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"Multiple "someones,’" Hermione added, "and wizards all." An idea occurred to her. "Do you think she means the Weasleys? She would be Head of House for all of them, and it does seem that the twins and that Ronald boy are ill-behaved. Ronald is certainly rude, and slothful, and the twins seem to be in trouble all the time for pranks and attacks. But she would have been referring to their parents. Do you know anything about their parents, Harry? Would they fit the descriptions she and Master Dumbledore gave—the father "gentle and mild,’ and the mother apparently the opposite?" |
Harry shook his head. "I really don’t know, Hermione, and obviously we cannot ask Ginevra about it." |
Hermione chuckled darkly. "I suppose not... unless she expresses irritation with her mother of her own accord." |
"My father gets owls from the Weasleys a lot," Harry mused, "but I’ve never met the parents personally." |
That seemed strange to Hermione. "Your father gets owls from them—the parents, you mean? Or some of the older brothers?" |
"The letters I have seen are from the parents and the son Percival—Sir Percival now." |
Hermione frowned. "Do they not write to your mother?" |
He shook his head. "I’ve never seen one for her. Why?" |
Hermione was not about to tell Harry about the dramatics that she had experienced that summer. What good would it do? He looked nothing like Severus Snape except for his hair color, and there was no spell to prove paternity, so best not to sow doubts that could never be permanently erased or confirmed. "Luna sent me a note over the summer about her visit with you, and she mentioned that your mother corresponded with the Weasleys, Longbottoms, and Dumbledore—but she implied it was much less than your father." |
"Oh, well, my mother does correspond with Dumbledore and with Neville’s mother. But I don’t think Mistress Weasley and my mother like each other, to be honest." He sighed. "My father is buried in his letters these days. It’s harder than ever to learn anything from him about what is going on or what he may be involved in. I’m sorry. I wish I could be of more help." |
"It isn’t your fault!" she exclaimed. "I know you are doing your best, and it is obviously much more important to you than to me. It’s your family, after all." |
He managed a weak smile. "I think I may have better luck in the long term with Sirius. Sirius and my father have been friends since long before I was born, of course... but...." He trailed off. |
"They are having difficulties?" |
He nodded. "It has to do with a courtship that Sirius began." |
"Luna mentioned that too!" Hermione said, remembering. |
"The witch is a widow with a young daughter. She knew them from Hogwarts, my father and Sirius. I think she and Sirius are going to get married soon, actually. My father has never approved of it." |
"Do you have any idea why?" |
"No. I wish I did." |
While Hermione and Harry were exchanging information and theories in the Slytherin common room that evening, Tom was in the Potions laboratory with Professor Slughorn. It was a blow to his pride, but he had to turn over the flask of green potion to the potions master for analysis. Slughorn was absolutely delighted at what he was rapidly discovering—and Tom was increasingly sour, though his professor did not notice. |
"But this is wonderful, Tom!" Slughorn exclaimed, holding up a solid gold spoon that was overflowing with a foaming, sizzling fluid. "This potion is alchemical!" |
Tom glared venomously at the spoon. "Alchemical?" he said, barely holding in his spite. "How so... Professor? What does it do?" |
Slughorn gazed across the table, where a collection of spoons in gold and silver rested, all of them filled with compounds of various beautiful colors. "This is... well," he said, pausing to gather his thoughts and tamp down his excitement. "My diagnostics indicate that this potion will induce a reflection of one’s darkest moments in life." |
How horrible, Tom thought. Why is the man so excited about that? "And with all due respect... Professor... what is the alchemical part? That doesn’t sound very appealing to me." |
"Oh, Tom," Slughorn said indulgently, shaking his head at the folly of youth. "The purpose of alchemy—the true purpose—is not merely to transmute base metals, or even to unlock the secret of earthly immortality." |
"Wizards have already done that anyway," Tom said at once, failing utterly to keep the bitterness out of his words. |
Slughorn turned to him with raised eyebrows. "Tom! Let’s... stay on topic." |
Tom noted his professor’s distaste for the subject at which he had hinted. Somehow that only made his annoyance at what he was learning increase. |
"The ultimate purpose of alchemy is to purify the self—to cleanse the soul. No one has achieved that level of personal enlightenment, which is thought to be necessary to even have a chance at creating the Philosopher’s Stone. However, there have been those who have taken some steps along that path, and whoever created this potion must have been one of them! The point of reflecting on one’s darkest moments—one’s worst deeds—is to face the wrong one has done and to feel remorse for it. That is what consuming this potion will do in a large enough amount. The few drops you provided me tonight won’t induce that sort of reckoning, but I would bet they would have brought forward some dark memories. You say that this potion came from a family heirloom?" |
"Not an heirloom, precisely," Tom hedged. "It’s a magical artifact that belongs to my mother’s family, though." |
"Do you think you could bring it here—after Christmas, perhaps?" |
Tom shook his head. "I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can move it from its place." |
"Well, that’s a pity. It would be very interesting to examine." He considered further. "In a case like this, there would probably be an additional potion to be taken afterward. This is strong, and drinking the necessary amount would probably render a person very weak. I would guess that there is a potion, or a spell at least, that restores some physical vigor." |
Unless there was something special about the water in the cave, Tom did not know what that could be. He forced the scowl off his face and managed a smile for his professor. "Well," he said, "this is very interesting indeed! Thank you for doing this analysis, Professor." |
"Thank you for bringing it! It has been a pleasure and a treat to see something like this." |
Not for me, Tom thought as he gathered up his supplies and prepared to leave the laboratory. In his opinion, the entire exercise was a disappointment. He was right about that potion from the very first, he thought: It was poison. Slughorn might call it alchemical, but in Tom’s view, anything that produced the effect Slughorn described was a poison and certainly not something he intended to drink. |
As he entered the hall and began the short walk to the Slytherin common room, he reflected that the interaction had not been entirely pointless. At least he did know what the potion did now. That was something, and it was a starting place for him to devise a way to defeat it. |
The wedding of Merope Gaunt Riddle and Severus Snape was set for the end of October, the weekend before Hallowe’en. Tom and Hermione received permission to go to Parselhall for the event—though Tom would have preferred a denial. It would have been an excuse not to go to a wedding that he very much did not want to witness and wished he could block out of his thoughts altogether. However, for a childless bachelor, Albus Dumbledore was surprisingly sentimental about family. |
When Tom was forced to think about the impending marriage, his mind quickly shifted to peripheral matters. One issue that puzzled him was the fact that Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange had not done anything in retaliation for a piece of news that must have been equally unwelcome to them as it was to Tom—albeit for very different reasons. |
What are they up to? Tom wondered. They must be up to something. They would not ignore something like this. He did not know, and it worried him. |
Observing Draco Malfoy’s behavior did not shed any light on the question. Draco seemed warier than usual, Tom noted, keeping to himself more than before and even being chilly with his "pack" of Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and William Rosier. Tom recalled that Regulus Black had been uncertain of the loyalties of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Draco’s parents. Perhaps the suspicion and distrust were reciprocal and it included their son as well. However, Draco’s guarded behavior this autumn did not help Tom determine what might be brewing in Malfoy Manor at the behest of his great-grandfather and uncle Lestrange. |
On the other hand, Tom thought with a spark of disgruntlement, perhaps Draco is being guarded and wary for much more mundane reasons. There was that night that I was coming back from the library and I overheard him speaking with Astoria Greengrass in hushed voices. They are carrying on; I’m certain of it, and that will make trouble for everyone. I would not care if it were any other witch—well, no, that’s not true, he corrected his own thoughts as he remembered Hermione. Any witch but one. Well, two, because it would create problems if it were Daphne just as it will with her sister. The Greengrass family has an alliance with the Flint family, who are our allies. Otherwise I would not care, and would even support anything that promotes division among the Norman families, but there will be repercussions from this if it continues, and this could easily be what Draco is so nervous about. Tom scowled to himself at this thought. He didn’t like any of this, and the fact that he did not know what Malfoy and Lestrange were planning as retaliation for the unwelcome news from Parselhall alarmed him most of all. |
Tom had the answer to his unspoken question the very next day. A vassal of Lestrange or Malfoy whom he had never seen before—a large blond wizard whose name, he learned, was Rowle—was busy attaching a decree to the walls of Hogwarts. A crowd of pupils gathered around it, and Tom noted with some interest that every single face was filled with outrage. Of course, he did not notice anyone there who was a son or daughter of Armand Malfoy’s allies.... |
AN ACT TO ENCOURAGE FAMILIAL AND SOCIETAL ORDER |
By order of His High Lordship Armand Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire, Lord of Witches and Wizards, it is hereby proclaimed that the use of the Imperius Curse is permitted in certain situations and shall no longer be considered a crime when performed thus: |
This law does not permit the casters of the Imperius Curse to force subjects to perform deeds that are unlawful. |
Tom felt his blood rising to his head in anger. It was already allowed for magical persons to use the spell in question on Muggles, or their own underage children, or for nobles to use it on untitled subjects—though not titled magical vassals. Most witches and wizards didn’t use it on their children except when a child was doing something dangerous, nor did most nobles use it on witches or wizards even if they were commoners, but they could. The use of it in any other context had been a minor crime, punishable by magical confinement for a few weeks. It was perfectly obvious to Tom why Malfoy and Lestrange had carved out each and every one of these new exceptions. |
Snape would not do that to Mother, he reassured himself. But would he do it to me? He is not my father... but if he did, would Malfoy and Lestrange make that distinction? Not for my sake, I’m sure. And the last.... He thought for a moment about his enemies at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy, Adelaide Lestrange, and their associates were noble, but they were not rulers. This did not permit them to do it to him—but if they did, would their families do anything about it? Absolutely not, Tom answered his own question. |
He caught sight of a very familiar bushy head of brown hair—and in the next moment, Hermione turned around and noticed him as well. Her eyes were wide and wary, and as soon as she noticed that he was there, she tried to get away quickly. |
She fears that I will do it to her, he thought, weaving his way through the gathering crowd to reach her. She is afraid that I would do that to her. How could she even think that? He was affronted and irked that she would have so little faith in him... but another part of him was troubled that she thought she had reason to fear it. He attempted to ignore this little voice as he caught Hermione. |
She took a deep breath as she turned to face him, her face hard and set, determined courage shining in her eyes. For a brief moment, he wanted to reassure her. |
No, he thought at once. I have done nothing. I have not even threatened it. I won’t be the one to say it. If she is that afraid of me, she can say it first. Meeting his gaze with hers, he said, "Hermione, it’s in your best interest to be able to recognize the signs of being cursed with the spell and learn how to fight it off. I mean to do the same... though"—he struggled with the words, but it was true—"you are obviously in greater danger." |
Some of the visible anxiety drained from her face as she considered his words. Slowly she nodded. "They may have gone too far this time." |
"Let’s hope so." |
A guffaw sounded from near the wall where the parchment was attached. Tom and Hermione’s heads turned quickly to see the source. To Tom’s utter shock, the person who had laughed was not Draco Malfoy, but the youngest Weasley boy. |
"Look at number one!" he exclaimed to his older twin brothers, who were beside him, regarding him—well, not as a wizard would regard an animal familiar, but as a Muggle might regard an amusing pet. "I wish Da would do that to Mum! She’s being a right bitch lately." |
Hermione’s hand clenched around her wand reflexively. Tom noted with pleasure that her eyebrows narrowed in anger. |
"She is," one of the twins agreed, "but the other three aren’t good, Ron." |
The youngest wizard—Ronald—nodded, his facial features turning sour, albeit somewhat reluctantly so. "No, they’re not. Malfoy and Lestrange always do too much, more than there would be real support for." |
"You think there will be support for the first one?" |
Ron Weasley scowled. "Yes. Witches are getting above themselves. Just the other day, Lavender told me that she expects me to wear this ridiculous necklace she got for me.... Emotional and silly, they are. No wizard can understand them. I think the newcomers have the right of it, frankly." |
A cloud of angry orange sparks and black mist, appearing almost like they had come from a fire that had been prodded, issued from Tom’s wand, nearly singeing his robes. Startled at the accidental magic, he decided that it was time to leave. The Weasley idiot had already expressed his opinion—and how typical of a Muggle-loving Weasley to side with the Muggle-inspired Norman wizards’ view of witches, rather than the far more respectful view espoused by his ancestors’ clans—and it was a matter of time before people like Draco Malfoy showed up and said things purposely to pick a fight. |
"If you are still consorting with Potter’s secret group, you should advise him to expel that witch-hating lout from the order," Tom said brusquely to Hermione. He did not wait for her to reply, turning away from her before she said anything in response. |
With that, they parted and went their separate ways—Hermione to the library, Tom to the common room to find his Lords of Beltane. They would be just as outraged about this as he was, especially the first, second, and fourth provisions. |
As October approached, Tom increasingly avoided thinking of the wedding. There was magic to study, both for his mastery classes—every one of which Hermione shared, and he resented the fact that he was not studying with her now that this was the case—and his outside projects of defeating the green potion and the Imperius Curse. |
The latter project went much better much more quickly, though it was another matter for which Tom wished he could practice with Hermione. He did not want any of his Lords of Beltane to use that spell on him, even for practice reasons; it would undermine his authority. He went to Slughorn for private lessons, citing Malfoy and Lestrange’s proclamation as the reason. The professor was visibly nervous about the exercise. |
"The proclamation merely says that the curse is allowed in those situations," Tom said mildly to Slughorn on the afternoon of the first lesson. "It does not prohibit anyone from learning how to defeat it." |
Slughorn considered that, nodded, and took a deep breath as he began the session. |
After a few lessons, Tom was able to recognize and cast off the Imperius Curse quite readily. He had a natural knack for it. As he walked out of Slughorn’s office for the final lesson, he wondered about Hermione. She was still in greater danger than he was. Since Hermione still refused to have much to do with him, he grudgingly hoped that Potter’s private club would practice this. |
The green potion was another matter entirely. Tom could not find any approach for countering a potion as Slughorn had described. The potions books, the ancient codices, all the potionmaking lore in the Hogwarts library did not even consider alchemical potions as needing antidotes. Tom grew increasingly frustrated with his fruitless studies on this subject... or perhaps it was the steady approach of his mother’s wedding date that frustrated him. |
The Friday evening before the wedding arrived. Professor Slughorn ushered Tom and Hermione into the courtyard of the school. |
"I offer my felicitations to your lady mother," he said to Tom, beaming. "And to Lord Severus, of course." |
Tom managed a smile for his professor, although he wanted to punch the man in the face—or curse him. He turned to Hermione to Disapparate with her, but she gave him a smug smile. |
"Thank you, Tom, but I have learned how to do it myself," she said haughtily. |
He gaped at her. "Well," he finally managed, "that’s good. I hope you can manage a long trip like this one," he could not resist adding. |
Without another word, Hermione twisted in the air, vanishing with a pop before his eyes. Tom felt a momentary pang, as her disappearance seemed somehow symbolic to him, but he shook his head quickly as if to clear that thought from his mind. Then he Apparated himself. |
The castle was decked in autumnal décor, Tom observed once he and Hermione were admitted to the great hall. Branches with red, orange, and gold leaves decorated the shelves and ledges, wreaths of autumn foliage hung from the walls, and colorful gourds rested on tables. The high seat was now accompanied by an additional, slightly lower seat, since Severus would be the consort—whatever Armand Malfoy might wish. He had made his law with the intent that Caractacus Burke would marry Merope, anyway. As Tom greeted his mother, he held onto this idea, finding a small measure of comfort in the fact that at least that would not happen. |
He did cheat her, though, he recalled. He basically robbed her of a family heirloom. Someday I’ll have to make that right. |
Merope observed the frostiness between Tom and Hermione, her heart sinking at the sight of it. She had known that they were at odds, but she still hoped that they would repair their relationship. They still have time, she thought. And there will be time after, as well. I hope for Hermione’s sake that it does not take that long, because she deserves to enjoy her wedding without reservation, but if it does, then surely they will make amends once they are truly bound to each other for life. Hermione’s face was set and determined, Merope observed. It was, she supposed, an improvement over the sadness that had been manifest for so many months. |
But as much as she cared about Hermione and Tom, Merope could not focus too long on them. She was excited about her own wedding the following day. After the initial misgivings, created by Pettigrew’s slanted information, she had come to realize that she had grown to care about Severus a great deal over the past three years. |
She had known him as a boy, of course, but he had been a few years older, and at that age, it made a difference. She had fled Hangleton relatively soon after completing her education at Hogwarts and had lived with Tom in London after Sir Thomas had betrayed and abandoned them, not seeing Severus for fourteen years. She had not realized it until very recently, but she still bore the scars of the terror of her own family—scars that were doubtless not as deep as they would have been if Morfin had succeeded in his evil plans, but were still present to a lesser degree—as well as Sir Thomas’s abandonment. These wounds had encased her heart in a shell of sorts. It was part of the reason why her first act as a noblewoman had been to set up a match for Tom. She had wanted to help Hermione as well, but that was not all. Tom had been wrong in thinking she regretted not marrying "the wizard her father had wanted her to marry," as he had accused that wretched night that he had killed his father, but he was not wrong that her negative experience with self-chosen romance had prejudiced her in favor of normal arranged betrothals made when the couple were young. Her jaded perspective on marriage had influenced her plans for herself to an even greater degree: She had wanted Tom and Hermione to find love with each other. For herself, she had not entertained the idea, even after proposing marriage to Severus as a blatantly political move, until the day that they had talked about Pettigrew’s information. |
Somehow, the shell around her heart had cracked, and she was glad of it. If she had not acknowledged to herself at last that she did have feelings for him, and welcomed his for her, then she realized she would be considering tomorrow strictly as a way to thwart Armand Malfoy. Severus would know it, too, perceptive as he was, and he would resent it even if he put on a mask of Occlumency for her and their guests. If that had happened, she realized with a chill that she likely never would have known what real romantic love was, and it would have been her own doing. But instead, she was looking forward to it. |
She and Severus had conducted themselves very well. The impatience of youth was one thing, but they were in their mid-thirties and they could wait till their wedding night. The anticipation made it even more appealing to think about. Despite her youthful fancy for Sir Thomas, Merope had still been very nervous about her first wedding night. That was not so now. |
Merope was brought out of her reverie by the realization that Tom was still in the great hall, though Hermione had gone elsewhere—her room or the library, most likely. That thought reminded her that she had something she meant to tell Tom. She intended and hoped that it would placate him; she knew that he was not happy about her wedding. |
"Tom," she said, descending from the high seat, "come with me to the library. There is something I have to tell you there." |
Intrigued, Tom followed her to the library. She walked across the immense room to a section of bookshelves that he knew very well indeed by this point. His pulse quickened. |
"These are all open to you now," Merope said, gesturing at the bookcases that were filled with family histories. "I have removed my hexes from everything." |
Tom was already eyeing the books greedily. She gazed at him and said in a sharper tone, "I am placing trust in you, Tom. I’m trusting that whatever information you seek and find here, you will not act on it in a destructive way, like last summer. You know of what I speak." |
Tom did. She was alluding to the Chamber of Slytherin. He tore his gaze away from Serpent-Tongue: The Life and Mysteries of Salazar Slytherin and met her eyes with his. "Your trust won’t be misplaced," he said briskly. He hesitated; it was difficult for him to say what had come to his mind, but she expected it, and he knew he should. "Thank you, Mother." |
She considered for a moment before nodding, a faint smile on her face. Leaving him in the library, she turned away to go to her own bedchamber. Tomorrow would be a big day. |
The guests began to arrive early. There were not many in attendance. The roster consisted of the five wizarding couples with whom Merope had allied—the Flints, the Fawleys, the Notts, the Averys, and the recently widowed Lady Wilkes—as well as the parents of Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, and Hermione’s own parents. She was happy to see them, but she also resolved to put on a good front for them and not let them see how displeased she was with Tom. Nothing good could come of it, given that she already knew how they viewed the matter. |
Hermione was surprised when a man in priestly apparel showed up and Lady Greengrass—somewhat visibly befuddled at the fact that she was talking to a Muggle-born on an equal footing—introduced him as Father Alphard Black. She had not known there were any wizard priests. The stout Hufflepuff monk who cheerfully managed the Hogwarts chapel was the only wizard she knew who had any connection with that institution. |
"Father Black performs weddings, christenings, and funerals for almost all witches and wizards," the woman explained to Hermione. |
He smiled. "It is so. I gave up any hope of inheriting part of the Black fortune when I took my ecclesial vows, but it is important for our people to have representation in the church." |
Hermione could not disagree with that. |
The last of the preparations were in order, and Hermione took her seat next to Tom in the front row. Autumn decorations adorned the benches and the walls, adding an air of poignancy to the event, but it seemed fitting. Merope and Severus were not a young couple, after all. Father Black began to speak, and in short order, Severus marched down the middle, his robes—not entirely black, fortunately—billowing behind him magnificently. He took his place at the front. |
The grand doors opened again, and Merope walked down the aisle, wearing a very pretty olive-green gown that Hermione had never seen before. Probably she had had it made for this day. She also looked younger than Hermione had ever seen, her face rose-hued and smiling. Hermione wanted to smile too, but to her chagrin, a lump formed in her throat at once. She glanced at Tom, who was staring ahead with a deliberately impassive and stoic expression on his handsome face. Swallowing hard and attempting to put her own unhappiness out of her mind, Hermione faced forward again to observe the bride and groom as they said their vows. Severus was smiling. It was a striking sight, one that looked unusual on him—but not unbecoming. |
At the head of the room, Merope and Severus gazed at each other happily as he placed a gold band on her ring finger. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gallantly, the smile on his face transforming into a hint of a smirk at the thought of what was to come that night. Merope flushed faintly redder. No one in the seats noticed these details. They were only for the couple’s own eyes. |
After the wedding ceremony ended, the guests and the newlyweds removed to the grand banquet hall. Hermione and the Riddles had rarely eaten there, using it mainly for holiday feasts and other festive occasions for which they invited the important Muggles of the village who provided goods and services to the family. Obviously today qualified as an important and festive occasion, though the banquet hall was still comparatively empty with only the wedding party and guests present. |
They took their seats at the head table and the two tables closest to it on each side. In a bit, the elves brought out the first course of their meal, a soup course. Merope could smell the main course of roasted duck and boar finishing in the great kitchen, mingled with the scent of harvest vegetables, cooked apples, blackberry tart, and freshly baked bread. It would be a fine English meal, she thought proudly. Even her supremely patriotic son—to put a euphemistic spin on Tom’s views, she thought wryly—would have nothing to complain of in the food itself. |
Nor could anyone speak against the beverages provided, at least on the subject of their origin. There was cider, ale, and wine, but the wine was not from the Continent. This unfortunately meant that its taste was not as fine as it might have been, but Merope had decided that it was time for her to make a political statement. With their recent Imperius Curse law, Malfoy and Lestrange had essentially declared her, and most of her guests, to be second-class nobles because of their blood. As much as Merope had wanted to avoid war, she was reluctantly coming around to her son’s opinion on that matter. They had to be deposed, and that likely would mean at least a battle or two to defeat their loyalists. |
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