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"Her name is Marlene McKinnon Valant. She was married to a Muggle who died fighting for one of the pretenders. She has a small child."
"One of the pretenders," Severus mused. "I wonder if Potter has a preference in the Muggle war and disapproved of Black’s courtship because this witch’s late husband fought for the other one? But if she is a widow, it should not matter anymore...."
Hermione remembered something else. "There is also a werewolf who lives in the forest outside Godric’s Hollow," she said. "A friend of Potter and Black. His name is Lupin."
"Pettigrew spoke of him," Merope said briefly. "I suppose it’s worth considering if he still wants to live as a wizard when he is not transformed. Every wand helps."
"Yes," Tom said impatiently, "but now, what about plans? It’s all very well to list our allies, but we can’t just blast through the walls of Malfoy Manor and Castle l’Etrange no matter how many of us there are. I also have some suspicions about old Malfoy himself...."
"What do you mean?" Severus asked.
Tom momentarily regretted mentioning it, because he knew his mother did not like hearing about the topics he was about to bring up, but ignoring the possibilities would not make them disappear. He steeled himself for her disapproval. "I am almost certain that Armand Malfoy drinks unicorn blood to extend the life of his body," he began.
Severus considered that. "My sources have not confirmed that, but it may be that they can’t. They may be magically bound to silence on that topic. What makes you think it, Tom?"
Tom was momentarily affronted at the fact that Snape had called him by his nickname and without his title, but he supposed that Snape was his stepfather now and had the right. "He has the look of one who does it," he said. "I’ve read about it. He has the physical signs. And I also wonder... I think anyone who would want to extend the life of his body that much, to be willing to incur the unbreakable curse of drinking that, must have a reason. I seriously wonder if Malfoy has split his soul and created a Horcrux."
Hermione had heard this theory from Tom before, before their long separation, but Merope and Severus were startled. "I damned well hope not," Severus exclaimed. "That’s a big problem for us if he has."
"Do you have any hard reason to think that?" Merope asked.
Tom shook his head. "There is only one visible sign, and it doesn’t appear in my memories of the Wizards’ Council meeting... but I wonder."
Merope studied her son for a while. "Tom," she finally said, "I know that you have been aware of that subject since your first year at Hogwarts, and you wrote to me that you were afraid that you would be executed lawlessly after that incident when Carrow tortured you. After last summer... your confrontation with your father...."
"I didn’t do it," he said immediately, meeting his eyes with hers. "I didn’t make one."
She gazed at him for an additional moment before accepting this. "Good. It’s a grim deed, not something that should be done lightly or selfishly, but only to safeguard the last heir of a bloodline when the family is at risk of extinction."
Tom had never heard his mother express that opinion before. The one time he had brought up Horcruxes in her hearing had been when Hermione was first visiting Diagon Alley. She had slapped him down hard then. "Mother?" he inquired curiously. "What do you—"
"Not now, Tom," she said. "We need to finish talking about Malfoy and Lestrange. And as for Malfoy... I hope you’re wrong. But if anyone would do it for selfish reasons, it would be someone capable of murdering his own son as a traitor at the behest of a lackey."
Tom agreed. "And it’s for that very reason—well, that and others—that we need... something else." He was suddenly unsure of what he was about to say, not because he questioned the idea, but because he realized, after his epiphany about how he had disregarded Hermione, that she very likely would not like this idea at all. Taking a deep breath, he gazed at the table as he spoke. "I have an idea... but I do not know how well Hermione will like it."
Hermione suddenly knew what Tom had in mind. "Tom, are you referring to the basilisk of Slytherin?"
He grimaced guiltily. "Basilisk venom can destroy a Horcrux... and it’s such a good weapon in its own right."
"Tom," she protested, "that thing, in this castle—" She shuddered.
"Dumbledore wants to kill it," he protested. "I would never consider bringing it here otherwise, but he wants it dead. Or so he claims," he added darkly. "If he is working closely with the Weasleys, he might want it for himself."
"He is working with them," she muttered as a memory suddenly came to the forefront of her mind. "I overheard him and Professor McGonagall in an argument about the Weasleys one night."
"Oh?" Severus inquired. "When? What did they say?"
Hermione tried to remember. "It was very early in September. We had just returned to Hogwarts from the summer. Professor McGonagall was arguing that "they believed what they were saying’ and that the evidence for it was in the behavior of "the boys’ at Hogwarts. Dumbledore insisted that "they,’ the parents, were merely saying whatever it was to get what they desired and that they did not mean it. McGonagall disagreed and specifically spoke against the mother of these boys that she mentioned. Neither of them actually named the Weasleys, but Harry and I both agreed that they were talking about them. And Ginevra Weasley doesn’t get on well with her brothers... which does not surprise me. The youngest brother seemed to support the most recent Malfoy law about the Imperius Curse for witches. She said that this was typical and that their mother excused it in her sons."
Tom was transfixed, and outrage filled every line of his face. "So the Weasleys support Malfoy’s vile decrees against witches," he said. "And Dumbledore thinks that they don’t actually mean it, but McGonagall—a witch—does."
"Well, they did not actually state what it was that they were arguing about."
"It was probably that."
"Yes, it was," she admitted.
"There you have it, then," Tom said. "The Weasleys and Dumbledore are not to be trusted either—not that I did anyway. They’re probably assuming that this Muggle-based tripe of Malfoy’s is what the magical aristocracy wants, so they think they have to maintain it in their power grab. Of course that’s what it’s about," he exclaimed. "That’s what the Friends of the Founders are doing. And of course they believe it themselves! Look at how Potter’s father treated his wife. All of our adversaries want to adopt Muggle values. It is a disgrace, and it’s another reason why we should lead this fight."
Merope put up a hand for silence. "Severus can probably ask Lord Regulus to investigate the Friends of the Founders, especially if Sirius Black and Lily Potter are now at odds with the rest of them. The werewolf, Lupin, may also be a promising source. I am more interested in the basilisk right at the moment." She gave Tom a hard look. "Frankly, Tom, I am very sympathetic to Hermione’s concern about having it in the castle."
Tom’s face fell. "But...." He trailed off, glancing at Hermione. The basilisk had almost killed her. It had Petrified her. He did not want Dumbledore to order it killed, but he could understand why Hermione would not want such a thing beneath her feet. He reached under the table and took her hand. "I’m sorry," he mouthed to her. Her eyes gleamed as she looked at him, and she squeezed his hand back.
"That said, I understand as well why you do not want it killed—or left in the hands of Albus Dumbledore." She took a deep breath and extended her linked fingers in front of her on the table. "As a girl, I was horrified and traumatized by the things that my father and brother did involving serpents. They ritually murdered Muggle villagers with them... and occasionally even our vassals’ family members, to terrorize them. Although a Parselmouth myself like all of the family after Slytherin, I did not like to hear the language for the longest time, because I associated it with them. The basilisk...." She sighed. "The dungeons are readily accessible, and there aren’t really any cells large enough to hold such a creature."
"Perhaps we could lie to Dumbledore," Tom said. "Go into the Chamber and then come back out telling him it was dead, but in reality it was just in a magical sleep."
"Dumbledore is a very clever wizard, and he would certainly want proof. There is another possibility," Merope said, rising from her chair. The rest of the family followed respectfully. "There is a vault in this castle that is lower than the dungeons. It is accessible only by the head of the family, the baron or ruling baroness." She gave Tom a pointed look. "That would mean me."
"A vault?" Tom exclaimed. "Why is that never mentioned in any of the books about the Gaunt family?"
Merope smiled grimly. "For very good reason, as you will see. It is a family secret. Would you like to see it?"
She glanced at Hermione. "I should warn you, this will likely be disturbing. You do not have to come if you don’t want to."
Hermione considered before shaking her head. "I should see it too. I know you would not take us there if there were any real danger."
Merope considered for a moment before nodding. She opened the doors to the family dining room and led the other three down the corridor.
The dungeons of Parselhall contained very few malefactors. Crime was rare in Hangleton, to Merope’s credit. The family passed right by the cell block, continuing and turning a corridor to face a blank wall. Merope strode ahead, drew her wand, and cut her palm open with a nonverbal curse. She pressed it against the stone wall, which—after a second in which it seemed that magic itself hesitated—slid away to reveal a dark descending staircase. Merope healed her hand and lit the tip of her wand. The others did the same and began their descent.
The stairs continued deeper and deeper. The risers were not steep at all, but their short height made it easy to stumble and trip, as they were not a convenient or natural height for stepping down. Even Hermione, the shortest person of the group, wanted to take deeper steps than these stairs allowed. The staircase overall seemed to extend much farther horizontally—many times so—than vertically.
They reached a broad landing and a circular room with walls interrupted by a single broad arch. Merope moved forward and pushed open the door in this arch, then turned to the other three with a dark smile on her face. "This is it," she said. They filed through the arch, Tom eagerly, Severus and Hermione much more gingerly.
A vast cavern spread out before their eyes, at least fifty feet tall and probably twice as wide. Their meager wandlight only vaguely hinted at unsettling shadows and forms. Merope directed her wand at a low-walled circular pit in the center and sent a jet of magical flame toward it. Whatever fuel was in the center kindled immediately, illuminating the cavern.
"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. Her gaze had been immediately caught by a vast skeleton in the far corner of the room—the skeleton of a very recognizable creature. Nervous but excited, she edged over to that side of the room.
The dragon skeleton was curled up, the wings folded and the tail wrapped around the vast body. Around it were large, dark, dry stains on the stone floor. Hermione gasped again as she got a good look at the skull. The cranium of the dragon’s skull had been shattered to pieces. This was likely the death blow to the creature, an unbelievably powerful and shockingly violent curse. Why? Hermione thought, gazing upon the skeleton. Who would do that?
Tom had noticed too. "What happened to it?" he exclaimed, his dark eyes wide with shock. "Was this the princess’s dragon?"
"It could have been hers," Merope said. "That is certainly the family tradition. Someone definitely brought it into this vault in the sixth century—through another door, a vast one." She nodded at the wall opposite the dragon’s skeleton. "It opens to the side of the hill."
Parselhall, like many castles, was settled atop a low hill for defensive reasons. "That tunnel went all the way down the hill?" Tom said.
She nodded. "If I opened the door—and again, I am the only one who can do it—we would be in the valley. That is how the dragon was brought in, and it is how the basilisk could be let in."
"But if it was the princess’s, why would a Gaunt kill it?" Tom was obviously distraught at the violence that had killed the dragon. He gazed at the dark stains on the floor, his brow furrowing.
"Tom, I do not know what kind of views you have formed about her—if indeed she was the one who brought this dragon into the vault—but the chances are that they are... incomplete."
"What do you mean?"
Merope’s face was grim in the firelight. "The family tradition also says that after she came to this place on the dragon, she became quite a tyrant—though not in so many words. That is my opinion of her conduct; the rest of the family seemed to regard it with pride. Her eventual husband, the wizard lord Eóghan, was essentially forced to admit her to the castle—for who would gainsay someone on a dragon? He had been an ally of her father Mordred but had not fought in the battle, correctly guessing that their cause was doomed. She nursed her grudge against Arthur’s supporters for the rest of her life, and quite a long life it was, using magic to capture them and feed them to that dragon. Eventually she started to set it on her own people, she was harboring so much resentment and fear. Her own husband was apparently the dragon’s final victim. Their son Gant, supposedly the father of Lady Dunwen Mac Gant—the author of The Faithless Advisor," Merope added in an aside to Hermione and Severus, "cast the curse that killed it."
Tom thought about this. "Could she communicate with it? I have never heard of any Gaunts who could speak Draconic."
"That gift is not in our blood. She could communicate with it, but not because she could speak its language."
"Then how—" Tom suddenly realized something. "Oh," he breathed. He gazed at the dragon’s ruined skull, then at his mother. "Quite a long life it was," he repeated in a low voice.
Merope nodded. "As I implied at the table, it was rational of her to create one, in a way. She was the last of her line, with no children yet, and the dragon had saved her. But she never did let go of her grudge against Arthur’s supporters, and it grew to encompass the whole world, including her own family, whom she saw as her enemy, scheming in secret behind her back and keeping her from her rightful throne. Her dragon was forcibly linked with her soul, and it was also her weapon against them."
Tom was silent as he contemplated that. How close I came to that myself, he thought uncomfortably. He hugged Hermione.
"Oral history says that she died when her dragon did—but that was not the end. She lingered as a vengeful, angry ghost." Merope lifted her trailing skirts so that they would not pick up anything from the stone floor and walked to another arched doorway. "Follow me. You need to see this."
Hermione gasped in shock when she was inside the adjacent room. It was circular, and incomparably ancient. The walls were adorned with carvings of limestone, chased with marble, depicting figures of Celtic gods and goddesses—but the style of the sculpture was chilling in its starkness of line, of light and dark. There was something almost bestial about the figures. Along one curve of the wall, a triple goddess glared down at them, impossibly round eyes entirely encircling pupils. The goddess’s mouth was open in a threatening snarl, her teeth exquisitely carved and menacing. Hermione shuddered and glanced at the other side of the circle, where an intimidating god stared ahead, his face angular and almost skeletal. He held a thread that was cut.
Hermione then noticed something else, and this was far more horrifying than a creepy style of sculpture. In front of each figure, a stone bench stood, and on every one of those benches were dark stains that spattered across the entire room. Hermione gazed upward, noticing that the death god—or so she guessed it to be—was also covered in it, and this long-dried blood accounted for some of the dark coloring of the stone. She covered her mouth to muffle the cry. Those splotches reached the ceiling.
"What would you have to do to—" She broke off, shuddering again.
Tom noticed her distress and moved closer, placing an arm around her. She leaned against his side, shaking.
"Fortunately, I never witnessed a ritual in this room," Merope said. "I do not think that my father or brother ever learned how to do such things, though what they did was quite evil enough. But for several centuries—certainly up until the founding of Hogwarts, when the Gaunts finally ventured into the wider world and had to change some of their most appalling practices—they performed magical sacrifices in here. The act of ritual murder has a lot of magical power."
Tom nodded. "It does. This, though...." He glanced at the splotches on the ceiling. "Surely there is no need to use a curse that violent. And if they used their own villagers for this, legally obligated to them by feudal law... that’s not right."
"That’s an understatement," Hermione muttered. He wrapped his other arm around her to embrace her fully and squeezed her.
"Tradition says that Lady Dunwen’s brother, the lord of the castle—and, yes, also her husband, Tom—performed a ritual before the Celtic god of the dead on Samhain to open a door to the Otherworld, and banished Ceridwyn’s ghost through it," Merope said.
Tom’s eyes flashed in interest at that. "It should be possible," he said.
"Tom," Merope said in warning.
"I just said that the idea makes sense," he said. "The Veil is thinner that night. I’m not going to do it." He gazed at the dried blood on the ceiling. "That’s hideous. I understand now why you were always so reluctant to talk about them." He glanced down. "I understand all of it. And... the princess... if the family tradition is true, then her story has a lot more meaning for me than you can imagine."
They filed out of the ritual chamber. Hermione squeezed Tom’s hand. "You were going to tell me about Morgana’s athame," she said. "The one that this princess supposedly placed in the sea cave."
Merope’s eyebrows flew up her forehead. "Morgana’s athame? What is this?"
Tom sighed and rubbed his head. "The sea cave on the coast, close to Wales," he said. "That was where I went that day last summer—and I returned the day before yesterday."
"You found the sea cave where she supposedly stayed?"
Tom nodded. "She really was there, too. There is an inner cave filled with fresh water—magical fresh water—and a basin full of potion that you have to drink. She had placed the Athame of Morgana in this basin." He glanced at Hermione and released her hand, placing his arm around her waist instead as he began his tale.
Merope, Severus, and Hermione all listened with increasing awe as Tom described the magical barriers and properties of the cave. When he talked about the potion’s effects, his voice grew husky, and he was suddenly no longer willing to meet anyone’s eyes.
"So, it showed me the results of everything cruel I had said and done over the past two years," he mumbled, looking at his feet. "I cannot describe it adequately. I am glad I went, though. I needed to." He gazed at the dragon’s skeleton. "If Ceridwyn drank of it and experienced that same thing, how could she have gone so wrong afterward?"
"No potion will retain its effects forever," Hermione said gently. "It was a catalyst for you, Tom, but you have to...."
"To make the change permanent by my own will," he said. He sighed. "Mother, about the basilisk. If Hermione doesn’t want it here, then...." He trailed off. "I cannot kill it myself, but if it has to be done...."
Hermione gazed around the cavern, coming to a decision. "This vault is not actually part of Parselhall. It would not be the same as having it in a cell in the dungeons, a mere floor or two below my feet, with an ordinary door as the barrier. I went to Hogwarts for three and a half years when it really was, after all. The basilisk can be kept here... as long as it is put into a magical sleep." She gazed wryly at Tom. "And none of the villagers are ritually fed to it."
Merope nodded. "Very well. The basilisk will be brought here and stored in this vault. I will write to High Master Dumbledore to inform him of this decision. We will retrieve it from Hogwarts in the summer—once no one is at the school," she said pointedly to Tom.
"Dumbledore wants it gone as soon as possible," he argued.
"He will have to accept my terms. That beast belongs to this family, and I get to decide when and how it leaves Hogwarts. I am quite certain that he will want my terms to include a promise that you will not attempt to open the Chamber of Slytherin again."
"And so I won’t," he said. "I have no desire to try that again. That would be a betrayal of Hermione."
"Yes, it would," Merope said. She turned to Severus. "There is nothing else to see in this vault."
"Yes, I think we have seen quite enough," he agreed, holding out his arm for her. They led the way through the arched doorway, beginning the ascent of the long, interminable staircase.
That night, Merope lay on her pillow next to Severus in their bed. "I have not heard anything from Malfoy and Lestrange about their plot for me involving Caractacus Burke," she said.
Severus sighed. "My "little sources’ have not had anything to report about that. I will ask them when I make my request about information on Sirius Black and the "Friends of the Founders,’ as Hermione called them. I do not know how invested Burke himself was in the idea of being a lord. It took them a while to persuade him, and it ultimately required a push from Arcturus Black."
"But after they killed Black, Burke continued to support the scheme. Our marriage was the only thing that thwarted it. When Tom was manipulated into killing his father, Regulus warned us that something was about to happen. They intended to be at the gates to force the issue. Of that I am convinced."
"And I’m sure that you are right," Severus agreed, taking her hand and kissing her cheek. He leaned back on his pillow. "I am not convinced that they consider the scheme thwarted, unfortunately."
"Severus!" she exclaimed in horror. "But that would mean—"
"That they want me dead," he finished. "I am aware of that, dear. They want all of us dead, you included—eventually." He rubbed his eyes. "We will have to make war openly against them. That is no longer a choice. I am glad that we discussed it as a family today."
"And I am glad that we all are a family," she added. "Tom and Hermione have reconciled at last."
"Yes, I expect they have," he said dryly. "I am reasonably sure that they are in her bedchamber. We could check to be certain."
Merope considered. "At this point, less than six months from their wedding, I am not going to concern myself with it. Hermione knows how to make the potion. They consummated their betrothal over two years ago, and they have been estranged for so long, Severus. Let them have this now if they need it. I was afraid that they would never reconcile."
Severus was startled that she knew so much about the matter, but if she did not care—and he supposed that she had logical reasons not to care—then it was nothing to him. Tom was not his son, nor Hermione his daughter. "It sounds as if he needed all the help he could get."
"If the Elixir of Repentance helped, then I am glad he drank of it," she said. "I have been worried about him for a long time. He was so close to becoming like one of the ancestral Gaunts." She gazed ahead wryly, her free hand settling on her lower belly. "I hope that these two make it—you must understand, Severus," she said hurriedly in response to his blanching—"I was injured in childbirth and did not have an expert healer. I hope they make it, and I hope that there really is nothing in the Gaunt blood that leads to those... tendencies."
"I am sure there isn’t. You don’t have those "tendencies.’"
She smiled. "I suppose not." She leaned over and kissed him. After a time, they broke apart, but in the very next moment she curled against him and closed her eyes. He rested his large hands on top of hers, a symbol of protection for their twins.

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