
Merope was horrified. She had known they were estranged, but she had no idea it was that bad. "It is not Hermione’s fault that Carrow tortured you, and if you accused her, I don’t blame her for reacting that way," she said, attempting to convince herself that what her son had related were just the spiteful words of two young people—that neither of them had meant it.
"I don’t want her to be sent away from Hogwarts," he added quickly, his voice less angry and more uncertain, as the magnitude and possible implications of what he was saying filtered through his mind. "She is a talented witch and deserves a proper education. So things can continue as they are until she has finished."
Merope studied him for several moments. She could not decide if he really did mean what he seemed to be implying—and calmly, now—or if the sudden change in his demeanor was because he was suddenly frightened of his own words.
"Tom, is there another girl?" she finally asked.
"No, and there never has been," he said sullenly.