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Gratefully Hermione rose from the table, letter in hand, and made her exit.
Hermione tossed her letter aside with wretched disappointment—and dare she think it, disgust. Her mother had meant well, but the advice that Lady Granger had given was useless.
My dear daughter,
I regret to hear of the difficulties that you have had with your betrothed. However, remember that we women are called to bear this burden and to support and comfort our husbands. This is the strength of our sex. I implore you to take comfort and courage in this fact, to forgive Lord Thomas of any offenses against you, to ask him to forgive your own offenses, and to do what you know is your duty to him. You have always been a very compassionate and dutiful young lady, and I have no doubt that you can do this. I have shared your letter with your lord father and he agrees with me.
Your devoted mother.
Hermione flung herself on her bed in irritation. She really wanted to set fire to that letter... but she was sure she would regret it if she did, not because of the content, but because it was from her mother and she had so little correspondence from her family already. Do I even know them anymore? she asked herself in despair. A chill spread over her body at the realization that, perhaps, she no longer did. The world of the magical aristocracy—no, she thought, of witches and wizards altogether—was very different to that of Muggles like them. There were different values and ways of thinking. Hermione had always believed that her family was more open-minded than most Muggles of their class, and likely they were, but witches and wizards were still a world apart. Three years ago, Hermione did not doubt that she would have agreed completely with her mother’s words, and taken all of the burden of making amends upon herself... but she was different now, and she knew that the lion’s share of this fight was not her fault. She also knew that what Tom needed was not to be coddled and reinforced in the very pattern of behavior that had caused the problem.
I cannot depend on others to tell me what I should do, she thought. I have to figure this one out myself... or, perhaps—her mind resisted the thought for a moment, but only a moment—I have to accept once and for all that I cannot fix Tom’s problems for him. There is no magic spell for this. He has to make the change himself.
How long would it take, though? In a year, they would be married—unless, of course, he asked his mother to break the contract and she agreed. Hermione hoped he still felt enough for her that he wouldn’t do that, at least. As long as he still felt something, they had a chance.
She heaved a sigh. It was better to put this out of her mind. She would return to Hogwarts soon, anyway, and she resolved to focus on her studies and her friends. She wondered what news Harry, Neville, and Luna might have to report—and Ginny, too, if she had learned anything. They would get to the bottom of what the adult Friends of the Founders were really doing, Hermione decided. The logical solution was for the Friends to join forces with Lady Merope, her allies, and Lord Regulus Black, she decided. Were they not all united in opposing Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange? Surely whatever differences the groups might have could be put aside in service of that goal. Hermione hoped that would happen over the course of the year.
The discussion Merope had had with Severus had not gone very smoothly. She had realized that her manner the previous evening had been abrupt and the proceedings themselves businesslike and cold, but Severus had been so chilly this morning about the entire subject that she wondered if perhaps it was best to let him resolve his own anger first before talking about emotional issues related to the prospective marriage.
"I understand it was very sudden," she had said as they parted after breakfast, "and I do apologize for that... but please remember that we were under serious threat last night, based on Lord Regulus’s report."
Severus had smiled thinly. "Of course, my lady." Merope had wanted to correct him and tell him to use her name, but she doubted that correction was what he wanted to hear right at the moment. She let him pass. He left Parselhall and headed in the direction of the Prince family manor on the grounds.
Standing in the grand hall, Merope sighed as he left and the great doors clanged shut. This was an inauspicious beginning, and all her hopes for the future did not allay that ugly fact about the present. Merope wondered if she had any right anymore to criticize Tom for his dispute with Hermione. Perhaps it was best just to do things as many other noble families did, and focus on marriages for political alliances and family continuance alone. Perhaps involving emotional or romantic considerations at all, even in combination with those more worldly concerns, was asking for trouble.
And perhaps I am being too cynical, she thought, cracking a smile. Severus will come around, I’ve no doubt of it. I just need to give him more time.
She turned to head to her own quarters when she noticed a pudgy, short wizard in brown velvet standing nearby. His eyes were pleading for her attention. "My lady!" wheezed Peter Pettigrew.
Merope still was not sure exactly what to make of Pettigrew’s presence at such a time. Perhaps it was entirely coincidental... but she did wonder what, precisely, he had been doing for all these years. She did not blame him for leaving, after what her brother had done to his poor mother... but he had still avoided his duties while knowing that she presided. He would certainly have to prove his loyalty to her.
"Yes, Pettigrew?" she said loftily.
His eyes darted around the grand hall. "Forgive me for nosing into your personal business, your ladyship," he muttered, "but there is something that Lord Severus is not telling you. Something important."
Suspicion instantly flared up inside her at this statement—but at Pettigrew rather than Snape. "Oh, indeed? And just how, pray, do you know of—whatever this is?"
Pettigrew winced and wrung his hands. Merope attempted not to focus on the disfiguring injury on one hand, the missing finger. "I have known him for years, my lady," he said. "We served here together. I knew him from boyhood. And... there is something that he did, years ago, that I don’t know if he has ever admitted to you. Well, several things, all related."
Merope scowled. "We shall have this conversation privately, Pettigrew," she said, exiting the grand hall and leading the way to a sitting room. Pettigrew hurried behind her trailing skirts. A grin formed on his face.
Tom reached the base of the cliffs. Sea spray had already soaked him to the bone, or so it felt. He certainly would have tumbled to his death if he had not sealed the grip of his hands and feet with magic. His heart was thumping hard and fast as he jumped off and landed on his feet at the surface. He gazed outward. The sky, at least, was bright now. Waves continued to crash against the rocky shore. In the distance, the horizon became absolutely flat, the deep dark blue of the sea extending seemingly to infinity. Where would you land if you just kept going? Tom idly wondered, but only for a moment.
He turned around and gazed at the expanse of rock that now stretched scores of feet into the air, the cliffs down which he had just climbed. Tom still had no idea where the sea cave might be. Worst case, he would have to walk the coastline until his magic sense told him.
No, he corrected himself grimly, worst case is that there are several magical spots along these cliffs.
He sighed and turned south. He hoped that was the right direction. If not, he would have to backtrack after a long and unproductive journey.
Pettigrew fidgeted before Merope, who gazed down at him expressionlessly. "I suppose I had better give you the story from the beginning," he finally said.
"I suppose so," she agreed.
He winced, then attempted to gather his courage to speak to her. "I suppose the worst mistake I made was to become friends with Black and Potter at Hogwarts, instead of Snape."
Merope raised her eyebrows. "Black? Sirius Black, the family outcast?"
"The very one," Pettigrew affirmed. "But I couldn’t help it, Lady Merope! I was put in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin like Severus—and yourself, when you went later."
Merope nodded. She was four years younger than Severus and had shared only one year at Hogwarts with him.
"When Black ran away from his family, he went to live with Potter’s family in Godric’s Hollow. What I didn’t know was that the two of them got up to no good during Christmas and summertime. There is a werewolf living in the woods near Godric’s Hollow—"
Merope gasped in surprise. "A werewolf? Is it Fenrir, my former vassal? I heard that he was deliberately infected with lycanthropy as punishment from my father or brother."
Pettigrew shook his head. "No, your ladyship, but they think that he was turned by your family’s former vassal. This fellow... well, he became friends with Black and Potter. That was why they became Animagi: They wanted to prowl in the forest safely with him."
"And yourself?" she said harshly.
Pettigrew winced again and looked down at his lap. "With all due respect, my lady, they never knew that I became one. I wasn’t invited along—and after all, I was sworn to your family. I had to be here when I wasn’t at Hogwarts. But I learned the skill by watching them. I suppose I was just envious. Didn’t want them to do something I couldn’t do."
"Envious... and resentful?" she pressed. "I understand, Pettigrew. It must have been frustrating to watch your friends from school behave so, while you had duties to a lord that you quite justly disliked. But what has this to do with Lord Severus?"
"Well, they made a special point of tormenting Lord Severus, I am sorry to say. I think it was because he was a Slytherin... or sworn to your family. There is still a lot of enmity."
"I do know that," she said slowly. "He has mentioned it before."
"And yet it wasn’t enough to prevent him from going to Godric’s Hollow in 1130 when the town revolted against the Malfoys," Pettigrew said in a flourish, furtively eyeing her for her reaction to that.
Merope blinked. "He participated in the rebellion against Lucius Malfoy?"
Pettigrew nodded eagerly. "He did indeed. So did I, in fact, your ladyship. I learned about it from Black and Potter. We were all there, masked."
"Well!" she exclaimed. "I did not know this... he has certainly talked about the uprising before, and I admit it occurred to me that he might have known more about it than he let on, but I could never think of a satisfactory explanation for why he would conceal that from me. We are no friends of the Malfoy family, whereas my son and Lady Hermione are friends with the Potter lad." She decided not to tell Pettigrew about the alliance with Sirius Black’s brother and possibly the two brothers’ parents.
Pettigrew’s beady eyes gleamed. "I think I may know the reason for that, my lady Merope. And it so happens that it relates to that very Potter lad."
Tom cast a healing spell to help his aching feet and turned around. The rocky coastline had given way to a sandy shore. The sea cave that he was looking for was in the other direction.
First, though, he would take a break and eat. He had brought some bread, cheese, and apples, and he could always summon fresh water into being. Choosing a rock that appeared to be blasted with less salt spray than the others, Tom sat down and took out his food.
There must be a magic spell he could cast to help him, he thought in irritation. It wasn’t as though he expected the Cave of Ceridwyn to be marked with a raven or a crown! Someone else would have found it by now if that were the case. But there had to be some way of magically identifying it to the "chosen one" of the ancient artifact.
Unless I am not that person. The treacherous thought flitted through Tom’s brain for a moment. He vanquished it at once. He was meant to find this cave. He knew it.
Merope gazed back at Pettigrew, who was now meeting her eyes rather boldly—hungrily, she thought. It was a little unsettling.
"Lower your gaze," she snapped. She had never ordered a vassal to do that, but this strange crawling feeling had never come over her before.
Pettigrew glanced at his lap again. "I apologize, your ladyship. I was going to tell you, there is something that happened while Severus was at Godric’s Hollow, participating in the rebellion. There is a witch... a Muggle-born witch... who is now married to Potter. Lily is her name. They were engaged at the time of the rebellion... he had known her from childhood, and after he had finished at Hogwarts, he returned home and I guess that was when they fell in love. Anyway, Severus...." He trailed off theatrically.
A bad feeling came over Merope. "Severus... what?"
Pettigrew sighed heavily. "I’m sorry to tell you, he seduced her during the rebellion. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but it definitely happened. And if you look at the birthday of young Harry Potter, it’s questionable."
Merope stared at the fidgety little man before her. She felt queasy, though she could not say if it was because of what Pettigrew had just told her or because of her peculiar unease about the man himself. The entire situation had a certain degree of unreality about it, almost as if someone else were occupying her body and she was just an observer from outside it. "Are you telling me that you think Severus might be the true father of Harry Potter?" she repeated.
Pettigrew nodded importantly. "Lily and James were married a month after the rebellion, so it’s hard to be certain, but it’s a possibility."
"He never spoke a word," she said, her voice very low, talking almost to herself. "Does he know this?"
"I don’t see how he couldn’t. He’s a clever wizard, my lady. And the boy does have black hair." He did not mention the fact that James Potter also did.
Merope rose from her seat, shaking a little. "This woman," she said, trying to organize her thoughts and speech. "This Lily. What were they... that is to say, do you think he is still... fond of her?"
"That I don’t know, my lady. I do know that he carried a torch for her for many years after, though, right up to the time that my mother was murdered and I ran away."
Merope’s heart sank. All of a sudden, Severus’s strange behavior to her had a very different explanation, and one that would be much harder to overcome than annoyance over the transactional nature of the proceedings last night. She took a deep breath and turned to Pettigrew, rising from her seat. He quickly followed suit. "I thank you for telling me this," she said haltingly. "You have shown loyalty by doing so. Lord Severus has talked about the Godric’s Hollow rebellion, but he never mentioned that he took part in it, and he certainly said nothing about seducing a betrothed woman and possibly fathering a child."
Pettigrew bowed low. "I merely serve you, my lady."
"Nonetheless," she said, taking another deep breath, "he deserves the chance to explain himself. I will think about this and bring it up with him later today, when he comes to the castle for dinner."
The sun was beginning to set as Tom stood outside a great mouth of a cave. His magic sense was prickling, which told him that there was something magical in this area. Whether it was the ancient artifact, he could not be sure, but this place had known magic. This was the best lead he had so far.
The only problem was that Tom could see the back of the cave. It was a shelter from the elements, but it was not much more than that. Still, he thought, it’s possible that there is a deeper cave behind this one. Perhaps the magic I sense here is a ward to hide an inner cave. Pleased with this idea, Tom began to explore the periphery of this shallow cave along every side. He kept his wand out and his mind focused on the input from his magic sense, rather than his ordinary physical senses, so that he would not miss anything. The tide was coming in, but Tom could leave if it started to threaten him.
As he had expected, there were no markings along the walls. Whatever witch or wizard—or intelligent magical creature—had used this cave in the past, they had not left a physical indicator of it. However, that did not mean there weren’t signs for a person attuned to magic to read. As Tom examined the walls on all three closed sides of the cave, he reached a spot where the amount of magic that he was detecting increased. It was almost imperceptible, but it was definitely there. His heart rate picked up and a grin formed on his face as he followed the lead. It led upward at a diagonal to the left, culminating in a spot that, to Tom, almost pulsed with magic.
This is important, he thought, running his hand and wand across that spot on the rock wall. This is an opening to something, a ward. But how to use it?
The thump, thump of the spell pounded through Tom’s magic sense. Thump-thump, thump-thump....
Pulsing with magic... pulsing....
In a flash of inspiration, Tom knew what he had to do. He supposed he should have known; his ancestors had done this all the time. He opened his left palm and cast a hex, slicing his skin open. Wincing, he pressed the wound against the throbbing magical blood ward. The rock wall slid away as if commanded, leaving a gaping black chasm. The fading daylight filtered inside, revealing a continued bank of solid ground, then what appeared to be rippling water—and something glowing balefully in the center, green and cold. The artifact, Tom thought excitedly. He healed his hand and cast a spell to illuminate the tip of his wand, then entered the inner cave.
Severus was not happy about this discussion. "I never claimed that I was not part of the Godric’s Hollow rebellion!" he exclaimed. Merope sat across the table, regarding him with a cool expression on her face. She had invited Pettigrew to dine with them privately in the small family dining room that evening, and he was clearly enjoying himself.
Hermione was horrified. She wished she had not been included in this... but, she supposed, she was old enough for such a discussion; she would be sixteen in a month. It would also be unseemly for Merope to exclude her from an adult conversation, singling her out as a "child," after having such a long adult talk with Tom the night before. Still, this was painful to witness on more than one level.
"Lady Merope," she pleaded. "Harry is one of my best friends at Hogwarts. He looks nothing like Lord Severus! I have never seen any of his family, but I’m sure that he really is a Potter."
"That may be, and legally he is certainly the son of James Potter, since his parents were married," she said, eyeing Snape darkly. "Although I certainly have personal reasons to object to parents who abandon their children, young Harry did have two parents to raise him, so that is not the issue." She gazed hard at Snape’s black eyes. "When were you intending to tell me that you were in the rebellion? And were you intending to tell me that you had a brief romance there—if that’s the proper term for such a thing?" she added.
"I would have told you any time you asked," he said. "The uprising was so many years ago, though... it just never seemed important."
That was a mistake. "Not important?" Merope said, the pitch of her voice rising sharply. "To the contrary, Severus, I think all of this is extremely important."
"What I want to know is why he never said he was part of it, either," Severus snarled, glaring darkly at Peter Pettigrew. He turned on the smaller man. "You told me about it! You are the only reason I even found out—and you said that night that you "had duties at the castle’! Now you claim you were there—and I suppose you must have been, since you know about me and Lily!"
"Severus," Merope began sharply.
"Were you lurking in a hole in the wall as a filthy rat all along?" he snapped. "Is that how you know?"
"Severus, that’s quite enough," she said. "Pettigrew has not been here for the past three years."
"And I have some questions about that, too."
"You questioned him under truth serum already. He has told me the truth immediately, on the first full day of his service to me," she added pointedly. "I repeat my question to you: When were you planning to tell me about your part in this uprising and your relationship with this woman?"
"The "relationship’ was over within a week! And again, my lady Merope, I would have told you I was part of the rebellion any time you asked."
"That is simply not true. You said once that "no one knew’ who was part of it, because they were all masked," she said, her words harsh as she remembered. "It was two years ago, the summer after Hermione’s first year at Hogwarts." She thought about it. "You even mentioned the fact that Black and Potter held you in contempt for serving my family, who were allies of Malfoy."
Severus grimaced. "I never lied to you, my lady."
"I think that you have been involved in intrigue a bit too long, Severus," she said coldly. "How many secrets from your past have come out lately? I won’t repeat them all, but you have kept them from me for quite some time, and you only revealed them because outside circumstances forced it. The accounts... my brother... and now this. I have to ask, what do I still not know? What else lurks in your past? It’s clear that you do not trust me, or you would have told me these things of your own accord long ago. You mustn’t keep secrets from me if we are to... work together."
"With all due respect, my lady, this sounds very similar to what you told me your son said to you last night," he burst out. As soon as he did—as soon as he saw her eyes fly wide open in surprise—he knew that it was a bad idea, but it was too late now.
"I suggest you think long about what you would like our future together to be like, Lord Severus," she said crisply, rising from her seat.
"Merope!" The name burst from his lips almost involuntarily as she left the room.
Hermione wanted to get out of the room as quickly as she could. This was awful, and she wished she had not witnessed it. It reminded her in a horrible way of her own troubles with Tom. How could she face either of them now, after this? She wished, in a way, that she was still a child, so that she would be shielded from things like this. She rose from her seat quickly and gave Severus a look as sympathetic as she could muster, but the resentment in his face hurried her out the door.
Severus turned to Pettigrew. "You vile wretch," he hissed. "What is your game? You come here—you turn up after years of being missing—and the first thing you do is put a wedge between us?" He rose from his seat and stalked across the room to where Pettigrew sat, towering menacingly over the wizard. "What is your game, rat?" He lowered his voice. "Were you the one who told Malfoy that I had poisoned Morfin Gaunt?"
"Of course I wasn’t!" Pettigrew exclaimed. "How could you even think that?"
"Easily," he said through clenched teeth. "There are damned few people who were in a position to know. There was supposedly an eyewitness! That’s what we heard from...." He broke off at once, glaring.
"It wasn’t me!" Pettigrew whined. "The Carrows work for Lestrange now, don’t they? It was obviously one of them! How can you think it was me?"
Severus glared furiously at the fidgety little man before him. "It may have been the Carrows," he acknowledged. "They are proven traitors, after all. But that doesn’t mean I trust you. Do you imagine that her ladyship will pick you instead of me, because of this? Is that your scheme?"
Merope reappeared in the doorway. She glared at him. "Leave him, Severus. He is merely the messenger in this."
Severus wanted to continue, but he was not about to disobey her. With a glare of pure hatred at Pettigrew, he stormed out of the room.
Tom stood at the side of the basin. He had managed to find a magically concealed boat and navigate the lake, which was ghastly cold, but he was at a dead end now. He was not about to drink the glowing green potion before him. Anything that looked like that had to be a poison. He had already tried to vanish it, to reduce the amount of it, to scoop it up and cast it away, to transform it into something, anything else. It was resistant to everything he had tried.
And yet Tom was certain that this bowl held the mysterious artifact that he had read about. There was something at the bottom; he just knew it. His instinct told him so... but he was not going to drink that potion. That was a trap, he was quite certain. The chosen one just had to figure out how to get through it—the right spell, the right answer to the puzzle, whatever it might be. There was always some challenge of that kind in legends of a hero’s journey. He had not hit upon the right answer yet, was all.
Maybe I can take some of the potion with me to analyze at home, he thought suddenly. Once I know what it is, I can devise a way to defeat it. He conjured a potions flask and scooped up a small amount of the sinisterly glowing potion, noting with interest that it seemed to turn transparently green and stopped reflecting once it was inside the flask. He placed the glass object in his pack and turned aside regretfully. At least there was no magic in this cave that would seal it against a repeat visit. He could come back again later, and he would. He would be prepared next time, too.
Hermione paced around her room anxiously. She was deeply troubled by the fight between Severus and Merope. She had observed them for three years, ever since she came here to be fostered. It was obvious to her that they liked each other. They should not let something like this come between them! There was enough misery in other people’s relationships already, she thought morosely, her thoughts shifting to Tom. She hoped he was all right.

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